We’re welcomed by a lovely woman with a big smile and Sam tells her we have reservations. I feel light-headed because I don’t think Gage ever made reservations for us… ever. It all feels unreal… it doesn’t seem plausible.
We’re seated and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad of a chair in all my life. He helps tuck me under the table and I make the faux pas of trying to pour myself some water, quickly told by our waiter, “Please, allow me.” Sam is presented with the wine list and he tells the waitress we’re going to have the tasting menu so we won’t be needing a bottle because each course already comes with its own accompanying drink. He nevertheless orders me a gin and tonic and I mumble something incoherent in response, more or less agreeing that some alcohol might help at this juncture.
Once the gin and tonic arrives, along with a basket of bread and some strange little pots of savoury mousse, I feel slightly more relaxed.
“How was your week?” Sam asks, breaking the ice, or whatever. Not so much ice, as my inability to believe this is all really happening.
I look around the restaurant and everyone is placed at a safe distance, given their privacy and a little piece of the land for themselves to enjoy for the night. The lighting isn’t too dark, nor bright, and we could be sitting at home if I just take myself there in my head. It might help me cope with the nerves a little.
“I went for dinner at the Joneses on Tuesday, I think it was. There were tears and it wasn’t a great evening for me. Cathartic, but not… you know.”
“Oh,” he says with a frown. “Something you’re not telling me?”
He’s sitting there, unbelievably handsome and at ease, completely at home. I wish he’d just taken me roughly at my place, perhaps on the staircase, instead of this… this place… him. I’m falling even more deeply in love with him, to the point where I can’t see a way backwards.
“On Monday, Hetty and I went for our usual coffee and walk around the park. I told her all about Gage and his note and everything. I swore her to secrecy… but she evidently can’t keep her mouth shut.” I reach for my glass of gin and tonic, thirsting for more, but when I press it to my lips, I find the glass empty. I take a breath and Sam reaches across the table for my hand.
I carefully place my hand in his, reassured when his fingers close around mine. “We’re in for quite a night, Liza. Let’s pace ourselves. You don’t have to tell me everything right now. When you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
Before I know it, they bring out the first course… and we’re away.
OVER THE COURSE of the evening, while enjoying our six different little meals, all accompanied by alcoholic drinks, we tell each other about our weeks. He tells me he made a short trip to Istanbul midweek to meet a couple of clients, but didn’t have time to explore the city, only time to enjoy some of their decadent coffee and a Turkish spa at his hotel, which I have been assured is worth it, if I should ever visit. No wonder he’s glowing tonight.
I tell him about Hetty – about how our relationship is volatile, but necessary. I explain how our creative partnership can be tricky but also central to her expanding business. I recall Joe’s visit the other evening and how I sent him packing. It’s as we’re almost sinking into our chairs, enjoying macaroons and coffee by this point, that Sam agrees with me, “I think a little time apart will be good for you both. It’s been intense the past couple of months, with everything going on.”
“Yep.” It still hurts though and it must show, because he reaches out his hand to me for the umpteenth time tonight and I’m so grateful that even just holding hands makes me feel better, because there’s not much else you can do across a table.
“I know she’s like a sister to you, probably more. She’s a best friend, and best friends don’t stick by you because of blood or family loyalty, they stick by you through choice. Choice also means they have the capacity to hurt you more.”
I have to compose myself because we’re not out of here yet and there are other people still around.
“Like I said, it’s complex. A part of me wants her to move away, for her own sake, as much as mine.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“She needs to be allowed to flourish. I make her designs possible, but I also curtail her flamboyance.”
Sam laughs. “You’re a realist, then?”
“That may be,” I agree, managing a chuckle. “Although once upon a time, I would have described myself as a romanticist first and foremost.” I stare into the distance, recalling my tiny childhood bedroom, with old, second-hand books stacked in every corner – a ton of annotations and dog-eared corners having spoiled them all. Mum still has them in her loft, I think. I don’t think she’s had the heart to throw them out yet.
“What is it you’re thinking about now, beautiful?”
“Mum.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I run my finger around the edge of my coffee cup, trying not to giggle. “We’ve stopped being angry with one another; we can’t even remember what we fell out about now. Well, I suppose we can. We’re still in that stage of neither of us backing down. It’s a funny place to be in. When I drop the kids off, she just gives me that look, as if she’s waiting for me to say sorry, even though she’s forgiven me. It’s an even more complex dynamic than the one I have with Hetty and I am not going to try to explain that one.”
Sam shakes his head. “She must be a good woman. She took on Hetty, didn’t she?”
“Yes, after I begged her, after I made it my mission in life… Plus, they got some money from the state to help. It was my promise to keep Hetty out of trouble, and that’s what I did, I kept her out of trouble. Well, as much as I could. And there were some pretty creative excuses as to why she was sometimes not in bed and not back home before curfew. But, it was okay.”
“Everything I learnt, I learnt from the other boys at boarding school,” he announces.
“Sounds ominous.”
“Many kids would say they resented being sent away, but I didn’t. I’m the man I am because of it. I learnt about the world through my friends and I learnt about real companionship, too.”
He seems genuinely to be thinking back on those days fondly as he smiles at me from the other side of the table.
“Do you keep in touch with any of them?”
His face changes and he stares blankly for a second. “My best friend Craig took his own life when we were in our last year. He was eighteen.”
My shock must be evident because there’s his hand again, reaching for mine. I can feel my eyes bugging out and that fizzing in my nostrils I always get, right before I’m about to blub.
“What happened?”
Sam stares into space, his head looking heavy on his shoulders. “He just… put a belt around his neck, and we found him hanging in the bathroom one morning. He never even seemed depressed. It sort of broke everyone apart, you know?”
I take a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I don’t know. It seems like a lifetime ago. I don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“We were all so tight-knit, but after our A levels, everyone went their own ways. I came to university up here because it was far away and I knew my parents wouldn’t be persuaded into visiting me up here. It suited. I tried to move on… I tried to forget it… as I’m sure all our other friends have, but you never get over something like that. One day, they’re laughing and joking, and without warning, the next day they’re gone. It’s like he never trusted me, you know? And I know that’s unfair, but that’s how I felt for a long time… that he didn’t trust me enough, when the truth was, he probably just hated himself for even contemplating placing his burden on someone else. But I just wish he had, so much.”
I reach both of my hands out for his, it being my turn to provide the comfort now.
“Shall we call it a night, baby?”
“Yes,” he says, nodding fast. “Although I can’t drive. I’ve drunk too much.�
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“Oh… yeah… fuck. I should have…”
His face breaks into a smile.
“What?” I demand.
“I booked a room in one of the adjoining cottages.”
“Oh, you sneaky git. All right then.”
Sam pays the restaurant bill before we head to the cottages and are taken to our room for the night. All my nerves earlier are forgotten. I just need his skin against mine. I need his kisses and his arms and his love. Everything feels okay whenever we are together.
I gasp at the interior as we’re led into the room and told when breakfast is, then left to our own devices. The bedroom and bathroom are open plan, with a delicious white freestanding tub and a large walk-in shower curtained off from the huge sleigh bed furnished with sumptuous pillows and throws. The room is decadent, with gold and cerise furnishings coupled with oak furniture, being the dominating features.
I’m wondering why he didn’t tell me… because I’d have brought my things with me… but I am given no more time to think when he walks up behind me, wrapping his arms tight around my front.
“Are you too full to be loved?” he asks, breathing against my ear.
“I need you.”
“I love you,” he growls in my ear, sliding his hand over my breast and grasping it.
I place my hands over his and lean back into him, turning my head and accepting his lips against mine. He kisses me until I can’t breathe, then turns me to face him, his chest heaving as he stares down into my eyes.
He brushes my hair over my shoulders and strokes his fingertips over my cheeks, setting my skin on fire, my heart alight. Slowly, he unzips my dress at the back, pushing his hands inside, then pulling me ever closer towards his strong, taut body. He strokes his hands across my skin, his cheeks burning.
“I mean it, I love you,” he tells me, burning with love, not just from his skin, but from his eyes and soul – every part of him.
“I feel the same way, the exact same way, Sam.”
He leans in and kisses me, biting my lip, my cries pouring forth now we’re finally back here – after such a long week apart. He pushes down my dress and I step out of it once it’s on the floor. He urges me backwards and to lie upon the bed. He undresses down to his boxer shorts while I watch from my vantage point, admiring all that’s mine.
“I got the cap,” I announce. “This week, I got the cap. The pill never worked for me… and anyway, I just want to feel you inside me.”
“You’re wearing it?” he asks, his voice deepening to a painful huskiness.
“Yes.”
“Can I feel?”
I gulp, almost forgetting how to breathe. “Yes, darling.”
I’m lying sideways across the bed but he pushes my feet, in heels still, back towards my buttocks, knees bent, legs spread. He climbs onto the bed, grips my legs in his arms, then presses his face to my satin knickers and pushes his nose in deep, inhaling as much of my scent as he can.
“Fuck, that’s worth everything,” he groans. “Fuck.”
Next, he’s tearing down my knickers, leaving me in my basque and suspenders. He spreads my legs, staring down on me from his vantage point, knelt on the bed before me. He slides a gentle finger through the wetness between my thighs, then pushes two fingers into me, sliding deep to feel where the cap is.
“I need to be inside you immediately.”
“Please, don’t wait.”
He pulls down his underwear, freeing himself of it, and of everything.
I can’t get used to how he makes me feel, every time I see him fully naked and so beautiful. The sweet lines of him, intersected by savage musculature… soft hair covering hard, violent desire. He lowers his body on top of mine and I eagerly pull him close, stroking the back of my hand over his pronounced cheekbone. He brings my fingertips to his lips and kisses them, eyes shut, words on his lips he’ll never say because he’s a man and men don’t say such things, but even so in his eyes I’ve read those words a hundred times over – I’ve known all these years that he loves me, and I’ve buried it because of guilt. Well, no more. No more.
He unhooks a few of the fastenings at the front of my basque, allowing him access to my nipples. He licks and sucks, my back arching off the bed with desperate desire.
When he surges into me without warning, I clutch his hair in my hands with the same amount of violence I can feel inside me, so big and hard and unyielding.
I gasp, trying not to scream. We have neighbours next door in these outbuildings and we might scare them. Still, the thought that Sam planned all this so we could sit and have dinner together, free and easy, talking all night before heading straight for bed is the most anyone has ever done for me – and I’m so happy. I want to give him everything in return.
Sam holds my body in his arms and turns us until my head lands in the pillow. Then he pins me down and urges my legs around his waist as he rocks into my body.
“Ooooohhhh,” I groan, my head thrown back.
With a violent rip, the rest of my basque is undone and thrown away, landing who knows where. His heart pounds against my own, our arms suddenly desperate for one another, our kisses deep and greedy and wild.
The twitches in my legs signal I’m close and Sam fucks me harder and faster, ramming my head deeper into the pillow.
“Yes,” I scream, unable to stop myself.
All I know as he continues burning through me, my every nerve ending on fire, is that it feels akin to swimming in a far-off chasm, everything warm and wet, like I’m back in the womb, not a care, not a worry, nothing wrong while I’m in my watery paradise, being fed without the need for feeding. I’m nurtured and loved, and that’s all I know.
When I come to, the blankets are around us. He’s tucked me up in bed, taken my shoes off, left me just in my stockings. I love the way he holds me with his arms criss-cross over mine, hugging me around my chest. His lips are resting on my shoulder and he’s still catching his breath. I can feel his wet body pressing against mine from head to toe and the violent throb between my legs still has me feeling light-headed.
“I loved tonight, but this is my favourite part… you holding me.”
“Me too,” he says, kissing my neck.
“I love you quite a bit, you know.”
“I love you more,” he groans, rubbing up against my behind, renewed already.
Lifting my thigh over his, I let him come back into me, because that’s exactly where he needs to be right now, and I love him most for that – for being vulnerable.
“God, Sam,” I groan, lost to him – endlessly swimming – his hands tight around me, his tongue on my throat, my hand reaching back to tug and pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”
Chapter Thirty
I WAKE FEELING THE MOST serene I’ve ever felt. It’s bliss. It’s true love and utter contentment. I’m lying in his arms, not moving, my cheek nestled against his chest. I don’t want to wake him if he’s still asleep and I don’t want to spoil this perfect moment.
We spent most of last night making love. It makes me tearful just thinking about it. How many people experience this sort of thing in one lifetime? Am I lucky, or should everyone aspire to this? I feel as if this is the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me – aside from giving birth to my babies.
Now in comparison, when I look back on my marriage to Gage, all I remember is a giant, aching hole inside me – a loneliness that at the time, I couldn’t comprehend. A sadness, a yearning… time spent hoping for him to change, day after day wishing for it.
I loved my husband, but not as I love Sam.
With Sam, there’s a sexual connection I never shared with Gage. Does that make me a bad person for feeling grateful that I finally have this type of sexual love? If it does, I’m beginning to come around to the idea that if I am to be cast as a villain, so be it. Whatever it takes to hang on to Sam, I will do it – because this man is worth it. I cannot risk losing him. I have never felt this alive in all my life and I’m desperat
e to preserve and bottle the utter happiness I’m experiencing right now. I don’t want this to be fleeting or something I will try to reincarnate in future. I want to live with him like this… forever.
I carefully place my hand over his heart, the warmth of his skin and his body hair arousing my senses immediately. His hand covers mine and he brings my fingers to his lips to kiss them.
“Kitten.”
“Dog.”
He shudders with laughter, throwing his leg over me, his arms wrapping tight around me. He smothers me with affection and tugs the blankets tighter around us. His kisses land in my hair and on my arms, but somehow, I know they’re loving kisses, not the kisses of a man expecting even more than I already gave up to him.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave this room, but we have about half an hour before checkout,” he tells me, indicating the time by showing me his watch. It’s late morning, but I could easily stay all day. We probably would if I didn’t have to get back to the kids.
“More cuddles,” I beg.
“Just a few minutes more, angel.”
I breathe in the heady scent of dried sweat, cum and his cologne, dimmed but still there. Above all that though my intense sense of smell (when it comes to him) picks out the natural scent of his skin and body. He smells like autumn and heat.
“We won’t have time for breakfast,” he complains.
“Ah, well. I didn’t know what we were doing last night, but I did stuff the fridge just in case. I have sausages and bacon and black pudding at home.”
“What the bloody hell are we waiting for?” he almost yells, dramatically freeing us of our gorgeous cocoon, then tugging on his clothes from the floor.
I gather the blankets back around me and huff, my arms folded.
“It was so nice and warm and you had to spoil it.”
“You said naughty things to me. Fried food. Possibly gigantic cups of tea? Maybe even toast.”
My stomach growls in response despite our six courses last night. “You’re a bad influence.”
He chucks me my clothes and I ignore them, leaving the bed for the toilet. I pee in front of him as he combs his hair in the mirror above the vanity.
Guilt Page 22
