by Colet Abedi
Clayton is still silent when he pulls off to the side of the road and puts the car in park. He turns to me. His handsome face is impassive. I think my heart is beating so loud he can probably hear it.
“So, let’s talk about it.” he finally says as he eyes me. His expression gives nothing away so I can’t really tell what he’s thinking.
It starts to rain again and the soft noise of the drops of water hitting the car is almost therapeutic.
“Is there a problem with what I said to my parents?” Clayton asks.
“Why would there be?” I ask.
“Do you not want me to come with you to Los Angeles?”
Is he crazy? I just don’t want to sound overly excited or too eager. I take a few breaths before I answer him.
“It would be really nice,” I tell him in what I hope is a cool, calm, and collected voice.
Clayton smiles.
“Have you told them about me?” he asks.
Again. Is he crazy? Does he actually think I would tell my parents I had a fling with a foreigner in the Maldives? I haven’t even thought about how I’ll break the news to them that I’m in love with someone I’ve known for less than a month. And let’s not forget that he lives in another country. Of course if he asked me to move to Timbuktu and live in a tent with him I totally would. But they still think I’m pining after Jerry. Without a doubt my mom and dad will have a nuclear meltdown because they’ll believe it will mean that I’m immediately moving out of the country and am kissing any chance at having a career goodbye.
To be perfectly honest, it’s a conversation I’m dreading.
“I take it from the look on your face that the answer is no,” Clayton says, and sounds almost disappointed.
“Well, when I got back there really wasn’t much to tell because we weren’t talking,” I explain.
“You weren’t talking to me,” Clayton points out.
“Yes, I know.” I wave his comment off. “But still. What was I going to say? And to be honest, I don’t know how they would feel about it, me jumping from my relationship with Jerry into the arms of a stranger. Especially my dad.”
“You didn’t have a relationship with Jerry,” Clayton says forcefully.
Neanderthal Clayton is rearing his handsome head.
“I did,” I tell him emphatically. “For a year. And I’ve known him forever and my parents love him.”
“They’re going to have to get over it.” His voice is cool and has a definite edge.
“Of course they will!” I rush out to placate him. “They are slowly getting over the idea that we’re no longer together but they’re still going to be shocked to hear about you. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
Clayton watches me with an impassive look on his face.
“But I know they will love you when they meet you,” I continue, hoping that will make him stop frowning at me.
His demeanor relaxes just a tad. But he still seems pretty stiff so I go on.
“They’ll love you because you’re you and what’s not to love? But most important, they’ll love you because I do,” I tell him honestly.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over to kiss him on the side of his mouth.
My words worked the magic I hoped they would and I feel his body language change. I smile mile at him.
“So you’re really going to come home with me?” I ask in wonder as I let the happiness I’m feeling sweep over me. I can’t help it. Clayton coming back to Los Angeles with me is a dream come true.
“I am.”
“And then what?” I ask teasingly as I trace my finger along his lower lip.
“Then we’ll take the next step,” he says cryptically.
I lose my stomach.
Next step? What does that mean?
I don’t have the nerve to ask him that question and Clayton doesn’t even let me go there because he quickly tells me to buckle my seat belt as he puts the car in drive and heads back to the chateau.
I’m left wondering.
Hoping. Wishing. Dreaming.
Longing.
For my own happily ever after.
“During sex I like to think about—” Orie is standing in the middle of one of the lounge rooms in the chateau reading his Cards Against Humanity phrase to a small group of Abby’s friends, who are participating in game night.
There are different game stations set up in various rooms in the house, and since Cards Against Humanity is one of our favorites back home, Erik, Orie, and I immediately made a beeline for this station. Clayton and Michael joined us, along with Abby, Georgie, Elizabeth, and Eduard. I was genuinely happy when I spotted Elizabeth, who seemed thrilled to see me.
In fact, she pulled me aside and told me she knew there was something special between Clayton and me in the Maldives, and she was more than happy for us. Eduard had been just as kind and flattering, so it’s now become sort of a Maldives reunion. I’m happy to note that Jane and Amelia are nowhere in sight because I don’t know if I’m up for another round with those two.
Clayton and I are cuddling on one of the couches and really enjoying ourselves. I lean back in his arms and can’t be happier as I sift through my cards to pick an answer for Orie to read out.
“During sex I think about pleasuring my partner,” Georgie blurts out loud to everyone’s amusement as he smiles coyly at Orie.
“Is that on one of your cards?” Erik asks curiously as he eyes him up and down.
Uh-oh.
Georgie shakes his head mischievously and picks up his martini.
“No,” he admits with a wink. “But I thought everyone should know how I operate. I’m a giver, mon cher. I give so that my lover may feel bliss. Sex is about pleasure for both partners. I try to do my part.”
I feel my body tense.
“So we’re exactly the same in that regard,” Erik says with a great deal of arrogance. “No one has ever left my bed unsatisfied.”
The group laughs and there are a few hoots and hollers. I look from Erik, who seems to be sizing Georgie up, to Orie, who’s turned a little red and seems very uncomfortable with the whole situation.
My spidy senses go on high alert and I wonder why Orie is so on edge. Can Erik be right? Are Orie and Georgie flirting? I can’t believe it because I know firsthand how much he and Erik love each other.
“So who wants to go first?” Orie asks, trying to bring everyone back to the game.
“I’ll go,” Eduard says and he reads his answer.
I totally zone whatever he’s saying out and focus on Erik. I will him to look at me and when he does he just rolls his eyes but I know he’s bothered by Georgie’s comment, or existence—I honestly don’t know what annoys him more.
Clayton absently massages my shoulder as he speaks to Michael, who’s just taken a seat next to us on the couch. The two start to talk about the stock market and quickly become immersed in a discussion about the volatility of the economy—a topic that after two martinis has zero appeal for me.
I watch Georgie finish his drink. He must know that I’m staring at him because he turns to me and gives me a smile.
“I’m going to refresh my drink,” he says lifting his empty glass. “Would you like to join me, Sophie?”
Perfect. Twenty questions here I come.
“Yes, I would love to,” I tell him and turn to Clayton and Michael.
“Can I get you guys anything?” I ask politely.
“I’m fine, Sophie,” Michael says kindly. “But thank you.”
“I’m alright as well.” Clayton takes my hand and kisses it softly. He’s being so loving and sweet I feel like I’m in heaven. Or close enough.
“We’ll be right back,” Georgie says to Clayton as I stand up to join him. “And don’t you worry, my wolf, I promise not to tell her your secrets.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Clayton half jokes, not at all affected by Georgie’s words.
I ignore Erik�
��s look of displeasure and let Georgie lead me down the hall to the dining room, which is now set up with a full bar and appetizers. I’m on a mission, and I figure I’ll explain it to Erik later.
“What can I get you?” Georgie asks as he sets our martini glasses and picks out several liquor bottles. Obviously he about to concoct something special.
“I’ll have whatever you’re making,” I tell him.
“Famous last words,” Georgie smiles as he starts to pour the various beverages into a giant martini shaker.
“Is that Long Island iced tea?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he smiles secretively.
“It is,” I say.
“Alright, you twisted my arm. I’ll admit I’ve acquired a taste for the drink. It does the trick very quickly.”
“Gets you drunk,” I say.
“And then the fun begins,” Georgie laughs.
“Can you make mine a little less strong?” I ask him, as I watch him pour more than generous amounts of alcohol and very little Cola.
“Yours will definitely not be as strong as mine,” he tells me. “I don’t want to incur the wrath of le bel homme.”
He’s definitely smart.
“Speaking of which,” he continues, “I’ve never seen him behave like this with any woman before. None of his past girlfriends. You must be very special to him.”
Even though I’m annoyed at Georgie for flirting with Orie, his words make me seriously happy. Especially since he’s not the first one who’s said them.
“I hope so,” I say to him.
“Taming a wolf is no easy task,” Georgie tsks with his thick accent.
I stay silent because I don’t know how to respond to that statement. Have I tamed the wolf?
Highly doubtful, Sophie, my inner voice gives me a reality check.
“Especially a wolf with such a varied and unquenchable appetite,” Georgie goes on as he starts to shake the cocktail.
The last thing I want to know about is Clayton’s sexual history. I’m sure it’s long and sordid and filled with enough beautiful women to make me want to throw up. Even picturing him with other women, especially ones like Amelia, is not a path I want to let myself go down because I know nothing good will come of it.
So instead of replying I choose to use his earlier comment for something else.
“So you believe a man can be tamed?” I ask.
Georgie looks me dead in the eye.
“Perhaps.”
“Yes or no?” I push.
“Some,” he shrugs.
“And the rest?”
“Move from one partner to another,” he says. “I’m sure that you’re quite aware that life gets boring after a while.”
“That’s not very romantic,” I tell him. “I think if you find the right person life can never get boring no matter what’s thrown at you.”
“But what if there is more than one partner out there who can show you passion?” Georgie asks me as he pours our drinks out. He stops what he’s doing to assess my reaction.
“I guess that’s a given,” I tell him and shrug my shoulders. “I’m sure there can be many. I won’t dispute that. But that doesn’t mean those many make you feel the way that one special person can.”
“Spoken like a true innocent.”
“Like an idealist,” I reply.
“A romantic,” he says back.
“Maybe.”
Georgie raises a brow.
“You have a question, my dear,” he tells me. “You followed me here for a purpose.”
I should be surprised by his perceptiveness but for some reason I’m not.
I cut straight to the point. “My friends love each other.”
“They do,” Georgie agrees.
Before I can say another word, Georgie continues.
“Ma belle, Sophie, I only tempt what is readily available to be tempted. If you are not open to seduction then you will not succumb.”
“Said the snake in the Garden of Eden,” I reply before I can stop myself.
Georgie laughs.
“One word would change it all,” Georgie says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Non.” Georgie smiles innocently.
I can’t believe his blasé attitude. Or what he’s implying. That Orie is welcoming the flirtation.
“What are you so worried about?” he asks me pointedly.
“I don’t want my friends to be hurt,” I say honestly. “They have something special.”
“Special cannot be broken, mon cherie,” Georgie replies. “Special is forever, non?”
“It is forever,” I agree with him.
“Then why are you questioning me?”
Shit.
Nothing real can be threatened. Marianne Williamson’s line from A Course in Miracles rings through my head again. Georgie is right. No love, no real love would ever be threatened. If it’s true and pure and perfect, nothing, absolutely nothing would be able to destroy it. Not even a flirtatious count from France, who throws crazy, amazing parties. And happens to look like an underwear model.
“I didn’t mean to,” I finally say.
“Sophie,” he says, “life is long and made for enjoyment. So just savor the moments.”
Clayton breaks the silence as we lie in bed. “You were throwing daggers at Georgie.”
Game night is long over and it’s way past my bedtime. Clayton and I are wrapped in each other’s arms, both exhausted from a long day, just enjoying one another’s company.
“I was not,” I deny.
Clayton laughs.
“I saw the way you stared at him,” he tells me. “I thought you were going to ask him for a duel.”
“Pistols or swords?” I tease.
“Pistols, of course.”
“What? Really?” I’m offended. “I think I would be amazing with a sword.”
“Without a doubt,” Clayton agrees. “But I think you’d need instant gratification. You were out for blood.”
“I might be a slow and torturous kind of person.”
“I don’t think so,” Clayton says.
He’s definitely right. It’s a rarity for me to lose my temper, but when it happens, I do go for the jugular for a quick outcome. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often.
“How about you?” I ask him.
“Sword.”
Completely. He would stalk his prey, anticipating a slow and painful end.
“You should have lived in the Middle Ages,” I tease him. “I know you’re a fan of the art and your personality fits the bill perfectly.”
He laughs. “I don’t know if I should be insulted or not.”
My fingers draw circles on his chest as my mind wanders and I find myself thinking about his childhood and the strange relationship he has with his father.
“Your parents were really nice,” is how I decide to bring the subject up.
“Thank you. My mother is.”
I lean back from his chest. I want to see his face, even though he’s generally good at hiding what he’s thinking. Tonight is no different. His look is inscrutable.
“Didn’t I tell you that my father and I have a strained relationship?” he asks indifferently.
“You did,” I admit. “But I didn’t realize that…”
It was so bad. My voice trails off because I don’t want to say this.
There’s a long silence between us and then to my surprise Clayton begins to talk.
“When I was younger, I saw things.” Clayton seems uncertain. Unsure. Like he’s tasting the sound of these words for the first time. “My father wasn’t very discreet.”
My heart starts to pound. I don’t dare breathe too loud because I’m afraid it will make Clayton stop talking.
“He didn’t really care about rules or vows. Never mind his own marriage, but his friends’ girlfriends or their wives—if my father fancied them it—” He pauses. “—A
ll’s fair in love and war, Clayton,” he says in a low voice, and with disdain. “You don’t know how many times he said those words to me over the years. I lost count of the number of moments I walked in on him with his various flavors of the week, or the extraordinarily special occasions I caught him with my classmates’ mothers.”
How awful.
“William and Michael?” I ask.
“It’s never been something I’ve discussed with them. Especially with William. He believes the sun rises and sets on my father’s shoulders. I won’t be the one to break that pretty picture for him. We’re very protective of him.”
My heart melts for the child he was, to have witnessed what he did. The trauma of watching his father cheat constantly must have scarred him for life.
And scared him away from commitment.
“And your mom?” I ask.
“She knew,” Clayton says. “But at some point it stopped mattering to her and she focused on us.”
“But how?” I’m horrified at the idea that she stayed with a serial cheater.
“She compartmentalizes things,” he shrugs. “I think she likes the idea of being married to him. She has her freedom. He doesn’t question her. And he has his.”
“But it’s so lonely.”
“It works for them,” Clayton says flatly.
It would never for me. I would go crazy. Hell, I’m pretty sure most women would.
“One night, I was in bed,” Clayton continues and I feel my stomach clench in dread. “I was twelve. My mother was in New York and we were with our father and the nannies. He came into my room and woke me up. It was late. He told me to get myself together and meet him in the study.”
Clayton’s body feels like it’s made of granite and his voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
“When I arrived I was met by his mistress and a high-class prostitute,” he says apathetically. “My father told me that he was going to watch me become a man and that both women were at my disposal. He was to stay on and make sure I was a real Sinclair. Make sure I could perform.”
I feel sick to my stomach and am so appalled that the man I met this afternoon could be capable of something so vile. I can feel my eyes begin to water.
