CHAPTER FIVE
NIKKI
†
BY TUESDAY EVENING, MIA and I had caught up on weeks of not seeing each other, and I’d spent so much time lazing around, either in the villa or on the beach, that I was itching to open my laptop and do some work. I wasn’t able to spend anywhere near as much time with Brandon as I might have liked. We’d meet for breakfast, only for Clea to come and find us every time to tell us she needed to steal him away to look at the flower arrangements, or the groomsmen’s suits, or the chairs for the ceremony.
I like Clea, don’t get me wrong. I’ve always liked her. But only when she was at our place in Nebraska where we didn’t have a ranch full of horses or her daddy’s cash around. Somehow, that seemed to affect her personality and not for the better.
Having met Elliot Devaney, I believed I liked him, too, but there’s something about a man who wears a Stetson even when he’s out of Texas, that makes me cringe a little. You might disagree but, hey, each to their own.
I mentioned it to Mom and she rolled her eyes. “You’re so judgmental sometimes, Nicole,” she said to me. “I rather like the JR Ewing look he’s got going on.”
I nearly shrugged my shoulders, but Mom was eyeing me in the mirror, and I know how much she’s always hated that. So, I settled for pursing my lips and going to find Mia on the front porch. She was always a more understanding audience, and I repeated my thoughts about Clea’s dad to her.
“He’s a nice guy,” Mia said, evenly, “but I know what you mean. I hate the way he keeps introducing his wife as Mrs. Devaney, too. Doesn’t she have a name?”
“Roberta,” I said. “I found out because I asked Clea as I thought exactly the same thing. It wasn’t just the wedding invitation with the names put that way. It seems that it’s the way it has always been. He actually refers to her as Mrs. Devaney and not Roberta at all. I hope Brandon doesn’t get the same idea and starts calling Clea Mrs. Thomson once they’re married.”
“Have they decided where they’re going to live, yet?” Mia asked.
I shook my head. “Of course, they’ve been offered the down payment for a beautiful house, but as long as it’s in Texas. The offer’s off the table if Brandon wants to take Clea back to Nebraska with him.”
“Where have they been until now?” Mia asked. “Surely they’ve been living together?”
“Yeah, at the ranch, in one of the spare wings of Elliot and Roberta’s,” I replied. “I mean, I’m an architect and I still think people referring to the wings of their house as pretentious. But, it seems they haven’t had a problem with Brandon and Clea living together. I think they’d rather they kept them as close as they could, especially as I know Brandon wants to start a family after the wedding.”
We looked out over the ocean, neither of us speaking. Mia twisted one of her curls around her finger. “What do you say we go out for a few drinks tonight?” she asked. “We’ve just been to this resort so far, so let’s do something different tonight. Let’s take a cab to Poipu. I’ve been looking online and there’s a pretty decent club that’s open every night for tourists and it’s not that big. It’s sure beats sitting around here waiting for the wedding. Let’s have a few cocktails and let our hair down a little.”
I knew she was right. I wasn’t tired, after all, and I knew that if I stayed in the villa, I’d only end up opening my laptop and answering emails. Once I logged into the company’s website, I knew I would not go out at all. There was only one real way to avoid it.
“All right,” I agreed, smiling at Mia. “Why not. We can go out for a couple of drinks.”
“Great!” Mia exclaimed, and she dragged me into her room and showed me a whole range of clothes she’d brought for the holiday. I was amazed at the display of outfits lining the small wardrobe in her room, but it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. After all, I knew Mia loved fashion and wouldn’t leave the house with only a couple of outfits. Nonetheless, I couldn’t resist poking fun at her.
“God, how did you get all that material into just one suitcase?”
“Oh, hush!” she grumbled. “The correct wardrobe is crucial, my friend. The right outfit and the right pair of shoes can change a woman’s life! If you don’t believe me, just ask Cinderella!”
I smiled, but Mia didn’t. Fashion was no laughing matter, after all.
“Besides, I knew your fashion choices would be sorely lacking, to say the least,” she said. “What, with all those pantsuits you’re always wearing. God, do you even own a dress?” She motioned towards the wardrobe. “Go ahead, pick one.”
I cast my eye over the range, but none of them fell into the usual type of outfit I’d wear. I couldn’t work out why that was, and then I realized she was right. I was looking for a smart pants suit or a stiff cotton shirt. Neither, of course, was going to be found in there.
I looked up at Mia. “I can’t even remember when I last had a proper night out since the last time we went out for dinner, and that was a month and a half ago,” I confessed. “Even when we celebrate a new contract or when we got the grant, we either have a glass of wine at the office or we go to a little wine bar and have drinks there straight after work.”
“Shit, Nikki. No wonder you never get any! If your social life only consists of the few times you and I go out, then you’re in serious trouble, my friend. How did I not know this?”
My single raised eyebrow of displeasure at being rumbled told Mia all she needed to know. She grinned. “Okay, fine, let me help. Look, I love this little peach number. It’s modest, and it’s light, and it’ll go so well with the nude colored pumps I saw in your room earlier. Come on. I’ll do your hair and you’ll look like a million bucks.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I protested.
“Well, you asked… so here goes. I don’t think anyone’s seen it down for three years,” Mia scolded. “You scrape it up so tightly and either put it up in a ponytail or in a bun. It’s like being given a free facelift. I mean, your cheekbones look great and everything, but you’re on holiday. Come on! Let your hair down. Literally!”
Placing a hand on my ponytail, I didn’t have to say anything to admit to Mia that she was right, again. I’d never really thought about it, but every morning, as soon as I stepped out of the shower, I’d gather my long dark hair and tie it back with a band or a clip. Most of the time it was simply because it’s not easy to work on a drawing board or stand over blueprints with hair falling over your face, blocking your view.
But, here I was, on this beautiful Hawaiian island, and there were no blueprints to be looking over, but yet, I was still scraping back my hair and putting it into a ponytail.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, cautiously.
“I’ll straighten it and then just style the edges a little,” Mia said. “Come on, it’ll look amazing, and it’ll do you good to let it loose for the night.”
She managed to convince me, and I pulled my hair out of the ponytail. She sat me in front of the mirror like I was at a salon and pulled the hot iron through my hair. I couldn’t believe how long my hair had grown over the summer; it now fell way past my shoulders. Mia did a great job taking her curling iron next and giving me a little bit of body at the front. She couldn’t stop herself from helping me complete the look by putting on some makeup for me as well, another thing I tended to forget when work took precedent.
She stepped back to appreciate her work. “God, I’m good,” she praised herself. “Now, the dress. Arms up.”
I didn’t even have time to argue with her before the dress was slipped over my head. I kept waiting for it to fall down my body but, for some reason, it stopped at my thighs. I looked down.
“That’s it?” I gasped.
“What do you mean?” Mia was incredulous. “That’s a three hundred dollar dress I’ll have you know.”
“That works out about a hundred dollars per square inch,” I said. “Look at it! It’s damn short. I hope you only paid half price for it!”
Mia sighed and shook her head. “Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-four,” she said. “You act like you’re fifty-four. The dress is beautiful and it proves you actually have legs! Your figure is incredible. Do you know what I’d give to have your boobs? Mine aren’t even a mouthful. They’re like little mosquito bites. I’m one-quarter Jamaican. I’m supposed to have curves, goddammit, and you’ve got them all!”
As I looked at myself in the mirror, transformed by the soft hairstyle, the makeup, and the admittedly beautiful peach dress, I couldn’t help but feel pretty damn good about myself. The halter neck of the dress left my arms bare and, thanks to the tropical sun we’d soaked up after a few days on the beach, I had a decent color to me. I was conscious of how bare my legs were, but Mia would never have let me go out looking like an ass, so I had to trust her.
She looked incredible herself in a long maxi dress with a plunging back. Her curly hair always looked incredible and had made me envious ever since we were back in high school. But, then again, she had just told me how much she envied my ample breasts. Seems like we all crave what we don’t have, and we always have something someone else wants.
The helpful staff at reception called us a cab and it arrived in just a few minutes. By ten, we each had a cocktail in hand and were on the dance floor.
It sure felt good, as Mia had said, to literally let my hair down and just have a good time with my best friend. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just danced. It had been so long since I’d listened to the radio that I didn’t even recognize a lot of the music, but as long as the beat was good, I was happy to let myself move in time with it.
Even though she might not have inherited her Jamaican grandmother’s body, Mia could still dance like a pro, and together we caught the attention of a couple of guys who sauntered over and wanted to dance with us. We weren’t about to say no, and I had to admit, it felt good to have a little of that kind of attention.
Even though I knew Mia had a boyfriend back home, she didn’t mind a little harmless flirting, and she pressed herself against a really hot guy with swarthy skin and blond streaks in his hair.
From the looks and smiles I got, I could tell that the skinny blonde I was dancing with liked what he saw. I knew it wasn’t my personality that he was into as he could hardly tear his eyes away from staring down the front of my dress. After the second song, I started to feel really uncomfortable and started to pull away, but he snaked his one arm around my waist and drew me far too tightly against his body. He leaned in to kiss me and I moved my head quickly so that his lips only glanced my hair.
I tried to smile coyly at him and pretend all was okay, but I could tell he wasn’t happy with the rejection. He tried to kiss me again, this time holding me even tighter. I began to panic and struggled against him. I called out for Mia, but she couldn’t hear me over the thud of the music. I felt his one hand moving over my backside and the other even going up my dress a little at my thigh. I pushed against him as hard as I could, but he was far too strong.
Suddenly, his grip loosened, and he stepped back. He turned around and I was relieved beyond words to see the outline of what I thought was the club’s bouncer against the glare of the flashing lights streaming across the dancefloor.
They clearly exchange words, but my over-enthusiastic dance partner quickly backed off as soon as he was grabbed by the throat and shoved backward, nearly sending him flying into the crowd of dancers. He recovered quickly and threw me a look of disgust before he walked away.
I could breathe again. I turned to look up at my tall rescuer and smiled, ready to thank him, but I froze. It was only when I saw his face clearly, that my brain registered who it was.
My rescuer was none other than Jake Matthews, Brandon’s best friend, the guy I’d had a crush on since I was twelve and someone I hadn’t seen for nearly seven years.