Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Ivan
Last night I laid my heart on the line once more. I handed it over—wrapped in a box with a bow—to Amy Corrigan. How someone can become so important in your life so quickly astounds me.
I’ve dated dozens of women over the years, but never has one crawled under my skin the way she has.
She’s my first thought when I wake up and my last at night.
Since Christmas, I catch myself factoring her into decisions I used to make on autopilot.
Her opinion of me counts more than I could ever imagine. It terrifies me.
I don’t remember the last time I spoke to anyone about my brother. My memories of him are buried deep, locked away. Anytime I think of him, it hurts just as much as the day I lost him.
Ian was my best friend. In some ways, he still is. I talk to him more than anyone, although the conversations are always one-sided. For years, he was the person I thought about most.
Until Amy.
“Can I borrow your laptop?” Amy asks, disrupting my musings. I’m sitting on the sofa, sifting through the mountain of emails on my mobile that multiply daily. When I look up, she’s already smiling. “Please,” she adds.
“Of course. It’s online already.” My computer has been set up on the kitchen counter since we arrived. “The password is Ianlovessandra.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“My brother had an unhealthy fascination with Sandra Bullock,” I explain.
She giggles, soft and warm, and unplugs the laptop, bringing it over before settling beside me. Her hip brushes mine, and my arm instinctively wraps around her. Emails can be handled one-handed, touching her is more important.
“What do you need it for?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face. “I’ve been thinking it’s time I start to apply for jobs. I can’t pretend that the money isn’t running out. I need to get into some sort of routine.”
“I offered you a job.”
“You did,” she says, her lips pressing together.
“And what’s wrong with the job I proposed?” I prompt.
“Nothing.” Another pause. “But I don’t want to be known as the employee sleeping with the boss.” Her chest rises and falls like she’s bracing herself.
“Do you think that would give you privileges?” I bump her shoulder, an attempt to lighten the moment. The base of her throat turning rose pink.
“No, it’s just.” She sighs, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“I don’t want to bump into one of your previous conquests.
Trey has told me plenty of stories. Most of them involved you in your office with either an employee or client.
The last thing I want to be known as is your current plaything.
And if things don’t work out with us.” Her voice softens.
“It would be easier for me to walk away if I don’t work for you. ”
My mood plummets.
“You don’t believe in us?” I whisper, and instantly regret how pathetic I sound.
“Believe in us, yes. Feel confident that it will last forever, no. Nothing does.”
“That’s a bleak outlook on life. Perhaps this time will be different,” I suggest, kissing her forehead. “And this is an awfully deep conversation to be having in the middle of our romantic getaway.”
She chuckles, eyes flicking to mine with shy hesitation.
“I believe in us,” I say. “And until you believe in us too, I’ll have plenty of faith for both of us.”
She sets my computer on the coffee table, then scrambles onto my lap, arms looping around me as she snuggles into my neck. We sit, not speaking, just being with one another. Time passes unchecked.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” I murmur. Her head nods her agreement. “Come on, let’s wander up to the village. Maybe we can pick up some street food or something.”
“What? Like off the street? From one of those little stalls?” She looks horrified.
“Yes, street food off the street. Go figure.”
She scrunches her nose up and sticks out her tongue. “Right, get up.”
I bounce my knees. She wobbles on my lap, refusing to move.
“Amy, up,” I order.
She huffs loudly but wriggles off me, defeated.
“You look beautiful.”
She grimaces; it makes her even more endearing with her tousled hair and make-up-free face. “Still beautiful.”
“I’m going to get changed. Give me five minutes.”
She disappears into the bedroom, reappearing a few minutes later wearing a simple white summer dress and flat sandals. Her hair is still misbehaving, pulled it into a knot on top of her head.
“Ready,” she announces.
Our walk along the water’s edge is peaceful. Ten minutes later, the small village located on the edge of the beach appears. There are only a few rows of wooden houses on stilts, prepared for when the tide comes in a bit too far.
Small dirt tracks wind amongst them, and people wander around, carrying baskets of vegetables and fish. Children are playing with a ball, kicking it between themselves.
A young boy, maybe seven, kicks the ball hard, and it flies toward Amy. She stops it effortlessly with a sandaled foot, then passes it back. The children cheer. She takes a theatrical bow.
Further down the dusty road, an old woman stands at a large metal frying pan stirring rice. The smells alone make my mouth water.
“Shall we go see what she’s making?” I ask Amy, who looks at me skeptically in return. “I won’t force you to eat it, but it smells divine.” She shrugs then follows my lead to the small stall.
In the pan is white rice, shrimp, and what looks like broccoli of a sort. Taking a stab in the dark, I turn to the cook and smile before saying, “Khao Pad Goong?”
The woman nods, shuffling the rice around the pan. For a few coins, she heaps two ladles full into wooden bowls, popping a spoon in each, and passes them to us before pocketing the money.
Amy tentatively raises a spoonful to her lips. She inhales deeply before putting it in her mouth. Her eyes light up as the food tickles her taste buds, and she goes straight back in for another mouthful.
“It’s delicious,” she mumbles, giving the old woman a beaming thumbs up. The woman grins, exposing gaps where teeth should be.
We sit on upturned crates stacked beside the stall to eat our meal.
The conversation is relaxed, the angst of earlier gone.
I still feel slightly deflated by her previous comments.
Not that I should be surprised. Amy has had more than her fair share of heartache, and I know my reputation with women is less than shining.
Her dubiousness is to be expected. Our relationship is new.
The rest of our afternoon is spent investigating the local area and swimming in the blue sea. Tomorrow, we fly back to London, returning to the reality of home and our daily lives.
In the evening, Amy sits at the kitchen worktop on a high stool, tapping away on my laptop. I place my hands on her shoulders, and peek at the screen.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay,” she says. “A few places have an opening for instructors. Mixed shifts, five days over seven. Something is better than nothing. It’ll be strange having someone to report to.
Telling me what to do.” She exhales. “I won’t miss the pressure of being my own boss.
The monthly struggle to make ends meet.”
I squeeze her shoulders in sympathy.
“Perhaps one day you will have your own gym again,” I say.
“Maybe. But right now, it feels as if I’m starting all over. Back to being that newly graduated student, looking for my first proper job. Except now, I’m decades older and not convinced by my career choice.”
Her words surprise me, so I step around so I can look her in the eye. “You want to pursue a different career?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a thought. But what else would I do? This is all I’ve known. Is it even the right time to be trying something new?”
“Is there ever a right time?” I reply. “You can do whatever you want with your life, Amy. It’s yours to live as you please. No one else’s.”
She snorts, lifting a hand to cover her face. “You sound like my sister.”
“Maybe she sent me to keep an eye on you,” I suggest.
Her expression softens. Dainty fingers brush my cheek before her lips connect with mine.
“Maybe she did,” she agrees. “Maybe this is all meant to be. You’ve arrived right on cue, Ivan. Right when I needed you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I tell her, stealing another kiss. “So, job applications?”
“I’ve applied for a few. I’ll see who calls. I can always say no if I suddenly discover what I want to be when I grow up.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “Grown up. Hell. I’m not sure I ever have.”
“You look beautifully grown to me,” I whisper, pulling her closer. “So grown up, in fact, that I want to take a closer look at all your assets.” Her breath hitches. “Have you finished working on my laptop? Because I plan to spend our final hours in this beautiful country naked and inside you.”
She doesn’t argue.
I slide my hands under her backside, then lift her onto my waist. We stare at each other, no words needed. The time for talking has passed. Now, it’s all about sensation.
The next morning, as we climb the steps to the plane, I watch her sway up ahead, all sun-kissed legs, tiny dress, cheeky smile.
“I remember, I have to turn left,” she teases over her shoulder. “Do you want the same room service as I provided on the way here? The pods are a little cramped, but I could definitely squeeze in again to give you a blowjob.”
The poor flight attendant flushes crimson and looks anywhere but us. I laugh and tap Amy on the backside.
“You’re a menace. The inflight entertainment sounds tempting, but wait till I get you home.”