by Lia Lee
“And this is how you handle it? By going ballistic and throwing shit around? I tripped and fell over a lamp coming in here, just so you know.”
He looks up at me, his blue eyes wide. “Aw, fuck... I’m sorry. You alright? The baby...”
“We’re fine, but clearly you’re not,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen you like this, Derric. You’re scaring me.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mila, this isn’t about you. I’ve got a shit-ton of work to do. Can’t you see that? I gotta blow off a little steam sometimes.”
“A little steam? The place looks like a bomb hit it.” Is this some dark side of him I don’t know about? I take a step backward, confused and frightened of this angry man who doesn’t resemble the Derric I know. I’ve heard the story too many times about men who are all sunshine and sweetness in the beginning and then turn into abusive bastards when the doors are closed. I don’t want to believe that could be Derric. “What happens when you need to blow off a little steam with a newborn in the room?” I ask.
We stare at each other, suspended in this unpleasant, awkward standoff until his cell phone breaks the silence. He reaches for it and checks the display.
“I have to take this,” he says, his voice stiff. “It’s an important business call.” He glances toward the door. “Would you mind?”
He wants me to leave? My mouth drops open in disbelief. An important call? More important than discussing our child? My heart shrinking, I retreat from the room and retrace my steps through the mangled mess of his living room. Maybe Claire was right after all. His priorities really are fucked-up.
Chapter Twelve
Derric
No Apologies
Be careful what you wish for. You may get it.
The hackneyed phrase buzzes in my ears as I try the number for the fifth time today. It doesn’t even go to voicemail. It’s like she’s switched it off. Who does that? No one I know under the age of forty. We’re all addicted to our devices, and I’m no exception. Since Mila hasn’t been taking my calls, my phone has become like a broken appendage; useless and painful to lug around.
I try her office number only to hear her bespectacled young assistant deftly screening my calls. How can I explain what happened, or even apologize if the woman won’t hear me out? Won’t even acknowledge my existence? I’ve seesawed between remorseful and indignant for the better part of two days. When I said it was an important business call, I thought she’d just wait in the other room, not do a complete runner.
I’ve lived alone, done things my own way for so long. I never gave a shit who disapproved of my behavior, especially when it came to Steve. Sometimes I think I acted like a shit on purpose, just to get his goat; give him a taste of how it felt to be treated as insignificant and undeserving of respect. It never mattered to him what I did; I gave up trying to please him long ago—when he burned down the doghouse I’d built for my new puppy because it was only ‘half a job’.
Well, I gave as good as I got, but the old bastard really outdid himself this time. Just when things were coming together at the station, he tears it all down with one phone call. Seems I can’t hide from the paparazzi as well as I thought. Business-wise, I’ve kept a low profile, just like he ordained. Not out of any desire to impress him, but to earn my freedom. To make my mother proud, God rest her soul.
And what does he do? Hires a goddamn PI to follow me around. Real Philip Marlowe shit, hiding in bushes and behind lamp posts, taking pictures and video, and live streaming them to guess who. He’s been creating a goddamn documentary of Mila and me, going out together, dining together, touching and kissing. Thankfully nothing beyond that, but enough to stir the evil brew bubbling in the Steven Faris cauldron of cock-shittery.
He calls me to say if I don’t dump her, he’s pulling the expense accounts and sending another producer to replace me. Someone he can trust; someone who won’t litter the countryside with a trail of bastard children all jockeying for a piece of the Faris fortune someday. Weren’t there enough Ozzie Sheilas willing to drop their knickers for me without luring some poor American retro flower-child into my web of debauchery?
That’s when I lost it. That’s when the shit—and most of my furniture—hit the proverbial fan. While physically destroying inanimate objects give me some satisfaction, I’d rather they’d been my father’s expensive trappings. Or even better, his own wrinkled, brittle carcass. Unfortunately, that’s when Mila came in. I’d forgotten our plans for that evening and just about everything else in my shitstorm of rage. Now I’m the one inside a flaming doghouse.
Hearing my father’s lurid opinion of Mila makes my blood boil, and all the more determined to pursue our relationship. That anal-retentive buzzard has no right to judge her or anyone else he’s never even met. Somehow, I’ve got to make it up to her. This whole sorry episode makes me realize how empty I’d feel if she weren’t in my life. Just because Steve made a shit job of fatherhood, doesn’t mean I will. It’s finally hit home for me: she’s having my baby—our baby, brand new and perfect, something of mine that Steve can’t touch.
But I’m going to need some help seeing as Mila won’t even speak to me right now. I redial a number on my phone’s call list. After three rings, I get an answer.
“Yes, hello,” I say. “May I speak with Claire Strait, please?”
***
“Don’t let the building super catch you up here while I’m out,” Claire says, handing me an extra key. She dusts her hands and surveys the area the two of us have swept and tidied the best we could in one lunch hour. “I never realized what a great view we actually have from up here. Nothing compared to yours, I suppose.”
“Well, since we’d have a hard time getting her to come there short of a kidnapping, this will have to do,” I say, following her gaze across the adjacent rooftops. “In fact, it’s perfect.”
“Now, remember, she gets home around five—make sure you’re out of the apartment before then. I’ll make myself scarce—tell her I’m meeting a friend for dinner straight from work and not returning until late.” Claire turns and walks toward the heavy fire door that we’ve propped open with an old metal chair we found discarded on the rooftop of the building she and Mila live in. “Gotta get back to the office before she suspects something,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Claire,” I say. “Thank you.”
Claire does an about-face. “You’ll be welcome when you’ve put a smile back on my best friend’s face.” She looks me up and down, a wry grin curling her lips. “Not sure what she sees in a surfie slacker like you, but there’s no accounting for taste.” She throws me a wink and disappears down the concrete stairwell.
I’ve certainly been a slacker in some areas of my life, I’ll admit. Money can do that to a person, especially when it’s handed to you without having to earn it for yourself. But earning Mila’s trust is something I’ve got to really work for. And it starts now.
I set up the table, chairs, sound system and strings of lights I had sent over from the props department at the station. Nothing says movie magic like stuff that’s already been in a movie.
After a couple hours of probably the most energy expended in a day outside of a fitness gym, I use Claire’s key to slip into the girls’ flat to clean up and change. After meeting the caterers and showing them in, I’ve got just enough time for one final detail; the note on Mila’s door and the trail of breadcrumbs—in this case, rose petals from a florist down the street—that will lead her up the steps to the roof and back into my life.
The sun is setting behind a jagged horizon of spires and towers as I stand on the rooftop, waiting. It’s a reasonably warm spring night here in New York, but I do miss the Aussie heat and sunshine. Could I really stay here permanently? It’s curious how the seasons are opposite; it’s coming on autumn back home. I switch on the sound system and check my phone for the time. 5:20 p.m. What if she doesn’t turn up? Might serve me right for taking so long to realize what’s important.
/> Just then I hear the heavy door squeak open. I move to the side of the table where there’s a clear line of sight to the stairwell entrance, and out of its dark orifice, Mila appears. My chest feels like it’s about to cave in with my giant exhale of relief. She looks stunning in a white sleeveless dress, the sapphire necklace I gave her sparkling against her tawny skin. Her lawless curls tumble unbound over her shoulders. She pauses in the doorway and looks straight at me, then her eyes pan out to take in the makeshift, corny, but hopefully romantic tableau before her that I’ve spent the afternoon creating.
Miles of Edison-bulb light strings swag overhead and a plate of pillar candles flicker on the round table in the center of the brick and concrete space. A slight breeze flutters the hem of the white linen tablecloth and bobbles the stems and leaves of the four giant flower arrangements positioned around the table. Potted dwarf evergreens wrapped in fairy lights stand guard on the brick sill at the edge of the roof, while polished silverware and glossy china reflect the myriad points of light from every direction.
Mila gasps and presses a hand to her throat. She seems frozen in place, afraid to venture forward as if the whole scene is a mirage that might disappear once she gets too close. I hold out my hand. She lets the door fall closed behind her and steps slowly toward me. I draw her even closer as her palm slips into mine.
“Are you free for dinner, ma’am?” I ask, grinning at her awestruck expression.
“I am,” she replies, nodding. “I can’t believe you’ve done all this. How did you...?
“Oh, I had the help of a Clair-ey Godmother,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and leaning in for a kiss. Her lips are sweet and moist with strawberry-flavored gloss. I savor the taste, thinking that even this extravagant catered meal won’t compare to the sweetness of her kiss.
“Claire helped you? I don’t believe it.”
“If you prefer to believe I flew in and staged this magical dinner date entirely by helicopter, I’ll go with that.”
“That, I’d believe.” She laughs.
“Well, let’s not leave it to get cold, eh?” I pull out a chair and help her get settled before taking the seat opposite. I lift a chilled bottle from the bucket and offer to pour. “Non-alcoholic,” I announce.
She smiles and nods.
We start on dinner, and I can’t help but marvel at how beautiful she looks awash in candlelight and surrounded by flowers. All the stress of work and the nasty business with my dad fades in her presence and I’m truly enjoying this experience. We’re nearly finished when I realize I haven’t yet apologized.
“Mila.” She looks up as I say her name, focusing her big brown eyes on me. Waiting. Waiting for the words she needs and so richly deserves to hear from me. Waiting for the truth. “I’m so sorry for the other night. Sorry that we missed the performance you were so looking forward to, and sorrier still that you were caught in the fallout of my... frustrations. When I realized you and the baby could have been hurt...”
“We weren’t. I’m a strong person, Derric. You should know that by now.”
“I do.” I gaze at her gentle face that belies the strength of character within, and I’m suddenly aware of the music wafting through the air. The song is “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King. “Strong enough to dance with me?” I ask, rising from my chair and offering my hand again.
“Yes.” Smiling, she takes my hand and follows me to the open space beneath the strings of lights. I hold her in my arms and let the music guide our feet. All my senses come alive as we slow dance. The texture of her dress… The smell of her hair… The fragrance of flowers… The taste of her skin… The sounds of traffic far below that mingle with the voice of Elton John… All faultless. I swear I can even feel the tiny heartbeat of our unborn child pulsing between us as our bodies press together, and realize what a miracle that is.
It’s a perfect moment, and I want to keep having it, every day, over and over. This is what I want, what I’ve missed out on; a chance at real love, a family, a deep and unbreakable connection with the one person who fills me with joy.
I lean down to speak low in her ear. “Mila, I know life hasn’t exactly been a fairy tale for us. So much has happened so fast—things we didn’t plan—but, despite all of it, I know that I want you, and the baby, and I want us to give it a go; to be together, officially. Be a family. What do you say?”
I feel her breathe in and out before she raises her head to look at me, a huge smile on her face. Every bulb and candle could go out right now, and our rooftop dance floor would still be lit by that smile.
“On one condition. That you take me downstairs right now and make slow, passionate love to me.”
“Ah, I see you’ve learned to go for what you want,” I say.
“And I see you’ve learned to apologize. Now, make love to me, or the deal’s off.”
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mila
Mind. Blown.
My body is on fire with arousal as Derric’s tongue makes another long, slow swath through the length of my slick, hot channel, my excited clit quivering on the edge of another earth-shattering orgasm.
He’s incredible at oral sex, his talented tongue belonging in the annals of Olympic intercourse history. His hands are wrapped around my knees, bracing my trembling thighs apart as he licks me into sweet oblivion. The tip of his tongue flicks my aching bud in rapid succession, then presses hard on the magic spot at its base. My hips buck at the hot spear of sensation it sends through me, but he holds me fast; unwilling to give up his meal until he’s finished me.
My fingers are entwined in his wavy blond hair, and my grip tightens as his agile, clever tongue plunges into my waiting entrance three times, eliciting a scream of utter satisfaction from my throat. I can’t hold back a second longer. The torrent of ecstasy rains down like a tropic storm.
I ride out wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. God, he makes me come harder and longer than I ever thought possible. We seem made for each other, in bed and out. I think some grand master plan must have been in motion, causing our two wildly different lives to collide across the distance of two hemispheres.
His arm is underneath me now, rolling me over onto my stomach. I don’t resist; I’m a complete ragdoll, rendered boneless by his expert ministrations.
“That’s my goddess,” he murmurs, his voice husky, his face wet with my juices. “Just relax, I’ll take care of you.”
I twitch as a slippery coldness touches my ass. This is new, but I trust Derric, and I know I would never deny him any brand of pleasure he decides to explore.
“You’ve got the most beautiful ass, my love. And I’m going to come inside it.”
My stomach flutters at his words. His finger reams my puckered entrance, coating it in slippery gel, priming me for entrance. I’m not afraid, but I’m curious. What will this be like? I take deep, even breaths, willing myself not to flinch as he holds my cheeks gently apart and the warm tip of his cock breaches my untried hole.
He goes slow; the sensation of him filling me this way is strange but not unpleasant. In fact, I think I like it; and wonder why I’ve never tried it before. A satisfied, otherworldly moan of pleasure escapes Derric’s lips. “Damn woman, so hot and tight...” he gasps out, pushing in further. “You’re incredible...”
I smile, though I know he can’t see my face. He pauses as he reaches the limit of penetration and I revel in the sound of his panting breaths; his enjoyment of what I can give him. My hands fist the sheets, waiting for what he does next. He withdraws with equal care, then thrusts forward again, steady yet gentle. I relax my muscles, allowing him to find the pace he needs, his cock pumping rhythmically in and out.
“Fuck,” he growls out, locked balls deep in my depths. I feel the hot flood of his cum filling my canal, hear his grunts of satisfaction echoing in the room. The experience is mind-blowing, like nothing I’ve ever imagined, and I’m so glad to be
ushered through it by a man I know I’ve fallen helplessly, endlessly in love with.
His breathing slows, and his satisfied cock slides from my body. I’m limp and breathless as he pulls away, my mind floating in just-fucked limbo, when a slap lands across my burning butt cheeks. I yelp in surprise.
“Fucking fantastic,” Derric shouts, bounding off the king-size bed. “What a way to start the day.”
“Good morning to you too.” I snicker. “Now, how about some coffee?”
“Coming right up,” he says, snapping his fingers and whistling his way down the hall.
I roll over onto my back, spent, satisfied and luxuriating in the sleek satin sheets of Derric’s bed. This is the second night I’ve slept here, and it’s still like a dream. After our wonderful rooftop dinner, we talked about moving in together, and so we’re in the process of doing it.
I don’t need much besides my clothes and work things though. I’m going to leave all the furniture behind for Claire. I still plan to split the rent with her; there’s no need for her to be financially stretched on account of my life changes.
I feel our baby growing inside me day by day; we don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl, but my doctor says that sexual activity can actually be quite beneficial as the endorphins released during orgasm may also impart a sense of well-being for the child. Man, I’ve got endorphins coming out my ears.
I close my eyes and allow visions of the future and our life together as a family to drift pleasantly behind my eyelids. There are many things to be decided, but I’m not worried. The network launch is still four months away; plenty of time to work out the details.
My stomach rumbles, bringing me back to the present. I wonder if Derric decided to make an entire breakfast; it’s been several minutes since he left the room. I don’t even smell coffee brewing. I sit up and reach for my silk robe that’s draped on a nearby armchair to go in search of both my man-candy and a hot cup of decaf joe. I pad on bare feet out of the bedroom and down the hall leading to the living room and kitchen.