Swerve (8 page)

“What?”

“Perfect.”

Simon chuckled at that. He knew he was anything but. “You think I’m perfect?” He wanted to be real and her man without any pretence.

“Maybe that’s the wrong word but you’re every mothers dream for their daughter. You’re rich, attractive, sweet—”

“You think I’m sweet?” It seemed silly but such a simple phrase pleased Simon.

“I think you’re adorable.” Her eyes widened and she blushed.
Perfect.
He kissed he nose. “And I’ll do my best to be less than perfect.”

That was how Swerve tuned up at the wedding. Sure, he wore a jacket that was befitting a man of wealth but the frayed edged, faded jeans, beaded friendship bracelets around his wrists, the beat up sneakers and the surfer sun glasses perched on the top of his head? They were pure Swerve. As was his language. He confused and amused many with his ‘gnarly dude’ comments and his colorful, uninhibited conversation that had people wondering what planet he came from. Few would have noticed the keen attention in his eyes as he listened to those around him. Mary was fascinated watching him. Her mother, once over her initial surprise appeared pleased that Mary had turned up with a man, despite how he dressed and acted, and not another woman like her sister Clare.

“What a drag,” Clare murmured as she puffed on a cigarette perched on the end of a long silver cigarette holder.

Mary smiled. She loved Clare. She was an original who cared little for what others said. Her sister was, as she threatened to be, dressed in a 1920s style black tuxedo and her short, cinnamon brown hair was cut in a severe bob designed to match the theme. “Nice threads.”

“I bought it in a good will store. I knew it would give mother heart palpitations.”

“That, and the friend you arrived with.” The tall, Amazonian blonde had taken everyone by surprise. In her tight fitting mini dress her legs seemed to go on forever.

“Tymber? She’s a sweetheart.”

“She seems nice.” Not that Mary had gotten more than two words out of her sister’s girlfriend. Tymber was the type who nodded and smiled and simply looked good.

“I’m in love,” Clare announced as she surveyed the other guests. They were in the garden that led off from the so called ‘Forever Room’ that her sister, Fran had been married in. The garden was big, spacious and dotted with intricately cut hedges in the shape of hearts. It was tacky, but not surprising when it came to what her mother envisaged as appropriate to weddings. Not that their mother had ever been married. Her excuse was she had ‘never found the right man.’ Mary knew the Dalton matriarch had certainly found a lot of wrong ones.

“Of course you’re in love.” Mary had heard that a lot from Clare and she hoped one day it would come true. “She’s awfully tall.” The women in the Dalton family rarely grew taller than five-foot-two.

“It doesn’t matter when you’re with the love of your life.” Clare pointed one long finger in Simon’s direction. “So, what’s the story on the surfer dude? Did you bring him to drive mother crazy?”

“He’s a friend.”

“With benefits?”

“It’s complicated.” In her heart Mary had already fallen in love with Simon, in whatever version he presented himself in. In her head? She knew there was more to the man than he was telling her and that made her wonder what he was hiding.

“Yeah, it usually is.” Clare blew out some smoke. “He’s got a nice ass. I’d consider taking a turn with him on the ass alone.”

“Really?”

“I like quirky and great butts,” Clare responded. “You know mother likes him.”

“Mother likes anyone with a cock.” Despite his best efforts as Swerve, her mother was not deterred from making him her next son-in-law.

“Are you going marry him?

“No.” She thought for a moment. A negative response didn’t fit her feelings. “I don’t know.” That was more like it. Mary looked at her sister Fran. As befitted a bride, she and her groom were surrounded by well wishers. “She looks like a meringue.” The dress was so white it was blinding. And the layers of tulle?

Impossible and so many that Mary wondered how she moved under all that.

“Funny how sluts always wear white.” Clare blew out smoke through her bright scarlet painted lips.

None of the Dalton girls were saints but Fran had been through a whole football team at one stage so white was an interesting choice of color. “Will looks terrified.”

He looked like he was going to faint or run away screaming.

“I would be if I married into our family. He now has to produce an immediate grandchild or mother will wonder about him. That’s enough to dry up any man’s semen.”

Both sisters laughed. Mary loved that Clare said and acted how she felt.

“Remember when we were kids and Fran always wanted to be a bride?” Claire reminisced.

“And you wanted to be Batman.” Mary could still remember the curtains Claire had pulled down from the railings and draped around her, curtains rings attached, as she went off to fight evil which usually meant jumping off the garage room and scaring her mother to death. “God, you were a bugger of a kid.”

“And you wanted to run away to a deserted island and read your books.”

“Yeah, I was boring.”

“Nah, you just wanted peace and in our house with our mother that wasn’t an option. Do you think that’s why dad left?”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Which dad?” As far as she could work out there were several possible dads on their mother’s quest to hold onto a man. Genetically Mary had no idea where she stood.

“I like the way Swerve looks at you,” Clare changed the subject as the man in question waved at the sisters. “He loves you.”

Mary waved back.
Lordy he is beautiful
. “It’s sex.”

“Mary!” Clare sat bolt upright in feigned shock. “You had sex?” They both laughed.

“For god’s sake, don’t tell Mother.” the last thing Mary wanted was Simon being driven away by the machinations of June Dalton. But, in thinking that, Mary had a feeling her mother had met one of the few people who wouldn’t be corralled into her way of thinking. “Poor Will.” He had never had a chance.

“Sucker,” commented Claire before adding. “Who’s that?”

“Uh, oh.” It was Sholto. The why he was here was obvious. He didn’t like Simon, for whatever reason. The how he had tracked them down, was interesting. It wasn’t like Fran’s wedding, despite what Fran might believe, was the social event of the year and was reported as the place to be. “That’s Sholto.” Who was he to Simon? Last time they met, she’d got sidetracked from asking Simon.

“Seriously? Who names a kid that? And what’s in his hand?” Clare craned her neck. “Is that fire?”

It was indeed fire. It looked like it was growing out of his hand almost like an extension of the man. But that was crazy. No one could produce fire like that.

Regardless of the how and the what. Sholto was walking directly towards them.

“Shit.” Mary stood up.

“Fuck.” Clare followed her.

“Simon—” Mary called out before correcting herself. “– I mean Swerve.”

Simon looked from Mary to Sholto. “Run.”

Mary kicked off her heels and grabbed her sister’s hand. “You heard the man.”

“I hate running,” muttered Clare as Mary pulled her along.

“Well, I’m not keen on dying.” Before they could get more than a couple of steps they ran into a woman. Her dark hair, eyes and the black lace, almost old world dress that covered her from top to toe stopped the sisters in their tracks.

“Come with me,” Socia Black ordered in a tone that was not meant to be anything but a demand.

“Who are you?” Mary was agog. She was pretty sure her socially careful sister Fran didn’t have alternative friends like this.

“Yes,” Clare purred with interest. “Who are you?”

Mary rolled her eyes. Now was not the time to pick up would be lovers.

“Someone who can save your asses. Simon can look after himself.”

“You know Simon?” What the hell was going on here? “How?” Jealousy pricked at her mind.

“I’m not going to do twenty questions.” Socia gave each woman a hard push to make them move.

Despite the jealousy and the possibility that a mad man planned to disrupt her sister’s wedding, which in truth would have made it a normal Dalton dysfunctional event, Mary trusted the woman who urged them on. “Who are you people?” Her.

Simon. Sholto. What was going on?

“You don’t want to know,” Socia murmured.

“Oh, but I do.” Mary pulled her sister along as they rounded the side of the reception centre.

“Mary Dalton, you may not know me but I will keep you safe.”

The way the dark haired woman spoke sent a shiver up Mary’s spine, yet she instinctively knew she didn’t doubt the woman’s word.

“Strange how everyone seems to know my name all of a sudden.” Mary wanted to sound calm and in control but too much was happening at once.

“Destiny names few, and many remember.” Socia responded as she led them to the front of the building.

“Destiny?” Again Mary felt the shiver run through her.

“Are you single?” Clare asked Socia.

Mary stopped in her tracks. They were at the front entrance. People were coming and going and there was traffic and noise on the streets. Hiding in plain sight was always a smart move. She looked at the dark woman beside her. She was, in essence, beautiful. Fine, smooth skin, intelligent eyes that held more secrets than the owner could bear and lips that were crooked yet quirky as if they smiled only when it was safe to do so. “Who are you?” Mary asked again. Somehow, she knew this woman was important.

“My name is Socia Black.” She looked around her and then nodded as if satisfied. “And I must leave you.”

Mary stood for a long moment and exchanged a look with Socia that filled her with strength yet also made her feel a deep sense of loneliness in the dark woman.

“Look after yourself, Socia Black.”

Socia looked surprised at the words directed at her. “I always do.” She reached over and touched Mary’s shoulder. “You’re Simon’s woman, therefore you’re his weakness and Sholto knows it. Be careful.”

“He’s not after me. I’m no one special.”

“You and Simon will change the world.”

“And Sholto?”

Socia smiled a quick thin smile. “He will get what he deserves.” And with that she turned and walked away.

“Who was that dark woman?” Clare was agog.

“Destiny,” Mary murmured.

Simon had been initially surprised when Socia appeared. Rarely did he see her in the daytime so whatever had brought her to them had to be important. Although he believed the speculation about her being a Siren, he trusted Socia. If she was there for Mary, then it had to be important enough to rouse Socia from the old rambling house she lived in up in the rainforest. He headed after his nemesis.

Sholto, with a fireball in his hand, his choice of weapon mainly because it was flashy as opposed to technically advanced as one expected time lords to be, was the loose cannon. He allowed passion to rule him. All time lords did. They started wars on it, killed for it and cared little that no one else understood them. Simon knew one day they would face each other and it would be the demise of one of them.

“Simon!” June Dalton as she wigged towards him in a too tight dress and spiked heels that clashed with her age. She didn’t look happy. “I didn’t order entertainment.”

Simon smiled at her. Some people were insensitive to everything except only what affected their selfish, little worlds. A fireball wasn’t entertainment. It was deadly when wielded by one with a grudge. “I’m just going to ask him to leave.”

“Moth-er!” Fran stomped over to her.

Simon wanted to say she looked beautiful because all brides were supposed to but frigid and very frosty were the only thoughts that came to his mind. That Fran ignored Sholto who now changed direction and was heading towards them, didn’t really surprise Simon. He had already worked out that Fran was all about Fran.

“Yes, dear?” June queried her eldest daughter.

“Will says he feels sick. How dare he do this to me on my wedding day?”

Simon wasn’t surprised. He’d be sick if he’d just committed himself to Fran.

“June, I suggest you and Fran go and look after the groom.”
Poor bastard.

June glanced once more at the fire wielding Sholto. “Is he married? He’s kind of cute in a dangerous way.” She licked her lips. “That can be sexy.”

“He’s too young for you, mother. Besides that whole fire thing is not normal.”

“It doesn’t matter,” June responded. “Everyone has quirks.”

Fran stamped her feet. “I will not allow you to pick up men at my wedding.”

“I will do what I want!”

“Moth-er!”

“Ladies, he’s gay,” Simon told them. Despite each being equally dangerous in their own ways, he didn’t have time to deal with them and Sholto.

June sighed. “Shame.” She went off with her daughter.

Simon waited from his enemy. Sholto sauntered up to him throwing the fireball up and down in his hand like a baseball. “Sholto.”

“Mayhew.”

Simon gestured to the mass of fire in Sholto’s palm. “You should try something new. The fireball trick is old hat.”

The other man smiled. “Yet I like it.”

“You weren’t invited,” Simon pointed out. Sholto showing up anywhere was not a good thing. People usually died.

“I wanted to meet your girlfriend.”

Simon’s hands curled into fists. “I will kill you if you touch her.”

“You can try but you and I know it’s impossible to kill a time lord.”

Simon didn’t completely believe that. Everyone had a weakness. He just had to work out what Sholto’s was. Blowing up the time portal would not rid him of Sholto. “What do you want?”

“Your destruction.”

“’Not going to happen, time lord.”

Sholto nodded as if he accepted that as fact. He clasped his hands together and extinguished the fire within. “Then killing your woman will make me happy.”