Chapter 10 Victoria
VICTORIA
PLAYLIST: CAN’T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU – FRANKIE VALLI
My eyes wander over the pages as I read to her. My plan has been entirely different, but real connections do not happen through planned action; they arise from devotion to the present moment.
And this moment would not have been possible through the enforcement of a plan. This moment is so special, so rare, that I am both captivated and overcome.
I watch her closely whenever I turn a page, and now, with her body relaxed, she has finally surrendered to ease. In any other setting, this would have been the moment where I’d touch her, play with her and make her come, but not today.
Today is about connection and trust. I still cannot believe it is all happening.
I have been certain she would not be able to manage to not argue a single time, but here we are—and she is proving me all sorts of wrong, telling me once more that my initial thought about her was right: There is infinitely more to her than she lets on.
I read more.
I do not consider myself a romantic in any way. To me, this is the foreplay for a day in the future when she is ready, but something about it is different from what I've had with any other subs.
Not something.
Everything.
I am never personal; I have never read to anyone, nor have I taken one here or anywhere else.
My lifestyle stays in the dark of the closed doors of my club and home.
Mia is different. She needs the emotional connection, the kissing, the romance, and, if I am honest with myself, I am not entirely averse to it either.
Like I told Harold, she is a delightful change from the dullness of routine.
My eyes linger on her beautiful figure. In me stirs a desire to touch her, but I will not do so.
As I glance at my watch, I see it is already five. While I could continue reading for the entire night, I want her to have time to explore the vault herself.
I snap the book closed.
Mia flinches from the sound resounding through the arches.
I get up and walk over to her.
“You may move now,” I tell her as I brush over her hair. “Feel free to explore the vault.”
She looks up at me like a different person as she grasps my hand.
The sensation it causes quickens my heartbeat. Her touch is so soft, so subtle, and yet demanding.
She guides my hand to her cheek and closes her eyes. If I am not entirely mistaken, she has never been held properly before, so I give her the space to guide me.
It is the first time she allows herself to be vulnerable with me. To want something. Desire something. Desire me. And our connection.
A flutter surges through me.
Her cheek feels soft, like silk, beneath my palm.
“When we leave her today,” I say silently, “I want you to remember the feeling you have right now. Store it within you. And whenever you touch your cheek, you will remember it.”
She gasps in as she leans into my touch one last time, before she gets up.
She holds my hand for another moment, bites her bottom lip with all her front teeth as she glances up into my eyes, a shy grin of disbelief on her face.
Her eyes shimmer and radiate elation over me—and then she laughs. It’s a heartfelt laugh, one I have seen happen many times, usually with women who had their first orgasm in a row.
I smile at her, brush briefly over her cheek with the back of my finger and pull her close to place a kiss on her forehead. She is so raw, so pure in her emotions, I don’t think I have seen anyone comparable to her ever.
Her gaze and laugh lighten my chest, and I laugh with her.
It is a wonderful moment I will never forget.
“Do you wish to take a look around?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she beams at me with sparkling eyes as she turns and takes in the books. Oh, to be young.
She reads spines, pulls some out to smell them, and I am consumed by watching her.
Yes, I have everything there is in life; I always had it. But with it came a heaviness, duty and discipline, and somehow, this twenty-seven-year-young woman reminds me to see life from an entirely new perspective.
She seems to see herself in an entirely different way, too, because I do not recognise the woman I saw in the tavern anymore.
“No way,” she says incredulously and pulls out a book in front of her.
“No way what?” I ask.
She turns and holds it in front of her so I can see the cover. But what I see is only her glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes, and big smile. I am rarely speechless, but this moment, I am. And only then do I realise what dangerous waters I am rafting in. I cannot lose myself like this—and yet, I do.
“Let me take a picture,” I say when I find my words again and get my phone out. I need this moment curated. For her. And maybe even me.
I can see she wants to argue for a split second, but then she catches herself and smiles warmly into the camera—the book in front of her. I finally get to see what it is: Shakespeare's First Folio from 1623. The original.
“Listen to this,” she says, and I don’t know why I do it, but I press the button to record a video as she begins to read.
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety, other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies, for vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.”
I have seen many, many plays by Shakespeare, and I have heard people read it, but none ever raised goosebumps on my arms.
She smiles at the book, then looks at me.
It is the moment I understand.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, about this woman is mediocre.
“Did you film that?” she asks me, almost horror-struck.
“Yes,” I say, “And believe me when I tell you, if I send that to my friend Walter, a well-known artistic director, he’ll beg you to become part of one of his plays.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she asks me with wide eyes, giggling foolishly.
“I am most certainly not. Never, in my entire life, have I gotten goosebumps from a Shakespeare quote.”
She smiles weakly and puts the book back.
“Maybe,” she says carefully, “It wasn’t the quote, but me. Your reaction to me. Because I have read Shakespeare to many people, and none of them ever had a reaction to it.”
For a moment, I am taken aback as I take in her words.
“Whom did you read it to?” I ask.
“Pupils,” she says.
“Well, not exactly the target audience, is it?” I ask dryly.
“Not exactly, no,” she says, laughing. A laugh that walks straight into my chest. I am too old to not know what is happening to me—what she is doing to me. And it scares me as much as it excites me.
“Come,” I tell her. “Let’s have some dinner.”
Half an hour later, we’re at Hamilton’s.
It’s an exclusive restaurant everyone wants reservations for, but it’s booked up for years.
Not for me, because I gave Emiliano, the owner, his start-up money and made his immigration possible so he could come to the UK and open the restaurant.
I ate in his family restaurant in Mexico several years ago, and I knew the first bite he was meant for something bigger—not that I don’t love a good small family restaurant.
“Victoria,” I hear, the moment we’re placed at the best table in the entire restaurant with a wonderful city view.
“Emiliano,” I say the moment his hand wanders on my shoulder. I get up to hug him.
“May I introduce you?” I say, “Mia. Emiliano.”
Mia is as sweet as it gets. I expected nothing less. I also tell her the story of how Emiliano’s and my paths crossed.
He tells us about a wonderful new wine he discovered, and we, of course, get a glass each without question.
Mia pretends to drink the wine, the people pleaser she is, and I laugh internally.
When I have almost emptied my glass, I switch it with hers.
Her smile says everything.
There it is, the slight lip biting again.
“If you continue to do that,” I say, “I might have to overthink my statement from before.”
“You mean this?” she asks me and bites her lips again.
“Oh, Miss Phillips,” I say warningly, but in a cheerful voice. I do enjoy challenging behaviour here and there.
We get the menu, and I watch her struggle to decide what she wants to eat. Her eyes shoot left and right, and she shifts nervously.
I put a hand on her forearm.
“I will order,” I say. She looks at me with her doe-like eyes in pure gratitude.
“I never go out,” she says hastily. “And when I do, I study the menu online days in advance so I can make a proper decision.”
I stare at her because my mind is lost. She is the most perfect sub. Not because I like to do things for her, I do, but because she can gain so much from it, and it comes so naturally to her.
“Do you have any allergies or things you do not like?”
“Nothing raw,” she says. “If possible vegetarian—but only if it doesn’t—“
“Stop right there,” I say harshly.
She closes her mouth, almost reproachfully.
Emiliano comes to take our orders personally, and I have him prepare something special for Mia, simply to teach her a lesson. I want her to understand that she is allowed to have people tend to her needs.
“You are important, dearest,” I tell her. “Let people take care of you.”
She says nothing and stares at her lap.
“So,” I begin. “Do you have any questions regarding me?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes, as if I'd told her to strip right here.
“You’re allowed to ask questions,” I say. “Be yourself. Be the person I witness coming to life reading Shakespeare to me.”
“I’m scared of the answers,” she says.
I stay with her words for a moment, because while so easily said, they carry a depth to get lost in.
I rest my hand on her forearm.
“Holding back the truth doesn’t make it less real,” I say. At my age, I have found the clarity I did not have at the mere age of twenty-seven. “What do you want from life?” I ask her.
She hesitates a moment. “I don’t know. I love teaching, my peace, and my cats. It is all I ever needed and wanted. And now—“
She takes a deep breath in. “Now, there is you. And I believe I want more.”
“Define more.”