by Colet Abedi
Once I’m showered and dressed in a pair of dark black skinny jeans, ballet flats, a grey sweater and my hair in a ponytail I venture out the door.
Clayton’s home is very English. The architecture is just like the homes I’d picture when I read books that took place in eighteenth-century Europe. The kind English high society would have and throw fancy balls in. Everything is so posh and perfect. It looks like it was just photographed for a high-end magazine.
I go downstairs and explore some more until I find the kitchen. There’s an attractive woman in her sixties cooking in a white kitchen that looks like it is the domain of a world-class chef. There are two sub-zeros, six stoves, an enormous wooden island that is pristine even though she’s chopping away. It’s completely unreal.
She smiles when she spots me.
“You must be Sophie,” she says in a lovely English accent. “My name is Ariana.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply.
“Mr. Sinclair has left for the day but he wanted to make sure that you eat,” she tells me to my surprise.
Left for the day?
“What can I prepare for you?” Ariana asks.
“Did he say when he would be coming back?” I ask in a small voice.
Ariana shakes her head. “No,” she informs me. “And I never inquire.”
When she sees what I’m sure is the crestfallen look in my eyes she tries to reassure me.
“As you know, everything is chaotic right now,” she says sadly. “I’m sure he is taking care of things.” She looks down as if she is trying to contain her emotions and begins chopping again before she says, “William is sorely missed. He was a joy, a pure joy. This is a devastating blow.”
“Yes, of course,” I respond immediately. “You don’t have to make anything for me. I guess I’ll just do some sightseeing until he comes home, and I’ll grab something along the way.”
“Perfect,” she answers kindly. “But I will make you something before you go. I think you’re very brave to go out in this weather. I’d suggest indoor activities. Stay inside as much as you can. The cold can get you.”
“I was thinking along those lines,” I smile.
“So what would you like for breakfast?”
“I’ll just have some eggs and toast, thank you.”
“Where would you like to eat?” Ariana asks.
“Right here is fine,” I say.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer breakfast in the dining room?” She asks me.
“Not alone,” I reply quickly because it’s the truth.
She seems surprised at first but covers with a friendly smile.
“After your breakfast I’ll call the driver to come and get you. He’ll take you anywhere you like.”
“Oh no,” I tell her. “I don’t need a driver.”
“Mr. Sinclair insisted on it if you leave the house.”
“I promise you, I’ll be alright,” I say, touched by his kind gesture. “I’d really rather explore on my own.”
I can see that she’s unsure for a moment, but then shrugs.
“Very well, ” she says and begins to prepare my breakfast.
I feel a bit useless sitting there waiting to be served. “Can I help?” I ask.
Apparently this is a ridiculous question because Ariana waves me off like I’m joking.
I try not to be too disappointed that Clayton left without a goodbye or even a note. Or a text. I know he has to deal with his brother’s funeral and his family right now. They’re probably all together. I just wished he would have told me. At least when he’d be coming back home.
After eating Ariana’s to-die-for eggs, I quickly leave Clayton’s house, again assuring the chef, housekeeper, or whatever she’s called that I will be okay on my own.
She gives me directions to the Tube, which are easy enough to follow, and I get a map of London at a shop near the station, and am off. Then I have an epiphany. This is the first time I’ve ever been on my own. Whenever I’ve traveled in the past it was always with Erik or my parents.
I’ve never ever explored a city completely by myself. Many of the self-help books I’ve read over the years have always encouraged having a “date” with yourself, so to speak, and for some reason I’ve never actually done it.
I reach into my bag to text Erik this revelation and realize I left my phone at Clayton’s house.
Do I need it? Maybe.
But why not have a full day of liberation?
Just completely me, with a map of a city I’ve been dying to see. Clayton is either with his family or working and I’ll be there for him when he gets home. It’s actually liberating and it makes me feel so excited.
I decide my first stop is going to be the British Museum.
And when I arrive, I know it was the right decision because even the building that houses all its art wonders is awe-inspiring.
I explore the marvels of ancient Egypt, the Renaissance era, Greek, Iranian, and Indian art. I’m lost in the different cultures, in the different forms of beauty that have excited me over the years and do so even more now, when I’m faced with the actual pieces. Hours go by and I lose track of time and even forget to have lunch.
My growling stomach is my only reminder.
So from there I manage to find my way to the Wolseley to have high tea. It’s a beautiful location and I understand why so many people love to have the experience. And the fact that it’s the holiday season only adds to the appeal.
Christmas time in London is really magical. The entire city is decked out with decorations that only make it more special. I do a quick mental countdown and realize it’s less than a week away. I figure I’ll use this time to buy gifts for my family and friends.
And for Clayton. It has to be something beyond special and I’ll know it when I see it.
I enjoy the scones and small bites and people-watching and I truly feel like a tourist looking in on a life I’ve only read about.
I’m fully immersed in Clayton’s world. This is how he grew up. He was raised in this city, and this is my way to learn more about him, his culture, without having to ask, or beg as is usually the case, for information. I walk down Piccadilly Circus and do the tourist thing and buy a few souvenirs and find some fun Christmas presents. I hardly notice the cold because I’m enjoying myself so much. I walk past Buckingham Palace . It is spectacular and regal and I stop to stare at the changing of the guards. I find the engraved markers on the ground they have for Princess Diana and can’t help but think about what love did to her.
Positive thoughts, Sophie. Only positive vibes!
I stroll around some more and pass many tourist sights that I want to linger in but I know I’ll go back at my leisure.
I find Harrods and walk inside the giant store in shock. It’s so busy and posh, and is literally Erik’s wet dream. I buy him and Orie a small Christmas teddy bears with the logo on it, which is beyond touristy but I know they’ll get a kick out of it. And then I find myself parked at a cute café enjoying a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, staring out the window at the busy city. Suddenly I feel the way Carrie did in Sex in the City when she went to France with the Russian and was left wandering around alone. Not that I’m as glamorous or well dressed but I feel just as lonely.
My thoughts drift to Clayton, to his family, and then I think about my own parents. I miss them and will call when I get back to the house. I realize how badly I need to hear my dad’s voice. He always makes me feel secure even when I’m doing something that pisses him off. It’s something I never take for granted.
Time flies and before I know it, it’s dark out.. I know the sun goes down early in the winter so I don’t think it’s that late. I’m a little bummed that I wasn’t able to find a Christmas present for Clayton but that means I’ll just have to return. I make my way to the Tube station and it takes me a good thirty minutes to figure out how to get back to Clayton’s house. Sense of direction has never been my t
hing. A half hour later I arrive in Hampstead.
I step outside and the cold air hits me hard, and I dread the walk to his house.
But I’m saved.
Or in trouble.
I don’t know which.
“Sophie!” Clayton’s voice bites harder than the cold.
I turn around, bags in hand, arms crossed over my chest from the frosty air, a cold-hot mess of disaster, and find Clayton striding toward me. The black Range Rover is parked across the street. Sergei stands beside it.
Clayton has on a long black wool coat and his gorgeous face looks like it’s carved out of stone.
“Hi,” I say with a tentative smile as he reaches me, even though I have a good idea that I’m in trouble for something.
“Hi?” he practically snarls at me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He closes his eyes for a second.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you know what time it is?”
“Five or six?” I say, unsure. I don’t have a watch or my phone and it’s the first time in my life I never bothered to stop and ask someone.
“It’s seven o’clock at night!” he grits out. “I called you a thousand times!”
Shit. Time certainly did fly by.
“I left my phone at your house,” I rush out. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t think to call me to check in?” he goes on, clearly livid.
“I don’t have your number memorized,” I explain.
He towers over me.
“Why didn’t you take the driver like I wanted you to?”
“You didn’t tell me,” I inform him.
“Yes—”
“No,” I interrupt and watch his eyes flare. “You told Ariana. Actually, you had a conversation with her, but left me without a word.”
He doesn’t look too happy about me pointing this out.
“Did you forget what you told me last night?” he asks softly.
Right. My willingness to let him navigate the waters of this time without a peep from me. Of course he has to bring that up now.
“No,” I shake my head, but I don’t back down. “But the rules should go both ways, right? Seems only fair.”
I watch in fascination as the muscles in his jaw twitch. Not once, but twice. I hope I’m not giving him some sort of affliction or something.
“Now, are you going to help me with my stuff or do you expect me to stand here and argue in the freezing cold?”
His bright gaze widens in shock then his manners kick in and he steps forward and takes the shopping bags from me.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t answer. He’s still pissed. I follow him to the car in silence, where we sit next to each other in stony silence. You can cut the air with a knife it feels so suffocating. And I’m exhausted from my long day in town, though I feel energized by all that I saw and experienced on my own.
We get to Clayton’s house quickly, and Sergei pulls into the up in front of the house.
I move to open the car door but Clayton’s viselike grip on my arm stops me in my tracks.
I look at him in alarm, but the look he gives silences me as Sergei quietly exits the car and shuts the door. Clayton watches him make his way inside before he turns to look at me and unleash hell.
“Never behave like that again!” he roars.
My ears ring.
“Do you hear me?” Clayton goes on.
“I think your neighbors can hear you,” I say with growing anger. I face him head on. Confidently. “And I don’t think I like your tone.”
He’s shocked. Totally. Completely. Shocked.
“This isn’t medieval England,” I go on. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or how to behave. I decide on my own.”
He closes his eyes.
I know it’s to gain control. He probably wants to strangle me, control freak that he is.
“You don’t get to make the rules, Sophie,” he says in a voice that is so dangerously soft, my guard goes up. “I do. Remember?”
I swallow audibly and reach for the door handle.
“You’re clearly in a mood and I don’t want to have this conver—”
He hits a button on the side panel and the doors lock.
Oh shit.
I press the buttons on my panel and try to open the door.
“I control all things,” Clayton strong voice rings through the car.
I start to panic. I remember the last time I experienced a Clayton Sinclair type of sexual torture-punishment-agony and it was hell. Pure hell. I have a feeling this is what he has in store for me now.
“Let me out,” I say.
16
“Not yet,” Clayton tells me.
“Remind me why you came here,” he says.
“To be here for you,” I say, my cheeks reddening.
“And by that you mean gallivanting around London all day?”
“That’s not fair,” I inhale sharply.
“Really?” he says harshly. “I came home for lunch to experience some of that comfort and peace you offered yesterday and instead of finding you waiting for me, you were gone. Without a trace or a note.”
His words sting and I feel an immense sense of guilt.
“Instead of comfort, Sophie,” he goes on in a cold voice, “I was overcome with worry. With a feeling of helplessness. Wondering if I would get another call like the one I received about William.”
“I’m so so sorry!” I interrupt him in a whisper.
I didn’t even think about that side of it.
“Sorry doesn’t take away how I felt while I pictured every horrible thing that could possibly befall you in town,” Clayton replies angrily.
“I didn’t know when you’d be getting home. I thought you’d be gone all day,” I plead with him. “Please understand,”
He turns to me with lightning speed and takes hold of my jaw and I stare into his beautiful, tormented face.
He looks intense. A fire rages inside him. An angry inferno that I’m not so sure he can control.
“You know what I don’t understand?” he finally says.
“No,” I whisper.
“I don’t understand why—” he leans in to whisper furiously against my lips.
“Why I can’t—”
My heart pounds.
“Let. You. Go.”
He closes his eyes. “I want to push you away,” he goes on in an anguished voice. “I wish I could push you away.”
I don’t dare utter a word.
“I was supposed to be with my family today,” Clayton rages, “and I left them to spend time with you. I spent all day obsessing about you. All I wanted was to be with you.”
I know he’s furious with himself. This gorgeous man is angry that he finally needs something.
And that something is me.
It’s an unbelievable idea to wrap my head around.
“I should be thinking about William and instead—” His breath hitches “All I think about—”
His thumb moves over my lips.
“All I want—”
I wait.
“All I need is—”
I hold my breath.
He’s so close he puts his hand on the passenger side window behind me.
And then the car alarm goes off.
We jump away from each other.
Sergie appears within seconds. I don’t know where he came from. Once he takes in the scene and knows that everything is okay he pulls out a key and clicks the alarm in the direction of the vehicle.
The moment is over.
Clayton opens the car door. “Let’s go inside,
And just like that the intensity has evaporated along with whatever Clayton was going to tell me.
The next two days go by in a blur. The routine that develops begins to irritate me no end. I see Clayton around seven o’clock. We have dinner together. Th
e conversation is stilted and is usually about what museums I went to during the day (with a driver of course, because he insists). He makes love to me all night, then leaves again the next day to be with his family or go to work, I don’t know which because he doesn’t share this piece of information with me.
When I ask him how his day was or if he needs anything, he’s distant and gives curt responses. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but I since I don’t want to give up on him, on us, I should say, I try to bite my tongue and take it easy. To let things just flow and be.
I have been here for three days and the funeral is tomorrow. and I know Abby is back in town from Paris since she texted me. But today Clayton’s told me he will be spending the entire day with his mother. Even though I’m dying to call Abby and see if she would like to have lunch with me, I choose to stay home in case he comes back and needs me, especially before the funeral. In fact, since the day I had a date with myself, I’ve pretty much stayed in for most of the time, only doing a little sightseeing and Christmas shopping in the morning, hoping that Clayton would come looking for me like he did the first time I went out. But as my luck goes, he’s stayed away. Not shocking, right?
The only adventure I had was yesterday, when I asked the driver, whose name is Paul to take me out to a store where I could buy art supplies, determined to busy myself with sketching and painting. Anything to keep my mind busy and not obsessing about Clayton and my unknown future as an artist, which I realized I haven’t even thought about at all.
Clearly my career is not a priority in my life right now.
I called my parents a few times and lied about my whereabouts. They still think I’m in France for the wedding and will be home next week before Christmas. I figure it’s better this way so they don’t freak out and come after me. I’m relieved neither my mom nor my dad is on social media because if they were they’d see Erik and Orie’s excellent adventure. Sans Sophie.
The two post on Instagram all day long, and from the look of things they’re having the time of their lives. In love. Laughing. Happy. I gather that the whole Georgie flirting thing is completely in the past. I’m so relieved by this. I don’t know if I could handle another crazy relationship in my life right now. And with Erik I know it would be beyond.