by Falls, K. C.
I locked the door behind me, returned the keys to the doorman and was back at the Bookmark an hour before our closing time of six o'clock. Boyd was talking with his grandfather and a pretty girl I knew must be Phoebe when I arrived.
"This is my Phoebe," Boyd smiled. "The light of my life."
"I am so pleased to meet you, Phoebe. Boyd never stops talking about you." She had a heart-shaped face, big blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. I couldn't help but think she had to stand out in any Spanish crowd.
"Pleased to meet you, too, Raina. Boyd's been telling me about what you guys are doing for Grandpa Clemson. It's long overdue." She patted the old man on the hand. "You need to join the modern world, Grandpa."
I envied her the familiarity and the easy way she fit herself right into Boyd's life. Even though I hit it off well enough with Bradley King, I couldn't imagine ever calling him 'Dad'.
"Let's close up and go have a drink, shall we?" asked Mr. Clemson. "It seems like ages since you've been around to indulge and old man, Phoebe."
We all turned our collars to the cold damp wind that had blown in that afternoon. We hadn't had any snow but Mr. Clemson remarked that it looked like a 'snowy sky'. I always hoped for a white Christmas. It added to the magic of the season. I took out my phone and checked the time. It wasn't even five thirty yet and Tristan probably wouldn't get home for another hour or more. I was impatient to know his reaction. I thought he'd be pleased, but there was a tiny niggling fear that perhaps I had somehow overstepped the limits. There had been so few opportunities for me to do anything for Tristan, it was always the other way around. Maybe he wouldn't like the sentimental gesture. Oh well, too late.
We swept into Kilburn's propelled by the force of a sudden icy gust against our backs. It was half full but we found a nice warm booth toward the back, away from chilly blasts from the door. Mr. Clemson and I sat on one side and Boyd and Phoebe snuggled tight together on the other.
"So, what were you up to today?" Boyd asked me.
"I was planning a Christmas surprise for a friend."
"I went shopping," Phoebe put in. "Spain is wonderful, but there's nothing that can compare to Fifth Avenue at Christmas time. I'm so glad to be back. I've missed everyone so much."
"And we've missed you, my dear," Mr. Clemson smiled.
"I can't wait to see the rest of the family too. Boyd, what's your hunk of a cousin up to lately?"
"Making money hand over fist, I'd guess. We haven't seen much of him lately," Boyd answered as he tipped back his drink.
"You know he always disappears at the end of the year. It's a very busy time for him. We haven’t seen him at the Bookmark for . . . I don't know probably since before Raina started working there."
"You'd think," added Boyd, "that he'd stop to see you once in a while, Gramps. He lives right in the neighborhood."
I was suddenly listening to the banter a little harder and took a big gulp of my wine.
"He's a strange young man. He was terribly interested in the shop after he returned from the Hills in September. But then he disappeared. I've had a hard time understanding him most of his life." Mr. Clemson shook his head.
"We had great times as kids. But after Aunt Maryann passed away, he and Uncle Brad hardly ever came to the East anymore."
"He takes after his father. It's very rare that I see any of my daughter's soft edges in our Tristan." He paused before asking Boyd, "Didn't he suggest you give me a hand upgrading our system and developing a website?"
"Sure, but it was long overdue."
Gulp. Tristan. Gulp. He had never once come into the shop when it was open and had spent only a few fleeting moments in my little apartment since I moved there. He'd listened to me talk about the job, about Boyd, his cousin and dear Mr. Clemson, his grandfather. And he had never said a word.
I was swimming in a flood of conflicting emotions. It was clear to me that Tristan had deceived me. He had engineered the job and then he continued the deception by pretending he knew nothing about the Bookmark or the people in it. I was feeling a slow, angry burn inside but I was determined to stay in control and not over react. When my phone rang and I saw that it was Tristan, I let it go to voicemail, muted the ringer and stuffed the damn thing into my purse.
It was manipulative and controlling. It was typically Tristan. And, even worse was the fact that he had used my father as a front for his little scheme. We had already stopped seeing one another when my father came forward with the 'friend of a friend' story. I had a fleeting moment of suspicion when I realized how close the bookshop was to the Dakota and another one when Mr. Clemson had told me about his grandson. But the job seemed perfect so I had pushed my doubts to the back of my mind. When I finally met Boyd Clemson, I was able to relax. The grandson behind the push for the new system was plausible.
Of course, it never occurred to me to question Mr. Clemson or Boyd about other grandsons. Grandsons of daughters with married names. And no one at the Bookmark had said a word about Tristan until Phoebe brought him up. That was strange to me. Once his name was out in the open, they didn't seem reluctant to talk about him at all. I wondered how that was possible. Surely he would have told them to keep his relationship with the shop a secret.
I finished my second glass of wine as the conversation turned to dinner plans. The threesome invited me, but I declined. "I have some things I really have to take care of tonight. You guys go ahead." I gave Phoebe a little hug goodbye. "I'm so glad I got to meet you at last. I hope we can see more of one another."
The three of them headed down the block for a pizza joint that had some of the best calzone in the city. Boyd had brought some into the Bookmark. We had shared them at work and I was hooked.
I thought one more glass of wine might help lubricate my thought process and provide some liquid courage. My cell phone tallied three missed calls, all from Tristan. I resisted listening to the messages he left. There were texts, too. He never texted. He said it was a method of communication for kids. But there they were: "Where are you?", "Why aren't you answering me?", "I want to see you now!". In spite of my mood I had to smile at those. He didn't know the abbreviations--'u' for 'you' or 'c' for 'see'--every word was painfully spelled out.
I turned the phone over again and again in my hand as I contemplated what I was going to say to him. It wasn't the best idea in the world, but I ordered a fourth glass of wine as I watched the phone light up with yet another call. Finally, I turned it off.
It was only a few blocks walk to the Dakota. Thinking the cold wind would clear my head, I started to walk toward his building. I wanted the walk to last longer than it did. Too soon I found myself staring up at the imposing old building. Once inside, I had the urge to flee. Suck it up, Raina. Get it done.
The doorman recognized me and gave me a little nod. He was a vigilant gatekeeper who kept the unwashed masses from buzzing the apartments of the luxury apartments of the wealthy and reclusive residents. I pressed the button for Tristan's apartment. He didn't ask who it was. He simply said, "Raina?"
"Yes, it's me."
The door to the inner sanctum sounded a jarring welcome as I let myself in. The elegant elevator slid up noiselessly until I reached Tristan's floor. When the doors opened he was standing there, waiting. I hoped for anger so I'd have an excuse to pit my own against his. But he gathered me in his arms with a fierce protectiveness as a father might embrace an almost lost child.
"Oh God. Oh God," he murmured into my hair. "Jesus I was so worried." He rained kisses on my face clutching me and running his hands over me as if he was trying to reassure himself that I was real. I had been so keyed up with alcohol and anticipation that I hadn't noticed how cold I was. The lightweight coat I wore was no match for the bitter wind tunneling down the streets. I shivered.
Tristan pulled me into his apartment and took my coat. He wrapped me in an afghan and settled down with me on the couch. The room was just as I had left it; decorated and scented with the cinnamon of Christmas. I observed my
handiwork as a stranger.
"What happened? Where were you? Why didn't you answer me?"
"I was out," I answered him as I groped for some way to begin.
"You didn't have your phone?"
"Yes, I had it." Tristan looked at me, waiting for more. "I was with Boyd and Phoebe." I paused too long.
"And my grandfather."
"Yes."
"I can explain."
"You lied to me."
"I didn't lie."
"Then what do you call it?"
"A sin of omission."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Don't play me for a fool. You lied. I asked you to butt out of my life--to leave me to make my way without your interference. You just couldn't stop controlling me, could you?"
"Will you listen to me? Please?"
I just stared at him. The cold was leaving my body, but it stayed in my eyes.
"You hadn't laid out your stupid conditions when I . . . when I thought of Grandfather's shop. The whole situation was well under way when you put the brakes on. Think about it. It was the day your mother returned. I was about to tell you all about the Bookmark, about the perfect opportunity it was for you when you pulled that shit about how I couldn't give you what you wanted."
I thought. And he was right. The conversation about my employment was the catalyst for that awful separation. The separation I couldn't manage to maintain.
"By the time I saw you again, you already had the job. I was too afraid that you'd bolt again if you knew I had a hand in it."
"But you let me believe I got that job on my own."
"You did get the job on your own. Grandfather didn't know anything about you. All I did was suggest he needed an upgrade and Boyd agreed with me. I set the stage, but when you went to the shop to talk to him you were just a girl looking for a job. A job that was a perfect match. I swear I didn't tell him to hire you."
"But you enlisted my father's help, too. And you never told me that."
"Again, your father didn't know I had anything to do with arranging the job. I've gotten to know a few of the guys he works with. I mentioned the job to one of them. It was all very casual."
"That sounds all too convenient."
"Look, my grandfather is an old man. He can't keep that shop forever. He legitimately needed help and the Bookmark needed to move into the times if it was going to survive. Can you at least agree to that much?"
"Okay . . . but it's awfully coincidental."
"Who is better qualified for that job than you? Who?" He got up and paced. His tone was almost pleading. "You've got the right degree. You have experience in complex retrieval systems. You know your way around web sites and technology. I didn't have to suggest you to Grandfather. All I had to do was get the two of you together."
"But you never let on . . ."
"What would have happened then? I know you by now. You're ready to run at the slightest provocation."
"Like you did the day my mother came home?"
"Touché. That was a mistake. I was miserable. And scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Lots of things. Scared of opening up to you. Scared of letting you inside the wall. Scared, most of all, that I'd love you and lose you."
My heart started to pound.
"But I came back. I wanted to try. I couldn't stand being without you."
Boom. Boom. Boom.
"I wanted to tell you several times. But you kept going off on me. You told me you had 'no commitment to me' at the very moment I wanted to . . . Anyway, you pissed me off."
"What did you want to do, Tristan?"
"I don't like your terms. I don't like the arbitrary limits." He came over to the couch and pulled me to my feet, holding me close and squeezing the breath out of me with his embrace.
"I want to know that you'll be there for me. That you won't bolt out of my life. I've stopped being able to imagine a future that doesn't have you in it." He put me at arm's length and trained his magic eyes on mine. "You've brought something back that I thought I'd never feel again. I stopped looking past next week a long time ago. You have me dreaming again. But in every dream I have, you're the star."
He touched his lips to mine and kissed a tender ache into my core.
"I love you, Raina. It still scares the devil out of me but I swear I love you. Without limits, without conditions, and with every glorious expectation that my life is by your side."
I couldn't stop the tears that spilled blissfully down my cheeks. "Oh, Tristan, I love you too. With all my heart, I do."
He reached up and caught a salty drop and brought it to his mouth. "Sacred tears." I saw his eyes glisten, too. Every breath, every hour had led to this moment.
"Make love to me. Tell me with your body and then tell me again with your words."
We joined together in an act of willful forgetting. Our bodies slid past the valleys of doubt and the shadow of fear into a place so filled with light that it warmed away all angles. We were made into a circle, eternally without beginning or end.
Every man or woman who's ever said "I love you" knows the power of those words newly uttered. The pleasure of our bodies was elevated, crystallized and transformed. He kissed me with promises. His lips burned against mine and fused our mouths in more than simple desire. When he touched my breasts my nipples ached under his hands. His touch was sanctified by a simple phrase.
There was new born urgency in us. We both knew that there'd still be plenty of play, that there was a lifetime of games and giggles ahead of us. But on that night our coupling was a consummation. His body covered mine possessively and I felt the heat of his erection burning against my wet thighs. He moved his hips up over mine and his cock found me waiting to be taken. The flesh between my legs was reaching for him knowing that this particular moment would never come again.
Tristan bore into me with a slow, powerful thrust until he was as far inside me as our bodies would allow. I wrapped my legs around his waist and we were still for a moment. He put his warm hands, gentle and powerful at the sides of my face and looked at me.
"I love you. I love you now and I'll love you more tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that."
He moved inside me with graceful, reverent thrusts. The thick head lingered against the spot inside that was his secret place to unlock me and free me. I forgot anything but being full of him. The force of my desire for him dominated all else.
We rocked against each other, both resisting the urgency that would bring us to the end. We wanted to make the journey last. It was our affirmation of declared love that neither of us wanted to rush. And so we moved in a tandem dance of measured hunger until we could stand it no longer.
"Come with me." He kissed the words against my ear. "Come with me my only love."
"Tristan."
"My queen."
He claimed me with a ferocious plunge and pumped himself into my core. I felt him pushing against the mouth of my womb as the tension built in my channel and I tightened against him. I could feel him begin to throb as I lost myself in the crash of my climax. I bore down on him, milking him with my contractions and I felt him heave against me, stilling as he emptied himself into me. We gripped each other hard, releasing only when the aftershocks faded and our breath leveled.
When he rolled his weight off of me, we lay in silence for a while, just basking in each other. Finally he spoke. "Thank you for what you did for me today. The Christmas thing."
"That was my pleasure, darling. I didn't know what to give you for Christmas. I didn't think you needed another sweater."
He propped himself up on an elbow and smiled at me. "It's the perfect gift. You made my house a home. Our home?" He sounded like a hopeful child. Even though it was sudden, I couldn't refuse him. Not that night, maybe not ever.
"Our home," I agreed. I reached over and held his hand in the quiet, blessed night.
***
Epilogue
Bradley King surprised us by coming to New York two days before Chris
tmas. If he was surprised to find his son's apartment a happy gingerbread kind of place with me already comfortably making bridge mix in the kitchen, he didn't let on.
His stated purpose in coming was to tell us that he had rattled cages at the highest level of the Chicago union that sent the thugs out to bedevil my father and that he felt sure there'd be no further trouble from them again. Apparently Tristan hadn't bothered to tell his father to put the brakes on with respect to my dad's difficulties. I no longer cared. The whole 'sting' operation never had to happen. Dad was safe and I was living with Tristan. All good.
But I like to think the real reason Mr. King came was the simple desire to be with his son for the holidays. He could have easily delivered his happy news by phone. But he wanted family and that felt so right to me. Amazingly, I could almost envision calling him Dad.
We had Christmas Eve dinner at the Dakota with Grandpa Clemson, Boyd, Phoebe and my family. My sister had flown in from Oklahoma with her husband and her eyes nearly dropped out of her head when she met Tristan and saw how he--now we-- lived. Mr. King was a little quiet at first around his former father-in-law. They hadn't seen each other in years. But, as the evening wore on, sweet Mr. Clemson wormed his way into Brad's damaged heart and they wound up reminiscing about old times with more warmth than I could have hoped for. Maryann King was surely smiling down from heaven that night.
The entire clan gathered again at my parent's house in Park Slope for in the early afternoon on Christmas Day. My father brought up two folding tables from the basement and we all managed to squeeze in. Mom cooked a turkey and a ham. The table groaned under the weight of the magnificent meal.
On New Year's Eve, snow began to fall lightly as dusk settled in. It was just as well. Tristan had asked me if we could have a quiet night at home instead of 'doing the town'. I was more than happy to stay in. He had champagne, caviar and foie gras that I intended to prepare as close to the way I had it in France as I could get it.
