Chapter 32
ELIZABETH
Iwoke to the sound of water running in the bathroom. Adrian was in the shower. The London morning was gray and dreary but absolutely beautiful. I listened to the rain pattering gently against the glass. The whole experience felt surreal.
Last night felt like a dream. The manor house, the dancing, the way Adrian had looked at me. The way he touched me, kissed me, and made love to me like it meant something.
Nothing about this feels fake anymore.
I wanted to tell him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I was not that brave. That felt like cutting my chest open and waiting to see if he would save me.
My own self-doubt was way too loud for me to allow myself to be vulnerable.
I kept wondering if I misread everything. What if last night was just excellent sex fueled by adrenaline and proximity?
My phone rang, cutting off my spiral. I grabbed it from the nightstand, saw Mom on the screen, and felt a flutter of something that might have been hope. Or dread.
It was always like that with my mother.
Maybe she’d seen the press coverage and wanted to congratulate me. I certainly hadn’t told my parents about my engagement. They didn’t know it was fake. I wasn’t sure they even cared. Maybe she wanted to tell me she was proud and she’d been wrong about fashion being a waste of time.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Elizabeth Marie Laramie.” Her voice was cold, clipped. Never a good sign when she used my full name. I considered just ending the call. I could tell her it was a bad connection. I was on another continent after all.
“Good morning to you, too,” I muttered.
I looked at my screen. It was just after eleven in the morning, which meant it was the butt crack of dawn back home. Of course, my mother would be up.
“I just got off the phone with your Aunt Carol.”
My stomach sank. Aunt Carol, gossip queen. The woman that heard gossip before anyone else and made it her personal mission to tell as many people as possible within the first hour.
“And?” I prompted.
“She sent me a video, Elizabeth.” The disgust oozed from her tone. Even thousands of miles away I could hear her disappointment.
“What video?” I asked.
“From that fashion show you were at last night. In London.”
“Sebastian’s show, yes. It was incredible.”
“It was pornographic.” The word came out with all the venom of a preacher delivering the Sunday morning sermon to a congregation of sinners.
“Mom, no.”
“Elizabeth, there were women on that runway wearing practically nothing. I could see their—their—” She couldn’t even say it. “Everything was on display. Nipples, Elizabeth. The entire internet can see nipples.”
I closed my eyes, counted to three. If I laughed, she would just get angrier.
But seriously, the internet was nipples all the way down.
Plus, Mom saw her own every day. I didn’t quite understand what the problem was.
If she didn’t want to see the offending body parts, she could have just shut the damn thing off.
“Mom, it’s fashion. It was artistic. If anything, you should be mad at Aunt Carol—”
“It was indecent. And you were there. Your face is in the pictures, standing next to that man, smiling like you approve of such immodesty.”
“That man is my fiancé,” I said, the lie coming automatically. “And yes, I approve of Sebastian’s vision. It was bold and beautiful and exactly what fashion should be. You’ve never understood it and I’m not going to try convincing you again.”
“This is what I raised you for? To parade around with people who have no sense of decency? To associate yourself with that kind of display?”
The criticism felt like sandpaper against an open wound. All the old hurts and the hundreds of times she’d dismissed my dreams. She always made me feel like wanting to design clothes was something shameful.
“You didn’t raise me for anything,” I said, and heard the sharpness in my own voice. “You barely supported my going to design school. You’ve never come to see my work. You never wanted to see my designs. And when you did, you had nothing but criticism.”
“Because you make clothes for sluts—”
“No, let me finish.” I was standing now, pacing the hotel room in Adrian’s shirt from last night. “This is my dream, Mom. This is what I’ve wanted my entire life. And you’ve done nothing but make me feel bad about it. About myself.”
“I did the best I could!” Her voice cracked, and I heard tears underneath the anger. “Do you think it was easy, raising two children on your father’s salary? Do you think I had the luxury of encouraging pipe dreams? I kept you fed, kept you clothed, kept a roof over your head.”
“And criticized every single thing I ever did.”
“You have no idea what I sacrificed. What I gave up. And this is the thanks I get? Being told I wasn’t supportive enough?
” She was crying now, sniffling audibly.
These were pretty typical dramatics for my mother.
Anytime I tried to express my opinion or feelings, she freaked out and became the victim.
She stole my thunder and acted like she was the wounded party.
“I did more than enough for you, Elizabeth. More than enough. And you’re being ungrateful. ”
The guilt hit me like a physical blow. She had sacrificed. I knew she worked hard and had provided for us even when money was tight. Who was I to say it wasn’t enough?
“Mom, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to go.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Your Aunt Carol is waiting. We’re going to church. Maybe you should try going sometime. Might remind you of some values. I think you need to rethink some things.”
The line went dead.
I stood there holding the phone, tears streaming down my face, feeling like the worst daughter in the world. How did she do that? How did she always manage to make me feel guilty for wanting something different than what she wanted for me?
The bathroom door opened, and Adrian emerged in a cloud of steam, towel around his waist, water still beading on his chest and shoulders.
“Elizabeth?” His expression shifted immediately when he saw my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid.” I tried to wipe my tears away, but they kept coming. “Just my mom being my mom.”
“What did she say?” He crossed to me in three strides, his hands gentle on my shoulders.
“She saw Sebastian’s show. Called it pornographic. Said I should be ashamed to be associated with such indecency.” The words came out broken, punctuated by stupid, hiccupping sobs. “And then I told her she never supported me, and she cried, and now I feel like the worst person alive.”
“Hey, no.” Adrian pulled me against his chest, his skin still warm from the shower. “You’re not the worst person. You’re allowed to want support from your mother.”
“But she’s right—she did sacrifice for us. She worked so hard. And I just threw it in her face.”
“You didn’t throw anything. You stated a fact.
” His hand stroked my hair. His touch was soothing.
Comforting. “Elizabeth, giving someone food and shelter is the bare minimum of parenting. Supporting their dreams, encouraging their talents—that’s what makes someone a good parent.
And it sounds like your mother didn’t do that. ”
“She did her best.”
“Maybe. But her best wasn’t what you needed.” He tilted my chin up, making me look at him. “You deserved better than someone who made you feel ashamed of your gift.”
“I made her cry, Adrian.”
“And she made you cry. Probably has made you cry dozens of times over the years with her criticism.” His thumb brushed away my tears. “You’re allowed to set boundaries. You’re allowed to say, ‘this hurt me’ without taking on guilt for someone else’s feelings.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let go of the weight that had settled in my chest. “Why does it feel so bad then?”
“Because you’re a good person who was raised by someone who used guilt as a weapon.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “But you don’t have to carry that anymore. You’re building a life that’s yours, not hers. And that’s okay. You are happy.”
Fresh tears spilled over. “I just wanted her to be proud of me. Just once.”
“I’m proud of you.” He said it simply, like it was fact. “So proud I could burst with it.”
“Adrian,” I whispered.
He brushed his lips across mine. The touch was so tender I nearly collapsed.
I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. The towel around his waist was damp against my bare legs where his shirt ended. I could feel his arousal pressing against me, but he didn’t rush. Just kept kissing me with that maddening gentleness that made my heart ache.
“Let me show you,” he murmured against my lips. “Let me show you how proud I am.”
His hands found the hem of the shirt I wore and slowly lifted it. I raised my arms and let him pull it over my head. His palms slid down my sides.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “So incredibly beautiful.”
He walked me backward and gently laid me down onto the soft sheets. I scooted back, resting my head on the pillow. He pulled the towel and let it drop to the floor.
He crawled over me, his damp hair dropping water on my face. He lowered his face close to mine and lapped at the water before he kissed me.
Adrian settled between my thighs, his weight supported on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing me. He just looked at me for a long moment, his expression so full of something I couldn’t quite name that I felt tears prick my eyes again.
“Hey, no more crying,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Not unless they’re the good kind of tears.”
“These might be,” I admitted. “I don’t know what kind they are.”
He kissed me again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my toes curl. I arched into him, pressing my breasts against his chest.
He acted like we had all the time in the world.
His mouth left mine to trail down my neck, nipping and suckling every few inches. He smiled against my skin, clearly pleased he’d memorized what I liked. Then lower, to my collarbone, to the valley between my breasts.
When his mouth closed around my nipple, I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. He took his time there, lavishing attention with his tongue and teeth until I was squirming beneath him.
His hand slid down my stomach, between my legs, fingers finding how wet I already was. He groaned. “God, Elizabeth. You’re perfect.”
He stroked me slowly. When he slid one finger inside me, I clutched at his shoulders.
“More,” I managed.
He added another finger, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with just the right pressure. The pleasure built slowly, a wave gathering strength, and I felt myself climbing toward something beautiful.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go for me.”
But I didn’t want to let go yet. Didn’t want this to end. I grabbed his wrist, stopping his movement.
“Inside me,” I said. “I want you inside me.”
He withdrew his hand and reached for the nightstand, fumbling for a condom he’d left there earlier. I watched him roll it on and found myself marveling at just how sexy he was. When he positioned himself at my entrance, he paused.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did. Our eyes locked as he slowly pushed inside, filling me inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming. Not just physical but emotional. Like he was claiming more than just my body.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You feel incredible.”
He started to move. Not the frantic coupling of last night. It felt more meaningful. His forehead rested against mine, our breath mingling. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.
The good kind, I realized. These were definitely the good kind.
“I’ve got you,” Adrian whispered. “I’ve got you.”
His hand found mine, fingers interlacing as he pinned it gently above my head. The other hand slid under my lower back, tilting my hips so he could go deeper. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
The pleasure built slowly, steadily, like a sunrise spreading across the sky. Every thrust brought me higher. I could feel Adrian getting close too, his movements becoming less controlled.
“Come for me,” he said against my ear. “I want to feel you.”
His words pushed me over the edge. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, like the warmest ocean. I heard myself crying out his name. Adrian followed seconds later, his body tensing as he buried himself deep, groaning into my shoulder.
He kissed my cheek and then wiped the tears once again. Adrian shifted, carefully withdrawing and disposing of the condom before pulling me against his chest.
I curled into him, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me. Nothing had been resolved, but for now, I felt safe.