My sister, Dawn, is the only person who knows about Spike and me. Well, she and Spike’s personal assistant, Charles Gunn. He’s never specifically asked me to keep our relationship a secret, but I just don’t have that many close friends to confide in. I introduced Dawn to Spike before I knew he was married. She had no problem with the age difference and was really happy I was happy. It took me almost two months after I learned the truth to tell my little sister about Spike. I’m the big sister; Dawn’s not supposed to be disappointed in my decisions or me. It turns out she was more worried about me than disappointed that I didn’t leave him when I found out. She may not like the situation or Spike, but she’s my sister, and she supports me.
“Buffy, this sounds like a really bad idea.”
“He won’t even see me,” I insist, cradling the cordless phone in the crook of my neck while inspecting my wardrobe, looking for a suitable dress to wear. “There will probably be hundreds of people there. I’ll just slip in, get a look and leave.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, curiosity killed the cat?”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a cat.”
Dawn laughs. “Fine, don’t listen to me! Do you want me to go with you?”
“Nah, I can handle it on my own.” I’m looking in the mirror, holding a long, red strapless dress I wore to a wedding once against my body. It’s really my only option, so I place it on my bed and search for some shoes to match.
“Be careful, and call me as soon as you get home.”
“Hey, I’m the big sister here,” I remind her, even though lately I really don’t feel like I am. “I should be the one worrying about you.”
I can almost hear Dawn rolling her eyes on the other end. “Whatever. Just call me?”
“Okay, okay. Now, tell me what’s new with you.”
I have never met Drusilla Evans Pratt. I’ve never even seen the woman. But that’s going to change tonight. It’s not one of my smartest ideas, and Spike will probably be furious if he sees me. That’s why I’m going to be extra-careful-incognito-girl.
When I get to the Waldorf Astoria, the place is full of important looking people. Limousines and town cars are pulling up in front of the exclusive hotel. I manage to slip by unnoticed and make my way toward the Empire Room. Luckily, this is more of a mingling type affair and not a sit down dinner, because no one asks me for my name when I walk through the door.
The event is in full swing by the time I get there. I’ve never been to anything like this is my life, and I’m more than a little intimidated. I can’t even think about what will happen if I get caught, so I mill about, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
I walk around the room slowly a few times before I spot him. He looks as gorgeous as ever in an all black tuxedo. My eyes move to look at the woman standing next to him. His hand rests casually on her hip as they speak to another couple and a man. I swear I stop breathing when my eyes land on her face. The brunette woman is rail thin, and her features are delicate, reminding me of a porcelain doll. She’s beautiful, sophisticated, and I feel like I’m wearing a rag compared to her glamorous maroon gown.
I need a drink, so I make my way over to the nearest bar. I down the first Cosmo the bartender gives me and ask for another. Why did I come here? What on Earth possessed me to do such a stupid thing? Why would I want to see Spike with his wife, looking like the king and queen of New York City? If I didn’t know why he wouldn’t leave her before, I certainly do now.
“Looks like you’re having as much fun as I am.”
I turn my head to look at the person talking to me. He’s young, handsome, and smiling down at me. “Not having the best night.” I’m not sure why I tell him or why I’m even talking to him.
“I hate these things. I usually just come to show my face then leave, but I have to stay tonight.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, finishing my drink and signaling for another.
“Because it’s my dad’s party. I’m supposed to play the role of the charming son tonight,” he says it sarcastically before taking a sip of the scotch he’s holding.
“Spike Pratt is your dad?” I knew Spike had kids, but holy shit. I had no clue how old they were.
“It’s not something I brag about, believe me. I’m Angel Pratt.” He extends his hand to me, and I shake it, telling him my name.
“How old are you?” He laughs at my question, and I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. “I don’t mean to be rude, but your dad doesn’t look old enough to have a son your age.”
“No, it’s not rude at all. I just turned twenty-one.” He winks at me, reminding me too much of his father. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot.”
We talk about mundane things like: where we go to school, where we work, and family. By now, I’m feeling good and buzzed from three strong drinks and talking to Angel has helped me take my mind off Spike for a while. That is, until Charles Gunn interrupts us.
“Mr. Pratt, your father needs to speak to you,” he tells Angel. There’s something about Gunn’s voice. When he speaks, you know he means business.
Angel looks at me apologetically and tells me he won’t be long. I turn to face Gunn and see Spike from over his shoulder, glaring daggers my way.
“Miss Summers, you know you can’t be here.”
I roll my eyes. Of course Spike is kicking me out. He can’t have his dirty little secret around to ruin his nice, shiny life. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” I don’t even spare a glance at Spike as I turn and walk from the room.
“I’ll take you home.” The way Gunn says it; it’s not an offer.
Normally, I would have appreciated the ride, Gunn’s really not such a bad guy, but tonight I’m feeling spiteful. “I can manage on my own.”
Gunn stops me, looking down at me. This guy is always so intense. “I don’t think Mr. Pratt would appreciate that.” He keeps his voice low so no one else will hear him.
“Ya know what? I really don’t give a fuck what Mr. Pratt appreciates.” Because he certainly doesn’t appreciate me.
I don’t go home right away because I’ve got a pretty good buzz going and some more alcohol will help me with my problems. I call Dawn to join me, and I’m relieved when she says it’ll take her a little while. I need some alone time to think.
The bartender saunters over to me. Her jeans are tight and hang low on her hips, and her breasts are just about falling out of the tight top she’s wearing. I order a shot of tequila, and she puts two shot glasses on the bar in front of me.
“You’re pretty dressed up for this dump,” she tells me while pouring the tequila. “Coming from some fancy party?”
We knock back the shots. I wince and suck on the lime wedge before answering. “Yup, real fancy schmancy. Full of lots of important people, ‘cept I’m not one of them.”
She must notice my sour mood, because she pours me another shot. “This one’s on me,” she tells me. “The name’s Faith. Lemme know if you need anything else.”
I’m mad, but mostly I’m mad at myself. I should have just slipped in-took a look at Mrs. Pratt-and been on my merry way. Dawn was right. Curiosity did kill the cat. Or made people do foolish things. I take my free shot just as my sister slides onto the stool next to me.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” she says, seeing the two empty shot glasses in front of me.
“He had me kicked out.”
Dawn lets out a slow breath. I can tell at times like this that she’s wondering what I’m doing with a guy like Spike. It’s not like I’ve never wondered the same thing. I’m glad she never asks me, because I don’t have an answer.
“Was this before or after you saw her?”
“Actually, it was while I was talking to his son.”
“You met Angel Pratt?” she asks like we’re talking about Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt.
“You knew Spike had a son -a twenty-one year old son- and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to know.”
She had a point there. Up until tonight, I’d made a point not to probe into Spike’s family life.
“What was he like?”
Dawn is looking giddy, like she wants to live vicariously through my experience. I roll my eyes. “Dawn, I’ve been in a relationship with his father for the past two years. Meeting Angel Pratt wasn’t exactly a swoon-worthy experience for me.”
“Excuse me, not all of us are into old guys.”
She’s smiling, so I know she’s just teasing me. “What can I say? I must have daddy issues.”
“Oh, gross!” She starts making gagging noises, and I order her a drink, even though she’s not old enough.
When I get back to my apartment, it’s after one in the morning. Calling Dawn had been a good idea, because she always manages to put me in a better mood. I’m tired, a bit tipsy, and all I want to do is rip this dress off and crawl into bed.
I stop in the kitchenette on my way to bed to get a glass of water and some aspirin. I’m not drunk, but I have work in nine hours, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. When I walk into my bedroom, I notice that I’m not alone in the apartment.
I take off my jewelry and let my hair down, not even bothering to look in his direction.
“What are you doing here?”
Spike’s sitting on the edge of my bed, and I can feel the tension rolling off of him. He’s mad, but so what? So am I.
“What did you think you were doing tonight?” he asks. His voice is calm, but I can still hear the anger underneath.
“I just wanted to see her,” I admit, because I’m too tired to play games. I take off my dress and put it back on the hanger. Stepping out of my heels, I reach for my robe, wrapping it protectively around my nearly naked body before looking at him. His jacket is off and his tie hangs undone around his neck. He looks like he’s been here for a while.
“Where have you been?”
Great, now he’s gonna do the jealous thing, because I didn’t just watch him play the doting husband to perfection a few hours earlier. He’s such a chauvinist sometimes it makes me want to slap him.
“Out.”
“You’ve been out for nearly three hours. Who were you with?”
“Spike, I’m tired, and I have work in the morning.”
He doesn’t care. “Who. Were. You. With,” he repeats slowly, like I’m a child who doesn’t understand.
“None. Of. Your. Business.” I could easily just tell him I was with Dawn, but I’m pissed off, cranky, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Spike stands, walking toward me like he’s the predator, and I’m his prey. He doesn’t intimidate me nearly as much as he’d like to. “You are my business, kitten.”
I used to love when he called me ‘kitten’, but now it feels condescending. “Stop treating me like I’m one of your kids!”
He backs me up so I’m leaning against my bureau. Pushing my things aside, he lifts me so I’m sitting on top of the dresser, his fingers sliding beneath my panties to tease me. His lips find mine, and I can’t help but kiss him back.
“This isn’t how I treat my kids,” he tells me, his lips against mine.
My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer and deepening the kiss. I want to show him just how much I’m not a kid. I feel him pull my panties down my legs before he starts undoing his pants. My robe falls apart, and his free hand is caressing my nipples, his thumb moving in circles; I moan into his mouth. He has me suck on his fingers before bringing them back down and lubricating himself.
There’s no time for foreplay, and I feel the tip of his erection teasing at my folds. I’m wet and ready for him when he thrusts deep inside. My legs wrap around his waist as he pumps in and out at a crushing speed. It feels so good, and I’m already so close.
My hands roam his back and his chest, my nails lightly scraping at his perfect skin. It’s one of his rules, no scratching- along with no hickeys, and no biting. But I’m still a little mad. I really don’t give a shit about his rules, and I’m so close to coming that I dig my nails a little deeper into his chest, scraping them down to his stomach. I can tell he likes it, but he still grabs my hands and pulls them away.
“No scratching.”
It sounds like he’s scolding me, and I’m fucking pissed again. I push him away from me, hard, and he goes staggering backwards, falling onto my bed.
“What the fuck?”
“Just get the fuck out, Spike.”
I jump off the bureau and put my robe back in place. Without a second glance his way, I head into the bathroom, slamming the door. I brace myself against the sink and look at my reflection in the mirror. I try to keep the anger, otherwise I’ll feel hurt, and I hate when he’s able to hurt my feelings. It’s too late, but I won’t cry. I gave up on crying over Spike a long time ago.
I don’t hear him leave the apartment, so I assume he’s still on the other side of the bathroom door. Why can’t he just leave me be? Why does he have to be so damn stubborn all the time? I’d like to think it’s because he can’t live without me, but I’m not that naïve anymore.
After I compose myself a bit, I open the bathroom door. Spike’s sitting in the same spot on my bed, but when he hears me open the door he stands up. I don’t even ask him what he’s still doing here; I just walk toward my bed intent on getting some sleep.
Spike steps in front of me, blocking my path. He takes me into his arms, and I let him. “I’m sorry, baby. Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.” And it’s the truth. I’m too emotionally and physically exhausted to feel much of anything at this point.
He runs a hand through my hair; he loves my long golden hair. “You know how much I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” It’s my standard response whenever he utters those three little words. As much as I’d like to believe he means them, it’s not possible, and I won’t give him the control of hearing me say them back.
Spike pouts. “It hurts my feelings when you say that, pet.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that I’m practically the same age as your son?”
Spike doesn’t seem surprised by my abrupt change of subject. “No, but I can see it bothers you. My age never bothered you before, but now the age of my children does?”
I don’t answer him because I’m not sure if it’s his son’s age that bothers me or if I’m still upset from seeing him with his wife. “I don’t know,” I finally say because it’s the truth, and the silence is deafening.
The next day at work I’m about to go on my lunch break, when a familiar blond approaches the counter. After he left my apartment last night, I tossed and turned, barely getting any sleep. I really needed a nap before seeing him again, but I can’t help feeling a little excited at his unexpected visit.
Of course, Harmony goes running over to help him. I stay close enough to hear their conversation, and I can feel his eyes on me.
“I need to buy a present,” he tells Harmony.
I don’t need to look to see Harmony inspect Spike’s left hand for a ring. Spike doesn’t wear his wedding band; it’s not his style, and that’s lucky for me because I don’t need another reminder.
“For your…sister?”
I almost laugh out loud. Harmony is so obvious.
“No, for my girlfriend. I was a right bastard to her, and I have some serious groveling to do.”
“Do you really think buying her make-up will get you out of the dog house?” I speak up. Harmony is glaring daggers at me, but I barely notice her presence.
Spike chuckles. “Maybe not. Any suggestions?” He winks at me when Harmony’s not looking, and I feel the familiar tingle of attraction run through my body.
Before I can respond, Harmony jumps in. “Well, maybe she does. We have a lot of nice, new, expensive things I can show you.” She turns to me, giving me a pointed look. She wants the sale, just as much as she wants Spike’s undivided attention. “Weren’t you going to lunch, Buffy?”
“Right.” I grab my purse and head out of the store and onto the busy New York City street. I start walking toward the nearest Starbucks, and it’s not long before Spike catches up to me.
“You’re empty handed.”
“Told the bint I needed to browse. I don’t think my girl wants make-up.”
His hand brushes against mine, and it’s just a reminder that we can’t hold hands in public. I don’t let it get me down, though. “Your girl doesn’t want a bribe.”
Spike puts a hand over his heart like I’ve hurt his feelings. “Well, then, what does my girl want?”
You.
I don’t answer him, because the one thing that I want, I know I can’t have.