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“What else could you need?” I didn’t need to see his face to know it was a serious question.Patience, Lola.
“Alfie, none of that stuff is important. Your money could disappear and there might be a day when you can’t fuck me as well as you do now. Maybe you get sick, or I do. Maybe one of us gets injured or maybe we just get old. Maybe a thousanddifferent things. What we are together can’t depend on things that are malleable or temporary.” I dared a glance up at him. His beautiful face was a mask of concentration as he tried to recalculate. “Alfie, it’s okay for you to admit that you don’t know what you’re doing.” I was trying to ease him but when his eyes flashed to mine I knew I’d said the wrong thing.
“I know what I’m doing, Lola.”
I just sighed and looked up at him. “You’re a big faker.” I’d said those words to him so many times but they were still true and I wondered if they always would be. “You’re the most emotionally inept person I’ve ever met. You don’t give a damn about anyone else’s feelings?—”
“And what about my feelings?”
“What about them? You already said that you don’t care about mine enough to put them ahead of what you want, so why should I concern myself with yours?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “You are pickling my fucking head tonight, do you know that? You are the most exhausting woman.”
“When love is satisfied, all charm disappears, remember?” I said, repeating the words of Jean, the master of French Cuisine. “And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about your feelings, I do care about them. More than my own. Which is probably unhealthy but I don’t think I care. Does that make me reckless and crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, fine. And I’m sorry for slamming a door in your face too, I just panicked.”
“You were afraid of me?”
“Overwhelmed by you,” I amended and he nodded.
“It’s the same for me, you know,” he whispered, as if he was telling me a secret. “I don’t like the way I’m acting with you. It’s out of character.”
“Well, don’t I feel special.” I shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how many devastated women Alfie must have left in his wake. I needed to get up. I attempted to sit up and stifled a wince at my sore muscles.
“Did I hurt you that badly?” Alfie sat up, his gaze running over my body.
“No, I’m fine,” I answered, but his eyes sought out mine and discovered the lie with ease.
With a grace I envied, he climbed off the snooker table. He refastened his trousers, then ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t look as if he’d just fucked me raw on a snooker table. He looked perfect, except for his shirt which had two buttons missing. I tried to follow suit but was halted by Alfie’s hands encircling my ankles.
“What’re you doing? Let me up.” I shifted my ankles, testing his grip. He didn’t budge.
“Open your legs, O’Connell. Now.”
Open my legs?My mind spun as I took in the anger on his face. Was he angry with me or himself?
“No,” I answered, keeping my voice strong even though I quivered inside.
Alfie sighed, seeming bored with the debate already. He grabbed my knees and opened them. I allowed it, more out of curiosity than anything else. His large hands encircled my thighs, pinning them open, leaving me completely exposed to his scrutiny. I tried not to squirm as he slid his hands gently north and stroked his thumbs lightly over the marks that were already beginning to show on my inner thighs.
“You’re going to have bruises here.” His brow furrowed. His eyes zeroed in on the would-be bruises. He drank in the sight of them as if he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away.
“You’re happy that I’m going to be marked by you.”
“It gives me pleasure. That’s not the same as happiness.”
I wondered what kind of pleasure could make a person look so unhappy? I’d never seen him like this before, filled with such deep sadness that seemed to reach beyond just this moment. On the planes of his face was a history of sorrow, entrenched deep in his bones. I realised then, as clear as anything, that that was what was behind the mask. Not just debauched secrets but sadness. I wanted to erase it, to cleanse him of all of it, but I didn’t know how.
Before I could reply, he seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance seeing the marks had put him in. The shutters came down, and with a thud that broke my heart, he slid his mask back into place. He grasped the hem of my dress and pulled it down, making me decent once more.
“Come, we’re going to bed.” His arms wrapped around me, one under my legs, the other firm around my back as he tried to lift me. I swatted him away, frustrated that once again he was shutting me out and treating me like a child.
“I can walk, Alfie.” I wriggled out of his grasp and landed in an ungraceful heap on the snooker table. The unforgiving wood dug into me and I was starting to regret ever running into this room. Alfie towered over me, his fists clenching on the edge of the table.
“You’re hurt.”