Epilogue - Aida
Stamina has to be one of the most fantastic, and unexpected, perks of a younger boyfriend. I don’t mean in bed—Cal’s ability to go the distance between the sheets would surprise no one, especially given how freely he boasts about his refractory period.
No, it’s his stamina out of bed that’s a fucking delight. Particularly when it comes to my sons, and the endless time and energy Cal devotes to playing with them.
Case in point: right now.
I’m lying poolside at Anton Wolff’s insane villa in the South of France.
The mattress on my sun lounger is wonderfully soft.
The rosé in my glass is ice cold. The early summer sun is shining down in the most benign way, like the C?te d’Azur is its favourite place on earth.
And this entire scene would be peaceful beyond belief if it wasn’t for Cal, who’s playing water volleyball with my boys and Zach’s girls.
Playing Happy Families doesn’t get much better than this.
God bless Cal.
He’s been doing this for over an hour, now, with indefatigable cheer.
I’d go so far as to suggest that his rowdiness and high spirits aren’t even put on—he seems happy as a pig in shit with the kids.
Far happier than when I tried to persuade him to take a rest earlier.
He squirmed on that sun lounger like an eight-year-old-boy until he got back in the water.
Whatever. He can knock himself out in there. I certainly won’t complain as I lie here with my wine and the glossy fashion magazines I grabbed at the airport.
Even Zach has given up on the water volleyball and is lying next to Maddy on one of the huge day beds dotted around Anton’s stunning pool.
They’re getting married at the end of the summer in Puglia, and Gen and Anton are tying the knot here in a few weeks.
We had Belle and Rafe’s beautiful wedding in the Cotswolds only last weekend, and they’re still away on their honeymoon.
Those Alchemy guys sure are dropping like flies, I muse idly as I feast my gaze on my boyfriend.
He’s far more attention grabbing than British Vogue, with his wet upper body and glistening muscles on display.
He’s raked his soaking hair off his face, and he looks like he could be on the cover of Men’s Health with that tan and those looks and that physique.
I’ve made peace with the fact that the media loves my boyfriend far more than they love me, these days. They were firmly behind us by the time Searching for Paradise aired in January, and Cal’s fan base exploded when the world met him on screen.
I get it. What’s not to love about this guy? Women and queer men, young and old, are equally into him. He’s filthy and funny and sweet and unashamedly himself, and it fucking works.
It definitely works for me.
This weekend is ostensibly about celebrating Alchemy. Not only has the show drawn a crazy amount of interest in the club from prospective members, but a tonne of those applicants are—get this—women over forty. How freaking cool is that? Gen and I are ecstatic.
More pressingly, the Cannes pop up opens tonight for its second season—a whole month earlier than last year, to capitalise on its popularity—and the grownups will go enjoy the debauchery tonight while Anton’s butler, Céd, and his sweet wife look after the kiddies here.
It should be a fantastic evening. A huge fireworks display is planned over the Bay of Cannes, and Gen’s gorgeous younger sister, Darcy, who’s recently moved home from Australia, is dancing on stage. I’ve heard her burlesque performances are incredible. Hypnotic.
That said, I suspect this kind of gathering would have had a totally different vibe if the founders had done this a couple years ago.
I’m sure it would have been hedonistic and carnal.
Instead, if you put aside our naughty plans for tonight and the even naughtier things my boyfriend does to me when we’re alone in our beautiful room, it feels like a lovely family vacation.
Cal takes a break from bashing the ball across the net at Pip and Zach’s daughter, Stella, and glances across at me just as I’m checking him out. I lick my lips, and he halts.
‘Break time,’ he calls. ‘Go get an ice cream, guys—you’ve earned it. But before you do, go and stand next to Zach and make sure you drip all over him.’
‘I heard that,’ Zach growls from where he’s lying face down next to Maddy, and the kids all giggle as they wade towards the shallow steps at one end.
‘I want to drip on Mummy!’ Kit calls gleefully.
‘No chance,’ Cal tells him. ‘That’s my job.’
He vaults out of the pool in an alpha male way that I’m a total slut for, and I let my jaw drop open as he makes his way towards me, water pouring off his beautiful body.
Dear God, this man was made by angels. His red swim shorts cling to him, and I take in the broad shoulders, and the narrow, tapered hips, and the serpent winding over his side.
He raises both hands and rakes his hair back afresh, but he’s ogling my body just as hard with those dark eyes as I’m ogling his.
He is so. Fucking. Hot.
And then he leans down, showering cool drips all over my heat-warmed skin, and I squeal. Somewhere behind me, Kit laughs in glee at the noise, but my focus is on Cal, who’s bending right down so his mouth is against my ear and his breath is warm on my neck.
‘Baby,’ my gorgeous, sexy, dangerous man whispers so only I can hear, ‘come to our fucking bedroom right now so I can tie you up and get you out of that bikini, and I promise you within thirty seconds I’ll have you even more soaking than I am.’
THE END