Cross the Line

Part Thirteen

Naomi felt as though the rug had been pulled from under her as she watched the two people smooching and hugging in a bordering on obscene way. And they looked almost perfect together. Orla was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen, and Conor complimented her perfectly. A pain lanced at her chest, and that only worsened as she noticed the look of pity aimed in her direction from those who spotted her stood momentarily in the doorway. Taking a few deep breaths she staved off the tears of humiliation that threatened to fall, and she hated him with every ounce of her being. She may have only been there as a front, as a fake girlfriend, but that didn’t mean she deserved the piteous looks from his family and friends, or to be the subject of the awkward tension that had descended over the ballroom.

Nodding in an enigmatic way, she walked back out of the door. The air had cooled suddenly, almost as though nature had picked up on the awkwardness of everything and she shivered slightly as she made her way down from the terrace to the path that led around the castle to the reception, it was a longer route, and it was a cold evening, but she couldn’t face going back in the ballroom. Sighing her angry march dropped to a defeated slower walk, she wanted to cry, she should have left earlier, it was late now, she knew she couldn’t get away, not this evening, but she’d leave the castle as soon as she feasibly could.

Like a naughty schoolgirl, she skulked back to her room trying to be as invisible as she could. But a few pitiful eyes did cast a glance at her. In the room she slumped onto the bed. She had two options, to try and leave now, or book a separate room and then get out as soon as she could in the morning. Changing rapidly into jeans and a t-shirt, she packed a small bag with her essentials, that bastard could deal with the rest, then headed for reception.

But it was back to the drawing board as she stood at the desk being told by the receptionist that the castle was full, there were no spare rooms, in a rather unhelpful manner. Suddenly it was all too much and she felt exhaustion and tears take over her.

                “Can I help at all?” Turning she found Patrick, looking charming and smiling beside her.

Naomi shrugged, “I need to get to the airport.”

He sighed, “Now?” She nodded, “I shouldn’t...”

She looked at him pleadingly, “I can’t get a room for myself, and this lovely lady,” she nodded in the direction of the decidedly jobs-worth receptionist, “has informed me I won’t get a taxi before tomorrow morning.”

                “What are you running from?” his gaze was intense and there was a certain innocence in his question.

Naomi shrugged, “Are you seriously the only person didn’t witness me walking in to the ballroom just now? Conor draped all around his ex-wife. What am I running from? Take your pick, being ritualistically humiliated? A disastrous date? Maybe committing murder. I hate him but I don’t want to serve twenty years in prison for that!”

He shook his head, hiding his surprise at the level of her anger, “you both look good together, happy, natural. I’ve never seen Con so relaxed.”

                “You obviously weren’t just in that room? Cos he made a damn god job of looking relaxed with the woman he perpetually insists he hates.” She shook her head in amazement. “Look! Can you drive me to the airport or am I walking?” She was angry now, he wasn’t listening to anything she was saying, he wasn’t thinking of the embarrassment she’d suffered, how Conor was draped around his ex-wife. It was all so ugly, and painful.

He shrugged, “if that’s where you want to go. If you’re sure?”

Naomi nodded with enthusiasm, “I’ve never been more sure. I need to leave now.”