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Chapter Twenty-Four

I wake up to the strangest of noises. Floating up the stairs, from my kitchen, I can hear Damon alternating between whistling and singing along to Magic radio.

Currently he’s belting out ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’ and I pad down the stairs, in just a grey-marl t-shirt, to find him, sporting my daisy-covered apron wiping down the surfaces.

All the loose bottles have been bagged up, he’s lit about a thousand scented candles (including my really expensive Diptyque ones which I was saving for a special occasion, but I won’t start whining now) and the house looks almost like it did yesterday morning, before chaos descended.

“Did you have to clear sperm out of my pool?” I ask, as I go over to give him a big hug of gratitude.

“I didn’t…”

“Phew. I’d quite like to have kids one day, I can see them playing in that pool.”

“But Marc did. He was still up, off his head, at like 10a.m. this morning.”

He grins at me. Back in the house we used to spoon each other, gossiping about everyone else’s romances, completely ignoring the fact that both in and out of the house, ours was the main focal point.

It was so much easier to talk about everyone else than it was to discuss our ever-confusing situation.

I don’t want to do that anymore. So, even though I’m in my manky tee, with only what’s left of last night’s make-up on my face, I decide to be straight with him.

“Damon, all that stuff you said yesterday, was that the punch talking?”

“It was a powerful punch—”

“Oh, never mind then.” I begin to turn around, walk back up the stairs. He grabs my hand.

“You didn’t let me finish. It was a powerful punch but it wasn’t what led me to say the things I said.

I meant every word. Why do you think I’m here?

I even put out all your recycling! For you.

To show you how much of a changed man I am.

How much I want a future with you. Not a clubs-and-paps-and-headlines future, but these kind of everyday, simple pleasures – sunny mornings and slow breakfasts and… ”

His hand feels so good holding my arm. I feel the pull towards him, yearning for his body against mine, to feel his breath catching with his lust for me.

His words are more powerful than the punch, they’re making me dizzy.

I know I should challenge him more, insist that he can’t just show up here, say a few nice things and assume all is forgiven.

The amount of tears I’ve cried over him, Mam has had to comfort me far too many times, and I know she wouldn’t be happy to hear that I am still feeling this weak for him, this willing to drop everything I’ve learned about myself over the past few months to fall back into bed with him.

But last night, when Dad had eventually come to bundle her in the back of the car, and while she was still high on punch, she’d gripped Damon’s face and said, “Gosh you are handsome, I can see why my Angelica fell for you,” before very lightly slapping him and adding, “but your looks don’t excuse your behaviour, sort it out young man.

” He’d grinned that winning grin at her and said, “of course, I’d never hurt Angelica again,” before spinning her around, with the pair having what I’ve now decided was a forgiveness dance.

“What are you thinking, Angelica?” he asks, his blue eyes wide with desire.

I decide to succumb. After all, I am different from who I was before.

I’m stronger, I know what I want and deserve and, besides, I look so good.

I want to show off this new body to the man who encouraged me to get it in the first place.

We begin to kiss, at first softly and then hungrily.

His hands are roaming my body and he mutters, “Oh Angelica, when we get upstairs you are in serious trouble. I’m going to make love to you til you see stars, I’m going to take my sweet, sweet time and make you scream my name.

” He kisses down my neck, his tongue in my collarbone and then he scoops me up, into his arms and begins to carry me upstairs, only accidentally knocking my head on a beam once.

In my bedroom, he lays me down on my bed, on top of the crumple of discarded dresses from yesterday and the general chaos of my life that I tossed and turned in last night. He begins to, torturously slowly, kiss me from top to toe, pulling my t-shirt over my head and gazing at me.

“Wow, you’re stunning, you truly are.”

I’m tingling, desperate to feel him inside of me but, at the same time, wanting this to last forever.

Then…he begins to clumsily finger me. Stabbing at me down below, as if he’s frantically pushing a button to call a lift.

And, let me tell you, the lift is not arriving.

I’ve felt more aroused by a smear test! But despite learning how to ask for what I want, having experienced it with Leo and demanding it from Sebastian, I find that I can’t with Damon.

I may be in this new, banging body but the girl on the inside is still the same old Angelica, the one who only wanted to impress Damon and lost herself in the process.

I begin to fake moan, hoping that will encourage him to stop and climb on top of me.

It doesn’t. It only spurs him on further as he says, “oh you like that, do you?” I say, “yes, yes” when really I’m thinking that I could tolerate this mediocre sex, if it meant that Damon finally wanted to be with me, and only me.

If it meant that I won this race, one that I’ve been in for far too long and which is exhausting me.

I decide to distract him with a blow job and he repositions himself so that I’m kneeling before him.

At first, I like it. But then he starts pounding away at my throat.

I take as much as I can before gagging and pulling myself up to face him.

Eventually (finally) he throws me down, climbs on top and I gasp, for real, at the feeling of him inside of me.

It truly feels spectacular, nothing, not even my favourite vibrator can match how perfectly he fits me.

But, as always, it’s two to three pumps and then…

done. He collapses sweatily on top of me, “that was amazing, just amazing. God I’ve missed you. ”

What happened to taking his time and me screaming his name? He’s all done in less time than it takes to heat a microwave curry – and less spicy. Rather than feeling ravished, I feel raw.

We have a nap, and I’m grateful it means I can skip the small talk, before, to my dismay, he wakes and wants to go again.

This early on in us getting back together (if that’s what this is) I don’t want to reject him, I want him to see how great life could be with me, so we have a repeat performance, only even shorter this time.

I roll off him wondering if he’d notice if I went to the loo and finished myself off but he’s just lying there grinning asking if he’s the best I’ve ever had.

I check my phone to avoid talking. I have so many new messages!

Mostly people thanking me and saying what an amazing time they had at the party, Fliss saying the photos look great and will be in a spread in the paper tomorrow and then a message from Layla and Madison calling for a: PPP.

This was one of our many traditions in the house, we’d have a Post Party Pampering, reasoning that there was nothing that couldn’t be solved with a face mask and a gossip.

They both say they’re going to be over in an hour or so, which means I have to get Damon the hell out of here (I can’t rely on the ‘or so’ – that could mean anything from five to fifty minutes).

Unfortunately, he proves quite hard to get rid of.

As he lies on my chest he says, “I could just stay here forever, couldn’t you?

” and I say, “mmmhmm, yes that would be bliss but…” I tap his head. “We both have things to do.”

“Do we? It’s a Sunday. Let’s get a takeaway and watch telly.”

In the house, Damon couldn’t leave my bed fast enough.

I’d want him to stay for at least a cuddle and he’d deem me “demanding” and say “I thought you were different from other girls, Angelica, that you didn’t need all that girly, stupid, desperate shit,” and I’d quickly change my tune to impress him and be like, “I only meant a five minute one, calm down, then I’m off with the girls. ”

Sensing that he isn’t getting the hint, I decide I have to be straightforward. I tap his head again.

“Damon, seriously, you’ll have to get off soon. The girls are coming round.”

“You don’t need to do that anymore,” he says, thinking I’m playing it ‘cool’ like before. “I told you I’m all in, we can cuddle all day if you want to. Anyway, you don’t need the girls, you’ve got me.”

Now that I’ll never agree with. “Madison and Layla are coming round for a debrief…this is sacred girl time and it’s starting any minute now.”

A look of sheer panic crosses his face. He knows what a cross-examination from the pair of them will be like.

Definitely not fun. (For him, I mean, I’d probably quite enjoy it.) He’s up, quicker than Usain Bolt, and getting his trousers on so fast he misses the leg and falls over.

He pulls his jumper over his head, and, with a quick kiss on my head, he’s gone.

Just five minutes later, my doorbell rings and in comes Layla, closely followed by Madison. They’ve already got their own keys, of course, and when I shout that I’m upstairs they race up to join me.

“It smells like sex in here,” Layla proclaims.

“You know who to blame for that,” I say. “My swimming pool certainly was not prepared for a good old porno orgy. This isn’t the Playboy mansion.”

Madison smirks. “It practically was last night, that girl, god she was good with her tongue. And Marc? I don’t think he knew what hit him…”