LOVE ACTUALLY – JULIET, PETER & MARK

THE STORY CONTINUES

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Firstly, my apologies for the long Author’s Note. It’s nigh on a story in itself.

I finally finished the continuation! Only took me a year LOL

As referenced in the title, this “continuation” involves Juliet, Peter, and Mark. Here’s a summary of their storyline as per the movie.

Juliet and Peter’s marriage ceremony is videotaped by the best man, Mark. Although both Juliet and Peter believe that Mark dislikes Juliet, he is actually in love with her. When Mark evades Juliet’s requests to see the video he made at the wedding, she visits him. She says she wants them to be friends and, when she finds and views the wedding video, it turns out to be just adoring close-ups of her. After an uncomfortable silence, Mark blurts out that he snubs her out of “self-preservation.” Wanting some transparency, and to nip any awkwardness in the bud, Mark makes a surprise visit on Christmas Eve to Juliet. Juliet answers the doorbell to find Mark carrying a boombox playing Christmas songs, and large cue cards, on which he has written, without agenda or expectation of reciprocation, that he loves her. As he walks away, Juliet runs after him to give him a quick kiss before she returns inside to Peter, her husband.

For those that tuned in last year when I posted the first part I have made one or two minor changes that don’t impact the outcome of the story and so you could skip that bit and just read from where Mark makes his decision. Or you could read from the beginning!

Thanks, and happy reading.

******

SEVEN YEARS LATER

JULIET SIGHED WHILE turning her head to look at the sleeping form of her husband.  He was snoring. Again. She was okay if she fell asleep before Peter but on those nights when sleep took its time before claiming her his snoring kept her awake. It was always worse when he slept on his back, so she gave him a soft kiss on the shoulder before giving him a gentle shove, urging him to roll on to his side. With a grunt he did, and his snores morphed from foghorn to soft rumble. Juliet closed her eyes and rolled on to her back, but it was pointless; she was wide awake.

Juliet’s thoughts flittered from what seemed one random thing to another, like a bee gathering pollen. But her thoughts weren’t random; she knew where they were headed and didn’t fight it. Not like she used to. In the early days she’d been horrified at herself but, bit by bit, the horror had faded. Time had normalised them. Besides, she’d long since learned it was pointless. The thoughts were too seductive. They were like a fire, starting small, a tiny spark, a few tendrils of smoke that curled and seeped through the cracks. But their momentum built, fanned as much by her efforts to suppress them as by her surrender. Soon the tendrils were a fog, a blanket covering her mind. The sparks a firestorm.

In her mind, Juliet heard the door chime. She felt herself disengaging from Peter on their sofa where they’d been lounging before skipping down the stairs to answer the door. The memory was so clear, so precise, she even saw her hand reach for and turn the doorknob. Shivered again at the cold draught of snow-laden air that stung her exposed skin.

She experienced again, as if for the first time, the surprise and confusion of seeing Mark standing in the doorway, framed by the Christmas lights on the building opposite.

Why was he there? Why was he holding a boombox and several large squares of cardboard? Was he giving them a choice of artworks as a Christmas gift? He did own a gallery, after all.

Juliet’s cheeks warmed with shyness. This first meeting since that day in his apartment when she’d had her realisation and he’d confessed his feelings was awkward. She didn’t know what to say. Should she invite him in?

And then he smiled. It was a slow and easy smile. It lit up his face. His handsome face. Funny, she’d never noticed that before. Shyness morphed into pleasure and Juliet returned his smile.

“Oh, hi.” It was all she could think of to say.

“Who is it?” called Peter.

Mark quickly raised his finger to his lips indicating she should remain silent, while at the same time swinging the large cardboard cards around so that they faced her. Written in large text were the words.

‘Say it’s carol singers.’

That was the first moment she experienced a frisson of excitement. She knew she was teetering on the edge of doing something taboo. Something illicit. If she did as Mark requested with his placard she would be lying to her husband.

Opposing thoughts battled for the merest of moments. Letting Peter know it was Mark, his best friend, at the door lost. Juliet’s curiosity was too big to be denied. And where was the harm? It was such a little lie. A small deceit.

‘It’s carol singers,” she called over her shoulder before returning her unsure gaze to Peter.

‘Give them a quid and tell them to bugger off,’ Peter shouted in reply.

Juliet watched, uncertain but intrigued as Mark placed the boombox on the stoop and pressed play.

The sweet, gentle lyrics of Silent Night filled the air.

A mix of trepidation and excitement swirled in Juliet’s belly. Was she doing the right thing? The wrong thing? Should she stop Mark before he did anything else?

Too late, he’d turned the next placard.

‘With any luck, by next year’

And another.

‘I’ll be going out with one of these girls…’

Mark revealed the fourth placard. Juliet couldn’t suppress a soft giggle; it was covered in pictures of sexy models cut from fashion magazines. She gave Mark an exaggerated approving nod.

It was at that precise moment she fully surrendered to the moment, allowing herself to enjoy it.

Mark, his expression earnest, revealed the next card. ‘But for now let me say,’

Juliet caught her breath. Was he about to declare his love? She looked from the card to his face. He still looked earnest. Relaxed, even. He turned the next card.

‘Without hope or agenda,’

Their eyes met. She saw the sadness and longing in his. Her heart ached for him.

‘Just because it’s Christmas—’

‘(And at Christmas you tell the truth’)

‘To me, you are perfect’

Their eyes met for a long moment. His asked for understanding, hers apologised for having given her heart to another.

‘And my wasted heart will love you’

Juliet looked from the placard to his face once more. His eyes radiated the love he felt. There was no shame, no regret, only pure, unconditional love. It was sweet. It was beautiful. Juliet’s heart raced; the blood rushed through her veins. Euphoria radiated out from her centre. Being so adored was heady, indeed.

He revealed the next card.

‘Until you look like this…’

Juliet waited expectantly. What would be on the next card? More declarations?

A spontaneous burst of laughter erupted from her when Mark revealed the picture of some mummified remains.

She was relieved; the humour eased the tension that a moment before had been so thick it was almost tangible.

Juliet was drawn back to Mark. He was smiling, clearly happy he’d made her laugh. He revealed the final card. It wished her a Merry Christmas. Touched, Juliet mouthed the words back to him.

Suddenly, she didn’t want the moment to end, their connection to end. The whole scene had been the sweetest most unique and romantic thing anyone had ever done for her, other than, maybe, the surprise serenading at the conclusion of hers and Peter’s wedding ceremony. With a rush of emotion, Juliet realised that, too, had been organised by Mark. He was such a sensitive, thoughtful, and creative man, and so romantic.

Sensing a change of mood in her, Mark placed the final card by his legs and gave her the thumbs up. She knew what he was silently asking. Were they okay? She nodded and smiled, wanting to reassure him.

Something tugged at her as he bent and gathered up his things. She looked at the top of his head, noticing for the first time how soft and silky his dark curls looked. She actually felt a jolt of panic when he straightened and with a final smile turned and walked away.

For a split second she stood, terrified she’d never see him again. She wanted to thank him. To let him know she cared for him as Peter’s friend. She wanted to give him something for the treasured moments he’d given her.

She watched his retreating figure, torn. The urge to follow him was strong. It was like a rope connecting them. The further he moved away the more powerful was the need to run after him. To shorten the distance between them.

Throwing caution to the winds, she surrendered and gave chase. Something told her she was being crazy, but it felt good.

She ran, the air bitingly cold on her bare skin. Her flushed cheeks welcomed the coolness. She was breathless, the blood zinging in her veins. She felt as if her feet had wings. She hadn’t been this excited since hers and Peter’s first kiss.

She grabbed Mark. He turned, surprised.

Juliet tried to convey with her eyes the myriad of emotions she was experiencing. It wasn’t enough. She placed her hands on either side of his face, her fingers registering the smoothness of his cheeks. He must have shaved not long before the visit. She saw his eyes widen as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. How soft his were. So different to the plump but firm cushion that were Peter’s. They both lingered over the kiss, oblivious to their surroundings.

Juliet pulled back, opening her eyes. Mark was slower to open his and when he did, he looked stunned, almost drunk. The power she had over him, intoxicated Juliet. She dropped her hands to his chest, lightly clutching his lapels. She gave them a small tug, trying to tell him with her eyes that in another place and time things might have been different.

Juliet replayed the final moments of the memory but while her memory’s hands clutched Mark’s lapels her real hands drifted over her naked torso. One cupped her breast, finger and thumb unerringly trapping her nipple, the other crept lower, skimming over her quivering belly before cupping the apex of her thighs. She felt slickness on her palm and gave a little moan. Juliet bit her lip while turning her head to check her moan hadn’t woken Peter. It hadn’t.

Juliet parted her thighs, sliding her finger up and down her slit. Her heart raced. It felt illicit, taboo, to be masturbating beside her sleeping husband. It was delicious torture to keep her hips still when they yearned for movement, wanting to meet her questing fingers.

Her blood fizzed like sparkling wine shaken in a bottle. With each replay of her run on the icy street in pursuit of Mark, his dark curls, the kiss, his soft lips, the smell of him, the feel of him, the look of adoring love in his eyes, the pressure built. With one last brush of her fingers over her clit it was as if the thumb had slipped from the opening of the shaken sparkling wine and a geyser erupted, flooding every cell of her body.

A resounding guttural snore from Peter acted like a splash of icy water, cooling emotions. She shuddered once. Twice. Three times. On the brink of tears, she fought to hang on to her favourite memory, but it faded, like fog under a hot sun. Her guilty pleasure. She didn’t want to let it go. Another snore from Peter and the last wisp of it was gone and all that left was the dark cavern of their bedroom ceiling.

XXXXX

JULIET LOOKED OUT the kitchen window to the courtyard garden. An ancient oak shaded the back right-hand corner, its roots crawling and grasping beneath the surface like giant old, gnarled fingers. It looked like a tree out of a fairy tale and was one of the reasons she fell in love with the property. Her gaze followed the fence along which they’d planted bulbs. Daffodils, jonquils, tulips. A panorama of lemons, yellows, and whites against the green of the lawn.

And beneath the oak, slightly apart from their other guests, stood Peter and Mark. Best friends. Each with a beer in their hands. Laughing. At ease. Probably talking about football.

Juliet ached in apology to Peter. Contentment had added inches to his waistline and a roundness to his cheeks. She loved him no less but there was no denying that Mark, on the other hand, had seemed to grow into his looks. He looked craggy and handsome. Lean and fit. She didn’t want to make comparisons. She fought them, they smacked of disloyalty, of cheating, and she was a good person, not a cheater, but sometimes…

Juliet turned away from the window, seizing the tray of cheeses and dips her mother had finished preparing.

“I’ll do the rounds with these, Mum. Why don’t you pour yourself a wine and mingle? You should be enjoying yourself too, not stuck here in the kitchen.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Let me know when you’re ready to serve the hot food and I’ll give you a hand.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

Juliet grasped the tray with both hands and smiled at her mother when she held the door open. Juliet beelined for Peter and Mark. Peter smiled at her approach.

“Perfect timing, honey. I’m starving.”

Mark’s eyes darted, meeting Juliet’s briefly before flickering away as if he feared extended contact would reveal too much. Expose too much. It was his continuing shyness with her that told Juliet he still loved her. The knowledge was exquisite agony, exciting and dreadful.

Juliet looked at Peter, smiling indulgently at his bulging cheeks. He was such a child when it came to food. Every mouthful was an adventure.

She dared a glance at Mark but couldn’t hold his gaze. She, too, was afraid hers would reveal too much. Perhaps he’d see in hers that she fantasized about him. Masturbated to thoughts of him. One unguarded look could lay bare all her guilty secrets. Worse, Peter, who knew her so well, might read her thoughts, see her longing.

Only two things stopped Juliet from leaning in to smell Mark, feel him, touch him. One was Mark’s honour. His loyalty to his friend. The second was her love for her husband. Yes, she still loved him, she couldn’t bear it if she hurt him, but… but she wanted to live in an alternate universe. One where she could abandon her feelings, her ethics. Lay her morals aside. Be someone else. Just for a moment. A night. A day.

Juliet gave herself a mental shake. She had to stop. Daylight was not the time for these thoughts. They were for the dark. For the quiet. Indulged in solitude. Secrets were for the night. Not beautiful August sunshine. And definitely not at her husband’s birthday party.

XXXXX

THE DOORBELL RANG and though the sound was expected Juliet jolted. It was Mark. She knew it was Mark because Peter had organised for Mark to come around and watch the Manchester United game. But that was before he was called away on some emergency in the Birmingham office. One of the last things he’d asked her to do was call Mark and cancel.

Except she hadn’t.

Juliet raised her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks. She grimaced. Sweaty palms. Racing heart. Flushed face. What was she doing? She was like a moth to the flame. She was a teen again preparing for a first date. She had a husband. A man she loved. Her thoughts about Mark were dangerous. If Peter ever found out it would destroy him. Her whole world would burn to the ground. And yet here she was inviting the flame into her home.

She rinsed her hands under the cold tap before raising them to her face in an effort to cool her cheeks. With nothing else at hand, she blotted both hands and cheeks on the hand towel that hung beside the sink.

She took a step toward the staircase. She could still change her mind. She could send Mark home.

But she knew she wouldn’t.

Her decision had been made weeks ago. On another night where Peter snored after having made love to her and she indulged in romantic memories. Memories that got her sex throbbing and needy. Memories that got her aching and slick, her juices mingling with Peter’s.

Juliet saw herself as a nice person. A good person. Definitely not a cheater. Her mind now veered well away from that word and other words just like it. Now she only thought about her intentions in context with herself. It was unfinished business. A procrastination that needed to be finalised so she could file it away as complete. A small gift to herself and Mark. She’d always played by the rules, been a good girl. Stayed within the lines when colouring in the picture that was her life. Tonight, for just the one time, she was prepared to get messy, blur some outlines.

She skipped down the first few stairs, hyper aware of the feel of the skirt she’d chosen. The fabric was silky and flowed about her thighs with each step. Not too short. Not too long. Feminine. Sexy. Perfect.

Her pert breasts bounced ever so slightly under the white top. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed. Juliet didn’t need Peter to tell her that on a regular basis. She already knew it. The top revealed her shoulders and her long slender neck. Peter had always likened her to a swan – beautiful and graceful.

It was the same top she’d worn when Mark seduced her with his placards. She felt sure he’d recognise it. That was the type of man he was. He remembered details. And just like that night she was sans a bra, the outline of her nipples clearly visible. Tonight, though, her nipples were hard in anticipation rather than from the cold.

Juliet flung open the door, breathless and smiling.

“Oh, hi, Juliet.”

Her smile widened to see colour tinge the apple of Mark’s cheeks. She knew he’d been expecting Peter to answer the door.

“Come in,” she invited.

In his hand, Mark held a six-pack of beer and Juliet knew from experience they would be from some boutique brewery. A good one.

With one more quick smile she skipped up the stairs, knowing that with each step the swish of the skirt gave glimpses of her thighs, and, with any luck, a momentary flash of her dainty white and lacy underwear. In her preparations, she’d thought about wearing lush burgundy-red ones, or sexy black satin ones but in the end decided Mark was the type to like sweet, innocent white panties.

She heard Mark come to a halt at the top of the stairs and turned, catching him do a scan of the room.

“Where’s Pete?”

“He had to go to Birmingham on some work emergency. At best he’ll be home tomorrow night. At worst he’ll be there for a few days.”

“Oh.”

It was clear Mark didn’t know what to do with the information. Juliet stepped in before he could suggest leaving.

“He told me to take care of you. Said you needed a home cooked meal.”

Mark remained standing at the top of the stairs, indecisive.

“We can watch the game together. Grab a seat. I’ll get some nibblies.”

She turned and made her way to the kitchen, silently praying Mark would do as she’d instructed. What if he didn’t’? What if he was still at the stairs?

Please no. Please let him be seated on the lounge.

Heart pounding. Legs shaky. She opened the fridge door and leaned in and closed her eyes, desperate for the cool air to calm the inferno burning in her cheeks. She needed more time to gather herself but was scared to give it to herself in case Mark used the time to make his excuses and leave.

She reached in and grasped the platter she’d prepared earlier. It was overflowing with cheeses, pâtés, and dips and all manner of finger foods. Balancing it on one hand she grabbed the basket of crackers with the other and made for the lounge, an overly bright smile plastered on her face.

Mark was perched on the edge of the couch, as far into the corner as he could get. He turned at the sound of her approach.

“Can I help with anything?”

“No. All under control. I thought we’d start with snacks.”

Juliet smiled at him as she leaned by him to place the platter on the coffee table. She made sure to linger a moment, closer than she needed to be in the hope he’d catch a glimpse of cleavage or at least a waft of her perfume. It was supposedly alluring, irresistible to men.

‘Christ, what am I reduced to? An idiot who buys a perfume in the hope of seducing a man?’

She felt stupid. But she’d never had to be seductive before. Men had always chased her. Tried to impress her. Never the other way around.

“Um, it looks great. Better than the corn chips and salsa Pete usually serves up,” Mark said with a nervous smile.

Juliet laughed. It was a little high and a little loud. She hoped Mark wouldn’t notice. “Yes, if I left it up to Pete, we’d never eat a vegetable. Oh, I tell a lie. There’d be potato. He loves his shepherd’s pie and bangers and mash.”

Mark chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I know. He orders one or the other every time we go to a pub to watch a game. Come to think of it, even when we were tykes at school those were his go-to meals.”

Juliet nodded acknowledgement. She could hear the affection born of years of friendship in Mark’s voice. She wanted to steer the conversation away from Peter. Talk of husbands being counterproductive to her aim. She adjusted the platters and sashayed back to the kitchen. With shaky hands she poured herself a wine and grabbled Mark a beer glass.

One look at the platters and she could see Mark hadn’t touched a thing. “Eat up,” she said handing him the glass.

She sat in the middle of the three-seater couch, close, but not touching and to cover her nerves reached for a cracker, smearing it with pâté.

Mark popped an olive in his mouth and Juliet nearly choked. How had she never noticed before what nice hands he had? Long fingered. They looked strong and capable. Hands you imagined on a surgeon or maybe a guitarist. He chewed while cutting a wedge of peppercorn laced cheese and placing it on a seed cracker. She tried not to stare.

Juliet twisted away and grabbed the remote, aiming it at the large TV screen. She didn’t really want him to get into the game, but at the same time she was trembling so much she needed him distracted so he didn’t notice.

Mark, his hands free again, opened one of the beers he’d brought. He poured it into the glass she’d provided, then lifted the glass to his lips.

“Here’s to a good game!”

Juliet lifted her wine glass. “Cheers!”

Juliet watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a generous sip. She swallowed. Already her sex was throbbing, aching to be filled.

The game progressed. Mark’s attention on the game. Juliet’s on Mark. It was like a long, drawn out foreplay. And all with him oblivious and not having laid a finger on her. It was all visual, ambient – the sight of his thigh muscles moving as he leaned forward to help himself to something off the platter or urging a player on. His lips as he popped a cracker or olive into his mouth. His fingers as he clasped the knife and spread pâté. His profile. His smile. The sound of his voice.

At half-time, Juliet escaped to the kitchen to heat up their dinner and cool her cheeks. She’d made Beef Burgundy with mashed potato and green beans. Something easy to eat off their laps. It smelled fragrant and inviting and despite herself she was hungry. Hungry for so many things.

Mark turned his head when she entered with his meal on a tray.

“Wow. That looks and smells fantastic. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

Juliet blushed with pleasure. “It was no trouble.”

Their fingers brushed as the tray passed from her hands to his. A zing of desire raced through her. She could barely wait for his hands to be on her in earnest. The anticipation made her feel giddy. She returned to the kitchen to retrieve her own meal and was pleased to see Mark had waited for her before tucking in to his. He was such a gentleman.

After complimenting her on the meal they made small talk – an upcoming exhibition at the gallery, Jamie’s latest novel and Aurélia’s pregnancy with their second child, the upcoming election. Juliet was amazed at herself that she’d been able to string together coherent sentences when what she’d really wanted to do was throw herself on the floor and pull Mark on top her and have him make sweet, passionate love to her. He was so sensitive and creative; she was certain he’d be an accomplished lover.

Juliet shoved the last forkful into her mouth thinking she’d much prefer she was inhaling Mark’s tongue, or his fingers, or, God help her, his cock. She prayed she wouldn’t have to wait much longer; the suspense was killing her.

She gathered their plates and escaped again to the kitchen. She could hear Mark had unmuted the volume on the TV. A low groan escaped her. She bit her lip, hoping Mark hadn’t heard her. She was so turned on, so wet, with nipples that ached as they pressed against the soft fabric of her top, that she didn’t know how she was going to make it through the second half of the game. Another forty-five minutes. It would be torture. Sweet torture.

With shaking hands, she filled the waffle cones with icecream before carefully dipping them in melted chocolate. She gently swirled them one way and then the other until the chocolate ceased dripping. Resting them in a small rack she returned the icecream to the freezer and removed the chocolate from the warmer tray. A quick wipe of the benchtops and she was ready to return to the lounge.

“Choc-tops! That’s great, Juliet. Thanks. I can never resist getting one when I go to the cinema. The movies aren’t the movies without a choc-top.”

Juliet laughed. “My thoughts exactly.”

Mark attacked his with gusto and Juliet had to press her thighs together to stop from squirming when his tongue darted out to lick around the base to stop it dripping. Christ, how she wanted his tongue on her. On her nipples. Her needy clit.

With a final crunch of the cone, Mark turned to her with a boyish grin. “That was great, Juliet. Tell Pete he can go away more often if it means I get a meal like that.”

Juliet stared at his mouth. A smear of icecream coated his top lip. Not thinking, she leaned forward and licked it off. Having had a tiny taste of him she wanted more. So much more. Her hunger, that she’d reined in all evening, broke free, obliterating rational thought.

Not quite knowing how she got there she found herself straddling him, her fingers knotting themselves in his hair, her lips on his, her tongue exploring his mouth. Tasting him. Caressing him. She undulated her pelvis, groaning into his mouth at the feel of the stiff denim of his jeans against her aching sex.

For a moment Mark was motionless, shocked, before he placed his hands on her waist.

And then firmly removed her.

Juliet found herself sprawled on the lounge, dazed, unsure how she’d ended up there. Mark was on his feet, looking at her in horror.

“What the hell was that? What were you thinking, Juliet?”

At any other time, his words would have been like a dousing of cold water, but Juliet was too far gone, too hot. The cold water of his words merely sizzled and steamed.

“That was me offering you what you’ve always wanted.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t. I can’t. Pete’s my best friend and your husband.”

Juliet noticed her skirt had ridden up to reveal her knickers. Her damp knickers. Under the guise of adjusting her position she “helped” her skirt ride higher. Internally, she smiled in triumph when she saw Mark’s gaze slide up her bare thighs to her panties. She gloried in the pronounced swallow of his throat.

“You’ve waited a long time for me. And I must admit, I’ve fantasized about you for a long time too. Let’s gift ourselves tonight. One night. Pete’s away. He need never know.”

“But I would know. And so would you. The guilt would kill me.”

“Don’t think of it like that. Both of us have denied ourselves for years. You even more so than me. Tonight, we’re just showing ourselves a little generosity. Nothing to feel guilty about. We both love Peter. We’ll both make sure he isn’t hurt by this one indulgence. What he doesn’t know needn’t hurt him.”

“You’re being naïve. Of course it will hurt him. He just won’t know it. It will change everything between all of us. You will act a little bit differently. So will I. You’ll treat him that little bit differently. So will I. We’ll have a secret with each other, one we’re not sharing with Pete. It may start out fine and sweet but eventually it will rot and fester and ruin everything.”

Juliet let Mark’s words slide off her. They weren’t what she wanted to hear. She didn’t want his truths. She wanted his love. His desire. His hands on her. His cock in her, filling her.

“I’ve been masturbating to thoughts of you for years while Pete lies asleep beside me. He’s never suspected a thing. Nor has he missed out. He’s happy and content. What’s one step further in the fantasy? I’ve kept my secret for years with no harm done.”

Mark moaned, roughly raking both hands through his hair. Juliet interpreted his response as a weakening in his stance, a step closer to succumbing to desire.

“No. No. No. Don’t tell me things like that. Now, without my participation or bloody consent, you’ve made me a party to hurting my best mate. He loves you. Really loves you.”

“So do you. He can have me any time he wants whereas you’ve never been able to. That hardly seems fair.” Juliet pulled her top down to reveal her breasts. Her nipples were rosy and engorged. She cupped her breasts, offering them to Mark, brushing her thumbs over her nipples. She shivered as a shot of desire fired from each went straight to her sex, dampening her panties even more. “Come and make love to me. You know you want to. You’ve earned this. We both have.”

“I do love you.”

Juliet smiled and extended one hand to him.

“But not like Pete does. He loves you in the real world, warts and all. Who knows what bad habits you have? Using his razor to shave your legs, making it blunt. Squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. Dirty knickers all over the bedroom and bathroom. Excessive spending. Leaving strands of hair all over the basin. Buying every new wonder product promising a miracle before finishing the last. Who knows? I don’t but he does, and he loves you anyway. Unreservedly. Who knows if my love would stand the test of marriage? To me you’ve always been an ideal. So, yes, I’ve loved you, but it’s changed over the years. Where once you held my whole heart, now you have but a corner.”

Some of Mark’s words penetrated but Juliet wasn’t ready to give up on her fantasy. Having come this far, she felt she had nothing to lose.

“I’ll settle for that corner and your hard cock. Please. I’ve been dreaming of you and me for so long. I just know we’ll be so good together. A perfect fit. It will be earth shattering. I just know it. We’ll have this one night to last us a lifetime.”

“Juliet, you’re a beautiful and desirable woman and I’m immensely flattered, but I can’t. Pete’s my best friend and has been since the first day of high school. He was the cool athletic kid with charisma. Tall and well-developed for his age. Popular with both the girls and the guys. Everyone liked Pete. Me, I was shy and scrawny, the brainy art nerd. If it wasn’t for his friendship I would have been bullied mercilessly. I’ll never know why he wanted to be friends with me, but I have always been glad he did. I love him. Like a brother. He’s never let me down and I won’t repay his loyalty with disloyalty.”

Finally, Mark’s words broke through Juliet’s shell. She didn’t know what to say or do. She now felt stupid and foolish sprawled before him with her breasts bare and her skirt up around her waist, displaying her damp lacey knickers. Her face was on fire, not from desire but from embarrassment.

Mark averted his gaze. “So, um, thanks for dinner but I’ll be on my way.”

Juliet didn’t move. His footsteps across the room sounded like a drum signalling the walk of a condemned man to the gallows. Not until she heard the rustle of him donning his coat followed by the opening and closing of the front door did she move.

With big fat tears spilled over as she adjusted her top and skirt. She rolled onto her stomach on the lounge and let herself cry. She cried for her foolishness. For his rejection of her. And for the loss of her fantasy.

XXXXX

THE NEXT WEEK for Mark was the worst in living memory. He agonised over what to do. Tell Peter or remain silent?

He felt he was damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t.

Silence made him a party to Juliet’s deceit.

Speaking to Pete was guaranteed to inflict pain.

Either way he lost.

More than ever, more even than the day Juliet had realised he loved her, he wished she’d never found out. He wished it was still his secret to carry alone. If Peter knew of her fantasies, knew the subject of them, would he blame him?

Would he want to shoot the messenger? End their friendship? They’d been friends for more than twenty years. The thought of never sharing a beer and having a laugh together ever again saddened him. Made him feel hollow and empty. He couldn’t envisage a future without his best mate.

Flashes of their shared past flitted through his mind. Hooning around on their bicycles, swapped in their late teens for cars, backpacking through Holland, Belgium, and Germany trying to pick up girls, both of them down to their undies that time they played strip poker with those two girls who’d hustled them, footy matches, making fools of themselves on the ice-skating rink in Hyde Park, late night drunken cab rides. So many memories.

Peter was a constant in his life. They were closer than many brothers. It was his love and respect for Pete that had kept his mouth shut when he’d fallen for Juliet at the same time as Peter.

Peter knew of Mark’s love. After the placard thing with Juliet the guilt had been too much and he’d confessed. He’d only done it to try and clear the air, end any awkwardness. Their friendship had survived, due in a large part to Peter realising Mark would never act on his love – he certainly hadn’t for the three years he and Juliet had dated. In fact, both he and Juliet had always thought Mark didn’t like her as he always treated her with such reserve. To the point of coolness.

But this was different.

This wasn’t about Mark’s feelings. Or Mark’s actions. It was about Juliet’s.

Anger flared in his belly. How could she? How dare she? Pete deserved better. He deserved all of her love and thoughts and desires. All of her touches and kisses.

And what if she developed a fantasy crush on someone else? Someone who didn’t say no?

Mark opened a new beer. He felt bloated from having downed so many, but he was a beer man, not a spirit man.

His old man’s words snuck into his mind. He might be long gone but Mark still missed him.

‘Character, son. Character is what’s important. Attitude. Heart. Being true to yourself. Standing up for what you believe in and for those you love. These are the things that matter These are the things that make a man a man.’

Spoken on his father’s deathbed four years prior but Mark heard them as if his father was seated beside him.

But was this one of those times to speak up?

God, the temptation to remain silent and keep Juliet’s secret was almost overwhelming. He could think of a couple of really compelling reasons to say nothing – silence meant he wouldn’t be part of breaking Pete’s heart. He wouldn’t be a party to inflicting a deep wound to his best friend.

Around and around the thoughts chased each other, colliding and ricocheting. He had to remove himself from the equation. He had to do the right thing for Pete, but which was it? Silence or to speak up?

Finally, at midnight Mark swallowed the last of his beer. He knew what he had to do.

XXXXX

MARK GROANED AT the feel of his stomach muscles clamped so rigidly. It was borderline painful. As if he’d overdone it at the gym or gone a few rounds with Mohammed Ali. He was more nervous, strung tighter than he’d ever been for any exam he’d sat for, or job interview he’d attended.

His head felt full to overflowing. He questioned his thinking. Was he doing the right thing? Would he do more harm than good? Did he really want to open this can of worms? Would Pete blame him? Around and around the questions went, tying his gut in knots. They were like vipers in his belly, writhing and pushing, seeking an escape.

The conflicting thoughts slowed his limbs. Made them heavy, like he was wading through waist deep water.

And yet he trudged on, head down and shoulders hunched.  Muffled sounds of laughter told him he’d reached his destination and, with a glance to the left and then right, he crossed the road.

After a quick scan of the room, he spotted Peter, sipping on a beer at a small table toward the rear of the pub. Mark could see Pete had bought the first round as a pint was waiting for him.

Pete spotted him and waved. Mark nodded, taking a deep breath.

He made his way toward Peter, more aware than ever of the nest of vipers writhing in his belly. His throat felt thick. Blocked. The vipers, it seemed, couldn’t decide if they were seeking their freedom via his belly button or his esophagus. His body was too small and too rigid to contain them. He wanted them gone. They made him feel ill. He knew the only way to rid himself of them was to tell Peter. Tell him everything.

Mark sat and immediately lifted the beer to his lips, taking a hefty slug and, before he could lose courage, launched into his confession.

Pete sat silent throughout, staring straight ahead, his hand clasping his glass of beer, but he didn’t raise it to his lips. Mark could only describe his expression as stunned.

The last word out, Mark waited. Waited for the yelling. The questions. The accusations. The anger. The pain. But nothing. There was nothing. Only the sounds of the other pub patrons. He studied Pete’s profile, anxious. Had his confession been too much? Was Pete in shock?

Peter kept his gaze averted. Mark was ashamed to feel relief. He knew if Pete was to turn his head and they made eye contact, even briefly, the transfer of pain would be brutal.

And then it began. It wasn’t a shiver. It wasn’t shaking. It was a deep tremble that went on and on. It was a vibration. It sucked colour from Peter’s face. Whitened his knuckles. Mark was scared Pete would shatter the glass and cut himself, so he gently removed the beer from his hand.

And still Peter looked everywhere but at Mark. Maybe to avoid drawing Mark into the hell his eyes would reveal. Maybe because Mark now revolted him.

Mark continued to study Peter’s profile, feeling it would be a betrayal, a letting down of his friend to break the contact. Finally, his best friend turned his head, and it was as bad as Mark feared. Dark eyes stared at him so filled with pain the connection felt like a blow. It winded him.

“I have to go. I can’t be around you right now.” The words were a croak as if they’d passed over jagged glass to exit Peter’s mouth.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Pete merely nodded.

He rose, leaving his half finished beer and strode away. Mark watched, a huge part of him regretting his confession. Pete was in agony, and it was partly his fault. He cursed Juliet for making him a party to her betrayal.

Pete opened the door and walked out, the door closing behind him. Something inside Mark gave. The closing of that door ended something. Possibly a friendship but most definitely a love. He no longer loved Juliet.

XXXXX

JULIET LOOKED HORRIFIED. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Couldn’t believe Mark had told Peter about her attempted seduction. The room spun. She felt like she was reeling but reeling was the wrong word. Reeling sounded like dancing, like fun. This didn’t feel like fun. This felt nauseating, like she was swirling, spinning at breakneck speed, out of control. It felt like it was never going to end and that soon her stomach would exit her mouth.

“Why, Juliet? Just tell me why?”

Juliet stared at Peter’s agonised face; her mouth worked but nothing came out. She felt frozen in time. Her body wouldn’t work. Her mind wouldn’t work. She was trapped, frozen, in a horror film.

It didn’t matter, though. Pete continued, hardly having paused. “I thought we had a good life. I thought we were happy. I thought you were happy.”

“I-I-I am. We are.”

“Don’t lie!”

Juliet flinched. Never, not once in ten years had Pete ever yelled at her, not like this. Not so the words seemed to reverberate around the room.

“I’m not. I haven’t,” she stammered.

“Yes, you have. Every damn day of the last seven years has been a lie. How many times have you thought about him while I made love to you?”

“I-I—”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t think about him. I love you. Only you. He’s lying. I don’t know why, but he’s lying.”

There it was. The lie. The lie to save herself. Save them. It was justified if it saved their marriage.

The line was crossed. Juliet hurtled on. Anything to save herself. Save their relationship. To wipe the look of tortured anger from Pete’s face.

“He’s in love with me. Mark’s in love with me. Always has been. He must be trying to break us up. He wants me for himself. Don’t listen to him. Don’t let him come between us.”

“After ten years he decides now is the time to try and break us up?”

“I don’t know,” Juliet stammered, grasping at straws. “He tried once before. Just after we got married…”

“You mean with the placards? When you told me it was Christmas carollers?”

For the second time Juliet’s body froze, but this time her mind raced. Peter knew? How could he know? Had he looked out the window? Seen her run after Mark? Why hadn’t he said anything before now? Had Mark told him? What could she say now to save her marriage? Damn Mark. Damn him.

“I know all about that, Juliet. I’ve known for years. Mark told me. He told me on that New Year’s Eve. He confessed everything.”

Juliet collapsed into the armchair, stunned. “And you stayed friends with him? Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because in the three years we dated before getting married he never tried anything. Never flirted with you. Never made a pass. Never said a bad word about you. Nothing. And then he confessed about you realising he was in love with you that day you visited him at his apartment to see the video he took of our wedding and about the placards…”

“And so you believe him over me? Your friend over your wife?”

The look of sadness that came over Pete’s face nearly broke Juliet.

“Yes, I do. He’s never lied to me. You have.”

“I haven—”

“No more lies, Juliet. Please. No more lies.”

Peter sank onto the lounge. He looked weary. As if he’d run a marathon.

“Tell me why. I need to understand.”

And so she explained it as best she could, her heart breaking. Saying it aloud made it sound so inadequate. She knew it probably meant the end of her marriage. Peter would never trust her again. But he deserved the truth. It was the least she could do for him.

“But, sweetheart, they were only fantasies. It’s you I love. You, I want to spend my life with.”

It was the truth. But the truth wouldn’t be enough. Deep down she knew that, but she fought anyway.

“Perhaps, but your fantasy involved my best friend. Not some celebrity. Not some nameless faceless model. It involved Mark.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that. It was a moment of weakness. Surely one bad action doesn’t undo ten years of good. Of love. Please, Pete. We can get past this.”

“You might be able to, but I can’t. You’ve ruined everything. Every moment we’ve shared, every memory, is tarnished. Contaminated. I’ll never be able to look at you, touch you, kiss you… never be able to make love to you again and not wonder. That would eat away at me. I’d start to resent you. Probably end up hating you. I can’t live like that.”

“But I didn’t cheat! Not really. It only got as far as one kiss. Please, Pete, please don’t give up on us. You still love me. I know you do.”

“Did you not just hear me? Yes, okay, I still love you. But right now, I also hate you. You have spent the last seven years fantasising about having sex with Mark. You get off dreaming about another man who happens to be my best friend. Do you really have no idea how hurt and betrayed I feel? How small and inadequate? I can hardly bring myself to look at you.”

“I’ll stop.”

Peter snorted. “Too little, too late. You can’t undo the last seven years.”

“But I want to. I wish I could. I regret it. I am so sorry for everything, for the fantasising, for hurting you. Everything. Doesn’t that count for anything? Pete, please, I am so beyond sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

The sadness and resignation in Pete’s voice silenced them both. It hung like a weight over them, sucking all air from the room.

It was Pete who broke the spell. “I’ll stay somewhere else tonight and come for the rest of my gear on the weekend.”

Panic welled inside Juliet. It was really happening. He was really going to leave her. It wasn’t a bad dream. A nightmare. It was real. She couldn’t believe it. And she had no one to blame but herself. She wanted to blame Mark. Blame fate. Blame something, someone. She was losing the best thing that had ever happened to her and there was no outside force she could point the finger at. That gutted her.

“Are you going to stay with Mark?”

Juliet didn’t know where the question came from but as it left her mouth she felt a rush of jealousy and anger. Mark. Bloody honest, boy scout Mark. Everything would have been fine if he’d just kept his mouth shut.

“No. I can’t. Don’t you get it? I feel too humiliated. I couldn’t satisfy my wife. You’ve emasculated me in front of my oldest and best friend. Because of what you’ve done I can’t look at him either now. Something else I can thank you for. I’ve not only lost my wife. I’ve lost my best friend too. Thanks. Thanks, Juliet, thanks.”

The words were bitter. It matched the look he gave her as he rose. Juliet stood too. She couldn’t believe it was truly over.

Peter turned and headed toward the stairs. Juliet couldn’t bear for those to be the last words he said to her. That the last look he gave her was one of such vitriol.

“I love you, Peter. I truly love you.”

He reached the stairs and turned to her. “You should have remembered that when it mattered. When temptation came a knocking on your door.”

XXXXX

EPILOGUE – FIVE YEARS LATER

PETER GLANCED SIDEWAYS at Hannah in the dim glow of the light from the wall sconce secured to the wall above them. It threw shadows across her pretty face, accentuating her high cheekbones. He supposed the pub was attempting to provide a sense of privacy, maybe even romance. He looked around the room and there was certainly a few couples and foursomes seated in the booths that lined the walls.

He was surprised to realise he was nervous. He was convinced he could hear his own heartbeat and it was like a gymnasium full of bouncing basketballs. It had been five years since he’d last seen Mark. As much as he had wanted to see him, to talk, or to just hang out, he hadn’t been able to. The humiliation he experienced had been too deep. The whole Juliet thing had altered the status quo in their friendship. Flipped it. Growing up it had been Peter who was the popular one, the one in demand. Juliet’s betrayal had irrevocably changed that. The loss of his friend had been huge, as devastating as the loss of his wife. It should have been to Mark that he could turn in his time of grief, but Juliet’s deceit had made that impossible.

Thoughts of Mark inevitably led to thoughts of Juliet. She hadn’t taken the divorce well. She’d borderline stalked him. So much so he’d transferred to the New York office, where, ironically, he’d met Hannah, another British expat. Even in New York word had gotten back to him on Juliet’s movements. Funny how people seemed to feel the need to keep you up to date with what your ex was up to. Apparently, she’d gotten around a bit, to put it delicately, before remarrying a year or so ago. If rumour had it correct, the marriage wasn’t going well, and the guy was about to become her second ex-husband.

The hole Mark’s absence had left in his life had been huge. Enormous. Especially at first. Time and physical distance had helped, but it was meeting Hannah two years prior that had started the healing. At her encouragement he’d sent Mark an email. For almost two years they’d been cyber pen pals. Communicating via the written word had helped Peter ease his way back into their friendship. He suspected Mark understood because Mark, though friendly and full of news, had never pushed to meet up.

But now he and Hannah were back in London and seeing his best mate face-to-face could no longer be avoided.

Peter stared down into the creamy amber of his pint of beer. The tremor of his hand sent ripples across its surface, threatening to send the frothy head splashing over the rim. He quickly lifted to his lips and took a big swallow.

Hannah placed her hand over his. It felt warm and soothing. “It will be all right, sweetheart. If he’s even half the friend you say he is, he will be glad that you’re home and want to see him.”

Peter smiled at her. He had thought he would spend the rest of his life lonely and loveless after divorcing Juliet. He’d been surprised the divorce hadn’t killed him. At the time he’d thought a bullet to the head or heart would have been kinder. Hannah had proved him wrong. His love for her hadn’t hit him like a bolt of lightning as it had with Juliet. No, it had quietly swelled until one day it flowed through every cell in his body, and he realised he couldn’t imagine a future without her.

There was so much he loved about her. Her laugh, for one. She laughed with her entire body, throwing her head back, her throat exposed for a moment before she’d dip forward, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to control the volume. He loved her quietness, the way it concealed an active mind. She would tilt her head to the side and listen, not interrupting, and then cut to the heart of the matter with a few sentences.

And he loved her kindness and wisdom. Early on, when he’d had a moment of doubting himself, when he’d questioned whether he was good enough, worthy enough for her she’d stopped him. “Don’t do that. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t get stuck in that negative cycle. There is no reason to believe that Juliet’s cheating was anything to do with something you said or did, or something you didn’t say or do. Her betrayal is on her, not you.” Those words had set him free.

“Hello, Pete.”

Peter looked up into the face of his childhood friend. It hadn’t changed much in the last five years. Mark was smiling, a little tentative and shy, but happy.

Peter rose and extended his hand. Mark grabbed it eagerly. In that moment Peter knew they’d be okay.

“Mark, I’d like to introduce my fiancé, Hannah. Hannah this is my best friend, Mark.”

THE END

And now, borrowing from Vandemonium1. Here’s a joke!

The next time your wife gets angry, drape a towel over her shoulders like a cape and say, “Now you’re SUPER ANGRY!”

Maybe she’ll laugh.

Maybe you’ll die.

Couldn’t resist – here’s a second joke.

NUTRITION FACT:

If you want a calm and peaceful life drink four litres (approximately a gallon) of water per day.

That way you won’t have time for other people’s drama because you’ll be too busy peeing.

Stay hydrated, my friends!