We are both tired when we arrive back to the apartment. As I stand in the entrance, I look around trying to see where all this extra security is. Seeing me, Taylor shrugs and starts explaining about sensors and remote links, but I am just too exhausted and hungry to take it in. I make my way across to the kitchen and dig around in the fridge, trying to find something to eat.
“Check the warming drawer,” says Taylor absentmindedly as he sorts through a pile of papers that are sitting on the console by the door.
“Huh?” I query.
Realising I haven’t got a clue, Taylor makes his way across to me and pulls out a drawer underneath the oven. The aroma hits me right away as Taylor starts pulling out the dishes of food. “Mrs Harris normally leaves dinner in there for me.”
“Mrs Harris is…?” I trail off.
“My housekeeper,” Taylor clarifies. “She’s the one who picked up all our stuff from the hotel, actually.”
“Oh my god. What must she think of me?” I flush and cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.
Taylor laughs and pulls my hands down before looking straight into my eyes, his face taking on a serious expression. “Mrs Harris has worked here since I moved in. I pay her enough so that she doesn’t ever need to have any opinion of you. But I would never do anything to risk your reputation, so you can rest assured that she won’t have seen anything you wouldn’t be happy showing your mother. You are mine, and I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
Taylor’s last sentence fills my stomach with butterflies, and his earnest expression doesn’t leave any doubt in my mind. Neither of us has said those precious three words yet—well, apart from when I knew he would be sound asleep—but it is certainly there in all of Taylor’s actions towards me. I feel warm and cherished, a novel feeling that I am still becoming accustomed to. I put my arms around Taylor’s waist and stand up on my tiptoes, offering up a gentle kiss, which he returns with equal tenderness. It is not our normal hot-and-heavy snogging, but its chasteness is even more powerful.
My stomach rumbles and I giggle, breaking the mood. I gather the plates, and we both help ourselves to rich beef stew and dumplings with an assortment of winter vegetables, perfect for this autumnal weather. We eat informally at the breakfast bar, and I exclaim over Mrs Harris’s cooking ability. The meal is delicious and filling, making me feel rather drowsy.
Despite my tiring day, I am not quite ready for bed, so when Taylor heads to his study, I curl up on the couch in front of the wood-burning stove. I find the book I have been reading on the app on my phone and turn on some Third Eye Blind, marvelling at all the technology in one small device, once again. I am soon engrossed in Jane Eyre, despite having read the book numerous times.
I must have fallen asleep on the couch as I find myself in Taylor’s arms as he carries me into the bedroom. “What time is it?” I whisper into his chest.
“After one,” Taylor murmurs before laying me down and helping me out of my clothes. I pull back the duvet and climb in, curling into Taylor’s chest when he joins me, pulling the covers over our bodies. Within seconds the world fades to black.
The Fifteenth
A large hand shakes me awake, and I swat at it ineffectually, mumbling incoherently. I hear Taylor’s laugh. “Come on, sleepyhead. It’s after eight.” Shit! I am supposed to be on the train in an hour. I sit up, stretching, and look at Taylor through bleary eyes. He is already dressed in a sharp suit, and I remember that he has a meeting first thing.
Taylor shifts nervously on his feet and suddenly blurts out, “It’s my grandmother’s birthday on Sunday, and she is having a party. Would you like to come with me?” It thrills me that after all our sneaking around at work, Taylor wants to introduce me to his family. The idea of meeting them all scares me, but I love the fact that he feels ready to take this step.
“I would love to.” I smile up him and he grins back. Swooping down, Taylor kisses me intensely, and immediately my body responds, my arousal building. I hook a leg around his, pulling him on top of me as my fingers fumble for the button on his trousers. Taylor groans into my mouth, quickly discarding his jacket and shirt, but I notice he still has his tie in his hands. I motion to it with my head, my eyes full of questions, but he simply shakes his head with a smirk written over his face.
“Oh, baby, you are playing with fire,” Taylor growls into my ear as he grabs both hands and pins them above my head, binding them together. I become so wet, the anticipation sending those familiar sparks through my groin. He flips me onto my stomach, and I hear his trousers drop to the floor before I feel him spread my legs wide. I turn to look over my shoulder. “Eyes closed and keep as still as you can”—Taylor growls—“or there will be consequences.”
Taylor pulls at my hips, adjusting me, and then starts running his tongue over my throbbing clit. The sensations are overwhelming and I squirm. I feel a sharp sting across my buttocks, the pain making my arousal grow. “I said keep still,” Taylor growls. I groan into the sheets, trying to remain still while Taylor continues to lick me, his tongue dipping into my wet pussy. Then his tongue is moving between my arse cheeks and swirling around the naughty pucker of my arse. The feeling is so foreign and I wriggle again, my reward being another sharp slap on my butt, which shoots sparks up through my core.
“Relax, Abby. I am not going to hurt you, baby.” I simply groan, the arousal I am feeling overtaking any coherent thought. Taylor continues laving me with his tongue whilst his fingers start working at my clit. My orgasm is so intense I don’t even notice for a second that Taylor has inserted a finger into my forbidden place. Before I have a chance to react, Taylor slips on a condom and pushes deep into my pussy, filling me up, his finger still gently moving in my arse. The sensations are so intense that I come immediately, clenching Taylor’s cock tightly. But he doesn’t stop. Taylor withdraws both his cock and finger and then pushes both back into me, filling me up again. Oh my. The intensity of it all is threatening to crush me, but Taylor doesn’t stop, simply increasing the pace until I am about to fall over the edge. He explodes inside of me, the force of which sends me over, and while I come again and again, he pumps his finger, stimulating every nerve ending.
When at last Taylor slips out of me, he turns me over, and I lie there panting, my limbs turned to jelly. He kisses me gently on the nose whilst he works at freeing my wrists. I can’t speak, and when he asks if I am okay, all I can do is offer up a weak smile and nod. The idea of where Taylor’s finger has been is so foreign to me, and I feel like I should be ashamed on one level because good girls don’t do that sort of thing. But on another level I don’t care because it felt so damn good.
“Bugger, I had better have another shower,” says Taylor with a chuckle. “Join me?” Taylor holds out his hand and pulls me up. In the shower, Taylor gently soaps my body, paying extra care with my now slightly stinging ass. “I love that I am the only one who has been in here,” he says, lightly rubbing the delicate ring of my arse. “I think you liked it too. Did you enjoy it, Abby?”
I feel embarrassed talking about it, but I can’t help but be truthful, “It was a bit weird at first, like I was too full in the wrong place”—I look into Taylor’s eyes, feeling shy, and continue—“but with everything you were doing, it felt amazing. It felt like you possessed me completely.”
Taylor brings his mouth down on mine, crushing my lips with his kiss. We stay like that for several minutes, making out like teenagers under the cascading water. With a groan, Taylor breaks away. “I am so going to be late if I don’t stop now. To be continued…” He taps me lightly on my nose before exiting the shower and wrapping a large fluffy towel around his waist. I grab the shampoo and squirt some into my hands before whipping up a lather in my hair.
My mind keeps flashing back to the feeling of Taylor’s finger in me. My body feels heavy and a little sore, but all I can think about is wanting it again. I pout, knowing that I am going to have to wait, and then slide my fingers down to explore my sw
ollen lips. A finger brushes my sensitive clit and the sparks make my knees weak.
I have never masturbated before, but today seems all about taking down barriers, and I find myself alternating between rubbing my clit and pushing my fingers inside of me. I feel my orgasm building, and I lean back against the cubicle until I come, the waves of pleasure different from when Taylor does it but powerful nonetheless.
When I open my eyes, it is to find Taylor staring at me through the shower, his erection straining his trousers. “Fuck, Abby, that is about the sexiest thing I have ever seen.” I feel so shy that he has seen me but secretly thrilled that I have had that effect on him. With that he quickly walks out of the bathroom.
I finish washing my hair in a slight daze and then climb out of the shower, my body still tingling from the morning’s activities. I notice all my toiletries sitting on the counter, and I grab my toothbrush to get rid of my morning breath. I walk back through to the deserted bedroom and find that Taylor has left the door to his walk-in wardrobe open. I spy my clothes hanging alongside his neatly, and I delve through the choices, trying to decide what to wear.
I settle on a pair of grey skinny jeans with a jade-green top and the chunky grey belted cardigan. Everything smells freshly laundered, and once again I marvel at Mrs Harris. On the chest of drawers, I spot a new hairdryer still in its box, and I smile at Taylor’s thoughtfulness. I roughly dry my hair like Henrietta showed me, adding some product in an attempt to mimic the curls she produced. While not up to her professional standards, I have managed to achieve a little victory over my normal frizz. A dash of powder and some mascara and I am ready.
I pad through to the kitchen to find Taylor eating cereal, engrossed in his laptop. I plant a kiss on his cheek, and he swivels round, capturing me between his legs. “Never be embarrassed about your sexuality, Abby. You are undeniably the most sexy, beautiful creature I have ever come across.” I blush at Taylor’s words, and he releases me with a chaste kiss. I help myself to coffee, a bagel and some fruit, my stomach reminding me that I am famished.
Taylor’s phone pings, and he starts gathering up the files in front of him, closing the laptop. “Are you going to be okay today, Abby?” I can see the concern in his eyes.
“I’ll be fine, Taylor. I am just going to hop on the train, meet up with the solicitor and then head back. I should only be a few hours at the most.”
“Damn, I wish I was going with you, Abby. I hate leaving you alone like this. I can’t protect you. I just can’t postpone this meeting, unfortunately.”
“Don’t be silly,” I tease. “I am going to be surrounded by people.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, Abs.” Taylor’s voice is a low growl.
“I know, Taylor, but please, you can’t be at my side twenty-four-seven. I am a big girl. If there is any trouble, I’ll call you,” I say soothingly.
“Promise?” Taylor’s voice sends tingles down my spine.
“Promise,” I reassure him.
Taylor pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head before releasing me and handing me a white plastic card similar to the cards we use to access the office. He explains that it is programmed for me to get into the apartment as part of the security upgrade. I tuck it away in my bag, making sure that I won’t get it confused with my work pass.
“Any problems, call me,” instructs Taylor firmly. I nod my acquiescence before kissing him on the mouth, savouring the feel of his soft lips on mine. With a groan Taylor pulls back. “You are going to be my undoing, Abigail James.” I giggle softly, reaching up to kiss the tip of Taylor’s nose. Shaking his head, he picks up his paper and laptop, and heads towards the door. “See you later, baby.”
“See you later, Taylor.” I give a half wave as he heads out the door, and I turn back to my breakfast, conscious that I need to be heading off myself. I quickly finish the last bites of my bagel and then start clearing the dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down the surfaces. I know Taylor has Mrs Harris, but it just doesn’t sit right with me to walk away from a mess.
.........................
I am a few minutes late arriving at the solicitor’s office, having missed my train, causing me to feel flustered. I am shown into his office to find my parents waiting for me, looking a bit stern, but Mr Thompson’s demeanour immediately puts me at ease. We get the formalities out of the way first, and then Mr Thompson begins.
“I have known Mrs Albertelli—Clara—a great many years as a friend, but she only instructed me on her behalf six months ago when she was given her diagnosis. She has written you each a letter,” he says, holding up three fat envelopes, “which she requests you take away and read on your own when we are finished.
“Her will was very simple, having already disposed of most of her possessions.” We look at each other in surprise as Mr Thompson continues, “To Gina, she leaves her jewellery, the contents of the attic box…” He looks over his glasses at my mother. “She said you would know which one she means.”
My mother nods in response, her eyes filling with tears. “She has also left you her collection of dancing figurines.”
“To Michael, she has left her collection of Italian landscapes, as she knew how much you admired them, and the journals her father kept during the war.” I can see my father is touched to be included.
“To Abigail, she leaves Bread.” Our collective confusion shows on our faces, and Mr Thompson continues hurriedly, “Bread is a bakery located in The Lanes.”
“She left me a bakery? What? How?” I gasp. I look at my parents, and it is clear that neither of them has a clue either.
“Just after Clara was diagnosed, a friend of hers decided to sell his business. He was getting older and wanted to retire. His son is the principal baker there but didn’t want to take on the family business. So Clara decided to sell her flat…” I hear my mother’s gasp but I know I don’t want to look and see her disapproving expression. “She used the capital to buy the business, including the premises, and the small flat above. The business has been kept running by the manager, Beatrice, but Clara’s long-term view would be that Abigail would get involved.”
I stare at Mr Thompson in shock, unable to form any words. My mother, on the other hand, goes off in Italian, and I can barely make out her words she is talking so fast and furiously.
“Calm down, Gina,” my dad instructs.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Michael. What the hell was my mother thinking, selling up and buying a bloody bakery?” She huffs and puffs and glares at me. That hurts. It is not like I asked Nonna for this. Never in a million years would I have ever expected Nonna to do something like this without telling anyone. I hear my mother muttering something about ‘carbs’, and I do my best to block her out while waiting for Mr Thompson to continue.
“Now would be a good time, I believe, for you all to go away and read your letters. I believe Clara has clarified her wishes for each of you in them.”
“What is happening about the flat?” my dad asks.
“Clara sold the flat to a developer who has been buying up the properties around her to turn the whole building into a premier seafront hotel. The condition was that she be allowed to live there for her remaining days. There is a four-week grace period for you to sort out her remaining furniture and belongings before it needs to be handed over.”
“Okay.” This is all my dad says, but I can tell he is working things over in his head, his brow creased in concentration.
“I would suggest you each read your letter and then make an appointment with my secretary, and we can go through the finer details. Abigail, there is quite a lot we will need to go through, but I think you will need some time to digest this all.” Mr Thompson looks at me kindly, and I nod in response.
In typically dramatic fashion, my mother gets to her feet in a huff, grabs her envelope and breezes past me with not so much as a word. My dad looks at me apologetically and shrugs his shoulders. “It is not you she is mad at, sweetheart. I think thi
s has just taken her by surprise.” With that my dad squeezes me awkwardly before hurrying out the door to go placate my mother.
Mr Thompson passes me my envelope, and I clutch it to my chest, feeling like it is a ticking time bomb about to go off. “Thank you, Mr Thompson. I’ll be in touch shortly.” With that I hurry out of the office in a daze. I walk without thinking, and I find myself sitting on a bench along the Promenade overlooking the remains of the old burnt-out pier. The day is blustery but bright, and I am warm enough, wrapped up in my cashmere coat and scarf.
The ping of my phone grabs my attention, and I idly wonder whether it is my mother ready to apologise. Yeah, like that will ever happen, I think to myself sarcastically. I glance at my screen and see that Taylor has sent me a message, checking if I am okay. I am not sure that I am, but I don’t want to worry him, so I tell him everything is fine and I am just enjoying the sunshine by the pier.
With shaking hands I open the envelope up and pull out Nonna’s letter, the familiar script bringing tears to my eyes:
Belissima Abigail,
I know you are sad and probably a little mad at your old Nonna right now, but please believe me that I never wanted to hurt you by keeping my illness a secret. I know you, cara; if I had told you about the aneurysm, you would have dropped out of university to wrap me up in cotton wool, and I could never have lived with myself.
As it is, you have forfeited your dreams for so long to please your parents, and for this I hold myself partly responsible. I should have helped you fight for your passions. You have such talent, and I can’t bear to see it wasted, and it was with this in mind that, when my friend Frank talked of selling his bakery, I knew just what had to be done.
The business is yours, plus the flat above. I know you love London, darling Abby, but consider this something of an investment. If you don’t feel ready to take this on, you can leave the business to run itself. The staff are more than competent, and I have instructed Mr Thompson to help in any way required and rent out the flat for income.
Book One: Thirty Days, Book 1 Page 12
