He reaches with his hand and circles my clit. My breathing becomes uneven. Soon my climax will be upon me. He thrusts harder and faster, pushing me deeper into the sand. I lift my head towards the sky and wait for it. It rushes in as a large wave crashes into me, soaking my body, soaking my sex, submerging my hands. I feel the suction of the water as the wave returns to the ocean. I feel my body float like a piece of driftwood, if not for Noah’s firm grip. I begin to tense, my whole body stiffening. I shiver. With a roar he withdraws, and I feel his hot cum shooting onto my back as I go over the edge.
He pulls my bikini bottom back up and splashes my back with seawater. Then we scramble further up the shore and collapse on the dry, hot sand. We watch the sunset filling the sky with russets and pinks, and when I turn to look at his face it is lit with the same colors. My heart trembles with love. I touch his cheek with my fingertips and he smiles.
‘You look beautiful in this light,’ he purrs.
‘Funny, I was thinking the same thing,’ I say, and his lips crash down on mine. I hear a soft moan escape my lips.
For dinner he takes me to La Merenda. It’s a quirky, tiny, crowded place where everybody sits on stools with their shoulders and elbows practically rubbing. Wine is effectively red or white out of juice glasses. Don’t even mention the word Coke! They don’t take credit cards and you can’t even call to reserve a table. Noah sent someone to go there physically the day before to book us a table.
You sit at the table and watch Dominic La Stanc, a world renowned chef, who used to work for the most expensive restaurant in Nice, perform a smooth ballet with his sous chef and the one waiter tasked with serving all twenty-four tables in the restaurant. They have a small, traditional menu written in chalk on a blackboard, but when the food arrives it is clear why people are willing to put up with the inconveniences and discomfort.
I have the fleur de courgette, (the yellow zucchini blossom) battered and deep-fried to make a sort of flower fritter. It is a dream of a dish. For my second course I have the beef with orange and it absolutely sings. After a lemon tart baked to perfection, it is time to go back to London.
I must admit I left a part of my heart in France.
Twenty-five
Tasha Evanoff
One day before Papa comes home I arrange a meeting with Mama. We meet in our usual place — the ladies toilet in Harrods. A long time ago we decided that it was perfect for us. It is very clean and beautiful. It’s more like the fine dressing room of a rich Russian or Arab woman. The staff never bother us, leaving us alone to chat quietly. When it is time for us to leave, usually thirty or forty minutes later, I slip a fifty pound note into their tip saucer. I don’t know what Vadim must be thinking about my time in the toilet, but so far he has pretended it is normal for me to disappear into the toilet and come out nearly an hour later.
To avoid Vadim ever seeing my mother, she is already waiting in the toilet. I hug and kiss her and we sit down.
‘You look wonderful. Have you been on the sunbed?’ she asks.
‘I’ve been to Nice,’ I tell her.
She shakes her head. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going on holiday.’
‘It was a surprise visit,’ I tell her, smiling broadly.
Her face changes. ‘What’s going on, Tasha?’
I tell her about Noah. The whole time she frowns and looks more and more disturbed.
‘Where is all of this going, Tasha?’ she asks when I have told her everything.
‘I love him, and I’m going to tell Papa when he gets back that I’m not going to marry Oliver.’
Her whole face contorts with fear. ‘What?’
‘I plan to tell Papa that I don’t want to marry Oliver. I found out that Oliver is not what he has been pretending to be.’
‘Oh, darling. That’s not going to work with your father.’
‘Why not?’
She shakes her head, her brow creased with anxiety. ‘You don’t know him like I do. He will not agree. His pride is at stake.’
‘He will, Mama. I know he wants me to be happy. He thought I could be happy with Oliver, but once I tell him that I could never be happy he won’t force me. Papa has never hurt me before.’
She looks at me pityingly. ‘Oh, darling. You can never know your father. Until now you’ve never disobeyed him so you haven’t seen anything but the face of a man who has everything going exactly the way he wants it. Have you ever wondered why he let you watch me being thrown out? Why should a child witness such a cruel and ugly scene?’