Book Two: Thirty Days, Book 2

by Bibi Paterson

  “Like this?” Taylor growls as he picks up the pace, the palm of his hand smacking my clit each time his fingers push deeper.

  “Oh, Taylor,” I cry out, the pleasure almost bordering on pain, as my orgasm slams into me with the force of a tornado. I am still panting, trying to get my breath back, when Taylor slides his engorged cock into me, reawakening the smouldering fire.

  “Oh, baby, I don’t think I can hold back,” Taylor hisses through his teeth before slamming into my body with a satisfied grunt. As Taylor thrusts into me harder and deeper, the waves of my orgasm wash over me, my frame rigid as my muscles contract wildly around Taylor’s cock. With a final grunt, Taylor spills himself inside of me, a white-hot heat that shatters me so completely that I see stars.

  My limbs have turned to jelly and I can’t move or even think a coherent thought as Taylor pulls out of me. Silently he slips out of the room before returning with a warm cloth to clean me up. I murmur a noise in approval, words still escaping me. Taylor slides in beside me and gathers me into him before whispering softly into my ear, “I love you so much, Abigail James. Thank you for agreeing to be my wife. You will always be mine.” My eyes are closed with exhaustion, but I smile at his words and I feel his own smile as he plants the gentlest of kisses across my shoulder.

  The Twenty-Second

  I study the ring on my finger, wondering what people are going to say when I tell them that I am engaged. I am amazed that Taylor managed to get the sizing right considering I don’t wear rings, and my weight has certainly fluctuated. Being pregnant, I think most people will assume that this is the logical next step, but I still can’t quite believe that he actually told me he loved me.

  I glance at the clock sitting above the reception desk in Dr Grohl’s office and realise that I still have a couple of minutes to go before our session. I am nervous about how David is going to react as I know I should not be making big changes while I am still so early on in my treatment. But it is not like I can take it back now. I can only guess how hard it was for Taylor to say those words to me given that the last person that Taylor loved, his ex-girlfriend Hannah, committed suicide after Richard messed with her head.

  David’s receptionist lets me know that he is ready for me, so I make my way into his office, taking a seat in one of the tub chairs available. I see David’s eyes widen when he spots the ring, but he refrains from saying anything for the moment. We start with the normal questions: how I am feeling physically and how I am getting on with my medication. But before long David asks the big question.

  “So, Abby, you finally said yes. What made you change your mind?” David’s voice is calm and completely non-judgemental, giving me the courage to talk.

  “He finally told me he loved me. He even got down on one knee…” I offer up with a smile.

  “So why did you feel you had to wait for him to actually say those words before you could accept his proposal?” David probes.

  I sigh, knowing that this is old ground and we have been over this several times before. In irritation I find myself snapping at David, “I have told you this before. How can I trust Taylor if I don’t know whether he really loves me?”

  “But don’t you think his actions over the last couple of months have proved how he feels for you?”

  “I guess so, but I just can’t seem to trust his feelings for me,” I say, squirming in my seat in discomfort.

  “And that is the issue here; it is not about Taylor and his feelings but about you not being able to trust your own judgement,” David explains.

  “Um…I suppose so,” I say quietly as David’s words swirl around my head. “When you put it that way, I guess you are right. Everything goes back to Taylor dumping and humiliating me. Building my trust in Taylor again is taking a long time…”

  “But what about your trust in yourself?” David queries.

  We talk around the subject for most of my session as David tries to get me to see how I need to let go and trust myself if I am to move forward. Suddenly David asks, “And did you tell him you love him?”

  I go to retort that of course I told him that I loved him, when it hits me like a ton of bricks…I let Taylor confess his love to me twice, and I never actually returned the sentiment. Astute as ever, David calls me on this. “Do you think that perhaps your inability to say those words back is because you are still holding back in giving yourself fully to him?”

  I nod, trying to find the words. “I guess somewhere deep down I think that if I tell him, then he gets the power over me to break my heart again.”

  “Okay, I want you to think about this before our next session…Taylor has the power to break your heart only if you let him. But I think you have both learnt a lot from this experience, and perhaps if he is finally brave enough to risk his heart with you, that should inspire the trust in you to be able to give your heart to him,” David directs, and I am surprised at the hopeful tone in his voice. I never thought a shrink would feel personally invested in another couple’s relationship, but I guess, since David sees us both, he gets to hear both sides of the story.

  We finish up the session with me agreeing to come back on Friday to host a baking lesson. I know I have so much on my plate, but I figure I will get as much out of the session as everyone else. Nothing thrills me more than when someone creates a lovely sponge cake from scratch and tries it for the first time.

  I am just nearing my car when a prickle of awareness runs up my spine. I scan the empty parking lot, my heart thumping in my chest, but come up with nothing. With a start I have to remind myself that, actually, I am being followed and Henry’s men would not be doing their job properly if I could spot them. I let out a sigh of relief and scrabble around in my bag for my keys. As always they have somehow made their way to the bottom, and I finally fish them out in triumph, not before realising that it might be time to have a little sort-out when I get home.

  I slide behind the wheel of my nippy little Fiat 500 convertible. I know she is technically on loan, but I do feel like Missy, as I have taken to calling her, and I have bonded. No matter what kind of day I have had, sitting in this little gem of a car makes me feel like I am in my own protective bubble. Yup, it’s just Missy and me versus the world, I think, letting out a small bark of a laugh. I am not ready to dwell on David’s words, so instead I crank up ‘Buck Rogers’ by Feeder, singing along as if my life depends on it.

  I am just pulling into my assigned parking space behind the flat when my phone rings. The number is blocked and I am half tempted to let it go to voicemail, but then I remind myself that I expecting a number of phone calls from contractors and suppliers, so I hit the ‘answer’ button. I am surprised to hear Detective Stanton’s voice on the other end, but then again Taylor was in touch with her over Richard’s threats. She quickly explains that she would like to come down to Brighton to talk to me, which I find a little strange as I am sure we could talk over the phone, but I tell her that it won’t be a problem. We agree on lunchtime tomorrow and I ring off, a feeling of unease whirling in my stomach. All sorts of thoughts and scenarios run through my mind, but eventually I tell myself to shut up. Sometimes my inner monologue just drives me crazy.

  Fortunately, my dad provides a distraction as I walk into Cake. I can hear James and his crew fitting out the new cloakroom, so we settle on one of the sofas, away from the noise, to talk through the strategy for the grand opening, which Dad has taken upon himself to be in charge of. We go through the invite samples he has had made up by a local printer, finally settling on a heavy teal card with embossed silver writing. I make a mental note to try and replicate the colour in icing to go on top of the cupcakes that we will be sending out with the invites.

  “Dad, this is amazing,” I say. “I can’t believe how fast you have managed to pull all of this together.”

  “You can get anything done with a little bit of bribery, love,” Dad chuckles. “You are going to owe these guys a few cakes down the line…” I chuckle in response, knowing that Dad
will have used his trademark charm and good looks to get away with murder, or at least the tightest turnaround they have ever done.

  “Right, let’s have a look at the invite list so I know how many cupcakes I need to make tonight…” Dad seems to have dug out every media contact he has, both local and from London, and has included some celebrity friends and other models.

  “Seriously, Dad, are you sure these people will come? I mean, I hardly think these people won’t have better things to do than come to the opening of a cake shop. For heaven’s sake, do they even eat cake?” I ask.

  “Hon, they will come because I have already rung and asked them to. This is just a formality. Having our friends at the event will guarantee that the media will do write-ups on the party, and that means customers.” Never let it be said that models are all beauty and no brains; my Dad has been part of the industry for a long time and has been savvy in building up his own network of contacts over the years.

  We finish up our conversation as James makes his way through from the back, carrying a tool bag and some long lengths of wood. He waves at us in hello before heading across to the wall that I suggested using for some bookshelves. I give my dad a final squeeze as he lets me know that the couriers will be here to pick up the cakes at ten and that he and Mum will be in early to help box everything up. With a smile, he heads out to the printers to confirm our order.

  I turn around to see James measuring up the lengths of wood and marking the walls for where the supports need to go. It is warm inside, so he is stripped down to just a vest, and I notice for the first time the tattoos that run across his shoulder blades and down his arms. They are beautiful tribal patterns with complex shading in black and grey. James turns around and catches me staring, and a blush creeps up my neck even though I know I am not even the slightest bit attracted to him.

  “Um, James?” I say, not sure how to ask the question that has been taking shape in my mind.

  “Hey, Abby, how are you doing?” James asks good-naturedly.

  “I’m good. Can I ask you a personal question?” I see the look that crosses James’s face, so I am quick to clarify. “Um…about your tattoos?”

  James visibly relaxes, and I can only guess as to what he thought I might be about to ask him. “Sure,” he responds.

  “I have been thinking about getting a tattoo…” James’s eyes widen in surprise, and I can see he never pegged me as someone who would like ink. “But I have some scars and I don’t know if you can tattoo over them.”

  “I guess it depends on the scars,” James says, and I can tell he wants to ask me more. I take a breath and walk across to him, pulling up the sleeves of my top as I approach. I hold out my wrists, and you can easily see where I cut myself, the line running up my arms instead of across. The scars are no longer the livid red weals that drew looks of horror, but instead have faded to a rosy pink. I know it will be years before they fade properly, but for now I would like something to distract the eye when I am in short tops.

  Gently James runs his thumb over the scar on my right wrist, and when I look up into his eyes, instead of the pity I am expecting, all I can see is compassion. “I think these will be too fresh to go over, but you could talk to a good artist that could work around the scar, sort of incorporate it into the design so that it will end up fading into the background.”

  “Thanks, that sounds like a good idea,” I say. “Whereabouts did you get yours done? I love the tribal feel to it.” James tells me about a local guy who he went to school with; Fred mastered in fine art before going on to open his own tattoo shop.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask, nervously chewing on my lip, suddenly feeling a bit queasy about the whole thing.

  “Nowhere near as bad as I guess that was like,” James says, indicating my cuts.

  “No, I guess not, though I had had rather a lot of vodka at the time, so that kind of numbed everything.” Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I have just said all that to someone who is virtually a stranger, but something about James just inspires trust. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear about all of this. And anyway…it is in the past,” I say, knowing that the brightness in my voice sounds completely fake.

  “It’s okay,” says James evenly. “As long as you are okay now?” I nod and offer up a genuine smile, knowing that actually I am.

  James pulls out his notepad and scribbles down a number and address, telling me to give Fred a call. “Have a think about the kind of thing you want and then go in and have a chat. He’ll be able to tell you what is achievable.”

  “Thanks, James. Really, thanks,” I say, taking the piece of paper and slipping it into my jeans pocket before leaning across and giving James a spontaneous hug, which he returns by patting me on my back uncomfortably.

  “And thanks for all of this…” I say, sweeping my arm around the room, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness that I have created. “It’s looking even better than I could have ever imagined, and you guys have done it so fast.”

  Just then Mum comes in carrying a box of cutlery, exclaiming over her charity shop find of mismatched silver cake forks. Seriously, this woman can hunt out anything in a charity shop, and given that it is Mum and Dad’s money paying for all of this, the more we can do on a budget, the better. And anyway, with the relaxed shabby chic look we have been going for, these will be perfect, and I would much rather that we support our local businesses where we can.

  Mum has barely looked at me while she chats away, but suddenly her posture goes rigid. “Is that what I think it is?” she hisses at me, and for a moment I can’t think what on earth she is possibly talking about. Realisation dawns that she is staring at the great big rock sitting on my finger, and I find myself going red.

  “Um, Taylor proposed last night,” I say, holding out my hand so that Mum can get a closer look. I am unsure of what her reaction is, so I watch as her expression changes. Suddenly tears course down her face, and I am worried that I have somehow upset her. “Mum, are you okay?” I ask.

  “Oh, honey, these are my happy tears. I take it he finally told you that he loves you?” Mum knows all about Taylor’s initial proposal and just how hard he has been working to make things up to me. She also knows about my reluctance to fully allow Taylor into my heart until I heard those three little words, and has been surprisingly supportive of my decisions.

  I tell her about Taylor getting down on one knee and the words he uttered, how he called me his penguin and his soul mate, and I feel a lump in my throat form. David’s words come back to haunt me, and Mum instantly notices the change in my demeanour. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks.

  “I never told him back. I somehow never told him that I loved him too.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “I love him so much that the thought of being apart from him actually physically hurts. But when I tried to tell him last night, even before the proposal, I just couldn’t get the words out. They just stuck in my throat.” Mum gives me a smile, encouraging me to carry on. “David thinks it’s because I am scared that he is going to hurt me again. He says that Taylor telling me that he loves me should make me trust Taylor to not break my heart again. I am just not sure I am quite there yet, you know?” I ask.

  “Oh, baby girl,” Mum says, pulling me into her embrace. Despite both my parents being close to six foot, I never got the height gene, so at just under a foot shorter, I feel like a little girl once again as she hugs me. “As long as you love him, even if you can’t say the words, Taylor will know how you feel. You wear your heart on your sleeve. Every emotion you feel passes over you face, so he will be in no doubt about how you feel about him. That is what makes you so special, darling.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” I mumble into her chest. I untangle myself and suddenly feel dreadful. “I never told Dad,” I gasp. “When he popped in earlier, I completely forgot to tell him as we were so busy talking about the invites and stuff…”

  “Oh, you know your father. When he gets stuck into something, it is like nothing else exis
ts. Otherwise how on earth would he have missed the rock on your finger?” Mum starts to laugh, and I find myself chuckling along with her.

  We chat for a few more minutes until Mum mentions she needs to head out to an appointment, so I head through to Bread to break the news of my engagement to the team. Bea and Kirri squeal with excitement while Andreas and Billy both offer up gruff congratulations. Anna comes through with a tray of rolls, confusion at the display of emotion evident on her face. “My boyfriend, Taylor, proposed last night. You haven’t met him yet,” I say quickly. A look of utter horror passes across Anna’s face so quickly that I think I must have imagined it, as she is all smiles as she offers congratulations of her own.

  Everyone seems to be getting on fine, so I leave them all to their own devices and make my way to the flat for some peace and quiet and a chance to do some digging on the Internet. But before I can do that, there is still one more person I need to tell about my newly engaged status...Michelle. With a grin, I pick up the phone and dial her number.

  The Twenty-Third

  I have just finished piping the final teal and cream swirls onto my dark chocolate and raspberry muffins. A glance at the clock tells me we have an hour before the couriers turn up to collect the parcels, and we still have to pack up the muffins into individual boxes, tie them up with ribbon and attach the invites. Thank heavens there are plenty of hands on deck to help, and I am grateful that Mum has had the foresight to organise our mini production line.

  Half an hour later, I sigh in relief as the last invite is tied to its box. I am exhausted. My night was filled with disturbing dreams where I kept trying to tell Taylor that I loved him, but numerous obstacles kept getting in my way. When I pulled myself out of bed at five this morning, I didn’t feel like I had even slept though I know I must have. Dark circles are etched under my eyes, and I can see concern on my friends’ faces.