by Billy London
“This feels nice,” he murmured with a sigh. “Carry on. And don’t cut me. I don’t fancy a trip to A&E on Christmas Day. It’ll be full of drunks.”
“Carry on with your lip and you’ll be in intensive care,” she warned. Finally, she picked up the blade and smoothed the razor over his skin, in slow, steady strokes. She scraped the excess foam onto the towel and worked her way over his face. At closer inspection, Niels hadn’t aged. Stella knew where she had more grey hairs, more wrinkles, where her skin was beginning to tell the story of her life. Niels, the utter selfish bastard… Oh! Crow’s feet.
“I look old, don’t I?” he stated, opening his eyes and pinning her with his ice blue gaze.
“You look tired,” she admitted, gently whipping the blade over his top lip. “Who’s been keeping you up?”
Just as she wiped the razor over the towel, Niels curled a hand around her inner thigh to pull her closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Be careful here. This is my photogenic side.”
The heat that radiated from his hand to her core almost shook her hand into inactivity. “Get off,” she commanded. With a bracing breath, she worked her way over the remainder of his angular face. It didn’t help that when she leaned in to tame his side burns, Niels rested a broad palm over her lower back, his skin hot on the flesh exposed between her jeans and her newly suffocating jumper. She should have turned down the heating or at least put on a T-shirt.
As soon as she bent to scrape the foam from his neck, Niels perched her on his knee and tugged her forward. While it gave her the best angle to finish the shave, it was impossible to not shake. Control of her own limbs seemed to be a past skill. A last swipe of the blade saw Niels cleanly shaved, ready to present a baby-smooth face to the world.
“All done?”
“Yup.”
She dipped the end of the towel in the still-warm water and removed any last traces of foam. Leaning back, she reached for the balm and patted the sweet scented gel over his velvet smooth skin. “There. Perfect.”
“You still offer this in your salon, right?”
“Only for certain clients. It’s not for everyone.”
“I suppose not,” Niels said, slowly drawing his palms over her denim-covered thighs. “It would avoid sexual harassment charges.”
Stella leapt to her feet. “There’s nothing sexual about shaving. It’s a chore. The traditional shave makes it a little less unpleasant. That’s all.”
He sent her a knowing smile. “Of course. Take your port to bed. I’ll tidy up down here.”
“But I’ve got vegetables to prepare!”
“No.”
“Seriously, there are a million things to do now!”
“Whatever you want to do… Trust me, it’s not going to happen.” He took the towel from her shoulder and got to his feet, throwing the towel behind him. He towered over her, his eyes darkened with intent. Nothing in his gaze could be good for her. “If you stay here one more minute, you’re going to find out just how close you’ve shaved me. And I don’t mean with your hands.”
“Goodnight,” she trilled, turning tail and running to her bedroom, the pendant bounding on her collarbone as she skidded into her bedroom and closed the door. They were supposed to stay neutral! Why the flirting? Why the blatantly sexual warning? Damn it, her body throbbed on a muted level, ready to be on full four hob gas flames if he approached her door.
She sat tensely on her bed, fully dressed, with the lights off, waiting for Niels to come up the stairs. It took him a good twenty minutes to do so, flicking the lights off as he did. For a moment he paused outside of her door, and every molecule in her frame froze. She didn’t know if she wanted him to come in or to walk away. Neither option seemed good. Oh, don’t lie. Option A means sex!
His footsteps continued to the bedroom at the far end of the corridor and the door closed gently. Fuck! Oh God, she needed the strength of a higher power. And a chastity belt. She’d never been good at denying how Niels could make her feel but the whole time they’d been separated—he’d never shared living space with her. He’d removed all opportunity for temptation. Except when she’d been ill—but she had been on the edge of delirium. He could have fucked her and she’d have no recollection of it. Or at least she’d have thought she’d made it up.
What should have warned her was Royce didn’t cross her mind. Not while she pleasured herself into a fitful sleep. Not while she was rudely awoken at six by two overly excitable boys. And definitely not over breakfast of eggs Benedict as briskly made by Niels, who sent her warm looks as he worked.
Only until she saw a text from Royce wishing her a Merry Christmas and he hoped to see her soon did she remember that she was supposed to be in a relationship with another man and not for the love of mercy pining for the touch of her ex-husband.
Chapter Sixteen
Niels caught his mother’s intermittent stares over the goose Stella had obligingly roasted for them all. The dining table had been extended to make room for his parents, Stella’s parents—who wanted to spend a Christmas with their grandsons, the twins, and Stella and Niels themselves. Apparently some cousins were to turn up later as well for another dinner.
Stella’s parents had been polite. More than polite. Quite delighted at the turn of events where they were playing happy families and not World of Warcraft. His father reciprocated the politeness, but for some reason his mother seemed on edge. He rose his eyebrows in query. Stella caught the exchange and asked, “Alwine, is there something you need? There’s more salt beef and gammon.”
“No, no, thank you. It’s been lovely. I’m not sure I can eat anything else.”
The twins toasted spoons. “We can. Where’s dessert?”
“In the fridge,” Niels answered his demon spawn. “I’ll get it.”
“Let me help,” his mother said eagerly, getting to her feet and clearing the plates away. Must be serious conversation, then. Alwine stacked the plates into the dishwasher as Niels removed the coconut crème brûlées and dusted mango sugar over the top.
“Stella!” he called. “Where’d you leave the blow torch?”
“Hasn’t moved, Strøm! Get flaming!”
He found the gadget and turned it on with ease. A glance up saw his mother watching him with a mixture of confusion and incredulity. “Yes, Mother?”
“What are you two doing?”
“Me and the blow torch? Preparing dessert. If you mean me and Stella, as I said, we’re being nice to each other. Doesn’t cost a penny.”
Alwine twisted her lips. “And you know about her boyfriend?”
Yes, Danny had been rather helpful in mentioning that Muma had a new friend.
“We’ve moved on. To greener pastures where we don’t wish horrific things on one another.”
She didn’t seem convinced. “Do you ever really move on from someone you’ve shared so much of your life with?”
Never. “My therapist and I have had long discussions about it.”
“Therapist?”
“Yes. A very droll gentleman who I talk with once a week. Money well spent.”
“What else does he tell you? That it all started with your parents and how they neglected you?”
“Mother… Not everyone follows the Freudian dictate where you trace blame to a mother. None of this is your fault. I am an adult and I have made decisions which have caused nothing less than a tornado throughout the lives of members of my family.” It had taken a long time for him to admit that.
Niels’ plan of action always relied on him getting things done without an internal monologue. Therapy had guided him to think carefully. With each step. Take care and be very aware of the ripple effect of each and every decision.
“All this… Isn’t it confusing things for the twins?”
“The twins or you?”
“It’d be nice to know if you’re planning on getting back together with Stella.”
“I’d think Stella would have something to say about that,” he said, placi
ng the desserts onto a tray to carry them through.
“Take care, my darling,” Alwine said gently. “Don’t break your heart again.”
He couldn’t well break something he didn’t have possession of.
The crème brûlée for the adults and the cake and cream for the twins were swiftly devoured. Stella’s parents tidied up the disaster area that the table had become and Niels made coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the twins. Everyone sat comfortably in the living room, extra chairs settling the Strøms and the non-Strøms.
Stella sat next to Niels, cradling her favourite mug, seemingly comfortable, even after he stretched out his arm along the back of the sofa. Within half an hour, she was fast asleep on his chest, her mug dangerously tilting toward the floor. Niels carefully placed the cup on the nearest table and eased Stella into a less awkward position.
Alwine looked at him, her face contorted with worry. Niels really wished she wouldn’t. With a dismissive shake of his head, Niels announced to the room, “I’m taking Stella upstairs to sleep. It’s been a long few days.”
Her parents cooed with understanding. The twins barely looked up from the Pixar film playing on the TV, somehow snacking on one of the huge tin of chocolates both sets of grandparents had brought with them. It took barely a strain of muscle to lift Stella from the sofa and carry her upstairs. Nudging the door open, he saw she hadn’t made her bed for once. Probably in the hurry to get downstairs and get everything ready before the family descended, bed making had been pushed lower on the list of things to do. As soon as he placed her down on the bed, Stella woke.
“What happened?” she blurted.
“Nothing,” he replied, drolly and with unashamed disappointment. What could happen with a house filled with family? He kneeled down to pull off her slipper boots, white knit furry confections that she swore were the warmest things on the planet. “You passed out like that coffee was anaesthetic.”
“Well, if you insist on making weak coffee,” she sighed, snuggling under the duvet. Her eyes flicked open with suspicion. “You’re not getting in.”
“Another time,” he said softly. After a moment’s hesitation, he ventured, “Do you wish things were different?”
She rubbed her face and breathed out heavily. “I used to. But wishing never made anything come true.”
“It’s Christmas,” he reminded her, tracing his fingertips over her cheek. “It’s one of the few times wishes do come true.”
“Take your claptrap out of my bedroom,” came the blistering retort. She turned onto her side, her back to him. “Wake me up when the other degenerate members of my family turn up.”
“Your wish is my command.”
He ignored her disparaging groan and made his way downstairs. That told him everything he needed to know.
His main problem would be convincing Stella.
Chapter Seventeen
“This isn’t working out.” Stella said it all in a rush, without looking directly at her latest relationship disaster.
She knew what had done it. Niels and his do you wish things were different bullshit. Doubt weaved its destructive way through her brain and into her heart, firmly and decisively closing her legs to the man who had been nothing but sweet to her.
She was back to stage one. Denial. All because Christmas had gone without a fight, a bad word, and most disappointingly, not a languid feel of any of her woollen-covered body parts. Maybe things could work. If Niels admitted how badly he’d hurt her and he’d inevitably pushed her into the arms of other people, then yes, they could start to work through it all. But came New Year’s Eve and Stella made dinner for twenty-odd people.
Before Royce turned up, Niels took the twins to his home to cheer midnight together. Without her. The whole country decided to get on the phone at exactly the same time and for the first time, she was unable to speak to her sons at the break of a New Year. Will took it unnaturally hard.
When she finally got through to them, Will tearfully accused her of abandoning them. She managed to calm him down, even had him agreeing that she couldn’t leave her friends alone, not when he had his father with him. Niels’ apologies fell on deaf ears. For the rest of the night, until six a.m. when people had wound down, either to falling asleep around the house or left, Stella seemed inflamed with righteous anger. Nothing Royce said or did could erase the sound of her little boy, if only by a few minutes younger, in absolute bits.
“He’s a few streets down the road, he’ll be fine,” Royce repeated until Stella calmly told him to shut the fuck up. She apologised for swearing, and then told him he was welcome to bill her for a cab home.
Royce stayed in the spare room—the bed her ex-husband had occupied until that morning. He helped her clean up the mess left by friends and family, looking like a beaten puppy, which enraged her further. Men feeling sorry for themselves at every turn.
Will burst into the house as Royce put away the mop and ran straight for his mother.
Niels beeped his horn from his car and disappeared. Danny looked Royce up and down with scepticism. “We have a lady who cleans every week, you know,” he said, with such imperiousness Stella nearly laughed.
“Don’t be rude,” she told him. Her son threw out a careless apology, blinked at her with his huge eyes, then held out his arms for a hug.
“Missed you, Muma,” he murmured against her cheek, nudging his brother out of his way to squeeze her tightly.
Royce cleared his throat and jerked a thumb towards the door. “I’m going to go. Leave you to it.”
“Sorry,” Stella mouthed as he heaved on his heavy coat and closed the door behind him. “What do you want to eat?” she asked them both.
“Aren’t you hungover?” Will asked. “Dad said you’d probably be hungover.”
“Your dad is so mean about me, I don’t know why I ever married him,” she said with a sigh. “Now. Bacon. Eggs. Sausages. Oh wait, I’ve still got those chicken pieces.”
“Aww, Muma, can we?” Danny asked, his tone lilting with joy. “Only for today, today’s special.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, indulgently watching them gather plates and pile up whatever they wanted to eat from the remains of the feast, nibbles that hadn’t been oven-baked and pour themselves huge glasses of sparkling juice that would make it impossible for them to sleep that night, but she didn’t care. For that day she couldn’t bear to have them out of her sight.
In her now-clean and friendless living room, Stella cuddled up with the boys and they watched all the New Year’s Day films together, only getting up to get more food, drink, and occasionally a warm mince pie and some spray cream. Tempted to find out if her ex-husband survived the drama of yesterday, she sent a text. OK?
Perfectly fine. Boys better?
Perfectly so. Your week starts on Friday. Do you have everything?
Of course. Let me know when you’re free for us to have a chat.
About what?
“Muma!” Will growled at her. “Your phone’s interfering with the TV.”
“Nonsense,” she returned, barely looking up from her phone, the three tell-tale dots of an incoming message giving rise to ridiculous excitement.
“You’re not watching, that’s what he means,” Danny pointed the tail of a battered prawn at her. “No phones during Harry Potter.”
“I’m sorry, since when do you run this house?” she demanded.
Danny gave a shrug. “I am the only man of the house.”
“Oi!” Will protested.
“It’s true. I’m older. So, yeah. I have to look after you. And lay down some rules.”
Stella burst out laughing. “Child… Just… There are some chocolates in the pantry. Go and get them for me.”
“K.” Danny got to his feet and rushed out as the text message finally came in.
About a lot of things. New Year. New start.
We’re fine as we are. What else do you want us to do?
Plenty. Let me know when you have some t
ime. Love to the boys.
Harry Potter in all his doomed glory held no distraction from her. What did Niels want from her? Why did he seem so intent on upsetting the apple cart, when they had just fixed it all? What was to be gained? Or was he lonely…
The questions plagued her, itching at her like a pox. The New Year proved to be busy at both salons. People taking the time to try new things, take advantage of their winter offers. Stella didn’t seem to have any time to have the anticipated chat with Niels. It did do its job of forcing her to assess her plans for Royce. She couldn’t help but feel he was wasting his time with her.
They’d met after the Alec debacle, at Eden’s firm, surprisingly enough. Stella, running late and in a fluster, interrupted Eden’s meeting with Royce. As a contractor, Royce said he had an unfortunate habit of either suing or being sued. With Eden’s help, he would recover material and labour costs for redesigning a bathroom for a newly-moneyed wife with airs and graces that belied her working class roots.
Eden ventured nothing about Stella, and it was left to Stella to admit she was there to finalise her full and sole ownership of the house she’d bought with her former husband a million years ago. Royce asked her if it meant she was free for a drink or two. Stella accepted, while Eden watched with eyes widened. Poor thing. The confidentiality issue really did screw her.
On their first date as it were, Royce told her he liked children. “Not in a sexual way,” he protested immediately. It made Stella laugh, and quite freely show pictures of her two monsters.
“Good looking kids. They don’t look much like you,” he ventured. True. They didn’t. The older they turned, the more it seemed God had moulded them in their father’s image.
“Why’d you and your ex split?” Royce asked, as the drinks turned to a late dinner. “It you don’t mind me asking.”
“There’s a point where you stop caring. And you find more enjoyment out of the other person’s pain than you do their successes. Niels saw that before I did. I should probably thank him.”