Thirteen
THIRTEEN
FRANCESCA
T he sun dipped low in the sky, flashing through the trees as Alexander rowed us to the secluded island in the middle of the lake. A frog chorus mingled with the lap of the oars.
Idyllic.
The tensing of Alexander’s arms as he rowed drew my eyes, each stroke making them bulge. Who knew arms could be so attractive?
A breeze whispered over my shoulders, raising goose pimples in its wake. Our picnic basket sat nestled between us, filled with the efforts of our day in the kitchen.
Yet, food was the last thing on my mind. I couldn’t care about the delicate pastries and savoury filled buns. No, my thoughts were totally stuck on Alexander. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he focused on me completely when I spoke, like each word was of the greatest importance. There was a sparkle in his eyes that glittered when I touched him with the slightest graze.
Alexander made me feel important in a way no one else ever had.
I craved his attention.
I wanted to see his face fill with pleasure when I followed his instructions.
I needed to have him command me to do the filthiest of things under his tutelage. To let me escape my head in submission for a while.
With a gentle bump, the boat nudged at the shore. I’d crossed to the little island many times throughout the summers I’d spent at the lake, anything to escape my parents’ strict schedule. Long summer days pretending to run my own kitchen filled with bark plates and leaf pastries, serving make-believe customers who were always super grateful to come to my lakeside cafe. But I’d never been there with a guy. Especially not an older, far more experienced man who made my heart skip a dozen beats with every look.
Stepping onto the grassy shore felt like an adventure from my life. Perhaps for the short time I had with Alexander, I could cosplay as the person I wished I was. A successful, contented woman who didn’t live to please anyone but me. Someone who stood up to my parents and pursued my dreams despite theirs.
Taking my hand, Alexander steadied me until I stood on the narrow path worn by hundreds of feet before me. Picnic basket in hand, he led the way through the trees to the small clearing in the centre of the dense foliage.
‘Do you take all your women here?’ I half-joked as he shook out a patchwork picnic blanket and sat.
‘Oh yeah, a different one every night.’
Pouting, I sat across from him. I knew he was joking, but it didn’t stop a flare of anger glowing in my chest.
He knelt, leaning in and grazing my jaw with his lips. ‘Sweet girl, did you want me to tell you that you are the only woman I’ve ever taken here? That I’m so sickeningly obsessed with you that I’m going out of my way to impress your jealous little ass?’
‘Well… Yes. Please.’
‘I like you jealous,’ he crooned, planting a series of tantalising kisses along my throat. ‘Maybe you’ll get so filled with rage that you’ll decorate my body with your need, claiming me from any of my previous dalliances.’
‘Will you do the same to me? Erase the memory of your son with your cock?’
‘By the time I’m done with you, a memory of me in every crevice will plague you. For the rest of your days, your body will pine for my mouth, my hands and my dick.’
Whimpering, I reached out to him, running my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.
‘It’s a good thing your cock is as fat as your head. Otherwise, I might not believe you can live up to all these big claims.’
‘Mmm, big words for such a pretty little thing. Don’t let that mouth write a check your ass can’t cash.’
The memory of his tongue there swarmed into my head, making me inhale sharply.
‘But first…’ he whispered.
‘Yes?’ I thrummed with anticipation.
‘We eat.’
I swallowed down a growl of annoyance when he sat back, creating a space between us and dipping his hand into the basket.
What I wanted to do was to push him to the ground and make him take me. Would he let me?
Bravery fled when he handed me a croissant stuffed with pastrami and cheese, fresh green rocket spilling from the edges. Picking at the edges, I watched huffily as he devoured his own.
‘Oh my god, these croissants. I’m going to need to pack you up in my suitcase and smuggle you back to England. Lock you in my kitchen and have you be my personal baker.’
Furls of pleasure replaced my annoyance. I adored his praise.
‘You mean it?’
‘That I’m going to keep you as a little kitchen captive? No. There are much easier ways to get you into England. I’ll just marry you.’
Despite the knowledge of his jesting, my stomach flipped at the thought.
‘I meant about liking my cooking.’ My cheeks flushed.
‘I’d buy you out every morning if you had a store. Would battle any queues for this flaky goodness. You have an incredible talent, Francesca. Truly. I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. Why don’t you believe in yourself?’
‘I’ve been told my whole life that my dreams aren’t important. My parents won’t even try my bakes. I need a real job.’
‘And you just blindly believe them? What upbringing did they have that made them experts on the whole world and which dreams are worthwhile?’ Alexander passed a beer to me, his eyes softening.
‘How do we know any different? Didn’t you believe your parents?’
‘I did. It took me a very long time to realise that parents aren’t all-knowing omniscient beings. They are human, with all their own failings, struggling through parenthood without a clue.’ He took a slow swig of his beer. ‘I’d know.’
A cool breeze flitted through the trees, leaving the damp smell of greenery in its wake. The sun had almost disappeared into the horizon, leaving the sky a deepening shade of blue.
‘I can’t just walk away from my life,’ I said.
‘The greatest rebellions start with the smallest of waves.’
‘I’m not the rebellious type…’
‘You let your ex’s dad eat your ass. You can do anything you put your mind to.’
The heat in my face burned brighter. Trying to suppress it, I pulled out the dish containing the delicate colourful macaroons in a variety of flavours.
‘If you could do anything, you’d run your bakery somewhere in Europe, right?’
My dream might have been cliche, but it had always been steadfast.
‘Right.’
‘You can’t achieve that today. But you could achieve something toward it. Right now.’ Alexander popped a pink macaroon in his mouth, letting out a gentle groan of appreciation.
What could I do at that moment? Nothing .
‘Where does your inspiration come from? Where did you learn to make all these things?’
‘I watch a lot of videos online. There’s a channel called Baked with Betsy, and I love everything she does. She’s amazing. I watch her all the time.’
‘Then do what she does. Be the Betsy to others.’ Alex took the plate from my hand and twisted me to lay against his chest, his warmth surrounding me.
‘Do you think I could?’
‘I do.’ His fingers trailed my arm, following the path of goose pimples.
‘Will you help me? Film and set it up?’
‘You might be better with someone younger than me… but I’ll give it a go if you want me to. Be your filming wench for the summer.’
‘I can pay you in treats.’ I smiled over my shoulder.
‘I’m going to go back to England the size of a bloody house at this rate. We’ll have to find ways to burn it off.’
I clenched my thighs at the insinuation.
‘I’m sure we’ll think of a distraction or two. But for now, you’re getting cold, baby, we should head back.’
All the dreams of him spreading me out over the grass and making me see stars burst like sorry little bubbles around me.
‘But—’
‘Come on,’ he said, packing the basket back up after sliding out from behind me.
‘But—’
‘No buts.’
I fought a pout all the way to the rowboat.