Chapter Fourteen
Marcel
The attic room smells faintly of cedar and old books, the kind of scent that clings to childhood.
Juliet’s world. Her life is played out before me, as she is; trusting me with her beautiful heart.
I take it all in: the curve of her hips and full bloom of her breasts, that neat little trimmed patch above the most perfect pussy in the world.
I’m too mature to be snuggled on a twin bed with all of the stuffed animals, brightly colored perfume bottles, pictures of giggling schoolgirls, and greeting cards.
The window is cracked just enough to let the storm’s distant howl slip in.
I should regret getting close, crossing a line I said I’d never touch.
But as she looks up at me with those wide, unguarded eyes, I don’t know how to resist her.
The wind outside batters the roof but inside, everything slows.
I kiss her again, unable to get enough of her kisses.
The storm echoes my insatiable hunger. The bed is cramped, the mattress creaks, but none of that matters.
Her fingers thread through my hair as mine play with her soft wetness, dipping in to gauge if she’s ready for me.
I stop thinking. Stop calculating. Stop guarding my heart and let go.
“You’re ready,” I whisper in her ear as I nudge her center with my cock. “May I?” I don’t want to be garish, so I can leave something to mystery and seduction, but she has to choose me every time because I’m wrong for her.
She strokes my cock and fits it inside her warmth with a wide bright smile. “I thought you’d never ask," she teases.
I enter and we move together beneath her grandmother’s quilt; her body presses against mine and the world narrows to just this moment.
It’s cramped and awkward, but it’s real.
For a man like me, who trades in billions, buildings, and faceless commodities, reality is terrifying.
Yet, here I am submitting to the most real thing I’ve experienced in a very long time.
I adore the feel of Juliet and marvel at the moment.
When the need overwhelms me and I can see the flush rise in her cheeks while she pants and moans, I know we are both close.
I kiss her neck, which I’ve witnessed makes her euphoric. With my cock thrusting into that spot, the one inside of her just above her pelvic bone adding just enough pressure—there she is ...
“Oh, my God, Marcel, I’m going ...” Juliet grips my shoulders and squeezes me with her constricting orgasm, but I’m not getting caught again. I pull out quickly, whip off the condom, and pump my own release on her belly.
It feels a little sad to have to rip myself away from her, but an unwanted child is more tragic.
I pull her in close and she’s floppy and euphoric.
Her state of ecstasy allows me the opportunity to stare at her beautiful sweet face.
As much as I would never admit it to anyone, I love the idea of letting Juliet show me what a proper Christmas might be like in a small town.
I kiss her head and bring her in close. I hadn’t actually slept in a twin bed since I was a child, so sleeping is going to be a challenge, but her eyes are already growing heavy and she feels so good lying on me that I find I’m nodding off too.
“Do you want to go downstairs?” she asks, almost too sleepy to speak.
“I’m good here,” I say as I bring her in closer.
The storm quiets and we drift into an uneasy tangled slumber.
By morning, pale sunlight filters through the attic window as if nothing ever raged outside. But inside me, something has shifted.
Juliet stretches and struggles to look at me as the sun rises through the curtains. It feels like she might be ashamed of the fact that we had our third “meaningless” encounter last night.
“It looks better out there,” she says, unsure of where to look.
“Darn,” I playfully bring her face to mine.
“I could stay here with you all day, but Gran would have me skinned. You owe me a proper Christmas, so we should get back to the office. I do have to work a little.” Her face falls as I expected it would, but I can’t renege on my duties, even if she doesn’t like them.
“And I need your reports,” I say in an authoritative tone as if I’m not laying naked with her draped over my body warmer than the hottest blanket.
“Yes, Mr. Dubois,” she plays a little.
We wash up separately, careful not to look too long at each other in the small bathroom mirror and she puts on a beautiful forest green suit and I call the hotel concierge to send me a suit and a driver.
We manage to sneak downstairs before Gran wakes up.
Juliet leaves her a sweet note and offers me a cup of cashew yogurt with raspberries and chia seeds; much healthier than I care to eat, but it isn’t bad.
I still feel like it will be a cold day in hell before I become a vegan, this makes me laugh while I’m eating and Juliet looks at me . .. she knows.
“What? I like it,” I defend my laughter and Juliet sighs.
“That’s a shock.”
“Well, I’ve done a few shocking things recently. Are you ready to go, my driver will be here in five.”
“I can take an Uber,” She informs me just as my driver arrives.
“You can, but won’t. I’ll drive you. We’re spending the day together, so I can say I picked you up where I dropped you off last night; efficiency at its finest. It’s almost eight, this excuse will work.
She reluctantly agrees and the drive back to the office is quiet and a tad awkward and yet every glance between us hums with electricity.
We arrive at the building and she dutifully goes to her spot to work.
I take my time because I need to change clothes.
There is a private men’s room in the office for the senior members of the project with bathrooms, a couple of showers, and a few vanities with wash basins for shaving and freshening up.
The entire office complex is one of those turn key rentals that provide all of one’s needs for a temporary set up.
For us, we contracted for one year with an option to renew for three.
One needs a key to enter the private men's room, so I check and make sure none of my colleagues are there, then take my time getting ready, mostly because I’m fighting my nerves.
The more time I spend with Juliet, the more invested I am.
I’m actually excited to see what our day will entail.
I told my partners that I’m researching the community so I can see how our housing empire will capitalize on it.
And that is exactly what I’m doing, but I’m also going to enjoy seeing Christmas through Juliet’s eyes.
When I’m dressed and ready for the work day, I walk past Juliet diligently printing copies of her report.
As I enter the adjacent office, I sit at my desk to answer the millions of emails and calls I’ve received while I was out of the office.
Soon, I’m lost in work. While I’m reviewing a contract with a concrete vendor, my new assistant, who is also a temp, pokes her head into my office after a light knock. She’s in her late thirties, and her name is Christine, but she prefers Tina. I pat myself on the back for knowing that.
“Mr. Dubois, Mrs. Dubois is on her way,” she says when I finally look up from my work to address her.
“Mrs. Dubois?” Why the hell is my ex-wife in Rhode Island?
I don’t have a lot of time to react because Clara, my ex-wife, is tramping through the office. She passes the bullpen and Juliet’s little cubicle, then walks in, to my horror, and bellows, “Where is my husband?” like a lost velociraptor.
The look of terror and shock on Juliet’s face breaks my heart. For a heartbeat, everything is at risk, Juliet’s fragile friendship, her innocence, our few times together, all is threatened by the presence of the viper I used to be married to.
She isn’t satisfied with the settlement I agreed to.
I gave her a mansion to live in, for God’s sake, and she gets a very generous chunk of alimony, but she still seems to think she is entitled to more even though she is the one who cheated.
Christmas is a time of year when she still expects lavish gifts as if we have traditional obligations.
I do visit her elderly parents and take them all out for dinner since I usually have no one else to spend Christmas.
I truly loved her at one point, but those memories are almost too faded to recall.
I am not a fan of her partner, but we keep a safe distance from each other, and I did buy gifts her son.
“He’s in his office,” a woman points across the hallway.
My ex-wife sweeps into my office like she still has a place by my side, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
She hasn’t changed. She wears a perfectly tailored coat, diamond earrings catching the fluorescent lighting, bright and offensive, and a faint whiff of expensive perfume trails behind her.
“Marcel, Merry Christmas. You must be wondering why I’m here,” she launches at me with an overwhelming embrace.
“Oh, I’m more than wondering, I’m flat out confused. What the hell, Clara?” I am not going to allow this ridiculousness, especially with Juliet watching from across the room.
“I read about the project in the trades,” she says, dropping her handbag onto one of my chairs without asking. “Ten city blocks, Marcel? Gutting a community center? I had to see this for myself."
“You didn’t find out about this in the trades,” I tell her flat out. The project hasn’t been announced.
“Alright, maybe Julian and I went to a Chester Street Christmas party and it was mentioned. Regardless, we usually spend time during Christmas together and you weren’t there.” She huffs like a spoiled child.
“We don’t spend time during Christmas together, I make an obligatory visit to your elderly parents and you always happen to be there. You left me for Julian, had a son and I am forced to partially fund your lavish lifestyle. Other than that, I want nothing to do with you.” At this she laughs.
“I supported you for years while you were building your business, Marcel, so don’t play the martyr. You have more money than you can manage, and my son is young, he has needs.”
“He’s not my child, not my responsibility. Neither are you. So why are you here?” I’m in no mood for this.
“Ah, so sweet. I’m here to admire your work.” She sits on the couch in my office.
“Oh, come on now, we both know that’s not true.” I hate lies and Clara is the best liar.
She tilts her head, studying me with a sharp gaze that once could slice me open; now she just irritates me. “Relax. I’m not here to fight. But since I’m here ...” She smooths an invisible crease on her skirt. “After next year, the alimony payments end. And—”
“And there will be no need to see each other anymore,” I finish her sentence. “You have Julian and your son. I’ll send a wedding gift.”
Clara’s lips curve into what looks like a smile, but there’s now laughter in it. “Maybe you won’t have to.”
“Oh?” I don’t really care, but if she is no longer with her long time partner and the father of her child, she might start hounding me. “I hope you two are still good.” Because I certainly don’t want her back.
“You know relationships,” she dismisses.
“Only been in one,” I pause and look at her, “and we both know what happened in that one.”
She doesn’t move and her smile sharpens. “I’m ready for a tour.”
“I’m busy, Clara and I’m seeing someone. You should fly back to New York. I’m sure your son wants to be with his mother on Christmas.”
“Julian’s parents are taking him to the alps,” she dismisses. “You’re seeing someone?” She seems shocked.
“Yes, and I’m late for our date.” All untrue, but I will do anything to get rid of her.
The audacity of the woman coming to Rhode Island. Cayden, one of my three best friends and the flirtiest, must have told her. He is so happy-go-lucky, he never thinks things through.
Clara turns on her heel and leaves, her perfume lingering in the air, choking me. “I’ll come by tomorrow then.”
Fuck.