The Housewife and the Film Star

by Doris O'Connor

  Get a grip, he is only making sure you don't burn.

  The hands stopped. One remained on her hip, stroking almost absentmindedly, and she could feel him shift slightly. His deep sigh made her frown. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes to find him kneeling next to her. Body turned away, his eyes looked straight ahead, and he seemed deep in thought. But it was the slump of his shoulders that called to her. As she turned herself over, his hand slid to her abdomen. It tightened for an instant, before his fingers relaxed. He didn't remove it, however. He just stared and looked down at his hand.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." His gaze briefly flickered to her face, before once again darting to her abdomen.

  A trickle of unease went down her spine as the expression on his face darkened. The warmth of his hand on her abdomen did little to ward off the sudden chill of foreboding. He was too intense and too quiet. All his attention was focused on that hand.

  His next words increased the iciness that was settling in her veins like lead.

  "Is last night going to be a problem?"

  Oh hell. They were finally having that conversation then.

  "I-I don't know. I mean no. It won't be."

  His ice cold eyes settled on her face. The hand on her tummy tightened again, as he ran the other one through his hair before he clenched it into a fist on his thigh.

  "Give me a straight answer. Either it is or it isn't, lady."

  She swallowed nervously. The tension came off him in waves as he waited for her answer.

  "Damn it, Sylvia, answer me. Are you on the pill?"

  "No, I had no reason to be."

  "Using anything else?"

  Not trusting her voice at what she saw in the eyes boring into hers, she simply shook her head. She jumped at the vicious curse that followed, and he got up, and prowled along the small confines of the stern like a caged panther.

  "It's okay, Sven, I'll sort it. We've seventy-two hours. It'll be fine."

  "No!"

  "What do you mean no? We have to do something, and, well, like I said, I'll sort it."

  He stopped pacing, but the look of disgust he threw at her took her breath away. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Sven seemed livid at the suggestion, his whole body as tense as a bow string, and fear held Sylvia in its firm grip. He looked just like Richard used to before his fists would come flying towards her. Sylvia screwed her eyes shut, and braced herself for the inevitable blows as she could sense him shift his body.

  It wasn't fists that sliced through her however; it was the pain in his voice.

  "I thought you were different."

  The words penetrated through the layers of dark memories and sheer terror churning in her gut. The slam of the door told her she was alone.

  ****

  Emotions swirled inside Sven like shifting sands. He gave the chair a vicious kick, sending it flying. It landed with an almighty crash and the sound of splintering wood. He was losing the fucking plot here. She'd looked so frightened, huddled on that damn lounger, shrinking away from him as though she was expecting him to turn on her like some wife-beating monster. His own fury at the careless way she could dismiss a possible pregnancy had overshadowed any other thought in his mind. He had to step away to give himself time to think. The distant sound of her crying was like a vise squeezing on his heart.

  Fuck, he had done that to her. And he had his answer as clearly as though she had admitted it out loud. She said it in the way she shrank away from the merest hint of any form of physical violence. It was a miracle she'd been able to enjoy a spanking. If the bastard who'd done this to her wasn't dead and buried already, he soon would be. He'd handled this all wrong, damn it. His own demons had brought out the worst in him and scared him witless. They didn't even know whether she was pregnant. With a bit of luck, she wouldn't be, but he had to explain to her about Walter. She needed to know; he owed her that much.

  He heard the door open at the far end of the boat, followed by the tentative thuds of her bare feet on the wooden floor. His nostrils flared as he turned to face her. Eyes and nose red from crying, she looked young and vulnerable. She approached slowly, and her eyes widened at the mess he'd made of the living area before she turned her gaze on his face.

  "What are you not telling me, Sven?"

  ****

  It had taken all of her courage to make herself walk through that door and toward the angry man at the other side of the boat. She felt sick from the aftermath of the adrenaline that surged into her system when she’d thought he would hit her. The sounds of wood splintering and things being thrown around inside hadn't helped. But she wasn't a coward. When Richard died, she'd sworn to herself she would never allow another man to make her feel worthless and afraid. She would be damned if she let Sven make her feel that way. Besides she could not stay in that stern forever. They had to sort this out. His reaction had been too extreme, too out of character, even for a man with a volatile temper. Where was the man who had held her so tenderly, who had been so concerned about her pleasure all weekend? Even when he'd spanked her, he hadn't lost control. She'd felt safe and cherished, the physical pain allowing her to let go and fly. Something didn't add up, and she was going to find out what it was. She'd seen the pain in his eyes before he exploded.

  Sylvia saw that pain again now, so raw, so immediate. She could almost feel his pain as a physical ache in her own body, as she waited for his answer.

  "I may not even be pregnant, but I won't do anything if you don't want me to. I would rather not anyway. It doesn't sit right with me somehow," Sylvia whispered.

  The words hung between them, and she saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. He glanced at her, and she had to strain to catch the next words.

  "You may change your mind after you hear what I've got to say."

  Dread settled over her anew. Her heart squeezed painfully as his eyes locked with hers.

  "What is it, Sven? Talk to me. You have some dreadful disease I need to know about? Sven?"

  "No, nothing like that. I'm clean. I always use a condom, always. I never lose control like that. I wouldn't want to … fuck it."

  Heaven help her. She couldn't suppress the small surge of female satisfaction she felt at having wrung out that confession from him. Even as the voice of reason in her head called her a goddamned fool, she thrilled to know she was the only one who had ever made him lose that much control. Knowing that she could rile him so much … damn, that was hot! And stupid. And there was absolutely no reason she should be so bloody pleased that she couldn't stop smiling.

  He noticed, because his eyes narrowed. The slightest ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it vanished so quickly, she thought she imagined it.

  She couldn't help it. She had to tease him just a little.

  "So, you're finding me irresistible is a problem, why?"

  The smile died on her lips at the renewed flash of pain in his eyes. She sank onto the plush couch. She knew instinctively she would need to sit down for this. Her heartbeat turned into a jackhammer when he sat next to her and took her hand in a clammy grip.

  "What do you know of Sly Syndrome?"

  "Never heard of it, but I'm assuming it's some sort of a disease? Sven, is that the problem? You have something wrong with you?" How could that be the case though? He was the picture of health, sitting next to her. His thigh brushed hers, and his familiar scent so close had her body react on its own She leaned into him, needing to touch him, to chase the sadness away.

  "No, not me, but it runs in our family. My brother, he … he…" Sven took a deep breath as his voice faltered, and he went to pull away. She wouldn't let him, however. Her heart was heavy with unshed tears. She'd never heard of this brother. Maybe it was common knowledge to everyone else, though she doubted it. Sven seemed to keep the things that truly mattered close to his heart and out of the limelight. The man portrayed in the papers was not the man sitting next to her. She knew that instinctively, and her own eyes filled with tears.
/>   "Your brother what, Sven? Does he have this syndrome? Is it genetic? Is that it? If I'm pregnant, will the baby have this thing?"

  "It might." The grip on her hand tightened, and she squeezed back slightly, dreading the answer to her next question but needing to ask it anyway.

  "Your brother? How is he?"

  "He died two years ago tomorrow. Of pneumonia brought on by the syndrome. It's such a cruel illness, Sylvia, and there is no cure, not yet. My parents were overjoyed when they found out they were expecting him. They had fertility problems, and it took them ages to have me. Mum had several miscarriages, and then when she fell pregnant with Walter, we were all so excited. I was six, desperate for a baby brother, and when he arrived."

  He stopped talking, lost in thought, and the brilliant smile on his face made tears stream down hers at all his family had lost. His gaze shifted back to her, and he used his thumb to swipe at her tears.

  "Don't cry at this, my love. Those were the good times. He was just perfect, you know, and we were all so happy. He grew like a weed, and I couldn't wait for him to start walking and then…"

  She squeezed his hand again, earning herself a sad smile.

  "What happened?"

  "He regressed. He stopped growing. He stopped interacting. Mum and Dad had him tested for all sorts. They thought he had some form of Autism at first, but then his features started changing, and, finally, we got the diagnosis of Sly Syndrome. In laymen's terms, he was missing the relevant enzymes to help him break down sugar molecules that are essential for building the bones, cartilage, skin, tendons, and other tissues in his body. They accumulate and start to damage organs and tissues and cause deformities. It is incredibly rare, especially the form that Walter had. He did well really. He lived much longer than he was expected to. I think my exploits helped him, you know." A quick glance in her direction and another sad smile tugged at her heart strings. "He used to love hearing all my tales of Hollywood and women, and well you could say he was a typical teenager in lots of respects. So, of course, I had to go one better for him, you know."

  "So that you had lots of tales to tell?" She had to smile at the blush on his cheekbones. "It's okay, Sven. I get it, and I'm sure he got a kick out of it, right?"

  "Yeah, I do believe he did. Anyway, in the end, it all happened so fast. I only just made it back to see him. His lungs gave up on him. He was too weak to fight the illness, and he died in my arms. I went a bit crazy after his death and at the first anniversary of it, too. It's just so fucking hard to deal with."

  Oh. Good. Lord.

  "That's why you're going back to Sweden, aren't you? The phone calls, hell, this weekend. Was it a distraction? To help you forget. That's it isn't it? The club, us, everything."

  "No."

  She jumped at his growled denial.

  His grip on her hand turned painful. "Well, maybe it was at first. That's what we agreed didn't we, a weekend of fun?"

  "Yes, we did, and now it's got all serious because I may end up pregnant and—"

  "Sylvia, look at me." He let go of her hand and cupped her chin instead, giving her no choice but to look at him. "Even if there wasn't a possible pregnancy to consider, I would want to see you again, do you hear me?" His expression softened at her nod, and her heart started working again with a strange erratic beat, which made her feel light-headed. "I've absolutely no right to ask you, min sköna. I have nothing to give a woman like you. I do not do forever. If you're with me, the papers will hound you as mercilessly as they do me. I'm never in one place for long, and, when I'm filming, I can be away for months, but we need to let this thing between us run its course, don't you think?"

  Another nod from her had him exhale in one deep whoosh. The gust of minty air raised the ends of her fringe, and, from somewhere she found her voice. The light heartedness of her words belied the foolish hope blossoming in her heart at the tender expression in which he looked at her.

  "You're wrong you know. You have plenty to give me that my rabbit certainly can't."

  His amused laughter broke the tension.

  "Amen to that, baby."

  Together they packed their clothes and straightened the place up a bit. Sven dismissed her worries about leaving the boat in such a state with a murmured, "Don't worry about it, the cleaners and insurance will sort it." He drew her in for one last passionate kiss before they started on their journey home.

  George met them at the appointed time, and the ride back to her house was quiet and uneventful. Sven drew her into his side, and she relaxed into his embrace, wondering about the smile on George's face every time their eyes met in the rearview mirror.

  Their welcome home was jubilant and noisy, seemingly witnessed by the entire neighborhood. Despite needing to catch a flight, Sven took time for one game of football with Timmy and ordered pizza for everyone, before making his goodbyes and pulling Sylvia out through the front door with him.

  "Promise you will ring Vera, if the vultures descend. She will help you deal with them."

  "I will, don't worry."

  "Good, I don't think chasing them away with frying pans would look too good, baby."

  "Shucks, I may just let Timmy run at them, what do you reckon?"

  She couldn't catch his laughing reply in Swedish. Whatever he'd said had George roaring with laughter as he tapped his watch and got behind the steering wheel. She was glad the sadness in Sven's eyes had been replaced with amusement, even if just for a moment.

  Not caring about the neighbors, Sylvia wrapped her arms around Sven's waist. He returned her embrace with a sigh. As he rained kisses in her hair, she smiled against his chest.

  "I have got to go, baby. Look after yourself, and, if anything develops, ring me!"

  "I will. Go. You need to be with your family. Don't worry about me."

  With one last, fierce hug, he was gone, leaving her alone on her doorstep. Tears clouded her vision as she stared after his departing car and crushed the card he'd given her with his mobile number and Vera's details in her hand.

  What the hell had she done?

  Chapter Eleven

  The insistent ringing of the doorbell, coupled with hammering and the annoyingly cheerful voice of Mrs. Robinson woke Sylvia up with a start.

  God, what now? Could she not have five minutes to herself, damn it? She winced at the renewed pounding on the front door, and tripped up over a stack of newspapers. A gleeful Peggy had dropped them round yesterday with her usual dire predictions of how this was all going to go sour, and how could she, and Harry, would not wait forever, and blah de blah de blah..

  "I know she's in there, probably hiding again, the poor dear. This front door has seen more activity than Piccadilly Circus lately. Everyone wants a piece of her it seems. But I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you. Woohoo, Sylvia, your friend is here, and I've got a parcel for you, too."

  "Okay, already, I'm coming. No need to bash my door in."

  Sylvia stopped in the hallway, ran her fingers through her hair in a vain effort to make herself more presentable, and grimaced at the bags under her eyes, testament to how little sleep she'd had lately. And it was all Sven's fault, damn it. One weekend, that's all it had been, one blasted weekend that she relived every time she closed her eyes. When she did eventually manage to fall asleep, she was plagued by erotic dreams that had her thrash awake, gasping for breath, and wishing like hell he was there to finish what they started. And, on the most basic level, she just missed him. His smile, his teasing, his warm frame next to her at night, and the way he would always pull her back into him, when she tried to wriggle away.

  God, girl, you're such a sap.

  The sight of her neighbor's beaming face peering through her letterbox shook her out of her musings. Really. What next?

  "There you are, dear. Open the door already. This parcel here has a Swedish postmark, and it rattles. I'm most intrigued to find out what Mr. Sex–on-Legs has sent you. Handcuffs maybe? After all everyone knows by now you've used them."

&n
bsp; Oh, Good grief, trust her.

  "Jo, I really don't think that's any of your business." Sylvia did have to smile at the impish expression on her neighbor's face. She did mean well and was completely harmless. That smile froze on her lips, however, when she saw Kathy standing behind Jo. Her ex-friend looked at the parcel in Mrs. Robinson's hands with a far too interested expression on her face.

  Shit! That was all she needed. What the hell was Kathy doing here?

  "Aren't you letting us in then, dear?"

  Jo's smile slipped a little as she glanced back and forth between Sylvia and Kathy.

  "What are you doing here, Kathy?" Sylvia asked. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that I had nothing to say to you."

  "Sylvia, please, I'm here as your friend. I'm worried about you. There are things that you don't know about him."

  Lord, give me strength. If it wasn't for the photographer she could see lurking at the bottom of the street, his long camera lens trained on her, she would have followed through on her urge to wipe that smile off Kathy's face with her fist.

  "Sylvia, dear, whatever is the matter? I thought this young lady is a friend of yours? I never would have let her up the garden path otherwise."

  Jo looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowed, the parcel raised as though she was going to plonk it on Kathy's head at any given second. Knowing Jo, she would do it, too. Sylvia had seen her neighbor chase salesmen down her path more than once.

  "I am her friend." Kathy spoke through gritted teeth.

  "Oh, yes, such a good friend, Jo, that she sold me out to the papers."