Page 63 of Save You
Chapter 23
Beth
When I was little, I found a stash of wedding magazines that my cousin had kept from when she was going to get married. I spent hours looking at all the dresses, the flowers, the opulence of the reception rooms, and the lavish cakes. I must have planned my own wedding about a dozen times that day and loved every minute of it.
My cousin never did get married. Instead, she came home from work to find her fiancé in bed with her best friend, which earnt him a swift punch to the nose. My uncle, her father, was called around to try and calm her down. By which point, her now ex-fiancé was shouting out all manner of threats, including calling the police. My uncle ended up taking the flack for my cousin’s assault, while she revealed she was seven weeks pregnant. She had the baby herself and moved on with her life, but without her fiancé, who turned out to have a broken nose.
Now, being only seven at the time, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why my cousin no longer wanted to have her wedding. I thought she was bat-shit crazy for not wanting to get dressed up in her beautiful dress, to have her day, and live happily ever after with her husband.
But I get it now.
It’s a little over a week until my wedding to Oliver, and I don’t want any of it, not the dress, not the flowers, not the cake, and certainly not the fancy reception room. I am sure I won’t know anyone other than my security guard. I’ve chosen the most plain and simple dress I could find. Oliver has chosen the rest.
We’re now sitting in the living room, waiting for Oliver’s cousins to come over for their bridesmaid’s fitting. We haven’t spoken much since he assaulted me with his leather belt. In fact, this is probably the first time we’ve spent more than five minutes alone in each other’s company, and I’m still on edge. The only thing keeping me sane at the moment, is knowing that the bridesmaids are children and are due to turn up at any minute. Hopefully, this will be enough for Oliver to keep his temper in check.
Pru informed me about his cousin and her two children at breakfast this morning. In fact, Pru is beginning to fill me in on a lot of things I didn’t know about, including who the top-ranking members of Mayfield are and who, in particular, to be careful of. However, Oliver and my grandfather still seem to take the number one hotspot for being the most powerful and most ruthless, so lucky me!
Oliver’s cousin, Claire Lawrence, has two daughters called Sophie and Maisie, who are nine and three respectively. Claire is a typical Mayfield upper-crust sort who has a constant smell under her nose, as well as a special bond with Oliver. Pru had warned me to be on my guard around her and to keep quiet when she openly insults me, for it is almost guaranteed that she will.
“How is your back, Beth?” Oliver asks, breaking the silence as well as my troubling thoughts.
“Sore,” I answer without further comment.
I keep my eyes trained on my clasped hands inside of my lap, even when I hear him clear his throat and begins to over to me. He soon bends to crouch in front of me, where he takes hold of both of my hands, and forces me to look at him. To be honest, I am quickly losing any fight I have left inside of me. But then, that was his plan all along. He brings one of my hands up to his mouth to kiss before raising the other one to do the same, then gently clasps my chin between his finger and thumb. His lips press against mine, but he sighs when I don’t reciprocate.
“Beth,” he says softly, “perhaps I was a little hard on you. You know I love you, but I need you to know that this is the way things are. I need a wife who knows her place and who supports and loves me fully. However,” he pauses his spiel of Mayfield gibberish to pull me up to standing with him, “I want you to know that once we’re married, I will not stray from you. It will be only you who warms my bed.”
“Ok,” I reply without emotion. Meanwhile, I inwardly scoff over his attempts to make me feel anything more than derision toward him. “Oliver, what Felicity said, implying we could swap partners, you would never expect that of me, would you?”
Besides the beating he gave me, which has had me wincing with every movement over the last couple of days, her sick suggestion has been worrying me to the point of not being able to sleep. I’m sure I’ve only seen the surface of Mayfield’s weird and depraved rules and rituals, so husbands swapping wives doesn’t seem at all farfetched.
“Never,” he says with venom in his voice, “no one will touch you, only me. You are mine and only mine!” he says this both as a reassurance and a threat, as if his words are meant to relieve and scare me all at the same time.
“Mr Lawrence,” Pru announces from the double doors, her voice still timid after what she saw the other day, “your cousin has arrived with her children. Shall I show them in?”
Oliver smiles at me before nodding over at Pru. I let out a long breath and brace myself for yet more Mayfield visitors. Shortly after, a woman with an exquisitely expensive suit, Prada sunglasses, and a neat and tidy chignon, comes into the room like she’s on a catwalk show in the middle of Milan. Her nine-year-old, a mini-me, follows behind her like she’s a model-in-training. Meanwhile, Pru holds the little three-year-old’s hand and leads her in at the back of the procession. She’s a dinky little thing and the epitome of a cute and angelic cherub with big eyes and curly blonde locks.
Claire walks straight past me and over to Oliver, where she kisses him on both cheeks before instructing her eldest to greet him in much the same way. After which, he surprises me by glancing my way with a cheeky eye roll and a curl of his lips. It has to be the first time I’ve seen him act like a normal human being, and to be honest, it shocks me. Before I can work out how I’m feeling about it, he amazes me again by bending down to shake the youngest daughter’s hand. He then gives her a warm hug with his arms wrapped around her like a teddy bear.
“Claire, meet my fiancé, Beth,” he announces as he walks over to me so that I am only a few inches away from the gorgeous little girl still held in his arms. It reminds me of all that I have lost, the daughter I won’t get to see grow up, a daughter who may well have the same curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. Tears sting at the back of my eyes; it takes all my willpower not to burst into tears in front of them.
“Beth?” Oliver prompts me out of staring at the pretty little girl, no doubt looking a little insane with my mouth hanging open, as well as ignoring everyone else in the room.
“Sorry, I was distracted by your beautiful little girl,” I quickly explain, “she’s a real cutie. Maisie, isn’t it?” I pick up one of her podgy hands, still with dimples over her knuckles, and gently shake it.
“Oh, yes, she’s a bit of a handful, but I let the nanny deal with that side of her,” Claire huffs before finally taking off her sunglasses to reveal the same-colored blue eyes as Oliver. She is very beautiful but looks just as intimidating as her cousin. “So, this is the infamous lost grandchild of Carl Steele. Well done, cousin!” She smiles at me like I’m a priceless heirloom Oliver has managed to acquire for his own private collection. “Sophie, darling, come and meet Beth!”
The tall, willowy girl with tightly plaited hair walks out shyly from behind her mother and offers her hand for me to shake. Although dressed to look like a lady, she now looks at me like the little girl she still is, so I bend down to her level and shake her graceful hand with a huge smile on my face, just for her. My efforts relax her a little and she manages to say hello with a small blush on her cheeks. Claire seems pleased with the exchange and quickly turns back to Oliver so she can ramble on about Mayfield gossip. She does not appear the least bit worried about the fact that he is completely ignoring her; he’s too busy watching me interact with both of the little girls.
“Pay with me, pwease?!” Maisie asks in her cute, little voice. “You want a tup of tea?”
“Oh, I would love one. Can you put some milk in it, please?” I reply, going along with her role play. Maisie shows me her little pearly white teeth before running off to get some ornaments to be a makeshift tea set.
“How old are you, Beth? I’m nine, but will be ten in a few months,” Sophie explains, staring at my hair which have been curled into wavy blonde locks by Pru, on Oliver’s instruction. She looks desperate to touch them, but manners have taught her not to.
“Eighteen,” I reply, “I’m double your age, until you turn ten, that is.”
“Wow, and you’re marrying Oliver?” She gasps, then leans into whisper “Isn’t he a little old for you?” I can’t help but giggle over her honesty.