46 BEN
BEN
“Isn’t the tree spectacular this year, Benedict?
” Mum tries. We’re at our estate outside London and it’s decked to the nines.
Every traditional, overstuffed white and gold, French-country-styled inch of it.
My mother is flitting about adjusting decor and checking the menu so tonight’s family dinner is perfect.
“Mhm,” I say, faking another smile.
Byron nudges me where we stand at the corner bar in the sitting room. “Try harder, brother.”
I scoff. I told him Janelle and I had had a fight to explain my melancholy. I said I’d try to put up a good front for our mother.
Well.
I didn’t realize how hard it was to function without your heart beating in your chest. I can’t eat. I’m so bloody tired I can barely see straight, then I lay down and can’t sleep.
And why is everything so…happy? Sparkling lights and cheery songs.
“Is Christmas always like this?”
“Yes and you usually love it, you big baby.” Byron says and I just grunt in reply.
My only saving grace is that Emerson and Samantha are Christmassing with her family so I don’t have to deal with my sister-in-law and her sunny disposition.
And her questions. My family, save my all-knowing twin, may buy that my wife’s Gran fell ill and we are simply flying in on separate flights, hers delayed. Samantha would never.
“How was the river parade, then?” Dad asks as he joins us.
“Fine,” I grouse back.
“Bloody hell,” Byron rolls his eyes at me. “I’m going to go find the girls,” as he passes me he adds, “anyone other than this sorry sod.”
I stand taller and try. I really do. I tell Mum and Anya how great the meal is.
I hate everything.
I talk to my father about work. He’s made me International Head of Brands at my suggestion which was really Janelle’s suggestion. I don’t totally hate talking to him anymore. Thanks to her.
This is agony.
I play with my niece and talk about stupid polo with my twin when he returns to the room. I compliment his wife on her cheeky holiday sweater.
There’s a balcony upstairs, could I jump?
Dinner ends after eons and eons. Then, as is our absolutely ridiculous Christmas Eve tradition, we go out back to watch a full-on twenty minute firework show. Not for a party or because we’re particularly religious and want to wish the Lord a happy birthday. Dad just likes fireworks.
She was right, we’re totally gross.
I watch the obnoxious explosions out on the lawn without feeling. I almost smile at my niece's adorable reactions to each burst of light. Almost. I need another drink.
I turn toward the house to find some alcohol and see her. Janelle.
Now my brain’s gone looney. Great.
Mum’s voice cries out, “Oh Janie! You made it!”
I frown at my mother, then back at the figment of my imagination. She’s running to me.
“Ben!”
“Janelle?”
She jumps in my arms, shaking, and I catch her. I swallow and start to tremble too, totally shocked. I carry her back onto the porch, away from the ears of my family. She grabs my face and holds it in her freezing cold hands as we go.
When I pause at the top of the steps, she smiles at me, radiant, and says, “Happy Christmas.”
“I…” Thoughts racing, I stick with something safe, our old faithful. I clear my rapidly-closing throat and joke, “I think you Americans are meant to say Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, but I’m totally in love with a Brit and he says everything wrong.”
“You, you’re w-what?”
“I’m not in love with Theo, you big, beautiful, dummy. I love you!”
“But I heard, you said, still. You said ‘I still love him.’”
She slides down me and stands, hands on my shoulders, smirking, “Yes, because Skye was listing all the odds stacked against us and your many, many flaws, and she said Janie, admit it, even with all that you still love him and I said yes I still love him!”
“You love me.”
“Yes,” she blushes and goes on to hide her nerves, “Even though you’re so terribly British and—”
I kiss her. I kiss her hard and pour all the heart break and longing and now hope and light and damn! She loves me! She loves me!
She pulls back, her gray eyes narrowing, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“You were going to say something the other night and you stopped yourself?”
I beam at her, relishing this moment. She’s flayed wide open before me, like I’ve felt for weeks now. No more walls, no more jokes. I let myself savor the feeling.
“I don’t recall,” I pretend.
“Don’t recall? Who says that? Exactly what year is it?” I laugh but I know she’s really feeling nervous now.
“Someone who is totally dead-on, no-hope, totally-mad, ass-over-tits in love with you.”
She rolls her eyes, “Ass over tits? Reall—”
I kiss her again, leaning down and grabbing her thighs.
She jumps onto me like she never left. Like she’s always been right here in my arms, where she belongs.
I carry her into the house, up the grand stairwell, bumping into not one but two giant bronze busts as we go.
We laugh, we kiss and she cries and we laugh some more.
We reach my room and I shut the door behind us with my foot. We become frenzied, hurried. But she stops us.
“Wait, wait,” I frown down at her stunning face. Her black lashes are clumped with tears and her pink lips are swollen. She looks nervous again so I just wait, stroking a thumb under one wet eye. She says, “I want to tell you everything. I want you to understand.”
“Okay, my love,” I set us on my bed, bothered by the trembling in her voice. “Okay, tell me.”
She does. About the debt. Years and years of it. About how embarrassed she was and then how—
“What the hell! The Bonettis! Janelle, what? Honestly!” I stand, ready to march off and make some calls, but she grabs my hand and pulls me down.
She explains how messy it’s been and that she didn’t want my famous name or family tangled up in it, or Skye’s either.
I’m relieved to know it’s handled and the texts have stopped.
I nod and assure her I’m fine, but I will absolutely make some calls after she’s asleep.
No one threatens my wife, not even the mob. Italian wankers.
After the whole horrid tale, she pauses.
Her lip quivers when she starts, “I want to explain about the photos,” I try to shush her but she goes on.
“It wasn’t about Theo. I mean maybe a year ago it was, but then it became more about me.
Reminders for me to not be fooled, not be charmed again.
I’m hard-wired for charm, but I hate that about myself, because it is how my mom was and, duh, she left me, right?
I was never enough for her. Then after Theo I was so set to never be fooled again.
After even one date with a guy, I’d flip through those photos.
Anytime I was feeling hopeful about money or tempted to feel settled and at peace, I’d remind myself how quickly it can all be gone. ”
She explains how much her split from her ex decimated her finances and her day-to-day life in New York. I add my art brokers names to my list of people I’ll be calling later. She starts to tear up again.
“Then, that whole album really was about you. I was so scared because I was falling for you and I’m still scared, Ben.”
“What? Why? I would never do what he did,” I start but she cuts me off.
“I know you wouldn’t dump me publicly and leave me in financial ruin, obviously. But what about getting restless? What about feeling bored once you get used to me and my spreadsheets and my nine pm bedtime?”
“My darling, I’m already used to you. I’m already on board with your spreadsheets and when we were in Mexico City did I keep you up? Did I drag you around?”
“But did you want to keep me up? I don’t want you to change, Ben, you are so wonderful just as you are. Funny and hot and kind and you think too much about others, about me. What if you want to drag me around? You can drag me around a little,” she says and we both chuckle.
“You came with me on the trip, Janelle. That’s what I wanted. I wanted you to be you. With me. If I desperately need to up and go sky diving I’ll just call Aiden and make him go sky diving. Then I’ll be home by eight forty-five.”
“Eight forty-five?” She asks.
“Fifteen minutes to, oh, who am I kidding, with you I only need about three minutes,” I mutter. It gets me a laugh from her so I add, “Damn embarrassing what you do to me.”
“I love it,” she climbs into my lap. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” I say, running my hands up her spine. She puts hers on my neck.
She inhales a shaky breath and says, “You can’t promise me you won’t get bored.”
“You can’t promise me you won’t get annoyed with my faffing about after adventures.
We can’t promise the other that we won’t get sick or get hit by a bus.
I’ve never done this Janelle, never said those three words before, never fallen so hard for someone I’m terrified.
I can’t promise I won’t bugger this up completely.
We can’t promise very much at all, can we? ”
“We can promise to be honest, I guess.”
“Done. I promise to be honest.” I give her a quick kiss and lean back. “What else?”
“To try? To give this a shot?”
“I promise to try and to keep trying.” Another kiss. “What else?”
She looks to the side, cheeky. “I mean I think I would like a promise about orgasms. Maybe we could revise our contract to have a certain number per night or—”
“Done,” I say, thrusting up into her with way too much clothing between us. In response she eagerly grinds down on my lap. “What else?”
“That’s it. Just you being you. With me.” She repeats my words back to me.
I glide my hands under her sweater and she starts unbuttoning my shirt.
“Promise me you won’t run away,” I say suddenly.
Her big gray eyes meet mine, “I promise I won’t run away.”
She pulls off her shirt and I swallow, watching, “I don’t mean literally.”
“I know,” she says. Her eyes grow warm and dark as she climbs off of me and lays down on the bed.
I somehow take off the rest of my clothes while watching each second of her getting naked in my bed.
She looks me in the eyes, totally bare in every sense.
Her arms reach for me. It’s a dream. She is a dream. I reach for a condom.
“I’m on birth control,” she says, her voice rough.
“You sure?”
“If you are?”
I nod before leaning down to kiss her. I start with her mouth but I’m greedy and desperate. I kiss her neck, I suck on her perfect tits, I kiss down her stomach. I tease her with my mouth and my fingers until she can’t take it anymore.
“Ben, I need you,” she groans beautifully.
I line up over her, bracing my arms on either side of her perfect face.
“Did you miss me?” I ask with a smirk.
“I love you, Ben,” she says and I can’t wait any more. I ease into her, and she whimpers. I suck in a breath. She’s so tight and slick and hot and perfect. She opens her thighs and relaxes a bit, letting me in further and I might die. I might die right now.
“I love you,” I say watching her face as I thrust all the way home.
I pull out and push back in, deliberate.
It feels unbelievable. She cries out over and over, from the sting and the pleasure and, I think, from how scared she is of this, of us.
I’m scared too. But as we lock eyes and pick up our pace there’s a shift. A knowing that we’re in this together.
I push harder, she begs for more. I link my fingers with hers over her head. She wraps her legs around me. We can’t get enough until finally she clenches around me and seeing her close her eyes in ecstasy makes me detonate harder than I ever have in my life.
After a minute, my consciousness returns to my body.
“Just to be clear, I did miss you as well,” she pants.
I laugh, “I missed you so badly I’m never traveling away from you again. Prepare to be sick of me.”
“I ran into Aiden coming out of Harper’s shop, he said you were destroyed.”
“I was. ” I admit as I ease out of her. “I was miserable,” I call over my shoulder as I go into my en suite for a washcloth. After we’ve cleaned up and found our underwear, I get into my bed and pull my wife down into me.
“I was miserable too,” she says as she nuzzles into my chest.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah and get this. I was asking the Nativity baby Jesus for a little help about whether I should fly across the ocean and try to convince you to stay married to me and guess what?” I can’t help but start laughing already, “I saw the damn mayor, Ben.”
I sit up dramatically, “You saw the man, the myth, the legend? The reindeer mayor named Bear with the one gimpy antler?” She laughs and nods, “Well then why didn’t you bloody lead with that?
We’re saved. Clearly fated to be. It’s a sign from both baby Jesus and Father Christmas, we’re going to be fine. ”
“Why,” she gasps between more laughs as I shift to cage around her, covering her with my weight, “why are you like this?”
“I don’t know but it’s a good thing I’m so handsome, yeah?”
She responds by leaning up to grab my face and kiss me like she believes in me and in us. Like she thinks we can make this work or she’ll damn well die trying. She kisses me like she loves me.
And I kiss her right back.