by Evie Blake
‘But who looks after you?’ Gaby asked her, wide eyed with pity.
‘I don’t need anyone to look after me,’ Valentina replied haughtily.
‘Do you do everything yourself?’ Gaby asked her. ‘Your clothes?’
Valentina couldn’t help but notice her friend looking down at her crumpled school skirt and blouse. The nuns were always telling her off for her messy uniform, a criticism she was careful never to relay to her mother, who was fiercely proud of her appearance and always left Valentina strict instructions to be neatly turned out.
‘I don’t care about how I look,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘It’s only school.’
Gaby gingerly hung her satchel on the back of a kitchen chair. The table was littered with unwashed cups and a couple of sticky plates.
‘So do you cook for yourself?’ she asked Valentina.
‘Sort of.’ Valentina sashayed over to the fridge, feeling very grown-up. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Always!’ Gaby grinned at her. ‘Hey, let’s eat everything we’re not supposed to. I’ll go to the bakery while you cook.’
Valentina limply hung over the fridge door, and stared inside. There was a jar of pesto, a block of Parmesan and a container of rigatoni. That was it. Gaby joined her by the fridge. She put her arm around her friend’s waist when she saw its paltry contents.
‘Is that it?’ she whispered in horror.
Valentina couldn’t reply. She was seeing the inside of her fridge with her friend’s eyes. She felt so ashamed of her mother.
‘Mama’s not that into food . . .’
Gaby squeezed her waist.
‘I can cook something nice for you. My mother taught me how.’
Valentina bit her lip. She loved Gaby, but sometimes she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Gaby’s mother was one of those traditional Italian mamas. Plump, doting, always feeding you. It was why, Gaby complained, she was twice the size of Valentina. Yet Valentina admired Gaby’s budding curves. She herself was still tall and narrow, with no shape at all. Her mother had never taught her to cook.
‘Okay, I’ll go to the bakery and buy us some little cakes,’ Valentina offered.
‘Get a selection, four different ones each!’ Gaby called as Valentina went out the door.
Not only did Gaby cook for her, a sumptuous meal of pesto and rigatoni, with a rich tomato sauce (where did she find the ingredients in the chaos of the kitchen cupboards?), but by the time Valentina returned with the cakes, she had also swept the floor, washed the dishes and wiped the kitchen table. Her friend’s desire to care for her filled Valentina with awe, for she knew she would not think of doing the same for her.
‘Aren’t you lonely?’ Gaby asked her as she polished off the tomato sauce, licking the spoon hungrily.
‘Never,’ Valentina said, sitting back and feeling the rare satisfaction of a full belly. ‘I like being on my own. Although I wouldn’t mind having you as my cook.’
This love of being in her own company has never gone away. So until Gina’s fateful words, Valentina had actually looked forward to Theo’s short absences. Only two, at the most three, days away. Long enough to relish her solitude and to miss him, but not too long to worry about where he is or what he is doing. The fact that he has never offered an explanation demonstrates that he believes they are above the possessiveness others can get bogged down by. They really are flatmates first, lovers second. He never asks her what she has been up to.
Valentina gets out of bed and draws back the curtains, opening the French window slightly. She is cooled by the autumnal breeze, yet even though her skin is prickling from the chill, she likes to remain naked. She closes her eyes and the wind feels like a hand stroking her, all the way from her forehead, down her cheeks and neck to her throat and chest. She feels her nipples harden as the temperature drops inside the room, and wind licks between her legs. She can hear the constant stream of traffic through Milan, the heartbeat of the city, and yet she catches what peace there is as well. She visualises random images of tranquillity: a pigeon taking flight in the cloisters of Sant’Ambrogio, a boat drifting down the Naviglio canal, an empty swing in Parco Sempione rocking in the breeze. She smells the dying leaves, imagines them spinning off the trees on Via De Amicis. She likes this time of year in Milan. The city has finally cooled after the heavy, humid summer. August can be a nightmare, forty degrees and yet skies as grey as lead. Everyone tries to get away. This year she and Theo escaped to Sardinia for three weeks. Just as hot, yet the sea breezes lifted the oppressiveness of it.
She opens her eyes and feels such a longing to be back in Sardinia, outside in nature, naked on the warm sand, smelling the salty tang of the sea washing over her. As she walks across the bedroom, she imagines wading through the balmy sea. She feels the weight of her nakedness and catches a glimpse of her bottom as she passes the mirror. Men have always admired her behind. She has to admit she is rather proud of it. After being such a skinny teenager, she was pleased when her curves finally developed. She hates to see other women ashamed of their bodies. Struggling into swimming costumes behind towels at the beach; self-conscious and eyes averted when trying on clothes in changing rooms. Can they not see how beautiful they are, in all their diversity, within their curved contours: the creamy velvet of their skin, breasts of all shapes and sizes, soft stomachs, broad hips, voluptuous thighs? The only other women she knows who are as open as she is about nudity are the models she photographs. Those stick-thin girls are past any kind of self-consciousness. Sometimes when she sees models who are obviously anorexic it makes her tense, almost angry. She is, as all her friends will tell you, one of the most non-judgemental people you will ever meet. Yet anorexia brings back ghosts for Valentina. Images of her mother she would like to forget.
By the time Theo returns to the bedroom with a tray laden with teapot, cups and saucers, Valentina is back in bed, sitting up expectantly, a pillow stuffed behind her back against the iron bedstead. This is one of the advantages of living with someone. Just by making her a pot of tea, Theo makes her feel cherished.
Her lover carefully places the tray in the middle of the bed, and climbs back into bed beside her.
‘Will you be mother?’ he asks her.
The English phrase amuses her. The last thing she could imagine her mother ever doing is pouring tea out of a teapot like a duchess.
‘Of course,’ she says, looking at Theo from under her lashes. ‘As you know, I like to be in charge sometimes.’
He grins back at her as she picks up the teapot and begins to pour tea into his cup. As she does so, Theo leans forward and cups her breasts, one in each of his hands.
‘Don’t want my property getting splashed by hot tea,’ he explains, winking at her.
She swats him off nonchalantly, yet a part of her likes this. She leans back against the pillow, nursing her hot tea between her hands, and wonders if they are the image of an old married couple, sitting side by side in bed drinking Earl Grey tea for breakfast. Well at least we’re naked, she thinks comfortingly.
‘Are you okay now?’ Theo asks her.
She nods, sipping the tea. The warm liquid comforts her, and yes, she can honestly say that her night-time fears are banished for today. Theo puts his cup of tea down on the bedside table, leans over towards her and kisses her on the neck, just under her ear. It tickles, but also sets her heart racing a little.
‘I have something to ask you,’ he whispers, his breath lifting her hair.
Involuntarily she stiffens with unease. No, not now; she doesn’t want to talk about it this morning.
‘I have to get up. I want to develop some pictures before I go on the shoot,’ she says, placing her cup back down on the tray.
‘It’s just a little question, Valentina, don’t worry.’ She looks at him, and he is smiling at her, his eyes brimming with bemusement. Is he mocking her?
‘Well, go on then,’ she commands.
‘My parents are coming to Europe,’ Theo says. ‘They are goi
ng to Amsterdam first to visit my grandparents but then they thought they would come and see me, us, here in Milan.’
‘They know about me?’
‘Of course they know about you!’ he laughs. ‘We’ve been living together for six months, Valentina. They are dying to meet you.’
She looks at him in horror. He is completely relaxed, as if this is something of small consequence. The fact that his parents are coming to Milan. That he wants her to meet them. Her mouth dries up for a minute and she is unable to speak.
‘They’re not coming until the end of November,’ he continues. ‘I know it’s ages away, but I wanted to give you fair warning.’ He hesitates, beginning to notice the expression on her face. ‘I know you’re not keen on family stuff.’
She shakes her head vehemently.
‘No, Theo, I’m sorry. I can’t meet your parents.’
‘What?’ He looks astounded. His mouth drops open in shock.
‘I told you this before. This is how I am,’ she says stiffly, pulling back the covers, straining to get out of bed. Theo catches her arm, restraining her.
‘Valentina,’ he says softly. ‘Really, it’s nothing to be worried about. They are nice people. I’ve told them so much about you. They just want to meet you.’
She whips her head around.
‘You told them all about me!’ she spits.
‘Of course I did. You’re my girlfriend.’ Theo looks wounded.
‘That’s the first I knew about it,’ she says cruelly.
Theo’s forehead creases in confusion.
‘Well what are you then, if you’re not my girlfriend? We’re living together, Valentina. We’ve already been through—’
‘Don’t say it . . . I told you not to mention it again . . .’
‘But Valentina . . .’
She holds her hand up, stops him before he starts to speak.
‘I am your lover, Theo. And that role is something very different from a girlfriend. The term “girlfriend” implies that we have some kind of vested relationship, a possible future. “Lover” is a more transitory term. It is a temporary condition.’
‘Christ, Valentina!’ Theo exclaims. ‘You are an infuriating woman.’
‘Remember, Theo,’ she says calmly, and it is a good feeling, this sensation of being in control, ‘when you moved into this apartment, I told you it was convenient. It suited us both. But I also told you that it wasn’t going to be for ever, remember?’
She listens to her voice. It is outside of herself, and she is unpleasantly reminded of her own mother speaking. Don’t let him possess you.
‘Valentina, I am not asking you to make any big commitment. It’s just my parents. I’d like you to meet them, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry, Theo,’ she says, climbing out of bed and looking down at him. ‘I don’t want to. They can stay here, but I’ll go away. You’ll have the place to yourselves. It’s much better that way.’
Theo looks her up and down in disbelief. Just his gaze causes her nipples to harden, and she can’t help noticing his reaction to her naked body in return.
‘It’s not better that way,’ he says softly, entreating her with his rich blue gaze. A part of her wants to give in, to fall back into the bed, sink into his arms and comply. Yet her terror dominates. She can’t bear the thought of meeting Theo’s parents. It brings her too close to him, too much into his world. And if that happens, how will she find her way out again when it ends, because surely one day they will tire of each other? Nothing lasts for ever. She sighs deeply and turns away from him, picks up her dressing gown from where he discarded it on the floor and puts it on, tying it tightly around her waist.
‘I can’t talk about this right now. I have to get ready. I’ve a lot to do today.’ She wanders over to the dressing table and picks up her hairbrush, pulling it listlessly through her hair. She watches Theo getting out of bed, defeat still clear in his features, and she feels guilty. It’s time to change the subject.
‘Do you want to go to Antonella’s opening tonight?’ she asks, trying to sound more upbeat. Theo pauses in the doorway of the bedroom, towel in hand.
‘Sorry, I can’t. I have to go away. I’ve another job.’
‘Again?’
The word slips out. Deadly. Valentina wishes she could snatch it back. She turns away quickly, yet she can still see his face in the mirror. His expression is impassive now.
‘Do you not want me to go away?’ he asks.
She backtracks furiously.
‘No, of course I don’t mind. It’s just a surprise. I didn’t know you were going away today . . .’ Her voice trails off and suddenly she feels foolish, exposed.
‘Would you like me to cancel?’ he asks, leaning against the doorway and looking at her with interest.
‘No, of course not,’ she snaps crossly. ‘I was just wondering where you’re going. It’s not that big a deal.’ She tries to sound indifferent, focuses on arranging her hair.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’ he asks. She can feel the heat of his gaze, although she still refuses to catch his eye.
‘No, I told you, I don’t care,’ she says harshly. ‘I was just curious, that’s all.’ She softens her voice.
Theo drops his towel and walks over to stand behind her. As he leans over her and strokes her hand, she can feel his erection pushing against her silk-clad back. She knows he is trying to entice her to turn around and touch him. Yet she resists.
‘I always thought you weren’t that interested in where I go or what I do,’ he says quietly.
‘You’re right. I don’t know why I asked you really. I like mysteries,’ she explains, trying to keep her voice light. ‘They keep things from getting boring.’
‘I see.’
He spins her around on her stool and he is smiling at her as if he knows something she doesn’t.
‘What is it?’ She pushes her finger into his belly, which is so firm it almost springs back. What art critic has a stomach like that?
‘I have a present for you,’ Theo says. ‘I believe it will stop you from being bored while I am away.’
‘Oh really?’ she says huskily, reaching towards him now. Maybe she does have time to make love before she has to go to work. She is aching to feel him inside her. The morning’s conversation has made her feel unsettled. She knows that if they make love it will calm her down. Yet just as she is about to touch him, Theo steps back and shakes his head, looking at her flirtatiously.
‘Now, now, Valentina,’ he says, walking across the room towards the wardrobe. ‘Patience.’
He opens the wardrobe and takes out a large package, placing it on the dressing table in front of her.
‘But why have you got me a present?’ she asks, and their eyes lock in the mirror. He hesitates for a minute, holding her with his gaze that seems to say so much. Words she doesn’t want to acknowledge. She casts her eyes down.
‘Because I believe it’s time for you to have this,’ he tells her.
So it’s not something she might want, or like; it’s something she should have. Why is he being so obtuse? She leans over to unwrap the package, but Theo puts his hand over hers and pushes her fist into his palm. She looks back up at his reflection in the mirror. She feels as if time has stopped as she looks into Theo’s glacial blue eyes, the only northern part of him, and for once she is inquisitive for his secrets. She sees herself reflected: tiny and naked. A little butterfly of flesh imprinted upon his iris.
‘Later,’ he says, pulling her up from the dressing-table stool. ‘Open it when I am gone.’
He kisses her, and she lets herself succumb to his touch. His hands work at the knot at her waist, and when he has undone it, he slips the dressing gown off her shoulders so it drops to the ground. His erect penis pushes against her pelvis and she is craving him, aching to feel him within her. She stands on tiptoes and wraps one leg around the back of his. He is almost breathless as he lifts her up and pushes into her.
‘Va
lentina,’ he gasps. ‘Oh my Valentina . . .’
‘Shush,’ she says, putting her finger to his lips to silence him. He carries her over to the bed. She is twisted around him, feeling his length going deeper and deeper inside her. They fall together as one on to the covers, and she squeezes him tight, urging him to push faster, harder into her. He raises himself above her, taking both her hands in one of his, and lifting them above her head. She is lost in the power of his passion. He pulls back ever so slowly, and as he suddenly rams back into her, she can’t help gasping slightly. She joins him in force, thrusting back with all her might, and they become one throbbing entity. She closes her eyes, relaxing at last. This is what she needs. Complete abandonment. She is all sensation, her body leading her, no thoughts involved. He touches her deep within, as only Theo can, and she begins to pulse around him. She has an image of ripples in water, ever increasing, ever decreasing, to the swirling whirlpool at its very centre. They climax together and she is dragged down, as if the bed itself is the bottom of the ocean drowning them. The water is black.
Afterwards, he cradles her in his arms. She knows she needs to get up, that she is going to be late for work, and yet she is paralysed, held tight within her lover’s embrace.
‘Valentina?’ he whispers into her ear.
‘Don’t talk,’ she entreats him. Don’t ruin our peace. He ignores her.
‘Valentina, please be my girlfriend.’
She doesn’t reply.
‘Valentina, I want us to be more than casual lovers. Flatmates.’
She turns to face him.
‘No, Theo. I don’t want that.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nods, and he looks so sad she almost agrees to his request. But what’s the point? She is not girlfriend material.
She tries to console him with her body. She places her hands on his chest, pushes her fingers through the twirls of hair and tugs them, before raising her fingers to her lips and licking them, pinching his nipples tight. All the while he stares at her, speechless, yet his body doesn’t respond. Eventually he takes her hands in his, and lifts them up and away from his body.