by Stella Noir
As I look at her now though, all I see is an older woman, crouched over her cup of tea and clutching the mug like it’s her lifeline. In the moment, I suddenly feel sorry for her, realizing that while I lost a husband and a lover, she lost a son.
Her only one.
Before the wedding, Barbara came to see me and explained a few things to me. She told me her husband was neglectful and frequently beat her, and I saw a whole new side to her then. I didn’t see her as a meddler, but instead a fighter, a woman who spoke up and fought for what she wanted, what she believed in.
She also told me that because of her husband’s negligence, Matthew suffered from a disease as a child, which rendered him sterile. Matthew never knew this, as she kept it a secret for him, only telling me right before the wedding.
Somehow, it makes me feel better he died without the knowledge that he would never have been able to have children of his own.
I look at Barbara with compassion in my eyes today, knowing she sacrificed everything for her son, and knowing I would have done the same had I had children of my own.
I realize she’s slumped in her chair, looking frailer than ever, and on an impulse, I reach out for her, covering her hand with mine.
“Barbara, are you alright?” I ask softly. In that moment, I make myself forget all about her meanness, her accusations, and the unfair attitude she always displayed toward me. In the moment, we’re both just grieving women, and I’m willing to be her shoulder to cry on.
For a moment, I’m sure she’ll snatch her hand away from mine, refuse to accept my help. But then she sighs heavily and looks right into my eyes.
In her gaze, I see a completely broken woman.
“I want you to know I know it was you who was the intended victim,” she says softly, and my blood freezes as I prepare the accusations to start flying.
“It’s not your fault, though,” she says softly, as I look at her with surprise. This time, her eyes are full of sorrow, but there’s compassion there, too. I realize she genuinely cares for me in that moment.
“Barbara, if someone wasn’t out to get me, Matthew would still be alive,” I whisper softly. “He would still be walking, laughing, smiling, if only he hadn’t met me.”
This is the first time I’m confessing my true feelings, showing what I really feel, and I can only hope to God I’ve found the right audience for my confession. As she grips my hand tightly to reassure me, I’m sure I have.
“But if he hadn’t met you,” she begins, her voice soft as a whisper. “If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have had the best years of his life. He wouldn’t have experienced true love, wouldn’t have known what it can be like. He wouldn’t have known true happiness.”
I’m so grateful to her, yet all I can do is squeeze her hand in return as she comforts me. I take a moment to compose myself before looking at my mother-in-law curiously.
“And you’re okay … with me inheriting half?” I ask, preparing myself for her negative answer. But Barbara surprises me once again by laughing shrilly.
I get worried when she just keeps laughing, on and on and on.
“What is it?” I ask worriedly, instantly worried for her health. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, Lola,” she says, shaking her head as the laughter stops. “There are so many things left to tell you,” she admits.
She sighs heavily and I look at her questioningly, preparing for whatever she’s going to tell me. I’m only realizing now she is a lady of many secrets …
“Lola,” she says, serious now. “I haven’t told this to anyone. It’s bigger than … the disease that made my son sterile. This is a story that must never go public. Do you understand?”
I let her words sink in, but I nod slowly, promising her and myself I’ll take her secret to the grave if need be.
“My son,” she sighs heavily. “My Matthew. He carried the name Roberts; he was raised as the son of my husband. He was the heir, after all.”
I nod slowly, wondering where she’s going with this story.
“Yet he was not Mr. Roberts’s son,” she whispers so softly I almost don’t hear it, but then I reel back in shock, but she refuses to meet my eye, going on quickly as if afraid of what I’ll think of her.
“I was in love once too, Lola,” she says softly, and I can see in her eyes her mind has transported her back to the days of love she is talking about.
“It was with a man who was completely inappropriate, at least according to my parents,” she sighs heavily. “They wouldn’t let us see each other or spend time together. In fact, they did everything they could have to keep us apart.”
I’m transported in my mind to that summer when everything happened, thinking of my parents who whisked me off as everything transpired, making sure I’d severed any connection I’d ever had with Dylan.
I feel her pain, and even though it doesn’t come from the blissful relationship with her son, I know exactly how she feels …
“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly, and she smiles the saddest smile I think I’ve ever seen.
“We kept in touch nonetheless. We both married accordingly, me to Mr. Roberts and him, to a waitress who had three of his children. We lost touch for a few years, but when I was a bride, he appeared at my wedding.”
Once again, I’m reminded of Dylan who showed up after years of solitude at my engagement party. It warms my heart as much as it breaks it – knowing what she went through.
Except she was torn between obligations and true love, while I was choosing between two loves, both exceptional, both beautiful.
Somehow I feel like the choice I had to make was harder.
“After the wedding night, we spent a night together, too,” she admits softly and I’m amazed at her words, never having believed she could have done something like this.
“And when I became pregnant, I had no way of knowing whose child I was bearing,” she continues. “My husband was clueless, not knowing about Clive, not even bothering to see what was right in front of him.”
“For months, I was panicking. I was afraid he would be able to tell, that he would realize the baby in front of him was not his son. Yet when I gave birth – after 16 long, arduous hours of labor – I held my baby in my hands, and he was just that – a baby.”
She smiles fondly at the memory and I smile right along with her, imagining my husband as a helpless, cute infant.
“He was red and wrinkled, with the brightest blue eyes and a mop of hair. Thankfully, he ended up looking like me,” she chuckles, but after a moment, becomes thoughtful again.
“But every so often, I would see Clive in little Matthew’s face … the way he scrunched his eyebrows, the cowlick in front of his hair, a mole on his back. The way his eyes shone, the way he laughed.”
She looks at me and she doesn’t look embarrassed for a second, instead raising her chin proudly in the air.
“I never once regretted it. Matthew was a child that came out of pure love, not hatred and mutual contempt. I believe that is why he grew up to be such a wonderful person.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I whisper softly, and she gives me a thankful smile, squeezing my hand.
That is not enough for me though, and I make my way around the counter, pulling the small, frail woman in my arms for a bear hug.
“I’m proud of you for telling me that,” I say in her wispy hair, and I can feel her shaking lightly in my hands.
Finally, she moves back, gathering her coat and asking me to walk her to the door. Just when she’s about to leave, she turns around hesitantly and looks at me once more.
“That boy gave you the dog?” she asks me.
“Dylan?” I ask, nodding.
“Yes, he gave her to me when she was a puppy – Matt hated her at first, but I think they’d grow to be great friends.” A nostalgic smile plays on my lips as the words leave my mouth.
Barbara smiles at me genuinely, like that admission just made her day. “You stick to him,” she tells me gently. �
�I always liked you with my son. You were perfect for each other, and you brought out the best of him.”
She hesitates for a moment.
“But that other boy … Dylan?” She looks at me for confirmation and I nod that that is indeed his name.
“Strange name,” she mutters under her breath and I have to fight back a smile as she waves a hand in the air dismissively before going on.
“I think he brings out the best in you, and I think you can be very happy together,” she admits reluctantly, even though I can tell the confession has taken a toll on her.
“But, Lola,” she says. “Don’t forget my son, please. Don’t let him fade away.”
I look her straight in the eyes, holding both of her hands in front of me.
“I will never do that. I will tell my children I had two great loves, and only one of them made it out. But I will make sure Matthew Roberts is a name that is never forgotten in this house,” I assure her and she smiles at me.
Suddenly, her smile turns mischievous and she leans towards me.
“I never believed he did it,” she whispers in my ear, talking about Dylan. “He never could have hurt you.”
With that, she gives me one last smile, waves her hand and leaves outside, where her driver is already waiting for her.
And I wave her off, this amazing woman who has been through so much in her life, and lived to tell the tale. I say goodbye and thank her in my mind for giving me such an amazing man, even if it only meant I got to share a few years with him.
Because even if it were for a few days, a week or a month … With Matthew Roberts, it would have surely been the best week of my life.
I know he would have made sure of it.
Chapter 35
After the scene in my kitchen with Dylan, my heart pounds every time I let myself think of him.
His smirk, as sweet as it is devilish.
Beat.
His eyes, as cold as they are soft.
Beat.
His heart, as mine as it is only his.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
I try hard to ignore the feelings brewing inside me, trying to fight them back and pretend there’s nothing there. The memories of my husband plague my mind, always threatening me as if I’m betraying him.
But this time it’s different.
Right?
Too confused, I don’t know what to think, don’t know what to do.
Finally, one day, a week or so after my visit from Barbara Roberts, I remember her words. Remember her telling me about the love of her life, admitting she never loved Matt’s father. And I realize I have to act upon it.
I have to tell Dylan how I feel.
With newfound determination, I prepare myself for a visit at Dylan’s apartment. He has made no effort to contact me, pretending like I don’t exist… But I know - or I’m at least hoping I’m right - that he cares for me too, even though he’s scared of admitting it.
Even after everything that has happened. Even with all the bad things - because that’s what love’s supposed to be. And if I know something, it is the fact that Dylan has loved me at least for some time of his life, and I can only hope he still harbors some feelings for me.
Finally, when I’m pleased with my appearance, I set out of the house. Love’s been fed for the night and is asleep in her doggy bed.
I catch a last glimpse of myself in the mirror in our hall.
I look radiant, my complexion not pale for once, helped by a heavy dose of bronzer. But there’s something else - my cheeks glow with expectation, with the need I feel for Dylan, the hope of us finding happiness.
I’m about to give myself to him completely, and all I can do is hope he will accept me after everything that has happened… everything we’ve done to one another.
*
Twenty minutes later, I’m fidgeting in front of the door to Dylan’s apartment. Thankfully, the doorman remembered me and let me in, sparing us an awkward conversation on the buzzer.
I take the elevator up to Dylan’s door and, after long moments of hesitation, I knock lightly on his front door.
I don’t even have time to prepare myself, because as soon as my fist leaves the heavy wood, the door flies open to reveal his broad, statuesque frame. For a moment, I think he expected me to come, waited behind the door for all these days, as if getting ready for my arrival.
However, as excited as I am, my eyes stay glued to the floor, and I’m unable to meet his gaze, though I feel his presence like an electric current running through my body.
“Come in,” he says roughly, and I stare at my feet as I give a small nod, waiting for him to step inside and following him into the apartment. He shuts the door behind us and I look up, my eyes meeting his back.
He’s just in jeans and a T-shirt, but suddenly I have all these visions of the summers we spent together, his kiss, salty from the sea. I feel desire sweeping through me and suddenly, I can’t support myself anymore.
Just as I’m about to crumple to the floor, Dylan rushes forward, catching me in his strong, capable arms. And my lashes flutter open, revealing my dilated pupils to his watchful gaze.
His are the same, the pupils so wide I almost can’t see his irises. And in that moment, for the first time in weeks, I let myself forget about Matthew. I let my body do what it wants, which is respond to Dylan’s - a sensation I’ve been fighting since the moment he came back into my life.
Arching my back lightly, I raise my chest closer to him and his eyes drink me in hesitantly. I can feel the fight inside him, the need he feels to stop all these feelings he has for me. I know he feels like he’s betraying Matthew, a man whom he didn’t even know well, and the fact that he is so honest, so pure, makes my heart swell with pride.
I let myself think of Matt for a moment. I think of our love, the passionate love we made.
Matthew would want me to be happy.
In fact, if he knew Dylan made me happy, he would step aside and let him have me.
And through tragic circumstances, exactly that has happened.
And I realize I don’t want to fight anymore.
I want to give in.
I moan ever so softly, thinking Dylan couldn’t even have heard it, but his body responds. His arms tighten around my waist, bringing me closer to his mouth, until our foreheads are almost touching.
I can feel his raspy breath on my skin, feel the hotness on my throat, feel his intense gaze on mine as he stares at me, as if asking for permission.
“I…” I start to speak, my voice breaking over the single letter I manage to get out.
“What?” he asks hoarsely, gripping me tightly with one hand as the other travels up my back, my arm, and reaches my face, a finger coming to rest on my lips.
I don’t know whether he wants me to speak or be quiet, but I have to say it.
I have to make this right.
“I want you, Dylan,” I say, soft, but clear. “I want you… Every bit of you, inside me. We’re meant to be. We are, and we can’t fight this. It’s not right.”
Finally, my voice breaks, and I can feel his heart doing the same.
He brings me even closer, ever so slowly, and my heart beats with the anticipation of being next to him. His finger on my lip moves to my neck, gripping my throat in his fist, but not in an aggressive way.
“Are you mine?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I can do nothing else but nod, and it seems to be enough for him.
Without sparing another second, Dylan’s mouth crashes against mine, trying to make up for lost time. He kisses me like this is our last day on Earth, like this is our last chance to make it right.
And it might very well be, because in the back of my mind, I already know I might not ever forgive myself for doing this so soon after Matt’s passing.
But as hard as I try, I can’t stop.
Can’t still my rapidly beating heart.
Can’t breathe normally.
Can�
�t stay away from Dylan…
I feel his tongue pressing inside my mouth ever so gently and I let him take me, moaning softly as he claims me for himself, like I never even belonged to another man.
It’s like no time has passed at all, and I feel tears flowing down my face, tears for all those lost years, all the time we’ve been kept away from one another, forbidden to keep in contact, separated by not only circumstances but also horrible, horrible people in our past.
He notices me crying and moves away worriedly, but before he can speak I repeat the motion he did before, pressing a finger to his lips lightly to prevent him from speaking up.
“Make love to me,” I ask Dylan. “Please… I need you inside me.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He pulls me inside and I try to ignore his apartment. It’s not hard, because I’m too caught up in the moment to care that we’re in such a small space that would normally make me claustrophobic.
He pulls me towards the couch that is already - or still, I don’t know - pulled out into a bed and sits down, pulling me until I’m standing between his knees.
Shyly, my hands fly up to my chest even though I’m fully clothed.
“Let me see you, Lola,” Dylan begs me and my heart melts with each of his beautiful words. “I want to see what I’ve missed… Kiss every inch of your skin I’ve forgotten.”
And even though I’m normally incredibly timid, I tentatively turn my back to him, moving my hair out of the way so he can undo the zipper. He takes a sharp intake of breath and mercifully, pulls the zipper down.
The dress falls down around my ankles and I step out of it, dressed only in my lingerie.
“You’re so beautiful,” Dylan says softly, pulling me in and resting his head on my stomach, inhaling my scent like I’m a drug to him. “So perfect… I need to have you. Will you be mine tonight, Lola Lexington?”
And even though it breaks every single heartstring in my body to do so, I nod, completely sure that this is exactly what I want.
He strips my lingerie off gently, kissing every inch of skin as he goes, his lips soft and gentle on my body.
Days later, I will remember this and think how my two men were so opposite. Matthew always made love to me, except that time when I asked him to fuck me, and he did exactly that.