25
I’ve got Ella in the crook of my arm while I watch Felicity in the large walk-in closet of our bedroom. Lizzy’s got Romeo downstairs and will be leaving for the night soon. Amelia is coming over and Felicity has woken later than she planned from a nap, so now she’s hurriedly hunting for something to wear. If I had my choice in the matter, I’d have her keep on what she’s wearing now. The oversized Rogue concert tee shirt falls to just above mid-thigh and her bare legs are shapely and sexy.
In the last few days, we’ve had a lot of fun making up for lost time with our sex life, keeping up the intensity we found when she dropped by the studio. We’ve made a bit of a game out of it, carving out time early in the morning or late at night—or even in the middle of the day—when the kids are asleep. She woke me once in the middle of the night with her mouth on my cock. After such a long dry spell, it was one of the best blowjobs of my life.
Despite this part of our marriage roaring back to life, it’s clear there are still issues we need to work on. I know she’s not suddenly got a handle on everything that had thrown her off. And I’ve got my own worries. But neither of us has been stepping up to communicate those things. Baby steps, I tell myself. It’s somehow easier to have patience with this when I’m not suffering from blue balls.
Or maybe, focusing on our sex life is not just easier than working on our issues, but a sort of escape from them. I’ve been down that road before with my former fiancée, Colette. In the end, there was nothing between us but our physical connection. If I didn’t know better, I might worry about history repeating itself now with Felicity.
I just don’t believe that’s the case, though. Colette and I never had a deep connection. Felicity and I have a connection that goes back to when we were teenagers. Nothing will change that. At least, not if I have anything to do with it.
“And, I’ve got everything to do with it, don’t I, Ella girl?” I ask my daughter. She opens her mouth into a reflexive smile and I give it right back to her.
“Dress or pants?” Felicity asks, still in the closet.
It’s a showpiece of a room, having been designed by Colette , who had wanted not just enough room for all of her designer clothing, but specialized lighting and custom cabinets as well. Felicity, even after these past few years living here, still hasn’t filled her side of the room. She’s never been especially into fashion. My side, on the other hand, is full with bespoke suits, all manner of dress shirts, rows of jeans and pants, and tee shirts and jumpers neatly folded in drawers. I also have an extensive display of high-end watches that sit under a spotlight that originally seemed a ridiculous indulgence but now I secretly love it.
“Whatever you’re comfortable in,” I tell her. “It’s just a simple meal, right?”
“Yes, right.”
I look down at Ella. She’s been quietly hanging out with us. As usual, she’s happiest when being held. I pull her up to my face and look into her beautiful blue eyes. She studies me curiously. When I smile, she coos. And my heart melts. This girl will forever be able to twist me around her little finger, that I know for sure.
“Okay,” Felicity says as she comes out dressed in black linen pants and a loose maroon top. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I look down at my clothes. I’ve come from the studio for this dinner and haven’t bothered to change out of the black work pants and black and gray camouflage long sleeve thermal I was wearing.
“Is this a job interview? Or is this a dinner in my own home?” I ask.
She laughs. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m nervous about this.”
“Maybe because she knows so much about you,” I suggest with a tease in my voice. “And you’ve probably told her all kinds of intimate things about me. Now she’ll have to see me and put it all together.”
“Ha ha,” she says.
“Why don’t you tell me a choice thing or two about her, so we’re all on even ground here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno. Maybe tell me some secret your friend has shared with you that might be on par with what you’ve likely told her about me?”
She sits with me on the side of the bed. “Eh, well, she did tell me something surprising.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“She’s got this ex-client who she seems to have fallen for, but she won’t really admit it.”
Jesus, no. This can’t be what I think it is.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I guess there was a fella she was working with and she says she ended up crossing professional boundaries with him somehow. Though they were never actually together. And she won’t date him, even now that he’s no longer her client. But he calls her quite often and leaves her these long messages that she seems to adore, even though she never answers or calls him back.”
For. Fuck’s. Sake.
“What is it?” she asks.
I know I didn’t say anything out loud, but my expression must have exposed my thoughts. “I, em, nothing. Just thinking about studio stuff, sorry. We’re getting close to the end.”
“Uh huh.” She’s not convinced but lets it go, taking Ella from me and suggesting to her that they go find her brother.
I don’t move to follow her. I need a second to think about what I’ve just learned. So, this means that Danny Boy was telling the truth. He and Amelia—his dear Ms. Patterson—really do have some kind of connection that goes beyond therapy. That is definitely a clear violation of her duties. And it suggests the ease with which she offered unconventional therapy with Felicity was rooted in a history of playing fast and loose with professional boundaries. And I didn’t just go along with it, I conspired with her to make it happen.
Fuck. Me.
* * *
When I go downstairs, it’s not Felicity and Lizzy I find with the babies, but Felicity and Amelia. I remind myself to act as if we’ve never met and do a good job when Felicity introduces us.
“Thanks for having me,” she says. “You have a beautiful home—and a beautiful family.”
Felicity’s done her best to soften up the modern decor, including bringing in plush area rugs where the babies are now lying side by side on the musical-themed playmat in the middle of the living room.
“We’re glad to have you,” I say. “Can I take your coat?”
“Oh! I should have asked,” Felicity says with a laugh.
Amelia shrugs out of the heavy wool coat. “No, it’s fine. You’ve got your hands full with the babies and dinner.”
I take her coat and walk it back to the closet by the front door. It gives me a minute to try to think how to approach this situation. It feels like an opportunity to test Amelia. To prod her on what exactly she’s doing with her visits with Felicity. Is she really helping? Or is it some kind of simple incompetence from someone who doesn’t know the proper way to do her job?
Of course, I have to tread lightly, no matter what I do. I can’t have Felicity understanding the bargain I struck with Amelia at the start of this.
The women are seated on the sofa, staring appreciatively at the kids who are both in their pre-bedtime wind-down.
“You’re saying these are the very same babies who gave you such trouble the other night?” Amelia asks with a put-on look of skepticism.
“That’s their best trick—making you think they’re always this angelic,” Felicity says with a smile.
“Can I get you ladies a glass of wine?” I ask.
“We have a great Bordeaux,” Felicity says.
“Sure, I’ll take a glass.”
As I turn to the kitchen, I hear Amelia telling Felicity, “He’s very kind”
I’m only trying to be a good host. But it might not last, depending on how things unfold.
I come back with a glass for Amelia and myself, reserving one for Felicity once she’s nursed again. Conversation is mostly about the babies. Amelia shares a bit about her nephew and it’s clear she’s good with children.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry, but I need to leave you for just a few minutes,” Felicity says after a time. “I’m going to get them off to bed.”
“No problem. Take your time,” Amelia tells her.
I help Felicity take the kids to their room but then leave her to nurse them once more before getting them down for the night.
Amelia is looking out at the view when I return. The sky has grown darker, but the houses below ours and along the coast are lit up. The moon is also full and starting to reflect brightly on the water.
“Gorgeous view,” she says when I join her at the wall of windows.
“We like it.”
I wait to see if she’s going to say anything about this odd situation we’re in. She’s quiet, though, and I suspect it’s a tactic she uses quite well in her therapy sessions. It makes one want to fill the void, to say something just to keep from feeling uncomfortable.
Despite my desire to do otherwise, I fall into the trap and speak first. “I’m glad I haven’t heard from you.” That had been our agreement, that she’d call me if she thought Felicity’s troubles were getting worse.
She laughs and glances at me. “I am, too.”
I turn to her. “Listen, I have to tell you I’ve got some concerns about what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Do you even know what you’re doing?”
She stares at me without saying anything, her eyes scanning over my face to try to make sense of what I’ve just said. I’m painfully aware that the time we have to talk freely like this is draining away. It won’t take Felicity much longer before she joins us.
“It’s just as I said before. I’m being a friend.”
“That’s it, huh? Is that the same with you and our mutual friend, Danny Boy?”
Her eyes drop from mine at the mention of his name.
“He’s under the impression that you’re friends,” I continue. “Only, that seems to be defined as him calling you and you not answering. Doesn’t sound like the healthiest—”
“Does Felicity know?”
“What? That it’s Danny Boy you get these calls from?”
“Yes.”
“No, I haven’t told her. I can’t even comprehend it myself. I can’t imagine what she’d say.”
“And does Daniel know about me working with Felicity?”
“No, I didn’t tell him.”
She’s visibly relieved by this news. But the reaction only makes me more curious about just what is going on with her and Danny Boy. I open my mouth to ask but stop when I hear Felicity descending the stairs.
“We’ve only lived here for a couple years,” I say, as if we’d been talking about the house.
Amelia is slow to understand but finally realizes she’s to play along. “Well, it’s magnificent. I’m sure it will be great to raise your family.”
“They’re both asleep,” Felicity tells us with a grin. “Time for a glass of wine and dinner.”
“I’ll get your wine,” I say and step away.
It’s not likely I’ll get another chance to speak privately with Amelia now. That means I’ll have to couch my queries to her very carefully during dinner.
26
Felicity
There was something odd happening between Conor and Amelia when I came downstairs. They both took pains to pretend it wasn’t there, but I have to assume Conor was trying to get her to tell him her thoughts on how I’ve been. I feel secure in the knowledge that Amelia will safeguard the things I’ve told her in confidence. After all, that’s what girlfriends do.
Now we’ve gone through almost two bottles of the Bordeaux and have filled up on the beef bourguignon with fresh pasta I had brought in. Another way in which I fall short in comparison with my friend Sophie, is that I am not a cook. Conor has never minded, especially as I am good at finding the best restaurants and caterers to have food delivered or made on the spot.
I’m feeling the happy and warm effects of the alcohol and have finally relaxed with Amelia being here and getting to know Conor. They’ve been bonding over their shared love of Ella Fitzgerald and other jazz and blues artists. He’s even gone so far as to put on his original press vinyl copy of the 1956 album Ella and Louis. It seems they are getting along like a house on fire. Which is why it is so odd that he suddenly starts a line of conversation that changes the tenor of the dinner.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Amelia? Someone to share your love of jazz with, maybe?” he asks.
“No, not at the moment,” she says, smiling down into her glass of wine.
“No? No one special? Maybe an admirer vying for your attention?”
Amelia squints at him and slowly bites her lower lip, considering what to say. When her eyes flick my way, I realize she’s wondering if I’ve told Conor about her ex-client who has kept up phone calls to her for months. I never should have betrayed her confidence. Guiltily, I scramble to head this off.
“Sweetheart, I’ve already suggested fixing Amelia up, but she’s not interested. If that’s what you’re getting to.” I squeeze his hand under the table.
Conor nods and is quiet, but I can tell it’s because he’s gearing up to say more.
“You know who’s also single? Our own Danny Boy.”
I laugh out loud, both at the idea of fixing Amelia up with Danny Boy of all people, and with the relief I feel that he’s dropped the subject that bothered me. “Yes,” I say, “and he’s single for a reason.”
“Meaning?” He gives me an amused smile.
“You know very well what I mean.” I look at Amelia. “Danny Boy is Shay’s brother. And you know Shay is Rogue’s drummer, right?”
“Of course,” Amelia says.
“He’s become a part of our lives in the last couple years. But he’s a rough sort, if you take my meaning.”
“You’re being unusually harsh,” Conor says. “You’ve always been the one to beg for him to have another chance, haven’t you, honey? Like when he, I dunno, stole my guitar? Then there was the time he showed up at our house in the middle of the night as if that was the proper way to make amends. Oh, and remember when he was so reckless during our live show that he came crashing down and broke his brother’s wrist? You wanted him to be given a pass for all of those things.”
“Well, yes, I’m always in favor of granting him another chance, but that doesn’t mean I’d consider him suitable relationship material.” I look at Amelia, whose face is a frozen mask. “Conor just loves to give Danny Boy a hard time, always making him the butt of the joke.”
“Now, that’s not true. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually like him. He seems to have changed his ways in the past few months. That’s why I thought, well, he’s single . . .”
“That’d never work,” I say. I’m about to say more, to dissect why Danny Boy is unfit for my refined friend Amelia, when she interrupts.
“Because I’m not interested in dating.” She levels her eyes on Conor. “But thanks for thinking of me.”
They maintain eye contact for a long beat before he pivots the conversation once more.
“Tell me, how long have you been a therapist?” he asks.
“Let’s see,” she says, “it’s been almost ten years now.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
Conor’s tone is strange. It’s almost mocking. But Amelia smiles and shakes her head in wonder, saying, “Yes, I can hardly believe it myself.”
“What got you interested in the profession?”
“I suppose it was just . . . a natural curiosity I had about people and a desire to help those in need,” she says.
“Have you ever heard the theory that those who go into the field of psychology often do so in order to heal themselves?” he asks.
“Conor!” I slap at his arm and look apologetically at Amelia.
“It’s just a theory,” he says with a laugh.
“It’s rude, is what it is,” I say. I examine him for signs of dr
unkenness but other than the inappropriate remark, he seems totally in control. He’s always in control. It’s a permanent condition with him, and likely why he’s so put off by anyone—including me—who doesn’t share that trait.
Amelia seems unruffled, though. “It’s okay, Felicity,” she says. “I’ve heard worse.”
“Really? Like what?” he asks and leans back in his chair.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I say. “Conor, how would you like it if she questioned your motives for getting into a band, suggesting something dark about it?”
“What? Like that I have demons that only the music can exorcise?” He’s amused because he hasn’t described himself. He’s described Gavin and we both know it. “Nah, that’s not me. I wouldn’t worry about such an accusation. Why would anyone, if it’s false?”
“It’s still not nice.”
He turns to me, smiling benignly. “What shall we talk about then? I can’t help it if Amelia’s work interests me.”
“What would you like to know, Conor?” Amelia asks.
She looks composed, with a pleasant look on her face. It’s the demeanor I found so comforting when we had our one and only session. It’s the look that invites you to bare your soul, while somehow assuring you it will all be okay.
“I dunno,” he says. “How about, do you ever treat family members? Or would that cross the boundary of professionalism?”
“That’s a very odd question,” I say. “Of course, she wouldn’t.”
“No, I’ve never treated family members.”
“What about friends—”
The baby monitor lights up and Ella’s crying fills the room, interrupting the odd exchange. Conor stands and says he’ll check on her and I’m glad he’s stepping away.
I lean across the table and say in a hushed tone, “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I don’t know why he was going on like that.”
She waves away the apology. “It’s fine.”
Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6) Page 14
