17. April 2024
17
April 2024
A s soon as Antonio had phoned and told him about his encounter with Willow that morning, Vaughn had wondered if she would go looking for him the same way he would go looking for her. Sharing a true connection with a person meant connecting with their pain too. It seemed there was no opting out for them. So, that evening at six, fighting every sensible thought that came into his mind, Vaughn went to Willow’s apartment.
When she opened the door, she was slightly out of breath, like she had run to answer it. Her face lit up with the most striking smile when she saw him. ‘You came.’
He drank in the sight of her. ‘I did.’
She wore cut-off denim shorts and a yellow shirt with a white daisy print. He had never seen her hair down before. It was parted in the middle, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. A silver necklace with a ballet shoe pendant hung from her neck. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted blue. She was a walking, talking piece of art.
‘Come in,’ she said, stepping aside for him.
He entered the apartment and looked around. The kitchen was small, and the living area wasn’t much bigger. There was a two-seater couch covered with sequinned cushions in the middle, a coffee table made from what appeared to be repurposed pallets, and an old timber dining table in the corner with two metal chairs. Somehow, it all worked together to create a cosy environment.
He stopped to look at the abstract print of a woman’s face on the wall. Then his gaze fell to the large fish tank beneath it, eyes narrowing on an ugly creature sitting at the bottom. ‘What is that?’
‘That’s Frank.’ She walked over to the tank and brought her face close to the glass. ‘He’s an axolotl. I’ve had him since I was fourteen.’ She straightened. ‘They actually live longer in captivity than in the wild.’
He went to join her. ‘You brought a fish from Sydney to Melbourne?’
‘He’s not technically a fish—he’s an amphibian. And yes, I drove him. He was excellent company during the long trip.’ She turned to face him. ‘Do you want a tour?’
He looked around, squinting. ‘Sure.’
Willow gestured around the room as she crossed it. ‘Kitchen and living room.’ She continued to the two doors on the other side. ‘Bathroom, toilet, and laundry in there.’
‘All in one?’ he asked as he caught up with her.
‘All in one handy location, yes.’ She moved to the next door. ‘Bedroom and walk-in robe through here.’
His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘You have a walk-in robe while your washing machine sits beside the toilet?’
She entered the bedroom and opened a sliding door. Vaughn followed, looking into what appeared to be a cupboard.
‘I use the term loosely,’ she said, stepping inside the tiny space. ‘But you can walk in .’
He bit back a smile. ‘I see that.’ His eyes moved over the queen-sized bed with its olive-green linen and mountain of pillows atop it.
‘And now for the best part,’ she said, heading back out the door.
The scent of lemon hit him as she passed by. ‘You mean to tell me there’s something better than your walk-in?’
Willow’s laughter filled the living room, which was easily done with such a small space. She opened the sliding glass door and led him out onto a balcony. There was a cosy lounge, far more potted plants than were practical for such a tiny space, a table that looked like it had been rescued from hard rubbish, and a spectacular view of the city skyline.
She crossed her arms and looked out. ‘Not bad, huh?’
‘You definitely get bonus points for location and view.’ He frowned down at the table. ‘And for your sustainability efforts.’
She looked at him with a knowing smile. ‘My brother, Liam, made that. And the coffee table inside.’
‘I thought you said he was an electrician.’
‘He is. The furniture is just a hobby.’
‘A new hobby?’
‘Be nice.’ She bent down and swept a hand over the wood. ‘He gets most of the materials from hard rubbish, you know.’
‘I thought that might be the case.’
Willow straightened and looked at him. ‘Let me guess. Your apartment is full of expensive leather in beige and muted tones.’
‘What’s wrong with muted tones?’
She raised her hands. ‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with them.’
‘Let’s just say I have a few less sequins around the place and no monster fish.’
She suppressed a smile before looking away. ‘Should we eat out here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Drink?’ The subtle wringing of her hands suggested she was nervous.
‘What do you have?’
‘I’m fresh out of the good scotch, but I do have kombucha.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Which I made myself,’ she added.
Normally, he was fussy about homemade products, especially ones involving bacteria, but he had already criticised her brother’s workmanship, and the thought of hurting her feelings further was worse than the prospect of being accidentally poisoned. ‘I’ll take mine neat.’
She smirked at the ground before heading inside.
‘Want a hand?’ he called through the open door.
‘No, I’m good. You sit.’
He lowered himself onto the lounge, praying it would take his weight. It was surprisingly comfortable. Everything with Willow was comfortable—maybe too much so.
She returned a few minutes later with a large tray. On it was a plate of food and two mismatched glasses of kombucha. He took it from her and set it on the table, and she took a seat beside him.
‘I’ll be honest with you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have a lot of time. I made the hummus and kombucha, and the rest is from my local deli and the supermarket.’
He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘What do we have?’
She pointed to each of the items. ‘Sourdough crackers, cranberry and pumpkin seed crispbread, camembert, vegetable sticks, baked figs, smoked salmon paté, and apple slices.’ She picked up the drinks and handed one to him.
He sniffed it tentatively. ‘Ginger?’
‘Correct.’ She clinked her glass to his. ‘Cheers.’
He took a cautious sip and waited for the tangy liquid to hit his taste buds. ‘It’s actually pretty good.’
‘That’s high praise from a scotch aficionado like yourself.’
They both turned inwards slightly, sitting close but not quite touching. He watched her take a drink, then looked out at the city.
‘It’s a solid view,’ he said.
She looked out also. ‘I imagine you have a pretty good view from your apartment.’
‘It overlooks Carlton Gardens.’
‘Wow. What building is it?’
He tapped a finger on his glass, wishing he could tell her.
She nodded. ‘I guess if your number’s a secret, then your address is, too, right?’
‘The less you know about me, the safer everyone is.’
Her eyes moved over his face. ‘Safe from the people who did that to you?’
Again, he answered her with silence.
She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘That depends on what it is.’
‘Is this a date?’
The question caught him off-guard. He actually had to think about his answer. ‘No.’
‘It’s not?’
‘No, it’s dinner—without scotch.’
She sighed. ‘Well, I have wine, but it’s from Aldi.’
‘I don’t care if it’s from Aldi. I care if it’s good.’
‘The bottle says “award-winning” on it.’
God, she’s funny. ‘That’s not necessarily a guarantee of quality.’
She angled her head, regarding him. ‘I still think about our last non-date.’
His blood rose a few degrees at the memory of kissing her. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ Their knees brushed, which only made things worse.
She openly studied the bruises on his face. ‘What am I allowed to ask you about?’
He took a drink before answering her. ‘How about I ask you a question instead?’
‘I’m an open book. What do you want to know?’
He thought for a moment. ‘What age did you start dancing?’
‘Before I walked, according to Mum.’ She drew her legs up beside her. ‘She enrolled me in classes when I was six, completely unaware that once I got a proper taste of ballet, it would take over our lives. I wore through every pair of socks she ever bought me and broke many plates and bowls while doing turns in the kitchen.’ She reached for two carrot sticks, dipping them into the hummus and offering one to him.
He took it and ate.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
He swallowed his mouthful. ‘And you thought my mother was heavy-handed with the garlic.’
She laughed at that, and he committed every detail of it to memory.
‘It’s possible I was a little heavy-handed,’ she said. ‘But we are heading into cold season soon.’
He loved how her cheeks flooded with colour when she laughed. ‘It’s delicious, though.’
She held her glass with both hands. ‘My turn for a question.’
‘I never agreed to taking turns.’
‘I want to know about your larger family.’
He exhaled. ‘Willow?—’
‘Not about the business. Not the private things, just how it works in terms of your obligations.’ She took a quick drink. ‘Like, if you got a phone call right now from… a boss person, would you leave?’
It was clear she really wanted to understand what being with a man like him would look like. He already knew. It would look like a disaster—for both of them. She would resent him, and eventually he would grow to resent himself.
He drew a breath before responding. ‘If a “boss person” phoned’—his lips twitched—‘and needed me, then yes, I would leave.’
‘Because you have to?’
‘Because it would be the right thing to do.’
‘Right for them or you?’
‘Both. Family should benefit everyone who’s a part of it.’ He watched her face carefully as she processed his response. ‘And you would hate me for leaving, for always putting the family first. Maybe not straight away, but eventually. Every time my phone rang, there would be this instant tension. It’s not a relationship you want.’
Her eyes moved between his. ‘Who said anything about a relationship?’
Touché . He reached for the platter and held it out to her. She took a fig and slowly ate it.
‘Since you brought it up,’ she said, brushing her hair to one side, ‘tell me the other reasons why I wouldn’t want this relationship.’
He leaned back, leg pressing against hers. ‘I think you know all the reasons. You’ve likely thought each one through—just like I have. You’re just not willing to accept who I am.’
She drank, watching him over the rim of her glass. ‘Maybe I see you differently to how you see yourself.’
‘Those kinds of naive sentiments only strengthen my resolve.’ He leaned towards her. ‘You look at the bruises on my face and assume I’m the victim.’
She swallowed, then looked down at her drink. ‘Do you ever wish you could leave?’
Her questions were painfully predictable. ‘Leave what? My life?’
She shrugged. ‘Parts of it, maybe.’
‘It’s not some job I can just resign from. Haven’t you ever heard the saying “you can’t choose your family”?’
‘That’s not true.’ She sat up a little. ‘I chose Lili.’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘And you chose well.’
She was silent a moment. ‘If you’re supposed to be this dangerous thing, then why aren’t I afraid? Why do I feel safe with you?’
‘Because you are safe with me. You’ll always be safe with me. But I can’t be at your side all the time.’ Even if he wanted to be. ‘I worry about you now. Just imagine if you belonged to me.’
Her cheeks filled with colour when he said that last part.
‘You would be an easy target for anyone who wanted to get at me,’ he added.
‘You make me sound so weak.’
‘Not weak. Free .’ He picked up the tray again and brought it to her, encouraging her to eat. ‘I don’t want you looking over your shoulder on the street. I want better for you.’
She took some apple slices from the plate. ‘Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with business or family. I already know you have a love of the arts, but do you paint yourself? Or play an instrument of some kind?’
He grabbed some food for himself before setting the plate back down. ‘No. I feed off others’ talent and creativity.’
They both fell silent to eat.
‘Then what do you do to let off steam or have fun?’ she asked once she’d finished, then gestured to his face. ‘Besides fighting.’
He looked out at the city. ‘I play the stock market?—’
‘For fun ?’
‘I find it fun, yes.’
She sighed. ‘What about outdoor things? Do you hike? Go to the beach?’
‘Not the beach. Can’t stand the sand. I’m still finding it days later.’ He paused ‘Sometimes I row. I used to row for Melbourne Uni back in the day.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ She sat forwards. ‘Where do you row? The Yarra?’
He nodded.
‘You know, I’ve never rowed before. Maybe you could take me out one day.’
His gaze drifted back to hers. ‘It’s like you haven’t heard a word I just said.’
‘It would be another non-date.’
Tragically, he was already picturing the two of them on the water, her pretty face bathed in morning light.
Instead of replying, he picked up a cracker, smothered it in camembert, then offered it to her.
She shook her head. ‘The crackers are for you.’
He frowned. ‘You don’t eat them?’
‘Not right now. Harrison wants me to…’ She bit the inside of her cheek. ‘I need to stay at my optimum weight in case any more solo opportunities come up this season.’
It killed him when she spoke about her weight. She could be twice her present size and still be the most enchanting dancer to ever grace a stage.
‘If you really want a solo, I could definitely remove some of the competition for you.’
Her face slackened before she realised he was joking. ‘Ah. Funny.’ She leaned over and put some paté on a cracker. ‘Try this.’ As she lifted it to his mouth, the paté fell off the cracker and smeared down the front of his shirt.
Willow sucked in a breath. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’
She moved to stand. ‘I’ll get a cloth.’
Vaughn caught her hand and gently pulled her back down. ‘I think we’re beyond a cloth. I’ll go to the bathroom. It’s your turn to sit and relax.’
She gave him an apologetic look as he rose.
Once inside the bathroom/laundry/toilet, he inspected the stain in the mirror, then unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. He rubbed some hand soap into it, then carefully rinsed it under the tap. As he was dabbing it dry with the hand towel, Willow appeared in the doorway. He looked up and saw that she was holding a T-shirt. Her eyes went to the purple-and-yellow bruising that ran from his ribcage to his hip, visible through gaps in his ink.
Shit .
He went to put his shirt back on, but Willow entered the bathroom and stilled his hands. ‘Let me see,’ she said, eyes moving down his torso.
She placed the T-shirt she was holding on the sink, then moved his arm out of the way to get a better look at the marks. For some illogical reason, he let her, watching her expression change from shock to sadness as she lightly traced the edge of the bruise with her fingertips. When she reached his hip, she looked up, eyes shiny.
‘I hate this.’ She shook her head as though trying to expel the visual. ‘I’m imagining all the possible ways it could have happened.’
He turned to her on an exhale, taking hold of her face with one hand. ‘It’ll always be ten times worse in your imagination.’ He delivered the lie with unflinching confidence, because it’s what she needed to hear.
Willow’s hand went to his bare chest. ‘I always wondered how much ink covered the rest of you.’ She eyed the large phoenix that spanned the left side of his ribcage. ‘Now I know.’
Her hand on his bare skin was a pleasure he had never known. He really needed her to stop.
Gently guiding her hand away, he picked up the T-shirt. ‘Is this for me?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the biggest one I own.’
He held it up to see what was printed on the front. ‘Two Blues. You follow rugby?’
‘Of course.’ She cleared her throat and looked nervously around the room. ‘Now that I’ve seen your ink… would you like to see mine?’
He lowered the T-shirt and stared at her. ‘What?’
‘I only have one.’
He set the T-shirt back on the sink, giving her his full attention. ‘All right. Let’s see it.’
Slowly, Willow slid the hem of her top up to her bra line, revealing a small pair of pink ballet slippers. He instinctively reached up to touch it, following the swirls of ribbon until his finger met with the blue nylon of her bra. He could see her heart pounding.
‘It’s perfect,’ he whispered.
You are perfect.
His fingers slid around her ribcage, coming to rest on her back. She looked up at him and released her top. It fell over his hand. Seeing his own desire reflected back at him was too much.
‘Please don’t push me away again.’ Her words came out like a plea.
There was no way he could have pushed her away in that moment—even if his phone had rung.
Willow backed up to the washing machine, pulling him with her by magnetic force. Taking hold of her waist, he lifted her and placed her gently atop the appliance. It was the worst possible location for their second kiss, but he didn’t have the restraint or clarity of mind required to implement a better plan. She opened her legs, and he stepped between them, his lips crashing down on hers as he did so. A savage sort of hunger tore through his body as Willow’s legs tightened around him, drawing him closer. The strength in her grip left him with no escape.
That was what he told himself, anyway.
She held on to his neck while he savoured the taste and temperature of her. He was so hungry for more that he was relieved when her elbow knocked a detergent bottle and she broke the kiss.
‘Should we go somewhere with more room?’ she asked.
‘Like the walk-in robe?’
She laughed, then touched one of the bruises. ‘Does the person who did this know how funny you are?’
‘Should I have mentioned it?’
Willow’s eyes were full of the purest light. ‘Yes.’ After a beat of silence, she asked, ‘Will you stay? Give me one night?’
He searched those bright eyes of hers. ‘And then what?’
‘Then I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.’
‘And after breakfast?’
She swallowed. ‘Lunch?’
He ran his fingers through her soft hair. ‘You don’t seem to understand that if I stay, it’s game over. This won’t be some cute fling that we walk away from by lunch.’ He held her face, maybe too tightly. ‘There’s a line. If we cross it, your life changes.’
‘I handle change better than you think.’ She wet her lips. ‘You need to let me make my own decisions.’ Then she kissed him softly. ‘And mistakes.’
His expression turned serious. ‘Did you hear yourself? You already know it’s a mistake.’
She kissed the bruise on his jaw. ‘This line you speak of. I think we’ve already crossed it.’
His fingers curled in her hair, knowing she was right. They had crossed it long ago and had been trying to cross back unsuccessfully ever since.
He descended on her mouth once again. Then, gathering her up in his arms, he carried her to the bedroom.