The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe. KIM LAWRENCE
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to hold a teacup and banned her from the hospital for twenty-four hours.
‘We’ll let you know if there is any change. Go home,’ he had encouraged. ‘Have a meal, get some rest. You need a change of scene and something to take your mind off things. I know it’s hard, but you’re in this for the long haul and you’ll be no good to your brother if you collapse from exhaustion, believe me. I’ve seen it happen.’
If she’d had the energy Mari might have laughed at the thought of anything taking her mind off her brother’s situation. But common sense had made her recognise the grain of truth in his words, so she’d not protested when he’d called her a taxi, not that she’d had any intention of being away from Mark’s bedside for longer than it took her to shower and get a change of clothes.
After the shower she had sat looking at a sandwich she had no appetite for with the television playing in the background to drown out her thoughts... If only? Her brain wouldn’t switch off; it just kept going around in dizzying circles. She managed a bite, chewing and swallowing without tasting before her eyes began to close, her chin sank to her chest and she was on the point of drifting off when she was jolted awake by a name. Hate pushed away fatigue as, her expression set in lines of loathing, she reached for the volume on the TV control.
The news presenter on the scene was giving the viewers the life story of the bride and groom in what was being grandly called ‘the wedding of the year’.
God, was that today...?
Mari sat there, her hate an aching solid presence on her chest, her thoughts buzzing as she tuned out the woman who droned on while images of the bride looking beautiful somewhere fashionable and the groom—even more beautiful—looking down his aristocratic nose at someone or something flashed across the screen.
She knew all she needed to about Seb Rey-Defoe and his bride-to-be, and as far as she was concerned they deserved one another! When she had seen the announcement of their forthcoming wedding she had laughed.
The bride, Elise Hall-Prentice, was an upper-crust beauty whose claim to fame beyond her wardrobe and her social connections was being the star of a reality show that had involved her pretending to have lost all her money—would she lose her friends?
As if anyone cared! The woman had all the sincerity of a fake tan, and the empathy of a reptile, without the charm!
And this was their day, while Mark was lying in a hospital bed, and, thanks to that hateful man, if she died tomorrow she’d be a virgin while they’d have the perfect day. Nothing would dare go wrong.
It was so unfair!
But then life was unfair, she reflected, reaching for the control as the picture on the screen cut to VIP guests in flowing Arab gowns getting out of helicopters. She dropped the control, her eyes flying wide open... What if something or someone spoilt their perfect day? Her laugh was a mixture of fear and exhilaration as she thought—and why not?
Why should everything go his way? Why should he walk through life immune to the stuff that everyone else had to deal with, cushioned by money and power? Both her and Mark’s lives had been touched, and not in a good way, by that man, and he had probably forgotten they existed—maybe it was time to remind him?
Suddenly no longer tired at all but filled with a sense of purpose, she went to the wardrobe and pulled out the blue dress and held it against herself as she looked critically at her mirror image. That man had humiliated her in public. Let’s see, she thought grimly, how he enjoys it when he’s the one on the receiving end.
* * *
‘I just have to ask.’
Mari started violently as the young woman touched her arm, stepping back onto the neatly trimmed grass verge as a cluster of well-dressed people, their laughter sounding like a flock of seagulls, went by.
Convinced that her guilt was written across her forehead in neon letters, she waited, breath held, for the axe to fall. Which it will if you don’t start believing in yourself, she told herself sternly.
‘You’ve got to tell me, who are you wearing?’
The comment poked a tiny hole in Mari’s grim focus, allowing a ghost of a wry smile to touch her full lips.
Her reply was honest. Honesty was the best policy. She pushed away the stab of unease. There were exceptions to every rule and occasions when breaking them was the right thing to do.
‘I’m not sure.’
Another smile almost escaped. The woman’s wide-eyed reaction suggested she was seeing Mari walk into a wardrobe crammed with designer outfits. In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. She possessed one other dress beside this bargain designer second with the label cut out.
The blue silk shift that had excited the other woman’s admiration left her arms bare and ended just above the knee. She liked the simplicity of the flattering figure-skimming cut, and the bright cerulean shade echoed the colour of her eyes almost exactly. People who got past her hair often commented on the colour of her eyes, frequently asking if she wore coloured contact lenses to achieve the dramatic shade.
‘If I had your hair I wouldn’t wear a hat either.’ Her eyes on Mari’s tumbling auburn curls, the young woman touched a rueful hand to the frothy pink confection perched jauntily on her smooth blonde hair as she responded to an irritable, ‘Come on, Sue!’ from a tall, grumpy-looking young man, top hat in hand.
He saw Mari, looked far less grumpy and adjusted his tie. Mari, oblivious to the male admiration, attempted to slip away but the young woman moved to block her way.
‘Do you mind—can I have a picture for my blog?’
Before she could respond the woman was snapping Mari on her phone.
‘Who was that?’
‘I think she’s that model...or the actress in what was that film, the one with...?’
Under normal circumstances the overheard snatch of conversation as she hurried on would have made Mari laugh, but this situation was not normal, and she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted.
What would they say if they could share the joke: not only was she not a famous model or actress, she was not even a guest at this wedding!
She was crashing it!
A thing that a month, a week, even a day ago, she could not have imagined herself doing.
A lot of things could change in a week!
* * *
A week ago Mari was listening to her twin brother telling her how his life was ruined, ignorant then of the real life-wrecking disaster that would strike him within the next few hours. At that moment disaster meant being dumped by the woman he loved because her very important brother, with his blue blood and family estates, didn’t think that he, Mark Jones, who didn’t even know who his parents were, was good enough for a Defoe!
Mari offered her sympathy, while in reality she was dizzy with relief. It was all she could do not to punch the air in triumph. The sick feeling that had been in the pit of her stomach ever since she had realised who her twin’s new girlfriend’s brother was had gone.
That her happiness came from her brother’s misery made her feel terribly guilty, but the truth was, since she had realised that there was a strong possibility that Mark’s new relationship might bring her face-to-face with the man who after six years still featured in her nightmares, she had been living with a sense of impending doom.
Crazy, really—for years she’d fantasised about coming face-to-face with him and telling him all the things she wished she had at the time, instead of just standing there and taking every vile insult he’d thrown at her... She had actually apologised!
No matter how many times she tweaked the cathartic speech she longed to deliver, deep down she had always known this was only a fantasy, and the knowledge infuriated her. She