by M. Mabie
NORA—Tuesday, December 23, 2008
God, I wanted to drop everything and be with him. He was really there and I was truly grateful.
The next day was going to be busy, but Christmas was a completely different story. In an attempt to sway employees to come back, I reinstated all of their holiday pay and gave them all the week between Christmas and New Year’s off with pay in addition to what they had. Many of them received raises.
The new people all were given the same as starting bonuses.
Laura was becoming my ally and right hand. She was way more than just the kitchen manager.
When I read that I’d had two more inquiries about booking the mansion, I knew I’d need to promote her and use her where she was the most beneficial. I’d have to discuss it with her, but I was going to ask Laura to help me find a new person to run the kitchen.
After this party, I was already looking at hosting five more events. One of which was a retreat for twenty and lodging for a week.
I had to face reality.
I probably wasn’t going back to Chicago. At least not permanently. That fact resided somewhere in my gut. It burrowed itself there and had begun to weigh me down.
I desperately wanted to hang on to Reagan. I felt so strongly for him. Craved him. I’d started to rely on his friendship and company. His body and his affection.
And, this afternoon, when I’d needed him most, as if I conjured him up from my wishes alone, he was there.
I still hadn’t opened any of his gifts, I’d been too busy getting the house prepared. Still, there wasn’t a single thing he could have fit into a box that compared with him being there in the flesh.
I clicked through the emails I’d been waiting on, and luckily all of them were good news.
I was off the clock for a few hours, and I could give my full attention to the man I missed but knew I’d probably never be able to keep. A man who wouldn’t be satisfied with the scraps I had to give him.
Selfishly, I didn’t give a damn. I’d missed him that much.
My body ached from not feeling him for so long. My lips had numbed in his absence. My skin hadn’t been warm since I left Chicago. He was my antidote.
I stripped off my clothes, picked up the plate of cookies and looked for him.
He’d unpacked some of his things on the bare side of my closet. There was more than enough room, I’d only brought enough for a month or so.
I saw him stretched out in the tub. He’d started a fire in the gas fireplace on the wall, and he was reclined back, flipping through the channels on the television that hung over it.
“You look comfortable,” I said.
He turned to face me, then clicked off the television without another thought. “Now that’s what I want to watch,” he said. His eyes trailed my body and already I could feel lusty parts of me awaken.
We’d only been apart for a month. I couldn’t imagine how bad it was going to feel to miss him indefinitely, but I’d always suspected it would end. I just didn’t expect it like this.
“Do you have room in there for me?” I asked and tiptoed closer.
“I can move a few things around,” he teased, and my chest felt tight. A burning sensation swept through me. Both good and bad, but scorching none the less.
I ignored it.
He offered me a hand as I stepped into the water, and I sat opposite him. He grabbed my right foot, then kissed my big toe.
I felt seared in the inside, charred to the core of me.
I ignored it.
“I missed you,” he said as he worked the tension out of my foot and leg.
“I missed you, too,” I replied. When he switched legs, my head fell back against the tub.
Soon, I was turned, and he was rubbing my shoulders and my back, only stopping to rewarm the water. He washed my hair, his big hands kneaded my scalp. It was divine, and I moaned more than I was proud of.
I watched him with hooded eyes as he tended to me, even drying me when we were prunes. He walked to the dresser in my closet and found the one nice looking nightgown I’d brought with me, and he dressed me in it.
Then, Reagan carried me to bed. I didn’t think twice about being in it with him there.
Fuck that chair, I was in his arms.
“This is a good bed, Nora,” he said pulling me into him. The sound of his deep voice like a lullaby.
I’d wanted to be with him, to feel him inside me, but all I could do was lay there and let him hold me.
“Please promise me that you’ll start sleeping in it.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to appease him, or that I didn’t want to give him what he asked. I did. My issue was with doing it. I didn’t want to lie, but sleeping in a bed alone was something I could hardly tolerate. I’d always felt like that, but it was worse now.
Now that I knew what I’d feared was true all along.
A bed without him in it would be too lonely. Too cold. Too empty.
“I’ll try,” I supposed.
He moaned, and I felt how hard he was against the back of me, which made my hips intuitively roll into him.
“You need sleep, baby. Trust me, we both know how bad I want you, but you need rest more. You have a big day tomorrow, and I want to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day. That will have to wait.” His lips pressed against the exposed side of my neck, and my eyes fell shut.
WHEN SOMEONE WHO RARELY gets three consecutive hours of sleep without waking, and they get full six, without so much as a stir, they wake up like a new person.
It was after six thirty when I rolled in his arms.
I didn’t want to wake him. I hadn’t asked, but I knew what the flight was like from the states to Zurich. Add to that the hour long drive. He’d had a full day, then helped me most of the evening. After that, he’d worked almost every muscle into submission before I drifted off into the best night’s rest I’d had in weeks.
I was going to try my best to leave him alone, but I knew he’d wake up if I dared to leave the bed. He always did.
I loved the way his forehead relaxed when he slept. This man thought so much, and it was obvious in his brow most of the time. He worried a lot.
But, in moments like those, he seemed at ease, peaceful.
He deserved more moments like that. I wondered if he’d always been so brooding or if it was only around me. He deserved so much better.
I ran my thumb over his eyebrows and leaned over and kissed his Adam’s apple. Something about it always lured me in. It was so masculine, or maybe it was just the part of him that was always nearest my mouth.
I’d done a terrible job at not waking him, and he stirred.
“Did you get some sleep?” he asked with his eyes closed. His first thought being of me. What luxury his words provided.
“I did. How about you?” I said and kissed his cheek that was covered in a short, clean beard. I wondered how it would feel between my legs, and that thought had me moving closer to him.
“I feel like we just fell asleep,” he admitted. I’d let him rest up while I worked, but I had some time until I needed to get ready for the day. Before anything, I wanted him. I wasn’t leaving that bed until I had him. Or he had me, depending on how you looked at it.
I’d thought the next time I’d seen him I’d surely need him, but feeling him breathe against me, I hadn’t expected my desire to be so powerful. So all consuming. I was so demanding of him. So selfish.
What did I actually have to offer more than my body?
Nothing. I had nothing. I’d known that all along.
I’d ignored that, too.
The longer I was with him—whatever span that was—the longer I wasted his time.
He needed a woman who knew for sure she’d never break his heart. I could make no such vow. I was fickle, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my true colors surfaced. Hues that were ingrained in my DNA as much as the shades of my hair and eyes.
Every minute I spent with Reagan only
made me care more.
Maybe being here, seeing how much the property needed me, was a sign. It was time to let him go. It was painful. My chest hurt with the realization, but I knew it was best for him.
Regardless, he was there now—for the week—and I’d absorb as much of him as I could.
I’d needed to make a decision about work anyway. They were growing tired of me not being there—and justly so. Still, I couldn’t see a way that I could leave Switzerland. So many people now relied on me for their salary. The property my father trusted to me was my responsibility.
It was a shame, I would have loved to stretch out our time a little longer—keep him a little longer—but it wasn’t in the cards.
For once I’d be selfish, but not for myself. I’d be selfish on his behalf.
Because if I wasn’t able to love him the way he deserved, at least I cared enough to let him go.
I’d take the week as a parting gift. Compensation for his freedom.
I’d take that morning and commit it to memory.
Then when it was all over, I’d go back to behaving like I should. I wouldn’t start relationships I couldn’t commit to. I’d known better than to get in that deep, but I was stupid.
He lay there looking at me and running his fingers up and down my arm as I thought.
For the first time, I considered maybe my mom did love all of those men. Because if real love felt anything like how it was wrapped up in warm bed sheets with this man, it was terribly distracting. It felt like dress up. Like make believe.
I couldn’t fault her for recognizing the appeal.
I now had experience with it myself.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“My mother.”
He frowned. “It’s Christmas time. Do you miss her?”
I didn’t know if miss was the right word, or—then again—maybe I’d missed her the whole time. Just in a very different way. Misunderstood. Misinterpreted. Misjudged.
Still, I was positive she knew what she’d been doing all those years, going from man to man. That’s where I was different.
I’d learned from her mistakes. I was learning from the very same ones as I was making them.
“No. I’m fine.” I made it a point to look into his eyes when I spoke.
“Tell me what happened with your mom and dad? They were never married?”
“It’s kind of ironic.” I rolled onto my back, and he propped himself up on an elbow to face me. His hair was a mess, but he looked no less a king. I continued, answering his question, “Of all of the men she married, he was the one she didn’t, but she’d gotten pregnant. News that surely disappointed both of them. What with him married to another woman and her separated from husband number two.”
“They were both married?” He looked shocked, and I supposed that was the appropriate response. When I’d learned, I was a little taken aback, too. Then again, I was ten.
So what did I know about any of it? Other than my lineage wasn’t good at fidelity. They were cheaters and liars. How could I be anything but?
“Yep. He came to the states to visit when I was small sometimes. Then when I was a little older, and able to fly on my own, I came here.”
He kissed my shoulder, but it felt like more.
“They took turns scheduling my time until I was old enough to decide where I was going to be for vacations and holidays.”
Reagan gave me a squeeze. “That sounds like a shitty way to grow up.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was. I have nothing to compare it to. I didn’t know any different. A lot of kid’s parents were divorced. Besides, my dad spoiled me rotten, until I made him stop.”
“I’m sure he loved you. They both did.”
They loved me as much as they knew how.
Same as I love you. Not enough.
“Anyway, are we going to talk about my prepubescent years or make use of the morning?”
He hadn’t been acting flirtatious, but I still felt his arousal. Yes, his erection was courtesy of the morning—and not some romantic happenstance—but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take advantage.
It had been too long.
My mornings with him were already numbered. They always had been.
“I think you know I’d be happy with either,” he said but started kissing my neck, indication of how our talking was finished.
I moved and allowed him more access to me.
Reagan had purpose. A mission. I couldn’t stop him, and wouldn’t have tried.
His large hands pulled my gown over my head, and he slipped off his boxer briefs.
He entered me hard and fast, a lot like he’d come into my heart.
Little warning. Little permission. Little resistance from me.
My mouth fell open, and I moved with him as he rushed me to my first real climax since I’d left.
The cut of his gaze was deep and intense, and like I so often did when it overwhelmed me, I looked away.
“No, baby. Not this time,” he panted. “I’ve come too far. Let me see you.”
He slowed until I relented. Only then did he bring his hand down to where we met. He ran his hands around our connection as he lifted and sat back on his heels. His other hand was fixed on the back of my neck, but I couldn’t get close enough to kiss him, to taste him, to get any relief from his eyes.
I propped myself up on an arm and met him thrust for thrust.
It was so much easier to let him win like this. With Reagan, it felt so fucking good to lose.
“God, I missed you. God, you feel good. God, I’m going to come.” He said in succession as he pressed firmly on my clit and stole me through the gates of paradise and past Saint Peter himself.
SHOWER.
Dress.
Coffee.
Ignore half naked man in my bed.
Maybe another sip. The view is nice.
“I’ll bring us lunch up in a few hours.”
Kiss.
Consider calling in sick to my own house.
“Good morning, Laura. You’ve been busy.”
Food is prepped. Check.
Flowers still look great. Check.
Inspect the decks and walkways. All clear.
Spare rooms refreshed, and clean towels delivered to suites. Just in case.
Check.
Lunch went too fast. Make it up to him later.
Musicians arrive.
Serving staff is dressed.
Bartender is at his station.
Run up to change.
Let Reagan watch me put on my clothes from the doorway of the closet.
“I’ll be here when you’re finished. Text me if you need anything.”
He’d told me that three times that day.
Greet guests. Kiss cheeks.
Think of Reagan.
Get more limes for the bartender.
Dinner is served.
Have the servers get dessert orders before everyone gets up to dance.
The band is talented. They’d be good to use again.
Have the valet begin warming cars.
Think of Reagan.
Let some of the staff go home.
“You’re very welcome. The house is yours anytime.”
“Yes, my father would have enjoyed the party.”
Check the kitchen for notes from Laura.
Find nothing except a sweet Christmas card.
Slip off shoes and walk to my wing.
It had been hard to stay away from him all day.
EIGHTEEN
PAST
REAGAN—Wednesday, December 24, 2008
I spent the morning doing my best to stay away from the papers on her coffee table.
I spent my afternoon trying to reassure myself that if she hadn’t wanted me to read them, she would have put them away.
I found a contract for negotiations on the property. Although she owned it outright, she’d contested the will and had everything split by thirds. From what I read on an em
ail from Ives, since they didn’t want ownership of the property, and she didn’t want to let it go, she’d had it appraised and was paying them their shares.
None of this she had to do, according to everything I saw.
I only found one correspondence between her and one of her siblings, but it read more like a sterile memo than anything.
She hadn’t wanted to get rid of her father’s estate, at least not this portion of it. It wasn’t lost on me that it would provide her with a job she loved doing, in a place I was learning she really cared about.
I’d never be able to provide for her like this. Not anywhere close to it.
She didn’t want my help, and I couldn’t with my job anyway. It was clear that it was a huge conflict of interest for me—which was probably why I was never brought in on that account in the first place.
However, if we weren’t together, that wouldn’t be an issue.
She’d never had anyone give a shit about her best interest, and I wasn’t going to be another person to add to that list. But I couldn’t sit by and watch from a distance either.
I was in love with her, and I wanted her to have the best. The best of everything.
It was just fucked up knowing I wasn’t that for her.
Of all of the things out of my control in our relationship, this wasn’t one of them. I could give her everything, and I knew I’d be feeling the depth of that payment for the rest of my life.
I sat there for hours stewing. Contemplating. Searching for a way for us to work, and for her to benefit from it. No matter how I manipulated the puzzle, it never worked out for me, but it could work out for her.
I took her happiness very seriously, regardless of the detriment to my own.
It hurt already. It hurt in places I didn’t want to recognize. My heart. My soul. My future. But what good was any of it if she suffered?
I’d wait until after the holidays, then encourage her to stay. Because didn’t she need someone in her life encouraging her to do whatever the fuck she wanted most, and I knew she had a huge opportunity here.
In Chicago, all she had was a rented apartment and a six by eight office she shared in a hotel.
I heard her slide the large pocket door to the room shut and saw her toss her shoes into the closet as she struggled with the zipper on the back of her dress.
