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“Wednesday. You’ll pick me up?” I hadn’t mentioned my bicycle and I saw no reason to draw attention to my independence, certainly not if it kept raining all week.
“Same time. Look forward to it. You’re going to impress everyone.”
My skin heated again at his kind words. “I’ve had a good teacher. Special lessons.”
“I hope we can repeat them,” he said softly and squeezed my thigh.
“Sure,” I said non-committally.
I c
losed the passenger door and waved goodbye to him through the car window. He’d sped off before I reached the front door.
* * * *
I’d finished all my chores by three p.m. I flopped on the settee and tapped my toes on the carpet. The rain had stopped and the sun blazed through the window. A pub lunch outside would have been nice, except I’d blown him off. Part of me was tempted to go back, see if he was less distracted. Guilt seeped into me. He’d want sex and I didn’t. My needs had moved on into new territory—I wanted Stefan to be a real boyfriend.
I envied bygone generations. The time when people courted, wooed each other and dated until the proposal or a clear indication of commitment. Sex had been tied to marriage and love. In my experience, sex was fucking, an intimate display of lust and desire, but love? I’d thought Micah and I had had it, until after nearly two years it had slowly dawned on me that we’d achieved nothing. Was I about to embark on the same journey with Stefan?
I lusted for sex with Stefan, far more than Micah, with whom I’d fulfilled an obligation. There had to be more to us, Stefan and me. If I’d stayed, even just reading or playing the clarinet while he sorted out his issues, I would have been there for him. Shit. I was a selfish bitch sometimes. He might have wanted sex, but he wasn’t in a hurry, merely a hint of it when he kissed me. I’d made it more, built up the expectation then dismissed him. He’d not put up a barrier. I had.
By early evening, negativity built. I sent him a text. A short message of gratitude for a good time and apology for my abrupt departure. He replied, in the same vein about the good time, but nothing else.
I went to bed early, exhausted by my housework and a weekend of sexual activity. I’d forgotten how, post-sex, I would crash and burn out. No sign of Talia. At least she had a committed boyfriend.
Tomorrow, a fresh day. A fresh mindset. I would bike over to Stefan in the evening and show him I was his. Somehow.
* * * *
I propped my bicycle on the low wall outside his house. I could see lights on through the skylights at the front. He was home. Darkness had descended rapidly. It had taken longer than I’d thought to bike out to Grantchester. I’d wanted to arrive refreshed and in a sensible state of mind, so I’d eaten first.
As I got closer to the front door, I heard music blaring—loud, soaring classical music. A symphony. Mahler, possibly. I rang the doorbell. No answer.
I rang again and tapped my foot on the paving impatiently. The music had to be too loud. He couldn’t hear me. A streetlight lit up the front of the house, but the frontage had no windows. It created an imposing façade of wood, but gave me nowhere to peek in and grab his attention. I wandered down the side of the house to the gate, groping slightly in the darkness. I expected it to be locked. The wheelie bin was out by the curb ready, for the refuse collectors the next day. If I went around the back, he would see me through the windows. I pressed the handle of the tall wooden gate and the catch lifted. He’d left it open.
I rounded the corner of the house. The music grew louder, if that was possible. I edged around a flowerpot, one of many dotting the dimly lit garden. It must have been deafening inside the house. I approached the wall of glass. The bright lights of the studio bathed the decking directly outside the patio doors. The grand piano had the lid up, shiny black and imposing, but it wasn’t what drew my attention.
On the floor on a rug stood Stefan. Dressed in a dark suit, he looked divine. However, he wasn’t alone. On her knees and facing away from him, with her arms straight out in front of her, fingers laced together and her bottom raised high, was a naked, black-haired woman. Crouching on one knee, he looped her ponytail in his outstretched hand. With a flick of his wrist, he jerked her head up, and I saw her face. Her eyes were shut and her mouth hung open, she seemed to be uttering sounds.
He yanked hard on her hair, pulling her up farther and back onto her haunches. His features screwed up and his eyes fixated on the back of the woman’s head. A strange look. Pensive, tense. Not the expression of a man who desired sex—I’d seen that for myself. He let go of her hair, and she slumped forward back onto the floor, peering over her shoulder at him. Something was said between them. He gave a shrug and a shake of his head. I watched, hypnotized by the scene, as he ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the soft curls. His face remained troubled, ambiguous, and I couldn’t interpret it.
With the darkness outside and the room lit up, I didn’t think he could see me. Not at this distance from the window.
For those few minutes, I froze. Stunned by the sight of Stefan on the cusp of having sex with another woman. The denial seeped away. Anger rose unabated. I covered my mouth, stifling a cry of despair. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t want me. Didn’t need me. He had this woman to fuck. I’d thought I’d been adequate for him, but now I doubted my abilities. He sought another.
A dangerous fox, that was what he’d called himself. He was right—bloody right. Tears fogged my eyes. I couldn’t stop them. I stumbled backward and walked straight into a metallic pot. My heel clattered on the edge. I squealed, trying not to fall over, and ended up taking a few paces forward. My face must have lit up behind the glass. Stefan looked directly at me. His eyes widened. He pushed the woman away from him, and she flopped flat onto the floor without protesting. He started to straighten, and in a second, I would see the bulge in his pants. The thought made me nauseated.
I turned and fled. I didn’t want him to see me or follow me. What was the point? I’d seen enough to know I meant nothing to him.
Chapter Eleven
I pedaled home with tears streaming down my face.
A nightmarish, never-ending ride, which so easily could have ended with another disastrous accident. I managed to stay on the bike, wobbling dangerously and struggling to see anything in front of me due to the tears.
With each agonizing mile, I replayed the scene in my head. I railed at Stefan, calling him every foul name I could think of. Cheating bastard. Why had I not picked up on the warning signals?
Dangerous fox. He knew exactly what he was, yet still let me fall into his arms, his bed and, fuck it, his heart. Strange how, when faced with the certain demise of a relationship, my true feelings bubbled to the surface. When I finished with Micah, relief consumed me. I went out and celebrated my liberation, and merely cursed the time I’d wasted with him. I’d missed things, but mostly I knew I was better off without him.
