Untouchable by Ava Marsh

‘Unforgettable’. Through the large leaded windows I see Clive leading Jane on to the dance floor. From this distance, the whole thing looks quite magical. The grand room with its chandeliers. The elegant floral bouquets. The candles flickering on the tables.
    And I find myself genuinely hoping they make it. That all this will count for something.
    Though it never did for me.
    ‘Grace?’
    I jump and turn. Tim. I actually sigh with relief. He makes his way towards me, shivering in his shirt. ‘You OK?’
    I nod.
    ‘I don’t get the feeling you’re enjoying this very much.’ He thrusts his hands into his trouser pockets for warmth.
    ‘Not much,’ I admit.
    ‘That man … earlier … I take it he’s somebody you’ve met. You know, in your work.’
    I nod again.
    ‘Seems like a right prick.’
    I look up at Tim and the sympathy on his face makes my eyes sting. I dig my nails into my palms, forcing the tears to recede as Tim places a consoling arm around my shoulder. ‘Sod’s law, eh …’ He puts on a Humphrey Bogart voice. ‘Of all the weddings in all the towns in all the world, he walks into this one.’
    I laugh and rest my head against his chest. I may not have much faith left in marriage, but I have plenty in Rachel and Tim.
    ‘Rachel’s fine,’ he says, pre-empting my question. ‘She worries, that’s all.’
    I sniff and run the heel of my hand across my cheek. ‘I know. But she’s right. I am a mess.’
    Tim gives me a squeeze. ‘I don’t see a mess, Grace. Simply someone who’s had a very tough time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I say.
    ‘Rachel just can’t bear the thought of you being so alone,’ he adds tentatively.
    I drop my gaze. And find myself, for some reason, thinking of Ben. He’s probably seeing some other girl right now. Men with a taste for escorts rarely stick to one – they’re paying for variety, after all.
    I inhale, forcing my mind away. Tim looks back towards the lights and the music. ‘Do you want to go soon?’ he asks.
    ‘God, please.’ I flash him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’
    Inside I spot Jane and Clive in the corner, eating a piece of wedding cake. I pick my way through the crowd on the dance floor to say goodbye, but before I reach them I’m ambushed by an outstretched arm.
    Max. His lips pulled into condescending smile. ‘Dance?’ he asks, standing too close.
    I glance around. No sign of the girl in blue. ‘No, thanks.’
    ‘But I insist.’
    I glare at him. ‘You have no right to insist on anything. Just piss off and leave me alone.’ I go to walk past but he stands in my way.
    ‘Come on, Stella. Try to be nice.’ Max slides his hand into his jacket. Removes his wallet and pulls out a twenty-pound note. ‘That cover a dance?’
    I take a step forward. Stick my face up close to his. ‘Shove it up your arse, you pathetic little creep.’
    His jaw tightens as he considers his next move, then Max grabs my arm, pinching it in his fat fingers. ‘You know, Stell-la …’ he sneers, stretching both syllables of my nom de guerre . ‘Or should I say Grace? Either way, you really should be more careful. I imagine you wouldn’t want everyone here knowing what you’ve been up to, would you?’
    ‘Nor, I imagine, would you,’ I retort.
    He laughs. ‘Don’t bet on it, sweetheart. I’m not married. And I believe that old double-standard is still very much alive – men get off far more lightly in most people’s books.’
    I narrow my eyes and hold his gaze.
    ‘So how about that dance?’ he asks again.
    I count to five and smile. Let my features soften, lifting my left hand to his shoulder as if accepting his offer. With my right I locate his balls through the thin fabric of his suit and squeeze – just hard enough to render him immobile.
    Max’s eyes bulge as I put my mouth up to his ear.
    ‘Dance with you?’ I hiss over the boom of the music. ‘I’d rather fucking die.’
    It’s gone midnight by the time I walk