by Stella Noir
Her hand begins shaking under mine.
“It was only when I set out on the journey that my husband told me he would not allow me to take the child. He wanted his son, his heir, to stay at home with him. And in that moment, I was faced with the most difficult decision in my life.”
She winks back the tears fighting to escape from the corners of her eyes.
“I decided to see my mother. She was everything, and so was Matthew, but I knew she would never forgive me if I did not come and see her.”
“I took off after a tearful goodbye, hoping my son was in good hands, if not my husband’s, then at least the staff’s. I arrived in the hospital after an arduous, worrisome journey, rushing to see my mother.”
Her whole body is shaking now.
“When I arrived in the hospital, all that was left to do were the funeral arrangements,” she whispers and I gasp involuntarily, clasping her hand to my heart.
“Oh Mrs. Roberts!” I yelp softly. “I am so, so sorry.”
My heart is burning with hatred for Matthew’s father, a man whom I never even met. But Mrs. Roberts is shaking her head, her hand up in the air, motioning for me to wait. I do so until she gains her composure, looking at me again as she continues.
“I stayed there for the funeral, burying my mother next to my father, in the soil she walked as a child. I hoped she had found her peace and forgave me for missing her last moments, her last breaths – wherever she was. But that was not the last unpleasant surprise.”
“When I arrived back home after four long days, there was no-one there. I soon discovered my husband passed out in his office – drunk, as usual. I was frightened, and I looked for Matthew.”
She looks like she’s in so much pain; it’s hurting me to hear her say these things.
“I walked into the nursery and there was my baby. But he was wailing, and when I touched him, he was burning up, covered with a strange rash. I called the hospital and we were rushed there, as my husband laid in his drunken state.”
Tears gush out of her eyes, and I’m horrified at the story.
“He was treated. He was in intensive care. My husband had dismissed all the servants and forbade them from coming to the house, refusing to tell them where I was. The baby was left alone for three days. Three days.”
I shudder at the mere thought.
“It was a miracle he survived, but he did. And when they let us go home from the hospital, my son alive and well in my arms, I knew it would be better. That night, when my husband tried to punish me, I did not let him.”
She raises her head proudly and I smile inwardly – this is the Mrs. Roberts I know. Strong, unrelenting. She always gets her way, and even though I was consumed by hatred for her, I now respect her so much more.
“My husband died a few years later, his kidneys failed him,” she explains coldly, like the fact has nothing to do with him. But then she clutches my hands tightly and brings them up to her face.
“I’m telling you all this for a reason, Lola,” she says with a shaky voice. “Matthew was cured, but there were some things … some things they could not do.”
I look at her questioningly.
“Matthew cannot have children, Lola,” she whispers softly. “I’m sorry, but he can’t. He never will. He is sterile because of what happened … Lola? Lola!”
I can feel myself slipping away from her arms, and then I hear a thud and that’s the last thing I remember.
Chapter 15
7 years ago
Since my talk with Dylan, I’ve been trembling in expectation of his touch. Every time our bodies, our skin connected, we shared an electric current that coursed through our bodies. Every single time, our eyes connected nervously, and we would smile softly, expecting more to happen …
But so far, it hasn’t – and it’s driving me crazy.
With only three weeks left of summer, I need Dylan more than ever. We’ve been discussing how to keep in touch every day, but we still don’t have a definite answer. Dylan is going to college in the UK, some posh university all of his ancestors attended, and it’s his first year, so he can’t really afford to slack.
But we’re determined to make it work.
Today is just a regular day, and I’m waiting for Dylan in their main hall, when Frank rounds the corner, stopping in his tracks when he spots me.
I’ve managed to completely forget about the incident in the library, too busy fantasizing about what my first time would be like. But when I see him, I blush and try to look away, but my eyes seem to be glued to his face.
And to be honest – he really is incredibly handsome. I don’t see a bit of Dylan in his features, but he definitely looks like his father. And right now, he’s making me awfully uncomfortable.
“Hello, pet,” he smirks at me, and goose bumps cover my skin when he calls me that. I hate it, and it makes me uncomfortable. I fidget, stepping from one foot to another.
“Waiting for your little boy?” he asks mockingly, taking a sip from his ever-present glass.
I refuse to comment and choose to nod curtly instead. The less interaction I have with this man, the better.
But he’s not done yet.
“How about you have a go with a real man?” he teases me, coming closer and tipping my chin up with his fingers, forcing me to look at him.
I’m uncomfortable, and I know what he’s doing is wrong, yet I’m glued to the spot and unable to step away, to stop him. I gulp self-consciously, my eyes already filling up with tears.
“Let me go, please,” I say softly. I always am a blubbering wreck in stressful situations.
He just laughs at me and leans in closer, and with all the strength I have in me, I turn my head sideways so his mouth bumps against my temple instead of my lips.
“You little tease,” he says roughly, tucking a strand of my sun-bleached hair behind my ear.
Finally, I’ve had enough, and with a gasp, I break away from his touch. “Leave me alone,” I say, my voice trembling. “I don’t want you near me.”
He just laughs at me and lifts his glass in my direction before leaving the room. “To be continued, pet,” he promises as I shudder.
“Hey, baby!” Dylan’s voice sounds from the stairs, and I look around just as Frank leaves, smiling weakly at my boyfriend.
He frowns when he sees my expression, but I refuse to tell him what’s wrong, telling him I have a headache instead. Though he doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, he takes it, telling me he has something special planned for us tonight.
“What is it?” I wander out loud; excited despite the predicament I’ve found myself in.
Dylan just grins and kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll see soon enough,” he promises.
I stay for dinner, which is delicious as always – though I’m sure Mrs. Rawlings didn’t have any hand in it, not that I’d ever be brave enough to tell her that. Thankfully, Frank doesn’t show up for the meal and a huge rock falls off my shoulders, because I don’t want to deal with that right now.
The meal goes as they always do at Dylan’s house – his Mom picks at her plate, pretending to eat while chattering on the phone, his Dad spends most of the time glaring at his Blackberry, and Venetia shoots us all murderous looks.
Dylan is perfect, like he always is, making me feel comfortable and not awkward at all, which is a miracle given the scene that happened a few hours ago in the hall.
Finally, dinner is over and darkness is falling outside. Dylan takes me up to his room and gathers his backpack, which he says is packed with ‘secret supplies’.
Refusing to tell me anything else, he takes my hand and we head outside into the starry night.
*
“Getting a little tired over here,” I grumble at Dylan, but he just grins at me over his shoulder.
“Not much longer now,” he promises, which is the third time he’s said that. Currently I’m just wondering why we couldn’t stay in his nice and comfy room instead of trekking up some godforsak
en hill.
Finally – and mercifully – it seems like we’ve reached the top of the hill as Dylan sets down his backpack. I collapse on the grass, sighing heavily as he starts unpacking.
“Could have warned me to wear better shoes,” I complain, glancing sadly at my ruined Ted Baker sandals. They were my favorites, complete with a perfect little pink bow.
Dylan produces a blanket from his backpack and sets it down on the grass, and I find myself smiling. He’s so sweet …
Next thing I know, I’m shrieking as he gathers me up in his arms and sets me down gently on the blanket. He looms over me and I look at him lovingly as I lie on my back.
This is true love, and no one can take it from me …
Dylan has come prepared, and he pulls out a container of chocolate covered strawberries. We lie on our backs and watch the night falling slowly, the stars starting to shine as we gorge on the red fruit dipped in bitter dark cocoa.
“This is perfect,” I whisper, the night air cool on my skin.
Dylan turns on his side and looms over me, his hand finding me hip and pulling me closer. And in that moment, I feel more ready than I ever have … I wanted to experience it all, feel it all with him.
He leans down ever so slowly, his lips crashing with mine with such patience it pains me to think how much he’s holding back. I reach up for him, pulling him on top of me until we’re a tangled heap of limbs. His lips are scorching hot, but mine are ice cold. Yet we’re perfect for each other, like a scoop of ice cream on a summer day.
It’s all about us, about this moment, the feel of his skin on mine …
Dylan slowly reaches for my dress, moving away to look at me questioningly.
This time, I don’t hesitate for a single moment, nodding swiftly and raising my arms so he can pull my dress off. He gasps when my body comes into view, and I smile nervously. It’s so different than all the times he’s seen me in my bikini …
I’m wearing a pink lacy lingerie set that I bought in secret, hiding the receipt and stashing the underwear in the bottom of my closet back at home. On a whim, I decided to bring the set with me, and when I see Dylan’s appreciative eyes skimming my body, I’m glad I did so.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re it … Lola, you’re everything.”
He kisses my skin inch my inch, slowly sliding the straps of my bra down. Clumsily, he tries to undo the little buckles, but when he can’t; I reach back and help him. He looks at me, nervous and expectant at the same time, and I slide my bra off without hesitation.
I’m all passion today.
He takes a sharp intake of breath and leans in with another kiss. This time I can feel him holding back, and I want him to let loose so badly, yet I’m afraid, too.
It takes him ages to reach for my thong, and I have to help him pull it down.
After I’m lying on the blanket stark naked, he just looks at me, stroking me so softly it barely feels like a touch, more like a whisper of a promise on my skin.
The moonlight guides his gaze up to my eyes and I smile nervously, motioning for him to come closer. He does as he is told.
When I’ve had enough of kissing, I reach for his shirt and shorts, pulling them off quickly before I quite realize what I’m doing. And in the next second, our naked skin crashes together like a scorching fire hitting ice, hissing with the contact.
I moan and I can feel Dylan barely holding back.
“Are you sure?” he groans in my ear. I can feel him shaking.
I grip his arms and make him look at me. “Yes,” I say, loud and clear. “I always have been.”
With those words out of my mouth, Dylan grins and claims me as his own.
As I always knew he would.
As I always knew it should be.
Chapter 16
7 years ago
We spend the entire night on that hill and I fall asleep in Dylan’s arms. It feels so incredibly good; I never want to sleep anywhere else. When I wake up, I find my boyfriend looking at me lovingly, stroking my silky hair softly, as if not to wake me up.
“Morning,” I say sleepily, and he smiles like I’m the sun.
And I know right then I love him more than life itself, and I always will …
We make our way back when it’s just getting light outside and kiss, giggling at the door of my house. I wave him off before heading inside, and try to sneak up the stairs to my room.
But just as I’m making my way through the hallway, a light comes on in the living room and a voice interrupts me, cutting me straight to the bone with its sharpness.
“And just where have you been?” my mother asks icily and I stop in my tracks.
Slowly, I turn around and walk in the living room, where she’s waiting for me in a soft, plush armchair – like a scene out of a bad mafia movie.
“Um,” I say intelligently, because it’s too early, and I’m too ecstatically happy to come up with a better response.
She gets up abruptly, walking to the window, admiring the sunrise, which has painted the sky in a glorious, rich watercolor. “Lola,” she says, just when I’m about to walk back to my room.
“Yes?” I ask nervously.
“This can’t go on,” Mom says, and looks me straight in the eye. “You and Dylan … it will never work.”
I blush furiously, wanting to tell her all the ways she’s wrong.
“I presume you’ve already done things you shouldn’t have,” she says, her lips tightly pressed together, and I blush, looking away in shame. My mother sighs like all of her worst nightmares have just come true.
“Lola,” she says my name again, and I know this is really serious. She hates my name, which my father picked because it’s a family heirloom. “You’re going back home soon, and you won’t have time for this. You’re going to college soon, you’ll be meeting many eligible bachelors … don’t you think it’s time to break off your little crush?”
Rage takes over me and I glare at her. “He’s not a crush,” I say sternly, raising my head in the air, my chin proud and defiant. “I’m in love with him. No …” I furrow my brows, realizing something in the heat of the moment. “I love him.”
Instead of the reaction I’m expecting – which would involve my mother falling to her knees, asking to be my maid of honor – she laughs and laughs and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
“What do you know of love?” she asks, still laughing, wiping tears away from her eyes.
“I do know!” I exclaim. “Don’t you understand? Didn’t you ever love Dad?”
Her eyes darken. “No,” she says dreamily, and with horror, I realize she’s telling the truth. “I never did. I loved someone else, and I gave him up, because it was for the best,” she says, her voice strange and strong. She scares me.
“I’m not giving him up,” I inform her, turning on my heel to leave.
“You are,” my mother calls after me. “Because tomorrow we’re going home. And we’ve put the house up for sale, so we most definitely will not be back next year.”
I turn around with a shriek, and for the first time in my life, I want to hit my mother.
Scratch
Her
Fucking
Face
Off!
*
Sobbing, I run to Dylan’s house. I don’t want to bang on the door at such an early hour, so I look around, feeling confused. I make my way to the back and am about to enter through the kitchen, when a hand grasps me from behind, covering my lips.
I smile bitterly, because I’m sure it’s just Dylan playing another one of his silly games, thinking I’ll have to give this all up soon enough.
But then a voice speaks up, and it’s not Dylan’s.
It’s my nightmare, speaking by itself.
“Shhhh, little pet,” Frank whispers in my ear.
I begin thrashing in his arms, trying to scream, but his grip on me is tight. I try to bite him in the palm, but he keeps his skin away from my
teeth. My eyes widen in horror as he starts dragging me towards the pool house, his place of residence for this summer.
I feel incredibly weak as horror takes over, the reality of what’s happening sinking in. Frank drags me across the lawn and throws me inside the pool house, where I shriek. But before I can get another word out, he rips my shirt off.
My hands tremble as I try to cover up my exposed skin, but before I can do much of anything, he’s stuffed the ripped shirt in my mouth, tying it behind my head. I scratch him with my long nails, but he grips my wrists with a single hand, like I’m nothing.
He pushes me against a wall.
“Won’t you be quiet, pet?” he asks, grinning ear to ear.
And that’s when the tears come, when it all becomes too much. They start streaming down my face and I blink, trying to make them go away.
“Now, now,” he says placating. “Why are you crying? You know you want this as much as I do.” Roughly, he pushes his free hand up my bra, cupping my breasts and I thrash, cry and let out a muffled scream.
“That’s right,” he says, grinning wickedly. “That’s my girl.”
I’ve never been this scared in my life, but I have one feeling that I never associated with myself. It’s anger. Complete, utter anger at what is happening to me, at the unfairness of what is going on.
I look at Frank with all the hate in my body. The hatred I feel for my mother for tearing me away from Dylan, the pure hate I feel for the man who’s taken me captive.
“Oh,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he grins again, and he looks like a madman. Why have I never noticed this before? He looks
Completely
Utterly
Crazy
“I like it when they put up a little bit of a fight,” he whispers in my ear, and then his lips are on my skin and it feels all wrong
Wrong