Sorry for such a short chapter!

Chapter 38

Neither Beth nor Peter turned up for dinner that night. Mum and Dad made no mention of it, but from their red-rimmed eyes and bleary faces, I guessed they knew the reason.

Anthony and George were unusually quiet, their faces solemn.

Michel sat next to me, the only one with any hint of a smile on his face.

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop it," I hissed, forcing my own curling smile from my lips. "Look sad."

His lips quivered. "Not so easy," he replied just as quietly, leaning close so his breath whispered against the sensitive ridges of my ear, "considering our swim today."

I rolled my eyes. "Mind out the gutter, Michel."

He just shrugged and sat back, his face a little smug. He reached out and clasped my hand beneath the table.

The dinner continued in grave silence, broken only by the scrape of knife against plates, and the shifting of bodies on creaky wooden chairs.

"I just don't understand!" Mum burst out suddenly, slamming down her cutlery and pushing her chair back. "Someone tell me what the hell is going that it came too…too this!" Her breath choked in a sob and my father reached out his hand to her, touching her shoulder gently.

She fell against him. "My little girl," she cried, her words muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "Going to be…to be…married, and then…then…"

My father looked at us all, his eyes sweeping around the table. Then he jerked his head sharply at the door.

Silently obedient, we all stood up quickly and left the kitchen.

"Well," Anthony muttered as well all traversed to the lounge room and sunk into the cushiony lounge chairs, "I feel like a ten year old."

George quirked an amused eyebrow at his brother. "Getting kicked out of the kitchen does have a certain nostalgic feel to it," he agreed. Now they were clear of the kitchen, both their eyes had lost their gravity.

Anthony threw his head against the back of chair, closed his eyes, and sighed wistfully. "Oh how I miss the old times."

Michel, settling next to him, flung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I felt a deep contentment fill up inside of me. Last week, I would have scoffed at the thought of Michel showing affection to anyone.

I grinned as a new thought filled me. Mabye he was just waiting for the right girl.

Anthony opened one eye and stared at me. "What was that grin for?"

I forced my face back to blandness and changed the subject. "What do you think Beth told them?"

George looked over at me. "Who? You're parents?"

"Yes."

George shrugged. "My guess is that Peter told them. And probably not very much."

I sighed in relief, but George hadn't finished yet.

"They probably guessed the rest," he added lightly, his eyes placid.

"God, Really?" I groaned.

Anthony sat up straighter and grinned. "Honey, they're not stupid. They raised the two of you remember. I seriously doubt they're as oblivious as they seem."

Beside me, Michel snorted. "I'd worry if they were," he murmured under his breath.

I glared at him and he subsided quickly.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "Does that mean no sex tonight?"

I rolled my eyes and caught Anthony's delighted look. Ever the proud teacher.

George's eyes narrowed at his twin. "Have you been interfering again?" he asked threateningly, "Did our last conversation fall out of your mind?"

Anthony ignored the jibe sat forward, so his elbows rested on his knees. "Sorry," Anthony said to his brother sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes. "Does that mean no sex tonight?"

Disgusted and forcing back a shudder, George made a rude gesture and left the room, Anthony's laughter trailing behind.

"Is that," Michel asked, looking affronted, "supposed to be some sort of imitation of me?"

Anthony just smiled pleasantly at Michel and then turned to me. "I like this one Ariana Wilkins," he told me brightly, "I like this one a lot."

"I didn't realise I needed your go-ahead," I remarked dryly.

Anthony rose to his feet and shrugged, the grin still lingering about his lips. "You don't. But I can make life a hell of a lot easier for you if I like him." Then he left after his brother. Probably to bait him some more.

Michel watched him leave. When he looked at me, his eyes were thoughtfully. "They're very close aren't they?" It was less a question, more a statement, but I answered it anyway.

"They have to be," I told him tiredly, "with my family the way they are."

His silence all agreement.

XXXX

Michel forced me to take a long, warm bath that night. I almost convinced him to join me, but he stood firm.

"You need to relax, Ria." He told me, his eyes a little unsteady, but his voice clear. "And what I want to do to you right now isn't going to help you do that."

Shivering with anticipation, I let him go.

Now that I knew I had him, would have him, I could afford to be generous. And relax.

I rested my head back against the edge of the bath and breathed deeply, forcing my eyes closed and my mind away from the day's events. Like hazy dreams, my thoughts drifted, flittering from one moment to the next, a tireless reel.

Who would have known, I thought with a small smile, that things ending with Callum could turn into such a good thing? If Callum hadn't cheated on me, it would probably be me with my tummy round a full and a little Susie on the floor. Michel would be a once-friend, grown distant to a married life. Of that I had no doubt.

And where once such a scene had made me ache with wanting, now it just filled me with relief.

I wanted Michel now more than I had ever wanted Callum.

Not that I would admit that to him. Not for a long time. Things were still too delicate with us now. And far, far too fresh.

I sighed and opened my eyes. The steam from my bath wafted up in tendrils all around me, and beneath the bubbly surface of the water my body looked distorted. I ran a hand a hand through the water gently, watching the ripples grow and move outward. Then, with another sigh, I rose quickly, letting the water drip off me in cascading waterfalls before I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out of the bath.

Michel was already in bed when I emerged from the bathroom, clean and warm and wrapped in a fuzzy robe, my hair falling in silky, wet ropes down the side of my face.

He smiled at me and sat up a little, pushing the covers to his waist. He wore a t-shirt to bed this time. "I like you like that," he remarked softly, his voice gentle.

I raised my eyebrows sceptically. "What? In a grandma robe and no make-up?"

His eyes were clear, the message in them as simple as his answer. "Yes."

I rolled my eyes and climbed into bed next to him.

His hand reached out and clasped mine gently. "I'm serious Ria. I like you like this. Just you and me and-"

"-Only a robe between us?" I cut him off, laughing quietly. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"You never take me seriously." There was not an inch of sulkiness in his voice.

I reached out to him and patted my hand gently against his chest. "Whats this?" I asked, not bothering to hide my disappointment. I knew Michel preferred to sleep in as little as possible. I like feeling the heat of his skin against me when he held me close.

He shook his head at me. "Please? You actually think this is easy? This waiting?"

"It was your idea," I reminded him pointly.

"Doesn't make it easy," he retorted. "And I need all the help I can get."

"So it wouldn't make it any better if I did…say….this?" I tickled my hands gently down his chest, down his stomach, playing lightly along the hem of the shirt.

He sucked in a quick breath, his eyes darkening.

"No," he said, his voice sounding a little ragged, "that wouldn't make it much easier."

I smiled at him, slowly, and his breathing quickened. Very, very slowly, my hand inched under his hem, ran very lightly, just the tips of my fingers, across his warm skin, just below the belly button.

"What about this?" I whispered, my own voice turning husky.

His breathing was uneven now, his eyes almost desperate. He closed them for a long moment, and when they opened again, they were frighteningly determined. His hand clamped over mine, above the shirt, pressing my hand still against his skin.

"Ria," he said firmly, "we agreed on this."

It was hard to take him seriously when he had to make an effort to talk.

But I caught the message in his eyes and sighed. I pulled away from him and rolled over, switching off the bed-side light. He did the same, and we lay in the darkness for a long time, still, the only sound in the room our breathing and the distant hum of voices.

Idly, I wondered where Bethany was. And where Peter was sleeping.

Finally Michel heaved a deep, resigned sigh and snaked out his arm, hooking me around the waist and pulling me tight against him, my back to his chest, our legs near entangled.

"Go to sleep," he muttered into my hair, "And please, no more teasing."

In the darkness, even knowing he couldn't see me, I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.

No more teasing, I agreed silently to myself. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

After a while, lulled to weariness by the steady rhythm of our breathing and the warmth of the body at my back, I felt my lid grow heavy. And finally, in Michel's arms, I slept.

XXXX