All the Time in the World - Chapter 11
“I love you. Please tell me that you know that.”
“I know you love me… You just don’t love me enough.”
“You’re upset because I put you second to the Crown.”
I don’t answer. I just try to breathe, try to match the pressure around my body from his arms but my limbs have no strength.
“Do you know why I would come to see you?”
“That’s the public reason I would give. But my personal reason has nothing to do with that. My personal reason is you. Darling, you wouldn’t even know that I was there. But I couldn’t be apart from you. The reasoning is selfish. How I feel.”
“But you won’t grant me the same wish.”
“No. Because it would look bad on the Crown.”
I open my mouth, ready to complain but I just sob, my heart so heavy.
“And think who that person is. Not my mother. She’s just holding on to spite me. He’s my little boy, regardless of his age. Don’t hate me for that. Don’t think I love you any less.”
The reasonableness of his argument jars through me. “I hate you.”
“You would do exactly the same.”
I hate it when he is right. “Why is it always me that has to submit?” I know I’m being petulant but he has really hurt me, years upon years of knowing I’m not important enough.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about how upset I have made you. But a marriage is a union between two families, not just two people. It isn’t an isolated cocoon of just our love. Could you even imagine?” He kisses the top of my head. “We’d kill each other.”
“This is a bit like a cocoon…”
“And we’re already fighting.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I don’t want to fight with you either.”
“But it’s always me making the compromise.” He isn’t even aware of most of them.
“I know. I know… I love you. You’re the reason I have happiness in my life. I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t. But I love you. Every atom of your being radiates the energy I need to survive. I don’t have the power to give you everything you deserve in life. I’m sorry for being a failure to you.”
If I didn’t know he meant it, this would anger me. It’s manipulation. But in his case, he means it and it tugs at my heart. How can he still feel like this? “You’re not a failure.”
“I am if I can’t make you happy.”
“Funny sort of happy this is…”
“Nobody is happy all the time.”
“I’m happy every time I know I’m going to see you. Even today. I was scared about seeing you but still happy. Holding you in real life, like this. Even if you’re crying…”
“Better when I’m not crying?”
“Admittedly better when you’re not crying…”
“Can I hold you for longer?”
“Yes. Can we start today again?”
I wriggle out of his arms and start taking off my clothes. He gives me a sideways glance and copies me.
“I presume this isn’t what I’m thinking.”
That makes me smile. “Your presumption is correct.” I slip my legs under the blankets, out of the cold, and he soon joins me, squealing slightly as I press my frozen feet against his calves. He kisses me softly and I realise how much I’ve missed him, how much I’ve wanted to be beside him, to hold him, to kiss him.
“What do I have to do to make it a positive presumption?”
“Depends on how loved you can make me feel.”
“I can make you feel loved.” He finds my hand and kisses it repeatedly.
“When we get up, we can start the day again.”
“I’d like that very much.”
“I can’t wait to spend the day with you. Being in isolation away from you has been like living in a prison. But I can deal with being trapped inside the house with you. Just you.”
“Only you. I’m looking forward to it already.”
I struggle with the seatbelt, not managing to release it from the clasp and he laughs at me, watching me getting annoyed with it before reaching over and releasing the lock.
“Are you planning to run?”
“What? Because you’ve released me?”
“Because I set you free.”
“You think I’m free just because you removed a belt from around my body?”
“I’ll release you from everything.”
He smiles, pressing a button and I hear the clunk as the car unlocks.
“If I run, there’s armed police to stop me just ten yards away.”
I hold up my left hand. “You can’t free me from this.” I say the words before thinking and then I curse myself. We don’t talk about this relationship going anywhere or that it’s not. We don’t mention the binds and why it’s not possible. We don’t talk about anything to do with feelings. Just desire. And friendship. They’re easier.
He takes hold of my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm of my hand and making me shiver. “I could remove this very easily.” Then he bites my ring finger, roughly, pulling my wedding ring off with his teeth. I giggle, nervously, as he spits it from his mouth and tosses it in the ashtray, amid the ash from my cigarettes.
“It feels very bare now.”
He reaches to kiss me but pulls away before I can respond, then I feel him pulling at my finger again, this time to push a large ring over my knuckle. The metal is warm. He doesn’t let me look at it but I know the ring very well. It sits on his pinkie and he never removes it. My heart is beating so loudly, his protection officers must be able to hear it, sitting in the car behind ours, guarding the drive behind us. His blue eyes are staring at me intensely and he strokes my hand now with his thumb, stirring a current through me. Why did he do that? Why does it make my heart leap with an excitement which is edged in such a warm pleasure? I want to allow myself to love him but I know I can’t.
“Imagine it’s any diamond on this planet. I’d get it for you.”
“Please stop.” I can’t afford to indulge in this pretence. It’s dangerously like hope.
“Or would you prefer a stone instead?”
“No.” I don’t know what I’m saying ‘no’ to. The stone, the roleplay…
“A diamond then. The size of your knuckle. Then you can’t ever take it off.”
I feel him slide towards me, slipping across the leather seat and then we’re in easier territory as he reaches to kiss me. I throw myself into the kiss as kissing him is the only outlet for my heart. I grasp onto his head and push my fingers into his hair, pushing against him fiercely. But then my head is against the back of the seat and I can feel his hands now caressing my face, his kiss so gentle, it forces me to open my eyes and his are there, staring at me and I need to look away but I can’t. How did this become so much more than playing games with my husband? How did my best friend become this burning desire in my heart?
“I think I’m in love with you, Milla.”
“Think? If you were in love with me, there would be no thinking involved.”
“That’s nonsense. Of course the thought process is involved.”
“Then you’re not in love with me.”
“You have the most ridiculous romantic notion of love.”
“Love is different. You said you were ‘in love’ with me.”
“I take it back. I love you. Are you going to argue with that?”
“I’m heading inside.” I push him off me and reach for the ashtray to retrieve my ring.
It stops me for a microsecond and then I reach for it again, his hand capturing my wrist roughly. A liquid anger bursts through my veins as he physically restrains me. “Get off me!”
“I don’t want you to get your hands dirty!” He holds out a pristine handkerchief and releases my wrist. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to…”
“Yes, you were.” I snatch the handkerchief and fish out my ring from the ash. It’s filthy.
“I’ll get it cleaned. Please don’t put it back on tonight.”
His ring is so heavy on my finger and so tight and my heart is pounding from the conversation we’ve just had. I climb out of the car without kissing him goodbye and walk quickly to open the front door. I’m not surprised to feel his arms around my waist and his lips against my neck, making me ache for him. “You can’t come in, the children are in bed.” I push the door open and his teeth pull at my ear, making me squeal.
He follows me inside before turning me to face him. He’s not even kissed me and I know he’s staying. Every cell in my body wants him. I manage to put my keys on the sideboard along with his handkerchief with hands which are already shaking.
“I’m sorry for making you angry.”
“I’m not angry.” I don’t have enough resolve to maintain anger with him. He kisses my neck and my arms wrap around him of their own accord.
“I love you. I don’t want to upset you.”
I pull away from him. “Follow me. Quietly.”
He’s gone when I wake the next morning and I roll over to push my nose into the pillow he used. I can still smell him and I breathe him in, feeling it curl through me, stroking my heart which is already sending out ripples of distress at being parted from him. I need to get a grip on this. I can’t be in love with him. I allow myself a few long moments to remember last night and that delicious rush which floods through my skin as I recall the feeling of his body flush against mine before I force myself up and into the shower, washing him away. Then it’s time to switch into my other life as I go to wake my baby daughter, her fat little face scrunching up in displeasure at being woken. Back to praising her for having a dry bed, slathering cream all over her, dressing her, negotiating what she’s wearing–why does she care what she wears? Then I heave her on my hip as it takes far too long for her to walk downstairs when she’s dopey like this and trudge into the kitchen. Tom is out on the patio already. I can hear him talking to himself and the door is wide open.
Ambling outside, I see the train track first, a wooden contraption which he has constructed all around the patio and then I see the two of them, Tom and Charles sitting together, building a bridge. My heart feels like it’s falling from that same bridge. I watch Charles explain the need for supports and then help to build the track, letting Tom do the work, allowing him to think and adjust the plan. Laura demands to be put down and I find myself staring at Charles as Laura toddles over to him and he sits her on his knee.
“Good morning, Darling.” It’s said to Laura but he’s looking at me. Laura makes a grab at the track and he hands her a train to play with which she drives over him. This isn’t fair. He can’t be so good with my children. My heart is shouting at me to listen and it’s becoming too difficult to ignore. I return to the kitchen for air, busying myself with breakfast and I notice my ring in a bowl on the side, sparkling clean. I reach for his signet ring, sitting on my finger and run my finger over the feather crest, wanting to keep it. I pull it but it’s tight and it doesn’t budge and I get the first waves of panic that I won’t be able to get it off.
I look up at him worriedly, then smile as he seems to be wearing my children, Laura still playing with a train on his shoulder, Tom clasping onto his trousers. “Morning, Darling.” I bend down and open my arms to my son, kissing his soft hair until he wriggles away.
“I got it on without a struggle so it will come off.” He grasps onto my hand and kisses it. “For now, you’re stuck with the reminder of me attached to you.”
“I’m feeling incredibly smug this morning.” He puts Laura down, and she rushes off to follow her brother before he wraps me in his arms.
I sink into them as if they were made for me, breathing him in, pushing my lips against his neck.
He laughs at my interjection, kissing the side of my face. “Incredible. As you well know.”
“I won’t leave you without saying goodbye. I was planning on making you breakfast but then I got distracted by Tom.”
“Making me breakfast? You can cook?”
“Scrambled eggs, of course.”
“Wow!” He grasps onto my sides, tickling me, making me giggle before kissing my forehead and drawing me closer.
“When can I next fall asleep with you wrapped around me?” His words are whispered into my ear, making my heart sing, making my stomach churn with anxiety.
“When can I wake up with you beside me?”
He doesn’t answer, just kisses my ear and holds onto me tighter.
“So when am I meeting you and your girlfriend as ‘a couple’?”
He moans into my ear and we pull apart. “Why can’t I just marry you?”
“I don’t know. Something reminiscent of someone called Simpson?” It makes him chuckle but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I would actually like you to meet her properly. Tell me what you think of her?”
“We should probably do it sooner rather than later. You have very bad taste in women.”
“You just never like any of them.”
“Precisely. Really bad taste.”
“Give her a chance. She’s very young.”
“I know of her. She’s a lamb. I can’t really see you two together though.”
“What? Help her become more ‘suitable’ for you? Christ, Charles, do you actually like this one?”
“I don’t know. I might do. She’s very sweet. She listens to me.”
“Do you think she’s attractive?”
“Oh God… So you only might like her personality and you’re not sure she’s attractive?”
“What a quality to possess.”
“It’s quite important really. She’s going to have to do everything my family says and tradition dictates for the rest of her life if she marries me.”
“Good point… Okay, amenable then and pretty. Let’s meet her. I’m sure I can pass on some friendly advice.”
“I don’t want to marry her. I need you to know that. I want to marry you.”
“But you can’t, so here we are, discussing potential brides…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself…”
“Darling, you don’t have to marry her. But you might need to give her a chance.”
“I was meant to be leaving.”
“Some conversations are important enough to take the time to have them.”
“Yes. Call me later. It’ll be good to talk through this with you anyway.”
2087
titsay
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
