by Nancy Loyan
“But here in the Seychelles it’s usually welcoming and peaceful. Like tonight.”
“I can’t remember having had such a perfect day and the evening is yet young,” Daemon said, setting down his own glass of wine.
“You’re ruining me. I came home to settle and plan my future, not to vacation like a European tourist.”
“Everyone deserves a vacation. You deserve one more than most after experiencing 9-11.”
“It’s been years and I should file that bad memory away already. I have traveled, trying to vacation away the trauma. I try, yet I fear that day will be forever etched in my mind.” She gazed out into the endless ocean, one-thousand-miles away from any continent.
Daemon lifted his glass and drank some wine before speaking. He joined her in looking out over the ocean where it met the horizon. “I can relate to what you’re going through. Been there, done that myself.”
She turned to face him. “Did you witness 9-11?”
“No, only on the news. Other than Afghanistan, I haven’t witnessed any catastrophes, just been the victim of the aftermath.”
“How so?” Now her curiosity had been piqued. As their eyes met, Victoria could see pain in his hazel depths. Something in his past had caused him heartbreak and pain and he needed to reveal it. Revelation was a form of consolation.
He swallowed hard. “My parents were at the Eden Resort in Phuket, Thailand, on the West Coast in Patong Beach, when the great tsunami devastated Malaysia.”
“They were?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“The beachfront resort was decimated.” He hung his head in his hands. “My mother never had a chance.”
“She drowned?”
He nodded. “My father was in a series of business meetings at a resort on the other coast while my mom stayed behind to relax on the beach. She liked to sit on the
beach, reading while the ocean provided natural background music.”
She stood and moved behind him, placing her hands on his quaking shoulders, massaging away the tension that had taken hold.
He glanced up at her. “When I’m alone, I grieve for her a little every day. The pain lessens yet remains. I fear it will always remain.”
“I’ve begun to believe that there‘s a reason for such pain. It’s a testament to the love we have for those we lost and one way to retain their memory. It’s a way for them to remain a part of us forever,” she said.
He reached up to squeeze her hand. “Thank you for understanding. Without my mother, I sometimes feel like a raft adrift in the middle of the turbulent ocean.”
“I know, but, somehow, the raft doesn’t sink but floats to a new shore.”
He reached up and drew her on to his lap. His arms encircled her, cocooning her in his touch and spicy scent. Victoria had never felt so comfortable with anyone in her life. She realized that she was the one who had been adrift. Always seeking something and not being able to find it. Until now. Daemon was her safe harbor.
That evening, Daemon held her hand as he steered her toward her room. But instead of stopping at her door as Victoria had expected, he led her toward his suite.
Victoria trembled. This was crazy, yet her body pulsed at the thought of him touching her, kissing her, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy and back. She wanted to feel his lips on her body, experience his fingers caressing her flesh and have him thrust himself deep within, losing himself in her. She hadn’t been lost in a man for so long, she tingled with anticipation.
Before she could say anything, he was holding her, kissing her, leading her inside his dimly lit bedroom. The scent of orchids filled the humid air, an overhead fan’s cool breezes brushing her skin, the sound of waves against the shore outside lulling her senses.
She kissed him back, answering the ebb and flow of his touch and taste. Molding herself against him, she wrapped a leg about him, pressing intimately against him.
Daemon fingered the buttons on her sundress, peeling off the thin cotton fabric. She helped him remove it and the filmy bra underneath. Free, she leaned into him and he lowered his head to tongue and nibble at her dark nipples until she groaned. In turn, she slid her fingers into his silk shirt, pulling it off, fingering the sandy curls on his taut chest, tracing the outline of his scar. She was shaking. He removed his slacks and his member grew thick as he gazed at her tiny thong. Licking her lips, she eyed his naked perfection and squirmed at the thought of him buried deep within her.
He backed her against the bed. Yanking back the covers, he eased her back onto the sheets. His lithe frame leaned over her. Starting at the tip of her nose, he trailed a line of kisses down to the pulse points of her neck, to each breast and lower to her stomach, thighs, down to the tips of her toes. Then, he kissed her fully on the mouth as his flesh brushed her, the hairs tingling her nipples. She shuddered beneath him.
Resting on his arms, he gazed down at her and whispered, ”I want you, Victoria.”
Blinded with desire for him, Victoria reached down gently to grasp him in her trembling fingers. Spreading her legs, she arched to his welcoming heat, merging as one with him. As he filled her, she raised her hips, urging him deeper … deeper. In turn, he moved tenderly into her as they united in a rhythm of sensation, riding each wave.
She wrapped her legs around him, wanting him, needing him … until she pulsed with electric shocks of pleasure radiating down to her toes, convulsing under his spell, clawing at his back with her fingers. He pushed once more, forceful, before shuddering with a loud groan. Spent, he lay on top of her, still. She lay quiet beneath him, savoring the fullness of him until it subsided.
He leaned, up on his elbows. She wiped a damp strand of hair from his forehead. Kissing her, he rolled over and grasped her hand tenderly in his. He never wanted anything … anyone so desperately in his life.
She trembled at his touch as confusion wracked her brain. She assured herself that this could be nothing more than a sexual fling, yet it felt like more … much more.
“I would never do anything to hurt you, Victoria. You have to trust me.”
She snapped her eyes shut at the word, “trust” and swallowed hard. Trust?
The realization that they hadn’t used protection hit her like a bucket of iced water. She sat up, withdrawing her hand from his. She rubbed her hand but couldn’t rub away his touch and the reality of what happened between them. She had let lust overcome common sense. Had she returned to the Islands only to become a promiscuous island woman? The very type of person she had had avoided becoming her entire life? An island woman who could very well find herself unwed and pregnant? The thought of it made her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. Dark memories filtered through her mind like a grainy black and white film. No longer a teen, she thought she had learned to avoid risk in her personal life.
Noting her change in her expression, Daemon whispered, “I want you to know that this is more than an island fling … much more.”
She opened her eyes, meeting his soft, sincere gaze.
“I’m sorry things happened so fast … I wasn’t prepared,” he added. “I want you to know that I’ve bedded only a few women in my life and this is the first time I ever did so unprotected.”
She eased herself up against the headboard.
“This is the first time I’ve ever acted so irrationally,” he added, sitting up, drawing the sheet up to his waist.
She wanted to believe him but had heard the words before from another’s lips at another place and time. Even if said sincerely, they were mere words. Her head began to ache. “Please, let’s stop all the guilt talk. It’s too late. What happened, happened.”
“Victoria,” he said in a mellow tone that lent her pause and she met his steady gaze. “We’re cut out of the same mold. We think alike, want the same things out of life, and fit together like pieces in a puzzle. I’m also madly in love with you.”
His sentiment took both her words and breath away. Love. She hadn’t expected to meet a man who would turn her ideas an
d her world upside down. Daemon had done just that.
For the first time in her life she had bonded with someone through heart and soul, mind and body. Together they were a formidable team. As much as she tried to deny it, she knew that she could fall in love with him. Love was something that just happened. Happened when she least expected it. She didn’t want to be in love. I’m not in love. Love would only lead to cruel heartache.
“Please, don’t speak of love,” she said, avoiding the hopeful sparkle in his eyes.
“Why not? I love you.”
She drew a deep breath and turned away. “Please, Daemon, don’t. Don’t. You don’t have to proclaim your love just because we had sex.”
He reached out and touched her arm. The tingle in his touch was disconcerting. “I’d love you even if we never had sex. You mean more to me than good lay. You should know that by now.”
She didn’t want to know. “Just let it go. Don’t complicate things by speaking of love. Please.”
Hadn’t she learned enough of love and heartache in her life? From her first teenage crush to her first lover and to the Ryan O’Neil lookalike in college with whom she thought she’d create her own Love Story, love never lasted. Love even burned into the ashes of the Twin Towers. Love withered away and died. The love she shared with Daemon would die as well. Once he learned of her secrets, she knew the sparkle in his eyes would dim and the chemistry that held them together would sour.
She couldn’t deny her secrets and live a lie. She had returned home to the Seychelles to reconcile with her past as well as to plan her future. Whether or not that future included Daemon Wells would be left for him to decide. If true unconditional love existed between them, this would be the ultimate test. Victoria knew she would have to live with the outcome.
Chapter 9
Victoria had been back in the Seychelles for over two months and had yet to resolve several issues. Though she selected the plat of land on to which to build her home, she had yet to begin the process of applying for an application to build. Her acquisition of island land had come to a standstill and development plans for that land were not made as well. Instead, she made excuses. Just as she had made excuses for not confronting an important part of her past, one of her main reasons for returning home to the Islands.
Swallowing hard, she opened the door and slipped out of the fabric seat of her Volvo. Standing, she surveyed the dirt path by which she parked. She shielded the sun from her eyes with her hand, looking for local landmarks that would help with finding her destination. The administrator at the government office had been reluctant to grant her request and only some fast-talking and name-dropping revealed the pertinent information. As she gazed up the path at a far row of buildings she wondered if the information was correct. Coming this far, she’d soon find out.
She walked up the path, trying to smooth the wrinkles from her cotton sundress. The first structure she encountered was a church. Constructed of island granite and concrete, it was small by European standards. Except for the glittering arched stained glass windows, it was simpler as well. She walked up the few concrete steps and entered the sanctuary, dipping her hand in holy water and making a sign of the cross and said a silent prayer for courage with the hope that she was doing the right thing. What she was about to do would, after all, impact others as much as herself.
After leaving the church, she proceeded up the path toward homes nestled amidst lacy ferns and towering palms. A breadfruit tree, heaving with green fruit, shaded one yard and the two-story block and timber frame home behind it revealed, with a Kreol sign, her destination.
She drew a deep breath, trying to quell the nerves that rattled her. As the reality of where she was and what she was about to do sunk in, she fought the urge to forget the whole idea and flee.
Hesitating, she approached the wide front porch of the home. Children, aged five to fifteen, sat at tables reading, writing and computing. All were quietly immersed in their studies. Only a couple looked up at her. She gazed lovingly into their caramel faces for some recognition.
A woman greeted her from the doorway. Her round dark face wore a cheery smile and her manner radiated a motherly warmth.
“I’m Jovanna Payette,” the woman introduced. “I was expecting you. Come, join me in the kitchen for some tea.” The woman led her into the wide entrance hall of the home.
Shiny wood floors were sprinkled with woven area rugs. Fans rotated overhead. Furnishings were of simple wood mingled with some upholstered pieces. The kitchen had plain painted wood cabinets and ample laminate counters. Charming little ground doves sat pecking at crumbs near an open window. Victoria was directed to a caned chair at a wood table.
As Jovanna prepared tea at the stove, she glanced over at Victoria. Victoria knew she was being scrutinized for character and motivation.
“You keep a very clean and organized home,” Victoria commented. The scent of lemon wax still lingered in the humid air.
“I try. With ten children it isn’t easy but I manage.” Jovanna brought two steaming mugs of island grown vanilla tea to the table.
Handing a mug to Victoria, she sat across from her.
“I find it commendable that you would come here. So much time has lapsed. Most women would have put the memory aside and continued on with life,” Jovanna said, meeting her gaze.
“I … I tried but some things one cannot forget.” She took the mug, tea sloshing over the rim.
“Fifteen years have passed. I don’t know what you expect or hope to achieve?”
“I just want to know what happened to him. As I’ve grown older and experienced life, I’ve felt the void, the part of myself I left behind. In coming home to the Islands, the urge to see him has grown so strong I can’t hold it back much longer.” She took a sip of tea, wishing it were something stronger to calm her nerves.
“It is for yourself you’ve come here, not so much for the boy, yes?”
Victoria shook her head. “It’s not out of guilt, if that’s what you think.”
“You must understand. From the time of the boy’s birth, he has lived in orphanages. This life is all he has ever known. Now, you return from abroad, after years of abandonment, and want to re-enter his life. You are no more than a stranger.”
“Whose blood flows in his veins.”
“A mother is more than blood, Miss Montcherry. A mother sacrifices, she does not run away.”
The words ripped into her, the truth difficult to confront. “I was too young. I am older and wiser now.”
“Older, yes. Wiser? I am not so sure.” Jovanna set down her mug and clasped her hands on the table-top. “So, what is it you want? To see the boy and be on your way? To become a part of his life? What?”
“I was hoping to become a part of his life, to perhaps be the mother he deserves. That is, if he wants me.”
Jovanna’s thick lips formed a thin line. “This boy is fifteen years old. He is not an infant to raise and mold into any fashion you see fit. To him, you are a stranger. I’m not saying bonding isn’t possible, but it will be difficult at this stage in life.”
Victoria swallowed hard. Just sitting at a kitchen table with this woman made her wonder if she had made the right decision on coming. Memories of the past flooded into her mind. Awash were images of her at eighteen, pregnant and alone with a near stranger’s child. She had an island fling with the son of a wealthy tourist, a guest at the resort where her mother worked. She had naively mistaken raging hormones for love. Love that she thought would transport her off the island and into a country club lifestyle in the United States. She thought the boy was her escape. Instead, he left with his family with little concern for her well-being. He never wrote nor called. Vanished as he had come, oceans and worlds apart.
Telling her mother had been almost as difficult as the realization that the boy was out of her life forever. Though disappointed, her mother accepted the circumstances. Single motherhood was more common than not on the Islands. Victoria, though, did not
want to become a mother. She hid her pregnancy from friends and her mother kept the secret as well. When the baby arrived little less than a month early, he weighed only four pounds. After, Victoria looked so normal no one would have suspected a pregnancy.
Immediately after birth, the baby was handed over to the National Council for Children, who placed him in an orphanage. On the Islands, the government-supported orphanages were operated like private homes with a “house mother” and “siblings.” Jovanna was that “mother.” Victoria never saw the baby.
After physically recovering, she left the Seychelles and memories of the baby boy in pursuit of a college education. The scholarship she had secured took her to the United States and, later, around the world. She had found her escape, having taken the circuitous route.
She blinked back tears of the memory. The quest for education and freedom from the limits of an island had taken precedence over motherhood and a baby. Yes, she had been young and selfish. She knew she couldn’t go back in time to relive one’s life. Each life is comprised of many paths with forks in the road and she chose a separate path from that of her son. Her son. Acknowledging the fact that she had a son caused shivers to radiate up and down her spine. She had to rub her arms for warmth.
Jovanna was staring at her with a mix of sympathy and angst. Victoria was certain the woman viewed her with dismay at having thrown away a baby like yesterday’s trash.
Trash you forget. The memory of giving birth lives within forever.
“Where is my son? Is he on the porch with the other children?” Victoria asked, the sadness of not even knowing what the boy looked like making her tingle more.
“Your son is away competing in a football tournament. I made sure to set our appointment when he was gone so we could chat in private.” Jovanna finished her tea.
“Tell me about him.” Victoria pleaded with her eyes.
Jovanna rose and went over to a bookcase where she retrieved a framed photograph. In silence she handed the picture to Victoria. Victoria stared at the full-length photograph of a boy, soon to be a man. He was tall and thin yet muscular as revealed in his soccer uniform of shorts and polo shirt. The yellow shirt accented the blonde in his sandy hair and the olive in his skin. His eyes startled her. They were as deep and dark as her own, rimmed with the same long, dark lashes. His face was angular like a male model’s and he was equally as handsome. From his pose with the ball, he appeared self-confident and assured. He looked as Anglo and white as his father.