I will do this all night if I have to.
I will crash and clatter and clang. I will not be silenced.
32
Daan
Sunday 22nd March
Daan pulls apart from the body tangled in the sheets next to him and rolls onto his back. He stares at the ceiling. Her breathing is a touch under a snore, but heavier than he is used to. It is distracting. He could never live with it. Not that he’s thinking of living with it. Obviously. He never intended to even allow her to stay over. It isn’t like him to deviate from a plan, but he isn’t thinking clearly. When she turned up at his door it was just easier to let her in than send her away. On some level it was good to see her, she is so separate from everything else he is going through. She has no idea he is married to a woman who is married to another man. That mess, that humiliation and the subsequent consequences are light years apart from this—an uncomplicated shag, a bit of companionship.
He can smell her now, warm and alive. Here. It is some comfort. It is something. She starts to stir, rolls over to face him, her hair spilling like waves across the silk pillowcases. Kai insisted on them having silk bedding; she read somewhere that the pillowcases helped preserve a blow dry. He too liked the silk sheets and everything they did between them. They had a good sex life, excellent. He always thought it was kept hot because she was away for half the week, not quite accessible, not quite available. Unlike other women who were always throwing themselves prone at his feet. When he first met her, she was a career woman with a job she loved—that was hot. When she suggested giving up work to nurse her mother, he’d been a bit disappointed, care homes were not erotic, but he did admire her sense of duty and commitment. She still offered him space.
Of course, since he’s discovered what Kai had really been up to when she was away from him, it isn’t at all sexy. It is demeaning. Unforgivable. He is not beyond reproach when it comes to fidelity, but the other women he took were just ways to pass time. Not dissimilar to drinking a decent glass of wine or going on a challenging run. Fun diversions. Not important. She was married when he met her. There was no way to look at that fact without thinking it is important. Vital. Everything. She was never his. He was the diversion. He was not important. It was unbelievable. Insulting. How could this have happened to him? Fury burns in his stomach, like a fire. Jealousy, a desire for revenge and answers billow through his mind like smoke.
The woman next to him wakes up, rolls toward him, smiles. He can’t think what to say to her, so kisses her to buy some time. As he pulls away from her hot lips, and the slightly anxious, needy glint in her eyes, he comments, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“But you were hoping for it.” She plasters a grin on her face. He has seen this sort of rictus grin before; it is entirely fake. The women he dated pre-Kai all wore it. A pseudo-brazen I’m tougher than I look grin. An expression that is supposed to convince their lovers that they are not insecure, clingy, desperate, or even, good, old-fashioned hopeful.
It was a lie, of course; those women were all those things. As he fears this woman is.
Sex makes people vulnerable. It might be fashionable to pretend women can hop into bed and keep the sex there, as just that—a human instinct, a need like thirst, or hunger, something to be satiated, but he hadn’t yet met one woman that could really do that. They always allow it to leach into their heads, their hearts.
Except perhaps for Kai as it has turned out. Apparently, she was capable of compartmentalizing. World champion, he thinks bitterly.
He had not been hoping for sex with this woman specifically. He never thought of her in between their hookups, which were irregular, not coveted but pleasant enough. He would never have reached out to her—he never had, she made it easy for him. Last night she literally brought it to his door. What was he to do? Of course, he always had a vague hope to have sex. He was a normal man. He thought it might take his mind off everything. And it had for a time. But now he wants her to leave. He doesn’t need this complication.
“I guess,” Daan replies, throwing out a wolfish grin. He can make any woman think she is the only woman in the world for him, that he has been thinking about them, maybe even longing for them, when he hasn’t. The only woman he ever thought about in her absence was Kai.
Now, more than ever.
Ironic that he’d spent so much time and effort on Kai, making her feel she was the only woman in the world for him, when she didn’t really value fidelity anyhow. Well, lesson learned. Everyone has lessons to learn, he thinks bitterly.
Daan will give this woman breakfast because he likes to think of himself as a gentleman, and throwing her out without breakfast after he’s come in her mouth is not a very gentlemanlike thing to do, but he has things to do today, and what if the police come back? It wouldn’t look good if he were found entertaining like this. Of course, technically, he has every right to do as he pleases, but it is about the optics. He bounces out of bed, picks up his jeans that lie discarded on the floor, pulls them on, without looking for boxers. “I’ll make you a coffee. You like cappuccino, right?”
“No, black.”
“Right.” He nods, clicks his fingers, as though that is what he said in the first place. “And eggs, how do you like them?”
“I shall resist the pun of saying I like them unfertilized,” she replies. He grins, pretending to appreciate her joke but he’s heard it before, many times. She holds his gaze. “Poached. Softly poached.”
“Coming right up.” He marches into the kitchen with the sort of determination that encourages her to follow him. He won’t be serving breakfast in bed. He doesn’t want to do that. He wants to be as efficient about this as possible. Obligingly, she does follow him. As usual, as expected, she keeps swiveling her head from left to right, taking in the impressive apartment. Doesn’t she do something connected with design or interiors? That rings a bell. Or maybe art or film. He can’t recall. Whether she does or doesn’t, she must appreciate place. Be impressed by it. Who wouldn’t be?
Kai. Apparently. Fucking bitch.
“This is such an exquisite apartment,” she says. “But you really need to get your concierge guy onto sorting out those water pipes.”
“Water pipes?”
“Didn’t you hear them clanking all last night? I mean, I’m no plumber, but it sounded like hot water going through pipes or something. It kept me awake. Haven’t you noticed it?”
“No, can’t say I have.” He wants to move the conversation on. He wants to move her on. As the egg is poaching, he says, “Look, it is great to see you again but I have to tell you, I’m going through some heavy stuff right now, so it is not really a good time for me to start something up.”
He expects her to look hurt, or perhaps she’ll rush to assure him that she isn’t looking for anything heavy either—most women would rather lose anything than face. She surprises him when she asks, “What sort of heavy stuff?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” he replies.
“Try me.”
Daan shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to tell this woman that he has a wife. Let’s face it, that is something they haven’t discussed so far. And now he would have to confess to a missing wife. A wife with two husbands, so not really his wife at all. He doesn’t know how to get into that. He walks around the breakfast bar to where she is standing, and kisses her lips, cups her breast. He finds that usually gets women to stop talking. As he gently squeezes her nipple, he feels it start to stiffen. He also starts to stiffen, then he remembers that he has a lot to accomplish today; he doesn’t have time for this; he breaks away. “So yes, really heavy stuff and I haven’t the space to start this up.”