by Liana Key
I used his bathroom to freshen up and make myself presentable. He unlocked the French doors, looked this way and that and guided me out, going around the outside of the house, through a neighbor’s hedge and into their front yard. Novel to say the least. He walked me down to my car, and I was grateful it was at the end of the street.
He stood next to me as I unlocked the door and after I'd got in and buckled up, he said with sincerity, "I hope I haven't messed things up for you."
I shook my head slowly and whispered, "I didn't know how much I missed you."
"I miss you every day," he said simply, "every fucking day." And he pushed my door shut and walked back to the house.
CASSIAN
I went back into the house through the front door, down to my bedroom, forgetting I had locked it from the inside. I walked back out through the conservatory, and in the French doors and changed into a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. I went back out through my interior door. Jakey was standing in the front room with Aunt Kate.
"Come and eat before we go out," she called to me. I followed them into the dining room. Magdala, Flynn, Dad and Antonia were back. A crowd of people, family, friends, Flynn's family were starting to eat. The food was spread over two tables. I went towards Magdala, gave her a hug. She had barely stopped crying in the past two days, but for the moment she seemed calm."How was it?" I said.
She sniffed at me. "You smell of perfume," she said. Damn her nose.
"My old boss was here," I said, "she wears a lot of perfume. She brought all this food for us."
"Yeah, Aunt Kate said. That was so nice of her. It looks delicious."
I pinched her side, only pulling up skin. "Make sure you eat then," I said playfully, "or I'll feed you. You need to eat." She nodded and Dr Surridge came over to her. I got myself a plate, Jakey appeared at my side, his plate already piled high with lasagne and salad.
"You fucked her," he whispered. I ignored him and kept walking around the table, my eye on the tray of ravioli. I scooped a load onto my plate, then added a spoonful of risotto. I looked around for somewhere to sit. Jakey followed me.
"Did you hear me?" he said, both of us sitting on plastic chairs in a corner.
"Yes I heard you," I said, tasting the ravioli. "This is good."
"You denying it?" he said, his mouth full.
"Did you hear me deny it?"
"Well what the fuck are you doing man?" he asked in frustration. "The minute you fucking see her, you put your cock in her?"
"I don't know what the fuck happened," I said, in as low a tone as I could. "It just fucking happened. I was hardly expecting her, was I?"
Dad wandered over to us. "Assisi brought this pasta over?" he asked, his plate also loaded with lasagne. "It's damn good."
"Paola brought it over," Jakey said, and I could have shoved him off the chair.
"She was here?" Dad raised his eyebrows.
"Yes," Jakey said.
"Did you see her?" Dad directed at me.
I looked up briefly, "Yes."
"How was it?" he asked.
"It was fine," I said.
"It was fucking fine," Jakey said with significance, and glanced knowingly at Dad.
Dad's eyebrows raised again, in even greater surprise. Jakey laughed. Dad looked at me and I hung my head. It was hardly the place for this conversation to be happening.
"I hope you thanked her for all the food," he said, giving me a look of disappointment.
"Oh I'm pretty sure he did," Jakey laughed, and elbowed me.
I glared at him. "I'm gonna fucking kill you," I said through gritted teeth.
"You held her and cried in her arms," Jakey mocked. "It really was a beautiful moment."
I had no response, nothing. I finished off my plate in silence. Jakey went and got a refill. I sat there staring at nothing, wondering what I'd done, wondering if it meant anything. Was she thinking about me, or was she now back in the arms of Marcus? Was I now the illicit lover, or was she the unfaithful lover? Was there anywhere to go from here, or nowhere? Cassidy had just died and I was more worried about my love life. Somebody needed to give me a good, swift kick up the ass.
By the day of the funeral I felt like I'd gained some control. We'd seen so many visitors over the week, that it felt like we'd said everything there was to say, cried every tear there was to shed. And I had relived the rendezvous with Paola over and over, but still no clarity came to me. I hadn't heard from her since and I hadn't tried to contact her. Half of me was ashamed of what I'd done, especially because of the circumstances, but the other half was in heaven, elated and joyous.
She was there at the funeral service, along with Jenny and Eddie, and all three of them came by me offering their condolences. Later, I saw them having refreshments, but there were too many people to be able to even steal a moment with her.
I'd been able to quell my tears on that day, and Magdala had been good up to the point when we carried out Cassidy's coffin. Then she lost it. And never regained it. Lowering the coffin into the hole was the worst. It was a private burial, just family and a few close friends, and my heart broke for her as she watched that box go into the ground. The box containing Cassidy's body. It seemed surreal, unreal, like you were in the throes of a bad dream and just needed to be woken up. But we were all very much alive and awake, living the nightmare.
Against everybody's persuasions Magdala and Flynn went back to their apartment that night, saying they just wanted to be around Cassidy's things. Then one night turned into two, then a week, and it was clear that she wasn't going to come home. She kept insisting that the apartment was her home, had been Cassidy's home.
Paola texted me a week after the funeral, a polite message asking how the family were. I replied that we were coping, and she texted back that if there was anything she could do to help, then let her know. I thought about sending her a list of things she could do to help me, but decided against it. It would achieve nothing, just make me feel antsy, and out of control. I tried to immerse myself in college life, looking for ways to improve my profile, prepare for med school. With what had happened to Cassidy, the pull towards medicine was stronger than ever, with thoughts of going into cancer research now a possibility.
I watched Magdala's life unravel again, as if once hadn't been enough. It seemed a travesty that a girl could survive two tragedies and not completely break. I could see her encounter highs and lows, ups and downs on an almost daily basis. One day her and Flynn would look like they were coping, the next Magdala would be a crying mess. Flynn returned to school, which I think helped him, but Magdala couldn't bear to, had zero interest, so Dad let it ride, and half kidded himself that the work that the school sent home was being done by her. Of course it was me, Raff and Flynn who did her assignments.
I moved in with Magdala when Flynn moved out. She said she'd screwed things up with him, as if it was her fault that he went home to his parents for a few days. But I could see that their relationship was never going to recover from this. Whether they both thought that things would get back to normal and they'd have another baby, I don't know. I just knew that Magdala's future was not with Flynn, never had been, never would be. He was always a rebound lover, someone to get over the loss of Nathan, the nightmare of the rape. Dad also agreed, and though they tried hard at making things work, it was like the writing was on the wall. Hell, I knew all about that, knew how that worked.
It was Cassidy's four month anniversary and I arrived home to see Magdala and Flynn sitting on the sofa, obvious that they had endured a rough day. I'd just come from the cemetery myself and just seeing Cassidy's name on that headstone alone was enough to send your senses reeling, spinning into realms that you thought you'd escaped from. Unlike Magdala and Flynn who were use to being caught in floods of tears, I always felt like it was my responsibility to act like I was in control, to try to assert normality when things looked like they could fall apart. It was a curse, sometimes I wanted to cry as hard as they did, wished I didn't g
ive a fuck about what anyone else thought.
Impulsively I suggested we eat out, Magdala was keen, and why I mentioned Assisi, I'll never quite know. Maybe it was the heartbreak of Cassidy's anniversary, or the loneliness dwelling inside me which I always tried to conceal. Maybe I thought there would be safety in numbers, as if having Magdala and Flynn with me would not stir up any of my feelings for Paola, who at a time like this I longed to see, but who equally I abhorred.
But the minute I was in the place, my eyes searched her out, and the moment I saw her, an unexplained anger started to brew. I stared at her, harshly, then looked away. My heart beat was crazy, my emotions inexplicable, as Magdala annoyed me with every word she uttered, frustrating me, and then Paola taunting me, a glimpse of her here, then there, sending me into near delirium. I deliberately ordered the spaghetti bolognese, and tucked my napkin in with a slow and conscious intent, knowing it would stir memories, and I overdid the twirling of my fork, the way she had taught me, blatant in the way I brought the fork up to my mouth, sucking up strands of spaghetti with no subtlety, knowing she was watching, hoping she was melting in her inner core, hoping she was wet and sticky with longing. My thinking was perverse, unacceptable but I felt no remorse, because I wanted her to know how much pain I was in, wanted her to feel it too, wanted to punish her for being in love with another man.
As she watched me slurp up a strand of spaghetti, I saw her head turn and she moved to the bar. I stood, saying I wanted a soda, asking Magdala and Flynn if they did too. Flynn asked for a Coke. The bartender was someone new, though he sounded Russian, and I ordered two drinks. She was standing next to him, busily placing glasses from one tray to another.
"How are you?" I said, my tone arrogant, my eyes drilling into her, trying to make her look at me, but she resisted, continued to inspect the glassware.
"Good, I'm good," she said hurriedly, but I knew she was affected by me. Even though she didn't lift her eyes, I could see her chest rising with every breath she took, a tremor in her fingers. I took my drinks and returned to the table, but my timing couldn't have been worse. I could see Magdala and Flynn were in the middle of a moment, and I hardly wanted to intrude on that. I set down the drinks and happened to turn, and then, right then, Paola was looking at me. My eyes indicated to the back room, and without waiting for acknowledgement I excused myself from Magdala and Flynn and took off in the direction of the restroom. But I walked past, down the staff corridor. She pulled me into the storage room, locking the door, not turning on the light.
And the madness begun. I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, pulled down my boxers all with unprecedented speed. Her panties and stockings were down, and my mouth was on hers. Her touch, her kiss had me melting like a marshmallow, I felt engulfed by her and the comfort of being in her arms made me purr in satisfaction. I felt weak beyond caring and let her guide me, drive me inside her. And for those minutes my inner torment was averted, erased and all I needed, all I desired in the world was where I was right at that point in time. And I was under no illusion that I was punishing her in the slightest, I knew it was me who would later be paying the price.
Within minutes it was over, it had to be, there was only time for instant gratification, not love and longing, which is what I really craved. Quickly I tidied myself, still in the darkness, and then I held her, murmuring into her hair, "Paola, I love you. I love you madly."
"Come later?" she begged, "please?"
"Yes," I whispered and then she unlocked the door and pushed me out, and I zoomed into the restroom, checking myself in the mirror before going back to the table and asking for the check. Magdala gave me the once over but I ignored her and she went to the restroom.
We dropped Flynn home and she went in to say hello to his parents. I told her to take her time, that there was no hurry. I dialed Paola.
"I'll wait at your apartment?" I said.
"Park in Bellview Ave," she said, "and I'll text you when I get home. I'm leaving shortly."
I dropped Magdala home, making up an insipid excuse about going to collect something, not allowing her a chance to even query what, where or why. I sat around the corner from Paola's apartment, nervous, anxious, on edge. Knowing what I was doing was wrong, undeniably wrong, but seemingly having no control over my actions or my thoughts. There was no reasoning about what I had done at the restaurant, what I was about to do now. All I knew was that I needed her, like I'd never needed her before.
I waited more than twenty minutes, each second having me question what I was doing, logic telling me to drive home, to be thankful for the three minute fuck, to not be greedy, to not jeopardize her relationship, hell possibly her whole life. Did I really love her? Surely if I did I wouldn't do anything to threaten what she had, what I know she craved, a normal family life, security. Isn't that what love was all about - wanting the best for the other person? Wanting their happiness? Why was my love so selfish? It seemed to only focus on me, on what I wanted, on what I needed. How could it even be called love?
Her text came through: come now. And I didn't hesitate. I was out of my car and down the street, up her stairs in a flash. She must have heard my footsteps, as the door opened and she locked the door behind me, turned out the lounge lights and lead me straight into the bedroom. We undressed each other, my hands all over her, cherishing every part of her body, and we laid together, entwined as if we were one.
"I ache," I said, "God I ache for you everyday." I burrowed into the back of her neck, her hair spreading over my face, the feel and fragrance of it intoxicating.
"Oh my darling, darling boy," she said, and she closed her eyes, as I started to kiss her face, every inch of it. And slowly, meticulously I worked my way down her body, along her neck, painstakingly slowly, to her breasts, my tongue tantalizing her nipples, across her belly, between her thighs. Her response was one of surrender, total abandonment as if she expected this could be our last opportunity, and my one thought was to pleasure her fully in case it was, to give her the best of me, to leave her completely satiated. My fingers worked her clit, and I loved the way she directed me, bossing me with a "go slower," or "gentle, gentle," to an indecipherable moan that left me grinning. Her hips rose, her body tensed and she cried out as she came and I watched her body collapse, perspiration trickling between her breasts, behind her knees, her breathing ragged. My fingers delved inside her, wet and sticky from her orgasm, and I reached deep, following with my tongue which longed to taste her.
I was ready and as always, she liked to stroke me, then guide me in. It's what she did. She again gave directions, "easy now," and "wrap this leg," and I did as I was dutifully told, my role to satisfy her wants and needs. As my thrusts started building, my name became louder on her lips, her hands clenching me, nails digging into my skin and she brought me to my release with a shuddering force.
And to lie next to her, to feel the weight of her legs across mine, to feel her heart beating so close to mine, to feel her lips on my skin was like heaven. Looking into her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, I could never doubt that what we shared was love, wild, untamed, pure. Let anyone try to dispute it. I knew right then that she was my reason for living.
I didn't want to move, didn't want to disturb the moment, because I knew that once it was gone, that was it. It may never happen again. Every time might be the last time. She said she needed to use the bathroom, so I knew that was my cue, I got up and dressed and when she returned I was tying up my shoe laces. She came to me, gloriously naked and I held her. There were tears in her eyes as she said my name, and I didn't want her to cry, didn't want to leave her like this.
"Paola," I whispered.
"I love you my darling."
"But you love him too," I whispered, and with that comment I was able to pull away, I needed to, otherwise I would never be able to leave. I grabbed my keys, my phone and as was common with us, left without another word, without another glance.
PAOLA
The funeral was undoubtedly the sadde
st event I'd ever witnessed. The death of a child is the greatest loss of all, and for a time it allowed me to put things into perspective. All those big issues, life, love, purpose, gratitude. Gratitude for my parents and brother, the health of my mother, the success of Daddy's business, my job, my friends and workmates, and the love of Marcus. Yes, it made me appreciate that what I had with Marcus was indeed a blessing, and the thought that someday we would have a family together strengthened the love I felt for him. Yes, of course I thought of Cassian too, but I told myself I had to be thankful that our paths had crossed, but that circumstances dictated that he was not my forever, and that I should cherish what we shared, rejoice in the love that we'd created, but that I should move on. Had moved on. That some memories had to remain just that.
Unfortunately that was my head talking, and it was not remotely connected to my heart.
Coincidentally I'd been standing next to Shannon at reception when the late table booking came through. She was a new staff member, so I was doing my floating routine, ensuring she hadn't over or under booked any tables. I heard her say the name Strauss, then confirm its spelling, then heard her say, "Thirty minutes is fine." I ran my finger along the screen, murmuring with some authority, hell she had no idea what I was checking for.
"A late booking?" I mentioned casually, pointing at the name.
"Yes, for three," she replied. "That's all right, isn't it?" There was nervousness in her voice.
"A gentleman?" I queried. Maybe it was his sister or his father. After all he'd been in before.
"Yes," Shannon replied, "though he sounded young."
Again I fingered the screen. "Maybe seat them in this area," I directed, "this table. Move these people here."
"Oh, okay," she obliged, and tapped on the keyboard. I didn't have to explain to her why, but it would mean I'd be able to see him more clearly, yes, be able to spy on him. I went back to my office, touched up my make up, but my perfume was wrong. Damn it. Why didn't I carry my Dior with me? I tried to prepare myself mentally, wondering how I should act, if in fact it was him. Hell, here I was assuming it was him, letting myself get swept away. But if it was him, why was he eating here tonight, as a last minute reservation, what was his motive? Fuck, did he even need a motive? Fuck Paola, the boy could be hungry and just need food. But why Assisi? Admit it, he could eat anywhere. What did he want? Did he want me? My heart started hammering at that thought. Did he want me, my sweet boy, did he need me?