Chapter 21
Good girl
The last day of school finally arrives, and I’m waving goodbye to my class for the last time as they walk with their parents across the school yard, excited for summer adventures.
Once they’ve all gone, I go back to my classroom and gather up all of my thoughtful gifts, ready to go home.
I rarely leave my class in a mess, but I intend on coming in over the holidays, so I can sort it out then. For now, I desperately need a rest.
I’ve been sticking to my diet religiously for the past couple of weeks, and now that school is over for more than a month, I have no more excuses to put off going to the gym with Rhys.
Pushing that thought from my mind, I put all of the boxes of chocolates gifted to me by kind parents in a cupboard so I’m not tempted to eat them at home.
The notebook with ‘Best Teacher’ written on the front goes into my desk drawer, ready for next year’s staff meetings, along with three beautiful new pens, which just leaves two new mugs, five bunches of flowers and a silk scarf to take home.
My ears start to ring. Dread climbs up my throat and the urge to vomit on the carpet is overwhelming.
Not wanting to have to clean that up later, I swallow the saliva that’s filled my mouth and focus on my breathing.
This can’t be happening again. Rhys grunts again, and I’m left with little choice other than to go and investigate.
Dropping the flowers and gift bags on the stairs, I make my way through to the kitchen.
“Rhys?” I say nervously, pushing open the kitchen door and preparing myself for what I might find.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see my kitchen look like a bombsite.
Rhys is lying on the floor, his shirt hanging over the back of a chair rather than on his body, the washing machine open in front of him.
The water leaking from the ancient appliance has spread across most of the tiles, meaning Rhys is lying in a pool of water.
He’s shirtless and wet. His toned chest gleams with moisture, immediately distracting me from my previous panic, and when he tries to loosen something behind the machine, causing him to grunt again, my knees feel a little weak.
“Rhys?” I say again, this time breathless for a different reason than before.
Rhys jumps at the unexpected interruption, then plasters on a falsely solemn expression.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mat, but the washing machine has gone.
I did everything I could to save her, but she finally kicked the bucket at” – he looks at his watch – “3:48 p.m. She lived a good, long life doing what she loved… washing our clothes. The funeral will be held on Friday, close friends and family only.”
I chuckle at the silly, playful side I rarely get to see of Rhys. It might be my favourite side of him. More than anything it reminds me of when I fell in love with him in the first place.
“Will the family be accepting flowers?” I ask, playing along. “Only, I happen to have several bunches already prepared.”
“The family will be accepting kisses only.”
I smile. “Then you’d better get over here.”
Rhys jumps to his feet, sending water flying everywhere as he strides over to me.
He leans into me so I feel my back pressing into the kitchen counter, and his wet torso meets my chest. He leans down, one hand at the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss.
He starts off gently, tentative after the last time, but it soon turns heated as his tongue slips into my mouth.
The hand at my neck inches up to my hair and he pulls firmly on my ponytail, forcing my head back so he can deepen the kiss.
I feel a spark of confidence ignite inside me when I feel his crotch rub against mine and realise how much I’m affecting him.
In response I let my hands roam over his chest, his back, the waistband of his jeans.
Rhys lets out a groan that travels to my pants, dampening them even more.
With a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, Rhys pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.
“As much as I would love to keep this going,” he says, his breathing as laboured as mine, “we have somewhere to be soon, and you need time to get ready.”
“We’re going somewhere?” I ask, surprised. Have I forgotten about an appointment?
“Yep,” he smiles. “I’m taking you out to celebrate surviving another year of teaching.
We have a reservation at 6:00 p.m., so you need to go and get glammed up.
” He turns me around by the shoulders and slaps me on the backside.
“And wear something sexy,” he whispers so close to my ear I can smell his minty breath.
I start to walk towards the door, anxiety already rippling through me as I try to figure out what to wear.
“Where are we going?” I ask him as I reach the doorway.
“The Nightingale.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m going to The Nightingale, where Connor works, with Rhys, likely wearing something that Connor bought me because I don’t own anything else nice enough to go out in. But I’m supposed to be staying away from Connor. What a complicated shitshow of a situation.
Does Rhys know that Connor works there, I wonder?
Surely not. He wouldn’t have booked to go there knowing we could bump into him.
It was Rhys’s idea to cut ties with him, after all.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will be Connor’s night off.
Even if he is working, chances are he’ll be too busy to realise we’re there. Hopefully.
Knowing showers are when my troubling thoughts are at their loudest, I find a playlist on my phone while I walk to the bathroom, turning it up full volume so I can hear it over both the spraying water and my incessant internal monologue.
My shower takes longer than usual as I’ve fallen behind with feminine maintenance and have to shave what feels like my entire body before I’m done.
I even go as far as to exfoliate every inch of skin I can reach with a posh jar of body scrub a pupil bought me for Christmas.
Feeling fresh and polished, I dry myself off and hurry across the landing in my towel, not wanting Rhys to catch me half naked in broad daylight.
I keep my music playing, though not as loud as before, to keep a lid on any stray intrusive thoughts.
I throw on my dressing gown and fasten it tightly, then remove my towel and use it to rub my hair.
Once it’s no longer dripping onto the carpet, I face my wardrobe and tentatively open the doors.
I have tidy jeans which I could wear with a top, but The Nightingale is too nice for jeans.
This leaves me with a choice between a black knitted dress, a white sundress and the green dress I wore the last time I went to this restaurant.
I decide it’s far too hot for the knitted dress – I’m not in the mood to pass out in public today, thank you.
The sundress is far more suitable, but my already pale complexion would look pallid and sickly next to its snowy fabric.
Green dress it is, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me.
I blow-dry my hair with my usual lack of finesse and straighten it as best I can.
For my make-up, I try to follow a tutorial from the internet but end up with wonky eyeliner and have to start again, this time opting for my usual simple routine with the addition of a red lip, which is much bolder than I would usually dare to wear.
But I promised Rhys that I’d make an effort, so here we are.
Just as I step into my dress, Rhys enters the room following his own shower.
I quickly pull it up to hide my body from his view, then remember that I can’t reach the zip myself.
Reluctantly, I ask for his help. Keen to oblige, he runs his fingers along my exposed back, making me shiver, and slowly pulls up the zip.
“I love this dress,” he breathes against my ear from behind, brushing my hair over to my other shoulder. “There’s just one thing wrong.”
He must have noticed my tummy sticking out or my wobbly thighs peeking through the side slit. I’m going to have to change into jeans after all.
“This underwear.” Rhys slides his hands up my thighs under my dress and hooks his thumbs under the elastic of my knickers. “They ruin the look of the dress from behind. They’re going to have to go.”
“But I don’t have anything different to change them with,” I protest, but Rhys is already sliding them down my legs.
“Looks like you’ll have to go without, then. Step out.”
“Rhys, I can’t…” Why isn’t he listening to me?
“Step out, Tilly.”
Rhys’s tone leaves no room for argument as he holds my underwear on the floor, so I do as he says, despite the panic clawing its way up my throat.
I’ve never done anything like this before.
I like to be wearing as many layers as possible, to hide my body, and this dress was pushing the boundaries enough already.
Rhys throws my black knickers onto the bed with a satisfied smirk and opens his own wardrobe to look for a shirt.
“You’re wearing heels tonight, right? They’ll make your legs look thinner,” he says, casually selecting a deep blue shirt to match his eyes.
Ouch.
With that, I find the highest heels I own and throw them onto my feet.
I’m so uncomfortable. I was hoping we would be seated in a quiet booth where I wouldn’t have to worry about exposing myself to the other diners with every movement.
No such luck. We’re sitting at a table in the middle of the restaurant, no tablecloth to preserve my modesty, and Rhys has shuffled his chair over to my side, so he’s not even blocking me from the front.
I try to angle my crossed legs to the side, and make a conscious effort not to uncross them again.