Nothing between the two of us has changed. Nothing about Luce and the way she is with me has changed.
But I have. And Luce has not missed it.
We have not attended any functions since the news broke, and I haven’t gone near the restaurant.
I made the decision to use a car service full-time, not wanting to drive my car any place where I might get bombarded by the press. That hasn’t stopped the constant stream of phone calls and requests for interviews coming through the firm.
The physical manifestations of the pressure I’m under is starting to show and to combat their effect, I’m trying to make it up to her in other ways.
Long gone is the sex with reckless abandon we used to enjoy. I don’t want Lucia to ever think that what we have together is anything like what I had with Jodi. I’ve been more attentive to her needs than usual, making love to her gently, slowly, driving her higher and higher until she climaxes beneath me.
She’s my anchor in a swirling sea of distrust, and I’m trying to shelter her from the storm that is my life. But with the pressure growing with every passing moment, other things have weighed heavily on my mind.
I’ve had to be controlled.
Almost too controlled.
The desire to do more has been calling to me louder and clearer than ever, becoming harder and almost impossible to ignore.
Still I’ve come too far now to lose the best thing in my life over something far too tempting to contemplate.
As much as I’ve tried, what I can’t silence is the desperate need that claws at me as pressure continues to mount. The deafening roar inside, threatening to explode if something—anything—doesn’t give, and soon.
I’m distracted from this train of thought when Lucia calls my name from the kitchen. “Cal?”
Ever the hostess, she’s decided that my big empty house needed people in it. Therefore we are hosting a dinner party tonight with Grant, Jeremy, Julia, Heather and Glen. My parents are watching Grayson for the night so it’s an ‘adults night out’ with the people I’m closest to and trust the most.
Shutting down the computer, I leave the upstairs office and make my way down to find my girlfriend looking messed up and overheated, bending down in front of the oven.
My cock stiffens at her round, firm ass swinging high in the air in front of me, calling to me to take her hard and fast in my kitchen, pushing her down over the center island and ramming into her from behind, my hand turning her head in place so I can plunder her mouth.
She looks over her shoulder and meets my eyes. “What’s that look for, Mr. Alexander?”
“What look, Ms. Harding?”
“The look that says you’re cataloguing all of the dirty things you could do to my ass while I’m in this position?”
“To your ass?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.
Her cheeks go red uncharacteristically, and for once I see Luce almost look bashful. She quickly recovers though. “Well, maybe not that in the kitchen. We do have dinner guests arriving soon.”
Unable to resist, I walk over to her and push her back against the counter. “We have forty minutes. A lot can be achieved in that time,” I murmur against her neck, trailing my lips down her soft skin and nipping the curve of her shoulder. “A lot of things can be given, and received . . .”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums as her hands start to roam, diving beneath my shirt and running over my stomach before heading south. “I’m more of a show me, don’t tell me kind of woman.”
“And I’m an ‘anything you want, wherever you want it’ kind of man.”
“The perfect kind.”
“Then let me demonstrate.” Hooking my hands beneath her ass, I hoist her up and place her on the counter, and set about showing her some enjoyable ways to spend a spare forty minutes.
“Let me get this straight. You were arrested for indecent exposure? In the French Riviera? Where you’re outcast if you’re not topless?” Grant asks Lucia after dinner.
“Yeah, I just happened to come across a conservative cop who felt I needed a lesson in acceptable public behavior.” She smiles wide, the experience obviously not having a detrimental effect on her confidence.
“There are a lot of different kinds of lessons that can be given without hauling a topless woman into a jail cell,” Julia says from the other side of the table.
“Naked. Not topless. Naked.”
The table starts laughing, partly in shock but also amazement.
Her eyes meet mine and she raises an eyebrow at me. Then her bare foot snakes up my leg, and I know the devious glint in her eye now has a purpose.
“How about you, Cal? Been arrested for something we don’t know about? Got any deep, dark secrets to hide from the parents?” Jeremy pipes up, cornering me in during a lull in the conversation.
I cautiously eye Grant, who is now smirking. Lucia watches me intently, awaiting my answer. In fact, the entire table is now giving me full attention. Fuck.
“I don’t even think he snuck out after curfew during high school,” Heather muses.
“Jesus,” I mutter with a groan, looking to the ceiling.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Jeremy and Heather retort in singsong unison, imitating our mother. That just starts another round of laughs.
“There are no secrets,” I reply, lifting my scotch to my mouth and taking a slow, measured sip.
Lucia scoffs light-heartedly. “Oh I don’t believe that for one minute, Cal.”
“Everyone has secrets.” Grant looks at me pointedly, then thankfully looks away.
“I’m an open book. No secrets here,” she says with a shrug, lifting her wine glass to her mouth.
I’ve never lied to Lucia, but with the amassing pressure starting to take its toll and the intensifying glare of public attention I feel whenever I’m not at home, I’m holding back more.
She deserves more than me holding back, more than what I’m giving her now.
“Earth to Cal?” Jeremy says.
“What?” I ask, looking at my brother.
“Are you okay? You know, with the press?” he asks, his brow furrowed.
“It must be hard, always being watched, reported on . . .” Glen adds.
All eyes turn to me at the head of the table, studying me, waiting for me to give them the truth. But without realizing it, I go into autopilot mode. With a slow curl of my lips, I smile at my family, some of my most fervent supporters, and I lie. “I’m good. I’m used to it by now.” I shrug and finish off my scotch.
Standing up, I sweep my arm out to the table. “Anybody need a refill?”
My eyes default to Luce, and I’m struck by the intensity of her stare. She’s studying me like a Rubik’s cube when you’re only a few twists and turns from success. The endearing tilt of her head unsettles me, an innate feeling caused by the knowledge that the woman I love sees right through my mask, through the smoke and mirrors I’ve erected to hide behind. She’s able to sense the unease inside of me, and the concern in her eyes threatens my resolve to stay strong in the face of enduring pressure.
It claws at me, a continuous prickling sensation that draws my muscles tight with the tension that continually threatens to pull me under. Having to appear unaffected in front of everybody is arduous, but a necessary undertaking in order to maintain my status quo, both personal and professional. Shielding those around me from everything within my power has now become my sole focus. All of it is on my shoulders, a burden I’ll willingly bear until there is no onus to continue doing so.
“Another would be great, Cal,” Luce replies, her voice soft, eyes now full of understanding. She holds out her glass to me and I take it with me to the kitchen.
“Yeah, me too,” Heather adds, before turning toward Glen.
Grant is uncharacteristically silent, and more disconcerting than Lucia’s knowing concern is my best friend knowing exactly what my thought process is in moments like these. He’s been by my side throughout the highs and lows of our careers—when we started Alexander Richardson, when we made our first public tender, when we lost our first design proposal to a bigger firm, working eighteen-hour days with me to perfect the Spera House design right down to checking and double-checking every minute detail.