12. Well I Never

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As Emily Grayson sat alone reading on her and Daniel's bed in the beach house, she heard a knocking sound coming from downstairs. She shot up from her seated position, and padded quietly down the steps wielding her handgun. She took a look around, noticing a woman with white blonde bobbed hair, making coffee in her kitchen. She should've known.

"Lydia" she smiled falsely, announcing her own presence to the woman. "I just love what you've done with the place since you returned, which as I have gathered, was quite recently; tell me, us Paris nice this time of year?" Lydia asked, her question dripping with sarcasm. She smiled at Emily, before feigning light shock, and stage-whispering "Have you seen how old Victoria looks? I mean God, she looks like the crypt-keeper for Christ's sake!" Lydia laughed. It took all of the self control Emily had to stifle the laugh that would've naturally followed any rude comment aimed at Victoria. "In response to your question: yes, Paris is beautiful all year-round though. On a similar topic; you do know that's the reason I got Daniel to leave, don't you? I couldn't have you breaking up my family before I even had it!" Emily implored, looking genuinely hurt. "I suppose that's why you're back, right? To tell all of my secrets? Ingratiate yourself with Conrad and Victoria? Throw my life into a tailspin? Leave my children without a mother while I'm rotting in prison for the rest of my natural life? Maybe you could just tell Conrad and Victoria so they can make my life a living hell outside of prison perhaps? Or could you possibly be here to expose older Grayson secrets? The ones involving my father's untimely demise? The cover up? To leave my children without a father while he rots in prison as an accessory? Any way I look at this, you're tearing apart my family, because I doubt you're here on vacation." Emily was close to tears as she finished, staring at her feet as she awaited the other woman's response.

Lydia approached her, lifting Emily's chin with her finger to look into her eyes, "I've been biding my time, waiting patiently for just the right moment to emerge from the shadows of my self-induced social coma. I figured now is as good a time as any, don't you agree?" Lydia smiled menacingly as she nodded ever so slightly, and turned to leave.

As she flipped through the glossy pages of this month's issue of a thick fashion magazine, Lydia Davis' attention was seized by three sharp knocks on the door of her hotel suite. With what could only be described as a look of complete exasperation, Lydia hoisted herself out of the seat in which she'd been sitting comfortably, and made her way to the door, on the other side of which, as she gleaned from looking through the peep-hole, was a man, facing away from the door, with sandy blonde hair.

'It couldn't be,' she thought to herself, all the while knowing it probably wouldn't be who she thought.

To her shock, though, it was. The man turned upon hearing the door opening behind him. He was tall and lanky, and donned a blazer in an intrusive shade of cherry red, with a white polo shirt (complete with popped collar) underneath. "Well well," she goaded "to what do I owe the honour of Nolan Ross at my humblest of doorsteps?"He slipped a smirk along the side of his mouth, answering deviously, "The honour of my assistance in the take-down of a one Ms Emily Grayson née Thorne."

© Sarah Egan 2014 - 2015. All rights reserved. This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

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