Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Still steaming from my shower, my hair turbaned into a towel, I examine the two dresses I brought with me. I’m not sure how formal the Threesome are with dinner, so I packed choices.

I hold them up to Ryan. “Which dress do you think I should wear? Christmas red with sparkly bits, or classic ‘little black dress’?”

“Not the red,” says Ryan. “That satin will show every mark.”

“Why should it get marked? We're only having dinner.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging off his boots and smiling away from me. “I’m going for my shower.”

?

Mmmm…

Standing in front of the mirror, I switch on the hair-drier, brushing through my long locks, easing them to lie as I want, slightly covering my left cheek.

Ryan comes up close behind me. Taking me by the shoulders, he presses lips to the cheek, then in the mirror, his eyes meet mine. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about it. It barely shows. And in any case, you are still a beautiful woman; the most beautiful I know.”

“I… I still prefer to cover it if I can,” I stutter. I angle my face to the mirror, tracing a fingertip down the jagged red scar down the side of my face.

After my time in hospital, my months invalided, all my other injuries healed, but this…

An extra layer of foundation…

And some blusher…

Then no-one will see it…

*****

“Dinner is served!” James’ voice reverberates from the kitchen.

We head for the dining room. Out in the hall, Charlotte and Mitch descend the stairs, Mitch carrying Cara.

Mitch looks amazing. In a dress of jade, her hair is set in an elaborately up-style and at her neck she wears the silver and emerald necklace. The matching combs glint green against her copper-red hair.

Charlotte looks equally good. Although she still has much of her ‘pregnant shape’, the gown she wears emphasises her height and her much-expanded bosom but drapes smoothly over her expanded stomach.

Michael and Larry enter together, wearing their sweaters in a kind of protective fraternity, Rudolph side by side with the penguin, each refusing to meet each other’s eyes. Charlotte and Mitch exchange giggles as their men sit beside them.

Richard and Beth join us, she leaning on his arm, waddling a bit as he guides her to sit next to Charlotte. But Beth too, for all her advanced pregnancy, looks spectacular, in a dress chosen to make the best of her inflated stomach and bosom.

Michael aims a finger at Richard. “If you think you’re getting away with the suit and shirt, you’re mistaken. If the rest of us have to dress like idiots, so do you.”

Mitch turns to him, her voice all innocence. “Idiots, Michael?”

He turns to her, bowing elaborately. “My apologies, Mitch. If the rest of us have to meet your high sartorial standards, so does Richard.” He turns back to Beth’s elegantly dressed husband. “Go and change.”

James enters carrying a platter of smoked salmon, bedded on a green salad and dressed with sliced lemons.

Richard demurs, smirking…. “The meal’s arrived. If I take the time to change, the food will be cold.”

Michael takes on a quite untypical heartless tone. “Smoked salmon doesn’t go cold. Neither does melon. We’ll wait.”

James, Rudolph staring out from his chest, sets down the platter. “I’ll be back in in a sec with the soup. It’s just under the grill now.”

Hope lights up Richard’s face but Michael interrupts, “Just hold the soup for five minutes will you, James. Richard wants to change into something more appropriate. We don’t want his starter to go cold.”

James measures the billionaire’s perfectly cut, hand-stitched suit with his eye and his face stone-walls. “Yes, quite right. We’ll wait for you, Richard.”

Next to me Ryan, in his silk shirt and tie, lets out a slow release of air.

“Just realising what a narrow escape you had?” I murmur.

He scratches his nose and sniffs. “Mmmph…”

from the dining room. Five minutes later, at the sound of down-coming steps, he returns with a

centre-table then takes his place, then glances up. “It suits you very well,

his face almost as

up a bottle. “Red or white,

“Red for me, please.”

table, pouring

food. “Larry, French onion

father shifts his gaze

He’s always watching her…

for me,” he says, accepting the platter, radiating good humour as he serves

his plate, her mouth twisting. “I don’t know how

eyes crinkling, drawls, “Mitch is sensitive to anything

his melon.

In fact…” His eye crosses the table to Richard’s sweater,

then props her chin on a fist.

“Well, you see, in Sweden, they have much the same idea as here about Santa Claus. Over there, they call him Jultomten. Or just Tomten… Anyway,

staring at her father as though she has never seen him

ever visited

…

Or him?

the children. So…” He stabs at another slice of salmon… “This is excellent,

Tomten, with a sackful of gifts, knocks on the door and asks, ‘Are there any good children here? Of course, all the kids say, ‘Yes’. So, then he’ll sit them on his

so the parents will give him a

good so far…” says

does…” He grins and

setting out to get drunk? Or

Or… actually, genuinely, relaxing?

actually visits the home and the children see him, traditionally a family member will dress up to play the part. But… there are also what you might call professional Father Christmases. The parents book them beforehand, tell them a bit about the kids and what they’ve done that year, give them

back, chuckling as he cradles his glass in paired hands. “I’m beginning to see where this

nods a grin at him. “So, if Tomten has, say, twenty bookings on Christmas Eve, by the end of the afternoon, he’s

laughing, throwing out a finger at him…” … and drunk twenty shots of

town centre in Sweden to find two dozen Father Christmases, complete with red outfit, beards and

all burst out laughing. Mitch gets a fit of

been

“Sweden no. But Larry took me to Finland a lot of years

“Really? That sounds marvellous.”

looks long at Larry. “It was marvellous, yes.” She speaks slowly. “One of the best weeks I’ve ever

up her glass. “But you didn’t take

rolls eyes. “Oh, some of it I liked. I remember there was a tiny little cafe. It only had a couple of chairs and those were outside on the street. There must have been two feet of snow,

eyes slide sidelong to the tall, fair-haired man next to her, and her fingers curl

very still, watching her

still speaking. “…So, yes, the salmon soup was great. But the rest of it…”

her, Larry is suppressing a smile. “In fact…” he says… “… If I am not much mistaken...” He hesitates, glances at Charlotte, and then very obviously,

Blinking, she sips at her

Not at the time obviously…” His voice turns dry… “… I

and Michael

missing

you

have said anything. It’s not for me to speak unless your mother is comfortable with

something. “Whatever it is, it sounds important.” Her words shift to a hiss. “You can’t just leave it like that.”

Wishing he’d not spoken?

her shoulder. “Calm down, Babe. Sometimes people have private stuff between them. You know that. And Cara’s picking up

still blushing. “I don’t mind. It’s just a bit… er… Larry…

“Since it’s a day for embarrassing confessions…” Then he turns, aiming his words at Charlotte. “Twenty-six years

grow round. “Why did

to heaven. “It was Christmas.

It’s something I enjoy. Your mother always wanted to travel too but hadn’t had the opportunity. So, I took her to Helsinki for Christmas. Everything was new to her and at first, meals-wise, she stayed with what was familiar; porridge and fruit for breakfast. That kind