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My whole body stiffened in embarrassment. I knew my clothes were pitiful, but to hear it from his lips was something else altogether. I was too tired to quibble with him. “I don’t even know how to respond to that ridiculously rude comment. You know I can’t afford to buy clothes right now.”
“And then I’m going to call every fucking store from London to Paris and have them send me everything in your size… I hope they bankrupt me.”
The low simmer of anger in his voice warned me to tread lightly. I walked over and sat down on the ottoman, next to his leg. His expression didn’t change, until I rubbed his kneecap. Then his thick lashes fluttered. We could read each other so easily. I don’t know when that happened––that mastery over each other. He knew exactly where to touch me to render me speechless, which words would cut deep and which would spark my temper. I learned quickly when to back off, how to soothe him, where to touch him to bring him to ecstasy.
“Lover, listen to me. I know why you want to do that, but it wouldn’t be right. It makes me feel…beholden. Do you understand why?”
He brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers, a note of…was that pity in his expression? I pushed his hand away.
“I understand how you came up with that absurd idea. Why can’t you let me take care of you? Why would you deny me that? Because your pride will suffer?”
A restless discomfort coursed through me because he may have had a point. Was it about my pride? Was I doing it so I could look in the mirror one day and say I gave pleasure and took pleasure equally, and nothing else? If I let my guard down he would trample me into letting him have his way. I was already perilously close, incapable of resisting him when he put his mind to something. And what would happen when it ended? And it had to end sooner or later; he could never know what had happened in Tirana. What would Cinderella’s new wardrobe mean then? A reminder of dashed hopes? Payment for services rendered? I didn’t dare contemplate where my dark thoughts could lead me.
“This isn’t about money.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“I don’t want to argue about this. Can’t you just respect my wishes?” I could see the focused intensity building in his eyes. He was digging in for a fight. This did not bode well for me.
“Let me ask you something––do you remember when I found you under the wisteria tree?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why did you touch me? Why did you touch my leg?” I stalled, trying to discern where this train of thought was headed. “Answer me, damn it!”
“Because you were in a great deal of pain, and I wanted to help you. I wanted to take away your suffering.”
His breathing was deep and quick, emotions raw and on the surface. “How would you feel if I had denied you? If I wouldn’t let you touch me?”
“It would bother me,” I said, and frowned at the thought. “I would feel frustrated, helpless.”
He stood up and closed the distance between us quickly. Wrapping his powerful arms around me, he pressed me to him as if he could absorb my body into his. “Let me take care of you,” he pleaded, his amber eyes determined and serious. “I’ve given a great deal of thought to this. I want you to hear me out before you say anything else. I don’t want you working here anymore. I want you living here, with me––” He paused at the look of shock on my face. “Be with me.”
“You can’t be serious. We’ve known each other barely two months––and half that time we’ve spent fighting.”
A flash of pain appeared in his eyes. Tucking it away quickly, he pressed his case, “We can stay at the apartment during the week and come here on weekends.”
I was beyond shocked. I didn’t want it to end yet, but I didn’t know how to slow him down, how to make him back off. I was in uncharted waters, drowning in anxiety. “Let me go.”
“That won’t ever happen,” he stated tenderly. Ruthless man. He knew what it did to me when he spoke like that.
I felt split in two, and fought back tears spilling from my heart. Part of me wanted desperately to believe this could work. However, the small part of me that could still reason knew better. I pushed against his shoulders and he released me. “You don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t afford to rely on anyone!”
I had never raised my voice to him like that before. It surprised him. He reached out to grab my wrist, and I stepped away just in time to evade him. Raising his hands in surrender, he begged softly, “Okay, easy…please let me hold you, please. You’re killing me, lover.” His face was a mixture of fear, affection, and intense awareness. I ran into his open arms, the only place I wanted to be, and let him hold me, let him chase away the fear and sadness with his magic touch. I closed my eyes and soaked in the feeling, burning it in my memory so I could look back on it one day and treasure it. “It’s okay, we’ll work it out. We’ll take it slow,” he murmured in my ear.
