Stop. I’m not responsible. You are. “Why did you start going?”
“First, you said I should. Then Tavish Uilleam. He said that I was poisoned. That Heather had awoken my dark side. He convinced me to at least try. Andrew, my therapist, made me see things in a different light.”
“Like what?” She shifted on his lap to sit up straighter.
He looked away from her face and sighed. “I told him about my- Heather’s sexual preferences, which I gladly indulged. Just like a drug addiction, it started with small experiences, and I had an illusion of self control. That I could control myself, her and all the, uh, partners we had. At first, it was only linked to the idea of physical and psychological gratification, that we were learning and being rewarded, and... I think this idea created a dependence.”
“Yes,” she nodded her head, “this dependence was created by the psychological abuse she inflicted on you. She demanded more from you that you are willing to give. And, every time you indulged her, you violated yourself. Saying no to a person you love is very difficult, but it’s much more important than one can imagine. To stand your ground requires more determination and an understanding of how both partners feel and how they can help themselves by deepening their intimacy. It’s not about control or dominance, it is about communication and real closeness. Trust.”
“Exactly what was lost between me and her. We had no intimacy, communication or trust between us anymore. In a BDSM relationship those are absolutely essential-”
“Alistair Connor,” Sophia gently cut in. “I would say those are essential in any relationship.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Right, my love.
“Alistair, you know that I’m not prudish. Many women would have accepted anything to please you, even if they didn’t enjoy it. So, when I stand my ground and you accept it, this makes our relationship so much stronger. We trust each other, we respect our desires, we are developing a new path together, growing together and finding mutually desirable ways of exploring our needs and still being true to ourselves. This is what makes our relationship a success. It’s quite different.”
She’s mature beyond her age. Alistair remained silent for a long time thinking about what Sophia had said. Or, when did I start to hear her so clearly?
She laid her cheek against his, silently encouraging him to continue with his story.
“So, when Nathalie died...” he closed his eyes and breathed deep. “It just made my anger worse. I started to have serious relationship issues. I numbed myself. I felt totally empty and I didn’t care anymore about forming a relationship. And, if I follow your line of thinking, I became an abuser too. I told Andrew, my therapist, about your slow-down. How you conducted things slowly only giving yourself to me when you thought you could trust me. How you brought me to your house. Your home.” His voice lowered to a whisper, “I told him about what I did in Berkshire.” His gaze returned to her face in time to see her flinch. “How you forgave me. How you stood your ground when I suggested the crop. How you showed me time and time again I could feel a greater pleasure with gentle and tender caresses. And finally, how you gave me my world back to me when you told me that you didn’t care if I was sterile or not. That you cared more about me.”
Oh, God. She searched his taut face for a clue, “You are important, Alistair Connor. Just you. In here.” She tapped his chest.
“He said I was in a healing process. That you’d started it and that I was letting you guide me through it because I wasn’t like that anymore. That it wasn’t what I was looking for.”
“And what were you looking for?”
He gazed into her eyes and it was his turn to smile sadly, “Love.”
5 p.m.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Sophia?” Victoria asked, surprised at the drawing of the wedding gown Sophia was showing her and her choice of colors.
Sophia nodded. “I’m a widow, Victoria. I know Alistair would like me to wear white, but...” She shrugged to show her discomfort with the color.
“I see,” Victoria murmured. And examined her sister’s face, with a mischievous smile, “But if that hunk looked at me the way he looks at you and asked me to marry him naked I would.”
“You’re impossible, Victoria,” Sophia giggled. “Gabriela will choose her own dress, of course, so please help her with that. I think the main color should be pale pink, but she can choose whatever she wants.” She fixed Victoria with a serious stare, “Remember, you’ve promised me no one will see my gown or know about it. Not a word.”
“Hm-hmm. Scout’s honor.” She mused as she chewed on the end of her pencil. “Let’s see...” Victoria looked at the design Sophia had drawn and at the fabric samples lying on the table. “We can order some bespoke lace at one of the best manufacturers of Chantilly silk.”
Sophia looked at the drawing and tapped her nails on the table.
“What about a more modern idea? Something like...” Victoria pursed her lips thinking about the dress. “Yeah, this. What do you think?” She turned her pad for Sophia, a light in her eyes. “Can you picture it, Sophia?” She picked up a tiny length of tulle and bunched it up forming a small skirt. Then she swirled the cloth, draped it asymmetrically and with a scissor tattered it. “Here.”
“That’s it! That’s exactly what I want,” Sophia exclaimed.
“And here I thought you wanted just me, mo gràdh.” Alistair’s deep voice sounded from behind her.
Hastily, Victoria opened her bag and crammed samples and sheets of paper inside, winking conspiratorially at Sophia.
“Wow, Sophia, you and Victoria are still discussing the gown?” Valentina asked. “You’ve been in here for at least two hours! Have you decided? Let me see your ideas.”
Sophia didn’t answer and stood to kiss Alistair lightly on the lips. “We have to design the rest of the stationary and decide on the best men and the maids of honor together, Alistair.” She shook a white envelope in her hand. “And my guest list is ready.” She turned to Gabriela, “I missed you, my angel.”
“Mama, Alistair took me to see the Eiffel Tower. It’s so tall. And we had ice creams.” Gabriela was hopping around Sophia.
“That’s great, my love.” Sophia knelt to kiss and hug Gabriela. “Why don’t you sit with aunt Victoria and decide on your dress while I work with aunt Valentina?”
“Yes, yes!” She jumped on the sofa and picked one of the magazines on the center table, leafing through it.
“Christ! Colors, flowers, dresses. Too much information. And too many women.” Alistair bowed, mocking, “I’m bid you good-bye, miladies.”
“Ah-ah! Come back here, Lord I’m-scared-of-women,” Sophia grabbed Alistair’s sleeve. “You have to work, too. You can ring our butler and ask for a light snack. I’m hungry. Then you can call the concierge and make us reservations at... say... Lassere, eight o’clock? A table with the vue plein ciel. Gabriela will love it. After that you are going to sit here beside me,” she patted the chair next to her, “and finish your guest list. Carol has finished all her stationary and emailed it to me,” she lightly tapped her Mac with the pencil, “I’ve approved it all and she’s already sent them to the printers. They will be ready for the final approval tomorrow morning.”
“Any other order, Marchioness?” He quirked a black eyebrow at her.
“Besides another kiss, my lord?” She giggled and lifted her lips to him. “Not that I can think of,” she smiled naughtily at him and whispered in his ear, “for the moment.”