by Tillie Cole
He shrugged, nervously. “You asked if I thought about why we were so serious so quickly. But everything with you was like a whirlwind and kinda bowled me over. When I saw you at the restaurant, something in me changed, and I couldn’t breathe. I loved you right then; even if I was being a stubborn dick about it, I knew deep down it was the truth.”
“You didn’t know me,” I replied in a hushed tone, still shell-shocked by his confession.
He focused on me with sure eyes. “My soul did.”
“Tudor!” I sang shyly, feeling all mushy inside.
He giggled and kissed my forehead. “Chew-da!” he said, mocking my accent. “I love how you say my name. I just love everything about you.”
I am now a puddle on the floor.
“You, Mr. North, are a whopping big slice of Canadian Cheddar. Who knew you were so cheesy?”
He frowned and pouted. “I’m not cheesy. I’m a body builder, ‘The Blade Reaper’. I can’t be cheesy; I have a reputation to protect,” he sulked.
I tickled his ribs, making him squirm. “Cheesy, cheesy, cheesy. But I’ll allow it as it makes me love you more. Hard shell for the world, soft gooey centre for me – the girl you love. And I promise it’ll be our little secret, okay? No-one will ever know you’re a soppy baby bear. You got that, Yogi?”
He restrained my wrists from the guerilla tickle assault, trying to maintain his moody face, but I just ignored it and wiggled from side to side on his body in happiness and sang, “He loves me, he wants to kiss me, he wants to hug me…” He shut me up by kissing me senseless and pulling me next to him, cuddling me securely in his arms.
Who’d have thought that we’d ever be here like this? At least the secrets were put to bed – literally – and now I knew the truth, it shed some light on some of Tudor’s strange past behaviour.
That was it! It suddenly makes sense!
I drew back to face him, realisation dawning. “All of this, your past, your dad, everything, is why you acted all weird when Gage said to call him if we didn’t work out, isn’t it?”
He swallowed cautiously and nodded his head once in confirmation. “I’d just got you, eventually, after I never thought I would. I was already stressing about losing you. When… Gage.”
I shook my head in disbelief at how he couldn’t say his name without gritting his teeth. He glared back, clenching his jaw. “Hey, I’m still a stubborn, possessive ass, that won’t change, and he likes you which means I. Don’t. Like. Him.”
“Tudor!”
He shrugged unapologetically. “When he told you he’d be waiting for you if we broke up, all these insecurities came back to smack me in the face, and all I could picture was the wannabe-hippy wanker taking you away from me. I have never been allowed to have anything I truly loved, Sunshine, and I loved you even then, whether you believe me or not. I freaked. Not to sound weirdly obsessive, but you’re mine and I don’t intend to let you go. I’m going to work on my issues, maybe talk to someone or just talk to you for now, but no more secrets, I promise. I just want to be with you more than anything in the world, and now you have me and I have you, I won’t let anything break us ever again.”
I placed my palm on his rough and swollen cheek. “I thought you couldn’t get emotionally attached to women, Mister? You seem to be doing better at that with me – I feel like you may spout poetry at any second!”
Tudor squeezed my knee until I was squirming and giggling, but he quite quickly lost the humour. “Tash, the women I slept with before were just toys. I know that sounds harsh, but they may as well have been blow-up dolls. I felt nothing for them, and most of the time I was beyond drunk. I had to be to face being intimate with them.”
“Then why…”
He sighed sadly. “It was an outlet, a way to forget everything. I was stupid. If you have never been close to anyone emotionally, and feared it would only end in misery if you did, then you crave it. Sex kind of appeased my lack of close relationships for a while. I see now that it was foolish. The women only wanted me for Tudor North the actor, not Tudor North the man afraid to fall in love.”
My heart cried for him.
He stared at me in complete adoration. “With you though it’s completely shattering. Making love to you, being with you… it feels like home to me. I am so happy you are mine. You’re my love, the balm to my fucked up past.”
I smiled against his neck and sighed in contentment. “I am yours, Tude, of that there has never been doubt. Now, let’s get to sleep, today has been…” I trailed off, not knowing the words.
He squeezed me into his warm embrace, shuffling to get us in a comfortable position, “Night, gorgeous. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” and I drifted off to sleep in the arms of the most perfect man on the planet.
I woke in the early morning in the same position we had gone to sleep: wrapped securely in Tudor’s embrace and my right arm completely dead. I moved to lie on my back to relieve my numb limb, which was wedged in a blood-stopping sandwich between Tudor’s two-ton bicep and chest, when I suddenly felt woollen material on my pillow beside me. I glanced down, and lying over my left shoulder was his scarf, the scarf from ‘Skater-gate’ – my treasured makeshift pillow. It was back where it belonged: with me, in bed, on my pillow.
I gazed down at my hulking, tattooed bad-boy and smiled. He must have put it there during the night. I leaned forwards, kissing Tudor’s slightly parted lips. Almost automatically, he lifted his shoulders off the mattress, and his hand wrapped around the nape of my neck as he drew me against him further. Thoroughly pleased, I gently pushed him down as his eyes squinted, fighting the pull of sleep. “Sunshine? What–?” he croaked.
“Shh… go back to sleep, babes,” I cooed, running my finger gently along his face.
He laid back down as instructed, pulling me over him, leaving me sprawled across his sculpted bare chest. I grazed a kiss over his heart, closed my eyes and giggled.
I was in love with a big, muscled slice of Canadian Cheddar cheese and it felt freakin’ amazing!
CHAPTER 27
The sun will always rise tomorrow
"Tink! Hurry up, man!" I bellowed as I thumped on his door for the umpteenth time. It swung open with force, and I cracked a smirk at Tink’s outfit.
"Don't start!" he warned as he brushed past me, grimacing as he saw his reflection in the full-length mirror.
"I didn't say anything, did I?" I replied, holding back the spurt of laughter that was creeping its way up my throat.
'The Incident', as it was now known, was a few days behind us, and Boleyn had been released from hospital earlier that day, so we were headed for our first 'family' dinner at the Norths’ as a welcome-home gesture.
The local press had gotten wind of the incident and had reported that a domestic dispute had occurred in the well-to-do area, but thanks to a well-paid publicist, an even better-paid lawyer and a seven-foot perimeter fence, the neighbours and, well, the world had no idea of Tudor's involvement.
There would be a trial, of course, and Tudor had already decided that when that day arrived he would release a statement explaining his personal involvement, alongside a substantial donation to a local women’s charity. The silver lining in this whole affair was that perhaps his candid openness would help other people in similar situations by raising awareness of domestic abuse.
His “people” were still desperately working on concealing from the press his relationship to Boleyn, for her sake at school. Thankfully, due to her age, Boleyn would be hidden behind a screen when the case came to trial and would give her statements via video link. Everyone hoped that, if nothing else, we could keep her identity secret.
I was a bit worried about seeing Boleyn that night – the last time we had talked, she had told me in fairly strong terms that I was the reason her child-molesting father had returned to harm her. Not the best way to start a relationship with your boyfriend’s family. But Tudor had reassured me that she didn’t really mean it. We would have
to see – a teenage grudge can be enduring, we’ve all seen Mean Girls. I wasn’t looking forward to living with that crap, given that Tudor and I were very much back on, in a very honest, very open and very touchy-feely relationship.
So there we were, the night we officially 'met the parent' as the newbie significant others, ready to be grilled by the brood North. Tink clearly wanted to make a good impression and had dressed to impress. He was decked out in a pair of brown, shapeless corduroy trousers with a white cotton shirt and his hair combed over to the side, Tink looked positively… normal. The things you do for love, eh?
He saw me muffling my giggle in the mirror and whipped around to face me. "Toss off, porky. I'm trying to impress Tate's second mam."
He looked down at himself, slumped forward, pulled a disgusted face and sighed. "I look like an ageing closeted reject from the seventies, don't I?"
The dam broke and the laughter rushed out of me. I trotted forward to cuddle my dowdily dressed partner in crime. "It's not too bad of an outfit really, but it's not you, my fabulously fay friend – you just don’t do Gap. Pamela wants to get to know you, not Norman the pot-bellied tax accountant who lives on microwavable meals for one. Go and get changed into something legendary, something that makes her believe in fairies."
He eyes widened in horror, and he bolted back into his room. "You've just saved my life, Bratwurst. You know, every time someone loses their belief in fairies, one of us dies. I could have caused mass fairy-cide! I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail."
Ten minutes later, Tink strutted out into the living room in black leather trousers, a black muscle tee top, Italian leather loafers and a Karl Lagerfeld leopard-print blazer with matching 1940's vintage trilby. His eyes were heavily coated in guy-liner, and he was clutching a Prada man-purse which held his essentials – God only knows what they were – but I had to admit, he looked amazing. Not a thread of polyester in sight!
He reached the couch where I had been impatiently waiting for him, and vogued in front of me, hands framing his face, frozen in position. "Well?" he asked, pouting his lips.
I clapped my hands in applause and stood to strike a pose too, one hand on my head, the other out to the side, cutting an odd angle. "Well?" I asked in return.
He walked around me slowly, tutting and mmm-hmming, channeling his inner Anna Wintour.
I was wearing my black harem-pant jumpsuit that tied to nip in at the waist and boasted a tailored fitted shirt, with my black sequin beaded blazer over the top. My hair was loose and wavy (Tudor's favourite), and I was wearing black leather ankle boots and my new favourite 'fuck me' red lipstick.
Tink stood in front of me and smiled. “You look as hot as a cake, my love; you nearly turned me straight, but one look at those gargantuan bosoms and I'm back to loving king-sized ding-a-lings! How Tudor doesn't asphyxiate himself on those life floats mid-coitus I'll never know!"
I held his hand, ignoring his last comment, and we made our way out to Bumblebee and to our lover boys across town.
Twenty minutes – and a good sing song to Beyoncé’s ‘Until The End of Time’ – later, we arrived at Spring Valley. This time we were able to admire the absolute palace that the Norths lived in. It was bloody huge, especially without the sea of police cars and drama.
We made our way to the front door and rapped the brass lion knocker down twice. Tudor answered, looking all delicious in a black jersey long-sleeved top with an open V-neck and black Armani Jeans. He must have just re-shaved his head that afternoon, and he sported one hell of a sexy, rugged five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw.
He broke into a huge grin when he saw me, and after he pointed out the direction of Tate for Tink, he brought me to his chest, one arm around my waist, the other running up my spine before loosely gripping the back of my neck with his hand.
I inhaled and nearly toppled over at the scent of him. His aftershave was having a Pavlovian effect on my libido (Note to self: find out brand and drench bed sheets in it when I get home!). Tudor brushed the hair from my neck with his fingers and pressed three light kisses behind my ear, just on the spot that made me weak at the knees.
"My God, you look amazing, Sunshine! I'm half tempted to blow off dinner and drag you to my bed right now."
I giggled into his chest. "Keep talking like that and I'll definitely blow off something later," I whispered, watching his eyes widen with desire.
He pushed me outside, against the wall of the entrance way, and groaned in frustration, moving back to kiss me, his tongue spearing hot between my lips.
Thank God for semi-permanent lip stain!
“Ahem!”
We were interrupted by Henry clearing his throat dramatically, hanging half out of the doorway, covering his eyes with his hands. "Tudor, when you’re finished mauling our guest, Mom wants you to let her come in and socialise."
I jumped back in embarrassment, straightening my rumpled clothes. Tudor just smirked, absolutely no shame whatsoever at being caught. He turned to Henry and nodded. "When I'm finished saying hello to my girl I will."
Henry shrugged and gave a sailor’s salute with his hand before he headed back inside.
I turned to my naughty macho man and shook my head in a disapproving manner. "Mr. North, that was very inappropriate, and you deserve to be punished!" I pointed at his chest, giving him my stern teaching voice.
His eyes rolled back, and he bit his bottom lip. "Fuck, punish me! Please! Please Miss., I've been a very naughty boy!"
I turned and walked in the direction of the front room on shaky legs, and I couldn't help but smile at Tudor's remark under his breath as I did.
"This is gonna be a long friggin' night."
As I entered the front room, everyone was seated around the monster-sized fire that dominated the space, sipping on their drinks and engrossed in deep conversation.
Pamela saw me first and jumped up to say hello. She looked lovely. Her dark, tight curly hair was styled nicely at her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple green dress that went to the floor.
She smiled at me and embraced me in a hug. "How are you, Natasha? I'm so happy you came tonight. Can I take your jacket?"
I nodded my head and suddenly felt familiar hands slip my blazer off my shoulders. I glanced back to see Tudor taking it out to the coat stand in the hall.
I focused back on Pamela; she was clearly happy with her second son’s act of chivalry.
"I'm great, thank you for inviting us to dinner," I tilted my head in the direction of the Tinkster, who was entertaining Samantha, Tater-Tot and Henry with one of his stories.
She swatted her hand in front of her face as if to say 'no problem', and then leaned in to confide in a hushed tone, "Thank you for not deserting him when he needed you most." She bit her lip (just like Tudor) and a distraught look passed fleetingly over her face.
I just rubbed her back in support. It would take her a long time to heal. Tudor took that opportunity to wrap his arms around me from behind and whisper in my ear, "Do you want a drink, gorgeous?"
I nodded, unable to talk due to his ever-tongue-tying presence, and he slipped away to fetch it after placing a kiss on my cheek.
Samantha had caught our little exchange and, smiling eagerly, waved me over to the other side of the room, obviously wanting to indulge in some juicy gossip about me and the Hollywood hulk.
I made my excuses to Pamela, and just as I was about to walk over to the bubbly blonde, a slight touch to my arm halted me in my tracks. I peered down to see Boleyn. She looked pale and frail, and her face was bruised and cut. I swallowed the lump in my throat to stop from bursting into tears.
I forced myself to plaster on a convincing smile and went to ask how she was, when she beat me to it. "Ms. Munro, can I show you my new room?"
She could barely meet my eyes. I could see she was wracked with guilt, and it didn't take a genius to realise it was because of our little showdown a few weeks back.
I nodded enthusiastically and gestured wi
th my hand for her to lead the way, and we walked out the door. She headed up the stairs, glancing back frequently to make sure I was there – the poor thing was a bag of nerves.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye in the hallway, and as I reached the final step on the first level, I glanced down to see Tudor carrying my drink back to the front room. We caught his attention, and he looked up, surprised, before his face melted into a small smile.
Boleyn shouted down, "Tudor, do you mind if I show Ms. Munro my new bedroom?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Of course not, sweetheart. I'll just be down here if you need me, okay?"
She pulled her mouth up in a shy smile, nodded and headed up the next flight of stairs.
Tudor winked at me and mouthed 'I love you' as I followed his sister, his words causing me to trip over the top step. I grabbed onto the banister for support as my knees hit the carpet, and I quickly looked down to see if anyone saw my little fumble.
Tudor stood against the wall, holding back his chuckle, and I proceeded to flip him the middle finger. He whispered loudly, "Glad I can knock you off your feet, gorgeous!"
I pretended to laugh and then let my face drop to show I wasn't amused. Twat!
I dusted off my knees and turned the corner to run after Boleyn, but unfortunately she had stopped to wait and had fully witnessed my fall and my little tête-à-tête with her elder brother. She was looking a bit surprised, but a faint grin showed that she had found it amusing too.
Glad to be of service!
Boleyn led me to a heavy-paneled door at the very top of the house which led to a converted loft space. As we entered the room, I gasped. It was stunning. I knew Tudor and Henry had been working for the last few days on redecorating a new room for their recovering little sister, one as far away from her old room as was possible, but what they had achieved was incredible.
I must remember to give Tudor a little extra in the boudoir for creating this!
Boleyn walked to the middle of the room, and I couldn’t help but notice how in only a few days she had changed so much. She was wearing baggy black leggings and a loose brown cardigan that dwarfed her tiny frame. She had pulled the sleeves down low on her arms, the cuffs covering half of her hand, which she kept bringing to her mouth. Her dark hair was unkempt and pushed back in a tight knot.