Taming Cupid

by Emily Bishop

  “God, that was hot.” I rake a thumb over her sensitive nipple and she giggles, grinding against the softening cock still buried deep inside her. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, baby.”

  “Me too,” she murmurs, and my fingers trace around her side and up her sides. Gooseflesh prickles on her arms and she adds, “Not that you have too much competition.”

  Just as she says that, I feel the bottom of her scar, the extra inches I couldn’t see in the bikini, and my heart twinges for her. Poor, innocent Sabrina.

  “What is it?” she whispers, peering more deeply into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I tell her, even surprised at the tightness in my own throat. “I’ll never hurt you, you know,” I promise Sabrina instead.

  Her eyebrows raise slightly and she tilts her head, curious. “Okay,” she says, and then her face changes. She realizes where my hands are. “Oh.” Her eyes slant away. “My scars.”

  “You’re too beautiful,” I tell her again, even though I’m no longer talking about her naked body, spread on my bed. I’m talking about those scars, too. “And I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again, Sabrina. You have my word.”

  Sabrina sighs. “We’ll see.”

  I curse myself for souring our moment, which had been light-hearted and experimental, wild and gripping, but now darkened with remorse and painful memories. It must have taken such extraordinary bravery for her to be with any man again.

  Though she twists to turn her back on me, I sling my arms around her, holding her safely encased between my muscles, like these impressive arms are all it will take to keep her safe.

  And they are, I promise myself. I’ll keep Sabrina Brewster safe with my bare hands…

  And we lapse off to sleep like that, with her encased, my front pressed to her back. I would be her second skin if I could. I would take away these scars.

  Guts

  Sabrina

  For the past months, I’ve lived in fear. I’ve been running away, hiding from a monster who should never exist.

  No. All my life, I’ve lived in fear – fear of letting my aunt and uncle down—which I eventually did—fear of not being good enough, fear of not being able to make my dream come true or accomplishing anything, for that matter.

  I’m done with it.

  As I run on the treadmill, feeling the blood rush through my veins, feeling the air fill my lungs, I can feel the seed of courage inside me growing.

  Contrary to what Randall said, I still have a lot to fear. Even with him beside me, I’m still afraid. But I’ve decided not to live in fear any longer. I’m not going to cringe in the shadows, punish myself for something that was not my fault, wallow in regret about something that I can’t change, or hold myself back from living.

  From now on, I am going to live.

  I can’t get rid of the fear, but I’m not going to let the fear of the consequences of my actions keep me from acting. I’m not going to let fear cripple me anymore or hold me back from experiencing new things that could make me happy.

  That’s why I gave in to Randall last night. That’s why I had sex with him.

  At first, I just wanted to forget the pain. But as he kissed me, as he touched me, as he made me feel beautiful and amazing, I realized I wanted to forget the fear. I wanted to be brave.

  I’ve been wanting to have sex with him. Heck, I know that somewhere along the way, I’ve fallen for him. That’s why I wanted to stay. That’s why I let him stop me. I’ve just been denying it, denying myself because of fear. But as the words that he’d been trying to tell me sunk in, as I felt his body against mine, as I saw myself through his eyes, I decided I was done with fear.

  I gave in.

  And it was worth it. Even now, the memories of his lips pressed to mine, his muscles beneath my palms, of his cock inside me are all still fresh. Just remembering them, I feel a different rush, a surge of excitement, of joy.

  I feel alive.

  I smile as I turn off the treadmill and grab my towel. I wasn’t really planning on coming here to the gym but as I passed by with my new disposition, I thought, why not? I’m trying to be stronger so becoming fit seems only natural. Also, maybe if I exercise, I won’t be panting so much after sex next time.

  As I wipe the sweat off my skin, I already feel stronger. I grab my bottle of water, drinking as I leave the gym. Beside a window, I pause, looking out.

  It’s another beautiful day.

  The question is: What am I going to do today?

  David is in school, and I’ve already decided that I’ll talk to him later when he gets home. Until then, I don’t really have anything in mind.

  There are a few possibilities. Read a book. Learn a new recipe from Mrs. Wilson. Play a video game. None of those interest me too much, though. Besides, I feel like I should be doing something more productive.

  Just then, I see Zombie walking across the lawn and I remember something I was telling myself I’d do – give him a bath.

  ***

  “This feels good, doesn’t it?” I rub Zombie’s fur as I wash out the suds with the hose.

  Just like before, he didn’t like the bath at first, trying to splash me and run away. Finally, though, he’s stopped fighting me, standing still and letting me rinse him.

  “I told you a bath’s good for you, especially after yesterday’s adventure. It gets rid of all that dirt from the streets and makes you feel clean, which must feel good. It makes you feel cool, which you must need since you have black fur. Plus, look at all this attention I’m giving you.”

  He does seem to like the attention now, basking in it.

  I pet him behind his ears. “Well, you do deserve something for taking care of David yesterday. Thanks for not leaving his side and not letting him get into trouble.”

  He turns to me, giving me a lick.

  I chuckle. “You’re just like your master, aren’t you? You may have a streak of mischief but you do have a good heart.”

  As I continue rinsing him, I remember the dogs I used to have. We always had dogs on the farm. Some of them stayed around for a long time and I’d be the one bathing and feeding them, sometimes even getting fleas off them.

  I sigh. I may have run away from the farm, but I do miss it sometimes. I miss Uncle Ed, even though he always wished I was a boy and thought I was weaker than his sons, even when I could ride a horse better. I miss Aunt Nora, too, even though she loved to order me around and clearly loves her boys more than me. Of course she would. They’re her own blood, after all. And I miss George and Scott. They may have caused me a lot of trouble and played a lot of pranks on me but if not for them, I wouldn’t have trusted myself to be a nanny or know how to deal with David.

  I miss them. Actually, at one point during my wedding, I wished they were there. Maybe one day I can see them again and ask them to forgive me, someday when my life isn’t so much a mess. I want to repay them for giving me a family and hopefully, I’ll make something of myself that they can be even remotely proud of.

  I finish rinsing Zombie then turn the hose off and step back so he can shake all that water before running off. Of course, most of it lands on me but it’s fine. I’m still in my exercise clothes, and I haven’t showered yet anyway.

  So now, I smell like sweat and dog. Great.

  Then again, I’ve smelled worse.

  Wiping myself again with my towel, I head back inside the house so I can take a shower. Just as I approach the fountain, though, I hear chatter.

  Guests? Randall didn’t inform me about any guests.

  I stop, waiting for the people to come into view.

  There are three women, all looking elegant and sophisticated. One of them is in her sixties, wearing a feathered hat and a peach-colored dress with long sleeves and a string of pearls around her neck. She reminds me of one of those women who I see on TV attending royal weddings or funerals. The other looks like she’s in her forties – or is it thirties? – wearing oversized sunglasses and
a navy-blue jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, diamonds hanging from her neck and ears. The third is the youngest, her blonde hair in a single braid flowing down her white blouse, which is paired with gray slacks. No jewelry except for her gold watch but she does have two expensive-looking handbags hanging from her arm, a bottle of Evian in one hand.

  At first glance, she looks just as sophisticated as the other two but a second look tells me she’s not quite on the same footing, especially since she’s behind them and isn’t talking, her head bowed slightly. I bet one of those handbags isn’t hers. Maybe both. Maybe not even the bottle.

  An assistant? A secretary? Something tells me she isn’t important. It’s the two other women I should pay attention to.

  Who are they?

  The woman in the jumpsuit notices me first, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  “Well, what do we have here?” She looks at me from my head to my toes and back to my head again.

  I suddenly wish I had showered first and put on better clothes. I feel underdressed.

  “A maid in workout clothes? A trainer in training?” She sniffs me. “A dog handler? Though it looks like the dog handled you instead.”

  I frown. Who does this woman think she is?

  “My name is Sabrina Ja– Brewster,” I introduce myself, removing the towel from around my neck and straightening my shoulders.

  I still am not used to my new name.

  “Brewster?” The woman in front of me raises her trimmed and penciled eyebrows, her eyes wide. “You’re Sabrina Brewster?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughs then turns to the older woman. “Mother, look. It seems we’ve found Randall’s wife.”

  “What?” The older woman steps forward to look at me from head to toe just like her daughter. She pouts. “What the devil has gotten into him? Is he really trying to ruin us all?”

  “I think he’s just cursed with bad taste in women,” the younger says, studying me again. “My poor brother.”

  Brother? Which means…

  “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Helena Brewster-Vasilievko. I’m Randall’s sister.” The younger one looks at my hand and frowns. “I’d shake your hand but um, it doesn’t look fit to shake.”

  “You are Randall’s older sister?”

  I think Randall mentioned it once.

  “How dare you emphasize my age? Don’t you know how rude that is?”

  “S-sorry,” I mumble. I was only asking a question!

  She puts her arm in that of the older woman. “This is our mother, Jacqueline. Jackie Brewster.”

  I bow my head. Now, I’m really embarrassed about how I look.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Mrs. Brewster? Is that what I should call her?

  Randall’s mother snorts. “I’m definitely not happy to see you.”

  I look at her in surprise.

  “I’m old. Unlike my daughter, I can’t waste time playing around or beating around the bush. When I see bullshit, I call it. When I see a piece of trash, I call it. I don’t know who you are or what you did to my son but you do not deserve him.”

  The words set me back, a lump forming in my throat.

  “Now, now, Mother. Mind your blood pressure,” Helena says. “I’m sure Randall has a good reason.” She looks at me. “Are you pregnant?”

  My eyebrows crease. “No.”

  I don’t think so.

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  I’m starting to be annoyed by her rudeness. I know she’s older than me and richer but I still deserve some respect.

  “And where did he pick you up, huh?” Helena touches her chin.

  I don’t answer, still thinking of how to say it.

  “What? Is it a secret? Or is it too embarrassing?”

  “I don’t care how they met,” Mrs. Brewster, the original Mrs. Brewster, says as she looks at me. “Have you any idea how mortified I was when I found out about my son’s marriage in the newspaper?”

  Newspaper?

  “At least, the last time, he invited me. Now, he doesn’t say anything and I just find out like everyone else?”

  “Mother almost had a heart attack,” Helena says.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing I have no excuse for that.

  I was wondering about that, actually. I thought Randall’s family should be at his wedding but I didn’t bring it up because I thought our wedding wasn’t real anyway.

  But after last night, is it still not real?

  “Apologies,” she scoffs. “I hate apologies just as much as I hate excuses. Emily, bring me back inside. I came out for fresh air but the air feels stale here.”

  Ouch.

  The woman in white obeys, taking the older woman’s arm and leading her back inside after casting an apologetic glance in my direction.

  “Now, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” Helena steps forward, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunglasses, biting one of the tips. “But my mother is right. You don’t deserve Randall. Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”

  Frankly, I don’t see how she can be Randall’s sister, either. It’s almost like they’re from different planets. Maybe Randall’s adopted?

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “The last one conveniently got rid of herself before we could but we’ll get rid of you. We Brewsters always get our way.”

  “You’re forgetting I’m a Brewster now, too.”

  She laughs. “My, my, you are delusional. Pretty but delusional. You think you can hang on to Randall, can’t you? Think he’s your ticket to paradise?”

  I’d like to tell her that I’m not after Randall’s money, but I can’t since that’s partly why I did marry him.

  “Dream on, little girl. You may look strong but I can see your weakness, your fear. You don’t stand a chance against us. We’ll find your flaws. We’ll expose all your dirty secrets.”

  I tense.

  Helena gives a mischievous grin. “Do you really want us to do that?”

  I don’t answer, still shocked by her words. She wouldn’t hand me over to Vince, would she?

  Just then, Zombie barks and the next thing I know, he’s jumping on Helena. Helena takes a few steps back, dropping her sunglasses, which Zombie steps on.

  “Why, you–” She looks at her sunglasses and her outfit in horror then stares at me. “Randall will hear of this. And you haven’t seen the last of me yet.”

  With that, she hurries back into the house, and I manage to keep myself from laughing until she’s gone.

  “Great work, Zombie.” I pet his still-damp fur. “It seems like you’re better at sniffing bullshit.”

  He licks my face, and I continue laughing. Helena may have tried to scare me but for this round, I have the last laugh.

  I wonder what Randall will think.

  Meddlers

  Randall

  What the fuck are they thinking? That they can just drop by unannounced and scold me like I’m a five-year-old boy? That they can run my life like they used to?

  I frown as I look across the desk at my father, William Brewster, and my older brother, Lloyd.

  They weren’t happy when I married the first time. They didn’t even come to the wedding. Now, they’re still unhappy. What? They still want me to marry some CEO’s sister or some Senator’s daughter?

  “I regret that you were not informed of my decision.” I sit up in my chair. “But I stand by my decision.”

  “And we will not respect it.” Lloyd gets off his chair and rubs his temples. “Have you no decency, Randall? Have you no concern for us? No respect for us?”

  “On the contrary, I feel like it is the other way around.”

  “You married a nanny, Randall,” Lloyd points out. “Just when the world has finally forgotten that you married a chambermaid, just when you’ve finally made something of yourself, you go and marry your son’s nanny.”

  I pick up my pen. “Well,
she cares about David and that’s what matters most.”

  “Randall.” My father beats his fist on the table.

  “You know, I don’t understand. I’ve always been a disappointment to you so why put up a fuss about it now?”

  “You think this is funny?” my father asks. “Is this all a game to you?”

  “Actually, you–” I point to him and my brother– “are the ones who treat this as a game. You’re the ones who pull the strings, who move your pawns across the chessboard. You’re the ones who think marriage is some business agreement, just another step in your grand plans.”

  “We’ve worked hard to establish the family name,” my father reminds me. “And you? What have you done?”

  “Haven’t you read my feature in Time magazine, the one with my picture on the cover? I finally have one.”

  “Don’t mock me, boy.” He points a finger at me. “You wouldn’t be where you are now if not for my money or my name.”

  “Maybe, but now it’s my money and my name and my troubles are my own.”

  “Do you really think we want to worry about your problems?” Lloyd asks, approaching the desk. “Do you think we want our business partners to bring up your failures?”

  “I’m sure it makes for interesting conversations,” I say, unfazed.

  I’m bored, actually. I can’t remember how many times we’ve had this conversation.

  “You will divorce that woman, and we will say that the newspaper made a mistake,” my father says, his expression stern.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “She’s a nobody!”

  “So why is everyone worried so much about her?” I place my hands on my desk. “What can she do to you, huh? What has she ever done to you?”

  “She can ruin you and all of us,” my father points out. “What if she runs away with all your money? Haven’t you thought of that?”

  “Thank you for your concern but she won’t,” I assure him.