Page 109 of Darling
His eyes go wide.
“I’m building a house and bothy there, by Loch Earn. It’s about an hour from Edinburgh. I actually lecture at the university a few days a week:the politics of law.”
He takes all this in. “You’re a professor?”
“A few days a week, yes.”
“Hot.”
I laugh, and he grins. Then he shrugs. “I’ll live wherever you are, I don’t care.”
“I promise you’ll love it—it’s very pretty there. The views are spectacular.”
“Well, you know I am all about pretty spectacular views.” He smirks. “Speaking of which… can you please take these back off. I’m not done with yourprettyspectaculardick yet.” He tugs on the waistband of my shorts, and I lift my hips to let him pull them back off. Then he links his ringed finger with mine, moves down my body, and does something pretty spectacular all of his own.
Epilogue
Asher
If you’d told me ten years ago that one day I’d be waking up in a house by a Loch in Scotland, while my fiancé, the professor, writer, and sometimes baker, milked our goat, I’d have laughed my ass off. Then asked you where Scotland was. Scotland is apparently not in Ireland as it turns out, or England, or on an island next to Finland (all of these I’d said at one point when Christian had asked what I knew of the place). It’s a country in the northern part of the UK with its own government, language, and has a unicorn as its official national animal. All in all, a pretty cool place. It’s also now where I call home.
And yeah, you heard right, we have a goat. And a couple of chickens. No dog or cat yet, but we’ve discussed it. I like the idea of a cat because it would sit in the studio with me all day and sleep, keeping me company without distracting me too much. Christian likes the idea of a dog because he says it would force us out to go on long walks around the Loch every night after dinner. Initially, I thought this sounded cute as hell, but then I remembered how cold it was when I got here—I’d arrived in November last year, fresh off the plane from LAX and still wearing a fucking T-shirt. I’d had a very rude awakening in regards to just how close to the Antarctic the weather in Scotlandactually got. We’d had to buy me a whole new wardrobe a few days after we got here. I was getting used to it now, but walking a dog around the Loch in the middle of December might finish this little twink from Ohio all the way off. So, I suggested we should wait until after the wedding to decide on what we got, and he’d agreed.
After relieving my bladder, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, a huge open-plan space which looks onto Loch Earn, and the core of Christian’s architectural wonder-house. He’d spent almost two years building it, overseeing everything from the type of concrete poured in its foundation to the type of Scottish heather seedlings planted on its roof. It’s an energy-efficient marvel that draws electricity from the sun and water from the Loch, and which, in the event of a global apocalypse, could likely sustain us both until we both died of old age—as long as we still had Fred and Ginger (our two Plymouth Rock chickens) and Zachary, our white Saanen goat. Christian is so in love with this house, and so proud of it, and because it makes him so happy and so content, I love it, too. And honestly, yeah, the cold can be brutal here, but the house is so well built and so well insulated that I can still walk around half dressed—and trust me, I do—without feeling the arctic chill at all.
And then there’s my studio.
Mystudio.
The large corner room he had built for me on the ground floor near the back of the house before he’d even come to Paris to propose. Like… seriously? He’d worked a studio space into the blueprint of his dream house despite the fact that he told me to go live my life without him, despite the fact that I might have already done it?
When I think about that, really think about it, it makes me want to fucking sob. It’s a level of thoughtfulness, of care, of lovethat I’d never experienced from anyone. He designs his house and his life around me, and it’s only partly why I’m so fucking in love with him. I really like his dick, too.
Like now, he’s filled the coffee machine for me and left my favourite mug beside it. And next to it, he’s stuck a Post-it and written the words ‘Good morning, darling’ and drawn a little heart and a steaming cup of coffee. As I wait for the machine to warm, I slip into a trance and think about everything we need to do over the next few days. Leah isn’t going to make it; she is in Brazil on tour with her new band and will literally be on stage when I speak my vows. I told her I understand, but Leah sort of thrives on guilt, and I know it doesn’t matter what I say or how many times I say it, she’ll still feel it until she’s done with it. Another Jeremiah hangover.
Amata and Gael arrive tomorrow, and Christian will pick them up from the airport around dinner time. Aksel arrives on Friday, which is leaving it a little late, given he’s bringing over my literal wedding suit, but he couldn’t get away from work any sooner, and since it’s fucking Balmain, and since he’s custom designing and creating it for me for free, I don’t feel I can be cunty about when he gets it here.
Felix and Nico also arrive tomorrow; they’ve been staying in Edinburgh a few days and would be driving up first thing. They’re staying at a hotel in the village because there’s not quite enough room for everyone here. Leo is coming on Friday evening. There’d been a lot of doubt about whether he’d be able to get away from filming initially, but he seems to have swung it. Christian says he’d asked if he could bring his new girlfriend, too, some American pop star/actress he’s starring with in the film he’s making. I’d had no issue with it, but Christian had seemed troubled and said no, that we only wanted close family and friends to be there. They’d fought about it, and it looked again like Leo might not come at all, but they’d cleared the air,and thingsseemedto be fine again.
Their relationship is a complicated one, spiky and sometimes combative, and I guess I also make things more complicated, being the same age as Leo, but having an entirely different dynamic with his father must be tough. Honestly, I think Leo’s got some issues that aren’t about his dad or the death of his mother, or even me, but that’s none of my business. And since we got back together, Leo has always been civil and polite with me, outwardly at least. We’ve never had a repeat of the night in Christian’s office in Washington, and when he’s been asked about it in the media, he always speaks in full support of his father’s impending remarriage to me, his much younger, ex-pornstar, artist fiancé.
Christian isn’t in politics anymore, but he was still a well-known figure in the UK, and combined with Leo’s fame, people are very interested in them both.
I’m sipping my coffee and scrolling my phone when I hear the back door opening and the sound of Wellingtons being kicked off in the boot room, a huffing Christian coming into the kitchen.
“You’re awake,” he says, chirpily.
I groan. “Yeah, but at what cost.”
He comes up behind me and presses a cold kiss to the side of my neck. I yelp, laughing. He does it again.
“You’re evil!” I scream. “Get off me.” He chuckles and moves off to make himself some tea. “How was Zach?”
“A little grumpy. But I think it’s the whole ring thing, she’s just nervous.”
I snort. Christian is determined to make this damn goat walk up the aisle on Sunday with our rings. It’s fucking ridiculous, but I laugh every time I think about it. A gay wedding and a goat ringbearer. I can’t deal with it.
“Speaking of nervous, what time do your parents get here?”