Chapter Forty-Four - Weston
I’m nervous as I open the front door and wave her forward. Why? Why? So many reasons why. Everything in here is about Victoria Arias. Everything.
“Wow,” Tori says, her fingertips lingering on the white linen fabric upholstery of the straight-backed chairs that welcome her to my home. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say, dropping my keys into a porcelain dish on the small table that sits between the chairs. “I wanted a mudroom, but this house doesn’t really lend itself to one in the traditional sense. So this is it. Just a place to stop and check your hair before a date.”
“Oh,” Tori says, looking in the mirror above the table and wincing. “Jesus. I shouldn’t have looked.”
“Stop,” I chide her. This woman can’t look anything but beautiful to my eyes. I don’t care if her hair is a wild mess. I like it that way. It reminds me of better days. Days when I had her all to myself. When I knew every night I’d fall asleep to the rhythm of her breathing and wake up craving the moans of her arousal.
“So…” she says, turning away from the mirror to face me. “Do you check your hair there often?”
I smile. “It’s not for me, silly. It’s for you.”
“Well.” She chuckles. “Sorry, I don’t get a lot of chances to use it.”
“Hopefully that will change now. Come in, please. Want the tour?”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh as she takes in the room.
It’s the effect I was looking for when I furnished this place.
“It’s so… not really you, Corporate. I was expecting something like your friend’s house back in Del Mar. Something modern and over the top. But this place is… anything but that. Hey,” she says, walking forward quickly towards the center of the room. “Is this is the coffee table we bought at that antique mart in Albany?”
“Yeah,” I say. “The one and only.”
“Oh, my God. You still have that trunk too!” She laughs with excitement as she walks over to it, and again, her fingertips touch it like it’s something that needs to be felt. “Remember how much I wanted to use this for that practice honeymoon we took? Ha! Those people on that island would’ve laughed their heads off at me.”
“I wanted you to take it.”
“I know. I can’t trust you. That would’ve been a mistake.” She sighs again. “Well, I’m glad you still have some of our old stuff. Glad it didn’t all go in the trash.”
“Trash?” I ask. “Trash? Please. I saved everything, Tori. I have everything we bought together over the years. And if you look at my life close enough, you’ll find it’s all still here.”
“What? Are you serious? Jesus, I thought for sure you’d throw it all away after that last break-up.”
It was an epic break-up, that’s for sure. Dishes flew like crazy. Stiletto heels dented the walls in that old apartment we were renting. She was so angry with me. I was so furious with her.
It wasn’t pretty.
“I felt a little sad when you left it all behind, to be honest.”
Tori has picked up a pillow off the couch, another one of our shared treasures, and she’s pressing it to her cheek to feel the soft fabric when my words come out. She lowers the pillow and looks at me. “Why? I figured it was best to forget, you know? I didn’t want to be reminded of all the ways we fucked it up.”
“I guess we’re different in yet another way as well,” I say, some sadness creeping into my voice. “Because I never wanted to forget. I only wanted to remember. Even if we had a lot of bad times, we had a lot of good ones too. Moments worth making are moments worth remembering. That’s why I kept everything.”
She sets the pillow back down on the couch and wanders into the dining room. “I bet this house is a fabulous place for a party. The rooms are all open. You can cook and talk to guests at the same time. Never missing out on the fun and conversation.”
“Or watch children when you prepare grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch.”
She smiles, her shoulders hiking up in a shrug. “Or that.”
“I haven’t had any parties here, Tori. I haven’t had anyone here. Not even a date. No one has checked their hair in that foyer mirror except you.”
She continues into the kitchen, which flows naturally from the great room. I watch her, standing still where I’m at. I watch her take in the white cabinets and the dark soapstone counter tops. That’s what she always wanted. She touches the stone with that same reverence as the trunk and the pillow.
She continues on, glancing at the white dishes in the glass-front cabinets. “Those are—”
“From the wedding registry we did that one time you thought we were playing around.”
“West,” she says, turning to face me. “Is this…”
“All for you,” I say, shrugging. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry if it’s creepy. But I never stopped hoping, Victoria. I couldn’t even imagine a life where you were not here. Enjoying our home with me. And I didn’t bring you here to pressure you, or make you feel bad, or fill you with regret. I just need you to know that… I love us. And if you think we even have the slightest chance at making this work, then please, just give in to me. I promise to be careful with you. I promise to go slow. I promise everything. I promise to be patient, and I promise to listen to you. I will do anything—whatever it takes—to make you mine forever. And no piece of paper or rehearsed wedding vow is necessary. I don’t care about that. At all. I swear, I don’t care. Just think about it. Think about the happiness we can create and then tell me what you need me to do to make it happen. I will do it, Victoria. I promise, I will do it. Because I love you. I love you so much.”
It comes out like a whisper. Like I’m afraid to say it. And I am. I’m afraid that she will take one look at this place, call it a sick shrine, and tell me to get on with my life as she walks out.
It could happen. It could happen and she could say it right now.
But before she gets a chance, I say, “I just need you to know that I am here. Waiting. For as long as it takes for you to be ready. And I’m sorry I never said it that way before. I have so many regrets for the way we ended our relationship. I should’ve been able to articulate it before. But I guess… I just never understood what you wanted. Why you didn’t want what I wanted. It was just bad timing, you know?”
She walks on, her fingertips tracing the back of the antique whitewashed barstools, unable to stop herself from holding a blue and white striped dishtowel hanging off the oven handle on the wall next to her. She looks up, all the way up, to the windows in the cathedral ceiling, then turns to the French doors that open to the backyard.
One thing you get living in this gated community in Burbank Hills is a nice-sized back yard. She always wanted one of those. And a pool. An in-ground pool.
It’s fantastically lit up right now, the subtle movement of the water reflecting the light across her face in a way that makes her look surreal. My fantasy. That’s what she looks like. She is my fantasy. And I cannot believe I have her standing in this kitchen right now.
How many times have I imagined it?
But then I forced the thoughts out of my mind.
I guess I never really admitted to myself that I was building this home for her. That every piece I bought to furnish it was with her in mind. But it’s very clear to me now.
What would Tori want?
What does Tori like?
What would Tori say?
And later, after I had already given up that this would ever become a reality, What would Tori want me to do?
“I love it,” she says, turning to face me. “God, I love it so much.”
“I could lose it, you know. If they are stealing my life away. I could lose this house, but I wouldn’t care, Tori. Not if you wanted to start over with me. They can take whatever they want, as long as they don’t take you. The only thing I care about is a second chance at what we know we have. So please. Please, when we get on that plane tomorrow morning, don’t keep insisting that you take part in whatever Oliver, Pax, and Five are planning. Just leave it to us. Because if something happened to you I would die too, Tori. I would not want to live.”
She has a sad, sad smile on her face. But she walks over to me, slips her hands around my waist and presses her face into my chest.
I breathe in her scent. I touch her long wild hair, and when she lifts her head up and meets my gaze, her eyes are a swirl of violet. The storm we left behind is gone and instead I see nothing but the purple flowers she reminds me of.
A whole garden of flowers. Something we had, and lost, but now have again.
“Take me upstairs,” she whispers. “I want to see my bedroom now.”
I reach underneath her, lift her in my arms, and walk us upstairs. There are four bedrooms, but the only one that matters is the one at the end of the hall.
I place her gently on top of the king-sized bed without turning the light on. There is a spotlight aimed at a palm tree just to the left of the large picture window outside. More than enough light for what I’m about to do. She is nested in the thick down comforter; her hair is splayed out on one of the many pillows I have waiting for her weary head. Her knees come up out of instinct, wanting to cover her bare legs as the short sundress settles by her hips.
But I gently grab her ankles and drag them down the cool cotton duvet and spread her legs at the knees.
I catch a sharp intake of breath, and maybe she’s nervous. I’m nervous. Even though I’ve had sex with her several times in the past few days, I’m nervous because this is the one that counts. This is the one that says, You are mine. I am yours. And you are never getting away because we’re in this together now.
I reach under the light fabric and find the elastic of her panties, pulling them down her thighs as she lifts her hips and closes her knees to help me slide them all the way to her ankles. My touch is so light, she shivers, sending a chill of bumps up her legs for a moment before she sighs, relaxes, and opens her legs back up without any help from me.
“Victoria,” I whisper as I kiss my way up her body. I linger in so many places. I stop at her ankle, then her knee. She arches her back and sighs, her fingers threading into my hair. I continue, switching to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. “Victoria,” I say again.
“What?” she breathes out. “What?”
“Be here,” I say, reaching under her ass to lift her hips, bring her pussy in line with my mouth.
“I am here,” she replies, her grip on my hair loosening, her hips moving, positioning.
“Stay here,” I say, easing my tongue into the soft folds. I lick and she draws in a long breath. “Just stay here with me and I swear, it will be good.”
“Weston Conrad,” she says. “I’ve always been yours. You should know that. I have never belonged, will never belong, to anyone but you. Even when we’re apart, I am yours and only yours. Forever.”
I lick her pussy until she is writhing. I squeeze her breasts until she whimpers. I kiss her mouth like I’m hungry and the only thing that can nourish me is her. Her taste, her lips, her tongue.
And then I ease into her, slowly. Just the way she likes it. There are plenty of ways to have sex with her. Hard and rough, the way I sometimes prefer. We can talk dirty, or not. We can go fast or not. We can do it standing, in the shower, against the wall, or outside in the pool. We can fuck so many ways.
But tonight I make love to her. Love. Soft and sweet, just the way she likes it. I know her heart and it is soft. I know her soul and it is sweet. I know her, and I want her to know me too. This me. The one who cares so deeply, he’s willing to give up everything for the only woman he will ever love.
It’s not a night of multiple orgasms. It’s not a night of screaming my name, or me shoving my dick down her throat so I can feel her muscles contract as I come. It’s not even about coming, together or otherwise.
It’s just about being there. In the moment when we decide, yes. We will stop all the nos and just say yes to each other.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
I say it as I move inside her. She says it as she digs her nails into my back and bites my shoulder. We say it together, just once. But once is all we need. Once is more than nothing. Once is enough.
I fall asleep, exhausted, spent, and happier than I have ever been in my life.
Victoria Arias, the love of my life, falls asleep, cradled in my arms, her head resting on my chest. Our breathing is matched and perfect. Our love is complete, because no matter what happens, we have this night. This one perfect night with her in the bed I made for her. With her in the house I want to give her. Next to me, Weston Conrad, her soulmate.
But when I wake up, ready to face the challenge ahead of us, it all feels like a dream.
Because she is gone.