He gives me a wry look as we leave the theater. “Worried the show’s going to flop?”
“No,” I say, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “Proud of you.”
The train to Oxford departs Paddington at one p.m. and we rattle westward out of London, a shiny paper gift bag on my lap containing a Phantom mask, a program and a pair of stalls tickets for Lisbet and me in two weeks' time. Playing with the ribbons on the bag, I stare out the window, chewing my lip. I am proud of Frederic and I want to hold his hand and feel the warmth of his affection everywhere I go. But I also don’t want to field a dozen awkward questions from my family today. How did it happen? How do you feel about him? Where is it going? And, perhaps worst of all, You and Frederic? Really? Because it is improbable, Frederic and I being together. We don’t have much in common, not our backgrounds, not our ages and not our careers.
Frederic notices my pensiveness and asks, “Penny for your thoughts, petite fille?”
The train chugs out of Reading Station, sunlight drenching the platforms and the suburbs beyond. “My sisters and parents are going to figure out something’s up between us, aren’t they?”
He muses on this a moment. “Yes, they probably will. Perhaps not today, as I was going to give you space, if you wanted it. But with you coming up to London every week for the next few months and staying with me they’re going to work it out. Does that worry you?”
I hope he doesn’t think I’m embarrassed by him or anything, because I’m not. I’m so proud of him, to be with him, of the things he does. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. “It doesn’t worry me, exactly. I just don’t know how to say what we are to each other.” The words hang in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning. What it really sounds like is I don’t know what we are to each other.
He answers
my unspoken question first. “We’re lovers, chérie. We care about each other. But I understand if you don’t want to say that to your family. If they’re tactful they’ll figure out the truth on their own and not ask you about it.”
I give him an ironic look. “Tactful? You have met my sisters, you know.”
“True. What would you like to tell them?”
That I feel more for you than I have any other man I’ve ever met. That I crave you and desire you, but that I also want every happiness for you. When I think about you leaving London to begin another show in some far-flung country it’s bittersweet because I will miss you like a limb but be happy thinking of you treading the boards, strong, proud, talented, and where you’re meant to be. But, oh, how I shall grieve.
I swallow this down and smile at him. “Well, I’m not going to call you daddy in front of them, that’s for sure, so I had better get it out of my system now.” I wrap my arms around his neck and whisper against his mouth, “Kiss me, daddy.” He does, a slow, tender kiss full of feeling, and just enough heat that means I’m flushed when he pulls away.
We hold hands walking out of Oxford Station, and in the back of a cab. As the car pulls into my parents' driveway Frederic gives me a quick kiss and we disengage, walking to the front door with two feet of space between us.
Stepping into the hall is like being swallowed up by a hive of friendly, colorful bees. As well as my family there are half a dozen other girls Lisbet’s age, darting between the kitchen, lounge and back garden, and all their attending parents. Frederic and I are greeted by Mona and Therese with kisses and peppered with questions we don’t have time to answer as we’re shepherded through the house and out onto the lawn. Mum’s arranging plates of sandwiches and cakes on tables under the trees.
The birthday girl is resplendent in a cream dress with a sweetheart neckline. She squeals when she sees us, abandoning the bunting she’s tying to a rose bush and bounding over.
“Evie, Evie, how was Paris? Are you home to stay now? Can I read the book you’re writing about Frederic?” After hugging me she turns to Frederic and something shy enters her eyes but the wattage of her smile doesn’t dim. I probably looked at him just like that when Dad took us to see him in Notre-Dame.
He kisses her cheek and wishes her happy birthday and I hand her her present. When she sees the Phantom goodies and tickets she goes into raptures of delight. “We’ll be right beneath the chandelier as it starts to rise,” I tell her, and she runs off to show Mum and Dad.
“I think she’s happy, baby,” Frederic murmurs in my ear, and he goes to one of the tables to pour us some Pimms.
Hot, sharp arousal plunges through me as I watch his retreating back. Baby. I love it when he calls me that, and lately he’s used it as often as minette or chérie. Something about the way he says it doesn’t feel like the casual way Adam called me baby or babe. I feel like he actually means little baby, especially when he says it when I’m being pliant or cute, or when he tells me to suck my finger or thumb after sex. I’m so clingy after we make love, especially if he’s been rough with me. I don’t like to talk much after but it’s comforting to do something with my tongue as I’m pressed tightly against him.
I drink my Pimms and sit with Therese and Mona while they tell me about their holidays, but I’m distracted by Frederic standing not far away, talking to my parents. I try to listen to my sisters but soon my mind drifts back to Paris. The other morning we were having sex and he stopped halfway through, resting on his knuckles and looking down at me, frowning. He did this for so long I began to wonder if there was something wrong. Finally he asked, “Can I hit you, baby?” And I nodded, because letting Frederic do what he likes to me is one of my keenest pleasures. I was close to coming, too, and his every twist of my nipple and yank of my hair feels like heaven when I’m in that state. “It will hurt, and I mean it to hurt,” he cautioned. And I still nodded, not bothering to wonder where or how hard, just anticipating the pleasure-pain which would drive me closer to orgasm.
“Suck your thumb, baby,” he whispered, and he smiled as I did, telling me how pretty I looked. Then his eyes flashed with hard fury and he struck me across the face with his open palm. It felt like my cheek had been branded.
I turned back to him, shocked tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. It was real shock and real tears for a few seconds, but then I really amped it up, whimpering that “Daddy hit me, when I’m such a good baby for him. You’re so mean, daddy, how could you?” I said all this in between sucking my thumb and crying like no one’s ever had it worse than me, even managing to whimper my way through two orgasms as he pounded me into the mattress. I thought he was going to lose his mind he came so hard.
I got cuddled and fussed over so much afterward that Frederic was an hour late to the studio, and his producer called to remind him how many thousands of euros he was wasting keeping everyone waiting. After he left it took me another forty-five minutes to shake myself out of the good little baby, you just cuddle up and let daddy worry what time it is mindset. I lay on the sofa with a cup of tea resting on my belly and a dreamy smile on my face. I can’t help smiling about it now, even as I sit here among my family.
I realize that I’m directing my smile at Frederic. He returns it and gives me a surreptitious wink. When I say, “Mm,” to Therese, who’s cataloguing the hotels she and her boyfriend stayed in, I notice that Mona is giving me a shrewd look. Then she glances at Frederic.
Oh, crap.
Time to circulate. One of Lisbet’s friends’ parents used to be my English teacher in high school so I take a plate of sandwiches and go and talk to her. All the while we’re talking about the latest Donna Tartt novel I’m thinking about going to the bathroom, stripping off my underwear and surreptitiously pushing it into Frederic’s trouser pocket.
Behave. You’re at your parents’ house.
Yes, but that’s what would make it so delicious, wouldn’t it? Remember what he did to you last time he knew you were knickerless and he couldn’t touch you?
Dad brings out a Victoria sponge with fourteen candles on it and we sing “Happy Birthday” to a beaming Lisbet. It’s delicious cake, filled with cream and fresh strawberries, and I eat a huge slice. That and the Pimms make me sleepy and I get up to go inside for a breather and take the empty water jug with me as an excuse. Out of the corner of my eye I see Mona and Therese peel themselves out of their chairs and follow me, determined looks in their eyes.