All I've Ever Needed (After the Storm)

by Moore, Jewel

  It would be different with Stephano she knew. He would never leave her feeling like she was nothing, the way Michael had done in the last weeks of their relationship—forcing her down onto her knees to pleasure him, then cleaning himself off with a wash cloth and contemptuously discarding it onto her pristine bathroom floor before going home to the beautiful woman he was so proud of, the one who would never do anything as nasty as go down on him.

  Sometimes the emptiness of Natalie’s life gnawed at her until she felt like screaming. Sharing Stephano with another woman wouldn’t be the perfect bliss she’d always longed for, but it would be better than what she had now…and a million times better than her nightmare relationship with Michael.

  *****

  And The Rain

  Stephano punched his pillow, trying to mould it into a more comfortable position to finally get the sleep he desperately needed. It was of no use. It was his thoughts that were keeping him awake, not an uncomfortable pillow. Though he was exhausted, he kept playing the day’s events over and over in his head, trying to think what could have transpired between Friday evening and today to make Natalie act the way she’d done.

  Harry’s wedding had gone surprisingly smoothly. Stephano had ensured that the groom was at the church on time, though the bride had then been fashionably late by almost an hour. There had been several fine-looking women at the reception and ordinarily he would have been open for a night of adult fun with a woman who was looking for the same. Instead he had behaved himself, anticipating his return to London and Natalie.

  The bride’s youngest sister, Eva, had given him a lift back to London. A secondary school teacher, she had only been granted a day’s annual leave by the school’s head teacher and had taken it before the wedding to help with late minute preparations. They had arrived at his parents’ home to find his father lying on the sofa clutching his chest and his mother on the telephone so panicked she was talking to the emergency services operator in Italian and couldn’t make herself understood.

  Eva had comforted his mother while he had quickly explained the situation and requested an ambulance. It had been a night of worry. He hadn’t known his father to be ill a day in his life except for having the occasional cold and twice the flu and seeing his mother upset and panicked had been hard for him. His parents shared a love he doubted he would ever find. It was impossible to think of one surviving without the other. It had been such an enormous relief when the doctor had given his father a clean bill of health with just a warning to cut back on spicy foods.

  Eva, two weeks older and his best friend literally from birth, had called for updates throughout the night. Stephano had been grateful for her support. She had then risked the head teacher’s wrath by turning up at the hospital at eight this morning to drive him and his parents home. Though he had encouraged her to leave when they arrived at his parents’ house, she’d insisted on waiting until he’d showered and dressed to give him a lift to the office as it was on her way to school. Her first class didn’t start until eleven, she’d argued.

  Thankfully his father had seemed his usual self when Stephano had arrived home from the office and looked none the worse for his hospital trip, though he’d complained to Stephano about the bland food his wife had prepared specially for him. She had reminded him that he had cleaned his plate.

  Stephano had showered and tumbled into bed expecting to immediately fall asleep, but more than an hour later he was still wide awake.

  Natalie’s behavior was totally out of character for the woman he thought he knew. She was an intensely private person and at first none of her colleagues had known if she was married or single. Some of the guys, attracted by her brains, good looks and sexy body had even speculated about her sexual orientation when she hadn’t been forthcoming about her relationship. Stephano had never thought that she was a lesbian—from the first there had been an unacknowledged sexual awareness between them. He’d often thought that he’d caught a look of interest in her eyes but it always faded before he could be certain.

  When she’d started working for the company, he’d been living with his now ex-girlfriend. Renata’s possessiveness and lack of trust in him had soured their relationship, and convinced that Natalie hadn’t been seeing anyone at the time, he had waited, not wanting to immediately wanting to rush into another relationship without giving himself some time for reflection. But just as he had thought about making his move, he’d answered Natalie’s phone and spoken to a man with a deep voice and a much more pronounced Trinidadian accent than Natalie’s. The man had left no message, just said that he would see her at home later.

  When he had informed her of the call, hoping that she’d shed some light on the man’s identity, she had just thanked him politely. The man had been equally tight-lipped months later when Stephano had answered her phone when she had stepped away from her desk to grab a cup of coffee, just saying to tell her Nathan had called.

  Stephano had wanted to kick himself for not immediately grabbing her once he’d broken things off with Renata. Then last Thursday he had eavesdropped as Morgan had asked Natalie how she planned to spent her weekend. She’d would give her house a thorough clean on Saturday as usual, she’d replied, and attend an art exhibition with her brother Nathan and his fiancée on Sunday.

  Nathan! Of course he’s her brother!

  Stephano had realized belatedly that he’d missed the similarity of their names. He had been so stunned by the man saying that he would see Natalie at home later, his mind had conquered only one interpretation. On reflection he realized that Natalie’s accent did deepen when she was on her mobile phone talking to family members. Sometimes she called her parents ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’. He’d chuckled silently when he’d first heard her do it, but he had somehow gotten used to the fact now.

  He’d barely refrained from punching the air with glee on hearing that the man was not his competition. They both had busy weekends, so he would make his move on his return from Harry’s wedding, he’d decided. Then she had hurt her wrist and all his protective instincts had been awakened as he’d gone rushing to her aid.

  He had never touched her silky skin before, except for a brief handshake on her first day of work and he had marveled at the texture, neither had he ever been close enough to smell her subtle perfume. It had gone to his head like wine, laying waste to all his plans.

  He knew most women liked to wined and dined, before having sex with a man. He hoped that Natalie didn’t feel cheap because he had done neither. Even though they knew each other pretty well as work colleagues, she was more reserved than any woman he’d ever dated. He’d prepared himself for the months of waiting before she slept with him, never anticipating the fire under her cool exterior.

  He was still stunned that he hadn’t used protection. He no longer walked around with condoms in his back pockets as he had done as a teenager, but he ensured that he prepared if there was a likelihood that he would engage in sexual activity. But lust had hit him like a fist that Friday and at no point, from kissing Natalie’s wrist to coming harder than he had done in years, had he thought about protection.

  Despite what she said, he knew that she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. The proof had been there in her rapid response to his touch.

  It would be tough, but he would back off a little and allow her some space, a chance to miss him a little. A week, no more than two, and then he was going in for the kill.

  ***

  Natalie reached over, turned the radio on and grabbed the topmost of the pile of brand-new romance novels on her bedside table. She snuggled deeper under her vanilla-scented duvet, just leaving her face and her hand outside. It was cold and she needed her morning coffee, but she was too lazy to get up. The central heating would come automatically on in an hour at eight, and she needed to reduce her caffeine intake, anyway.

  She re-read the blurb of the interracial romance novel before she turned it over and admired the picture of the couple on the cover. She had always loved
the subgenre, but never in a million years had she imagined that she would contemplate one of her own. Sometimes the couples in the novels had to go through a lot for the sake of their love and she often wondered if she would be strong enough to make whatever sacrifice was needed for the sake of love. Things worked out in the end in romance novels, but it wouldn’t be that easy in real life. Not that what she and Stephano had shared could be termed a romance—it had been a shameful one-night fling that hadn’t even lasted the night.

  It had felt like she was ripping her own heart out telling him that she wanted them to be ‘just friends’, but he had taken her decision well, embarrassingly so. They had been coolly polite with each other for the rest of the week. She had joined him and their usual group of colleagues for lunch when meetings hadn’t taken her out of the office, only because not doing so would have seemed odd and raised suspicions that were already heightened by her and Stephano’s less-warm-than-usual camaraderie.

  Forget Stephano, she rebuked herself and focused on the book again. She hoped that the description of the characters matched the cover. It was a silly peeve of hers, but she got annoyed when the picture on the cover looked nothing like the characters inside the book. She knew it must be difficult to find stock art that matched the characters writers dreamed up in their heads, but sometimes publishers didn’t seem to even make an effort. She had even read books with sketched or painted covers that didn’t match the characters—that she found totally unacceptable! It probably meant that she needed a life, she acknowledged. After all, what did it matter if the characters looked nothing like the cover?

  She opened the book carefully, trying not to crease the cover. The charity she donated the books to after reading were able to charge a little extra if the books were in good condition. Buying four new books each weekend, six if there was a bank holiday on the Monday was a guilty pleasure, but knowing the charity benefited and other readers were able to buy the books at a reduced price made her feel less guilty.

  Yesterday she had done her household chores accompanied by music in an attempt not to think about Stephano. But later in the sauna, after a hectic and very enjoyable Zumba class, he was all she could think of. Slipping between crisp, clean bed sheets was usually the highlight of her Saturday, but all she thought of as she’d done it yesterday was how much better it would be having a hard body to snuggle up to instead of soft sheets.

  She had awoken feeling refreshed and rested. With nowhere to go and all the time to get there, she decided to spend the morning in bed reading with the radio softly in the background, providing companionship of sorts.

  Whitney Houston dead at 48…

  It took several moments for the words to register in Natalie’s subconscious mind.

  Did the announcer just say…?

  Hastily, she reached over and turned up the radio.

  The words the man was saying made no sense!

  Whitney was too young. The same age almost as Natalie’s mother.

  Throwing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed. Whitney was her mother’s favorite singer. The news would be a huge shock.

  ***

  Taking a deep breath, Natalie opened her car door and got of the car on arriving at her parents’ three-bedroom house in Raynes Park. Whitney’s death was sobering. She’d never given a thought to her parents dying. Her mother was forty-seven and her father fifty-three. They were both healthy and she naturally assumed that they would live to ripe old ages as both sets of her grandparents did in Trinidad. Her parents had joint gym membership of the nearby private club and went there weekdays for an hour on the treadmill each morning at six. On weekends they went for a walk in the park instead.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted as she slipped off her shoes at the front door. He was sitting in his favorite recliner reading The Independent, which he would read from cover to cover before the end of the day. Sometimes she missed being a child, snuggled into his side as he read her stories from the newspaper. Most of it hadn’t made sense to her at the time but she’d loved the sound of his deep voice and the fact that his Trinidadian accent was more pronounced than normal when he read aloud.

  “How’s my sugarplum?” He took off his reading glasses and raised his cheek for her kiss.

  “I’m fine, Daddy. And you?” She laid her cheek against his and hugged him.

  “I can’t complain,” he replied. By which he meant life was generally good and he had little to complain about.

  “Is Mummy in the kitchen?”

  “No, she’s upstairs somewhere.” Her father waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the stairs and went back to reading as Natalie turned to head up the stairs.

  Her mother was lying on the covers, looking composed but Natalie could tell that she had been crying. Whitney’s My Love is Your Love was playing softly in the background. She turned her head as Natalie tapped on the open door and entered the bedroom.

  “Did you hear?” The fact that her mother didn’t elaborate spoke volumes. Natalie suspected that she would break down if she said the words.

  “Yes. That’s why I came over so early.”

  Usually Natalie came over for lunch on Sunday . Her mother liked cooking a proper Sunday roast and complained that it was no fun just cooking for her and her husband. Nathan and his fiancée Folasade often joined them. When they did, her mother referred to it as a ‘Soul Food’ Sunday. The movie was another of her favorites and she complained bitterly that it didn’t get the recognition it deserved.

  “This is why I always tell you to live your life to the full.” Her mother patted the covers and Natalie obediently lay on the bed next to her. It had been a long time since she’d been wrapped in her mother’s arms Natalie realized as they came around her and held her tight. With them lying down instead of standing, her five-inch height advantage over her mother disappeared. Feeling like a little girl again, she closed her eyes, she luxuriated in the feeling and let go of her cares for a few precious seconds. “You never know which day will be your last.”

  “I do enjoy my life, Mum.” She may not be partying every Saturday night, but she loved having the time to read at leisure.

  “You don’t have a man. You don’t go anywhere. All you do is work and read those silly romance novels,” her mother chastised. “How are you going to find yourself a man if you don’t go out? And you can’t even find a man at work because they’re all white.”

  “Actually, Mummy…” Natalie hadn’t come over with that intention of talking about Stephano, but as her mother had raised the subject, she decided to seek some advice. Her mother had lived on the island for the first twenty years of her life and though the population was predominantly African and Indian, the island was an eclectic mixture of races. “Did you ever date a man of another race when you lived in Trinidad?”

  “No.” Her mother’s answer was immediate and not very encouraging. She turned to Natalie with a suspicious glint in her eye. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  Natalie could have evaded the question. What she and Stephano shared could still be chalked up to an indiscretion and brushed under the carpet.

  “There is a guy at the office—”

  “You said that you’re the only black person working there…so he’s white?”

  “Yes, he’s white. His name’s Stephano. His parents are Italian, but he was born here.”

  Her mother was silent for a moment.

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s twenty-eight.”

  “At least he’s not a dirty old man.”

  “Mum!”

  “Look at Sybil’s daughter—living with a man old enough to be her grandfather!”

  “Mum, David’s not old enough to be Sybil’s…” Her mother was right, but just barely as his eldest child was almost seventeen years older than his new lover. “Okay, he’s old enough to be her grandfather, but he’s not! And he loves her.”

  “Of course, he loves her. What’s not for him to love? She’s young and beautiful. Wh
y didn’t he marry her before asking her to shack up with him?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to marry him!” Natalie retorted. Knowing Karen as she did, she was sure that the young woman Karen planned on being a pampered mistress for a while before moving on.

  “You think she prefers to live in sin with him?” Her mother made a dismissive sound. “He doesn’t want to have to give her half of his money if they get divorced. And why would he buy the whole cow when he could drink all the milk he wants?”

  “Mum, that’s so cynical.”

  “I’m just being realistic,” her mother insisted.

  Karen was a year older than Natalie. Their mothers had been friends as long as she could remember, but she and Karen had never had much in common. They’d chatted and played when their parents had thrown them together, but they had never made any attempt to deepened or further the friendship. Most people accused David of taking advantage of Karen because he was so much older, but all it took was one look to see that he was totally whipped by his younger lover. Karen had always been street smart and savvy; she had probably decided that she wanted a life of luxury and found a man to provide it. Natalie would be willing to bet that Karen was the one not wanting to get married and not the other way around—she had probably decided, why buy the whole bull when all she wanted was some meat?

  “Was Michael white too?” her mother asked.

  “Why do you ask that?” The question was so unexpected Natalie felt sick for a moment, thinking that Nathan had betrayed her although she had sworn him to secrecy.

  “You mentioned him all time and I got the impression that he was more than just a classmate. When you didn’t bring him home, I did wonder.”

  “No, Mum. Michael’s black. His stepfather’s from Trinidad and his mother’s from Jamaica.”

  “What’s his father’s name? I might know him!”

  “He never told me.” Natalie had asked him, wondering if the man was a friend of her father’s, but Michael had refused give her any details except to say that he was a ‘Trini bastard’. “His real father was Jamaica, but he and Michael’s mum split up when Michael was a baby.”