I shake my head at myself and sip at homemade lemonade, hoping to stave off the need to shout at her. I’m still peeved about her having a go at me. She had no fucking right. I did what I did for reasons she doesn’t know, and I might have had a mini tantrum at Alexander this morning about it if he and Pascal hadn’t disappeared at the crack of dawn. I might have even told him off for watching me have sex, although I’m sure he would simply have laughed in response. It feels weird, though, like my big brother just watched me fuck. Not that he is my brother, but that’s how it feels.
“Lilah, come play catch with us,” Claire calls, dropping her ball for the hundredth time and tripping over her feet. Nope. Not. I am not playing happy families with that woman. We are not a happy family of five.
“My feet hurt from all that walking yesterday,” I reply with a smile as I take another sip of lemonade. It’s true; they do. And the thought of pretending to like Beth at the moment is troubling, because regardless of last night’s encounter, I do like her. Who wouldn’t? She’s ballsy, loyal, protective of those she loves, and, to top it all off, she’s nice. It’s damn well annoying me that this thing is between us. We could get on if it weren’t.
“Come on, Lilah, You’re being a grump,” Beth calls, glaring at me and then flicking her eyes to Claire with a broadening smile. She’s damn right I’m grumpy. I cross my legs at her and continue to watch Claire as she comes hurtling over with her hand outstretched, presumably hoping this will get me off my backside. It works. I’m not sure how, but my arse leaves the seat the moment she pulls at me.
“If you take your shoes off you can run better, like you told me,” Claire says as she giggles and tugs at my hand. I snort at her and let go to grab at my mint coloured heels, which definitely weren’t made for running. She’s right. The moment my feet hit the warm, lush grass beneath my feet, I can sense Italy inside me. It makes me chuckle as I cross the ground and see her throw the ball into the air again. Beth runs for it, her endless legs effortlessly travelling as she manages to grab it gracefully and then hurls it towards me. It comes with such force that I’m hardy ready for it as it comes straight for my face. Thankfully, my ball skills come racing back before the impact pisses me off severely. My quirked brow doesn’t go unnoticed, nor does the slight snarl she gives me in reply. We’re doing that, are we? Well, I hope she’s ready for it. Dirty ball tactics, hmm?
I gently toss the ball towards Claire again, never once removing my eyes from Beth as we begin to move about the large garden area, both gauging the area around us for obstacles that might hinder game plans. There are short walls wrapping around the edge of the formal area, separating it from the upper terrace, bordered by flowerbeds of pinks and oranges, all pointing towards the horrendous fountain that’s slap bang in the middle. There are a couple of ornate benches here and there, and cut in pathways marked out with small black iron fencing. It’s a tripping nightmare, if I’m honest. One I’m glad I’ve removed my shoes for.
“You’re up,” I hear as I smile at Claire’s little legs dashing around. I swing my head to find the ball yet again inches from my face, and snatch it out of the air, growling at Beth’s laughing face. Bitch. I look down at my hand, perusing the nail bed that has nearly detached itself from my finger at the force of the impact, then look back up at her. She’s there, hands on hips, rolling her shoulders backwards and cracking her neck from side to side.
“I’m not doing this here,” I say, hoping to fuck she gets the point. Claire is the priority here. Childish tantrums and fighting are not how we resolve things, certainly not in front of a little girl who, for some reason, has become my world. If she wants a fight, we’ll have one. Later. In a dungeon. Presuming Pascal has one. I snort at the thought and softly pass the ball away to Claire again, wishing it were a rock so I could decapitate the statue in the way.
“Let’s play piggy in the middle,” Claire screams, catching the ball and running across to me. “You stand there and Beth can stay where she is, and I’ll throw it to Beth. You try and get it.” Sweet. I’m not sure how she thinks she’s going to get it passed me, though.
Ten minutes of the game go by. Ten minutes of me catching everything that Beth throws and missing everything that Claire tosses, not that it ever comes anywhere near me anyway. I’m actually beginning to really smile by the time Beth looks irritated. It amuses me to see her getting angrier as I get calmer and more focused. Sport is one thing I have that no one will ever take from me. I’m sharp and exact. Nothing gets past me if I don’t want it to, and her balls are something I very much want to halt in their tracks. It’s good that she’s got venom inside her. I applaud her for it, but I’m fucked if she’s playing with me.
I splay my legs a little, hitching my dress and waiting for her next onslaught as she tosses the ball back and forth between her hands. Her eyes narrow as she drops the ball into a chest pass and dodges left. Whatever, she’s slow. I sidestep, ready and waiting. She doesn’t have a hope, and the fact that she comes into me a bit more to try throwing it harder only proves my point. She’s not good enough, and she knows it. Fuck her. Trying to use strength to beat me? We both have sadists as partners, men who know exactly what pain is all about, but I can take more than her. I doubt she knows how to switch it off like I do, doubt she’s ever driven herself into a black hole to avoid feeling anything at all. Women like her don’t know what it’s like to feel nothing while men rape her. Her perfection comes from never having been hurt, and never having to fend for herself. I sidestep right again as she half throws the ball to confuse me and then pulls it back into her chest, light on her feet and bouncing around. I bet she’s had a loving family all her life that kept her safe and warm, protected her from evil as best they could and supported her though everything. They probably started her business for her, gave her the cash and ferried her about until she made enough money on her own. She doesn’t know anything about pain or managing it.
“Lilah, I can’t see the–” Claire says from beneath my feet, just as Beth releases the ball at me. It comes so fast I see it hurtling through the air, trying to reach for it before it lands on Claire. My feet stumble as I stretch, desperate to get in the way of it or push Claire from its path, but she moves and all I can do is give up and crouch to wrap my arms around her. I turn my back on the incoming object instantly and tuck Claire’s body into mine, ready for the impact and trying to find my black hole to disappear into. The ball slams into the back of my head, knocking my brain around in my skull and causing me to fall into Claire’s tiny frame. I brace one hand out in hope that I won’t crush her, clumsily managing to tip her away in the middle of my fall.
“Lilah?” Beth’s voice echoes as I sense Claire being dragged from under me. “Lilah, you okay?” My brain still rattles as I try to shake of the dizziness, both hands now on the floor trying to push myself upright. I hear tears, too, coming from Claire, which somehow manages to clear the fog from my mind. I swing my face to look at her, hoping to hell she’s okay and that I haven’t hurt her.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Beth says. Bitch. She should be. She fucking well will be. I scowl until I find Claire’s little eyes full of tears. She’s hurt. I crawl over, desperately needing to check she’s okay and make it better.
“Are you alright?” I say, looking her over for injuries. There’s nothing I can see, but her tears keep falling as she hugs her knees to her body.
“Mama. I want Mama,” she sobs out in between snatched breaths. “Where’s Mama?” Another few crawls and I’m pulling her into me, hoping that it will be enough. I don’t know where her mama is, but I doubt she’ll be getting here anytime soon. All I have to give her is me.
“What can I do?” Beth asks, panic lacing her voice. Fuck off, that’s what she can do. I pull Claire further into me and try to soothe her as best I can as we rock back and forth. “I’ll call Pascal.”
I snarl at her for saying that. She needs to stay away from him, and me, and Claire. Enough with the game playing. There�
��s a child here, one who needs love and support. If she thinks she’s getting anywhere near the people I love, she has another thing coming.
“Just leave us alone,” I say quietly, meaning more with those words than leaving for the moment. I want her gone. This is our fairytale. Claire’s, Pascal’s and mine. She’s not welcome in it, and nor is Alexander, no matter how pleased I am he’s alive and well. Why are they even here?
She softens her eyes and kneels on the floor in front of us, announcing that she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. I should have known she wouldn’t. Whatever’s happening between the two of us, the little girl in my arms is probably as important to her as she is to me. She smiles at me, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry’ again. I suppose neither of us wanted Claire hurt in our pathetic little game.
The sniffles start to die down a little beneath me as we just keep staring at each other. I’m not sure what’s going through her mind as she kneels there and I keep the swaying going, but I notice her posture more than ever as I gaze at her. She’s comfortable like that, kneeling. She’s perfectly balanced, hands quietly on her thighs, elegantly holding her frame upright without any visible strain. It makes me wonder how long she’s trained to kneel like that, how many hours he’s put her through at his feet. She flicks her hair behind her shoulders, causing my eyes drop to her neck and notice the foundation that’s begun to rub away in our sweaty game. The bruising is there for the world to see. It looks old, perhaps a few weeks, green and blue in tone, but it’s very clearly from fingers gripping tightly.
I’m not sure what happens in the next few minutes, but something changes between us. I think it’s an acknowledgment on my part of how tough she must be to put up with him and give him everything he needs regardless of the pain he causes her. She might not have had my life and its struggles, but, in some ways, she’s chosen the struggles for herself, hasn’t she? Where as I just fell into mine and had to deal with them as they hit me. That’s a brave choice for her to make. For her to willingly give her throat to Alexander and let him use it? It’s almost fearless. Nothing about me is going to scare or intimidate her, is it? I’ve felt a small part of his force, felt its bite and hold on me. Its hell fed, driven from blackened eyes and an empty gaze. There’s no point in playing who’s the bigger girl with her at all. Submissive she might be, but not for me. And she’s no weakling who’ll bow down to just anyone. She chooses her path, and chooses to weather the storm on it.
Blackened eyes and an empty gaze.
My eyes widen at the image in my mind. Sabella. She had the same look on her face. Void.
“You okay?” Beth asks, instantly noticing my change of thought.
“Do you know a Sabella?”
“No, never heard of her.” Mmm. Well, I know her, and it’s just dawned on me why Pascal does, too. I should meet her once a month? I should indeed.
“Shall we get ice cream?” I ask. Ice cream seems to work for Claire, and it’s damn hot out here. Perhaps we all need a break. “We can make friends again over ice cream, hey, Claire?” There are still a few sniffles, but her body begins to unfurl in my arms, the thought of chocolate obviously delighting her out of missing her mama again.
“Did you hurt yourself, Lilah?” her little voice asks as her red eyes look at me.
“No, Claireyfairy,” Beth says, rising to her feet and holding out her hand. “I think it’ll take a lot more than a ball in the back of the head to hurt Lilah, don’t you? Lilah’s strong, isn’t she?” Claire nods and bounces on her feet again, wiping the last of her tears away and holding her hand down to me.
“Lilah’s pretty, too, isn’t she? My prince says so all the time.” Her prince. I think the words melt my heart every time she says them. I take her tiny fingers and haul myself up again, checking for damage other than the headache that’s still banging around my brain.
“Your prince? Who’s your prince?”
“Pascal, silly.”
“Oh. Well, he is very charming.” I snort out a laugh as Beth glances at me, a wry smile on her face indicating the obvious. We both know more than anyone about his ‘charm’ when he uses it to full effect.
Having picked up my shoes and slipped them on, we walk over the grounds, probably both a little more comfortable with one another’s presence as Claire runs ahead.
“I didn’t know he had this place, Alex either,” Beth eventually says, her arms crossed as we walk up the old crumbling steps towards the kitchen. “It’s not something I ever would have imagined of him. Is it in the family seat?”
“Not that I know of. There’s nothing in his legal documents about it. I was as surprised as you when we got here. It’s not exactly his style in comparison to the other places he has, is it?”
She giggles beautifully. It’s harmonious, making me want to join in with her and remember the Beth I met at Eden. I reach for the door to hold it open for her as Claire scoots through with no thought for us. She leaves it swinging about, but puts a hand on it to keep it half closed.
“I know Pascal loves you, Lilah. It was obvious last night. You have something that he needs. I get that, but please don’t piss me off again.” I raise a brow at her, ready to tell her to go screw herself, but she holds up a finger at me. “And before you start with the snarling, I want you to know something. I have no idea what Alex is up to, but we’ve been through a lot lately, the three of us. I won’t let you get in the way of us being happy. Do you understand? I’m trusting him to know what he’s doing for the contentment of us all, you included. I need to know you trust him, too.”
I’m not sure what to say to that because I don’t know what Alexander’s doing either. As far as I can see, he’s telling me that I can have Pascal with his blessing. Not that he has any right to tell me what I can and can’t have. I don’t give her a response. I know what’s best for me, and I’m the only one I’ll be trusting with that thought. Not Alexander, not Beth, not even Pascal until I’m ready.
“You need more make-up,” I eventually say instead, nodding at the bruises on her neck and then reaching for the door to open it. She pushes on it again, causing anger to come racing back up through me. “Don’t, Beth. I’ll make my own fucking decisions. Neither you nor Alexander will tell me what to do or how to do it. Do you understand? No amount of fucking threats, pointing your finger, or having tantrums at me will make me do anything I don’t want to. There is one person here I’m interested in thinking about, and that’s Pascal. He’s my priority. Not Alexander, and certainly not you. I’ve done enough for you both already.”
“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?” Difficult. I don’t think so. There’s nothing complicated here as far as I’m concerned.
“Not for me.”
I stare at her, eyes narrowed and the statement made. That’s it. They can all get tangled up in their backwards and forwards. They can dance until dawn about who leads whom and when. Argue and shout amongst themselves as much as they like. I’m not playing that game. It’s simple for me. Pascal and I. Together. With none of their noise or interference. The fucking doesn’t bother me. The thought of Pascal needing Alexander doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t even bother me anymore that he might bury himself inside the woman in front of me every now and then, because she can’t give him what I can—a home to be at peace in. One that will embrace everything he is and welcome him. One he’ll return to regardless of fucking either of them, or anyone else.
I sneer a little at her and snatch the door from her hold, swinging it wide and walking through. It’s my fucking door to open, as is Pascal. She has no right to stand here and make demands of me. If anything, it should be the other way around. She should be thanking me for allowing all of this. It would be so easy to tell him I want monogamy or nothing. I could argue that and probably win, because I know that when I look into his eyes and see the tranquillity waiting for us, it’s all he wants, too. But I won’t ask that of him. That’s not love. Love is giving everything needed for someone to be happy, lett
ing them be as they are and enjoying them because of it. Love is honesty and implicit trust that the same is reciprocated. It is not being forced or cajoled, manipulated or obligated. It’s given freely, with arms flung wide regardless of the darkness offered. And I’ll relish those last drops of his deviancy and help him cleanse what’s left when he tells me everything. I’ll help him purge it if necessary, because I am in control of me.
She needs to get used to that, and damn quickly.
“Lilah, I can’t find the…” The old Italian woman is running around her kitchen after Claire, throwing her hands up in the air and catching things as they’re launched around. “Spoons for the ice cream. They’re not here.”
“Claire, if you just let…” Oh, I don’t know her name. I turn to the old woman.
“Come ti chiami?”
“Angela, signora.” Angela. Good. I smile at her, hoping to appease her somehow about the absolute state the kitchen has erupted into.
“Claire, just let Angela find what you need, will you? You’re destroying her kitchen,” I say, cutting through the chaos and grabbing for her hand to get her to the table. Beth walks in at the same moment and looks at me with a frown. Fuck her. Like it or not, this is the way it is now. I stare at the door behind her, hoping she gets the hint that she should turn her backside around and walk straight back out if she doesn’t like it. After several strange expressions, she eventually takes a seat at the table opposite Claire and giggles at her. Good, perhaps she’s got the message now and we can all move on.
“Si prega di gelato,” I say to Angela, hoping I have the pronunciation right. It’s been a long time since I had to use my Italian. It’s rusty, but it’s still there thanks to lessons at school, certainly enough that I can understand it and get by. Angela nods and wipes her hands on her apron as I begin picking broken stuff up from the floor, then she disappears into the larder at the end of the kitchen.
“You speak Italian?” Claire says, her eyes wide and her backside fidgeting around the chair.
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