Keep Me (Beggar's Choice #3)

by Lily Morton

  A long while later I come back to myself as if I’ve been in a waking sleep. He’s lying on his back with his arm around me, one hand sliding in a lazy caress up and down my back while the other hand holds mine across his chest. I raise my head and he smiles at me letting go of my hand to caress my face, and then shoving his hand into my hair he brings me forward to kiss me deeply. When he releases me I stare at him, at his face which is utterly relaxed and wiped clean of any worry or concern with only a tiny, sated smile on it. He stares at me and raises one eyebrow. “You’re staring,” he mutters in a husky voice pulling me close.

  “I was just thinking,” I say softly. “All of your bullet points are ticked now. I mean you’ve kissed me in Paris, held my hand in Rome and we’ve definitely run naked in a rainstorm and made love on a train.”

  He smiles tenderly. “Alys, they were never the main thing.”

  I look at him querying. “They were bullet points on your to do list.”

  He shakes his head contentedly. “They were sub-bullet points. The main aim was later in the song and you missed it.”

  I run the lyrics through my head and look at him confused and he gives in looking at me tenderly while he recites the lyrics that are the real reason for this extravagant wooing in his deep, husky, Irish lilt.

  I want to know you

  Talk to me – tell me your dreams

  Am I in them?

  Tell me your fears

  Are you scared?

  Tell me your stories

  I’m not afraid of you

  We can fly

  I stare at him aghast and suddenly realise that all through this trip while I paid attention to the obvious things, he’s been steering us in his own direction. We’ve shared our memories and stories, talked about our feelings and told our funny stories, to the extent that he knows me and I know him, better than anyone that I’ve ever met.

  With this knowledge, unbidden and unseen, I’ve developed a trust in him. He may be a megastar rock star but I know that I’m the only one that knows his heart, and I know that I can trust him now because the man I’ve come to understand is trustworthy. I go rigid with my epiphany. I’m not afraid of the future because I know now it will be with him.

  I stare at him open mouthed. “You really are fiendishly clever Bram.”

  He smirks. “And you’ve only just recognised that. Shame on you.” He holds out his hand for my hearing aid which he deposits on the bedside table and then draws me against him tightly. “Sleep now a chroí,” he says in a low voice and I do.

  I wake up suddenly the next morning feeling the sun on my face but when I roll over the bed is empty with nothing but a flattened pillow to show that he’s been there and the sheets are cold. Not again I think sliding off the mattress and pulling on my blue and white flowered kimono. Pulling my hair out of the collar and pushing the wayward locks off my face I walk into the other cabin nervously and then stop, hovering in the door as I screw in my hearing aid.

  He’s there standing against the window staring out with a cup of coffee in his hand and a strange look on his face that is half jubilation and half unease. I straighten my back in determination. I will not pretend this time that it meant nothing because it meant everything and he must know that. I resurrect my faith of last night and I tighten the tie on my dressing gown and the small movement catches his eye and he jerks.

  “Angel,” he murmurs coming towards me and pulling me into a hug. He rubs his face down my hair, the stubble catching on the strands, and for a second I rest against him enjoying the touch of him, but then I straighten pulling back and looking hard at him.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, my voice catching slightly.

  His eyes widen in alarm. “Of course it is,” he says fiercely. “Why wouldn’t it be?” I shrug and his gaze sharpens and something that looks like trepidation passes his face. “It is okay isn’t it?” he asks and I nod.

  “I’m good babe but you looked worried and you weren’t in bed when I woke up.”

  He shakes his head. “Couldn’t sleep baby so I got up. Nothing more than that,” and he turns a bland face to me. “Come on let’s order some breakfast.”

  This sunny façade carries on all the way through breakfast and when we get off the train, right through the flight to Cannes, but he can’t fool me. I know him too well and I know that he’s worried about something because I recognise the signs. His eyes are tight, he’s fidgety and can’t stop tapping his fingers and there’s a perceptible tremor running through his body like electricity. However, I also know that it’s no good pushing him because he’s as stubborn as a donkey and won’t do or say anything when he isn’t ready to.

  I therefore bide my time talking animatedly about anything and everything and absorbing his absentminded replies. Meanwhile the anxiety builds in me. I both need to and don’t want to know what the problem is because it’s like a black cloud hovering over my very fragile happiness. The only thing that consoles me is the way that he hasn’t let go of me once. He held my hand all through the flight, and now he’s got me pulled tightly into his side, his hand running through my hair as we’re driven to the villa.

  I lean forward in the car looking out of the window. “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to break the silence that’s fallen while I was thinking.

  He looks startled for a second and then clears his throat. “A villa in Cap d’Antibes. I borrowed it from a mate for a couple of weeks.”

  “And then what?” My eyes narrow as he flinches but he covers it quickly.

  “Then I have to be back in London. We’ve started a new manager and we need to record the video for the new single.”

  “What happened to Bill?” I ask, startled but not displeased because the man is an absolute prick.

  He shrugs. “Sid fucked him off. He meddled in something between him and Nell and it was the last straw.”

  “I haven’t asked you about that situation. What’s happening between the two of them?”

  I’m expecting a lively recap because well, because it’s Bram, so I’m amazed when he makes a slashing gesture with his hand. “Alys I don’t want to talk about them,” he says sharply.

  I draw back hurt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that there were subjects I couldn’t talk about.”

  He sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face. “No I’m sorry, and there isn’t anything that I won’t talk to you about. I have no secrets from you. It’s just …”

  “Just what?” I ask as he falters.

  “It’s just that I need to talk about us and I’ve no room for anyone else. I’m sorry that I’m making you wait but I just want to get us somewhere quiet and private before we speak.”

  I shudder. That doesn’t sound good but before I can query it the car slows and we pull through some tall gates and drive down a long, gravelled drive laden with bougainvillea, the pink an almost psychedelic colour against the blue of the sky. We pull up to the forecourt and Bram leaps out to come round to let me out, shaking the driver’s hand and tipping him handsomely. The driver and he unload the bags and then the car accelerates away leaving us in a silence broken only by the noise of the cicadas.

  Finally he stirs, leading me up the steps and letting us into a shady hallway. “Bram,” I say hesitantly. “You’re scaring me.”

  He jerks and pulls me to him. “God no sweetheart, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Nothing for me to worry about, but what about you?”

  He kisses my forehead hard, inhaling the scent of me. “I promise that there’s nothing to worry about. Now how about we shower and get changed?”

  “And then we’ll talk?”

  He flinches looking almost pale, but nods. “Then we talk.”

  He shoulders the bags and nudges me up the stairs showing me into a massive room where floor to ceiling windows look out onto a turquoise swimming pool and flowered gardens. He follows me in and puts my cases on the bed. “Shower a chroí. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’r
e done.”

  “But aren’t we showering together?” I murmur but he’s gone. I stand there for a few seconds staring into space, but then remembering that we are going to talk I’m galvanised and dash into the bathroom which boasts a huge shower with powerful jets. I shower quickly, plait my hair loosely and throw on a pretty pink, off the shoulder, thigh length sundress. Then I wander down the stairs looking for him.

  It’s a big villa but I find him fairly quickly, standing in the lounge at the doors which have been folded back letting in a sweet scent of lavender. He’s obviously showered somewhere else because his hair is wet and he’s wearing shorts and a white polo shirt.

  “Bram,” I say and he jerks before turning to me running his hand nervously over his hair. “What is the matter?” I ask sharply. “Is it us? Are you having second thoughts about being with me?”

  He pales. “Fucking hell, no never Alys.” He pauses. “I’ve got something to show you,” he finally says jerkily. He sounds resolute but more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.

  “What is it?” I ask nervously.

  He rubs his nose. “Well I don’t want you to get the wrong idea but I’m going to have to pull my shorts down to show you.”

  I’m flabbergasted and then a thought occurs to me. “Oh my God Bram it’s not your dick is it because only in pornos would that be considered romantic?”

  He flushes. “Shut the fuck up and humour me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well okay but the first sign of a money shot and I’m out of here.”

  Coming closer he flicks open the button on his shorts and then slowly draws the zipper down, the metallic buzz the only sound to fill the suddenly tense silence, and I swallow hard as his long fingers pull the material apart. He looks up, his hazel eyes a deep sludgy green, dark with some emotion. “Come and see,” he says huskily and as if I’m a puppet and he has a hand on my strings I rise to my feet and as I come closer he pulls the shorts down so they sit just under his arse revealing the fact that he isn’t wearing any underwear. He motions for me to look at his groin.

  Shooting him a wry look I bend down. Distantly I notice the markings of a tattoo sitting low on his groin just above the neat strip of hair. I’ve noticed it before but I’ve never actually been able to see what it is because every time that he’s seen me looking at it he’s covered it with his fingers or distracted me. I’d dismissed it as embarrassment because it probably says something stupid like ‘This Way Up’. However, my attention is elsewhere because it’s fixed on the golden skinned, thick root of his cock shining in the late evening sunlight. Come to think about it that’s probably why I’ve never seen the tattoo properly.

  He clears his throat suddenly making me jump and I become shamefully aware that I was just gawping at his cock. I look up to find his face full of a wry, rough tenderness. “The tattoo a mhuirnín,” he prompts. “I’m pretty sure that you’re supposed to read the words before you look at the picture.” He gestures to his penis and I can’t help but laugh but it dies abruptly when I see the tattoo finally and realise what it says.

  Running low on his groin are a set of symbols flowing in a beautiful hand, and before I know what I’m doing I run my fingers along them feeling the prominent vein that runs down his lower abdomen and into his groin. All his muscles lock up and he breathes in harshly. I stare up at him open mouthed until he shifts, looking nervous and uncomfortable.

  “You know what it says?” he asks in a low, hoarse voice

  I nod unable to speak for a second and he fills the silence talking nervously. “It says ‘I want more’.” He swallows hard and then seems to gather his courage. He looks at me almost shyly. “I do want more Alys. I need more.”

  “With me?” I whisper, and he huffs chidingly.

  “Yes, only with you. Only ever with you. I got it done in Amsterdam when I realised that I was in love with you.”

  I gasp, staring at him wildly. “You’re in love with me?”

  All nerves gone now he looks at me resolutely and nods firmly. “I am. I love you so much.” He pauses, maybe waiting for a response, but I’m struck dumb. I knew that he felt something but I never dared hope for love. He carries on jerkily. “I realise that I’m not exactly a good bet. I’ve slept my way through most of the western hemisphere. I’ve led a feckless, reckless lifestyle only pleasing myself for too long. But I love you Alys with everything that I am. I love your humour, your bolshiness, your independence, your laugh and your gorgeous face, but most of all I love you because you’re the first person that I’ve ever met who I know my love is safe with.”

  His voice falters slightly and he closes his eyes, opening them again with a determined stare. “Tell me what I have to do to get you to love me. I’ll do anything Alys, anything. I just need you to love me back. I need your love because everything else is bright colours and top speeds. With you it’s like the world slows down and everything becomes clear. With you it’s warm and steady and safe, yet paradoxically more exciting than anything I’ve ever done.”

  I stare at him seeing him clearly. I think for Bram I’m like the eye of the storm, while to me he’s the full cyclone, wild and exhilarating and free. I smile at him loving him so much that I ache, and the smile feels big and blinding enough to me to understand why he closes his eyes.

  “Tell me,” he groans.

  “I love you too Bram. You’re it for me with all that you are. Your inappropriate comments, your inability to keep quiet, the way that you snore and hog the bed.”

  He sneers at me but can’t quite hide the sheen in his eyes. “You do realise that they’re all shortcomings don’t you?”

  I smile wateringly. “Even your faults appeal to me. I’m obviously doomed because I love them as much as I love your kindness, your loyalty, your humour and the way that you look at people and at me like you really see them.” I shrug. “I love you.”

  Then I’m in his arms and he’s pressing kisses to any area on my face that he can reach before taking my mouth with a deep groan. We kiss for ages pressing closer and closer, hands roaming and choked sighs filling the air.

  Eventually he pulls away, his face flushed and his pupils blown. “Fuck Alys, I love you,” he says fervently. “I swear to God that you won’t regret this. I’ll love you until the day I die. There’ll never be anyone else for me.”

  I smile at him. “I know that I won’t regret it a chéadsearc. You’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

  He presses his face into my neck as if overcome and silence falls for a second. However, when he raises his head his composure and smirk are back. “Be honest it was the tattoo that got you wasn’t it?” I laugh and he crows. “I fucking knew it. I told Seth that he doesn’t know everything about romance. I said to him ‘you could learn from me because my girl will fucking love it’. I tell you Alys, I’m a fucking genius putting British Sign Language symbols over my cock. You should probably count yourself lucky because I don’t think there’s a woman alive that could say that this has happened to her.”

  I laugh so hard that my ribs hurt. “That’s probably true and I don’t know how to tell you this, but that’s not exactly British Sign Language.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Makaton sign language babe. It’s mainly used with children and basic beginners.”

  “Do you mean to say that I have children’s sign language over my cock?” he asks in a deadly voice.

  “Only you.” I laugh helplessly until finally he joins me and we curl together hugging and laughing.

  “British Sign Language or Makaton,” he finally whispers in my good ear. “It’s still the same. I want more with you. I want everything that you can give me - loads of children, us arguing and bickering until you get that look of rage that turns me the fuck on. Then I want us talking and making love at night snuggled together in our bed, just the two of us. Can you give me that?”

  I look at him letting him see my resolution because I think a small part of him will always be waiting for me to give up a
nd he’ll always need this assurance.

  “I’ll give you all that,” I promise, and I did.

  Epilogue

  1 Year Later

  Alys

  I usher the girls out and then lean against the door for a second savouring the peace. Today is my wedding day and as much as I love them I just need a moment’s peace to gather my thoughts before I walk down the aisle to the rest of my life. Not that I’m having doubts, far from it. This last year with Bram has been the best of my life.

  I hadn’t moved back in with him straightaway when we’d got back from France much to his disgust. Instead I’d stayed at Elen’s house where she had watched with astonishment and no hidden amusement as the playboy of the western world settled himself down to woo me. She’d laughed once as she’d debated the fact that even in this area Bram had to be different. He’d sent flowers, but they’d accompanied parcels of risqué underwear, most of it crotch less. He’d taken me out to dinner as standard, but I would return home to gifts laid by my bed varying from anal beads to a feather and a blindfold. He’d taken me out to the theatre and wined and dined me, but then he’d taken me home, tied me up and fucked me senseless.

  However, his wooing had been interrupted by Nell having a bad car accident, and he’d begged me to go with him to America. We’d spent a month there in Bram’s apartment in LA, and then once she was safe we’d come home and almost challengingly he’d taken us straight to his flat, unpacked my stuff by throwing it around his bedroom, and then thrown me on the bed and himself on top of me. I’d never moved out.

  So here I am now in Ireland waiting to get married. We’re at a beautiful castle situated in miles of lush, green countryside. Its wild grounds are home to a perfect little jewel of a chapel where we’re due to exchange our vows in a couple of hours in front of our friends.