When Fangirls Cry (6 page)

            Because when it came down to it, Saffi could earn Staffan’s love back again. Lives that were lost would remain lost.

            Their faces drawn, her brothers immediately came to their feet the moment Saffi quietly closed the door behind her. Pearl’s suite was the most luxurious one in the hospital, with its own receiving area and a spare bedroom.

            It was tastefully decorated in pale blue and ivory, but worry had made them all oblivious to the beauty surrounding them.

            “Did she take the news well?” Silver demanded.

            Saffi nodded. “She’s happy to be part of the wedding tomorrow.”

            Closing the distance between them, Steel drew her close in an embrace. “As soon as we are sure Pearl is well, you can divorce Aehrenthal---”

            Saffi pulled away with a shake of her head.

            Steel’s face became shuttered.

            “I know you’re angry at him, but he’s
not
the one at fault here.” Unconsciously laying a protective hand on her belly – a gesture that was not lost on her brothers – Saffi said haltingly, “He’s the father of my child and I love him. He
loves
me too, Steel. He does, I promise, and you’ll see it once I make Staffan see the truth.”

            Steel’s gaze narrowed on Saffi’s eyes, as if searching for something. As if coming to a decision, Steel said finally, “We’ll see then, Saffi. He wants to meet with you at the clubhouse tonight.”

The freak’s back!

Twitter: Vania_C

            The clubhouse in Saffi’s hometown was bigger than most, and its crowning glory was the massive ballroom – a structure made entirely of thick and completely transparent fiberglass. She used to love the place because it was where her parents celebrated one of their wedding anniversaries, but after the humiliating fiasco she experienced in the hands of Vania Coolidge, the worst of Steel’s long list of ex-girlfriends, all her beautiful memories of the place had vanished.

            As Saffi walked past the ballroom, a structure constructed separately from the rest of the clubhouse, she kept her gaze carefully averted. By the time she reached the main hall, Saffi had nowhere else to look but down. Everyone was looking at her, talking about her – and none of them were bothering to pretend they weren’t.

            The receptionist of the clubhouse’s restaurant was perfectly bland as she murmured a greeting to Saffi.

            Her smile strained, Saffi said haltingly, “Is there a reservation under Mr. Aehrenthal? He’s expecting me.”

            The receptionist – Mandy, according to her name plate – blinked at her words.

She suddenly appeared unsure, prompting Saffi to ask awkwardly, “Is there no reservation?”

            Mandy responded with a polite smile. “No, Ms. March. Mr. Aehrenthal has already arrived. I’ll lead you to your table.”

The moment they went past the double doors guarded by men in suits, Saffi realized the cause of Mandy’s predicament and her steps faltered before completely coming to a halt. Staffan had taken the best table in the restaurant, a beautiful intimate table for two set atop a red-carpeted platform cordoned off by waist-high wooden balustrades with elegantly carved posts.

He looked as he always did and no doubt always would, sexier than any man alive had a right to be and insanely stylish. His clothes were always a step beyond what was considered fashionable and never the kind that an ordinary man could carry off.

The most heartbreaking thing about the scene in front of her – he was
not
alone.

It was clear in the smile playing on Staffan’s lips that he was enjoying himself. Those looks under his lashes, the low murmurs, the not-so-accidental brushes of skin as he bent closer to hear what the woman across him was saying – she knew everything about those little signs because once upon a time, Staffan Aehrenthal had used the very same things to seduce her.

Bastardized bitterling.

The words slipped past her lips before Saffi could stop it. Staffan and the unknown woman with him froze at the sound and Saffi made a quick about-face just as they turned to her, but of course it was too late – it was impossible to escape what was about to happen.

“Saffi March?”

Shock temporarily immobilized Saffi at the incredibly familiar voice. Sheer incredulity made her spin around when she recovered, unable to believe what she had heard.

            Disconcertment flashed briefly in Vania Coolidge’s face before her dark green eyes hardened with malice. Saffi March might have grown more beautiful over the years, but that did not mean anything. This child woman before her would always be a freak, with her crazy smart mind and eccentric ways.

            A catty smile forming on her lips, Vania drawled, “Well, well, well, the prodigal princess has returned.”

            Saffi could not find the energy to smile back. Vania looked amazing, her blond hair long and shiny, falling like golden waves against her bare shoulders and back. Her strapless mini-dress was so, well, mini, it could easily pass as a swimsuit without the crotch. She looked, Saffi realized painfully, like the kind of woman that used to attract Staffan’s attention…
easily.

           
“Nothing to say?” Vania let her eyes widen as her mouth formed a fake round
‘oh’
of surprise. “But wait, you did say something, didn’t you?” Her laughter spilled out over the now silent restaurant, with every patron eagerly watching the tableau unfolding before them.

            “You are so cute, Saffi. It’s like the past all over again. You still talk to fish, don’t you?”

            She could feel Staffan’s gaze narrowing on her and Saffi wondered dizzily if she was going to faint. “I---”

            “Poor you,” Vania cut her off with a pitiful shake of her head. “Your therapist must be really bad. You should give my friend a try. He’s very good at handling, umm, special cases like yours.”

Vania started to say something else, but Staffan was suddenly intruding smoothly, “As fascinating as it is to hear about your common history, I’m afraid we’ll need to postpone it.”

Saffi released her pent-up breath as she realized that would be the end to Vania’s attack. There was just no way to say anything else – no way for Vania to get back to insulting Saffi with the way Staffan had so conclusively ended their time together.

Around them, she could still feel the heat of people’s gazes, knew that she was still the most interesting subject to be the cynosure of their looks. After all, old habits died hard, and not staring at people like Saffi, who used to be the butt of every person’s joke in this town, was one of the hardest habits of all to kill.

Staffan was giving the woman in front of him a properly regretful smile. “Thank you for your company, Vania. Perhaps I can make it up with dinner next time?”

Mollified by the invitation, especially after feeling annoyed at being subtly kicked out of the table, Vania returned Staffan Aehrenthal’s smile with a sexy one of her own. Wetting her lips, bending close so that he would know what she was promising, she said huskily, “The receptionist knows my number. I’ll make sure she knows you will be asking for it.” She made no effort to keep her voice down, wanting everyone in the restaurant to know that of all the women here, Staffan Aehrenthal had chosen to be with her.

“I’ll be the envy of every guy here just by having your number.”

The words were said so smoothly and convincingly, Saffi couldn’t stop herself from staring at the two open-mouthed as they continued to flirt in front of her. Perhaps later she would feel hurt, but right now, she couldn’t make herself feel
anything.
This was
not
the Staffan Aehrenthal she knew. The rock star she had loved for so long was a foul-mouthed badass sex god who wouldn’t have wasted time on preliminaries. He wouldn’t have lasted more than five minutes without saying ‘fuck’. So why was Staffan acting like this strange polished gentleman, pulling out the chair for Vania as she stood and kissing her on the cheek before she walked away?  It was as if he was playing a…

Her heart slammed against her chest.

He was playing a role and it could only be to hurt her. And that could only mean one thing.

Staffan was hurting, too.

Staffan’s cold gaze suddenly shifted to her and she swallowed. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Her voice shook. She had this crazy urge to bawl like a child as she threw her arms around him, but of course she wouldn’t ever get away with that now.

“It obviously wasn’t a problem.” Staffan pulled out a chair for her even as he dismissed her words. An awkward silence grew between them as she gazed at anywhere but him. It hurt to look at Staffan and feel the sting of his hatred, and it hurt even more to know that she could not in all conscience blame him for it.

The silence persisted. Her impetuous nature won out and Saffi blurted, “You know, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to ask what she was talking about. She said painfully, “You know who Vania Coolidge is in my life, don’t you?”

There was the smallest flicker of pain in Saffi’s eyes, but Staffan hardened himself against it. Whatever he fucking did would be nothing in comparison to the damage she had wrought in his life. He had fallen for her like a fucking idiot, had begged her to come back like a fool, and all that time she had probably been laughing at him behind his back.

Nineteen-fucking-years-old and she had easily wound a man in his thirties around her privileged little finger.

The memories stung, and it forced Staffan to clench and unclench the fist he had under the table to release his anger. When he was certain he had himself back in control, he told Saffi, “You know what they say.”

Her head cocked to the side – such a fucking innocent gesture that used to turn him on, but now all it did was turn his stomach, reminding Staffan of the times she had so easily seduced him into believing she loved him.

The barely concealed contempt in Staffan’s hazel eyes made Saffi swallow, but she still insisted on asking, “What do you mean?”

“About the enemies of our enemies being our friends,” he taunted softly.

He expected her to get mad, to look hurt---to want to get even. But Saffi only gave him what looked like a pained nod, as if it took everything in her to do that one small thing.

“I understand.” It killed her to say the words, but she told herself she owed it to Staffan. She looked up to say more, but the words died in her throat as she saw Staffan’s gaze drifting past her and settling on one of the garden exits of the restaurant, where Vania stood chatting with a small circle of friends.

As if sensing Staffan’s regard, Saffi watched Vania turn to them.

Her dark green eyes flashed with malicious triumph before she smiled at Staffan, wetting her ruby-red lips once more. The carnal invitation there was already blatant, but it was obviously not enough for Vania, who mouthed to Staffan,
Join us
.

Every second that played out was like a scene straight from her worst nightmare – one she couldn’t wake up from. It just
continued,
like an unstoppable wave that was only meant to torment Saffi.

Ah, this really…hurt. It so freaking hurt, more than the time she had caught Staffan pleasuring another girl. This time, the hurt was made more unbearable by the knowledge that maybe – maybe she had it in her power to prevent all this. But Saffi had turned her back on that chance because she had been too much of a coward.

Staffan hadn’t mouthed an answer back. She should be glad of that, but that was pretty much impossible too, seeing how Staffan smiled at Vania. His air of assurance, the raw sexuality of his presence, combined with his beautiful seductive smile – all of it was more than answer enough, making the other woman swallow.

            When Staffan returned his gaze to Saffi, not having to feign his reluctance because there was nothing he disliked more now than spending even a moment’s time with the little bitch, he uneasily discovered several changes in her appearance.

            In just a few days’ time, it was as if she had lost a ton of weight. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, making her appear wan. She looked like she had been fucking shoved down one time too many, and the realization didn’t sit well with him.

            It fucking pained him to look at Saffi now. He wanted to shout at her, wanted to demand how the hell could she want the prince over him when he was obviously not treating her right?

“You should eat more,” Staffan said, even though he was unable to keep his tone from being snide. “Royal babies can’t be fucking starved---”

            Saffi interrupted with quiet conviction, “Jeremy is not the father of my baby.”

            His fist crashed against the table, which shuddered under the impact. Glasses fell to the floor, splintering into pieces as silver cutlery clanged after them. “You’re ruining my fucking day just by saying his name so if you know what’s fucking good for you and your precious prince, don’t ever say his fucking name in my presence again.”

            “Staffan.”

            He stiffened at the sound of his name on her lips. It felt too right, and that was what made it so goddamn wrong. Emotions that went too far and too deep imploded inside him, and Staffan snatched the dinner napkin from his lap and threw it on the table. “This fucking isn’t going anywhere.”