Dubious

by Charmaine Pauls

  “Valentina…” A flash of something tightens his eyes and makes his nostrils flare. “You have no idea…” He drags a hand through his hair, messing it up more.

  I swallow away the constriction in my throat that makes it hard to speak. “I said I was sorry.”

  He cups my cheek and brushes a thumb under my eye. “Not as sorry as I am.”

  In that moment, he lets me see his anguish. I remember what he said about having a heart the night I asked him about his scars. Compassion replaces my irritation.

  I place my hand over his. “It’s going to be all right.”

  A flicker of a smile plucks at his lips. “I’m supposed to say that, dammit.”

  “Then say it.” I dare him with my eyes, urging him to let go of whatever darkness took hold of him.

  “It’s going to be fine, Valentina.”

  “That’s better.” I bring his palm to my mouth and plant a kiss on it.

  “I’m supposed to do that, too,” he says with a hint of sadness.

  I wordlessly offer him my palm, but he doesn’t kiss the inside. He draws my hand to his lips and sucks my forefinger into the warm depth of his mouth, biting down gently on the tip. Heat floods my underwear as he swirls his tongue around the digit. Then he pulls my wet finger from his mouth and dries it on his shirt. The kiss he leaves on the top of my hand is the opposite of what he did to my mouth. It’s sweet, tender, and careful. After holding my eyes for another second, he puts my hand in the same position as earlier on his thigh and steers the car back into the traffic. When he’s not shifting gears, he plays with my fingers, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

  At home, Rhett opens the door and helps me from the car. “If you need help with anything, you only have to say.”

  “Thanks for driving me, yesterday.”

  Gabriel’s dark expression stills Rhett. I’m not sure what Gabriel’s problem with Rhett is, but the guard immediately excuses himself and leaves.

  Inside, Quincy and Carly rush to greet us.

  “Show me your hand,” Carly exclaims. “You could’ve told me.”

  I hold up my bandaged thumb. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Lunch is in the oven,” Quincy says. “We had to improvise, but it’s edible.” He turns to me, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have left, yesterday. I should’ve stayed and helped.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Come on, Dad,” Carly hooks her arm around Gabriel’s. “I’m starving.”

  He hesitates for a second before he follows her to the dining room, his eyes finding mine over his shoulder.

  To be honest, I’m happy for the time alone. I haven’t dealt with the shock, yet, and I want solitude to process what happened. Oscar greets me by the entrance to the kitchen, rubbing his soft body against my legs.

  “Hey, baby.” I take a moment to pet him and check that he has food.

  There’s no place to put the enormous bouquet of flowers in my room, so I borrow a vase from the crystal cupboard and leave them on the counter in the kitchen. Thankfully, Quincy left the kitchen tidy. I’m prohibited from using my hand or working for a week, but I won’t allow that to give Magda a reason to kill me. Or Charlie. She’s only biding her time, waiting for the right excuse. Packing the dishwasher and doing a few minor chores, I find that I cope well enough with one hand, but Magda grudgingly tells me to take the rest of the day off. I use that time to rest, catching up on sleep.

  Much later, Gabriel comes to my room. He covers every inch of my skin in kisses and makes love to me gently. When he holds me afterward, I allow the warmth of his arms to soothe me. Uninvited tears flow over my cheeks. The grief of giving up my studies and the shock of the accident come tumbling down on me, pushing me under a wave of sorrow that makes it hard to breathe. Sobs wrack my shoulders as I cling to him, holding onto the man who took my freedom. In what feels like my darkest hour, he’s all I have. It’s so damn screwed up. How much more can I handle before Gabriel completely destroys me?

  He pulls me into his lap and kisses the top of my head. “Hush, beautiful.”

  “Gabriel.” I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the spicy fragrance of his skin. “Set me free, I beg you.”

  He rests his chin on my head and inhales slowly. “You may as well ask me to cut off my arm.”

  When I fall asleep a long time later, I dream that I’m standing on one end of a hospital corridor and Gabriel on the other. Between us, there are rows of people with horrendous injuries, the number of patients too big to count. I’m pushing my way through the bodies, trying to reach him, but when I get to the other side, he’s gone. I wake up in a fit of pain, sweating, and alone in my bed. I take a painkiller and count a hundred sheep ten times before I drift off again.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  The first thing I do the following morning, is have the meat saw driven to the dump. The second is to take out medical insurance for Valentina. As long as I’m alive, I’ll cover her bills, but I may not live as long as I’d like, especially not with my kind of business. I almost fired Rhett for his stupidity of taking her to the goddamn Joburg Gen. The only thing that saved his skin is that I couldn’t punish him for my negligence. I should’ve thought about Valentina’s health the minute she crossed my doorstep. I should’ve informed my staff in the case of an emergency, she’s to be treated like any member of the family. All sorts of bad things could’ve happened. She could’ve bled to death. She could’ve caught an infection. With all the filth and blood around the Joburg Gen, she could’ve contracted AIDS. To think she considered sewing back her own thumb. That she didn’t panic gives me a new level of respect for her. It’s one thing to stitch me back together, but quite another to pick your thumb off the floor and not raise the roof in hysterics.

  She’s managing with one hand, like she always does, but this isn’t what I want for her. She’s been in my house for less than a quarter of a year, and my perfect doll is already broken. I threatened her with the whip if she doesn’t rest. Magda isn’t happy with the turn of events, but she only raises the issue when we’re alone in the car on our way to one of the loan offices.

  “Why did you do it?”

  I glance at her from over the rim of my sunglasses. “Do what?”

  “Pay Valentina’s hospital bill.”

  “Jesus, Magda, did you expect me to sit back and let her lose her thumb? Anyway, Rhett paid for it. I only reimbursed him.”

  “You’re investing in dead meat.”

  “We’ve been through this enough times already.”

  “When are you going to let go?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  “When will that be?”

  I gave her a hard look. “When I’m damn well ready and not a second before.”

  “I’ve been lenient with you, but my patience is wearing thin. Don’t make me choose a date.”

  “I’ll choose a date,” I say evasively, placating her for now. Maneuvering the car down the steep hill into Braamfontein, I ask the question that, for the last few weeks, has been foremost on my mind. “Why do you want her dead?”

  She blinks and looks away. “I told you, to make an example out of her.”

  “Why her?”

  “Why not?”

  “If it’s just about the money, I’ll settle her debt.”

  She turns in her seat. “You’re willing to buy that little slut?”

  Anger spurts into my veins, setting my heart off at a dangerous beat. “She’s anything but a slut.”

  She gives a cynical snort. “Maybe you prefer a different term, but she’s your fuck toy, and in my opinion that makes her a slut.”

  “Easy, Magda,” I say evenly. “You’re pushing me too far.”

  “Gabriel,” her voice takes on a softer tone, “you can never trust her. If you lower your guard, she’ll stab a knife in your back or steal you blind.”

  I can’t say for sure about the knife in my back. I’m sure Valentina has wished me dead plenty of times. What I
do know is that she’s not a thief.

  “She’s been managing the food budget since Marie’s stroke, and she’s saving us a lot of money.”

  “That doesn’t say anything.”

  “It says she’s trustworthy where money’s concerned. Don’t think I’m unaware of the money Marie pocketed for herself with the kickback she got from the suppliers.”

  “It’s small money.”

  “Doesn’t change the principle. Stealing is stealing, which makes Marie a thief. Yet, you never lashed out at her.”

  “That’s different. Marie is practically part of the family. Her mother worked for my mother. Your fuck doll is neither family nor loyal. I don’t care how much money she’s saving us, her time’s running out.”

  “Let it go.”

  At the cold deliberation in my tone, she turns her head to look through the window. “Anyway, I’m not interested in selling her. You won’t settle her debt.”

  I let it slide, making an effort to calm myself. “I called our old cleaning service company. They’ll stand in until next week.”

  My mother scoots up straighter. “You did what?”

  “Valentina is booked off. You know that.”

  “This is the perfect opportunity to let her fail.”

  I clench my jaw. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “Fine.” She waves a hand in the air. “Treat her like a princess and wrap her in cotton wool. It’ll make her fall so much harder.”

  My fingers tighten on the wheel. I feel like leaning over my mother, opening her door, and shoving her out of my car and my life. We keep on clashing heads over this, and if she can’t accept that Valentina is a part of our lives for good, it’s going to get ugly.

  * * *

  The week drags on with Valentina being withdrawn and quiet, keeping to her room. At least she has time to rest and maybe study. She still hasn’t told me about her studies. I’m not sure if she’s hiding something else from me, or if it’s the after-effect of the anesthesia that’s giving her the blues, but she’s not herself. I suppose it’s normal, given what she’s been through. All I can do is give her my support and care until she’s back in the kitchen in her black dress. I’m not happy about it, but I haven’t found a solution to the dilemma, yet, and Magda won’t budge.

  On top of my worry about Valentina, I need to raise a difficult issue with Carly. Carly doesn’t normally eat in the morning, but since Magda isn’t present today, I ask my daughter to have breakfast with me so we can speak in private.

  I wait until Valentina has left us after serving bran muffins before I say, “I know you love your mother and our divorce was tough on you. We didn’t discuss it much when the breakup happened. I think it’s important that you have someone neutral to talk to.”

  She stares at me with wide eyes. “It’s a bit late for that.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  “It won’t help.” She hides her face behind her hair.

  “You can’t say unless you’ve tried.”

  She pushes the fruit around on her plate.

  “Stop hiding behind your hair and look at me.”

  She lifts her head, her eyes throwing daggers at me. “There’s only one thing that’ll help, and that’s if you and mom get back together.”

  I sigh deeply. “It’s not going to happen. You have to accept it.”

  She bangs her fork down on her plate. “Why not? Why can’t you live together like a normal couple?”

  “Your mother and I, we don’t love each other any more. That doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”

  “Bullshit.” She pushes her chair back and jumps to her feet. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Grabbing her bag, she sprints for the door.

  “Carly!”

  I want to order her to come back and finish her breakfast, but my common sense tells me to give her space until she has cooled down. Dwelling on my parental problems, I finish my breakfast alone, even if I no longer have an appetite.

  Valentina’s voice pulls me to the present. “Can I clear the plates?”

  The new melancholy that has invaded her makes her big, sad eyes more haunting than ever. I gather my plate and glass to carry it to the kitchen, and return with the tray while Valentina takes the rest. Knowing how proud she is, I try to make things easier for her without making it obvious. While I’m loading my plate in the dishwasher, I notice that she scoops Carly’s untouched muffin from the plate, carefully wrapping it in a paper napkin. The rest of my half-eaten muffin she packs into an ice cream container half-full with bones, bits of meat, and cooked vegetables, which she keeps in the staff fridge. I’ve never seen her clear the table before, but it’s obvious she’s in the habit of collecting the left overs. What does she do with the food that’s meant for the compost bin? My morning conference call is due, so I don’t give it further thought, but leave the kitchen with a feeling I can’t place. It’s as if my time with both Carly and Valentina is running out. I don’t like it. The last time I felt like this was right before I tripped a wire and was left for dead with half of my face blown to pieces.

  * * *

  I time my meetings so that I’m free during Valentina’s lunch breaks to check on her. Before going outside, I spend a few undisturbed minutes observing her through the kitchen window. I love looking at her like this, when her guard is down. The perverseness in me likes to invade her privacy, stealing a part of her I’ll otherwise never have. I came to accept that Valentina will never be one hundred percent open with me. Our forced relationship isn’t the kind that nurtures an unconditional sharing of the soul.

  As always, she’s sitting on the low wall by the pool. Bruno is lying next to her on the grass, his head on his paws, staring up at her with doting eyes. Her hands are cupped around an object, like the petals that protect the stigma of a flower. She opens them to reveal something round and white. What is she holding? It looks like a paper napkin. Folding the napkin open carefully, she breaks the muffin that’s inside in two, and feeds one half to Bruno while she eats the other. The dog gobbles it up in one gulp, and wags his tail optimistically, watching to see if more is coming. She eats slowly, like a person who tastes every bite.

  Everything inside of me slams to a standstill. What I’m witnessing is an ordinary scene of a woman nourishing her body, but it shatters me. I’ve seen many atrocious deeds and tortures that will make most grown men crumble, but this––Valentina eating our leftover food––this does something to me not even a killing does. I’ll double her allowance and buy her more food. I’ll put her brother in a fancy institute. I’ll do anything it takes for her to never have to eat the crumbs from someone else’s table again. That bursary better come through soon. I go back to my study and call my CFO, who ensures me it’s a matter of days now. Some red tape at the university is slowing down the process.

  When I go to her that night, I decide to broach the subject. I strip her naked and drive my cock into her, keeping us both on a precipice of pleasure. I drag it out until neither of us can tolerate it any longer.

  Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Gabriel, please.” She rocks her hips against mine, trying to create more friction.

  I pull out almost completely and still my movements. “Who do you belong to?”

  She shivers when I press my thumb on her clit. “You.”

  “Who takes care of you?”

  “You.”

  “How do I take care of you?”

  “However you like.”

  “Damn right. How the hell ever I like.” Her back arches when I pinch her nipple. “Who makes you come?” I shove back into her.

  “You,” she cries on a gasp.

  “Who dresses you?”

  “You.”

  I move again in all earnest. “Who feeds you?”

  “Ah, God, Gabriel! You.”

  “That’s right, beautiful.” I kiss her lips. “Me.”

  I slam our bodies together so hard I have to cup her head to prevent it
from hitting the wall. She cries my name as she comes with a violent spasm, her pussy sucking me deeper and milking me dry. There’s nothing more satisfying than coming inside her. I empty my body in hers, making her take every drop, but I don’t pull out. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair sticks to her damp forehead.

  I frame her face between my hands. “Anything you need, you’ve got it. You only have to say the word. Understand?”

  She closes her eyes.

  “Look at me, Valentina.”

  When she opens them again, they’re moist with tears. “Why are you doing this? It’s not part of our deal.”

  I kiss each eyelid and then her nose. “Because I’m everything you need.”

  The sadness in her gaze intensifies, fueling my fear, which in terms spurs my anger. “Say it.”

  She licks her lips, but doesn’t reply.

  I wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze. “Say it, damn you.”

  Her body tenses, but she doesn’t fight my hold. Instead, her shoulders sag as she slowly lets out a breath. “Yes, Gabriel. You are my everything.”

  Heated satisfaction warms my balls, spreading all the way up my spine. My cock grows hard inside her again. I have her in every way I want, but I still need her in so many ways. Rising on my knees, I hook her legs over my shoulders and use my cum to lubricate her ass. She screams when I enter her there, but with my fingers in her pussy and on her clit, she quickly gives me the moans of ecstasy I’m after. Long after she had her second orgasm, I’m still punishing myself with new pleasure. It takes a long time before my second release. With her, I can go all night, but she needs her rest, so I gather her body against mine and hold her until she falls asleep.

  * * *

  Valentina

  My mother used to say if something bad happens, celebrate something positive. That way, you’ll never become depressed. Maybe that’s how she survived when my dad died and we lost everything. She never left the house without red Estee Lauder lipstick.