Chapter Thirteen #2
Wednesday is the Midnight Circle’s regular meeting day, unless someone calls for a meeting, the way Huxley did on Sunday.
I hole up in my office at the resort for the morning, moody and irritable.
I didn’t sleep well. I lay awake for hours, going over the events of the night before, filled with a yearning I hadn’t expected.
I miss her. But I know I mustn’t contact her. And I hate not being able to do what I want.
“What?” I bark at Orson when he walks into my office around eleven.
His eyebrows rise and he holds up his hands as if to ward me off. “Steady, tiger. Just wondered if you had the report from Mackenzie’s.”
I grit my teeth, get to my feet, find the file at the bottom of a pile of folders I haven’t gotten around to looking at because I can’t concentrate, and pass it to him. I should apologize for snapping, but if I admit I was wrong, I’ll have to explain why I’m in a mood.
He takes it, then pauses and his gaze skims my face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I reply tersely.
“You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“You stayed the night here?” He knows I sleep better at my house in Herne Bay.
“Yes.”
He studies me. Then he asks, “How’s Marama?”
I glare at him. “What?”
“I know you went to see her yesterday.”
“I sat for my portrait, yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just wondered. Rangi’s away, right?”
“I believe so.”
“Was she okay?”
“She was fine. She took some photos and did a few sketches, then made us dinner.”
Shit, why did I tell him that? Fuck me. Talk about a guilty conscience.
He meets my gaze. I hold it for a second, then put my hands on my hips and look down at the papers on my desk.
He clears his throat. “Are you coming to the meeting later?”
I give a short nod without looking up.
“All right. See you there.” He hesitates as if he’s about to say something more, but I sit down and open my laptop. Taking the hint, he backs away, then leaves the room.
Fuck. I massage my forehead with a hand. Get a grip, Spencer.
My phone lies on the desk to my right, and I reach out and slowly draw it toward me.
I stare at the blank screen, then flick up the screen and turn it on.
I bring up Snapchat and scroll down my list of contacts.
She’s there, her avatar looking surprisingly like her, with light-brown skin and dark hair up in a scruffy bun.
It would be so easy to start a message. Hey, good morning, just wanted to say thanks for last night and hope you’re feeling okay today…
or something else equally as cheesy. But that will suggest I want her to message back.
And no doubt she’ll ask a question, and it will be impolite not to return, and then we’ll be having a conversation, and it’s going to be impossible for me to stop. Better not to start it, right?
Only not messaging her seems rude, after what happened last night.
I sigh. While I understand that depression exists, I believe it’s for other people, those with no willpower.
Whenever I’ve felt low, I’ve countered it with exercise and action, and it’s always made me feel better.
Now, though, I feel a mist of listlessness settle over me.
It’s my choice to be alone. But is it what I really want?
Or do I choose it because it’s the easy, safe option?
Because if you don’t open your heart to anyone, there’s no fear of getting hurt?
I look out of the window, thinking how wonderful it was last night to be wanted, and to feel loved and cared for, even in such a short space of time.
The sex was great, but it was afterward, when we were lying in bed in each other’s arms, that I felt truly at peace for the first time in…
well, maybe ever. Eleanor just didn’t seem to need me the way I needed her.
When we had sex, I was always keen to provide aftercare, and offered cuddles and showers and massages, but she preferred to get up and return to her own room, and in the end I grew used to her rolling over and disappearing.
So to be able to take Marama into the shower and wash each other lovingly, then to have her in my arms and kiss and caress each other, felt more precious than gold.
In the past, I’ve only been able to be romantic by giving gifts, or maybe acts of service.
They were Eleanor’s love languages, and she would much rather receive a new diamond necklace or have me do some jobs for her than receive hugs and kisses.
I told myself that my love languages were the same, and tried to understand that when she gave gifts, that was her way of saying she loved me.
But now I know I was lying to myself, because last night made it clear that physical touch and words of affection are much more important to me.
I stare at Marama’s avatar, then turn off my phone and push it away. It may be true that I do need love and affection more than I thought I did. But there are plenty of women with whom I can find that. The daughter of my business partner and a young family friend is not one of them.
Bringing up my emails, I resolve to put her out of my mind once and for all.
*
The Midnight Circle does sometimes meet around Midnight, if we’ve all been exceptionally busy, or several of us are doing deals in the club, but today appears to have been a light day, and it’s only seven p.m. when Huxley sends a message asking if everyone’s available to meet earlier.
I enter the boardroom and take a seat at the table. Orson and Kingi are already here, and so is Joanna. Just a few seconds later, Huxley and Elizabeth come in with Mack, who closes the door behind him when he realizes he’s the last.
“Thanks for coming early, everyone,” Huxley says, taking a seat. “It’ll be nice to arrive home before nine p.m. for once.”
“You’re getting old,” Mack says.
“You wait until the baby’s born,” he replies. “Waking up in the night is going to make even you tired.”
My eyebrows rise. “Baby? Something you haven’t told us, Mack?”
He gives Huxley a wry glance, then smiles at the rest of us. “We hadn’t announced it yet because she’s only ten weeks, but yeah, Sidnie’s pregnant.”
“Oh… congratulations…” There’s a general cheer and clinking of glasses.
“It’ll be your turn next,” Mack points out to Orson and Kingi.
“I’m working on it,” Orson says.
Kingi just snorts and says, “Got a few more wild oats to sow yet.”
I smile, but it makes my thoughts turn to Marama once again. She’s in her prime, the perfect age for childbearing. She needs someone her own age who’ll give her plenty of babies. It’s yet another reason I have to keep my distance from her.
“So, I wanted to talk about Kahukura,” Huxley says, referring to the commune on the land adjacent to the Midnight Club, and which is owned by Orson’s girl, Scarlett.
“We’ve finalized the charity donations, but I thought I’d raise the idea of offering a regular donation along the lines of the one we offer to the SPCA. ”
The others continue to talk about it, sharing their opinions. I keep quiet. It still goes against the grain for me to agree to help my old enemy’s business, but I will accept whatever the rest of them decide. I’m determined to try to move on, for Orson’s sake.
In the pocket of my suit trousers, my phone vibrates.
I take it and rest it on my thigh, under the table, and flick the screen up to open it.
It’s a Snapchat message from Marama. Hello , it says, forgive me for messaging.
I wasn’t going to—I know you want what happened to be a one-off.
But I missed you, and I wanted to say thanks.
I had a great time. She finishes with a smiley face with hearts.
I purse my lips. Well, it’ll be rude not to reply.
Me: Hey you. No worries. I appreciate the message. I had a great time, too.
I add a heart emoji and send it, then wonder whether I should have included the heart. Oh well, too late now. She comes back almost immediately.
Marama: I’m so glad. Where are you now, in Herne Bay?
Me: No, at Midnight
Marama: In your room?
Me: I’m actually in a meeting
Marama: Oh shit, sorry, lol
Me: It’s okay. They’re all talking. Nobody takes any notice of me
Marama: I can’t believe that. You always dominate any room you’re in
Me: Well that’s very nice of you to say
Marama: It’s true. I don’t have eyes for anyone but you when you’re around
I read her words a few times, oddly touched. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but she knows exactly how to slip through the chinks in my armor.
Thoughtfully, I pause. I shouldn’t reply. I should tell her I’m busy and have to stop messaging.
I don’t though.
Me: I seem to remember your gaze glued to me last night like a laser while I posed
Marama: That might have something to do with you sitting there with your magnificent cock out
I laugh, then look up as everyone glances over. “Sorry,” I mumble, scratching my cheek. “Funny video on Facebook.”
Huxley gives me an amused look, then continues talking. I glance at Orson, who’s frowning, then drop my gaze back to my phone.
Me: You just made me laugh in my meeting
Marama: Hahahaha what did they say?
Me: Orson’s glaring at me. He asked me this morning how you were. He knew I was going over to see you
Marama: Well, fuck him. It’s none of his business
With a surge of rebelliousness, I agree with her. True .
Marama: So when are you coming over again?
Me: I can’t, you know that
Marama: I need to work on your portrait
Me: You said you could do the next step without me
Marama: I could. But I’d rather do it from life
Me: Naked?
Marama: Well, if you’re offering…
Me: I’m not, to be clear
Marama: Spoilsport. I enjoyed our personal painting session
I think of the way she smeared paint over me, and how much fun it was to wash it off.
Me: Me too
Marama: Can you still feel what I wrote on your chest?
Unbidden, my hand rises to rest over where she wrote the word Mine .
Me: Did you brand me?
Marama: I did devil emoji
I rub there, sure I can feel it burning my skin.
Marama: Dad’s not back until Monday
I sigh. Yeah, I know
Marama: What are you doing Friday evening? I’d like you to sit for me again
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I shouldn’t. I mustn’t. I can’t.
Marama: I’ll make dinner. My best meatballs and pasta
I close my eyes briefly. The longing I feel is so strong that it makes me physically ache.
When I open my eyes, she’s sent another message.
Marama: I’ll give Joe the day off on Saturday. You can stay the night then
Ahhh… I thought I was stronger. I hadn’t realized I was so weak where she’s concerned.
Marama: I’ll serve dinner wearing nothing but an apron
I stifle a laugh. Ah, to hell with it. YOLO, right?
Me: Okay. I’ll see you around six
Marama: I look forward to it. Oh, don’t expect to get much sleep. I’m going to make the most of you while you’re here
She finishes with the devil emoji again. I give the message a heart, turn my phone off, and lift my gaze.
Everyone’s looking at me.
“Your vote?” Huxley asks, amused.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, yes, fine by me.”
“That Facebook video must be amazing,” Joanna teases.
I just smile and pocket my phone. Across the table, I see Kingi dip his head to whisper something to Orson, who just shrugs, although his gaze meets mine before he looks away.
Was Kingi asking who I was talking to? If he was, Orson obviously didn’t offer an opinion.
He’s covering for me. I’m not used to that, and it’s disconcerting, especially when I think about who I’ve been talking to.
Feeling like a schoolboy, I wait impatiently for the meeting to end, then head out of the door before Orson or anyone else can quiz me.
It’s one good thing about being a grown up.
You don’t have to answer to anyone. You can make your own choices—as long as you’re prepared to live with the consequences.