***
The following night, I sit at the kitchen island nursing my glass of wine. My gorgeous, wealthy boyfriend is flying from the States to see me, to try to convince me to return with him. I should be ecstatic, but I’m not.
All I feel is dread, a warning coiling in my stomach. Even before he arrives, his presence in my space is intoxicating.
When I left Knobscratcher and came to terms with the separation, my freedom was the greatest gift I received. The ability to do what I want, when I want, and not have to discuss it with anybody. Not have to run an idea past someone before I execute it. Just being able to live the way I want and keep myself happy.
I don’t think Brad means to be controlling. It’s a survival tool. He’s a man who is used to getting his way, but I’m finding his overbearing demands difficult to handle. His need to be in charge horrifies me. I find myself comparing him to Lance. Another alpha male for certain, but he can make you feel heard, that your opinion is as important as his. My mind is wandering to Lance regularly throughout my days, and I find myself wanting to contact him all the time.
I want to ask his opinion or just to hear his voice. I trust him.
But deep down I know Brad is the right option. Lance is an infatuation. A young man with a family who doesn’t need to be held back with an older woman like me. Brad is who I suit; we stand beside each other at events and complement the scene. He is the man I need, and he needs me.
I didn’t understand it at first, his obsession with me. Now, I do. In his fifties, he wants a companion in his golden years, but one who can accept his flaws and his business commitments. Someone who looks appropriate on his arm, a woman who suits his status without overshadowing it. As a mid-life up-and-coming author with a quirky style, I suppose I tick all those boxes. And well he, for me, has opened doors while loving me thoroughly. Almost too much at times.
The apartment door buzzer sounds, and I wander across to the control panel by the front door. Brad squints up into the camera. My mood drops. He’s here. He paces in a tiny circle, waiting for an answer. I stall. He presses again, his lips twist, annoyed. I answer.
“Hello,” I say, tone bright. Too bright, if I’m honest.
“Hey, gorgeous, it’s me. Let me up.” Brad’s strong voice blares from the speaker. Without answering, I press the button to unlock the door. He appears in the apartment within seconds. “Where are you?” he calls, not even fully in the apartment.
“Here.”
On seeing me, he strides over, then takes me in his arms. It doesn’t feel loving, but carnal, as if his need to possess me overwhelms him. An over-enthusiastic mouth locks on mine; his tongue claiming mine, almost beating it into submission.
“I need to be inside you, Katie,” he growls in my ear, biting my neck hard enough that I jump. The way a dog would to a bitch in heat.
That’s going to leave a bruise,I think to myself, sullen. The last time we were apart for a week, he bit me so hard on my neck I had to wear a scarf. It was mortifying when the make-up artist noticed. She blended half a tub of concealer to hide it.
“Where’s the bedroom?” he grunts, grabbing my ass and pushing himself against my stomach. “This is for you, but you need to be a good girl.” My skin crawls.
I knew that he’d expect sex as soon as he arrived, and I can’t help but feel used. Accepting that this is going to happen, I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom.
If I play along, this will go quicker; he’ll be happy to have his fill of me and go to sleep. Hopefully, my sweet man will be here tomorrow. He tends to reappear once the beast is satisfied. And I love him.
Chapter thirty-six
Lance
Amber sits on my sofa staring at her feet.
“Where have you been, Amber?” Beth asks her again. “You’re not in any trouble, but I do need to know what you’ve been doing for the past six months.”
Her lips stayed pressed together, tight. I sit next to her and hold her hand. It seemed like a small gesture to let her know I support her. When I first took her hand in mine, she tensed but relaxed after a minute or so. I know a broken human when I see one. I don’t need to be another hurdle on her journey, not now.
“Amber.” Beth tries a different tack. “Do you want a relationship with David?”
“David?” She glances over, and I smile.
“Yes, I called your son David,” I say softly. “After his dad, who passed away. You met him in Ibiza. Do you remember him?”
She nods. Pausing for a moment, her eyes blank.
“He’s dead?” she says, her voice distant, as if it’s being played on a train station announcing system. I give her a sad smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
From someone else, the statement would seem insincere. From her, it’s more than I could hope for.
“He died a hero. I wanted to honor him,” I add.