by Eva LeNoir
This time the fear was real.
“You realize that I will end up killing that motherfucker, right?” I growled, hauling Jaidyn up my side and tucking her in the crook of my arm, her head perfectly fitting under my chin.
“Well, to be fair, I hadn’t had sex with him since…” I lifted my head to see what she was doing with her fingers. Counting?
“Six? Seven months, maybe?” she said, and I relaxed a little promising myself I would get our nurse to direct us to the nearest clinic so we could get tested and say fuck off to condoms all together.
I hadn’t understood while Jaidyn was on top of me, her silky hair falling from her shoulders, her tits bouncing with every thrust inside her, her mouth shaped in a perfect “o” every time I hit that sweet spot, why it had been so much better than before.
It was the first time in my life I had gone bareback and I wished I had been cognisant of that so I could have knowingly enjoyed it.
“Don’t be silly, if you kill him then you’ll go to jail and I’m not signing up to visit LA County every week,” she said, her arm draped over my abs, running circles around my ribs. She got tickled for that and the sound of her giggles were like balm to my soul.
“So that’s it? I commit one tiny little murder and you write me off?” I took her by the waist and slid her on top of me, our bodies perfectly aligned, skin on skin, eye to eye.
“Hey,” I said, able to look her in the eye without the constant thrumming lust burning through my veins, when I saw something there, a slight dimming, “what’s wrong?”
“What? I just had the best sex of my life, I’m pretty sure I’m great right now,” she grinned, but it didn’t reach the corners of her eyes, it didn’t light up the room and create a halo around us.
“Jaidyn, tell me,” I ordered, worried she was being stubborn about her dad, his treatments or any number of things that would make her worry. I wanted to take it all away from her.
With a sigh, she gave a deep, lingering kiss and then resumed her position with her head on my chest. She would tell me, but she needed her privacy. I got it. I gave her time.
“My dad told me something on the plane and I’m reeling a bit, I guess,” she confessed softly, her voice communicating the agony she was feeling.
I stiffened, trying to figure out what he would have told her but not wanting to suppose anything at this point.
“What did he tell you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. I was hoping he’d told her everything, gotten it all off his chest, freed me from the shackles of my promises.
“My mother is arriving tomorrow for Christmas dinner,” she whispered, so quietly it was surprising I’d heard her. But then I was one hundred percent attuned to her, thirsty for the words she was about to give me.
“Fuck,” I whispered back, closing my eyes and silently cursing Robert for his misjudgments.
Jaidyn rose on her elbow, looking at me with narrowed eyes.
“Was that a ‘fuck’ that sucks or a ‘fuck’ she knows?” her gaze flicking from one eye to the other, I felt as though I were under a microscope, investigated for the murder of her ex douchebag.
Millie always told me: “Honesty will get you to heaven even if saying it feels like hell.”
I was about to test that theory, given my little bird was my heaven.
“I knew, Jaybird, he told me when we signed the contracts,” I confessed, watching her every move, hoping this wouldn’t become our first fight.
Although…make-up sex could be a bonus.
I saw the flash of hurt cross her eyes, her normally content features stiffening with my words.
“You knew?” she breathed out, the accusation like a knife to my gut.
“Yeah, there’s a confidentiality clause in our contract and…” I didn’t need to explain it to her, she was smart enough to understand the rest of that sentence.
“Fuck, Marlon, a heads up would have been great, you know?” she sighed, not as angry as I thought she might be but hating the disappointment in her voice. Disappointment aimed straight at me.
“I’m sorry but…”
“I get it, I do, but still, I would have preferred to know, so I could prepare. Maybe not get blindsided like this, you know?” she said, her voice shaky even though she tried so hard to stay strong.
“I need to take a shower,” she said, getting out of bed and about to head for the bathroom. Determined, I circled her wrist with my fingers and stopped her in her tracks.
“Jaybird,” I called out, pulling her slightly toward me, not wanting to force her decision but needing her to know it was important, “come here.”
She came willingly, her steps slow but confident. I was up on my feet in an instant, my hands securely framing her stunning face.
“This doesn’t change anything, little bird. I’m still yours and you’re still mine. I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you something that was contractually binding.” I told her, needing to see the acceptance in her eyes.
“I know, we’re good,” she said, about to turn around when I caught her again and smashed my lips to hers, communicating in a language I knew she understood.
When I broke the kiss, I offered her the words that had been camping out at the tip of my tongue for too long, “I love you, little bird. That’s the unequivocal truth.”
She gasped, her eyes widening, her breath caught in the silence.
A long torturous silence.
Had I gone too far, too fast?
When we made love, her face was a map of her emotions, there was no way she could fake them, impossible, even, but there was still the risk she may fear admitting to them.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, placing her hand on my cheek and kissing me with only love on her lips.
She pulled away, her smile rivalling the sun’s rays and lighting up her entire face, and turned toward the shower.
“I still need to shower,” she sang, “unless you have other secrets you need to tell me?” she threw over her shoulder before she closed the door to the bathroom.
I didn’t need to look in a mirror to know my face blanched. I could feel my entire body stiff as a board, my heart beating like it was competing against a freight train, my palms suddenly damp with nerves.
Some thing else Millie used to say: “Fool me once, I’ll forgive. Fool me twice, you pay the price.”
Chapter 50
Jaidyn
Christmas Eve dinner took place in the main restaurant area, fireplaces strategically placed for the patrons to enjoy no matter where they sat. The lighting was rather dim, an orange and reddish glow giving the entire room a warm, festive feeling. The colors were primed for the holiday, the reds and whites and greens all around announced that the next day would be a day for family and friends. For loved ones.
And, oh how I loved.
I loved every person at that table except for Marjatta but that was because I barely knew her.
I loved my father, who despite his misplaced and warped way of protecting me, finally decided to confess his most horrible crimes.
And I loved Marlon, who withheld important information from me, hoping my father would divulge sooner rather than later. In the end, he had explained his difficult situation.
My mother was on her way, her flight had been delayed out of Heathrow because of snow. Apparently, London wasn’t as prepared for it as the Scandinavian countries.
“Shortly after she left, your mother demanded I send you back to her,” he started, shame and regret coloring every syllable, “told me that you were too young to take on the burden of this disease.” I wanted to raise my chin and narrow my eyes at the insinuation that I couldn’t handle taking good care of my father. But I knew that hadn’t been her meaning. And I hated it. I hated that she had been right.
So, I just let him continue his story, hoping it wouldn’t tarnish my love for him.
“She even sent letters from lawyers, but my lawyers were better, and she had left the country, leaving the adva
ntage on my side. An advantage that I seized and milked until she finally dropped it.” At that point he was retelling the incidents as though a mere witness to a crime, not the protagonist of his life story. His trembling was making his words skip, his jaw clench every time he couldn’t get a word out properly.
“She kept calling, kept writing. My god, she must have sent hundreds, maybe thousands of letters to you but I hid them all.”
My heart broke a little at those words. He’d actively kept her away from me. Knowingly raised me without a mother out of what? Spite? Power?
“I loved you so much, baby doll,” he confessed, answering my silent question. But it wasn’t good enough. He deprived me of my mother for six years, let me believe she’d just left and forgotten me completely; “the thought of losing you drove me to insanity.”
I had to speak, I had to say something.
“You were selfish, Dad. So incredibly, selfish.” I stood there, in his bedroom, the décor much the same as our cabin next door. Like Christmas had vomited all over the room, like joy had forced its way into our lives when all I wanted to feel was anger and resentment.
“I know, baby girl. Don’t you think I know?” Every word was laced with increasingly pronounced chorea. His lips, his jaw, the corners of his eyes. The jerky movements in his hands and legs, sometimes hitting chairs or anything in their paths, had been constant since he’d admitted this emotional crime.
My instinct was to run to him and try to make him more comfortable, but I forced my feet to remain still. Crossed my arms over my chest and planted myself solidly to the wooden floors.
“I don’t really know what to think, here, Dad. I mean, I’m seeing my mother for the first time in six years and I’ve had exactly forty-eight hours to get used to the idea,” my voice pitching louder as the frustration of the situation hit me emotionally, “You know damned well that I love you and that eventually, I’m going to forgive you. But honestly? Right now, I don’t like you very much.” It physically hurt to say those words to my father.
He’d been everything to me. My confidant, my support system, my number one fan. Everything.
“I know baby girl, all I ask is that you forgive your mother and accept her into your life.” He said, his words swallowed by a sob.
“I can’t promise you anything, Dad. I mean, I have no idea how I’m going to feel when I see her, tomorrow.”
We fell silent, each having said what needed to be said before I kissed him goodnight and spoke briefly with Marjatta about his night and morning routines.
And now it was showtime and I was terrified.
“Here, have a seat, Jaybird,” Marlon said, his deep voice murmuring at the shell of my ear, his breath tickling the strands of hair that fell from my chignon, as he pulled out a chair and waited for me to sit before helping to slide it under the table, “you are the most beautiful woman in the room.”
I looked back up at him, this strong, deathly handsome man who, for reasons I didn’t know, had given his heart to me, “Thank you, Marlon,” I smiled, basking in the love he so openly gave.
The large sturdy table seated six but only four were present. Dad, at the head of the table, his fork firmly attached to his palm to make things easier, with both Marjatta and I on either side of him. At any given moment, she or I could intervene to help him.
Marlon was on my right, the heat of his body ever present like a security blanket ready to wrap himself around me when needed. All that was missing was my mother who would be walking through the door at any moment.
And when she did, I would have to push all of my misgivings, my hurt and my resentment down, down, down, into the depths of my soul. After all, it was Christmas, the time of year where forgiveness was rewarded with a great meal and thoughtful presents.
Marlon leaned in as the waiter filled our glasses up with pink champagne as an aperitif, a way to celebrate the upcoming meal.
“When this is over, I’m going to feast on your pussy like it’s my last supper,” he whispered at my ear as though he were asking me if my champagne was chilled enough, his hand at my nape playing with the loose tendrils. I had to clench my thighs to avoid a moan at the visual that brought to my mind.
The menu was the same for everyone, the traditional Finnish meal for this time of year and we were grateful to not have to choose from the array of delicious meals.
“C-Caroline,” my father murmured, his words coming out reverent, awe filled in each letter, “Baby doll, it’s your mother,” he continued, as though her name alone wouldn’t provoke the tiny butterflies armed with steel knives fluttering inside my belly. I felt like I was being sliced from the inside out.
In slow motion, I looked straight ahead of me, took in one hardy breath, then another. I closed my eyes and counted to three when I felt the grounding of my emotions with the mere touch of Marlon’s hand.
“You can do this, little bird. You are the strongest woman I know. Besides, I’m going to charm her so fast you’ll be too busy kicking me in the shin to be upset about her,” he said, making me jerk my head his way, a snarl on my upper lip at the thought of him charming anyone whose name wasn’t mine.
“You may not like that option, Marlon, what if I’m murderous when I’m jealous?” I asked, one brow quirked. I knew what he was doing, and I was okay with that.
“If it means making your life easier, then I’m all in, little bird.”
My god, I loved that man.
As I was starting to ease up on the stress, the scent of citrus and wildflowers wafted around me, taking me back to my early teens, to a time where life seemed so easy and carefree.
My mother’s perfume was like a time travelling machine, taking me back to a little girl whose only worry was having to choose between vanilla ice cream or pistachio.
Pistachio. It was always pistachio.
In an instant, Marlon was helping me stand, his hand anchoring me as it held me tight at the nape of my neck. The warmth, the strength, the faith it was transferring from him to me was everything I needed to face the woman I’d hated for over half a decade.
“My God, Jaidyn, pictures don’t begin to do you justice,” she murmured, her voice shaky with emotion, “you are absolutely stunning, my love.” Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, a drop lingering on her bottom lash mesmerized me.
Would it fall?
Would it dissipate?
Marlon squeezed my neck urging me to respond.
“Caroline,” I said stiffly, holding out my hand for her to shake. I didn’t think I had it in me to do anything else. But my mother didn’t see things the same way. She looked at my hand and without another word, she flung her arms around my neck and squeezed me hard, tightly like she was afraid I might disappear. Marlon stood to the side, his hands nestled inside the pockets of his navy blue suit, eyes on mine as I stared at him, not sure what I was supposed to do.
Should I hug her back?
What was the protocol for seeing your mother for the first time in years?
He nodded at me, his boyish grin telling me it was okay to hug her back. To bask in the nurturing warmth of a mother’s love.
Holding me by the shoulders, she pushed me back so she could get a better look.
“You have my mother’s hazel eyes, you know? She always said you would, bless her soul.” I had never met my grandparents. Dad’s were gone before I was born and Mother’s died shortly after my birth, in a car crash down an icy road in Colorado.
“You look nice, too,” I said, sounding like a robot. But it wasn’t a lie. With her light blond hair and deep blue eyes, she was the epitome of a California girl. My dad had been crazy in love with her. A slave to her beauty and her laughter. He used to tell me over and over that her laughter was one of the reasons he had asked her to marry him. She’d bewitched him with her immeasurable joie de vivre, and he couldn’t imagine living another day without her by his side.
A whirlwind affair, they’d called it in the newspapers.
Local girl
marries self-made tycoon, lives happily ever after.
Except the ever after part.
She hugged me again, this time whispering, “I thought I’d never see you again. My Jaidyn, my sweet, sweet, little girl,” I wanted to correct her, tell her I was a woman, an adult that could fend for herself. That I’d been doing her job of caring for her husband. The man she vowed to love through sickness and health.
But I didn’t.
I just patted her on the shoulder and took a step back before I suffocated under her happiness and love. She took the hint quite easily although reluctantly, looking at my father, her face lost some of that love, but endearment was still there.
Why wasn’t she hating him? Throwing the nearest plates at him? Maybe even using the steak knife to carve him up like the roast beef on the menu.
My father stood with our help, Marjatta quickly untying the fork from his hand. Dad was trying his best to straighten his spine to the fullest, lifting his chin to give him more height.
“My lovely Caroline, you only get more beautiful with time,” he told her, and they hugged, holding each other tightly, murmuring privately in each other’s ears. It was intimate, so much so I almost felt uncomfortable witnessing it.
“Thank you, Robert, you look rather dashing, yourself,” she said, a bit of British lilt forming at the end of her compliment.
“Come, sit. Your place is right there in front of Marlon,” he said, indicating to his left side, next to Marjatta, “I want you to meet my nurse, Marjatta.” The two women shook hands and greeted each other.
“Thank you, the flight was dreadful, so much snow everywhere. Seems it’s when you want to get away that time slows down the most,” she explained and took her seat at the table.
We all did.
Silence fell before Marjatta spoke up; I was guessing she was trying to make the atmosphere a bit less tense. At around the same age as my mother, forty-eight or so, Marjatta was splendid in her own right, seeming at the very least a decade younger than her actual age.
“Our traditional Joulu dinner consists of roasted pork,” she explained, her Finnish accent heavily rolling the r, “salmon and,” she hesitated, searching out her words, “potatoes that are cut into slices,” she mimicked the action with her hands, miming a cutting motion.