My father reopens his paper while Mum appears not to have read anything into the interactions that just took place—all she can do is stare at Ruben’s face.
Well, he’s handsome, that’s for sure. Probably the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of people.
I put coffee in front of Ruben and ask if he wants anything to eat.
“We’d better get on the road,” he says, squeezing my hand and giving me soft eyes. He kisses my knuckles as I stand next to him, willing him to whisk me away.
I melt inside at the gesture, because he knows now why this is uncomfortable for me.
My dad is a pillock, end of.
“If you won’t be here for your birthday, I’ll give you your present now,” Mum says, standing up to leave the room. I watch her go, taking the stairs. While she’s gone, my father stares at me with the cold, dead eyes of a loveless wretch.
“Dirty fucking slut,” he spits, before abruptly standing to leave the room with his precious paper.
He clops down the hall towards the sitting room, closing the door tight. His venom lingers, even after he’s gone. Not to mention the way his ugly mouth moved as he spoke keeps playing on repeat inside my mind.
I hardly have time to process what’s happening before Mum’s back. Ruben catches my eye, sees how shocked I am, and pulls out a chair for me, kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I’m here, Freya.”
I want to cry so badly, and the lump in my throat feels tennis-ball sized, but Mum’s gift is presented to me and she seems excited.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
I open the card first. It’s sweet and is apparently from both of them, although I doubt he had a hand in any of this.
My gift is inside a small box. I tear open the wrapping paper and am surprised to discover a very simple but beautiful white gold necklace with a huge lump of amethyst—my birthstone—hanging from it.
“It’s lovely, Mum. Thank you.”
I get up to hug her and she kisses me across the table.
“Will you leave the room for a moment, Ruben? Please, if you don’t mind, love,” she asks, and though he looks wary, I nod and he agrees.
“Will you go up and start packing for me?” I ask, because I want him nowhere near my father.
“Sure. My pleasure.”
Ruben leaves the room, taking his huge presence and all that testosterone with him. I feel instantly lost once he’s gone.
Mum gets up to close the door and sits next to me at the table, holding my hand.
“I knew this day would come for you, sweetheart. I knew it.”
“What day, Mum?”
“When you’d make that leap. And be with someone lovely and strong, like him.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t mean to, but I fell in love with him. I love him, Mum. It feels… real. Very real this time.”
Tears prick my eyes as she pulls me close.
“It’s wonderful, so wonderful. Don’t listen to your father. He’s just not sure how to deal with you growing up.”
I want to say so much, but I won’t, like he should’ve gotten over it already. I am twenty-eight years old almost! Has my mum forgiven my father for all the nasty, horrible, spiteful things he’s said over the years—not to mention all the weird and wonderful ways in which he justifies his own spite. Maybe she doesn’t see how much of a bastard he really is. She thinks what he’s like is normal.
Then, just as I think I know her through and through, she goes and surprises the hell out of me, digging into her bra for a piece of paper.
She holds it out in front of me and whispers, “Your father doesn’t know about all the classes I teach. I’ve been saving this for when you’d need it. I think that’s now.”
I can hardly hold the paper, I’m trembling so much, but somehow, I manage to unfold it. It’s a cheque for £10,000.
“Mum, no. God no. What would he say? Fuck. Mum. No. I can’t. I can’t take this.”
“Sure, you can take it. I know my girl. She’ll pay me back. In kind.”
I burst into tears. “Oh my god.”
We hug it out, then she encourages me to put it in my jeans pocket quickly.
“Go on, darling. Go and live. It’s time.”
I take my coffee with me and smile. “Thanks, Mum. Honestly. You really didn’t have to.” I have savings she doesn’t know about—and I plan to leave just as soon as I have enough to start my own business.
“What are mums for?” she sings, sounding happy for once.
I can barely feel my legs as I take the stairs.
Ruben’s waiting for me on the bed, his usual strong, collected self. “I managed to get seats on the Eurostar. Taxi will be here in ten minutes.” I see he’s put a few of my things in my small roller case. “I threw in some knickers and a couple of bras, plus your make-up and toiletries. You won’t be needing anything else. Unless you’ve got some stuff hidden under the floorboards, safe from the sex police downstairs?”
I climb onto his lap and hold him, so glad when he holds me tight in return. I kiss him hungrily and deeply, grateful he’s here. It frightens me that with every passing second, I wonder how I ever lived without him, because I’m becoming more and more reliant.
We cease kissing and stare into each other’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“Don’t be sorry, it explains everything,” he whispers. “And it’s made me realise my job now.”
“What’s that?” I ask, feeling so emotional, my heart could burst.
“To love you with everything, and to stop holding back,” he says, without any hesitation whatsoever.
I’m in shock for a moment, hurting, yearning, not believing it. I play with his hair and study him, waiting for him to tell me it’s all a joke.
“I’ve fallen for you big style,” he says, brushing his lips over mine, my belly groaning for him to fuck me again. My whole being surges with love for this beautiful, dirty man.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I mumble, as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
“You couldn’t lose me, even if you tried! I’m too big and annoying, remember?”
He buries his face in my hair and laughs. I end up laughing with him.
“Well, if we’re going to Paris, you’re bloody taking me to dinner, and for that I’ll need a dress.”
He’s grinning, one eyebrow cocked. “Hell, let’s go shopping when we get there.”
“Ooh, now we’re talking.” I kiss him some more, lips stinging, hearts hurting, but not a care in the world.
Chapter Five
Plaza Athénée
It’s late afternoon when we arrive at the Plaza Athénée. We slept throughout the train journey, cuddled up together on the Eurostar, and yet I feel strangely worn out because of it. Also, I’m famished and a little dazed, too. How much can change in the space of a day…
I wander our hotel room, taking notes. The hotel I work in could learn a thing or two… although I guess this place has an entirely different budget, for a very specific clientele.
“Shall I order room service for lunch?” he asks, as he’s peeing in the bathroom with the door open a sliver.
“Yes! I’ll eat anything.”
“Okay, they do a sick blue burger here.”
“Sure, fine.”
I wonder if he brought other women here… seems like he’s been before.
Travelling always makes me feel gross and unclean so once he’s out of the bathroom and on the phone, I sneak in to the powder room and start running the taps on the tub. Maybe a soak will revive me from this stupor I now find myself combating.
I sound like a savage as I groan while dropping myself into the hot, bubbly water. How glorious… lying in a roll-top tub in a fully-kitted out marble bathroom. I would’ve been happy to stay anywhere, but Ruben insisted he wanted to treat me. I know he has money, but I also feel at odds with that. Maybe I always will.
I’m still moaning and gro
aning as the bath fills up, the swirling, whirling heat of the water taking the cold and weariness out of my sex-worn, weather-beaten bones. It’s when I open my eyes, I find Ruben staring at me with his arms folded and an amused grin lighting up his face.
“I don’t share baths. This is alllll mine,” I warn him.
“I think that’s evident. I’ll leave you two to it.”
I laugh as he leaves the room.
“Dinner here tonight?” he asks, his voice raised as he flicks through channels on the TV. “Nice bar somewhere afterwards, maybe? A little late-night room service and all night spent fucking… loudly, this time.”
“Oh, god, if we must.” My face hurts, I’m smiling so much.
Right now, it doesn’t feel like this could get any better.
“Your tits look insane by the way,” he hollers.
“They’ll look even better after I put on my new lingerie.”
On the way here earlier, we made a pitstop on the Champs Elysée, and while Ruben bought himself all new togs (having not been home last night), I picked out lingerie and a slinky black dress. To say I’m looking forward to tonight would be an understatement.
“Ruben,” I call.
He pops his head around the doorway. “Yes?”
“Make sure you’re rested. Trust me.”
He chuckles as he backs away from me. “I’ve been warned.”
It’s nearing 8.30 when I leave the bedroom to enter the sitting room. He turns his head to look at me and allows his eyes to take in the full picture. It almost seems like there’s something wrong, he’s stuck there gawping.
“Do I have a mark? Is my make-up smudged?”
He shakes his head and stands up, striding across the room towards me. I put my hands up before he can get to me. “I’m not having you mess me up. I was perfect the last time I checked.”
He ignores my plea and cups my elbows, pushing his face into my hair, which I’ve curled especially for tonight.
“You look and smell delicious,” he groans, “and I’m hard already. That’s not good for social occasions. Fucking hell, this is sexy.” He gestures at my dress, which seems conservative at first, but really isn’t.
He kisses my throat and I feel light-headed.
“You look gorgeous as always, Ruben.” He’s in a dark suit, white shirt, looking tall, lean and ruggedly handsome.
He pulls me into his arms and I brush his wayward hair back off his face. He steals a little kiss from my mouth and licks his lips free of lip gloss afterwards.
There’s a dazed, contented look in his eyes when he says, “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Oh, this old thing?” I shake out the hem of my dress. “Just threw it on.”
I saunter across the room, knowing he’s watching me, only encouraging his admiration. The dress is unadventurous apart from that it’s backless. The sleeves and skirt are flowy with a little button detail, then there’s the back. Before we leave the room, he sneaks up behind me, encircles me in his arms and presses one very large erection against my rear.
“Do we have to go out? I want you so much, Freya. You can’t imagine.”
I lean back into him and offer him my throat. He kisses my skin and growls, squeezing my braless breasts over the material of my dress.
“Behave, Ruben. Don’t be naughty.”
I fling open the door and he feigns weeping as we walk along the corridor towards the elevator, rearranging his trousers all the while. I can’t stop grinning, except my arousal is probably as bad as his, if not worse. At least I’m wearing knickers.
We’re finishing our starters in the hotel restaurant when I point my fork at him accusingly. “How much did this cost? Why didn’t I get a menu with prices on?”
He grins cheekily, one eyebrow raised. “Are you afraid I don’t know your worth?”
“No, no, I’m—”
“You don’t like not to be in control.”
“I do not. Correct.”
I finish my delicious caviar and sneak a look over my shoulder, hoping to catch sight of other people’s menus. None of them are open though, not even a little. From the looks on other patrons’ faces, however I’d say the Beluga costs quite a bit. People have stared at us constantly since we walked into this room, but even more so since the caviar was delivered.
It’s true I was hoping for a nice restaurant tonight, but this is much nicer than I imagined. So many hotel restaurants are beginning to shun haute cuisine in favour of the travelling man in search of an in-and-out burger, and I’m ashamed to admit, I expected this would be a little like that and not so… proper. This all feels serious… sort of, setting a precedent, even.
The waiter removes our plates, brushes away our crumbs and replenishes the drinks. Whatever white wine this is—possibly Chablis—it’s bloody good. I swirl it around the outside of my lavish wineglass before pinning my eyes on his.
“You told me you’re in banking, but you never specified,” I accuse, because the way people are looking at us, it’s like Ruben’s a recognisable someone, more than a rich someone.
I’m terrified he’s actually some oil baron or something and I will soon be enlisted as a trophy wife with a contract and everything. I’ll be paid off to produce two kids and to keep my mouth shut when Ruben feels the need to spread his wild oats elsewhere after he’s secured the dynasty with me, the sure thing that’ll wait at home.
Ruben looks amused, smiling down at the table, sharing some joke with himself, maybe. He looks damn hot as he lifts his eyes to the ceiling and laughs to himself, his broad, strong throat on display for my delectation. His black suit brings out the green of his eyes and makes his tanned skin look richer in colour. One of the things I do know about his family is that his mother is Portuguese and that’s where he gets his complexion, hair and eyes from. He’s so handsome, my belly is constantly red hot. I can’t take my eyes off his mouth, nor the little dusting of chest hair visible through the open neck of his crisp white shirt.
“I’m not in banking,” he says, tapping his fingers on the table. “It’s a generic response I give people I don’t know very well… especially if they don’t know me.”
My cheeks grow hotter, but with fury this time. I stare at him, unable to speak, shell shocked. He lied to me, this entire time? If so, what else did he lie about?
Is he bloody famous? Because these bastards sitting in our vicinity can’t stop gawking.
I’m too furious to react, stupefied and… scared.
What if he’s a politician?
He waits for me to say more, but when I don’t, he takes the hint.
“I’ll explain more… later.” He gestures with his eyes at the people seated nearby—meaning he doesn’t want to have this conversation in public.
Great! His reluctance to talk has me even more convinced he’s a fucking statesman everyone hates and now I’m going to have a security detail trailing me everywhere I go.
However, I have to ask, “Why did you lie?”
“When you say you’re in banking, people don’t ask questions. It’s just banking, right? If I say I’m in banking, people believe it and don’t make a big issue of it. It’s gotten to be a bad habit, I know.”
His words infuriate me. How can he liken me to ‘people’? I’m the love of his life, allegedly. Why didn’t he tell me before now what it is he does?
I lean forward and zero in on his green eyes. “You better tell me right now what it is you do or I’ll make a scene and don’t think that I won’t, Ruben. I will blast off and you won’t like it.”
I glare until I have to blink, then I take a sip of wine.
He considers his position before he wriggles in his chair, made uncomfortable by my demand to know more.
“Fine,” he says, “you wanted to know. Here it is…” There’s the dramatic pause and that shaking of his head because I’ve backed him into a corner. Then, he leans forward and dips his chin, giving me displeased eyes. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the truth is
, I’m an ex-footballer.”
I’m so stunned, I blink rapidly and it becomes almost like an involuntary, repetitive thing.
“Ex-footballer, you say?” Please, god, please god…
He hunkers down even more. “I left the game. Retired early.”
I stare harder. It seems like he’s telling the truth. “Why?”
“A few reasons.”
“So, that’s not what you do now?” Anything but politician…
“No, now I run a charity, among other things.”
I swallow hard. “I might have known who you were, if I’d followed football.”
“Yeah, you didn’t recognise me when we met, so I knew you’d never followed football and I could say something where I didn’t have to explain all my… baggage.”
I look up at the gleaming ceiling, shocked. “I see your thinking.”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” He reaches across the table for my hand and I don’t shirk away. I feel pity, actually. I believe he’s telling me the truth now, even if he didn’t before. “And whatever else you want to know, we can speak about it, later, in the room.”
“S’il vous plait…” I look up to see our dinner has arrived—veal for him, seabass for me. I move hastily out of the way of my place setting for the waiter to put down my plate.
Once we’re alone again, Ruben leans in and tightens his fingers around mine. “Believe me, Freya. When we met, I never anticipated this would happen, never thought we’d get close. I didn’t.”
He picks up my hand and kisses the centre of my palm.
I lift my eyes to his and manage a small smile. “I’m sorry you never thought you could tell me about it.”
“It wasn’t your fault, but mine,” he says, staring longingly into my eyes. “I would have told you much sooner, but I was enjoying being someone you liked. The better you know me, the less you’ll like me.”
“Never,” I whisper, “not possible.”
He smiles sadly, picking up his knife and fork again.
Kismet Page 5
