by Bloom, Anna
“Thank you.” I squeeze her tight. “Right, back to the battle.”
“Faith, we don’t have to.” I meet Eli’s blues.
“Sure I do. I’m fighting, remember?”
Taking a deep breath, I walk back to the conservatory. Those two battle-axes will not defeat me.
On Monday I’m working out how to get further than three steps from the en-suite without heaving when my phone rings.
I know who it is before I even look at it.
Angela… bugger, shit.
“Hi. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sweat prickles along my skin. I’m going to be sick again. How is that even possible when I’ve had nothing more than one sip of water?
“Faith, jeez you sound awful.”
“Just a bug, God it’s hideous.” I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
“I do not want to catch that, ugh.”
“I’ll be fine, can we push back an hour?”
“Your bug is going to miraculously get better in an hour?” She sounds sceptical and honestly, I don’t blame her.
“I live in hope.”
“Well, listen, I was calling to say don’t worry about the co-star interviews. I think you’ll be better by yourself and I don’t want to put you under pressure.”
“You mean I don’t play nice?”
“Well we know that, but I think you have enough draw not to need someone to bounce off. How are you anyway? Have you made anything?”
“I’m thinking over some ideas.”
“Uh, huh. And the wedding plans?”
I groan and wipe at my sticky forehead. “Don’t ask. We went yesterday but we ended up disagreeing on everything and Eli stormed out.”
“Isn’t storming out your thing?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said on the drive home.”
She chuckles a little. “Right, got to go, I’ve got balls to break. One of the interns is slacking and I’ve got to give him the heave-ho.”
“Yikes, don’t you give second chances?”
“No.”
I cringe internally. Angela is a nice woman, and I get on well with her, but her point is clear. This is the only chance I’ll get like this.
Now I just need to remind myself that I give a shit about it.
“Any news of Brighton?” she asks, her tone light.
“Not really, it’s still ongoing. Are you worried?”
“No! Headlines are headlines, darling, and when you’re a cynical old bitch like me you’ll understand. But I want you protected.”
Tears sting along my lashes. Another person who wants to protect me from a past that has already happened.
“I can only be honest, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re worried I’m not?” Her hesitation hangs between us, vibrating loudly in the silence.
“I don’t believe you would lie. But I think this is going to be harder than you think. Do you know anything about the prosecution procedures? Has Elijah explained anything to you?”
“He’s tried.”
“Let him try again. If you want a victory, Faith, and I want that so bad for you, then you have to know what will happen. Especially if the show is live before the trial takes place.”
“Shall we meet later this week?” I ask weakly.
“No can do, I’m in France on business. I’ll schedule with Laura. By the way, where did you get her from, she’s fabulous?”
“Hmm.” I’m exhausted, the conversation has eradicated what little energy I had. “See you next week.”
“Take care, feel better, and think about what I said. Your victory may come at a cost. What are you willing to pay?”
I hang up the call, her words running around my head. Victory. What is a victory? What does the ink I etched onto Eli’s skin even mean? What is a victory if you lose everything else in the process? Melanie Duncan lost her life. She would rather have died than heard the things people would say about her.
My hand slides onto my stomach. Victory at what price? I brush at stray tears with my free hand, unwilling to move my palm from the space above where my little surprise miracle is busy growing deep inside me.
I have to fight for the heart inside me, I have to beat as strong as it does.
Rolling over, my hand still in place, I curl into a ball and allow my exhaustion to wash me away.
I curl on the floor, my body shaking. Tears are running free, soaking onto the pale pink carpet. I’d loved to twirl over the carpet when it was first laid, 'pink for a princess' Dad had said, his face smiling, his eyes bright. He’d hugged me, squeezed me tight. “Always me and you, Faith, we don’t need anyone else.”
Now those days are gone, and the princess has been destroyed in ash.
I heave, begging my body to get up, to find a will to face what’s going on. But I can’t. He’s right, my body only does what I truly want. Deep down, the desires within me run uncontrolled. I need to be shown how to understand my body. I need to understand why it behaves the way it does.
It’s me. I’m sick and broken. Twisted and destroyed.
No girl should be like me. A demon not a princess.
There will be no prince to rescue me from a tower. Instead I shall languish in the cells of hell for all eternity.
But still my body betrays me, planting the devil deep within me.
Nothing can save me. Nothing.
I want to claw it out, stab me through until I bleed it all out on the floor.
It’s me. I’m wrong. Sick and broken. Twisted and destroyed.
I clutch at my stomach, willing the devil inside to leave me free. I pull at the bottle of vodka and twist at the cap, then with my knees in the carpet and my body shaking I drink, and I drink again until my screams are lost in vile vomit and dark shadows.
“Faith! Jesus, Faith, wake up!”
The room is almost dark, just a bedside lamp softly illuminating our large bedroom. Eli in just his suit trousers and a blue shirt rolled at the sleeves leans over me. “Eli?” My throat is raw, maybe I am sick after all. But the echo of my screams is ringing in my ears and I know the damage has been self-inflicted.
“Sunshine, it was just a dream, you are safe.”
“I’m sorry. I must have been asleep all day.”
His face is pensive, the blues dark. “You’re dreaming again.” It’s not a question.
“Silly.” I sit up, my heart still pounding and push at my hair. “Just silly dreams.”
“Faith,” he whispers my name like it hurts him to say it. “Faith, talk to me.”
My head shakes slowly from side to side. “It’s just the echoes of the past, Eli.” I slide my hands around his neck, sinking into his scent, breathing him in deep into my lungs.
“Please talk to me.” I can’t ignore the agony etched into his features. It eats through my soul.
“I was dreaming of when I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. When I knew the truth of the situation for what it was, but the deep conditioning that had been whispered into my ear refused to let me go.”
Eli holds my gaze, his palm cupping my face. “What did you do?”
“I drank a bottle of vodka. I took pills. It was a place I would never wish on anyone.” I want to tell him more. I want to tell him everything from that awful night, but I can’t. I don’t want him to never look at me the same.
I watch, my breath suspended as a tear slides down his face. “Don’t cry for me. Look at me now.”
“I’d take it all if I could. Every pain you’ve ever experienced, I would take it on myself.” Reaching up, I brush my lips against his.
“I know. But you don’t need to.”
“What did you mean about the deep conditioning?” He pulls me back, settling his back against the headboard and tucking me into his chest, his arms an iron tight hold.
“I realised that all the things he’d said, all the things they’d made me believe weren’t real.” I gulp in a lungful of air. “He told me that my body reacted to his because I
wanted it, but I didn’t. I know I didn’t, but he used to whisper that if I told anyone all they would see was the fact I was a wanton slut who would fuck anybody.”
Eli doesn’t say a word.
“So, for a long time…” I shudder my breath with my words. “That’s what I did. I took control and I decided who I would sleep with. I chose who and I kept the power. If I was going to be a wanton slut, I sure as hell wanted to make sure it was on my own terms.”
“Until?”
“Until you.” I can’t look at him. “You made me stop. You took the control I so desperately clung to and you made it your own.”
He lowers his head so we are nose to nose. “Always talk to me, Faith. Promise me. Every dream, every nightmare, share them with me so I can take their weight.”
“I will.” I snuggle back down into his arms and let him hold me back into sleep. Some nightmares can’t be shared, though. Not if their memories chase you through your waking hours.
Nineteen
It’s a call I don’t want to make but my conversation from the other night with Eli keeps running through my head on a constant loop. I want to shut it down. Tomorrow I have to meet Fitzpatrick, the lawyer Eli has hired to see me through the case, if and when it comes to court.
Today I have to cleanse my soul.
I’m dodging calls from the rest of the world. Gerard is calling every hour, probably wanting to know where the hell I am and why I’m not going to class.
The phone rings three times, and with every shrill tone my stomach lurches and it has nothing to do with the baby in residence.
“Faith?” Even hearing his voice makes my skin chill, tingling with apprehension.
“Hi, Dad.”
“You’re the last person I expected to hear from.” He snorts and from the other end of the line I hear the clip of a lighter.
“Yeah, well, you’re the last person I want to speak to, so I guess we are all square.”
“What do you want, Faith? I think you’ve ruined my life enough.”
Fuck me. If I could reach down the phone and throttle the bastard I would. “Because Al left half his shop to me?”
“You were always his favourite. I should have known he’d screw me over.”
“He screwed you over because you’re an arsehole,” I snap.
There’s a pause that you’d be able to hear a mouse fart in. “What do you want, Faith?”
He sounds tired, the man who once used to squeeze his princess so tight her ribs ached. “I wanted to talk to you about Aiden.”
“What do you want to say?”
I grip my phone tighter, my fingers cramping with the force. “I don’t want to say anything. I want to ask. Why didn’t you believe me? I came to you a wreck, broken. I wouldn’t have even been able to walk up the path to the house that day if Dan hadn’t borne my weight. But you didn’t believe me, no matter how hurt I was.”
“Faith, I knew the rumours about you, but I wanted to ignore them. I heard what people were saying, that you were wild, dangerous. Someone told me once they expected to find you washed up with the tide. So when you said what he’d done to you, I didn’t know what was truth and what was just who you were.”
Just who you were.
You fucking arsehole.
“So you decided to believe others instead of me. I was only like that because of what he did. He dragged me so low I didn’t think I’d ever get back up.”
“But you have, Faithy, haven’t you? Look at you, marrying into the aristocracy. While your old man is skint and being chased by creditors left right and centre. What sort of a daughter are you?”
“What sort of father are you that you’d never believe your only daughter?”
“Yeah, well, I can’t help it if you’re like your mum; she shagged about, too.”
A rising stream of vomit threatens to force its way out of my mouth. I swallow hard. “You never talk about her.”
“Because there is nothing worth talking about.”
“Nice. Maybe you could tell me who she was, where she went?”
“What’s the point, Faith? She didn’t want you, she left.”
“With you, who couldn’t protect me.”
“You tell yourself that. Give me ten grand and I’ll maybe remember something.”
My stomach roils and it takes everything I have to bring it under control. “I hate you.” This doesn’t cover half of what I feel, but it’s a start.
“Yeah? Tell me something new.”
This conversation is getting me nowhere. It’s not helping me find out anything. Not helping me fight.
I hang up without so much as a goodbye. I need to make sure that man can never come near my husband or my child.
It’s with that in mind, I send Eli a message.
We need to talk about a pre-nup. Not for me, but to protect you and our kidney bean.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them from the darkness that has eaten away at my life.
Feeling lighter than I have for a while, I climb the stairs to the attic. All my papers and sketches are there and from under a sketch pad I pull out the swift drawing Eli did of my House of Glass Flowers in France. I’d do anything to be back there now. Just me and him, and the sun on our faces and our bodies stretched on white sheets.
I pull one of Eli’s untouched easels over towards the desk. I don’t want to play with glass or ceramics. Instead I flip through palettes of colours until I find the brightest yellows and the deepest blues. Using my fingertips, I dab them on the canvas, building up the density with the tiniest of dots. Every so often I rub my belly covering my T-shirt in paint. The small swell I thought I could sense the other day is still there. Tiny and smooth. No one else can see it but I know it’s there. For hours I stand and dab paint, light and gentle like the kiss of the sun on skin, the lightest of dancing touches.
I jump in surprise when the door opens and blue eyes stare at me through the opening. “Miss Beesley said you’d been up here all day.” He’s holding a tray. If anyone is going to bring me snacks, it’s got to be Eli in his navy suit.
“Wow, what time is it?”
He steps closer, his lips brushing my cheek, the blues dancing. “It’s early, six maybe.”
“Six! What are you doing home so early? Have you been sacked?”
Chuckling, he pulls me close, not caring about the paint that smears across his thousand-pound suit. “The opposite actually. I’ve been offered a promotion to senior partner.”
“Even though you just took a client to court?”
“Apparently the press coverage has been profitable.”
“That’s fantastic! Congratulations.” I squidge myself closer to him. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, whatever, I haven’t decided yet.”
“Senior partner at twenty-nine? That’s amazing.”
He cuts my words off with a kiss, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tilts my face, holding me close with his grip on my hair. His body hardens against mine and the river of melting gold that runs through me when we are together liquifies, spreading across my limbs until they are heavy and hot. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I smile against his mouth. “Let me go and get washed up and we can have an early dinner.”
“Now.” It’s almost a growl. His fingers pull at the hem of my t-shirt, his palms skimming across the skin of my ribs, his thumbs running under the edge of my sports bra. He pulls them all off flinging them onto the wooden floorboards. His lips tease up my throat and I arch back for him, giving him access to my skin as he makes it tingle and rush with heat. “I want you all the time.” His teeth nip at my earlobe, sending shivers of delight through me.
“I want you.” I gasp as he sinks to his knees, pulling at my paint splattered tracksuit bottoms, peeling them away until I’m naked before him. His lips press into the soft area beneath my belly button before dipping lower, his tongue sliding firm and deft between my folds. Oh. Closing my eyes, I throw my head ba
ck and push my body towards his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. I want him everywhere. All over me, in me, filling me. My fingers run through his hair, guiding him closer, but his tongue isn’t enough. I want all of him. I pull him closer, my fingers on his belt, unsnapping the leather, pushing at his suit trousers and boxers.
“Make me scream, Eli.”
He leads us to the chaise longue, pushing my back onto the velvet. His knees spread my thighs, his fingers skimming through my heat and desire, opening me wide until he replaces his fingers with what I really want. He pushes in deep, his hips burrowing him so close I gasp and moan under him, writhing myself so he’s rubbing against my clit while filling me up.
“Fuck!” He throws back his head and sets up a rhythm I’m sure will drive me swiftly insane. And as he pushes, delves, falling onto the depths of everything that I am, all the darkness that surrounds my heart lifts and burns away with the heat of his sun.
With him I give everything.
I meet him, unafraid and free. A tingle of an orgasm builds, and I move harder and faster, my nails dragging along the skin of his back.
“Eli!”
His lips capture mine. “Scream my name.”
I do. It shatters through me, harder than glass hearts on marble floors. I shout his name into the golden bindings that hold us together, tying us with unbreakable tethers.
He follows me, plunging over the edge of desire, his arms hugging me close as his hips grind him into me one last time. His mouth falls to my neck, skimming kisses until they land on my mouth.
“Is that what senior partners do to their wives when they get home from work? I might like that.”
He sighs, collapsing into me. “I have no fucking clue, but I want to come home to that every day, sunshine.”
“What do you think?” Lifting my arm, I push my fingers gently against his cheek, so he turns to my canvas.
“Wow. Are you Monet now?”
“Hardly!” I snigger.
“Is it Charlotte?”
“I did it as a gift for Abi. I only got her underwear and a dress to say thank you for helping us move.”