Bare?
I glanced down at my woolen sock lying on the floor near his clawed feet and laughed.
“Well, you did blow my socks off, Monster.”
He chuckled and nuzzled the side of my face.
“Did you really like it?” I asked anxiously.
“Mmhmm,” he murmured, peeling me from the support post to wrap his arms around me now.
“More than having me on top?”
“Oooh, I like you on top, too.”
“You do?” I lifted my head, needing to see his face.
He lifted an eyebrow at my concern.
“Up or down. Over or under. In bed or against a post. Sophie, I’ll have you any way I can.”
“Unfortunately, there aren’t that many ways with me . . .” I sighed with a short laugh.
“Sophie.” He shifted me higher to bring my face to his eye level. “Sex with you is mind-blowing—in any position—please, believe me. But it’s not about that. I mean I love what happens down there.” He shot a glance in the direction of his crotch. “But the most amazing feeling is actually somewhere here.” Holding me easily with one arm, he grabbed my hand with his and pressed it to his chest. “Somehow, I feel what you feel. Your pleasure becomes mine. I want it no less than I crave my own satisfaction. I never knew it could be this way before you.” He threaded his fingers though my hair that hang loose around my face—my messy bun completely destroyed by the action against the post. “For me, being with you is no longer about me or you, Sophie. It’s about us. I’ve never had that before. But now, I’m afraid I wouldn’t want to be without it.”
Tenderness, affection, gratitude, along with many other emotions I couldn’t name, rose in a warm swell inside me from his words. And I felt them all mold into something much larger, filling my heart to the brim.
I didn’t even begin to know how to express this feeling growing in me. Instead, I just wound my arms tightly around his neck again, pressing myself to him as close as I could and wishing I never had to let go.
Chapter 34
A FEW WEEKS LATER, I returned from Rocky River with a heavy feeling over my heart. Madame Besson, my father’s housekeeper, had notified me by email that Henri had a stroke. She noted that my presence in France was not required at this time. His condition was stable. However, it was clear from her email that it was serious.
I sensed that the newest Madame Morel probably wasn’t too eager to meet me. But I also wondered if the cool note of my presence not being required had something to do with Henri not wanting to see me.
“Anything new from town?” Monster asked after helping me with groceries, and I noticed him wince when he inclined his head.
“Is the headache bothering you today?”
He grunted softly in reply and moved to the couch.
The regular supply of painkillers kept his headache at a manageable level, allowing Monster to function. But I knew that the pain never went away completely.
“Come here.” I sat in the opposite end of the couch, shifting a little to allow for space for his horns, and patted my jean-clad thighs. “Let’s see if we can make it better.”
Monster claimed my massages helped reduce the pain, and I loved giving them to him as often as he needed.
Placing his head carefully in my lap, he lay down and closed his eyes.
“Tell me about your day, princess. What’s new and exciting in Rocky River?”
Through the stories of my town visits, Monster got to know the people who lived there and was now very familiar with the town’s life.
“Not much in terms of excitement.” I brushed away the long strands of his mane and smoothed the velvet fur of his forehead with my fingers. “You know life is slow around these parts.”
“Like molasses,” he snorted.
“I kinda like it, actually. The hustle and bustle of a big city gets old over time.”
Concern from Madame Besson’s news weighed heavily on my chest. Henri was a man full of life and vigor, even as he was cold and indifferent to me personally. I couldn’t imagine him being sick or feeble in any way at all.
“I put the mail from your lawyer and the bank on the desk in the observatory, by the way.” I drew tight circles at the base of his horns, pressing slightly, and felt his shoulders slowly relax at my thigh. “I also got an email from Henri’s housekeeper,” I added quietly. “Henri had a stroke.” I stilled my fingers over his forehead for a second before continuing with the massage.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell Monster my news until I blurted it out, feeling the sudden urge to share.
“Will you have to go to France?” Monster’s eyes snapped open.
“She said I’m not needed.” I stroked his forehead just above the bushy eyebrows, making him close his eyes again. “I’m sure I’d just be in the way of the newest Madame Morel if I went.”
“But do you think your father would like to have you there?”
I paused, thinking about the last time I saw Henri. Nothing about the way we parted gave me any hope he’d wish to see me now.
“Honestly, I don’t think he would want that. Chances are he’d only get upset again. In the best case scenario, it wouldn’t make a difference to him if I was there or not.”
Which is the way it has always been anyway.
He lay still for a second.
“Seeing him now may be more for you than him,” he offered softly.
“How so? If he doesn’t get angry seeing me, he’d be indifferent. He never cared.”
“It may be your chance to forgive.”
“The last thing Henri ever needed was my forgiveness.”
Sad but true. Henri would never admit any failures. As far as he was concerned he was outside of any criticism.
“Sometimes, forgiveness is for the one who grants it more than for the one who receives it,” Monster said thoughtfully. “It frees your soul and lets you move ahead, instead of walking around in circles of bitterness and hurt.”
I considered the meaning of his words for a second.
“Are you talking from experience? Are you the one forgiving or do you need to ask for forgiveness yourself?”
“Both.”
Silence fell around us, allowing me to ponder his reply while I continued to move my fingers over his forehead and through his mane.
Monster didn’t talk much about his past. Still, from the little glimpses I got from our conversations, I was able to piece together a picture of his childhood. Born into a privileged family, he grew up with an abusive father and an emotionally absent mother.
“Did you forgive your parents?” I asked.
“I did.” He shifted his head under my fingers a little. “For me, their death pretty much settled anything there was to forgive between us. After that, something just got lighter here.” He pressed a clenched fist to his chest. “But I still wish I had a chance to say goodbye to my mom.”
I remembered him mentioning that she never came up here.
“She didn’t see you after your transformation? Would she have accepted you if she knew?”
“God, no!” he scoffed. “One look at me like this, and she’d run for the hills screaming. Appearance was everything for my parents, for my mom just as much as for my dad, if not more. She was incredibly beautiful and vain. Fretting over what people would think sometimes was her only motivation to get out of bed and show her face in public. Otherwise, I believe, she’d have spent her whole her life locked up in that room.”
I stopped massaging his head and only continued to stroke his mane gently, listening to him talk.
He never told me his name or the name of his family. Because he didn’t want to be the man he used to be, he’d explained, and I suspected because he also didn’t want to dive too deep into the memories either.
I understood his desire to bury the past as I recognized the need to erase it from one’s mind completely. I also knew now that sometimes, the opposite was what brought relief. Talking about the past, released t
he power it held. So I let him speak, glad that I could be there for him when he needed someone to listen.
“This is one of the regrets I have,” he continued. “I wish I could say a proper goodbye to my mom. Lately, I’ve been wondering how different things could’ve been if I didn’t turn my back on her when she started ignoring me. If instead of distancing myself even further, filled with anger and hurt at her neglect, I’d managed to stay close. Would I’ve been able to save her?” He paused for a moment, lost in his past then answered his own question, “Most likely not. But now I’ll never know for sure because I didn’t try.”
Monster caught my hand in his and brought it to the side of his face. He couldn’t kiss it. Instead, he gently nuzzled my palm.
“What I’m saying, Sophie, is that I’d love for you to stay here, but if you go to France, I’ll understand.” His voice had been flowing at a slower pace. Eventually, his breathing grew deeper and his eyelids seemed to be weighted down by exhaustion.
I realized he had a long day working on the grounds. Glad that massage relaxed him enough to help him drift asleep, I didn’t want to force him to go upstairs in bed. Instead, I threw a blanket over him and continued to cradle his head in my lap.
Cupping the side of his face with one hand, I gently stroked his head. His chest rose with even, deep breathing as I guarded his sleep.
My heart flooded with tenderness for this huge beast of a man. He had crawled under my skin and into my heart so deep, there was no way for me to ever claw him back out. Horns, tail, and all—he was all mine.
“I love you, my Monster,” I whispered, finally recognizing the swell of emotions flooding me.
His eyelids fluttered, and his breathing hitched for a moment, but he didn’t open his eyes and didn’t reply, leaving me unsure if he’d heard my words. Not that it mattered at the moment whether he heard them or not. Recognizing the feeling myself was overwhelming enough for now.
Chapter 35
NEXT TIME I WENT TO town I sent another email to Madam Besson, asking for updates on Henri’s condition. I had a trip to Calgary planned for the beginning of March to visit my mom, and I considered if I should just go to France from there. I decided to wait for the updates first, still worried about upsetting a sick man by showing up at his house uninvited.
The thought of it brought a deep feeling of regret about our failed relationship as father and child between Henri and I—the bond that had never formed and now had no chance of happening.
On the other hand, I was looking forward even more to seeing my mother again when it was time for me to leave for Calgary. I always missed her, but now felt an even stronger need to see her.
“Just one week,” I promised Monster when he hugged me goodbye at the end of the driveway. “I’ll be back soon. You won’t even have a chance to miss me.”
It was always hard to leave him behind. The fact that he was tied to this place, literally a prisoner, made it much worse.
“Oh, I will miss you, you can be sure of it,” he muttered just above my ear, holding me tight. “I’ll start missing you as soon as I’ll release you from my arms.”
“One week,” I repeated softly, brushing large snowflakes from his mane, then took his head in my hands to look into his eyes. “I will miss you too, more than ever . . . Because I love you.”
He stilled for a moment, even his breathing seemed to have stopped completely, long enough for me to worry what his feelings for me were.
“Are you happy, Sophie?” He asked unexpectedly.
“I am, Monster.” I answered without a hesitation. “There is no place I’d rather be than next to you. You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been, than I ever thought I could be.”
The passionate embrace, in which he enclosed me, lifted me off my feet.
“This has to make it right then. This is worth everything.”
“What is?” His reaction was strong but not exactly what I expected to be in response to my confession.
“This fairy tale. It’s everything. As long as it lasts, princess. I want to savor every single moment of it for just a little bit longer.”
He sat me down carefully then leaned over a little, searching my eyes.
“I love you too, Sophie. Madly. Your happiness is everything to me, and it’s the only thing that matters.”
ON MY SECOND DAY IN Calgary, my mom and I had a long talk, during which I told her that I’d met someone in Rocky River and decided to stay there. My lease agreement with Monster was only until the end of the year, but I was more than ready to extend it for longer, much longer. And I had every reason to believe he felt the same way.
I couldn’t tell my mom the whole truth about Monster yet. He and I would have to figure out how to go about it later. For now, I was just too happy enjoying this wonderful new feeling we shared for each other.
Mom told me about her plans to move in with Jeff. And I agreed that selling the townhouse would be the best thing to do, excited for her starting a new life with the man she loved.
The next day, I sat on my old bed, sorting through all the things I had collected over my years of living here. I’d figured it’d make it easier for Mom to get the house ready for sale if my stuff was out of her way.
Sorting through some of my old textbooks, I felt the familiar stab of bitterness at my failure. The regret was not over failing to become a doctor but over never becoming anything at all.
I started medical school in the hope of making my indifferent father proud one day. The urge to gain his approval was deep-seated, practically indestructible. Now, I realized that the most appealing part of medicine—what would make me truly happy—was the chance to help people. And there were so many ways to do it. I didn’t need to use a scalpel or wear a white coat to make a difference.
Spurred by this idea, I searched for online programs and found several that for the first time in a long time made me excited about my professional future again. Counseling, massage therapy, and even several non-traditional healing courses sounded like something I would love doing. The progress I’ve been making with my therapist allowed me to hope I could cope with study. In any case, I felt confident enough to try again.
I printed out the information on the ones that really tugged at my heart, with the intention of narrowing it down back at the house, already looking forward sharing it all with Monster.
Figuring out in my head the best way to manage studying online while, practically, living away from civilization, I went back to sorting through my things when my cell phone rang unexpectedly.
“Is this Sophie Morel?” A female voice inquired on the other end of the line.
“Speaking,” I replied, indecisively hovering an old notebook between the two boxes marked with Keep and Throw Away.
“Well, hi then. I’m Cecilia.”
The notebook fell out of my hand, and I sprang up from the bed.
“Hi!”
“You’ve been looking for me.”
“Oh yes, I have. Thank you so much for getting back to me. I really need to ask you some questions—”
“Listen, I’m just calling to tell you to stop looking for me and stop bothering the organizing committee. They are busy people, and so am I.”
“Please, please don’t hang up!” My mind shrunk into a ball of panic, and I clutched the phone so hard it hurt. “A man’s future depends on it.”
“Sure, it does. But why should I care?”
I hoped against all odds that it wouldn’t be the last thing I heard before she hung up on me.
“Please, Cecilia.” I was so not above begging. “I need your help to reverse something you did about six years ago, in New York State.”
I had very little reasons to believe that it was indeed the right Cecilia. But if she was, I felt I had mere seconds to catch her attention.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
But I sensed the opposite held true—she hadn’t hung up on me yet.
“I don’t know wha
t it was,” I exhaled. “Magic? Voodoo? Some advanced science? But he believes it was you who made him look like an animal and confined him to a lonely life in the woods after an unfortunate one-night stand—” I cut myself off, afraid of sounding judgmental when I wasn’t. I didn’t search for her to judge, to be angry or jealous. All I wanted was her help. “I meant you spent a night together . . .”
“Him.”
“You do remember.” I exhaled in relief, feeling a little lightheaded. It was her after all. “Can you help? Please?”
The long silence on the other end made me fear again that she’d hung up, and I dreaded hearing a dial tone at any moment.
“Um, Cecilia?” I prompted when she still didn’t reply.
“He was an asshole,” she bit out sharply. The resentment in her voice dampened my hope.
“He was,” I agreed, crestfallen, but unable to argue with her on this. “He admitted he treated you badly, and he is sorry. If you could give him a chance to apologize—”
“I’m not coming up there for that,” she cut me off.
“But he can’t come to see you. He can’t leave—”
“I know. I made sure of it.”
Her reply was curt and abrupt. But I sensed some hesitation in her voice and in the long pause she took after.
“Can I come to see you instead?” I offered, hoping it may be easier in person.
“And who are you to him?”
“I . . . I care about him. Very much.”
“You do, huh?”
“He’s changed.” I feverishly searched through my brain for the right words to convince her somehow, but she didn’t give me a chance.
“Listen. I’m not supposed to talk about this shit over the phone. If it’s that important to you and he’s changed as you say, then meet with me at the venue next week. March thirteenth. I’ll be having lunch at the restaurant downstairs at noon.”
The line went dead.
In a complete stupor, I kept staring at the silent phone in my hand. Then what she’d said began to filter in slowly.
To Love A Monster Page 20
