by Kendra Leigh
We ate a mean lasagna cooked by Maria, the Wilde family’s long-serving housekeeper, washed down with a couple of bottles of delicious wine, followed by a fresh fruit salad. The conversation revolved mostly around how Ethan and I had met—again—omitting the obvious, more private bits, of course. I told Richard and Veronica all about my love of photography and the gallery, and they recounted anecdotes from our childhood friendship, which either had us practically crying from laughter or cringing with embarrassment.
After supper we left Ethan and his dad to discuss business for a while, Veronica requesting that Maria bring us a pot of good, strong coffee out onto the patio. Outside, a beautiful Venetian chiminea was already burning, the ample heat keeping the chill of the evening at bay. The large, comfy patio furniture was swathed in fur throws, reminding me of home, and as I settled into the seat, Veronica picked one up and placed it over my legs, tucking it under my feet. The gesture seemed innately maternal, like it was her job to mother me, and despite me being unaccustomed to such tenderness, it felt right, comfortable.
Grabbing a couple of long slender forks from beside the chiminea, she made herself comfortable. “Do you still like marshmallows, Angel?” I narrowed my eyes, confused by the sudden question, but nodded in answer. Smiling broadly, she produced a bag of large, fluffy marshmallows and sticking one on the end of a fork, passed it to me.
For a few minutes we sat in a comfortable silence, waiting while Maria brought our coffee and toasting marshmallows over the searing heat of the chiminea.
“Good?” Veronica asked as I bit into the sweet, sticky substance.
It was amazing. I closed my eyes and nodded in blissful delight. “I’ve never toasted marshmallows before,” I said with almost childlike excitement as I popped another one on the end of the fork and into the chiminea.
Veronica’s smile wavered a little at my reply, her head tilting thoughtfully. “She loved you so much, you know.”
The comment caused a hard lump to form in my throat, prohibiting an immediate response. Veronica sensed my difficulty and continued while I gathered myself.
“She would be so proud at how you’ve turned out, so strong and independent.”
“Oh, that’s all down to your son.” The chance to commend Ethan restored my poise. “He was the one to put me back together again. I didn’t think a whole lot of myself until I found him. Again,” I added as an afterthought.
She smiled kindly, her eyes reflecting the amber flames from the fire. “He loves you very much too. Inherently, it seems. Like he was born to love you. I think he might actually have it written through his bones.” She paused on a chuckle. “But I’m certain if you asked him, he would verify that you were already a strong, beautiful, independent woman before he came along. I think maybe he just helped you to see it yourself.”
I frowned dubiously, but didn’t comment.
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You do know you’re worthy of his love, don’t you?”
Momentarily confused by the question, I answered instinctively. “I’ll never take it for granted. I thank God every day that he’s in my life.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. As long as you know Ethan is equally grateful. You deserve his love and he deserves yours.”
“What about my dad?” The question bolted from my mouth before I even realized.
“What do you mean?”
“I always assumed I lost his love because of what happened. But now I know that I never had it. I wondered if you thought I deserved it.”
Veronica looked astounded. “Oh, Angel, of course you did. Every child deserves the love of their parents, just by… simply being.” She paused. “Can I be brutally honest?”
“Yes. Please.” I was grateful for any information which would help me build a more accurate picture, rather than this bizarre jigsaw puzzle with millions of missing pieces conjured from pure conjecture.
“I didn’t know your father well, but I knew enough to know he was a grade-A prick.” Her cheeks flushed as she spat the words with unyielding conviction. “The truth is, he was so painfully egotistical, he couldn’t see beyond his own needs. He wanted your mom’s undivided attention and sharing her affection with you was never on his agenda. It used to exhaust her, trying to keep him happy, but at the same time trying to be a good mom to you.”
“Is that why I stayed with you at the weekends and holidays, to give them some time together without me around?” An angry tear fell unbidden onto my cheek, suddenly furious that my father had deprived me of the short time I’d had with my mom.
Veronica eyes filled with sadness as she reached out and brushed it away. Then to my surprise, she patted her leg. “Come, lie down.” Without hesitation, I tucked my legs up on the sofa beside me as she gently guided me to lie on my side, my head in her lap to face the blaze of the chiminea.
Ordinarily, tactility wasn’t my thing, so unused to physical affection—apart from, of course, the intimate warmth I shared with Ethan—but oddly, this felt like a completely natural thing to do. I wasn’t sure if it was her connection to my mom, or how important she was to Ethan, or simply that despite only just becoming aware of it, I’d actually known her all my life and had probably done this a thousand times before. But here I was, curled up in her lap, being soothed by her hand stroking gently through my hair.
“Your mom brought you to us because it’s where you were the happiest, not to suit him. Plus, in the last couple of years, she had the twins, so it was never just the two of them. They relied on your mom less than you did; he insisted on hiring a nanny to help with them so they didn’t consume her time. Maybe that was the reason he wasn’t threatened by them in the same way.”
Of course. That was the reason Adam and Aaron didn’t appear in any of the photographs. When I was with the Wildes, they were home with Mom and Dad.
As if she thought this realization might upset me, she added, “Your mom only ever did what she thought was best for you all. More than anything, she wanted you to be happy. You were her life.”
Suddenly, I felt overwhelmingly exhausted, the mind spinning revelations of the day finally taking their toll. My eyes began to grow heavy with the comforting warmth from the fire and the hypnotizing, flickering flames. Veronica continued to smooth back my hair, her light-fingered touch, soothing and calming and assuring—the touch of a mother.
The last thing I remember before sleep engulfed me was a thought entering my mind. A thought, that despite my fatigue, I felt compelled to voice. The words left my mouth in an almost incoherent mumble. “Sometimes, I think I can smell her.”
The pain in my arm and shoulder was a grating, tugging ache, the bones in my fingers crushing in a violently oppressive grip. My legs were running faster than I could physically keep up with as I was dragged along like a helpless ragdoll. Around me was a confusing cacophony of noise I couldn’t make sense of, too intent on maintaining my momentum so I didn’t trip over my own feet and go crashing to the ground to realize anything other than fear.
Then suddenly from somewhere behind me, I heard the gnashing of teeth and the fractious, angry snarling of the spotted beasts. Despite the unrelenting speed at which I moved, I snatched a glance over my shoulder to assess the advancing danger, realizing how terrifyingly fast they were gaining on me. They strained violently against their leashes; the only thing impeding their freedom to pursue me at will.
Panic enveloped me, fuelling my impetus, but the pure physical exertion needed to keep up my speed was simply unsustainable. I was rapidly running out of breath, my heartbeat pounding dangerously fast and my lungs burning from depleted oxygen. The pain in my arm and shoulder was growing increasingly worse from the constant tugging and the unnatural, elevated position, but fear drove me to check over my shoulder again. As I attempted to twist my body, I felt a sudden, excruciating pain, my arm almost yanking from the socket, and without warning, I was impelled forwards at such a speed, I could no longer hold my footing.
&nbs
p; The ground reared up, colliding first with my hands as they broke my fall, and then a sharp slapping, scratching sensation to my face, my chest, my knees as they scraped along the ground.
My first taste of blood.
A loud booming noise pierced the air, disorder and confusion settling into my brain like a dense fog. My body felt broken, but the overwhelming need to curl up into a protective ball drove me to bear the pain as I pulled my knees to my chest and folded my arms around myself. My hair was cold and wet, matted to my face, the wind an icy blast, but inside my clothes my skin was hot and clammy with a fine sheen of sweat.
I wanted the noise to stop.
I wanted to be safe.
Gathering my courage, I tucked myself into a tighter ball and peeked through the narrow slit of my half open eyes. But I dared not look up, or glance around, so instead I kept my gaze focused on the shiny, red shoes scuffed at the toes.
I woke with a start, sitting upright in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, and for several terrifying seconds, the panic from my nightmare fused with reality.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, and my pulse rate slowed to a steady, normal rhythm, I began to recollect the day’s events, becoming slowly mindful of where I was.
Ethan’s mom and dad’s house. Of course.
Looking down at the space beside me, I found Ethan sleeping peacefully, his beautiful, thick lashes fanned out on sculpted cheeks, his breathing deep and measured, and I thanked God he was mine.
Not wanting to wake him, I moved slowly, shifting to the edge of the large bed and lowering my feet into the plush, deep carpet. Quietly, I made my way through the room to the adjoining bathroom and gently closed the door behind me. Above the vanity unit was an oval mirror with a light above. I reached up and switched it on.
Jeez! The dream had left me looking drawn, haunted. My face was damp with a layer of sweat, dark smudges under my eyes from left-on mascara. I never slept in my makeup, even after drinking too much; I would always take care to remove it. I must have been exhausted.
I remembered falling asleep, my head in Veronica’s lap, safe and contented as I snuggled up on the patio sofa in front of the chiminea. And I vaguely remembered becoming aware of Ethan’s scent and burying my head into his shoulder as he lifted me into his arms and carried me up the stairs.
Glancing down at just my bra and panties, a ghost of a smile played on my lips. Ethan must have undressed me. I removed my underwear, hating the way they made me feel restricted. Then, turning on the faucet, I splashed some welcomed, cold water on my face, rinsing away the fine sheen of perspiration and makeup, and grabbed a towel to pat my face dry.
The dream had left me feeling unsettled. It had been profoundly puzzling and disconcertingly realistic. My head felt like it was filled with cotton candy, and I knew if I went back to bed now I wouldn’t sleep. I needed some air.
In the bedroom, I found Ethan’s discarded shirt and pulled it on. Then, as quietly as possible, I unlocked the door to the balcony and crept outside. The moon was full, the bright, silver light illuminating the sky and lighting up the garden below. Unlike Manhattan, where the noise never died, it seemed like the world had gone to sleep. Relishing the simple silence, I leaned my hands up against the balcony guard and breathed the night air in deeply, hoping to cleanse my senses and dispel the lingering images from the dream.
“Angel?” Ethan’s low, slightly worried tone sounded from behind me. He stepped out onto the balcony wearing just a pair of lounge pants, his hair sexily disheveled from sleep. “What are you doing out here, baby girl?”
“I needed some air,” I breathed as his arms circled my waist.
“Did you dream?” His hand moved to gather my hair from where it stuck to my still-clammy skin, and then he leaned in to kiss me lightly.
I nodded, but not wishing to talk about it, said simply, “It’s so peaceful here.”
Smiling, his eyes narrowed as if contemplating something. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Taking my hand, he guided me back into the bedroom, pausing briefly to grab something I couldn’t see from his overnight bag and plunging it into his pocket. Then he pulled on a T-shirt and grabbed the fur throw that had covered me earlier, draping it around my shoulders. We left the room, running quietly down the stairs and through the house to the large family kitchen.
“Where are we going?” I asked in a low whisper as he unlocked the door, and after pulling on a pair of what I assumed were his father’s boots at the door, tugged me outside.
“You’ll see,” he said, glancing down at my bare feet and suddenly scooping me up into his arms.
“Ethan!” I stifled a giggle as he set off, practically running across the vast lawn, past the pagoda and through a small, wooden gate in the middle of a large brick wall, which I vaguely remembered from our walk earlier. On the other side it seemed suddenly darker, the path leading off into a large, densely wooded area, and my grip around his neck tightened. “Ethan, I’m not sure I like this. Where are we going?”
He adjusted his hold, pulling me into his firm chest, his strong, taut arms surrounding me protectively. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you. There are no werewolves out here.”
I stared at him with horrified, wide eyes before glancing up at the huge, round full moon disappearing from view as we entered the thick cluster of woodland. Ethan’s momentum slowed to a cautious walk as he navigated his way through the damp carpet of moss, branches, leaves, and tree roots. I jumped at the sound of a loud, raucous cry coming from somewhere in the distance, my head swiftly turning toward the unseen source, eyes straining to see through the shadows.
“What was that?” I whispered, silently likening the sound to that of the mythological werewolf.
“An owl.” He chuckled softly. “Stop panicking. We’re here.”
I turned back to face the direction we were heading in time to see the night light up again as we left the cover of the forest trees behind. In contrast to the dark murkiness we’d emerged from, the moonlit space out in front was almost blindingly bright. It took me a while to compute, momentarily puzzled by a second streak of light which seemed to illuminate from the ground. The woods had opened out into a clearing, the grass underfoot becoming lush and green as it curved slightly down the banking to the edge of a lake.
My mouth opened into the shape of an O, my eyes as round as saucers as I took in the beauty before me. The water was motionless in the tranquil, breezeless night, the moonlight reflecting perfectly—almost like a painting.
“Now that’s peaceful,” Ethan breathed.
“Oh, E.” I gazed in awe at the breathtaking vista, made all the more wonderful by the tranquil stillness and the nocturnal solitude.
Ethan moved, treading carefully down to a small timber jetty sticking out into the water. Moored at the side was a rowboat and as I looked up into his mischievous face, his intentions became abundantly clear. “Yes?” he asked hopefully.
I glanced down at the boat, a blend of nerves and excitement fluttering in the depths of my belly. I nodded. “Yes.”
Gently lowering me to the jetty, he helped me step down into the boat. He followed me quickly, settling me onto the rear thwart at the stern and pulling the fur throw tighter around my shoulders before untying the mooring. He pushed away from the jetty and settled into the center thwart to take up the oars.
Releasing my hold on the throw, I leaned slightly to the left, dangling my hand over the side to trail my fingertips in the chilled water. The action of the oars pushing away the water provoked a faint dimpling of the surface as it undulated across the lake to the bright light of the reflected moon.
“What are you smiling at?” Ethan asked suddenly, nodding once to indicate the unmoving beam stretched across my face.
I shrugged, whispering, “I can’t believe we’re here in a rowboat in the middle of a lake on your parents’ estate in the middle of the night.”
“Why are you whispering?” he sa
id, mimicking my low tone.
Pausing a few seconds for thought, I answered, “I don’t want to wake the night. It seems… disrespectful to disturb it.”
Suddenly, Ethan stopped rowing and gazed at me with reverence, his countenance morphing quickly to one of desire as his gaze dropped to where the throw and the shirt had slipped to reveal the bare skin of my shoulder. A frisson of excitement sparked within me as I decoded the unspoken message in his heated scrutiny. I knew exactly where that look was leading.
“Show me.” It was demand laden with desire.
Slowly, I shrugged off the fur throw, allowing it to pool in a heap on the seat surrounding me, my fingers moving to begin the slow, deliberate process of unbuttoning the shirt. Ethan watched my every move, his lips parting slightly, eyes growing heavy beneath hooded lids. When I reached the bottom button, I allowed the shirt to fall open, revealing the valley of my breasts. His nostrils flared with his growing need for more, his single, barely discernible nod urging me to continue. I pushed the shirt off my shoulders, catching it in the crook of my elbows and exposing my bare breasts to the cold night air. My nipples peaked, projecting hard and firm like the summit of a mountain, the tight, contracting sensation sending ripples of desire straight to my sex.
Biting down on his lip, Ethan’s gaze traveled lazily from my breasts and down my torso to my firmly clasped thighs and knees. He nodded once, the tacit instruction causing my breath to catch, my sex suddenly inundated with evidence of my arousal. I licked my lower lip and blinked slowly in an attempt to focus, the increasing ache in my core becoming rapidly beyond a distraction. Moving my hands down my thighs to my knees, I began to push them apart, slowly unveiling my hidden, pulsing treasure at the apex of my thighs.
Ethan’s left arm shifted, moving the oar through the water to alter the angle of the boat. Then using both arms, he pulled once, twice, until the boat was submerged in the stream of moonlight, my naked skin illuminated under the spotlight. Breath hissed from his lips, his burning gaze colliding with my saturated, shimmering sex.