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> After the concert, a large number of the orchestra met in a pub for drinks and toasted our success. We’d brought in a fine chunk of money, both for the orchestra’s own funds and for the nominated charity. The temptation to walk up to Stefan and kiss him had remained strong, but I’d held back. That evening wasn’t about personal revelations. I yearned to express myself to somebody, break out of our secrecy and divulge something of our relationship.
When Fiona invited me out for drinks at a small wine bar, I snapped at the chance. We arranged to meet on the Tuesday evening after the concert, while Stefan taught, giving him privacy. She asked about him and, in my desperation to share with somebody, I motored on about him, indulgently.
I might have spoken a great deal about sex.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You’re obviously smitten with him,” Fiona pointed out.
“Yeah.” I sniggered, fingering my half-drunk wine glass. “Can’t help it.”
“And he is with you, like in love?” She pushed her drink to one side. She wasn’t smiling at my tittering.
A coldness descended over me, wiping the grin off my face. “What are you trying to say?”
“You’ve regaled me with this great sex life, Callie. But… Don’t you see? It’s Micah, all over again. Where’s the love? The sense of belonging?”
I sat back in my chair, trying hard not to frown, angry with her for bursting my nice bubble. The last few weeks replayed in my mind and it was a reel of sexual images. Laughter, yes, good conversations, musical interludes, all these dispersed among sex. Boy, had we fucked a lot. I saw it now—what was missing had been Stefan affirming his love. He’d complimented me, spoken adoringly about my body and blossoming sexual skills, but love? Heck, I’d skimmed around it just as much as he had. I didn’t want to be suckered into another one-sided affair.
“Micah?” I muttered, horrified. Stefan was nothing like Micah. That is what I told myself every time I questioned my relationship with Stefan. “No. It’s not like that.” I shook my head.
“Cal, I don’t want to come over all mean and horrid, but from my position, you chatted away about Micah, happily went with him whenever he called you up, and it just feels the same to me. You waited, expected him to show you commitment—we all did—and you saw the light and blew him off.”
She gave me a sad face expression as if to sympathize with me, except I didn’t want her sympathy.
“No.” I denied it all, but her perspective stunned me.
My comparison always painted Micah and Stefan as completely different characters, but maybe because Stefan’s sexual prowess outstripped Micah’s, I’d overlooked the commitment issues, brushed them under the carpet. Ignoring the fact that my relationship with Micah had failed and he’d left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, I’d learned much from him. He’d shown me what I desired in a man simply by not being that person. It would have been unkind of me not to acknowledge what Micah had inadvertently taught me. As for Stefan, I had evidence of his devotion, didn’t I?
“I’ve moved in with him.”
Fiona clasped her hands together on the table. “Sex, honey. I’m sorry, he wants you for sex.”
I fumbled about, searching for my handbag. “I have to go.” I stood. “I’ve a taxi waiting.”
“Callie, please, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s just my opinion and—”
“I didn’t ask for it,” I snapped, fighting back the tears.
Be home at eleven—those had been Stefan’s instructions. “I don’t want you wandering the streets looking for a taxi. I’ll book one.”
He took care of me. Wasn’t that the surest declaration of love? Did he have to say it aloud every time we kissed?
I ignored Fiona’s apologetic entreaties to stay and pushed my way past others to reach the doorway.
The journey back to Grantchester did nothing for my mood. In the back of the cab, my doubts bloomed and Fiona’s words echoed in my head—wanting me for sex. That was a two-way street. I wanted—no, needed—him just as much as he did me. We’d not discussed my plans to study and he’d not even inquired as to my intentions for the future. I’d stopped looking at his iPad. I’d watched him teach, pined to be in his pupils’ shoes, but not discussed my jealousy.
What troubled me was staying power. If she was right, what happened when we tired of each other? How broken-hearted would I be? I knew that answer. I’d felt it before when I caught him with Magda. And if my first thoughts were of a shattered heart that meant I was in love, so why couldn’t I tell him?
Confusion reigned.
I let myself into the house and added my key to his in the cookie jar, in among his condom stash. Stefan looked up when I came in and he greeted me with a warm smile. Seated at the dining table, surrounded by music scores, he quickly gathered the papers up the moment I arrived.
“Good evening?” he inquired.
I ignored his question. I went to the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the tap, knocking it back in one go. The coolness hit my belly and I greeted it with a wave of nausea. Perhaps I was drunk. I didn’t feel lightheaded or fuzzy—quite the contrary. My thoughts had gained a new level of clarity.
Stefan finished his tidying up and called across the living space, “Let’s go to bed, then.”
