Chapter Eighteen
Cat caught her reflection in the door of the opulent La Cornue oven as she wiped it clean. Seeing her face, usually round and optimistic, made her feel deplorable after her midnight tryst. Two midnight trysts in a row. Both so misjudged that Cat was furious with herself for going back for more.
On Friday night, after Anastasia had summonsed Cat to the hotel, she waited for her on the bed in a see-through black negligee.
She was an absolute vision. Cat had dropped her bag and crawled straight onto the bed.
She couldn’t resist. She parted Anastasia’s legs and dotted her tongue up the inside of her calf, her thigh, teasing and tantalising until she reached her lover’s pussy.
She pushed the negligee up over Anastasia’s washboard stomach, still tanned from a summer spent on a Greek island, and darted her tongue over her yearning clitoris. Anastasia groaned.
‘God I missed you,’ Cat almost cried. She hadn’t even taken off her coat before making Anastasia come.
Then it was Cat’s turn. Anastasia finally peeled off Cat’s clothes and made her sit on the edge of the bed before wrapping her legs around her and writhing on her until she went crazy.
Their hard nipples felt electric against each other, until Anastasia pushed Cat back, lay alongside her, and finished her off with insatiable strokes.
Anastasia and Cat spent two blissful hours, reacquainting, re-exploring, kissing every part of each other’s naked bodies, hardly saying a word, until Anastasia said she needed to go.
Wrung out and reset, it was only after Anastasia had left and Cat was dressing, that she realised Anastasia hadn’t even asked her how Argentina was. How the funeral had been.
Of course not.
On Saturday night Anastasia summoned Cat again, bored to tears playing Monopoly with Dimitri and Orfeas in the mansion.
And Cat was drunk enough and just the wrong side of reckless enough to dash off – before Tiago could talk her out of it – and hurry over the river to the Silberblick.
Its dark decadent décor luring her in with every step.
She went up to their usual room. Room 204.
Just as she had the night before, yearning for Anastasia Steinherr’s electric orgasms. Only Saturday night had a bite.
Cat couldn’t shake her agitation, lying like a darkness under her desire.
She had called it off when she left for Argentina.
She knew she could never really have her.
Mrs Diamandis. A Steinherr. Lady of the mansion with a husband who could give her the world and three children Cat had no interest in getting to know.
Argentina could serve as the circuit breaker she needed.
Yet like a fool, she’d fallen straight back into bed with her.
On Saturday night Anastasia awaited her lover again, this time no negligee.
Her naked body had a gentle sheen. Cat took off her clothes while Anastasia pleasured herself, then she crumbled onto the bed and kissed her.
It felt different only twenty-four hours later.
The power play had returned. Cat’s resentment had resurfaced.
No matter how hard she tried, circling Anastasia’s delectable wetness with her fingers, then her tongue, nothing worked.
Something was awry for both of them. Anastasia was usually insatiable – she could come three or four times in one of their clandestine meetings.
When she couldn’t tonight, when she flinched a couple of times as Cat darted her tongue in and out of her, Cat felt rejected.
What was she playing at? Desperately trying to pleasure a woman who hadn’t even asked her how she was? A woman who did anything to get what she wanted. The most selfish – most beautiful – woman Cat had ever known.
Cat sobered up fast.
‘I’m going to go.’
Anastasia didn’t protest. She didn’t offer to make Cat come – a little courtesy for breaking up her night with her friends. She watched her go, and Cat went back to the Kivvi apartment, cried in the shower, then cried herself to sleep.
Now her head throbbed and she felt the familiar shadow of self-loathing as she wiped the ornate oven door. Lumi Kivvi walked in wearing an elegant dress. She smelled of Dior L’Or and wore delicate Graff diamonds in her ears.
‘We’re taking a chopper to Le Rosey. Stella’s recital.’
Viktor walked in behind her, putting cufflinks on.
Viktor rarely came into the kitchen and always looked uncomfortable when he did.
‘Then Viktor’s going on to Tokyo – do you have everything darling?
’ she said to her husband, noticing his tie was a little wonky.
She straightened it; he looked agitated by the assistance, but still she finished the job.
‘Will you get off me, woman!’ Viktor barked at his wife.
Cat noticed Lumi looking somewhat hurt.
‘Do you not want dinner tonight?’ Cat asked politely, shifting the focus. She almost didn’t want the night off. What if Anastasia called again?
No.
‘We’ll eat in Geneva before Viktor’s flight, I’ll be back late tonight, I won’t need supper but Mika might, he’s staying home.’
Teresa the maid bustled around behind the Kivvis and Viktor’s Finnish assistant Benjamin came in and said it was time to go. Lumi pulled a loose thread off Viktor’s shoulder.
‘Will you stop fussing!’ he snapped, and walked off to consult Benjamin. Lumi, always calm and patient, let his temper waft over her like a gentle breeze.
‘Cat, when I’m back from the recital, why don’t we start going through the Christingle menu?’
Thank god.
Cat could legitimately spend the afternoon trying out recipes and ideas, alone in the Kivvi kitchen.
‘Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.’
The annual Kivvi Christingle in December was always a chance to showcase her chef talents to the town, and she loved it. The thought of a focus perked her up.