Love Actually: Juliet Peter & Mar

LOVE ACTUALLY:

THE STORY CONTINUES FOR JULIET, PETER, AND MARK

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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

Warning: This is a Consequence story where I have tried to keep the characters true to how I perceived them in the movie. It's not a BTB, so those looking for some blood, guts, and violence, or at the least, disfigurement, poverty, or Mexican whorehouses, I suggest you move on.

In the lead-up to Christmas Van1 and I have a tradition of watching the classic movie, LOVE ACTUALLY. For those not familiar with the movie it has an ensemble cast and follows the lives of a few individuals/couples/families in the five weeks prior to Christmas. The movie is one of our favourites despite recent cancel-culture articles labelling pretty much all the relationships within the various storylines as either dysfunctional or abusive in some way.

Every year it occurs to me that one or two of the storylines have a Loving Wives style continuation in them. Last Christmas was the first time I got off my butt to explore one of them but due to 2023 having been a year full of big events for Van1 and I and our respective families it's taken me a year to finish it!

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 at his apartment. 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.

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, colour outside them.

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?