Hopelessly Devoted

Wayward Ink Publishing

Unit 1, No. 8 Union Street

Tighes Hill NSW 2297

Australia

http://www.waywardinkpublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Hopelessly Devoted Copyright ©2015 R.J. Jones

Cover Art by: Kellie Dennis Book Cover by Design

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other enquiries, contact Wayward Ink Publishing at: Unit 1, No. 8 Union Street, Tighes Hill, NSW, 2297, Australia.

http://www.waywardinkpublishing.com

EBook ISBN: 978-1-925222-66-1

October 2015

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Also from WAYWARD INK PUBLISHING

“DAMMIT, JASON. Stop fussing with it,” said Sophia, batting my hands away and straightening my bow tie—again. She may be Paul’s sister and here to help me get dressed and calm my nerves before I walked down the aisle, but I couldn’t freaking breathe.

“We should’ve eloped,” I muttered as I fought the rising panic in my lungs.

I loved Paul and knew he loved me, so I wasn’t getting cold feet. No one would go to a musical just to fall asleep to be with someone they didn’t love. Our commitment to each other wasn’t in question, but my nerves were sparking throughout my body at the thought of standing in front of all those important people as we said our vows.

I looked through the sheer curtain that covered the small square window separating the room I was getting dressed in and the large chapel. The room was lavishly decorated with elaborate flower arrangements and silk-covered chairs. It was filled with the crowd that were there to witness the nuptials. I couldn’t distinguish between the guests as the curtain was just thick enough to blur the details, but I could hear the muted voices and soft music coming through the old sandstone walls. Paul was in the room across the hall from mine, getting the same help from his mom as I was getting from Sophia. Except I was pretty sure he could breathe.

Everyone from the City Mayor, New York socialites, senators—the liberal ones—to powerful and influential businessmen were there today, and through the curtain I could make out the backs of their heads as they waited for Paul and me to walk down the aisle together. I swallowed at the thought.

Paul didn’t care where we got married. He wanted me to be happy and would have eloped to Hawaii if I really pushed him, but I knew how much it meant to his family and what was expected of someone of his business caliber and social status. I knew what I was getting myself into when I said
yes
over a year ago. Still, my nerves didn’t care what was expected.

We were getting hitched in an old manor in South Hampton, complete with sweeping staircases and its own expensively decorated chapel surrounded by manicured gardens. It screamed wealth and self-importance, and a little part of me hoped my parents would see the tabloid pictures. The reception was to be held at the Plaza, naturally, but when I questioned Paul about the distance the guests would have to drive, he waved me off and said it was what was expected.

I sighed at the thought and secretly longed for a secluded Hawaiian island.

“And take this moment away from Mom?” Sophia batted my hands away again as she loosened the tie a little, allowing me to breathe easier. Her voice softened as she said, “Not to mention this will show the New York City gay set that its most eligible bachelor has now been permanently taken off the market,
and
by a humble accountant from the boroughs.” Sophia smiled fondly at me as her eyes welled and glistened. “I’m so glad he found you.”

“I’m glad he scared the shit out of me on the stairs,” I said, thinking back to when I’d first met him. I had started taking the stairs at work to avoid meeting him in the elevator, but the too-sexy-for-anyone’s-shirt-smug bastard cornered me when he realized I was avoiding him.

Sophia giggled. “He was pretty determined, wasn’t he?”

You could say that.

Our relationship wasn’t always perfect, and it had taken some convincing on his part for me to move in with him. I was renting a small apartment and making do on my accountant’s wage. He lived in a swanky penthouse uptown and because he lived closer to our common workplace, I agreed to move in. But not before I set some ground rules about paying my share. It had taken nearly a full week of negotiations before I gave in and let him
almost
have his way. Because he owned the apartment outright, I insisted on paying for the utilities. I couldn’t afford to pay him half what the rent would be, and I sensed he let me pay for the sundries only because he wanted me to move in sooner rather than later.

We ended up agreeing to disagree and to be honest, it wasn’t worth the arguments.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn about this?” Paul raised his voice at me. “Do you think Dad makes Mom pay the electric? Do you think they have separate bank accounts or that the house is only in Dad’s name?”

“Of course not, that would be stupid. They’re married.” I realized my mistake too late.

“Exactly!”

“But we’re not married yet!” I was clutching at straws.

“But we’re going to be. You said yes. You’re wearing my ring. I already think of you as my husband and a ceremony and a piece of paper isn’t going to change anything.”

“Oh, now you’re just being a hypocrite. You said you wanted a boyfriend to love you for who you are, not for your bank balance or social connections. When we first started dating we split things fifty-fifty. Why can’t we do that now?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Paul huffed, clearly not giving up yet.

I tried to get him to see it my way. My voice quieter, I said, “I’ve been on my own since my parents disowned me. I’ve had only myself to rely on. No one has ever been there to support me and make sure I was all right. I don’t want to be dependent on you, and as unlikely as it is, I want to be your equal. I want to be worthy of you, and I can’t do that if I feel like I’m mooching.” We didn’t talk about my parents much; there wasn’t a lot to talk about, after all, but whenever the subject came up, Paul became more upset about their absence than I did. My anger fled, and although Paul’s face had softened he was still hanging on to the fight.

“You are my equal. Maybe not in salary, but there are other ways to be in balance with each other. You bring so much to our relationship, to our home. And I’m not talking about Dave.” He tried to lighten the conversation, but I could sense the truth in his words. “Will you change your mind after we’re married?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Please let me pay my way, I don’t know how to be comfortable doing anything else.”

Paul gathered me in his arms, holding me tight against his chest and burying his face in my unruly hair. “Fine, I give. But once we’re married what’s mine is yours.”

At that point we hadn’t discussed the pre-nup.

NOT LONG after I moved in, we had a problem with Dave. It seemed my cat had taken quite a liking to Paul’s shoes and peed in them whenever we left the closet door open, whether he’d been fed or not. Paul had been at his wits end trying to scrub the smell of cat urine out of his expensive loafers and it had caused more than a few fights between us.

It all came to a head when Paul was working from home one Thursday afternoon. I had stopped by our local Chinese after work to pick up dinner, and as I entered the apartment, I was assaulted by the smell of disinfectant and Paul’s yells.

“Get back here you little pissing machine!”

Dave darted past me, around the kitchen, and up the stairs, heading to his cat-flap that led to the small terrace garden on the roof. Paul was hot on his heels, naked apart from his boxer briefs, his hair wet from a recent shower, clutching the water spray bottle we used to squirt Dave when he’d done something wrong.

“Your fucking cat!” Paul yelled at me as he ran past, taking the steps two at a time after Dave.

Yes, it was my
fucking cat
when Dave peed in Paul’s shoes, but when Dave wanted a cuddle he was all Paul’s. I rolled my eyes at Paul’s retreating back.

I placed the takeout boxes on the counter and gathered plates and cutlery from the drawer as I waited for Paul to return. I knew Dave would be fine. There’s a hidey-hole in amongst the garden planters where he hides from the spray bottle, big enough for him to fit but too small for a human to get to him. My cat wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t come out until Paul had left or Dave thought sufficient time had passed for Paul to calm down.

Paul came down the stairs with a scowl on his face and a full squirt bottle in his hand as I finished dishing up dinner.

“I’m tearing out the planters this weekend. The fucker won’t be able to hide so easily then.”

I almost laughed, but the look on Paul’s face said I better not. I remembered what it was like to have your shoes smell like piss.

“How many this time?” I asked instead.

“Three.”

“Shoes or pairs?”

“Pairs.”

“Damn.” That was a lot of pee for a small cat. “What were they doing on the floor anyway? You’re supposed to put them on the shelves. That’s why you had that fancy-ass closet built to begin with.”

So not the right thing to say.

Paul fumed as he paced the kitchen, knocking one of the stools over next to the island bench. It clattered to the floor. “I shouldn’t fucking have to! Your stupid cat should learn not to pee in my goddamn shoes. Why he leaves yours alone, I have no idea.” He paused and ran his fingers through his drying hair. “He has to go. I can’t have him pissing everywhere, and I refuse to buy more shoes. Not to mention the carpet-cleaning bill. We’ll take him to an animal shelter as soon as the little bastard comes out.”

Here’s the thing with me and Dave. I found him on the street when he was a kitten—no home, no family. A lot like myself back then. Unwanted. I was a waiter at the time, and Dave had been abandoned in a dumpster behind the restaurant where I worked. I was just about to throw in a bag of trash at the end of my lunch shift, when I heard his faint, strangled meow. It was a cry for help I recognized. I uncovered him from the rubbish that had been dumped on him, and he looked at me with big green eyes and a mouth that opened and shut with no sound. I swear he said
please help me.
I remember feeling just like he looked when I was ousted from my family home with nowhere to go and no one to ask for help. I had been as abandoned as he was.

The small kitten mewled and tried to climb away from the stench, but a frayed cord from a discarded child’s backpack was wrapped around his back leg, and his claws couldn’t get any purchase against the metal sides of the dumpster. His mousy brown fur was matted with filth and grease. I dropped my trash into another dumpster and pulled the little guy out. He was all skin and bones, and I could feel his heart beating against my palm as I cradled him against my chest. I untied the cord from his back leg and saw the nametag of the child who had once owned the bag.

Dave.

After running my hands over his tiny head and body to make sure he was uninjured, I placed Dave back in the dumpster and closed the lid, promising to be back in five minutes. It was the end of my shift at the restaurant, and as I left the kitchen I snatched some extra chicken before I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my co-workers.

I took Dave home with me that afternoon. I bathed him, which really wasn’t much fun for either of us. Even as a tiny, starving kitten, Dave’s sharp teeth and claws could sink into soft flesh quite easily, but afterward I think he was happy to be clean as he lifted his hind leg in the air and lapped at his teeny balls. I was a little bloody and scratched up, but it was worth it to see him clean and licking himself, a soft purr starting in his puny chest. I fed him bits of the meat I’d pilfered from work and let him sleep on my bed.