Chapter 14
Fourteen
ELLIS
If I thought I was consumed by my thoughts of Josephine before today, I was sorely mistaken.
Last night was different from our first, and I’m still trying to work out whether this is a good thing or not. On one hand, my level of attraction toward this woman has—incredibly—increased. On the other, the chances of me getting any work done today have—wildly—decreased.
Unable to stomach the very-real chance I’d miss the village pharmacy’s limited hours, I drove down after breakfast and bought condoms for the first time since college. The old woman who sold them to me pursed her lips, and as I walked back to the car, it occurred to me that Josephine was likely correct when she guessed keeping our relationship a secret might be impossible in this small community.
There’s already been gossip about our presence in the chateau. Josephine and I have both had to fend off curious villagers who wanted to know if I was the late owner’s distant relation or if Josephine was his illegitimate daughter with an American actress. In a slow, sleepy village like this one, Jo, Zoe and I are big news. My constant corrections that she is my nanny, not my wife, certainly won’t be to my advantage now.
It says a lot about how desperate I am to be inside this woman that I find I don’t particularly care. In fact, it’s comforting to know she’ll be seen as mine in this small corner of the world. At the least, now I won’t have to contend with every handsome farmer in a fifty-mile radius turning up at the door of the chateau in the hopes of charming the beautiful, intelligent American staying here.
A beautiful, intelligent American who I brought to orgasm on my tongue over and over again and who ground her greedy little pussy all over my cock. Finishing all over her barely took the edge off, and even the distant sounds of her voice calling after Zoe outside the library windows, or catching the scent of her hair in the downstairs hall, is enough to destroy any feeble levels of concentration I’ve been able to muster up.
I take my lunch in the kitchen, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she and Zoe must be eating somewhere on the grounds because they’re nowhere to be seen. By the time mid-afternoon rolls around, my brain has turned to sludge, and, in need of a break, I go in search of the women of the house.
Today is cooler than it has been since we arrived, and even the urgency to lay eyes on Josephine fades a little as I stroll through the chateau’s quiet garden. The seeds Jo and Zoe planted are beginning to emerge, and I pause to water them, attempting to gather some composure before continuing on my way. The last thing I need is to take one look at her, lose my mind, and kiss her in front of Zoe.
It was difficult enough to see the two bruises that bloomed on her neck overnight, souvenirs from our encounter in the foyer, and not launch myself across the breakfast table to find out if I left some on her breasts too.
I was never like this with any of my previous partners. The possessive, jealous monster that Josephine inspires in me is unprecedented and more than a little alarming. Even the first night we met—after I’d accepted it would be our only night—I couldn’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on her.
A few more minutes outside succeeds in lowering my blood pressure a bit. It’s easy to be peaceful here, insulated from the pressures of academia and the constant stress of my day-to-day life.
Of course, the real world has a way of making itself known regardless of where you are. My reminder that life is not all rustling fields and rare books comes in the form of my ex-wife’s name on my caller ID.
I consider not answering it, but Miranda’s attempts to connect with me either end after the first call or continue on the daily until I work up the will to deal with her. While today does not feel like that day, I would rather address whatever she wants now, rather than risk Josephine becoming aware of the situation.
Gritting my teeth, I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear, staring hard at a nearby patch of strawberry plants. “ What ?”
She releases a frustrated sigh. “I’m trying to be civil, Ellis. You could make an effort to do the same. For Zoe’s sake.”
A sour taste fills my mouth at the sound of her voice, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to throw my phone to the ground and stomp on it. How dare this woman, who all but abandoned her own child, lecture me about doing what’s best for Zoe? As if every day of my life isn’t spent running myself ragged to do just that, while the woman I thought I would grow old with floats freely through life.
Perhaps reading my silence as the exercise in willpower that it is, Miranda sighs. “I didn’t call you to fight. I have the dates I’ll be in Brussels in two months. You’ll still be there, right?”
“Yes,” I admit, knowing where this is going. “But Zoe is just getting settled into the routine here. I don’t want you coming up. It confuses her.”
“I have a right to visit my daughter.”
“ Your daughter?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “What size shoes does she wear, Miranda? What’s her favorite color? She’s a child, not a play thing for you to set on a shelf and come back to when you happen to be in the area. You haven’t visited for six months, and before that, it was eight. Why bother at all? Is it for you, or for her?”
When she doesn’t respond immediately, I begin to wonder if perhaps I’ve finally made my point. It’s a foolish hope, and one that’s proven wrong when Miranda grits out. “I have visitation rights, and I’m choosing to use them. You know I come when I can, so unless you’d like to take me back to court and drain whatever is left of your savings, then you’ll give me your address and a good time to visit. Whenever it is, I’ll make it happen.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, struggling to think straight through the anger and frustration this conversation has caused. How could I have married this woman? Is my judgement so terrible that I thought Miranda Perkins was the love of my life? Swallowing back the shame, I speak words that sound so hollow, they echo through my mind after I’ve spoken them. “I’ll email you a list of dates.”
“Thank you.” Miranda states with a sigh, obviously relieved she’s gotten her way. I’m on the point of hanging up when she speaks again. “Ellis?”
God, I can’t stand the sound of my name coming out of her mouth. “What?”
“She’s doing well?” There’s a hopeful, slightly strained plea in her voice that takes me off guard. It doesn’t dispel the loathing I hold for my former wife, but it does take the edge off the fury I was gripped by only moments ago.
Miranda cares, just not enough.
I sink down on a bench beside the freshly tilled garden and stare down into the dark earth without really seeing it. In truth, I’m years away, replaying the coldest, most desolate moments of my short-lived marriage. “She’s good. Enjoying the country life.”
Miranda laughs. “I bet. Do you remember when she was a baby? We’d lay her on her stomach in the grass and she was so fascinated by it?”
I don’t reply. Yes, I remember that. I also remember the fights, the pleading, the hurt, the lies and, ultimately, watching Miranda walk out the door for the last time. A family of my own was something I always wanted, but once I got it, the happy moments were a few scattered stars amidst an otherwise dark sky.
The reality that I’d married the wrong woman had set in not long after the wedding, but I thought if I worked hard enough, dedicated myself… the ring on my finger meant something to me and I’ve never felt like more of a failure than the day I signed the papers, admitting defeat.
“I’ll send you the dates,” I finally say, and don’t wait for her reply before I end the call, dropping my head into my hands and forcing air into my unwilling lungs.
Being the bitter, angry ex-husband isn’t something I want, but I can’t seem to help myself. If Miranda had shouldered her share of parenting Zoe, likely I would have been free to be more than the stressed, harassed shell of a man I’ve become. Maybe I would have called the beautiful young woman who I met at a party and not been weighed down by the pressure to protect my daughter from being abandoned a second time.
As if I didn’t have cause before, how can I not hate Miranda even more now, when her actions mean I can’t have Josephine?
Drained of any peace I found outside, I get to my feet and make my way into the meadow, heading toward a patch of trees which conceals the stream winding through the estate. I’ve only been out here a few times, but I know it’s become a favorite haunt of Jo and Zoe’s.
Sure enough, when I get close, I hear giggles and splashing amidst gently gurgling water. A bit of the tension in my shoulders fades away as I pick my way through the trees, listening to my child’s happiness.
I find them easily.
Zoe is in her bathing suit, waist deep in the gentle stream, wearing a floaty vest and goggles half the size of her face. Upstream, Jo is standing in the water, a mesh bag of rubber ducks in her hand. “Are you ready?” she calls down to Zoe, who nods enthusiastically. Jo releases the duck. It bobs and weaves slowly over the stream until it reaches Zoe, who dives for it, splashing around theatrically and squealing in delight when she emerges from the water. The duck is held triumphantly over her head.
“I got it!” she squeals, eyes bright and the tips of her hair dripping. “I got it! I got it!”
Jo, who must have spotted me when Zoe was in pursuit of the duck, catches my eye. “Have you come to join us?” she calls, her face transformed by effortless joy.
As if I could ever say no to that.
The volume of Zoe’s excitement rises considerably when she sees me pulling off my shoes and rolling my pants up over my knees. As I step into the cool water, wading over the rocky stream floor toward Josephine, it’s as though the current is taking away the negative emotions I arrived with. Or, more likely, it’s the woman I’m moving towards, who is looking at me with something in her eyes I don’t dare name.
She’s wearing cut off jean shorts and a little white cotton blouse today, with her dark curls braided back out of her face. We exchange a slight, secretive smile, and it’s a struggle to look away when I reach her side .
“Do you think you can catch two?” I call to Zoe, and her eyes brighten at the challenge.
As it turns out, she can. Jo and I erupt into applause, and Zoe beams, obviously pleased with the attention for her efforts. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour,” Jo tells me with an easy laugh as we watch Zoe dive for another set of ducks. “It’s the simple things, I guess.”
Yes. It is.
I swallow, keeping my eyes trained forward before I can do something foolish. “Are we on for tonight?” I ask quietly, unable to stop myself or even pretend to play it cool. We haven’t had the chance to talk about what happened last night, but a heated look I received over breakfast seemed like sufficient confirmation she didn’t regret it.
It wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago that my head was between this woman’s legs, and I can’t wait to do it again. The noises she made… merde . I’m a changed man. If all she wanted was for me to make her come, I’d still count myself lucky.
“If you want to,” Josephine replies quietly, and I glance over at her, my blood heating at the way her teeth have caught on her bottom lip. She stares determinately forward, as if she’s just as worried as I am that she’ll throw caution and reason to the wind, if not careful.
Emboldened, I move closer on the pretense of reaching into the bag of rubber ducks hanging off her arm. My hand drifts up the back of her leg, fingers brushing the soft skin of her inner thigh for a fraction of a second before I pull it away. My cock leaps at the sharp gasp above me. “I want to.”
I straighten up, pretty goddamn smug at how flustered she looks.
This woman makes me happier and more relaxed than I have in a long time. Ever, maybe. Once, I rolled my eyes at older men who found a new lease on life in the arms of a younger woman, now here I am among them and I couldn’t give less of a damn. The last weeks of being close to her have been nothing short of torture. All I could think about is touching her and now that I can, I intend to take full advantage of our arrangement.
If this is all I can have of her, I’ll take it and be grateful.
“Papa! Jojo!” Zoe’s indignant squawk firmly ends the moment, and we continue the duck releases for another thirty minutes, Jo eventually wading downstream to join Zoe in the deeper water.
In the past, it’s taken me hours or even days to get past the frustration and negative emotions that come from speaking with my ex-wife. Today, though, as the three of us traipse through the meadow back to the magnificent old house, tired and happy, the fading afternoon sun warming the damp clothes on our backs, I couldn’t possibly feel anything but happiness.
“I’ll make dinner tonight,” I tell Josephine, catching her at the bottom of the great stone staircase as Zoe moves out of view at the top.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Do you cook?”
Have I truly not made her dinner yet? Glancing at the second floor landing to make sure Zoe hasn’t come back into view, I draw closer, lifting my hand to play with the ribbon securing the end of her braid. Keeping our arrangement within the set time we discussed is already proving to be impossible, and we’re not even twenty-four hours in. I forget myself so easily with her.
“I know I’ve mainly survived off freezer meals, but I am a Frenchman, Josephine. I do have some of the associated talents.” They might be a little rusty, but I’m determined.
Warm hands settle on my chest. “Well, then,” she murmurs, and we’re standing so close her breath brushes against my neck. “ Excusez-moi monsieur .”
I chuckle, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and lowering my lips to brush hers. “Your accent was very good. I’m impressed.”
“You should be.”
Fuck, I love it when she gets smart with me. I steal one last heated kiss and force myself to step back. It’s almost worth it when I see her hand move to the banister, steadying herself.
I grin. “Send Zoe down to me. Why don’t you work on the dress you’ve been making?”
A faint blush crawls over her cheeks, and her gaze drops to the floor. “It’s not very good. I don’t know what I’m doing. I was going to ask you to help me get the machine back in the attic.”
Nudging her chin, I force her to meet my eyes. “It makes you happy, doesn’t it? Who cares if you’re not good at it? Why don’t you let Zoe and I drive you into the next town over this weekend? There’s a shop there that sells sewing things.”
I’d looked it up a few days ago, when I saw Josephine hunched over the ancient machine in the living room, her nose scrunched up in frustration. Now, I’m glad I did, because the most adorable, pleased little smile has spread over her face and I find myself swelling with pride at being able to make her happy.
She’s going to ruin me.
“Okay,” Josephine agrees, still pink cheeked. “If you’re sure.”
We’re still standing so close together, and the urge to kiss her is almost overwhelming. “I’m sure. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it and will be quite insulted if you back out now.”
She giggles, backing away. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“See that you don’t.” I don’t move until she’s vanished after Zoe.
It’s only after she’s gone and I’ve turned toward the kitchen that it occurs to me we’ve just broken one of the rules.