Liar Liar

by Donna Alam

  Remy slides his arm around my shoulders, his forefinger at my chin as he tilts my face to his. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘You just saw me at lunchtime.’ Because he still hasn’t given up using the app. We eat lunch together most days now that he’s back at the office. Sometimes we even go out to lunch. A novel experience!

  ‘You’re lucky I call for you in the afternoon.’ His words end in a playful curl, and there’s a certain light in his eyes.

  ‘Hmm. I’m not sure if it makes me lucky or unlucky.’ I bite back my grin, the book and Amélie forgotten for the moment.

  ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about your lips, ma Rose.’ He kisses me again, this kiss full of intent. ‘And where I wanted them.’

  ‘Could it be you wanted them here?’ I turn his face, pressing my mouth to his stubble-brushed cheek.

  His eyes linger on my lips as he replies, ‘I was thinking about a place a little lower.’

  I laugh softly as I kiss his chin. ‘How about that?’

  ‘Also very charming, but I promise you that wasn’t the place I was thinking of when I considered faking a headache during this afternoon’s board meeting.’

  ‘How did that go?’ I ask, wrinkling my nose at this mention of it. This is the first board meeting since he broke up with Amélie. Though the official story is she broke up with him, her father must know this isn’t true.

  ‘Well, Monsieur Pastor, her dear devoted father, made a few barbed comments, but no one cares for his opinion these days. I’m making us all far too much money. You started dinner without me,’ he murmurs, indicating my plate.

  ‘I couldn’t wait. But when you’re ready, you can eat.’

  ‘I love a woman with an appetite.’ My heart gives a little twist, almost as though squeezed. ‘Only, what I want to eat isn’t in the oven.’ His green eyes gleam as he pops a wedge of my cheese into his mouth. ‘Though I’m sure ,’ he says, leisurely rubbing my thigh, ‘we could put it on the stovetop if it needs warming up.’

  ‘Remy Durrand.’ I take his angular cheeks in one hand and squeeze. ‘Are you suggesting my derriere should be hotter than it is already?’

  ‘You speak of the impossible.’ He takes the back of the high stool in his hand, swinging it around until my whole body is facing him. Unfortunately, the motion skims my elbow against the book, knocking both it and the napkin to the floor.

  ‘Let me get that.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I answer , but he sweeps both items up from the floor. As he rights the cover in his hand, he frowns down at it.

  ‘French women don’t eat cake. Perhaps someone should tell my mother.’

  ‘She’s a little round, is she?’ I curse my hopeful tone, but Remy answers without an ounce of concern.

  ‘She’s like a coat hanger.’

  ‘Angular? Like, slim?’ Urgh! I could cut out my own tongue right now.

  ‘I suppose.’ Confusion flickers in his expression, or maybe it’s something else. It’s probably the kind of dick-shrinking unhealthy to quiz a man how his mother looks in her underwear. ‘But I meant she’s a fan of padded shoulders. It’s like the nineties never left.’ Both his tone and smile are wry. Then he asks, ‘Why have you got this book?’

  ‘Me? I, erm. Well, I suppose it’s not really my book.’ Because there’s no way I’m admitting where I found it or who I think it’s from because I may as well go and tell him that his ex thinks I’m fat—hell, I may as well point it out to him myself!

  ‘It looks like a stupid book anyway.’ He skims it carelessly onto the island when it lands with a thunk. ‘Everything in moderation.’

  ‘Except burgers,’ I counter, recalling that day in his office and his disgust of that particular foodstuff. Weirdo. Who doesn’t love a burger?

  ‘Everything in moderation.’ His mouth lifts in a slow grin. ‘With the exception of sex.’ His hands grasp the back of my chair, caging me in. ‘How do you feel about christening the kitchen?’

  ‘Something tells me you’re not talking about drinking champagne,’ I reply, lifting my arms to circle his neck.

  ‘We could drink champagne, then fuck. Or we could fuck, then drink champagne.’

  ‘Those are my choices?’

  ‘There is a third choice,’ he whispers, pressing his stubbled cheek to my mine.

  ‘My guess is it still involves fucking.’

  ‘Ma Rose,’ he says, pulling back a little, his expression thoroughly scandalised. ‘You have such a dirty mouth.’

  I laugh a little. ‘We can’t all sound seven kinds of sexy when we say fuck.’ No hard fricative, no base kind of tone. He draws the word out, making it all length and temptation.

  ‘I say fuck different to everyone else? Don’t answer that. Just let me fuck you right now.’

  ‘Did someone feed you red meat this afternoon?’ We’d had sex this morning and even fooled around a little in his office over lunch, though nothing more than a little petting because, despite the newly installed lock on his door I’m still a paranoid Rhett will walk in. And this time I’d be forced to kill him. He’s annoying enough as it is without giving him something else to taunt me with.

  Remy straightens, pulling me up with him until I’m on my feet. ‘Meat? Feeding? I believe there’s a joke in there somewhere.’

  ‘But you’re too much of a gentleman to say.’

  ‘Ma Rose, if you think that, then you don’t really know me at all.’ His hands skim up my arms, breaking my hold, and before I have a chance to comment or complain, he spins me around, putting my back flush with his chest. ‘If you want my opinion, that book belongs in the trash.’ My heart stills. Have I outed my fears somehow? But as his silky words follow the path of his touch from my thighs to my hips, my thoughts turn to other things.

  ‘Beauty curves. In life. In art.’ His touch feathers my ribs and the sides of my breasts as, in the darkened window, I watch him trace the bow of my lip. ‘There is a mystery in this curve. A magic even. And here . . .’ His hands slip between our bodies, pressing the cheeks of my butt. ‘Venus, thy eternal sway. All race of men obey.’

  Something tightens in the pit of my belly as he presses his palm to the centre of my back, his gaze nothing but serious.

  My hands fall to the kitchen counter, my expression one of surprise reflected back at me. Surprise, excitement, anticipation, our darkened likenesses coloured by the watermelon sky beyond.

  I allow him to fold me over until the pale marble is cool at my cheek and stifle a tremulous moan as his hands climb the sides of my thighs, gathering the fabric of my dress without another word. His thumbs hook into the sides of my panties before he peels them down my legs. The oven hums, the central air quietly ticking over, sounds I barely notice over the deafening noise of his zipper opening.

  His smooth crown bumps between my legs, but he doesn’t check if I’m ready for him.

  Does he know I’m already soaking?

  A dark pulse begins to throb between my legs, his grunt disturbing the soft hair on my neck.

  Did he feel that?

  Does he know I throb for him?

  My breath hitches and holds as he slides into me, my fingers curling against the countertop as though I could hold onto the sensation. Of being taken. Of being filled. Of being worshiped and used and every sensation in between.

  ‘Je t'aime,’ he whispers. I love you. ‘J’adore te baiser.’ I love fucking you.

  His words are their own filthy kind of reverence, the slide of him between my legs an absolution I can get nowhere else. My head empties of all thoughts of French women, cake, and bitches who play games as he fucks the fears right out of my head.

  40

  Rose

  ‘Hey, do you know why my full salary went into my bank this month?’

  From the doorway to the bathroom, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel, the downy fabric secured low on his hips, Remy barely pauses in the action of rubbing his head with a smaller one. ‘Most likely paid leave on compassionate grounds.
’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing that in my contract.’ I straighten the perfectly white bed linens over my legs as I force myself to concentrate on his face rather than the bronzed perfectness of him, yet somehow my mouth still races ahead. ‘Are you still going to sunbathe naked here?’

  ‘What?’ His one-word answer brims with laughter.

  ‘Naked sunbathing. You know that I know you don’t have any tan lines. And that tan,’ I say, circling my finger in the air to indicate the deliciousness that is him, ‘didn’t come from a can. Or a tanning bed.’

  ‘No man is that vain.’ His expression twists in a perfect expression of derision.

  ‘Shows what you know,’ I reply, picking up my iPad to log out of my banking app. I’ve known some very vain douches in my time, but least said on the topic, the better.

  ‘So, I was wondering how you’re going to top up that tan without the benefit of a secluded balcony.’

  He drops his hair drying towel to the bottom of the bed, his forefinger held aloft. ‘I heard, where and when will you be getting naked.’

  ‘Sure, you did, but the question stands.’

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ he replies with a smirk.

  ‘Be sure to report back. In the meantime, I’ll buy some binoculars.’

  With a taunting glance, he pulls the towel loose from his waist, dropping it like a statement.

  ‘You have no shame,’ I announce, sounding more encouraging than prim.

  ‘No shame, but ample cock. No need for binoculars.’

  ‘I wasn’t maligning your excellent . . .’ No finger waving now to indicate said area. Nope, this time, I use a hand. ‘Equipage.’ Cockage? ‘I was thinking more about watching the watchers watching you.’ Or something. And now the conversation is totally off course. ‘And I know my compassionate leave officially amounts to five days. I received way more than that. And about the email I detailing my pay increase? Well, I just don’t want it.’ I can’t quite believe I’m saying this. A few months ago, I would’ve walked across broken glass for a raise, yet here I am, turning one down.

  Lowering his naked self beside me, he takes my hand in his. ‘No one privy to your pay increase will breathe a word of it to anyone.’

  ‘That’s beside the point, Remy.’

  ‘Is it? That’s what you’re worrying about, isn’t it? What people will think. What they’ll gossip about.’ He doesn’t say it, though I hear them anyway. They’ll say you earned it on your back. ‘You need to stop worrying about other people’s opinions. To have interest gives them power, and power is not something you give. It’s something you take.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘It’s just all a matter of practice.’

  ‘I don’t need a raise. Can you see how uncomfortable it makes me feel?’

  ‘An increase in pay is a drop in the ocean of what’s due to you.’ I open my mouth to speak but catch myself at his entreating look. ‘There are some things that I can’t tell you yet—I will tell you. I’ll tell you everything when the time comes, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me. To have faith.’ His hands tighten on mine, as his gaze dips to where our fingers meet, as though he could gather strength from the sight. When his head rises once again, his green eyes glitter with intensity. ‘I want to look after you, Rose. Like you’ve looked after me. I want you to let me love you like you deserve. Your pay increase stands. You’re good for the company.’

  ‘I’m good company, or good for the company?’

  ‘You’re excellent company, and you’re good for me.’

  ‘These things you aren’t telling me? Are they . . . are they going to hurt me?’

  ‘I want to say I won’t let you be hurt, but the truth is, nothing worth having comes without a little hurt. So instead, I’ll say this to you. If I ever do or say anything that may be construed as hurtful to you, something that leaves you confused in the interpretation, I promise you I mean it in the way that will hurt or offend you least.’

  ‘You’re going to try not to hurt me.’ But is that enough?

  ‘I promise you with my life.’

  Yet I still have to push away a sense of foreboding

  The Omega watch store on Place du Casino is busy for a Wednesday afternoon, filled with boomer-aged German tourists. I don’t have an appointment, but I’m only picking up, so I won’t take up too much of their time.

  I spot a space as a rotund sixty-something moves over to peruse the watches in a different case , smiling as I approach the counter to muscle my way in.

  ‘Hi, Yuri. I dropped off a repair last week. I wondered if it was ready to pick up.’ So far, I’ve bought five watches from Yuri, though obviously not for me, meaning we’re on pretty good terms.

  ‘Oh. I’m not sure.’ Her black brows wing up, her expression disconcerted. ‘Was it the older watch with the brown strap?’

  ‘Sounds like the one.’ I smile to cover the pinprick of discomfort I’m currently experiencing. She’s not sure, but she knows it has a brown strap? I hope to God they haven’t lost Remy’s grandfather’s watch. I mean, it’s not like he’s asked for it since he took a tumble into the marina, but that’s doesn’t mean to say he won’t at some point. He’s been wearing a Rolex Daytona model lately that I know costs fifty thousand euros because a client ordered a similar one last month. Meanwhile, I took it upon myself to get his old watch fixed. I thought it would be a nice surprise, but if I’ve got to tell him it’s now lost, I’ll be more than mortified.

  I also won’t be buying him a new one. Not at a Rolex price bracket, anyway.

  ‘Can you wait just a minute? I’ll go and ask Pierre.’

  ‘Sure.’ I move over to the side of the store as the boomer returns to the same case. Holidaymakers seem to have flooded the principality, and though I haven’t been here very long, I’ve tired a little of the place. The cafés are so busy it’s almost impossible to get served these days due to the numbers of summer day-trippers bussed in from other parts of the Riviera. They come to take selfies in front of other people’s parked Ferraris and Bentleys. Or maybe I’m not so weary and just more partial to the place in the mountains I now call home.

  The peace and seclusion.

  The man who finds me there.

  Remy hasn’t mentioned ownership of the house again. He seems satisfied that I call it home. Which is exactly what it feels like, and I love the way he smiles when I say so. We’ve slept in the same bed together every night since he checked himself out of the hospital. I want to smile so wide when I think about it because sleep isn’t the only thing we do.

  It’s almost like we’ve found a new religion and become a couple of zealots, because we just can’t get enough of each other.

  I know all relationships have a honeymoon period, but this is kind of insane. I’ve even gone as far as making an appointment with Doctor Google to try to diagnose the reason for my own sexual insatiability where Remy is concerned. I can’t say it was all that much help. But in all seriousness, it’s like everything between us is heightened since his accident. Heightened because every feeling is just a little more, every declaration of love a little more fervent. We know what we nearly lost, and we’re making up for what might never have been. Quite honestly, when I dwell on the strength of my feelings for him, it becomes scary.

  To think I almost lost him.

  My attention is drawn to the door as the wave of German nationals file out. There are still one or two people being served at the glass counters. A couple buying a graduation gift, I decide, and a younger man buying a watch for his girlfriend. At least, these are my imaginings.

  ‘Rose?’ I lift my head at the sound of my name. Oh. Yuri’s troubled expression doesn’t look very promising. ‘I, erm, don’t know how to tell you this,’ she says, producing a clear plastic pocket containing Remy’s watch.

  ‘You have it! For a minute, I thought it was lost.’ I pull a face, conscious of the inadvertent slight I’ve just delivered. ‘Crazy, rig
ht?’

  ‘Actually,’ she lowers her voice, drawing closer as though to impart a secret. ‘We couldn’t officially repair it. Because it’s not a genuine Omega watch.’

  ‘What?’ The word is a tremulous chuckle. ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘I know it’s vintage. I can definitely tell you that,’ she says, turning the thing in her hand. ‘But it doesn’t have a serial number. The workshop says the mechanics aren’t authentic, either.’

  ‘Yuri.’ I draw closer too, so as not to be overheard. ‘The watch belongs to Remy. It has to be genuine.’ I know she knows who I’m talking about because I saw her talking to Charles in a nearby coffee shop, and I know he can’t keep his mouth shut about anything.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘How am I supposed to explain this to him? It’s his grandfather’s watch.’

  ‘At least you can tell him it’s fixed.’ Her hands open, and she gives a tiny shrug. ‘I mean, it hasn’t had an official service or anything, but because you’re one of our most valued customers,’ she means the concierge service is, ‘Pierre asked the workshop to see what they could do.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s something.’ I find myself nodding as I resolve not to mention any of this to Remy. I mean, it’s not like this is his only watch. He has at least a dozen more back in the closet at the penthouse and can probably afford a hundred more. As awkward as this knowledge is, I don’t have to pass it on and embarrass him. I got his grandfather’s watch repaired, which is what I set out to do, so I’m calling it a win.

  Yuri takes my credit card to ring up the invoice while I take a look at the new season’s wares. I’m not looking for myself, but more in a professional capacity when something sparkly catches my eye. A diamond-encrusted Deville Ladymatic.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  I look up at the deep voice and straighten, a little embarrassed. ‘Did I just make a noise?’