Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  Kicking my feet about as I lie on the sofa and try to concentrate on the BBC News, which is utterly unfascinating, I decide to go and get some more coffee. That marvellous machine might go somewhere close to levelling my head back out again and help me to formulate a plan. Alex needs to see Belle. If he can convince her that everything’s okay then maybe she can get back together with Conner. If we can achieve that by close of play tomorrow, then Christmas day is on, which means we need all the food to cook. Balls! Has Mary done that? Alex must have had the forethought to tell her about it so hopefully it’s all there waiting. Cooking stuff I can do. There’s order to the chaos when I cook. God, I miss cooking. I’d almost forgotten it’s my job, to be honest, my business. I’ve been so swept up in this crazy twilight world of his that I’m struggling to remember my own kitchen. Did James sign the paperwork for his new job? Belle will know. Oh Christ, the new building! What’s been going on in there is anyone’s guess. Signage… Did I send the new graphics off for the new signs? I need coffee, and where’s my notepad?

  Ten minutes later and I’m suddenly on a roll of organisation. It seems a few hours back in my own space, a slight, vodka-induced meltdown and some irritation at him, and I’m miraculously back on form again. I’m ready to be Elizabeth Scott, caterer, sister, daughter. I’m ready to deal with all the things that need putting back into order and mentally organise myself. The world does not revolve around Mr. White all of the time, and while the last few days feel like an eternity of learning to some degree, I do have my own issues to get a grip on, regardless of Christmas. Two sheets of notes later, as I sit at the desk in my blue jeans, black t-shirt and Converse, I’m raring to go at the world. My brain is firing on at least twenty cylinders, possibly espresso induced this time, and my list seems to be getting longer. Unfortunately, I also seem to feel the need to bake something. Can I actually make a decent Christmas cake a day or so before Christmas? I know they should be made months before, but I just didn’t get round to it this year. Oh sod it. My feet have me at the cupboard, looking for ingredients before I know it, and then sighing at the fact that we have nothing in the cupboards to make a cake with.

  Grabbing at my bag, coat and umbrella, I swipe my keys up and head off out the door to go to the shops. Frankly, it’ll be nice to get some air, and the shops are only a fifteen-minute walk from the apartment. A new guy greets me in the lobby and holds the door open with a smile so I nod back at him and notice as he scuttles out of the way and looks down a little. Clearly feisty Beth is making herself noticed as I storm onwards toward my target – the shops. Nothing is getting in the way of me making my cake. I am in control of that if nothing else. My cake is my piece of freedom, and I am on a mission to do just as I please with it. No interruptions, nobody getting in my head and telling me what to do, nobody manipulating a situation to suit themselves. No, this is me and my cake.

  A car horn beeps at the side of me as I come to the crossing on the next street, breaking me from my silent, in-control moment. My eyes swing upwards to find a very flash looking car idling at the side of the road. Alex has one of those I think. Oh, it better not be him, and he better not have sent Pascal for me again. I’ll bloody kill someone if he did, and I’ve still got this damn knife in my bag to prove it. I need to get rid of that. I think that’s pretty bad here in England. I take a look around, MI5 style, to make sure nobody’s following me, as if the bloody Mafia would be after me. My hand automatically clutches at my bag as the tinted window rolls down on the car. The first thing I see is a hand beckoning me – a hand I know far too well. I breathe out a small sigh of relief, because thank God it’s him. Although, if I had his sodding cane with me, I’d hit him with it. Arsehole. How dare he send Pascal out for me again?

  My head snaps back in the direction I’m heading, because nothing is distracting from my purpose, which, to clarify to myself mainly, is to bake a bloody Christmas cake.

  “My rose, do not make me crawl suburban kerbs. It is beneath my status and quite ordinary.” His voice comes from the depths of the car. I’d say it’s shouted, but something about his voice makes shouting an impossibility. I just hear it because it seems to sing to me now more than ever.

  “I’m going to the shops, Pascal. Please feel free to come with me.”

  That’ll make him disappear. There’s no way he’d ever be seen in a supermarket. I’m surprised to even see him driving a car, to be fair. Said car abruptly pulls to the side of the road, is abandoned very inelegantly in a bus stop and out he gets, utterly beautiful as he is. “You can’t leave that there,” I say as I continue on my way, completely ignoring his intoxicating eyes and listening to his brown boots coming up behind me.

  “Why not?” he replies, as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind in the slightest.

  “It’s a bus stop. It’ll get towed, which I’m sure he won’t be happy about, unless that’s yours?”

  “Then we shall get wet together. It is a fetish of mine,” he says as he takes the umbrella from my hand and holds it above us. “I shall have my driver take us back instead. I despise driving in this country of yours, and that thing is becoming sticky. He does not rev it frequently enough.”

  “I think I sense a metaphor in there,” I reply as I fold my arms and carry on forward. “What exactly are you trying to say about the English?”

  “Only that it is dulled by these English roads, my dear. Ferraris are not designed for leisurely pursuits. They should be thrashed with an academic finesse.”

  “Oh, really? Thrashed, huh?”

  “Hmm. Why must you shop?”

  “I want to bake a Christmas cake.”

  “It is somewhat late for Christmas cake baking. This should have been created last year, should it not?” Oh, so he’s a cookery expert, too now? Fabulous. Is there nothing the man doesn’t know how to do?

  “How would you know what the hell to do with a cake?”

  “We had servants, cooks, staff and such. On occasion I would, how do you say, lick the wooden spoon? Twirl it around my tongue.”

  “I bet you did,” I mumble in response as I fix my eyes on the shop and halt my wandering thoughts. Nothing, and no one, is distracting me from my chosen pursuit this evening. Cake it will be. I so wish this fucking trembling thing would stop.

  We continue on towards my goal for a while, my rampaging strides becoming tamed to a more leisurely pace as Pascal’s presence seems to cool my irritated temper without him even trying. It’s odd really, walking along a street with him. It’s bizarre, as all the women around me stare and gawp at the utterly beautiful man who may look a bit strange in his get up. But to me, he’s perfectly normal, perfectly natural. I couldn’t imagine him any other way. He nods at a small gathering of ladies on a bench and graces them with his award-winning smile. They instantly blush and turn into each other, giggling and smiling as they bat their fuck-me eyes at him and stare back unapologetically, probably wondering why he’s with such a mess of a girl. If only they knew.

  “Pascal, stop encouraging them. They wouldn’t last ten minutes with you. Do you have to be quite so blatant?” I could slap myself the moment the words leave my lips. The man’s not even trying and I can feel my envy creeping over me.

  “I smell jealousy, my rose,” he replies on a chuckle as he points at the shop and dismisses the women. “I may have pledged my allegiance to him, but have sworn nothing to you, and it is good to keep one’s options open, no?”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m tired of men thinking they have all the power. I’m tired of them telling women what to do. Before you two came along, I was perfectly content, happily pottering along, and-” I am abruptly cut off as he swats my backside so harshly it sends me reeling into the shop doorway.

  I couldn’t be more surprised if I tried as my feet land me in front of the woman serving. Warmth pools immediately as my thighs clench around the moment. His face is full of untold promises as I turn my head back to watch that wicked smirk stare back at me.

  “Oooh,�
�� the woman serving says from behind me, probably picking up her tongue from the floor as she does. “Found a handsome one there.” I continue to stare at him, my skin now trembling a little more as he picks up an apple and bites into it maliciously. Visions fly through me at the very thought. Heat swims across my skin, only highlighting my need for what he’s offering, what they’re offering. I’d like to be irritated with him, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? And my inner slut is definitely confirming that. I may have thought I was happy before, but I very clearly wasn’t.

  “Cake, my rose,” he says, as if nothing just happened. He doesn’t acknowledge in the slightest that he knows damn well I will never be content with normal again, not now Alex has shown me, not now that I’ve felt the other side of this sexually intense world.

  I turn away from him in a huff and walk towards my ingredients, snatching them off the shelf one by one as I pass by each thing and end up back at the counter.

  Handing my card over to her, I can sense her still flirting with him over my shoulder. I can’t even be bothered to watch. It’s as bad as Alex, for God’s sake.

  “You can’t just do that sort of thing in public, Pascal. I’m not your bloody property,” I say sharply as we head back out onto the road and he takes the shopping bag off me.

  “Only because he found you first, my dear. However, should you feel the need to spank me in public, I shall be more than willing to receive it.”

  It’s a disturbing thought, although the memory of that whip landing at his side while he was on his knees has very clear connotations. I did that, and did it without thinking. I would never have contemplated the idea of throwing it in the direction of Alex, but something made me crack it at Pascal. Something inside of me wanted him to shudder in fear of me. Thank God I didn’t actually hit him with it. Christ knows what I would have done. I huff out a small breath and head back towards my apartment again. Whatever this is between the three of us, however comfortable it may feel, I just wish I understood the complexities of it a bit more.

  “Do you understand what’s happening between us all here? The boundaries? Are there any? I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about any of this. I am comfortable with it, I think. I just never expected this thing between the two of you to happen, never thought it would be something I’d have to deal with, and I don’t quite understand what that was with the…” I can’t even finish my rambled thoughts, can’t quite get the words out of my mouth in this ordinary suburban street. Maybe if we were in a candlelit room, the wine flowing and a more relaxed atmosphere, I could, but not here. He wanders along beside me some more in silence, heading for the car in the distance that luckily enough doesn’t appear to have a ticket on it yet. He’s clearly thinking, musing what I might want to hear, maybe what I need to hear. We eventually get there and he holds the door open for me. I screw my nose up at it and glare back at him. As if I’m going over to Alex’s house. I’ve already told Andrews to piss off. I’ll happily give Pascal a piece of my mind, too.

  “There are many rules we will be learning, my dear, the first of which is that he is in control of us. You may try your hand at battling with me. However, I would suggest, at this tantalizing time, you do not tempt me onto his side any more than I currently am.” Typical, and I can only assume that means I’m about to be thrown into the car if I don’t comply.

  “I’m hardly dressed for him,” I reply as I slide in and give up hope of evading capture. “And I’m still baking my cake.”

  “You’re hardly dressed. This denim thing you are so fond of is quite unappealing. Did he tell you of my ball?” Ball? What ball? He slams the door in my face and casually walks around the other side to get in.

  “No, what ball?” I say, the moment his arse hits the seat. He revs the car far too much and pulls straight out into traffic without a care in the world. Having seen Rome’s traffic, this is clearly how every other European nation drives. I grab a hold of the handle and sling on my seatbelt.

  “It is in Berlin this year. You shall have to be dressed appropriately, although I’m not quite sure what that will be anymore. You’re correct. This situation is a little confusing.”

  “When?” His mouth turns up into a smile.

  “Five days from now.” I could choke on something. Five days?

  “What? I haven’t got anything to wear, and what do you mean appropriately? It’s Christmas, Pascal. I haven’t sorted Belle and Conner yet, you know, got them back together, and Mum and Dad are coming over.” The thought of my mother and Pascal together suddenly strikes me. It could be worrying to say the least. Her reaction to Alex is going to be bad enough, let alone two of them, possibly three if Conner’s there, too. Mind you, it’ll make her smile, I suppose. “Actually, are you staying for Christmas?” The car swerves to the left to avoid an oncoming motorbike and a potential near death experience. He does nothing more than smoothly spin his hand on the wheel and dig into his pocket for a cigarette.

  “No, I shall fly home tomorrow. Alexander knows this. Christmas is apparently for relations, and regardless of my irritation in the matter, I have been summoned.” Surprisingly, my body feels almost lost at the thought of him leaving.

  “What family do you have?” I ask as I watch Buckingham Palace come into view and think of royal connections. “I know nothing of European royalty, I’m afraid.” He snorts out a mild sense of disgust and carries on driving.

  “If you force me to use the term family, I have two sisters and their respective moronic husbands; one brother and his slut of a wife who I will have to face, and a father who I shall try my hardest not to face at all. It will be best completed in an inebriated state, I think. I shall begin the moment the flight takes off, and with any of your British luck, I won’t remember a thing about it.”

  “No mother?”

  “No,” he says as a frown descends and he speeds up along The Mall. The conversation’s closed, it seems. Yet another mysterious family past I’ll have to deal with. “Why did you not tell me about Alexander’s sister?”

  “It never came up, and I think he wanted to keep it quiet. I keep secrets well,” I reply as I smile at my own ability to hold information Pascal knows nothing about. It’s a turn up for the books. The man normally knows everything. I’m shocked he didn’t know about her.

  “She is quite similar, no? I find her intriguing.”

  “Intriguing is one word for her, I suppose. I can’t quite make up my mind if I like her or not,” I say as I think about her. The long line of roofs comes into view as we round the corner and hit a mass of traffic trying to get past Hyde Park. “She’s guarded, Pascal, seems to want to cause trouble. I’m not sure whose side she’s on.” He rolls the window down and blows smoke out of it as he gazes at a passing car full of women.

  “She is young, and has had nothing to fight against yet. She is simply trying her hand at a game, trying to prove herself to him. There is nothing to concern yourself with, my rose.”

  “But with all this going on with Henry, I don’t know...” Shit. Should I have said that? Surely Pascal knows. The sudden raising of his brow has me questioning that thought instantly. Balls.

  “Henry De Ville?” he asks.

  “Yes, but Pascal... Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have said anything, and it doesn’t matter anyway because Alex has it all under control, I think.” I hope. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “He has been keeping secrets from me, and you, my dear, are clearly hopeless at keeping them. This is something you will need get much more accomplished at. Our world is full of little clandestine adventures you will become part of.”

  That’s it. I’m not saying another fucking word to get myself into trouble. Lord knows what will happen if I open my mouth again. Folding my arms in my lap, I stare out of the window as we start moving again, and I inwardly chastise my own ridiculousness. He stays silent, not questioning me more like I thought he would, just sitting there driving the car and softly breathing next to me. I can smell his aftershave washing over me
, almost feel his pulse radiating through the car, but I don’t have one clue what he’s thinking. The bloody silence is damn near deafening.

  “Pascal?”

  “Hmm?” he replies, distracted.

  “You won’t say anything, will you? I didn’t mean to tell you, and I don’t want to get in trouble. If Alex wanted you to know, he would have told you, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you?” he replies as he turns the car into Alex’s road, a twinkle of amusement in his voice again. “I would if I were you. He’s at his most delicious when you have done something incorrectly, my dear. This is all the more reason for me to keep quiet about your faux pas, I think.” Of course he would come up with something like that, wouldn’t he? There’s still nothing to let me know what he’s thinking about, other than the ruse he’s just given me. We continue along the road until I see the gates of home up in front of me, occasionally stopping for some other Bentley, Rolls Royce, or some other sporty looking number to turn in front of us into another enormously large house. Home. This will be my home if Alex still wants that. I stare around me at the wealth and think of where I’ll be in the next few months, years. I’ve given him permission to be who he needs to be, told him I’ll accept him and Pascal, shown him that he can’t frighten me off with his games and murderous past. I am a potential gangster’s moll, a woman of dubious connections, and one of three now. I am part of the high class underground that is London, possibly New York, definitely Europe. I swing my eyes to Pascal again, as he pulls through the gates, and watch him wet his lips in anticipation while looking at the house.