by Zee Monodee
“And?”
Long, silent seconds ensued.
“I … I want to have children one day, you know.”
At this, he smiled. She would make a great mother with her no-nonsense but still caring attitude. In fact, he wanted a woman like her to be the mother of his children.
Whoa! He’d known he was a goner, but this much?
Actually, yes, this much and more. He had fallen for her hook, line, and sinker. He wanted a forever with her, to spend the rest of his life with her. To be the Jasper to her Eleanor.
Most of all, he wanted to make her happy.
So he deposited a soft kiss onto her temple. “You’ll make a wonderful mother.”
She snorted. “If I live long enough.”
“You will,” he said, injecting conviction in his tone. “You will become an adorable grandma, driving your long-suffering husband crazy and making your kids fear you and love you and respect you all while you spoil your grandkids rotten.”
She laughed. “You better wish me good luck finding a man who’ll take me without boobs.”
He took in a deep breath. “Breasts aren’t everything that make up a woman, Megha.”
She nodded after a while. “I’m not going to get reconstruction, you know.”
First time he’d heard that, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. The woman had had no qualms cutting off a piece of her to spite the cancer—no way would she give it any ground to return. Getting new breasts would mean no longer having an unmarred expanse where she could check for lumps every month.
“Fakies are overrated, too, you know,” he quipped.
Another laugh escaped her, which made him smile. It hadn’t even sounded derogatory this time.
“I won’t go under the knife again,” she continued. “I’ve been speaking with women who have had mastectomies but have opted out of reconstruction. There’s this closed group on Facebook. They’re living their lives without breasts, happy that way, going about their business without feeling any less because of their surgery.”
She didn’t say it, but he heard it. These women didn’t feel any less womanly despite not having had reconstructed boobs fitted onto their post-cancer bodies.
And if that’s what she wanted, the path she was choosing, he would give her his support.
“The measure of anyone isn’t quantified from their appearance, Megha. It comes from who and what they are in their souls.”
She hummed something like an agreement. Silence descended again, and they remained standing, locked in that embrace, for a long time. When he felt her starting to go limp in his hold, he slipped one arm under her knees and carried her back to her room.
As he deposited her in the bed, she reached out and clasped his wrist.
His breath caught at the touch, fire searing along every nerve ending in his arm to come scorch his entire being.
In the darkness broken by the soft glow of the lamp on the far table, he could still see her face, make out her features. She didn’t have to say any word, her wide eyes and parted lips speaking for her. Without adding anything, he nodded and slipped under the covers beside her.
He held her as she burrowed into him, her back to his front again, and he watched and listened to her fall asleep. Slumber eluded him completely. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her cheek, then roll her onto her back to claim her mouth while his hands ditched the scraps of pyjamas on her body. He yearned to caress all her skin before he took her and made her his, made her scream his name in ecstasy and then fall back into a limp but sated puddle on the mattress.
Alas, he couldn’t. She hadn’t invited him in for that—but the memo hadn’t travelled to his groin, it seemed. So with clenched teeth, he lay there, letting her sleep, and when the rays of dawn started to pierce through the slits in the curtains, he reluctantly peeled himself from her and got out of the bed.
Goddamn it, that’s where he belonged, with her … but she had no business getting embroiled with the likes of him. No, Megha was too good for that.
He had to do something about this. Anything. Because this couldn’t be allowed to go on.
He had rarely stayed the night with a woman, and when he had, the sex had surely been phenomenal and going on well into the early morning. He’d never done this, and certainly not for sentiments.
The things he would do for Megha …
But he couldn’t. For her sake. She deserved so much better—that long-suffering husband, for starters. And that wasn’t him. Would never be him.
He had to get away.
Because of her.
For her.
Chapter Eight
Megha awoke in the morning with confusion addling her brain. She turned and ran a hand over the other side of the bed. The sheets were hardly mussed. She couldn’t say the same thing about her mind, though. She recalled not being able to sleep and getting up, ending up lost in the corridors, and pushing the French windows open onto the first terrace she’d come across, the quiet interior of the house having become stifling.
After that, it all became a blur. She thought she remembered Magnus with her, being in his arms, talking of things she’d never spoken aloud. Then, he’d brought her to bed, sliding in beside her to hold her through the rest of the night …
She bit her lip. It must’ve been her imagination, all a dream. She had wanted so much with him and from him after seeing Simmi and Lars the past evening—she had surely conjured all that in her tired and overwrought psyche.
Still, how would she face him now? She’d been able to keep her game face on when those aspirations had been fleeting pangs in her heart. But now, her overactive imagination had joined the fray, bringing her fantasies to vivid life inside her. He should never know about all this. Magnus being Magnus, he would tell her it was all right and smile, which would bring up mortification in her even more. No, she couldn’t have that. She was already embarrassed enough about being besotted with him despite all her precautions to not fall for him.
With a sigh, she pushed the covers off and got out of bed to take a turn in the bathroom. Still no clothes but the ones she’d discarded the day before, so she pulled them on again and started out in search of the kitchen. If she recalled properly, it was one turn left in the corridor outside, then down the hall to the right staircase, one flight down, across that hallway, and a turn right halfway through.
She smiled when she reached the dining room with the long, polished pine table.
Agneta frowned at her from where she sat with a plate of bacon in front of her. “What’s with the loony look?”
“I didn’t get lost on the way here,” she replied.
“Kudos,” Tindra said as she entered the room carrying a plate laden with scrambled eggs smelling strongly of hot sauce. She stopped abruptly before reaching the table, though. “Wait. Eggs and bacon and all that. The smell isn’t gonna make you sick?”
Megha blinked. Strange how she hadn’t thought of that. Must be the crazy atmosphere inside this place; it kept all her thoughts tied up onto the weirdness of the Trammell family. And on Magnus, too. Shut up, idiot!
Still, it didn’t feel like she’d throw up. She tested that assumption by sniffing the air really hard, and all it did was open a gaping canyon of hunger inside her stomach.
“It’s fine. Is there some toast I could have?” she asked as she started towards the adjoining kitchen.
“Three kinds. Knock yourself out,” Tindra said as she sat down.
Megha made it to the sideboard and picked up the plainest white toast in the lot. She stacked three slices on her plate, not wanting to be inconsiderate as she was still a guest here. However, she couldn’t resist the lure of the little pats of butter in their foil packages—five of them made it onto her plate. It must be the Indian DNA in her that grease and fat always soothed her stomach rather than upset it. After the ordeal she’d just been through with the chemo, her body was screaming at her for some full-fat oiliness to come lubricate its insides.
As she sat down and wolfed the first two slices of toast, it struck her that the house sounded remarkably quiet.
“Where is everyone else?”
“Mamma and Elin are at their yoga class, Dad is out golfing. Nammy’s back in Belgravia.”
A sliver of cold ran down her back. “And Magnus?”
“At his flat in Kensington. Stellan is hosting brunch for the three of them. Had to do it now given how Lars’ flight leaves in the afternoon.”
Simmi had said something along those lines yesterday, she recalled. Of course he should go see his best friends. He and Stellan must miss Lars, with him thousands of miles away in Mauritius.
Still, that didn’t stop the numbing cold from seeping into her. She’d wanted to see him this morning, a part of her needing to find out if last night had been nothing but a dream or if it had really happened. Gauging how he reacted to her this morning would’ve helped her see a bit clearer in her muddled recollections. She wouldn’t be having that until she met him at work now, but then, the moment would’ve passed. He could easily conceal—
At this, she gave herself an inner slap. Why would he feel the need to hide something like this if it had really happened? From everything she knew about Magnus, he wasn’t a coward.
No, she was the one going on and getting ahead of herself and everything else by building castles in the sky. This was all supposed to be an interlude, an episode she would put behind her as soon as she exited this ginormous townhouse and returned to her humdrum life in Daimsbury.
And speaking of the village, she best get going. She’d been here since Thursday. Way too long already.
“Can you guys direct me to a phone?” she asked. “I need to call Ben and have him pick me up.”
“Noooo! You can’t be leaving already!” Tindra whined.
Her heart clenched upon hearing this. Magnus’ sisters seemed genuinely happy to have her around, as if she were truly their friend and not someone fobbed off on them. Right there and then, she vowed she wouldn’t be the one to break off this friendship with the Trammell girls.
“I haven’t seen my dad in three days,” she told them. “I miss him.”
“Aww,” they both replied.
“You’re right, you should go see him,” Agneta continued. “Tell you what—how about I drop you over? Magnus did ask me to go check out the cottage sometime and see how we can alter it to work in the specifics for a fertility clinic. I can do that today itself.”
Megha smiled. “Can we wait for your mum to be back? I want to thank her personally for her hospitality before I leave.”
“And that is very kind of you,” Elsa Trammell said, as if conjured from thin air. She came in followed by Elin, the two decked in similar tank tops, tights, and sporty headbands.
Again, Megha was struck how much a Before and After picture this mother-daughter duo presented, the resemblance being more than striking.
She nodded at Mrs. Trammell as she stood. “Thank you again for having me.”
“Oh, none of that, please, darling. You were very welcome, and still are whenever you feel like it.”
Dropping by the mighty Trammells’ residence unannounced? No, she didn’t think so. Still, the invite felt heartfelt, and though she shouldn’t be mixing any more of Magnus into her life, he didn’t live here. She wouldn’t be bumping into him if she ever came back. Nevertheless, she shook herself, doubting her path would ever cross that of these women this way once again. This had all been a twist of Fate, a very fortuitous chain of circumstances she didn’t see repeating itself any time soon.
“Oh, and could you please let me know where to find my clothes? The ones I wore when I came in?”
Elsa Trammell winced. “I’m sorry, dear. I had them thrown away. You see, the top reeked of a foul medicine, and there was blood on the jeans … I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t think you’d be up to seeing them and smelling that after what you’d been through. Even a wash didn’t seem to get the stink out.”
A lump closed her throat, and she merely nodded. She’d never expected this kind of consideration from others, let alone rich folks like these here.
“Come on, let’s go,” Agneta said as she jumped to her feet.
Megha allowed the girls’ mother to gently hug her, then she bade her goodbyes to Tindra and Elin. After they’d stopped through a mudroom to get shoes, Agneta kept on a steady stream of chatter as she led the way from the house all the way through the sheltered colonnade running the length of the garden to lead into the former mews which had been turned into a multi-car garage. They got into a Range Rover Velar and started on the road west to Daimsbury.
Halfway through the trip, amid the incessant talking of the woman driving, Megha’s cell phone beeped out a notification for a text message. Strange—she’d thought the battery was dead. However, she found the little icon at ten percent full. Could the car have remote charging capabilities?
She accessed the text to find it came from Finn. They had received her wig.
Without her realising, her hand had gone to her hair, and when she pulled it back, a thick clump lay between her fingers. Tears stung her eyes. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not already. But then again, it was also the perfect time, what with finally having the perfect wig waiting for her.
Megha bit her lip, hard enough for blood to assail her taste buds with its coppery tang. She had to do this, especially before she got back home.
She turned to Agneta. “Can you drop me by the entrance of the village?”
The blonde threw her a quizzical look. “Why? I know the restaurant is in the middle of the place, near the village green.”
As she’d come to learn, best give in already with the Trammell womenfolk. “The hair salon. They … They say they’ve got a wig for me.”
Agneta reached over and clasped her hand. “Aww, sweetie. You okay?”
She gulped down a sob. “I am. I have to be.”
“You’re not doing this alone, you know.”
I’m here, the girl left unsaid.
“I know,” she replied, clenching the pale hand back. In Agneta, she definitely had a friend.
They reached the salon, Agneta parking her SUV in front and then trailing her inside the premises. As soon as she set foot in, she clasped Megha’s arm hard.
“Hello, Nurse! Who on Earth is that?” she asked, her gaze fixed on one of the hairdressers.
At this, Megha laughed. It was true that this young man cut a very fine figure with his lean body, strong good looks, and short sable hair. “That’s Patrick Burley, one of the owners.”
“Megs, you’re here!” a male voice called from the other side of the room.
They both turned in that direction, Agneta’s hand on her arm tightening even more.
“They come in double?” she asked.
“Identical twins,” Megha confirmed. Though one could perfectly distinguish them apart because of their hair, which Finn kept long and flowing to touch the nape of his neck. “This one’s Finn Burley.”
“Gay?” she asked.
“Nope.”
A predatory look seemed to come into the tall blonde’s eyes as she bared her teeth and smiled.
Finn came over and wrapped her in his arms. “Megs! It’s so good to have you back,” he said as he released her. Then, he turned to Agneta. “Miss Trammell. It’s an honour,” he added as he bent and kissed the back of her hand.
Agneta gave a small giggle, seeming completely smitten. Her gaze travelled to Patrick, who finished with his client and came over to them. He, too, hugged Megha, though in a less demonstrative manner than his twin. He gave Agneta a small nod, never having been one for talking much, especially when his brother proved to be such a chatterbox.
Megha smiled, then it died down as she recalled why she had come over. She turned to Patrick. “The clippers. I need it all off.”
He appeared stricken, and as always, it was Finn who spoke up. “You sure, babe? There’s no turning back from that.”
; She winced. “Best I’m the one to get it all out rather than it keeps falling like this. My dad …”
He hadn’t seen her at her worst. She could hide behind a wig, not leaving clumps of hair everywhere, breaking his heart in the process when he saw tangible proof of what the cancer treatments were doing to her.
Finn nodded. “Okay, sure. Come on up.”
As she settled in a chair in front of a lit mirror, Agneta dropped her full body and baby weight in the adjoining seat. “Oh, I’m staying,” she said when Megha threw her a glance.
She had said she wouldn’t let her get through this alone, hadn’t she?
“Ready?” Finn asked as he draped a black gown over her.
She nodded at his reflection in the mirror. Patrick drew close and lightly tipped her head forward, then gently took the clippers to her head. She closed her eyes as the locks fell, not wanting to see, to have this reminder that her body was failing her yet again. A soft hand reached under the gown to clasp hers—Agneta’s—and the girl didn’t let go even after it was over.
“Okay, don’t look yet,” Finn said when his brother was done.
She heard sounds of shuffling, then gentle fingers on her scalp before something soft and weighty settled atop her head. Hands tilted her head back; there was a flurry of activity around her face, and then Agneta let go of her hand.
“Open your eyes!” she said.
Megha did as told, and she lost her breath upon seeing her reflection. She had the wig on, and it looked like she had simply gone for a chin-length bob. The colour was the same as her natural hair, the texture almost identical in its thickness and lustre.
A phone beeped.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” Agneta exclaimed as she stared at the screen, then tapped in a number and brought the phone to her ear. “Really, you’re gonna do that to me now? That event is in less than two hours!”
Megha exchanged puzzled looks with the twins. Agneta on a full roll seemed to pull all the air in the place into her vortex, though, leaving the rest of them mere mortals hanging on to her every word and extensive hand gestures.