Page 65 of Save Me
I slowly turn back to face him, still riled up from his refusal to help, but when I look at him, he says nothing. Instead, he simply gives me a small white card with some numbers scribbled on it.
“What’s this?” I ask without even taking it. He rolls his eyes, then proceeds to plant it inside of my hand and wrap my fingers firmly around it.
“It’s a small property which I own up North, hidden away,” he explains, before gulping back more of the amber liquid that keeps him from sinking into dark thoughts. “It’s under an alias, so can’t be traced back to me. I spent a lot of time there when…well, you know.” I nod silently, confirming what he’s just said to save him from having to say her name out loud. “It’s not ideal, Xander, being on the run with them looking for you. And they will come looking for you.”
Suddenly feeling bad for behaving like a brat just now, I sit back on the couch with a long sigh. I stare at the numbers written on the plain white card, hoping that if nothing else, they’ll save Beth from ending up with Lawrence.
“Thanks,” I finally whisper, which only makes me feel like more of an idiot for blowing up at him. “Thanks for everything.”
Stephen simply nods, shucks off his guilt, and finishes his glass, only to pour another one immediately afterwards.
Chapter 22
Beth
This has to be one of the most surreal situations I’ve ever been in. To my left, perched on the armchair with a look of obvious animosity, sits my mother. Her steely eyes are firmly fixed on the guy sitting to my right, desperately hoping that if she looks hard enough, she might succeed in setting him on fire. In contrast to my mother, Oliver relaxes against the flowery pattern of his chair, staring back at me with an occasional smirk. He looks like he knows that his mere presence is causing my mother to battle with the little devil sitting on her shoulder; the one who is telling her to dig a bread knife into his neck. It’s pretty obvious that the man is enjoying himself with his propensity to wind her up with just a curl of his lips.
Meanwhile, two slightly older women who are immaculately dressed and coiffed to the same standard as an air stewardess, are preparing outfits for me to try on for this ridiculous engagement party.
“Hmmm, you’re fair, so maybe a red or a navy number,” Patricia, the pristine-looking woman studies me with focused eyes before baring her immaculate teeth. “We don’t want to wash you out, do we?”
She turns away from me to look back at Oliver, showcasing a beautiful navy gown that is long and silky, and with a fitted bodice that eventually flows out into a floaty bottom. In other words, much too extravagant for me. Of course, I make no such observation, I simply sit quietly while he frowns, studying the gown with a selective eye before nodding once in approval.
I get up without being told to, wanting nothing more than to get this painfully awkward experience over and done with. The urge to sigh heavily and stomp out like a teenage daughter giving her parents attitude, hits me hard, but even I know that would be tantamount to breaking one of his conditions.
I lead the way into Dad’s study where there are no windows and therefore, offers plenty of privacy. Patricia, with her dazzling, unfaltering smile, helps me into the fancy gown while thankfully, Sarah waits in the other room with my mother and Oliver. Hopefully, Sarah, the less enthusiastic of the two, will prevent them from ripping each other to shreds.
Just as I ponder on my mother clawing at Oliver’s smug eyes, Patricia suddenly squeezes every breath from my body as she pulls the gown in tight and secures it with a clip. I immediately look down to see that my bust is now struggling to stay put inside of the low-cut, sweetheart neckline.
When I walk out into the living room, still trying to grasp for any molecule of oxygen I can get, my mum looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. It stumps me for a minute or two. The situation feels like one of those Hallmark moments where I’m trying on dresses for my prom, a coming of age, magical event. She can see it too and has to run away into the kitchen, which only makes me feel even more confused over my cocktail of emotions.
While these feelings are wreaking havoc with my senses, Oliver studies me more practically, as if analyzing my every curve from head to toe. Eventually, he gets to his feet, buttons up his custom-made suit jacket, and circles me, presumably to make sure I look perfect from every possible angle. His eyes home in on my more than ample cleavage, which prompts him to curl his lips up at the corner. His eyes dart momentarily back to my mum who is now staring at him with disdain. Unfortunately, it only encourages him to possessively take hold of my cinched-in waist.
“Stunning!” he declares and kisses me on the cheek, lingering there a little longer than is considered normal. “As always, Patricia, you’ve found just the right outfit. We’ll take it!”
Patricia beams with her kilowatt smile at the same time as I begin to walk back to the office to change, no longer interested in watching her prance and preen herself in front of him. Unfortunately, both he and Patricia follow me in, which only serves to anger my mother to a deeper shade of beetroot.
“Mr Lawrence, I must insist you stay here with me. Beth is changing!” Mum says in her most prim and proper voice, one that I would tease her for if we were in any other sort of situation.
“Relax, Jen,” Oliver replies as he turns to face her with his hands resting firmly inside of his pockets. He looks as though he is taunting her with the fact that he has zero respect for her as a person, nor as my mother. “I’ve already seen your daughter without her clothes on!”
The last thing I see is my mother’s wide-open mouth, gasping for breath over what he’s just revealed to her. When Oliver stands before me with a wickedly smug smirk on his face, I can’t help but stare at him with a horrified expression. Under normal circumstances, I would have dealt him a good slap around the face. However, he merely arches one of his eyebrows in warning over my insolence before ushering me inside. Patricia chooses to ignore the atmosphere, and instead, gets on with taking my measurements. She whips the dress off from me, exposing my body with only a few meager strips of lace posing as underwear to hide my nudity from Oliver.
After dismissing Patricia, Oliver closes the door with a firm click of the handle. He then turns abruptly and leans back against the wooden frame, all the while, I’m left to huddle nervously in my underwear. He runs his tongue over his top teeth with a soft hiss, his eyes ruthlessly scanning my near-naked body with what looks like appreciation. My arms automatically fly around my body, fruitlessly trying to cover myself up, just as he closes the gap between us and places his hands softly on top of my hips.
“Don’t be scared, Beth,” he whispers into the crook of my neck, where he plants a gentle kiss upon my skin. “I just want to kiss you, nothing else, I swear.” I eye him cautiously, knowing he can pretty much do whatever he likes, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. “I promise it will be strictly PG. The sort of thing most men and women do when they are dating.”
“We’re not exactly dating, Oliver,” I reply, trying to sound brave but only managing something akin to a squeaking mouse. “You’re forcing me to marry you.”
“You’re right.” He smiles, though it’s a smile that doesn’t exactly have me resting more easily. “Let’s remedy that, shall we? Let’s make a date for me to take you out somewhere.” He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek, setting the tiny hairs covering my skin to stand on end and a shiver to run down my back. “How about we go and see a movie? Girls like movies, don’t they?”
Still not believing there isn’t anything more insidious behind his suggestion and this new ‘softly, softly’ approach, I nod half-heartedly. I have to admit, that as far as dates go with a psychotic fiancé, who is somewhat obsessed with who you are, it seems safe enough. A movie theater is a place surrounded by people and with no talking. Safe?
“Ok,” I agree.
“Good,” he says with a smile but also with a firmness to his voice. “Now, that kiss?”
Oliver hasn’t really kissed me nicely in the past, it’s always been used as a tool for showing me who is in charge and who I belong to. However, this evening he sounds a little more seductive, and the way he cups my cheek is more reminiscent of a teenage coming-of-age rom-com, instead of his usual erotic thriller action.