by Liana Key
Four months it had been since the encounter in his bedroom, and then silence. Of course there had to be. Even though I'd wanted more, I knew there couldn't be. Marcus was my love now, my future, I had to stay faithful, I couldn't succumb to temptation, I had to remain loyal, had to employ common sense, morals, values.
If indeed it was him, I'd be professional, treat him like any other restaurant guest, be unaffected by his presence.
But, of course I wasn't. I stood half hidden by a strategically placed palm as he was seated, and I saw his eyes darting around, scouting the room. He was dressed in a light colored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the forearms, skinny tan pants that accentuated his butt, and already my heart rate increased. His eyes met mine, and he stared momentarily, expressionless, then cast his look away as if I was nothing, as if I wasn't worth recognizing. It hurt, and then his sister turned, a friendlier look on her face, but she kept looking as if just scoping out the room. I moved through the shadows, as if I was a ghost in my own restaurant. Out the back I strode, through the kitchen, faking a check here, there, glad that Eddie wasn't on duty tonight. With my heart still pounding I bounced back through the restaurant, greeting staff and other guests in what I knew was an over the top manner, but my adrenaline levels were so high, and my mind so overloaded, that I felt powerless to change my behavior. I checked their table's orders, and saw there amongst the dishes spaghetti bolognese. I leaned against the wall, willing myself to go to my office, to put myself out of temptation's way, but my legs, though weak at the knees refused to budge. It was as if I intended to torture myself by watching him. And watch him I did. While pretending to be on a phone call, holding a menu, checking a list, I stood and watched him. And I knew he was putting on a display for me, from the way he struggled to tuck his napkin into his shirt collar, from the way he twirled his spaghetti on his fork, from the way his head lifted and stared in my direction with no recognition of seeing me. I sighed, a pulsing in my loins, as he sucked up his spaghetti one strand at a time and then carelessly wiped his mouth with the napkin. I tried to envisage Marcus, his expert hands touching me, but my mind was blank to him, couldn't even picture him. All my fantasy consisted of was a green eyed, golden haired boy.
I mentally shook myself from my reverie, going behind the bar, rearranging glasses. From nowhere, he was there, standing ordering drinks. I kept my eyes down, knowing it would be dangerous to meet his gaze, that he would see my longing, my wanton ways.
"How are you?" His voice was strong, forceful, uncaring. But I knew that meant he was hurting.
"Good, I'm good." By contrast mine was a rush, feeble, weak. I daren't look, daren't show I missed him, desired him, needed him. He took his drinks and went back to his table and I let out a sigh of relief. I watched him put the glasses down and suddenly he turned back, and he caught me watching him, the connection of our eyes just the briefest of glances, and a flicker in his eyes, towards the back room was all I needed, and I was storming out of the bar, like I had a fire to put out. I unlocked the storage room, and within seconds he was walking down the corridor and I pulled him in, shutting the door. And our bodies came together in a frenzy, crazily, desperately. Minutes, it's all I knew we had, minutes, and so I made every second count, as I held him, kissed him, inhaled him.
"Paola I love you," he said, "I love you madly."
Why didn't I open the door and let him leave? Why did I whisper, "Come later, please?" Why did I give him permission to visit? Why did I behave like a moral less person?
Because when he answered Yes, it was like my soul awoke, my essence blossomed and my quivering heart rejoiced.
(Paola's song: Snow Patrol- Chasing cars)
Chapter 10
CASSIAN
Paola believed me and her had different futures, but I didn't want to hear it. I knew my feelings for her were more than a schoolboy crush, a teenage infatuation. She was embedded deep inside my marrow and it would take a nuclear explosion to remove her.
Which is why, I guess I was stalking Assisi on a Sunday afternoon. I'd been in an edgy mindset for a day or two, not sure what set it off, but the desire to see her and be with her was over riding everything else in my existence. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus, which meant I wasn't in control. There was only so much fantasizing I could do in my bedroom. I'd driven around the block a few times, checking out how many staff were still there. I then parked a block away and when I saw Jenny drive off, I knew it would only be Paola and Eddie left. I texted her: I'm in the neighborhood.
I sat and waited, time ticking by so slowly. A minute. Two minutes. Had she read my text or was she ignoring me? There was a real possibility, hell a probability that she would. I saw Eddie drive off, and that's when her text came through: back door open.
My heart started racing. I half jogged through the carpark, adrenaline pumping. I quietly opened the door, looking around, stealthily walking down to her office. The door was half open. Our eyes connected and that was it. She was in my arms, my mouth on hers. Moaning her name, lips all over hers, tongue roaming, hands groping. Manic, mad, insatiable.
"I miss you so much." I held her face, my eyes penetrating hers. She closed her eyes, and pulled my hips towards her, pressing me into her. "Paola, I'm dying without you," I said and I meant it, my life had a void, which could only be filled by her.
"Cassian, oh Cassian," she sighed, "what are we going to do?" But I knew it was a rhetorical question. She knew there was no answer.
I unzipped my jeans, guiding her towards the wall. She was wearing the same red dress she'd worn to the house, though she had black pantyhose on with black pumps. I pulled them down. She unbuttoned my shirt, her hands ran over my chest, causing jolts of electricity to rush through me. Then she tugged at my boxer briefs, her hands touching my cock, stroking it, directing it into her. I groaned deeply. This woman was all I craved, all I coveted. With one hand under her left thigh, and my other one on the wall next to her face, I smashed into her, feeling like my energy was surging through her with every thrust, our bodies colliding in an unstoppable passion, one that had been storing up for weeks. I felt myself tremble as I emptied myself into her, filling her with as much of me as I could, the high, the elation overwhelming. She gasped and her body softly collapsed on me and I lifted her and carried her across to the desk, sitting her on it. I pulled up my underwear, then spread her legs wide. I squatted down, and she leant back on her elbows. My tongue went in, but then I laughed, and she could tell by my face why.
"Let me wipe you," I said and she reached behind for a box of tissues, but she did the wiping.
I leaned forward to kiss her. "Just need to get that taste of me from my mouth," I laughed. "I love you Paola." How I loved to say her name.
"I love you too," she said, but it almost looked like she was in pain saying it.
"Okay," I said, licking my lips, "I'll try again." And I squatted again.
"You try your hardest," she laughed, leaning back again. I ran my fingertips up her thighs, just skimming her skin and she moaned with pleasure. My tongue then did the same, resting on her clit, darting around, then exerting pressure. Her groan became deep, throaty.
And then there was a voice from the door, loud, shocked, angry. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Then a blind panic of Paola trying to balance upright on the desk, frantically pulling down her dress, me scrambling to my feet, frantically pulling up my jeans. Marcus stood there, a look of death on his face and then with only a fraction of a second to react I saw his fist coming towards me, managing to put my left arm behind me to cushion my fall as I fell into a heap on the floor. For a moment I was stunned but I couldn't say for sure where I'd been hit. There was no immediate pain, just a brief light show going on in my left eye, and then a foot kicking me in my leg, my side, my hip. It wasn't hard; he was only wearing sneakers, but it was relentless.
And Paola's voice yelling, "Marcus, no Marcus."
"You fucking asshole," Marcus yelling at me, as of no
w fully recognizing me, "You little fucker." Adrenaline must have helped me to my feet and he was right in my face now, one hand clenching my shirt which was still unbuttoned. He was several inches shorter than me. Paola's voice was shrill now, as Marcus threatened again, holding up his other fist in my line of sight. But my left eye felt like it was closing and its vision felt blurry.
"Marcus, don't you touch him!" Paola screamed.
Marcus glared, "You fucking little asshole, you -" He shoved me unexpectedly and I stumbled back hitting the printer desk, almost falling again. "You fucking keep away from my fiancée, you fucking hear me?"
"Marcus, Marcus...," Paola's voice was pleading, "leave him, please just leave him." And there were tears streaming down her face. I suddenly feared for her safety, wondering if he might hurt her, and did he call her his fiancée? I tried to look for a ring on her hand.
I straightened up, trying to shake out my head which now felt slightly dizzy and I think my eye was closed now. "He needs ice," Paola said, "he needs ice for his face."
"Fuck the ice," Marcus said, and then he looked at me again, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring in anger, "just fucking get out of here." His voice dropped lower, "And don't let me fucking see you around here again."
I looked to the desk for my keys and phone, they were right next to where Paola was standing. I reached for them, and at the same time lifted her left hand, seeing the diamond on her ring finger. She hadn't told me. Why hadn't she told me? I looked at her, but her eyes were downcast. She pulled her hand from my fingertips. I felt numb. I walked out, devastated.
He followed me to the door and when I stepped out he hissed, "You fucking come near her again and I'll fucking kill you."
"If you fucking hurt her, I swear I'll fucking hurt you," I threatened back. Though it beats me how I thought I had the right to be so impudent, as if I had done nothing wrong.
"You filthy, dirty motherfucking scum," he retorted with hostility. Right then I hated him, hated him with every cell in my body and I wondered what on earth Paola loved about him.
"Just remember," I said, as I took a step away, my left leg suddenly feeling weak, "that she loved me first." And I showed him my middle finger as I turned and walked away.
Once through the carpark I started to limp. My leg actually hurt. I made it to my car and just sat there, surveying my injury in the mirror. Not good, and would only get worse once the bruising came out. The worse thing though was my eye wouldn't stop watering, the right eye going out in sympathy too. I put my sunglasses on, contemplating what to do. I needed ice, my head felt fuzzy and I was pissed as hell. Jakey's house was five minutes away. I drove around there, parking on the street. Only Raff's car was in the driveway.
I rang him. "Are you home?"
"Yeah," he confirmed.
"I need some ice," I said, "I'm at the front door." By time I got there, the door was opening. I lifted my sunglasses and he said, "What the hell happened to you?" I followed him to the kitchen and he rummaged in the freezer, finding a proper first aid ice pack. He wrapped it in a tea towel and told me to go and lie down in the lounge. He brought me some Advil and a glass of water.
"Would you believe I walked into a door?" I asked, the ice pack felt glorious on my skin. I swallowed three pills and downed the whole glass of water.
"I might, but somehow I don't think that's true," he said.
"Where's Jakey?" I asked.
"Not sure." He told me to lie down, so I did. "Who hit you?"
I didn't know how much Raff knew, whether he knew anything. Something told me he did though. I hesitated, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Paola's engaged."
He didn't seem surprised. "You got in a fight with her fiancé?"
"I didn't do any fighting," I laughed nervously, "I just got hit." Raff was silent, his face showing he was waiting for more. "Yeah, he fucking caught us," I admitted shamefully.
"Fuck, Cash."
"I didn't know she was engaged," I defended, as if that made all the difference.
"What are you even fucking doing with her?" he asked, almost like he was disappointed in me. "I thought you guys were over long ago."
"I keep going back," I said, and my tone was all wrong, like I was proud of it. I sat up. "I need to get home. When's Kate due back?"
He looked at his watch, "Maybe soon."
I removed the ice pack, gingerly felt the area around my eye. There was swelling above the eyebrow, though it was numb so it didn't hurt. Raff said I shouldn't drive, and offered to give me a ride. I thought that was probably a good idea. He said he'd get Jakey to bring my car back later. Magdala wasn't at the apartment, she had gone out surfing earlier. Raff said he'd see me later, I thanked him for the ride and went straight to bed, feeling totally wiped out.
(Cassian's song: Troye Sivan- Fools)
PAOLA
I stood at the office door, hearing Marcus saying, "If you fucking come near her again, I'll kill you." And I heard Cassian reply, "If you fucking hurt her, I swear I'll fucking hurt you." My boy, I thought, my sweet boy, thinking of me. I scurried down to the restroom, my mind in confusion. I went into a cubicle, locking the door. I suddenly didn't want to face Marcus and I wasn't sure if he would barge in or not. I rearranged myself, literally my pantyhose were in a twist, and then I went and checked my face in the mirror, fixing my hair and dabbing at my makeup. He was obviously waiting for me outside.
I didn't know how to act, what to think. Would he blame me, or would he blame Cassian? Did I play it innocent, like it was all Cassian's manipulation, or did I take the fall? Marcus was sitting on the desk. I could see he was inwardly seething, his chest visibly rising and falling as he flexed his right hand, like he'd hurt it in the punch. I stood there, watching him, but not establishing eye contact.
He spoke first. "Have you got anything to say?" His voice faltered slightly, and only then it occurred to me that he was upset.
"You didn't have to hit him," I whispered, violence abhorrent to me.
"What did you expect me to do?" his voice dripped in sarcasm, "sit down and have a cup of coffee with him?" I lowered my head, shaking it, feeling foolish. "What don't I know, Paola?" he asked, "what don't I fucking know?" His voice was rising, the agitation mounting, "He was a fucking waiter wasn't he? Have you been fucking him the whole time?"
"He doesn't work here anymore," I said, wanting to keep my voice calm. Somehow I remembered that I had learnt from management 101 that I should keep an even tone in times of dispute and confrontation. Well I was probably going through my biggest confrontation right now.
"But he use to?" Marcus persisted. "He served us one night I remember." I nodded. "What was he, your toy boy?" There was revulsion in his voice now, as if it was the lowest of all lows, as if I was the debauched older woman leading a youngster astray. I ignored his statement, I didn't have to justify our relationship to him, did I?
"For Christ’s sake Paola, we're getting married," and he came to me, his hands clutching my arms, desperation in his eyes, "we can't have secrets.
"We broke up. Before we met," I said, not technically correct, but why quibble over a day or two.
"And this - encounter?" He was still probing, trying to get the truth.
"I hadn't seen him for months," I lied, "since the funeral for his niece."
"That was his sister?" Of course Marcus had been told about Assisi providing food for an ex-staff member's family's death , he just hadn't been told who. But it was like he now made the connection.
I nodded. "So why now?" He was actually being a lot more reasonable than would be expected considering the circumstances.
I shook my head, "I don't know," I whimpered. "He just texted. Out of the blue." I said it as if I had no control, had been lead into error. I was making him the bad guy, me the victim. What a sorry excuse for a woman I was, a sorry excuse for a human being.
"We just got engaged three weeks ago," Marcus threw his hands up in the air, utter bewilderment now. "You wanted to marry me."<
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"I do," I said desperately, "I do. I do want to marry you. You're my future. I know you are." I was babbling. "Marcus, I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry. It's you I love."
"You looked like you wanted him," he blurted and I wondered how much he'd seen, how long he'd stood in the doorway.
"Marcus, it meant nothing," I begged him to believe me. "Marcus me and him are over, really. I don't know what came over me." I think I was repeating myself.
"He didn't...?" Marcus looked at me with narrow eyes.
I suddenly realized that he didn't think we'd actually had sex, that he thought we were in the stages of foreplay. I didn't steer him towards the truth. After all Cassian still had his pants on, and I was still clothed. I feigned shock.
"No," I gasped, "good lord. No." Surely I was going to rot in hell for my lies. "No, no, no." Perhaps overkill. I tried to tone it down. "Marcus, I would never..." But I didn't finish the sentence and instead reached for his hand, the one he was still stretching out every now and then. I touched it, massaged it. "Marcus, forgive me please," I pleaded, and by the grace of God, or some higher power, he pulled me to him, and his arm went around me.
"I love you babe," he said, "but I need time to think about this." My eyes widened in panic. Imagine the humiliation of being dumped less than a month after being engaged.