Defending Pacer

by TJ Hamilton

  “Who am I mean to fall in love with? You can’t force love, just like you can’t stop it. Sometimes it’s unexpected, you know. Plus I wasn’t looking for love; it just found me. Trust me, we have the right love, just not the right timing.”

  Logan smiles wide. “And that is what you tell your parents.”

  I message Pacer back.

  CHELSEA: Wish me luck with my folks. I’ll call later.

  PACER: If you need me to remind you why we are worth the fight I can meet you at your house later? No keys necessary.

  CHELSEA: I don’t need much reminding. My vagina is on fire every time I sit.

  PACER: I’m telling you it’s the friction from the leather. I need to ease up on the gloves.

  CHELSEA: Do not speak of such things ever again!

  PACER: Will you stop forcing me to fall in love with you, honeybee? xx

  With that message, I hold my phone to my chest and breathe in the feeling. Those words. They hit me right where I need it. What am I meant to write back now?

  CHELSEA: Now you’ve done it! My place. Midnight!

  I’m smiling so hard. I decide that I want to see his face, feel his arms and bury myself into his chest. Against all the odds stacked against us. I have fallen in love him—and there’s nothing that my parents or anyone can say that will stop it now. Love just won’t turn off like that.

  ***

  Mum’s voice is the first thing I hear when I open the front door of Dolorous. Logan and I walk in together.

  “John, there is just no point. She is a thirty-year-old woman. She will do what she wants, when she wants. So your only choices are to support her and be in her life or go against her, and lose her.”

  My timing is uncomfortably perfect.

  “She might be thirty, but she’s had a sheltered life. I’ve heard things about that boy. Not good things, either,” Dad angrily replies.

  Dad’s words make me wonder if I do know everything there is to know about Pacer. He tells me I do, but I still feel like there is more.

  “I’m sure she knows more about him than you do, John.” Thanks, Mum. “She is his defence barrister, after all.”

  Double serve from Mum. I guess I had better break this up. I am the cause of it, after all.

  With my head high, ready to take on the hornet’s nest, I walk in to meet Mum and Dad in the kitchen. Mum is at her favourite spot—the chef’s table, and Dad’s leaning against the kitchen bench, still in his tennis clothes. The kitchen is busy as usual. Marcel and Ed prep tonight’s meal. I never noticed how un-private this house is until now.

  “Please. Don’t stop on account of me being here.”

  Mum’s mouth opens in surprise but Dad folds his arms in defiance when I walk in on them.

  I have to admit I’ve never really been this brazen with them before. But this is one of those moments where I need to prove to them that yes, I am a woman. I’ve been independent from a young age, but I have remained too close to my parents for my own good. How many other women my age go their parents’ house every weekend? Admittedly, it has been more about escaping to Dolorous than it has been about visiting my parents. But they’re right; I’ve lived a sheltered life because I sheltered myself from it all.

  Taking a seat across from Mum, I clear my throat. “Ed, please make me one of your special mixes.”

  I look between both of my parents. “I understand and agree with both of you. But Dad, you have to respect the fact that I have been a defence barrister for almost ten years, so I’m not completely naive to the world.”

  He grumbles and Mum frowns. “She’s right, John. Darling, just make sure you’re being careful about how much you’re telling the media.”

  What? “I don’t tell them anything. I give them legal statements, but that’s it.”

  “They seem to know where you are all the time. Who’s tipping them off?” Mum sips on her gin.

  Ed puts the glass of gin, garnished with a slice of cucumber, in front of me. I knock back well over half the glass within one gulp.

  “That’s the thing. I think I’m about to uncover some high-level corruption. But before you say anything, Dad …” I see him itching to speak. “I want to uncover it all before I officially announce it. Then I will be pushing for an enquiry into it. But Dad, you have to let me do it my way. I don’t want anyone tipped off about what I’m doing.” I can see him scoffing under his breath, even though deep down I know he knows I’m right. “You can’t do anything to jeopardise this, Dad. Even you would be surprised at the level this goes to. Don’t trust any of them. There are too many things that don’t add up.”

  Dad shakes his head. “And this Fratelli. Is he just part of this investigation of yours?”

  “No, Dad. I’m not fucking him for information, if that’s what you’re asking.” I down the rest of the drink and get up.

  “Chelsea, I’m sure that’s not what your father meant. And please try not to swear, dear, it’s unbecoming.” Mum’s attempt to stop me fails miserably.

  The pair of them should feel ashamed of themselves. This isn’t how they should react —they should be a little more supportive of my decisions. They don’t want to listen to a thing I say, so I’m not going to waste my breath. They don’t want to support me, and as devastating as that is, I’m better off leaving now while I still have a heart. I feel the tears, but don’t want to show them how they’ve made me feel. We don’t do crying in this family so I resolve to remain as stoic as possible until I get out of the place.

  “I love you, Mum, but if you guys can’t try to understand that I might actually be in love with Pacer, then there’s no point in staying.” I kiss Mum’s cheek before walking out.

  “Chelsea Elizabeth Blythe Tanner, I forbid you to have a relationship with Pacer Fratelli!” Dad yells out as I leave.

  I feel the pressure of tears against my eyes. A tear rolls down my cheek, capturing the cold of the night where it runs on my skin. I walk down the driveway of Dolorous as headlights hit the path in front of me. I turn to find Logan’s boxy Mercedes four-wheel drive coming after me. Stepping aside, I wait for her to pull up.

  “That was brutal.” He leans out of the open window.

  “I just want to go home,” I say through streaming tears.

  He nods sympathetically, and I walk around the other side and get in the car.

  “I get it, you know,” he says as we drive through the city. “You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

  I smile. “I know you get it.” I hold his hand and squeeze it.

  I try to remember the moment Logan announced to Mum and Dad that she liked women more than men. I knew before they did, of course. But my Mum and Dad both helped my Aunt Patrice with raising Logan. So when she came out as a lesbian, I thought they were going to find it hard to deal with, but they didn’t. And they didn’t react like they are now.

  ***

  I feel the bed sink down next to me, and groggily smile. I must’ve fallen asleep waiting for Pacer to arrive.

  “Hi.” I roll over to Pacer’s waiting arms.

  He holds me tight. It feels so good to be in his arms again. “Hey. You sounded upset on the phone. I take it your parents weren’t okay with us, like you’d hoped?” I shake my head in reply. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. My ma really wanted me to stay for dinner. I have been a bit slack lately, so I think she missed me. She wants to meet you. She said you looked beautiful in the news.” His chuckle is an unfamiliarly innocent sound on him.

  Just when my parents reject my right to fall in love with whom I want, Pacer’s Mum opens up to the idea with loving arms. This couldn’t feel any worse, could it?

  “I think I might take a few days off work. I really need a break from the prying eyes of the city, my co-workers included. One of the senior partners confronted me when I was photocopying.” Pacer’s eyes narrow. I almost forgot about his temper. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. He just told me he thought I was more professional than being romantically in
volved with a known criminal.”

  “That’s workplace harassment! You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

  I love how he wants to protect me, but I don’t need it. “Don’t worry. I reminded him of his affair with his secretary, and told him he had better keep his opinion to himself.” I smile proudly.

  “That’s my girl.” His smile intoxicates my senses.

  I run my fingertips down his face and look into his eyes. I can’t wait a moment longer. “I love you.” it doesn’t even feel strange to say out loud.

  His runs his fingers through my hair and holds my face in his palms. He kisses me and I feel his cock throb against my thigh. Oh God, I am seriously going to have to get a reconstruction down there if we keep going at this rate. I can’t see myself ever stopping from wanting to get naked with him—and being naked always leads to so many wonderful opportunities.

  Wait!

  He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back? What does that mean? Did I say it too soon? His eyes catch mine.

  “What’s wrong?” How quickly he’s learnt to read me.

  I search within his eyes. I’m not asking him if he loves me too. I’m never going to be one of those girls who actually has to ask. Keep your dignity, Chelsea. I kiss him back, his tongue working perfectly as my distraction. I feel him try his best to pull back, but I don’t allow it and kiss him harder.

  With my head between his large hands he pulls me back with ease. “Why don’t you come and meet my family tomorrow? I’ll get my Uncle to put a spread on at my ma’s house.”

  He’s so confusing sometimes. He won’t openly say that he loves me, but he wants me to meet his family?

  “But it’s the middle of the week?”

  Am I the only person in my life who has a real job? Even Logan works as a DJ, and I’ve never really classed that as real work. She just gets to party for a living.

  “Even more reason to get together and unwind; the weekend will be here soon. Come on, I’ll guarantee you a good time.”

  This may be just what the doctor ordered. “I’d love to meet your family.”

  Now kiss me before I think about how major that is. He returns my internal plea with a kiss so deep I could swim in the passion of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Thanks, Ryan. I knew you would understand … Yeah, Brad is still researching the Simmons case. He’s got two days to get a report back to me. I thought it was a good opportunity to take that time off that you always tell me I need to take, too.” I smile when I catch Pacer watching me. “I’m going to have this sorted out. I agree, the papers have gone too far.” My boss is understandably annoyed at how I’m making the firm look. “A couple of days should be plenty of time. I’ll see you next Monday.”

  Ending the call, I look up to catch Pacer sliding on his navy blue suit jacket to his three-piece suit. Damn, he has a fine sense of style.

  Beaming with the excitement of getting away from work for a couple of days, and meeting Pacer’s family, I grin through all my words. “The first long weekend I’ve taken in over a year.”

  Pacer pulls on the collar of my bathrobe that I still have on from after my shower. “Why don’t you pack a bag and come and stay at my house for the next few days? It’s harder for cameras to get close to us there.” His idea is giddily exciting. “I’m going to call my Uncle and Ma to get this day organised. Ma’s going to be in a frenzy to meet you.” He tenderly kisses my nose, and rubs his cheek past mine to give my earlobe a nibble.

  Leaving me with a spike in my temperature and a pulse in my privates, he exits the room while flicking through his phone. The prospect of spending the next few days with Pacer is making my already elated heart swell with a pounding glow. Is it normal to want to spend twenty-four seven with a person? He has to feel some kind of love for me if he wants to be around me this much, right?

  Staying at his house and meeting his family all in one day—major steps in any relationship. I know he lives over at Vaucluse, but there aren’t any photos of his place around, so where precisely is a little mystery. A good mystery.

  Now, what to wear to meet Pacer’s Mum? Shit! This is kind of huge. I need to get this right. Impressions are important. Jeans are a no-brainer. No rips. I need classic.

  Searching through my jeans shelf, I find the perfect pair. I team them with brown ankle boots, a cream-coloured knit with a huge rolled neck and my favourite plush pink coat for this mild winter’s day. Let’s hope Sydney turns on its spectacular winter skies again. Quickly dressing, I pack some more jeans in a weekend bag and consider what lingerie to pack before Pacer comes back in the room. It’s been a while since I’ve even bothered wearing matching underwear, let alone having to acknowledge what I look like in it. There’s so much to consider when you suddenly have a man in your life.

  I pillage my underwear draw to get to the bottom, where the unloved but super pretty matching sets live. I grab a lace lilac number with embroidered florals, and hold it out. Oooooh, I forgot about you! I toss it in my open suitcase and search for more. I almost have to send in a specialist search team to rescue some of these unused pieces, when I finally hit the jackpot. Pulling out a delicate French lace one-piece negligée that I impulsively bought once when I was feeling down, I quickly spread it across my waist to check it will still fit, and also throw that in my bag.

  Pacer comes back in just as I finish packing the last of my toiletries. “You look beautiful.” He wraps his arms around me.

  “Are you sure this will be alright to meet your Mum?” I wave my hands up and down my outfit.

  God, I sound desperate to impress, which I am, but I don’t need him knowing that.

  His smirk is playful. “You don’t have anything to worry about. My family will love you. My Uncle and cousins have already been gossiping to Mum and my sister Lucia about you.”

  “No pressure.” My smile feels as meek as my hopes.

  Pacer, on the other hand, looks amused by the situation. “Come on. Everything’s being sorted. My Uncle is preparing all the meat at the restaurant as we speak. We have to go past to pick up the antipasto platters and vino before we head out to Ma’s.”

  “Whereabouts does your Mum live?” I’m curious to know.

  “She’s over in Hunter’s Hill,” he says with a smile, “so we had better get over to Zio’s so we can get there before the lunchtime traffic hits. If you wait down in the garage, I’ll drive down the back lane and pick you up in the Porsche.” Pacer takes my weekend bag in one hand and my hand in the other, and leads me down the stairs.

  How quickly I’ve adapted to being led by a man. It was only three weeks ago that I was captain of my own ship, running my own course. Now I’m on a direction that’s so unknown, it’s exhilarating.

  ***

  Of course Pacer’s Mum lives in Hunter’s Hill. It’s one of the only highly affluent suburbs that’s not on the eastern side of the city. It’s old money over here, and despite how they achieved their wealth, Pacer’s family has been renowned in the city for as long as my own. We pull into the circular drive, and the house is just as I imagined it—large and Italian. Across the front of the house, columns stretch up high and cream-coloured pots sit on top of pillars with sprouting green ferns.

  “My Dad built it for Ma back in 95. She’ll never leave here,” Pacer says, pulling the car’s hand-brake.

  I lean across to the back seat and grab the pretty bouquet that I bought for his Mum. Even though Pacer insisted that it was unnecessary to bring something, I have never, and will never arrive at a house without a gift for the host. It’s just how I was raised.

  Pacer leans to the back, getting out the three huge platters his Uncle prepared for the gathering.

  “We’ll come back for the cases of wine.” He closes the door with his leg.

  I follow him up the terracotta steps and through the open front door. Music plays through the house. It’s classic Dean Martin, of course.

  “Hey Ma, where are you? Do I have to tell you a tho
usand times, you need to keep this door closed.” He shakes his head.

  The inside of the house is even more Italian than the outside. Cream marble covers the sprawling floor. Gold accents the wrought iron of the staircase in front of us. Crystal hangs above us in chandeliers, and deep reds cover the fabric of the chairs that take up the corners of the foyer. It’s enough to make Scarface himself insanely jealous.

  “Ah Paciano. Nella cucina,” I hear her call out in the distance.

  “By the way, Ma will try and break into native tongue as much as possible so I’ll have to keep reminding her that you don’t speak Italian.” He stops and turns to me. “Or do you?”

  There’s that eyebrow control again.

  I shake my head. “Not unless pronouncing the menu at your Uncle’s restaurant is considered being a linguist, then no, sadly. But I’ll do my best to keep up.”

  He gives me a sneaky peck on the lips, and I continue following nervously behind him. A tall glamorous woman with thick dark hair that rivals Elizabeth Taylor’s and eyes that outshine Sofia Loren’s fusses around the enormous kitchen island. The collar on her light blue shirt is popped up, with a red and white striped apron covering her expensive-looking clothes. She’s not at all what I imagined. I was half expecting a little Italian mumma, complete with a headscarf. How wrong I was!

  She wipes the sauce from her hands and holds her arms out wide, bypassing Pacer and making her way straight to me. “Oh come here, caro.” She hugs me tight and kisses me on either cheek. “Let’s have a look at you.” She holds me out in front of her. “I prayed for my Paciano. I prayed, and prayed. Every day. For you to come … and here you are.”

  I catch Pacer rolling his eyes behind his Mum and I chuckle.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Fratelli. I bought these for you.” I hold the bouquet of blooms for her.