by Tillie Cole
I put my hand on the back of his head and pressed his head against mine. I whispered, “So you were never embarrassed by me?”
He moved his hands to my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair, tilting it back. “Are you kidding? How could I be? I know you have this crazy notion that you’re not good enough or don’t measure up, but the truth is you’re out of my league.”
I snorted at that. “Tudor I’m not perfect, not by any means.”
He pressed his head back to mine, his breath fanning my skin. “No, but you’re perfect for me.”
It was true, we were perfect together. I just hoped we were strong enough, – no, that I would be strong enough – to cope with being the girlfriend of a movie star and all that it entailed. I was about to venture into unchartered territory, and I was as apprehensive as hell.
CHAPTER 28
Loose lips
I woke up on the morning of my twenty-ninth birthday and sighed as I ran my hand over Tudor’s side of the bed; it felt cold. I hated not sleeping next to him, snuggling into him and I was feeling a little apprehensive as to why he had chosen to stay away the night before my birthday. He had simply said that “he had something to do”.
Pamela and Boleyn were now in Toronto at the retreat, so I knew it wasn’t for their benefit. I thoroughly believed that we had sorted through our secrecy issues, but something was up with him. I could just smell it.
I tried to quell my worries and jumped in the shower, dressed in the cutest grey knitted sweater mini-dress and tights, did my hair and slapped on my make-up.
Just as I was applying the last coat of mascara, my bedroom door opened and in he walked – the reason for my existence (and recent splurge at Victoria’s Secret), dressed in jeans, a white muscle T-shirt, jeans and white beanie hat with Tink, who I assumed had let him into the condo.
Tink walked to where I sat, leaving Tudor to stand back at the door and sang, “Happy birthday, my pork-flavoured soul-mate!” as he handed me a large birthday bag with my name written in pink glitter glue across the front.
I opened the bag and pulled out the present – it was heavy and long. I raised a suspicious eyebrow imagining a black mambo Dildo or something worse and he rolled his eyes.
“Just open it!”
I tore off the paper and read the homemade label,
‘Aged Virgin Sunflower Oil’
I bit my lip in wonder... what the hell?
I heard a snicker and looked up to my obviously tickled best friend who was laughing, holding his belly.
“I don’t get it?” I stated looking first at Tink and then at Tudor who was wearing a similar expression of confusion.
Tink placed his hands on his hips sporting a seriously ticked-off look upon his heavily made-up face. “You don’t get it? You don't get it? I don’t get it! Everyone keeps harping on at you about sunflowers and sunshine and any other sun-related shit, and quite frankly I wanna put those comments where the Sun. Don’t. Shine! Our condo looks like a fookin’ farmers field half the time and my allergies’ are at an all-time high! My eyes are red and itchy twenty-four-seven, I’m wheezing like a chubster on a treadmill, but does anyone care, no, because Tash is bright and warm and we need reminding of it every bloody second of every bloody day! So there you have it, my contribution to the friggin’ Wilbur Sunflower Movement!”
I held in my giggle at Tinks outburst. Tudor across the room, hung his head, knowing full well it was to him whom Tink was referring.
I moved us on quickly. “Okay… thanks, chuck. I’ll use this for our Sunday morning fry-ups!”
He nodded smugly and with that made his exit from the room. “I’ll see you later, sausage when you have birthday fucked your man!” he said slapping Tudor on the back in encouragement before he firmly closed the door leaving me with my man.
I rose from the chair and made my way across to where Tude stood. With each step my heart began to beat faster from both apprehension and the fact that I was nearly hyperventilating at how handsome he looked.
When I was mere steps from him he sprung forward and lifted me up, spinning me around. “Happy Birthday, Sunshine!” he sang.
I giggled at his playful mood and wrapped my hands around his neck, kissing his cheek. “Someone’s feeling happy,” I teased.
The smile on his face was blinding. “Mmm-hmm. I come bearing gifts.” He released me to the floor and gestured for me to sit on the bed. I did so, just enjoying this side of Tudor’s personality.
“Okay, just before we begin,” he said and captured my face in his hands moving in for a not-so-innocent-kiss. He pulled back, causing me to huff in disappointment. “I missed you last night, gorgeous, too God-damned much. I can no longer sleep without you beside me.”
I blushed. “Me too, babes.”
He clapped his hands together. “Okay. Presents.” He walked back to a bag he had placed down on the floor. “First...” He pulled out a box and I gasped when I saw the name Tiffany & co.
He handed me the large blue box seeming a little embarrassed. “I feel a bit of a dick now, after what Tink has just said but, here.” I took it from him and opened the lid, holding my breath.
I drew back in shock. Inside, on a white silk pillow, was the most breathtaking pendant I had ever seen. The necklace cord was made of thick white gold and hanging from it was a diamond-encrusted sunflower – yellow diamond for the petals and garnet and onyx for the centre. My hands began to shake as I tried to take it out.
Tudor moved them aside and pulled it from its silk cushion. “Here, let me.”
I dropped the delicate chain into his outstretched hands, and he opened the clasp and placed it around my neck. I took Tudor’s face and kissed him slowly. “I love it, babes.”
He brushed the tip of my nose with his lips. “Open it.”
“What?”
He released a chuckle. “It’s a locket, open it up.”
I fiddled with the clasp, hidden behind the delicate yellow diamond leaves, and I lifted the top to reveal a photo of Tudor and me. I turned the locket to study the picture and turned to him in surprise.
He shrugged. “My mother took it at our house that night we had dinner. I didn’t know she even had it until I bought this for you. She thought it would look nice inside. She wanted me to see how I was with you, how I looked at you and how everyone else can see how you’ve changed me. I thought it was a perfect fit.”
It was perfect. In the picture, I was on Tudor’s lap and our heads were touching, smiling contentedly, caught just after a kiss. I had always thought Tudor was ridiculously out of my league, but looking at that picture of us, at the couple in love, I thought we looked perfect – maybe he was right after all.
Tudor beamed a smile and wiped the tears from my eyes with his thumb. “Now even when we’re apart, you’ll always have me close.” I snapped the locket shut and noticed script on the back: ‘You are my sunshine’
“Okay, and now for the main gift.”
My mouth gaped in shock. “Tudor, this is enough. I don’t need anything else.”
He didn’t reply but instead began to strip. Yep, strip, like a live showing of Magic Mike in my bedroom.
“Tudor, What-?” My ability to speak drew to a halt as his shirt and trousers hit the cream-coloured carpet. My gaze zeroed in. No, not where you’re thinking! Okay, maybe I did peruse his lovely disco-stick somewhat, but that is not what had me sweating.
I gasped, and my wide eyes flew back to his.
He scrunched up his nose and bit his bottom lip with nerves. "Surprise! I flew to Vancouver yesterday to my artist. I just arrived back a couple of hours ago."
Low on his hip, opposite to his already body-long tribal tattoo, was a large black Maori sun, clear in the centre with thick black solar flares draping over his lower torso, set off just to his right.
"A sun?" I asked in awe.
He nodded, a shy smile ghosting on his lips.
"For me? You flew all the way to Vancouver and back in a day to do this for
me?" I whispered.
"For you, Sunshine," he whispered back, whilst moving to stand before me and stroking my cheek with his finger.
Phew! Forget oysters, forget Viagra, and forget chocolate – okay, not chocolate, let's not get carried away – the best aphrodisiac, the best turn on in the world, is when your man brands himself with ink just for you. You may not all agree, and each to their own, but for me, 'Oh, Mamma Mia!'
I suddenly recalled our conversation in the hot tub when Tudor had declared that he hadn’t got tattoos on his right side because he had ‘been saving it for someone special, a blank canvas just for them.’
Was I that someone special? I studied Tudor’s contented and happy face, and he nodded to my inner question, knowing exactly what I was thinking.
Without any warning, I pounced on him. I started at his head, placing kisses all the way down his fine body. He sucked in a breath when I got down to his stomach, perched on my knees and made a play for his 'V', that was now smothered with a sun just for me, his ‘someone special’ with my hot, hungry mouth.
I jumped up in record time, rid myself of my dress, faced Tudor and clothes-lined him to the bed. I began to maul him – pure, unadulterated ravishing. I had gone full nympho on his fine ass!
I licked around the ridges of hard muscle and ‘my’ tattoo which made him squirm and hiss. "Fuck!"
Encouraged, I sucked down harder and crept up his skin with my fingers; he burst out in laughter and curled into a protective ball. I had learned before now that a certain Mr. North couldn't take a good tickle, and I ended up laughing with him at how he begged me to stop – my tattooed muscle bad boy was now my ticklish little baby!
I crawled back over him slowly, hands on either side of his head, and he brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Natasha Munro, are you trying to seduce me?"
I pressed my lips to his, stopping just long enough to say in a low, raspy voice, "Hell yeah, is it working?"
He roared and flipped me on my back. "Oh, it's working!" he rushed out.
"Yeah for me!" I clapped.
Within minutes we were joined, all politeness and tenderness gone, and passion and lust all-consuming. Tudor rolled on his back, forcing me to be on top – his favourite position, his hands full with my breasts. I controlled every move, and he surrendered willingly to my demands. His breath became uneven as he kept rhythm with our ever-increasing moans, and with one final thrust we bellowed mutual screams of release.
Exhausted, I collapsed on him, and he announced quietly, "Happy birthday, Sunshine."
I worked my hips back and forth, making him groan and grip the headboard. "And here’s to many, many more." I murmured, seductively.
He replied with certainty in his eyes, "Definitely many, many more!" We were no longer talking about my birthday.
He reached up to take my face in his hands and ran his tongue along my bottom lip. "I love you Natasha Munro, so, so much." Kiss. "Thank you for saving me." Kiss.
I jolted back, startled. "What did you say?" I asked softly.
He nodded, assuring me of what he had declared. "You saved me, and for that I'll love you forever."
I pursed my lips and tipped my head, narrowing my eyes. "Are you saying all this because you're still inside me?"
He laughed at my incredulity but then looked out of the corner of his glittering green eyes and sneered. "Maybe?"
I shrieked and slapped his chest. “You pig!"
"I joke, I joke!" he protested, gripping my wrists in his hands.
His face dropped, serious again. "You really did, gorgeous. More than you will ever know."
I lowered myself to an inch from his face and kissed him passionately. He growled in pleasure, flipped me on my stomach and off we went for round two.
Happy Birthday, Tash!
We were dozing, wrapped in each other’s arms, fully sated and I was so damn happy. And that’s when it happened.
Thunderous hammering on my bedroom door broke us from our happy place and Tink, followed by Tate, who was covering his eyes with his hands, burst into the room, hysterical and swearing like a banshee and waving his phone in the air.
I immediately sat forward, trying to use Tudor as a shield to hide my naked state. “What? What is it?”
Tink stared down at the phone and glanced back up again. “There’s been a leak to the press, it’s in all the papers… everywhere. Apparently you made the evening news last night too, even in the UK,” he whispered, tilting his head at Tudor.
I grasped Tudor’s hand in support. “Why? Tink for God’s sake, why has he made the papers? What exactly has been leaked?”
Tink winced. “Somebody has sold the story about your childhood and the abuse you suffered from your father, a very detailed story.”
He looked apologetic. “It’s also come to light about the recent attack on your sister and that your father is incarcerated awaiting trial for her attempted rape.”
Tudor immediately jumped to his feet, wrapping the sheet around his waist and began pacing, clenching his hands over and over with frustration before walking to the wall, slamming his fists against the cement and pressing his head against it in defeat.
Tate, ever the efficient assistant, ran into the front room to make the necessary communications with Tudor’s team – his PR, lawyer and agent.
My bestie, actually demonstrating some emotional intelligence for once, left to put the kettle on, leaving me alone with Tudor.
I walked towards him and took his hand in mine. He flinched and looked down, and went to pull away, frosting over again, like he always did when things got rough. This time I held on tight.
“No, don’t pull away. Don’t shut me out again.” I begged.
He looked so torn. His go-to response in life was to carry the burden himself, to protect everyone else, but no more, not this time.
I squeezed his shaking hand in mine. “I’m here with you, Tudor. This time we will face this together. You’re not alone anymore, you have me. You are not alone.”
He stared at me for a long time, fighting his inner demons and eventually pulling me to his chest and whispering in a pained voice, “This time I have you.”
This time we had each other.
After hearing the news, we immediately went to Tudor’s house, where we all – Henry, Samantha, Tudor, Tink, Tate and I – gathered in the lounge to try and come up with a plan of action to deal with the fallout of the information leak on the horrific and abusive past of the Norths.
To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement. Everybody was nervous, angry or upset, and everyone was bewildered as to who could have sold the story. A family’s dirty laundry being aired to friends and neighbours was bad enough, but add into the mix that one of the key players was mega-star famous and the situation became exponentially worse.
The world now knew that Tudor, for much of his early childhood and teens, had been subject to brutal beatings and both physical and emotional torment by his father, and to be honest, the reports were so detailed in their descriptions, that even I was learning new information about my immensely private boyfriend and what he had been through: things that he hadn’t even confided in me yet – and nor should he have if he wasn’t ready. They were heart-breaking.
As an actor, Tudor's response must be well-calculated and thought through: one that protected his family, his career, the trial. There were so many different things at stake, not to mention the fact that the topic of all the hype was such a sensitive area. We were expecting his publicist, Kate, to arrive in Calgary from LA so she could advise Tudor on what to do next. Until then, there was nothing we could do.
Drawing on both my Scottish and English heritages to cope with the situation, I made cups of tea laced with whiskey for everyone, and the six of us sat around the fire, no-one saying a thing.
Henry broke the uncomfortable silence first, after shifting back and forth on his chair for near enough the last thirty minutes. "What are you planning on doing, Tudor? What do you
think you will say to the press?"
Samantha moved to sit next to Henry, hands on his tense shoulders, and Tudor pulled me onto his lap and began stroking my hair. It calmed him.
He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in his personal thoughts. "I don't know. Do I ask the media for privacy and not say anything on the topic of abuse, but have it hanging over my head for the rest of my career? Or do I come clean and admit to what we all went through? But then that will leave me exposed, and I hate the idea of that; the world knowing all about us when we've kept it so well-hidden for so long." He laid his forehead on my shoulder, defeated. "I have no idea what to do for the best."
He gripped me tightly around the waist and groaned. I drew back and lifted his chin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on that head?”
He looked sheepishly to the others in the room, hesitant to talk. I looked in his eyes and urged him to explain. His head slumped forwards. “I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it to the world, it’s all too raw. My family needed the next few months to heal, to adjust. I was willing to talk about it all in the future with the trial, but now?”
I squeezed his hand in sympathy. He fixed his broken gaze on me. “Why, just because I act on a screen, do I have to have my entire life made public? Why should the world get to read about our problems while having their toast and coffee on a Sunday morning? Just a hot topic, gossip material to mention in passing to colleagues on scheduled breaks at work. Can you imagine it? Our past being the topic of conversation to some middle-aged couple in God knows where: ‘Oh honey, have you seen this article about Tudor North, the actor? His father broke his jaw and fractured his collarbone with a chair leg when he was fifteen for spilling soda on the kitchen floor. Anyway, what time are we meeting your parents for lunch?’ That’s my life, our lives, that they are discussing. Why do people need to pick at every God-damned part of me just because I act? Our lives are not entertainment. I’m the actor. My family didn’t ask to be given the lead roles in the latest fucked-up celebrity scandal.”