by Grace Lowrie
‘What about you Tasha, you look so well – so glamorous – who’s the lucky guy?’ Karen asked.
‘Oh no, still single I’m afraid.’
‘What? Seriously?’ Becky scowled. ‘But you’re gorgeous, what’s going on?’
I shrugged, heat rising to my cheeks, but the girls were waiting for an answer. ‘I don’t know, I’ve just been busy I guess,’ I mumbled.
‘Still looking for Mr Right, Tash?’ Karen offered.
‘Yes,’ I replied, grateful for the lifeline. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find him one day, but what about you? When’s the wedding?’
Karen willingly launched into the ins and outs of choosing a date and a venue. She and her fiancé Duncan had moved to Edinburgh where Karen worked as an accountant. Becky and I listened attentively, interjecting supportive comments and suggestions where we could. But as the conversation went on and on, I found my attention drifting. My mind was inevitably drawn to thoughts of Celeste and our brief but intense conversation the night before. I loved my three old housemates, we had always got on well and I knew we would all be there for one other in an emergency. But when I hugged them it was not like hugging Celeste. When Celeste held me it was like she was holding the real me, the eleven-year old me that was hidden deep down inside, lonely, vulnerable, and desperately optimistic. Whereas Karen, Becky, and Sam only knew the grown-up, self-constructed version of me – the steadfastly realistic, slightly reserved, workaholic. All three would be shocked if they knew how involved I was with Celeste and her brother. The idea was strangely exhilarating.
My thoughts were interrupted when Aiden joined our little group, bringing the guy from the buffet table with him. I suddenly recognised Pete with a jolt – my ex-boyfriend – the guy I had dumped unceremoniously as soon as the twins reappeared in my life six years ago. At the time he was reported to be broken hearted and I had guiltily kept a low profile for months afterwards. But I’d long since heard that he was married, so I was hoping there were no longer any hard feelings. We greeted one another politely and I was quick to congratulate him on his marriage. He thanked me warmly and pointed out his wife Victoria across the room; a pretty, petite brunette with flawless olive skin. I gathered that they were living and working in Leamington Spa (Pete was now a qualified GP) and that Victoria was an old family friend of Rick’s, hence their presence at the Christening.
Pete cheerfully asked me about my life in London and as we talked I remembered what a genuinely lovely guy he was. He looked older, obviously, but he was still attractive with warm crinkly eyes and a friendly smile. I still felt guilty for having hurt him, but I was relieved to discover that there was absolutely no residual chemistry between us – maybe we’d never had any in the first place. Pete was nothing like Sebastian – maybe he had never stood a chance. Had I been subconsciously and unfairly comparing every man I’d ever met with Sebastian Walker? As ridiculous as the notion seemed, I had a horrible suspicion it was absolutely true.
Before long most of the guests had departed and I helped Sam package up the remaining nibbles in cling film and Tupperware boxes. I took a quick walk along the beach before dinner, while Sam was busy dealing with her in-laws; it had been months since I’d seen the sea. As I walked, the salty wind swept my mind clear and the faraway horizon provided space and distance to consider my future, something I’d never stopped to do before, but life had gotten complicated since the twins’ return.
I loved our three-way friendship – I loved them; I’d admitted as much to Celeste on the phone. The twins were like family to me and it felt mutual; that was probably why Sebastian was so reluctant to confuse things with sex. He was almost certainly right. I knew that by choosing to remain single and spending my spare time with Sebastian and Celeste I was missing out on romance and all that that might lead to – marriage, children, etc … But I decided I was comfortable with that for the time being. I’d only just got them back and I wasn’t prepared to give them up, or share them, just yet.
When I excused myself from dinner and left before the dessert course it wasn’t just because Celeste had sounded so lost on the phone the night before, it was because I couldn’t bear to be away from the twins any longer. I wanted to see them, to be with them, to be welcomed back inside their exclusive bubble where I felt wanted and cherished and no longer alone.
On the train I texted Sebastian and Celeste to let them know I was on my way back and Sebastian suggested that I meet them in the bar just around the corner from their house. I fidgeted impatiently in my seat throughout the journey, anxious to be there.
I finally emerged from Holland Park station at my usual brisk pace, towing my little wheeled suitcase behind me. But just as I turned to cross the road I was surprised to see Clive, the guy who was always at the museum, further along the road. He looked exactly the same as he always did but it was surprising seeing him out of context. I raised my hand to wave but he was looking the other way so I carried on across the road.
The bar was trendy and boutique in style, but it was Sunday night so it wasn’t busy. I spotted Sebastian immediately – he was seated alone at one end of the bar, in jeans and a dark shirt. He was nursing a pint of lager and slowly demolishing a bowl of stuffed olives whilst watching the dance floor. I followed the direction of his gaze and found Celeste, splendid in skinny jeans, high heels, and a low-cut top, laughing provocatively with two older men. They looked to be in their late thirties and were smartly, expensively dressed, but they had none of Sebastian’s class.
When I reached the bar Sebastian invited me to sit, pulled up another bar stool, and ordered me a small glass of my favourite white wine. I thought maybe he looked tired or vaguely troubled in some way. Celeste only waved fleetingly in my direction before returning her attention to the men at her side and I felt my smile slip at her lukewarm reception.
Sebastian politely asked about my weekend and I briefly described the ceremony and the joys of catching up with old friends. But I was preoccupied by Celeste; we were sat facing the dance floor over the bar as we talked and Celeste was avoiding all eye contact.
‘I think I’m being ignored,’ I muttered under my breath before taking a large gulp of wine.
‘Yeah,’ Sebastian sighed. ‘I think you might be right. It’s only because she’s drunk too much and because she’s embarrassed about her behaviour last night. It won’t last.’
‘I hope not,’ I said.
‘She can be childish sometimes, but try not to hold it against her.’ I gazed at Sebastian’s striking profile; the straight line of his nose, the subtle worry lines around his eyes, the sexy shadow at his jaw … ‘She has anxiety issues. Sometimes she gets anxious when I go away for just a few days …’ He sounded almost apologetic.
‘It’s OK, I think I understand – it’s flattering that she cares.’
Sebastian nodded and looked thoughtful. He turned to me then, pain in his eyes. ‘Celeste really struggled after our parents died.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘She told me about it.’ I returned my gaze to the dance floor, afraid of getting lost in Sebastian’s eyes.
‘Really?’ he said, disbelieving.
‘About her breakdown and her time in the hospital, yes.’
‘Wow. She won’t even speak to me about that – she acts like it never happened. At school in Paris she used to tell everyone our parents were still living in England.’
I watched Celeste as she moved to the music – self-assured, seductive, predatory almost – allowing one of the men to get closer and closer. ‘I think you should try and talk to Celeste about it.’ I said dragging my eyes back to Sebastian’s face. ‘Talk about your parents, I mean – I think it would do you both good.’
Sebastian glanced over at Celeste and shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Please try,’ I urged. ‘Sometime when the two of you’re alone – just try.’
‘Maybe,’ Sebastian said, taking another olive.
When I looked back at Celeste she was kis
sing one of the guys on the dance floor, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket and her leg pressed against his, while the other guy stood close behind her. I immediately felt sick with jealousy – almost winded by it. I’d been afraid to admit, even to myself, just how attracted to Celeste I had become, even after our erotic night together back in August. But I felt something else too; the guilty part of me that had slept with her brother, twice, felt that I was getting what I deserved.
But as I watched, struggling to get a handle on my emotions, I realised that Celeste wasn’t really into the guys she was with. It was apparent in the angle of her head; the set of her back and shoulders; the position of her leg … apparent to me anyway. I knew Celeste so well by now.
‘I think it’s time we left,’ Sebastian said, downing the last of his pint.
I observed over the rim of my wine glass as Sebastian calmly strolled over to Celeste, dipped his head, and whispered something in her ear. She immediately released the guy she was kissing and stumbled tipsily into Sebastian’s waiting arms. The guys Celeste had just dropped looked dazed but didn’t attempt to do or say anything as Sebastian skilfully steered Celeste towards the door. I marvelled at the quietly assertive way in which Sebastian managed the situation – and his sister. One glance from Sebastian and I was scrambling to my feet and following the twins out of the bar, trailing my suitcase behind me.
We were all quiet as we walked the few metres along the road to the house. Celeste leaned against Sebastian, her eyes shut as he supported and guided her proficiently with one arm. As soon as we were inside the front door Celeste kicked off her heels and ran straight up the stairs without a word.
Sebastian and I exchanged a look.
‘I’d better go and see if she’s all right,’ he said.
‘No, I’ll go; we need to talk.’
‘Are you sure? Will you let me know she’s OK?’
I nodded.
There was still a sadness behind Sebastian’s eyes and I wondered if it was anything to do with our conversation in the bar or just concern for Celeste. He lifted his hand and gently stroked the side of my face; an unexpectedly tender gesture that sent a low current thrumming right through me. ‘Thank you, Natasha,’ he said.
As I entered Celeste’s bedroom I could hear her throwing up noisily in the toilet. I sat close beside her on the tiled floor and gently gathered her lustrous blonde curls in my hand to keep them away from her face. With the other hand I gently rubbed her back and we sat until her heaves eventually subsided. I took the barrette from my own hair and used it to hold Celeste’s hair in place while I fetched her a glass of cold water.
‘Here, drink this,’ I said.
Celeste finally looked at me, sheepishly, her skin clammy, her eyes bloodshot and smudged with dark make-up. She took the glass and I loaded her toothbrush with paste while Celeste took several long gulps of water.
‘I’m sorry, Tasha,’ she whispered.
‘Hush … Here, brush your teeth and we’ll go to bed.’ We brushed our teeth in silence and although I smiled reassuringly at Celeste she continued to look young and forlorn. In the bedroom we stripped off in the sliver of moonlight that fell through a gap in the curtains, before climbing into bed. Celeste was tired and emotional so I was careful not to let her see my battered knees – the swelling had diminished but they still looked like bad apples. Celeste took my hand and pressed it to her chest, over her heart, so that I could feel it beating in my palm.
‘Will you forgive me?’ she whispered tearfully.
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ I said simply. I could just make out a large tear drop spilling down Celeste’s cheek, her expression so childlike. I reached out with my other hand to wipe it away. ‘Don’t cry, Celeste, I know you’re sorry and I am too – I’m sorry I stayed away so long.’
‘I missed you,’ Celeste sniffed.
‘I missed you too.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course.’ Celeste smiled and moved closer, wrapping her arm around my waist and resting her damp face on my chest. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling her sweet fragrance and savouring the feel of her hot breath on my skin. I felt tired and emotionally wrung out, but Celeste’s soft, sensual touch was comforting. Our breathing slowed and lengthened and just as I was about to fall asleep, I felt Celeste whisper against my skin.
‘I love you, Tasha Graham.’
Chapter Twenty-six
I waited until Celeste was definitely asleep before pulling on a dressing gown and going to let Sebastian know she was OK. I checked the lower-ground floor but all was dark and quiet so instead I tiptoed up to the top of the house to find him.
As I reached the top landing I was instantly aware of how much warmer it was, where the collective warmth from the rest of the house gathered beneath the eaves. The door to Sebastian’s office was ajar and I could hear soft music coming from within so I knocked tentatively before peeking in. An angled lamp illuminated Sebastian’s desk but apart from that and a patch of moonlit floorboards in front of the window, the room was in shadow. As I entered I recognised the music as Radiohead, haunting and melancholic, and the accompanying view from the window captured my attention – a vast myriad of lights spreading away into the distance as if reflecting a sky full of stars. Where was Sebastian?
I stepped quietly over to the door to his studio, the rug soft beneath my bare soles, but the studio was in pitch darkness and I knew he wasn’t there. Back in his office the computer screen flicked through a slideshow of architectural images. I moved closer to the wooden desk and ran my fingers gently along the edge – the surface was old, years of wear and tear evident in the dents and markings caught in the grain beneath the wax. I stroked the soft worn leather of the large chair behind the desk, imagining Sebastian’s fine head resting there. I decided he couldn’t have gone far and rather than hunt him down; I’d just wait for him. I sank into the chair, drawing my feet up and hugging my knees with my arms, entranced by the images on the computer screen as they merged from one into another. They weren’t photographs Sebastian had taken – by now I was familiar enough with his work to recognise his style. But they presumably all depicted places that inspired him or spoke to him in some way. I felt close to him there, warm and comfortable and secure.
‘God, you are beautiful,’ Sebastian murmured in the darkness.
I jumped slightly, heat rising quickly to my face. I lifted my hand to the lamplight to shade my eyes as I scanned the shadows. Sebastian was standing leaning against the wall by the window.
‘I just came to let you know that Celeste is OK,’ I said.
I thought he nodded in response but I couldn’t be sure.
‘Why are you standing in the dark?’ I asked softly.
‘I was thinking,’ he said, his voice low and enthralling.
‘Oh. Do you want to be left alone?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ he muttered.
I paused for a moment wondering what to do. He said I was beautiful … I stood and slowly moved around to the other side of the desk, the lamp light behind me and the pool of moonlight at my feet. I could just make out his shape, but nothing more. I stepped towards him, joining him in the shadows. As my eyes adjusted I could make out the tension in his jaw, the curve of his shoulders, his arms, the muscles in his chest – he was still wearing his jeans but had removed his shirt – and I could almost taste his scent, so musky and enticing. As he lifted his head to look at me, his eyes caught the light and I realised he looked haunted as if by some unknown agony.
‘What’s wrong?’ I whispered in alarm, reaching out to touch the side of his face.
He closed his eyes and leaned into my palm as if savouring the warmth there, but made no reply.
Instinctively I knew what to do. With my other hand I loosened the sash of my gown so that it swung open. I deliberately stepped backwards into the moonlight; drawing him with me; guiding his strong hands to the bare
flesh of my hips as my gown slipped from my shoulders and puddled at my feet. My skin glowed palely in the blue light, tingling with anticipation as I heard Sebastian’s breath catch. His eyes met mine and I saw that the sorrow had been replaced with a look which called to me on some primal level, dark and hungry with desire. I wanted Sebastian Walker to look at me like that forever …
All at once he pulled me close and kissed me hard, his stubble rough against my lips, his tongue plundering my mouth; his taste divine. I clung to the muscles of his back, pulling him to me, grinding against him, wanting more. With a low growl he cupped my bottom in his large hands and smoothly lifted me off my feet. I threw my legs around his hips and he strode across to the desk; laying me down on the smooth, hard surface beside his computer. As he unbuttoned his jeans he moved his lips down to my breasts; sucking my tender nipples, teasing them with his hot tongue until I was writhing beneath him, breathless.
Sebastian paused to dip one long finger between my legs, trailing it before sinking the full length of his shaft inside me. The heavy fullness of him was intensely satisfying, answering the ravenous ache of my body and making me moan. Then he started to move; thrusting deep and strong, coaxing my tremulous insides with each smooth, rhythmic stroke until they began to stiffen with mounting need. My mind was no longer my own; caught up in the moment, lost in sensation, as my body coiled tighter and tighter, clinging to him with everything I’d got.
‘Natasha,’ Sebastian growled through clenched teeth.
And I let go; exploding around him, crying his name as he stilled, emptying inside me and gripping me tight as our shudders collided.
Sebastian withdrew and pulled on his boxers as I slipped back into my robe. He collapsed heavily into his leather desk chair, hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap where we rested, my head on his chest. I relaxed in the warm rise and fall of Sebastian’s breathing, absorbed in the steady throb of his heartbeat as I pondered his strange moods:
