Chaos Theory
Part 4 of 6
By S. Faith, © 2008
Words: 31,177 (this part: 6,029)
Rating: M / R
See Part One for details.
Mark was able to fall back into an uneasy sleep for a couple of hours when the scent of coffee and bacon caught his attention and roused him to consciousness. He then heard a sharp rap on the door, which alarmed him slightly.
"Mark?" It was Magda, sounding positively maternal. "You going to join us for breakfast, or are you going to sleep all day?"
He reached for his wristwatch on the nightstand. Nine a.m. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'll be right down."
He quickly dressed, choosing trousers and a jumper, making a quick stop in the loo to make sure his hair was in some semblance of order and to brush his teeth. He then ventured down to the kitchen, guessing its location by the food smells. He abruptly realised he was quite famished.
At the table was Magda, Jeremy, the couple from the sofa last night that he did not know, Niles from the office and his girlfriend Angela, and Bridget. She was looking down fixedly into her coffee, remnants of scrambled eggs and the crusts from her toast on the edge of her plate.
"Well, good morning, old chap," said Jeremy. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well indeed," Mark said neutrally. "Quite comfortably."
Bridget dared at last to look up at him. She looked troubled.
Jeremy said, "Glad to hear."
Magda brought him a plate stacked with bacon, toast and two eggs over easy, a glass of orange juice, and black coffee.
"I hope you're hungry," she said, delivering his plate.
"Ravenous. Thank you."
He was introduced to the couple he did not know—Fiona and Cosmo, though everyone seemed to call her 'Woney'—and with a smirk, Cosmo said, "I'm surprised you slept a wink. Someone was having a very nice time last night."
Mark fixed his features against any sort of expression betraying his thoughts, but noticed that Niles and Angela shared a look, which relieved him.
"Despite being blanketed in snow," said Magda, sipping her tea and leaning into Jeremy affectionately, "it's lovely outside, one of those delightful crisp days, so we were planning a little hike down to the lake, if anyone's interested."
Mark glanced out the window over the landscape. He wouldn't call it 'blanketed', but Magda was often prone to exaggeration.
"Well, I think that sounds lovely," said Angela, glancing to Niles and beaming.
"Cosmo and I were thinking of spending more time by the fire. This is the first break we've had from the baby and we plan on just relaxing and enjoying each others' company."
Jeremy looked to Mark, then to Bridget. "What about you two?"
Mark didn't really have the shoes for a walk, but he didn't want to sit in the main room all afternoon with a happily married couple mooning over one another, either. He knew how he would have preferred to spend his afternoon, but hell was likely to have to freeze over first.
"I think we're up for a walk too," said Bridget. He looked to her. She was very hard to read, but if she was inviting him for a walk, he would have gone barefoot to go with her.
"Yes, absolutely," he concurred, perhaps a little too quickly.
"I've got some extra boots, since I'm sure the only thing you brought for your feet are your Bruno Maglis," joked Jeremy.
Mark laughed. He glanced up and caught Bridget smirking, too.
It was all he could do not to inhale his food whole so that they might leave sooner, and after what seemed like an eternity, he was finally ready to slip into his jacket and scarf. He strode through to the front porch and the chill was bracing; he drew in a deep breath, feeling invigorated, inspired.
Jeremy clapped him on the back as he, Magda, Niles, Angela and Bridget all came outside at once. He turned to see Bridget all bundled in her coat, scarf and a knit cap, looking adorable. They all descended the front porch and the crunch of snow under the tread of his boots was satisfying. "Better stay near Bridget," Jeremy said. "She's liable to fall and break her neck otherwise."
"Jeremy," scolded his wife.
"No," said Bridget. "He's right." She looked up to Mark through her lashes. "I'm a huge klutz."
Jeremy and Magda led the way, veering down the path to the right. Niles and Angela were hot on their heels, walking hand in hand.
"Well," he said, watching them wander off towards the trees. "Let's have a walk."
They walked side by side down the path; the most they could really make of it was the outline of paving stones and the footsteps of their hosts. After a few minutes, once the density of trees began to increase, Mark spoke. "I'm sorry if I said anything this morning that made you uncomfortable."
"It did, a little," she said, looking down at her feet. "Actually, I felt a little freaked out."
"I'm sorry."
"You said that." She stopped walking, and so did he; he realised she had been hurrying to keep up with his longer strides, her breath trailing behind her, her cheeks ruddy from the cold. "Is it all right if we pause and talk?"
He nodded. "Let's… let's go over there for some privacy."
"Privacy?" she asked with a chuckle. "There's no one around for miles."
He simply looked at her, willing her to understand, then explained at her still-quizzical look, "I'd rather not attract attention should the others come back this way."
"Oh. Sure," she said, then followed him to a circle of trees.
He turned to face her, not knowing if she was poised to say something, or if she was waiting for him to talk. She stepped gingerly to a tree and brushed her gloved hand against the bark, sending the accumulated snow on it shimmering down.
"Actually, I'm sorry," she said at last, turning to him, engaging his eyes.
"What for?"
"Not seeing it sooner." She looked sorrowful. "I should have seen it sooner."
"I did my best to hide it from you," Mark replied. "It's something I'm good at, hiding my feelings."
She took in a deep breath then exhaled. "I'm not talking about you."
He did not know what to say, wasn't even sure he heard her correctly, but then she continued talking.
"I'm still not, you know, sure," she said, looking down. "And there's a lot to consider, no matter what those feelings end up being: your wife, for one. I don't want to hurt her."
"She doesn't love me," he said flatly; her eyes flashed up to meet his again. "She's wildly jealous and possessive, but it's my chequebook she really loves."
Bridget blinked in astonishment.
"Were the tables turned," he added, "she'd hurt you in a heartbeat. She's already convinced that you're after my money."
He saw the corner of her mouth turn up momentarily, before turning serious again. "What about you? She could really hurt you financially."
"Don't worry about her hurting me, or you. If there's one thing I did do right in this, it was drawing up an airtight prenuptial."
She pursed her lips. "There's also the matter of my not wanting to be the cause of a long-standing friendship going boom."
"Daniel?" Mark asked, then chuckled. "Daniel himself told me the night he broke it off with you that he thought you deserved better and that it was too bad I was married."
"I…" She seemed to be faltering. "I thought you said he had real feelings for me though."
"I'm sure he did, and he might still," said Mark. "But I don't think he himself could deny that he gave up all claim on you by chucking you, regardless of how he feels."
He waited for the next objection, but she only stood there, looking at him, her eyes wide, almost like she could not believe he'd so deftly deflected her arguments.
"I don't know what else to say," she said at last.
"Maybe you don't have to say anything." He took a step forward, taking hold of her gloved hand. "If you will promise me at least to think about it…."
She nodded, raising her eyes to meet his. Their gazes locked and the blue of her eyes seemed to be the only colour that existed in that pale landscape; he could not look away.
"Maybe we should…" she began, seemingly equally mesmerised.
"Maybe," he said, low in his throat.
At first he thought he was imagining it, but no; she was moving, reaching up with her hand, hesitantly getting up on her toes before lowering again. She was obviously struggling with the courage to engage him in a kiss, which was unbelievably alluring, and he had to fight off the urge to meet her halfway and take her mouth. When she did finally place her gloved hands on either side of his face, finally touched her lips to his, he caught his breath and that restraint shattered; he took her roughly in his arms, meeting every caress on her mouth with equal hunger and tenderness. Her cheeks, her nose, were cool against his face, just as he was sure his was against hers. He cursed the weather for its chill, the layers of coats and scarves that prevented him from being that much closer to her. He felt pressure on the back of his neck, her pulling him forward, falling back against the tree.
Unfortunately, this was done with just enough force to shake the gathered snow free from the tree limbs, dumping powder all over them, causing them to break apart and start to laugh. He looked down upon her face, brushing snow from her cheeks and lashes, and off of her knit hat. She raised her hand and shook snow from his hair, raining it down on her all over again. Her giggle faded, then her smile, and she was just there in his arms, looking almost vulnerable, looking up at him almost… expectantly.
He was not about to let the chance pass by, and as he lowered his head to kiss her again, she raised her lips to meet his. His passion now reignited, he pressed her up against the tree, pressed into her, making her gasp, his lips rough and insistent on hers.
Whether they remained locked together like this for seconds, minutes or hours, he did not know; he was utterly and completely lost in this moment, perfect and serene and beautiful, and in this kiss, her lips warm and responsive. His hands travelled from her waist to her hipbones, which he grasped with his hands before running his palms down her hips. She broke away, placing kisses on the corner of his mouth, then his cheek. "We should go inside," she said in a whisper.
Was it an invitation? Mark thought it was, and as he pulled back from her to stand up straight, he saw her shining eyes, her reddened lips, the puffs of her stuttered breath, and best of all the smile, he wondered how they might steal away unnoticed to either his or her room. He also wondered what the temperature in hell was at present.
"We should," he said, taking a step back and offering her a hand to pull her up from leaning on the tree. He wanted to keep her hand in his as they returned to the cottage, but thought it unwise. She seemed to wordlessly agree, and with him in the lead, they began to follow their own footsteps back to the path.
Suddenly, though, he felt something cold and hard strike him on the back of the neck, exploding forward a shower of snow into his peripheral vision. Puzzled, he turned around and saw her grinning devilishly, snow caking her gloves. He reached back, wiping quickly melting snow from his collar.
"What was that for?" he said, stunned.
Playfully she announced, "I wanted to see if you still liked me if I did something utterly and ridiculously immature."
He laughed. God, he loved how she could draw a laugh so easily out of him. He thought about it for a moment, and then decided that the best response would be with equal and opposite force. In a fluid movement he bent, scooped up a handful of snow, patted it into a small sphere and pitched it at her. It was not the best snow for forming snowballs, but it held together long enough to hit her square in the chest, erupting in all directions, causing her to giggle all over again.
"This could escalate into an all-out snow war," he warned with a playful smile.
"I'd win," she threatened, cocking an eyebrow daringly.
Within moments the two of them were crouching, scooping and throwing as fast as they could, laughing uproariously; the whole thing disintegrated to armfuls of powdery snow being hurled at one another, then her leaping forward, knocking him off balance and landing on top of him.
"Yes," he said, still residually chuckling, looking up at her.
"What?"
"I still like you," he explained.
She grinned, then lowered her head to place a quick kiss on his lips. "You know," she said pensively, "I think I've done all the thinking I'm going to do on this." And then she kissed him again, deeply and passionately.
He didn't care that he was lying in the snow, that it was cold, and his clothing was starting to get soaking wet. She wanted to be with him. He returned the kiss fully; however, this time he broke away, reminding her they really, really should go inside.
………
When they reached the cottage, they were met with very strange expressions on the faces of Cosmo and Woney, curled up in the very place on the sofa where Mark had first kissed Bridget, there in front of the fireplace. "What happened to you?" she asked as they divested themselves of their outerwear and boots.
"I… fell," Bridget offered lamely.
It did not explain why Mark's clothes were wet, and he wasn't sure they actually bought the story, but they shrugged, then went back to their own cuddling.
Bridget drew close. "I'll go upstairs to your room. Make us some cocoa?"
He nodded.
When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see Jeremy in there. "I didn't know you were all back already."
"Not all, just me. Instructed to warm up some milk for cocoa." He eyed Mark up and down. "I'm guessing you and Bridget would like some as well?"
He nodded. "She fell."
"Uh huh." Jeremy leaned in further. "Mark, I was concerned when I didn't see you behind us anymore, so I backtracked, saw your footsteps diverge from the path, and followed them for a bit." Mark's stomach plummeted to the floorboards. "When did this start?"
"Jeremy, it's not what you think. We were having a snow fight."
"That very intense snogging session against the tree did not look like a snow fight to me."
Jesus, Mark thought, covering his face with his hand. "Please. No lectures. I don't need you to point out what a bloody hypocrite I am."
Jeremy chuckled. "Mark, I don't think you're a hypocrite. I know your marital situation is, shall we say, very different from mine." Even more confidentially, he added, "Your wife's a bitch, truth be told. Your secret is safe with me."
Mark was astonished. "What?"
The milk was ready, and he poured two mugs which had already been prepared with drinking chocolate. "There you are. Now get on upstairs. Magda, Angela and Niles should be back any moment. I'll cover for you." He winked.
He couldn't believe his ears, but he was not going to turn down this chance. Cradling the mugs in his hands, looping his fingers through the handles, he picked them up and turned away.
"Oh," added Jeremy. "And should you need, I'll be happy to handle your divorce proceedings. I know Tamiko thinks I'm a blowhard, and I'm looking forward to putting the screws to her."
Mark grinned, offered a silent thank you, then went upstairs.
Bridget had taken the opportunity of stripping out of her wet clothing, hanging them over the footboard of the bed, and she was already in the bed, the duvet tucked up to her chest. She was clearly naked; he tried not to think too much about it with steaming hot milk in his hands and quickly but carefully set the mugs down on the night stand.
"Well," he said seriously. "It would seem we were observed."
She looked stricken. "Oh no. Oh, Jesus, Mark. I'm sor—"
She stopped when she saw his grin. "It was Jeremy," he explained. "He's making excuses for us."
Watching the dawning realisation cross her face was a joy. "Oh. Oh."
He pulled his dampened jumper and undershirt off and hung it beside hers on the footboard. He did the same for his socks and trousers. He heard her snicker.
"Boxers? Really?"
He turned and fixed her with a mock-wounded look as she grinned at him impishly. He loved every moment of this. For the first time, he felt like he was not just existing, but living.
"Mind you," she continued, "I'm not complaining about… this." She waved her hand up and down, as if to indicate his body. He suddenly felt very self-conscious. Her smile turned warm and her look, dare he say it, gooey. "Not at all."
"You must be cold," he said, his voice suddenly rough.
She nodded. "I do have this cocoa here, but I wouldn't mind reinforcements."
He stepped towards the bed.
"Um," she said, "you might want to lose the boxers. They might, after all, be damp from the snow too."
Having done as told, he slipped in beside her; the feel of her warm, soft body against his was immediately arousing and he practically turned her and pinned her down to the bed as he kissed her. He loved the feel of her skin yielding under his hands, of her mouth on his, the way she moved with him, the gasps and sighs she made as he touched her, as they made love.
Mindful of the fact that other guests might be passing by his door, he tried to still his cries, but unfortunately was not entirely successful. He was still far too intoxicated at the thought of having her as his own. Afterwards he rested his head upon her shoulder, and as she combed his hair with her fingernails, he heard her lightly laugh.
"Something funny?"
"Not ha-ha funny," she replied. "I just never in a million years imagined my little getaway weekend would turn into… well… this."
"This?"
"You know. A weekend shagathon."
He snorted a laugh. Of all of his expectations of the house party, that had never even crossed his mind.
"I am a little afraid, though," she continued.
"Afraid?" He pushed himself up to look at her. "Of what?"
She contemplated her words. "One of the things I like about our friendship is that it's always so easy to talk to you," she said. "I'm so scared that will change."
"There isn't any reason it should," he said, brushing tendrils of hair from her face. "I've spent too long keeping how I feel bottled up inside, and I don't want you to start."
A smile found her lips.
"I especially want you to talk to me if it's me you're troubled about."
She chuckled. "Okay."
He rested his head on her shoulder again, started tracing circles with his fingertips on her skin, pushing down the edge of the sheet to reveal her breast.
"In the interest of full disclosure," he said quietly as he continued drawing a lazy circle around then cupping her breast with his hand, brushing a thumb over the hardening nipple there, "I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."
"Chuh," she said, but he could see the colour rising on her skin.
"I could look at you for hours and not get tired of it."
"Mark," she joked, running her fingers over his hair, "that's verging on creepy."
He chuckled, then reached to place his mouth over her breast.
It was the worst possible time for not only his mobile to ring, but for it to be Tamiko's ringtone.
"Christ," he muttered, pulling away, rolling over for the bedside table, yanking open the drawer and getting the phone.
"Do you have to answer it?" she asked meekly, drawing the covers back over her.
Tamiko rarely called his mobile but when she did, it was usually a matter of life and death, at least to her. He sighed. "I'm afraid so."
He flipped it open, steeled himself, brought it to his ear. "Yes?"
"Mark. I need you to come home right now."
He furrowed his brow, which caused Bridget to do the same. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"Yes, something's wrong," Tamiko said huffily. "I completely forgot that I accepted a dinner invitation for tonight."
"What do you need me for?"
"Because I accepted it for us, that's why."
"I never agreed to any such dinner."
"But this is good for your career. It could make you so much—"
"I don't care about that," he said. "If you want to go, make some kind of social connection with big money, that's fine. I have no interest in that."
She was quiet. "What is wrong with you? Why are you being so obstinate? Just come home already."
The thought of going back to her made him feel slightly nauseous. "I will not. Now I'm hanging up this call, I'm turning off this phone, and I'm enjoying my stay here. And when I come back to town, you and I need to have a very serious discussion."
"What in God's name has gotten in—?" she shrilled before he ended the call, then pressed and held the power button to turn it off altogether before tossing it down to the carpet.
Bridget didn't ask who it was (as if it wasn't obvious enough), nor did she ask what the call was about; she merely sat up and reached to take him into an embrace, not anything borne of passion or desire, but of comfort and caring.
"I'm afraid my future will be holding a good deal more conversations like that one," he said into her hair.
"I'm sorry."
"If I've got you to turn to," he said, "I think I'll manage somehow."
………
Jeremy, bless his soul, was a genius. He had told the other guests that Mark and Bridget had both come down with a cold after that walk (and fall) in the snow, and were going to spend the rest of the day quarantining themselves upstairs in order to recuperate. Jeremy had realised soon after his promise to Mark that he was going to have to let his wife in on the secret, as revealed by Magda when she came up to deliver two steaming bowls of soup for lunch later that day. Magda also revealed she was equally willing to keep the secret, was equally aware of Tamiko's dislike of her—and very thrilled to see her friends so obviously happy.
"I'll be back for your tray some time later," she said with a little smile before whisking up the now-cold mugs of cocoa and departing.
"People are going to know," lamented Mark with a smirk. "They're going to see me smiling all of the time and they're going to know."
They had donned their robes to greet Magda, and now sat on the bed spooning soup into their mouths. She looked almost bashfully down into her bowl, then up at him, a slight crease furrowing her brow. "It's nice to see you smiling all of the time."
"Then why the baleful expression?"
She stirred her soup in a fussy way. "When I think of the loneliness you've endured all this time with no one to talk to about it… I can't bear to think of it."
"Believe me, I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were inconveniently part of the conundrum," he said; it was easy to be flippant about the turmoil it had caused him now that it was out in the open.
"How long?"
"Hm?"
"How long did you… I don't know, like me?"
"Well, I've always liked you," he replied as he continued to eat. It was the best chicken soup he'd had in some time. "But it wasn't until everyone at Una's party thought we were having an affair that I really had to step back and examine our friendship, to see if I could see what they had seen. That's when I realised I had deeper feelings for you than just friendship."
"That's when you distanced yourself," she said, the light clearly dawning. "But you said you knew you loved me the day Daniel chucked me. That was in October. You've been sitting on this all this time?"
He nodded. "I didn't want to do anything foolish with you still smarting from your split with Daniel. Catching you on the rebound would have done neither of us any good. I wanted to be sure about everything before making any rash decisions… so I thought if I redirected my energies back to my own marriage, I might be happy. I should have known better."
She looked wistful. "That must have been awful for you."
"It's nothing I'd like to relive," he said, then added, hoping to cheer her, "but it had a really great payoff." She offered a little smile.
He finished his soup, and stood to set the bowl down on the small dresser by the window. He turned and looked at her as she continued to eat, casting his thoughts back to almost a year ago and all of Daniel's exploits with that 'junior colleague' he'd asked out from work. Mark was not the world's greatest or most experienced lover, and he wondered suddenly how he compared to his friend, wondered about her own feelings, wondered if she had in fact had enough time to get over a man she'd clearly been having very serious thoughts about.
"May I ask you a question?" he asked hesitantly, leaning against the dresser.
"Hm?" she asked, swallowing her soup. "May you ask me a question?" She very nearly giggled. "You've spent the morning doing things to me that people still don't speak of in polite company. Ask away."
He cleared his throat. "Was last night a surprise?" It stunned him to think it had only been last night.
She smiled. "Very much so."
He looked down. "What I mean is: Had you ever thought of me in that way before last night?"
"No," she said. "You were a friend, a good friend, a married friend. I mean, I thought you were a pretty handsome guy, but you were totally off limits."
"Oh."
She stood, setting her own bowl down, then went over to him. "You don't have to look so crestfallen." She leaned on the dresser next to him, putting her arm around his waist. "I had—still have—very strong feelings for you as a friend. And once I knew the full details of your situation, the depths of your unhappiness, and then the depths of your feelings for me… well, obviously things can change very quickly."
He put his arm around her shoulders, leaned into her, and pressed a kiss into her hair.
She chuckled, settling into his embrace, slipping an arm around his own waist.
"What?"
"Just thinking," she said, squeezing the hand on his hip. "Who would have guessed such a tiger was lurking under those suits?"
He felt the heat of embarrassment wash over his entire person, and lest she feel it, he pulled away a little.
"What?" she asked, turning to look at him. She then grinned, undoubtedly upon seeing the cordovan tone of his skin. "Oh, don't be shy about that, Mark. You have given me a day I'll never forget."
"I just…" If he had pockets, he would have pushed his hands into them. "I've never had a large repertoire of skills and techniques to dazzle and amaze…"
She laughed. "Arcane skills and exotic techniques aren't everything," she said, offering a crooked smile. "The best part of sex happens up here—" She stopped to point at her temple. "—and knowing you're loved goes a very long way." She took a step back, tilting her chin up, hooking a thumb into her robe sash. "Now stop trying to deflect my compliments, and maybe try to dazzle and amaze me in your own way."
He had thought he loved her with the whole of his heart, but at this proclamation, he realised he loved her even more than he thought possible. He stood up from the dresser, strode two very purposeful steps, tugged open her robe and took her around her waist, pulling her to him. He lowered his head and said, before taking her breath away with a deep kiss, "If you insist."
………
Day turned into night, which passed all too quickly in her arms, and with the rays of morning sun a new sadness and dread struck Mark: the thought of having to part from her and return to clean up the shattered debris of his marriage, return to sever things completely with a woman he never should have married, and start a much happier chapter of his life.
One with Bridget in it.
The party was scheduled to break up after breakfast, so they gathered their things and appeared downstairs for the first time since early Saturday. It was all he could do not to touch her, to sustain some kind of contact as they took their seats side by side around the large table.
Oatmeal was served; Bridget asked for honey or brown sugar and he asked her for it when she was finished. Magda was smugly smiling as she poured an orange juice for them. Cosmo and Woney exchanged glances and grins; Niles and Angela both looked like they were each holding in a chuckle.
"Feeling better?" asked Niles.
Mark and Bridget answered in unison: "Much, thanks." They looked to one another, fighting a smirk.
As they ate, it became ever more apparent that the rest of the party guests had already guessed that the real reason for their sequestration had nothing to do with illness. At the conclusion of the meal, Niles, still grinning, confirmed this by saying confidentially to Mark, "The worst-kept secret of the weekend will no doubt be well-kept by all of us."
Still hoping to play it off as a cold, Mark said, "What do you mean?"
"Mark, old boy, the reason half the guests didn't show up this weekend had more to do with your wife than the weather, so if you're planning on chucking her, we're certainly not going to make it any harder for you."
Mark suddenly felt like a huge chump. How had he never noticed before that so many of his friends and colleagues did not like Tamiko? What had they really thought of him for choosing such a woman as his wife? How had he ever come to choose her for a wife, anyway? How had he not seen what they'd seen? He was suddenly grateful for having come to his senses—and contrite for having tortured those around him for so long.
"Oh, Mark," said Magda, affecting a light and innocent tone. "We've got to bring a whole bunch of blankets back with us to town, and won't have the room for an extra passenger. Would you mind if Bridget rode with you?"
"Not in the least," he said, sustaining the crumbling cover story, but smiling at Bridget.
………
His fingers were entwined for the entire ride with hers, and they spent a good deal of time in a very pleasant silence, until he declared firmly, "I won't spend another night in that house."
"What?"
"I'm going back there to tell her it's over, and then I'm leaving."
She squeezed his hand. "You're going to lose your house, half your things, half your money—"
"The house, I never could stand. She can have it. As for my things and my money, remember what I said about the prenup."
"Still, the legal expenses alone are going to drain you."
He couldn't help but smile. "Bridget, I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? If you need help, any money, need a place to stay…"
He outright chuckled. "Darling, my professional fees start at hundreds of pounds an hour. I will be fine."
He hadn't realised how little she'd considered his money until he said that, and she looked positively shocked… at least he thought that's the reason she went silent, until she smiled and said, "'Darling'?"
"What, I can't call the woman I love 'darling'?"
She smiled even more broadly, then blew him a kiss. "Now keep your eyes on the road."
Sheepishly, he turned his eyes forward. Honestly, he hadn't even realised he'd been looking at her for that long.
………
Of all the reactions he was expecting from Tamiko, laughter and disbelief was not one of them. "Oh, Mark, stop joking with me."
"This is no joke."
She had, of course, forgotten (or chose to ignore) the argument they'd had via the mobile on Saturday night. She now stared at him, her mirthful countenance falling flat at seeing his serious expression. "What on earth are you talking about, 'divorce'? Why now? Why all of a sudden?"
"It's not sudden for me," he said. "I've come to realise I am not happy in this situation, and I need to remove myself from it."
Tamiko narrowed her eyes. "I know what this is about. That little publicist slut is after your money."
"No, she's not."
"She's talked you into this so she can wiggle her way into your life."
"Nothing could be further from the truth." Bridget had quite insinuated herself in his heart without any conscious work on her part. "I'm going to get a few things, and then I'm going to leave. Tomorrow I speak with Jeremy to get this in motion."
"Going to stay with her?" she sneered.
"I'll be staying at The Carlton." He knew that even with such an airtight prenup, staying with Bridget was a mistake until things were finalised. "Don't worry. I know the prenuptial says the house is negotiable, but you can have it. I never cared for it as much as you did. In fact, I won't fight you on any of the negotiable items. I just want this over as quickly and painlessly as possible."
Unsurprisingly, she looked slightly less shell-shocked now. "And you're sure about this whole thing? Splitting up?"
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
She still had her chin lifted high, but he saw her nod slightly. "You don't need to stay somewhere else, Mark. If you really want to do this, you can just take another of the rooms."
"No," he said. "I do need to stay elsewhere." He met her eyes again. "Don't worry, Tamiko. You'll be very comfortable when all is said and done."
She pouted, and true to her nature, she said, "I'll probably have to start working again."
"You were very good at what you did."
She smiled. "I was, wasn't I?" She sighed. "Where did we go wrong, Mark?"
His honest answer, that they should never have gotten married to begin with, sat unspoken on the tip of his tongue, but as much as he wanted to be out of this marriage, he did not want to be cruel to her, so he just looked down. "I should get my things and go."
She nodded. "Okay."
After packing up his toiletries, necessities, and a few suits, he headed for the front door. "Well. I'll be in contact." Without a kiss, without a tender touch, he departed, heading for his vehicle, feeling lighter and lighter with every step. As he put the car into gear and drove away, he was grinning from ear to ear.
He would soon be free.
