If I Say No, page 25
After realising on Friday night that I’m nowhere near over Shell, and seeing that she’s moved on already, my weekend was unsurprisingly grim. I didn’t leave mum’s place until Monday! And moped about in my flat until I had to leave for today’s meeting. Seen as I finally left my flat, I thought I might as well drive to the shop and see how the builders are getting on.
Yes, I was hoping that Charlotte would be here, but I knew it was unlikely. I’ve been texting her every day to ask about her Nan and she’s been replying to my messages with just a couple of words. Fine, thanks. No hugs or kisses. Today, when I added, Let me know when she might be up for visitors, I’d like to see her, Charlotte didn’t respond at all.
I want to tell her that I miss her, because I really do, but it might be too much for her to handle. I don’t want her to block my number or anything. Getting a reply from her means I haven’t lost her completely. I don’t know what I’ll do if she cuts me out of her life for good.
I can’t let that happen.
Chapter 96
Shell
When I come downstairs after my shower, I find Imran leaning on his desk. His hair is still damp from the shower he took while I finished cooking. This has bugged me from the start, that he doesn’t dry his hair properly. Since Monday, I’ve been drying it for him.
“My dad used to say that we’d catch a cold if we didn’t dry our hair properly,” I rebuke him.
He makes a sheepish face but says nothing as I grab his towel from where he’s dropped it on his desk and rub it through his luscious hair. It’s so thick and fluffy. I like playing with it.
“Let me dry yours afterwards,” he says like he has all week. “It looks fun.”
I do the final sweep with the towel and say, “I prefer the hairdryer.”
“Hmm, you said...” He smiles as he circles my wrists with his fingers and pulls me in for a kiss.
Dropping the towel, I kiss him back. He lets go of my wrists and wraps his arms around my waist. I gasp into his mouth. Today’s the first time he’s held me this tight, this close. Highly conscious of the fact that my body is pressed against his, I break the kiss and take a step back.
“Tired, huh?” he asks softly, concerned.
Shy, I nod my lie.
“Me, too,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s lie down for a bit before we have to get dinner on the table.” That’s right: Whoever cooks, has to set the dining table for the meal that day.
I’m not surprised Imran’s tired. He helped me with the cooking after we got home from work on Monday and again today. He valiantly takes the big jobs like chopping onions and prepping the firmer vegetables. Yesterday, I helped Didi with these tasks when she asked me to, despite the fact that she’s always “too tired” to help me. Of course, she’ll ask for my assistance tomorrow and I won’t refuse. Saying no isn’t easy. Or a good look for new brides.
“Come,” Imran says as he takes my hand. “Rest time for the chefs.”
We lie down on the bed and he kisses me again, propping himself up on one elbow. It feels as though that’s all we do nowadays. Kiss and cook. It’s fun. Will it be fun when we... if he wants to amp up the heat factor? So far, we’ve been staying within the limits of sweet and safe. I hope we stay here a long time—
Is that his hand on my stomach? And did my back lift off the mattress in surprise? I move my head to the side, breaking the kiss, to signal to him that I’m not sure if I want his hands to touch me anywhere new just yet. That only gives him access to my neck.
Another first. He starts nuzzling my neck and takes his hand from my stomach to cup my cheek. His skin is so hot. Mine is reaching that temperature, too. I think we’re leaving sweet and safe behind us today and I think it’s going to be fun. He definitely knows what to do with his mouth and tongue...
By the time he kisses his way back to my lips, I’m waiting for him. Our mouths move together with less caution now—and more hunger. My arms wrap tightly around his neck and his go all the way around my waist, our bodies closer than they’ve ever been.
We forget there are people in the house and give into what our bodies are suddenly craving. The heat we conjure between us is just as wonderful as the peace he’s always infused in me. I wasn’t expecting this and I’m not wishing it away. Why would I? He’s my husband. This is part of the journey.
I swear he’s about to slip his hand under my kameez—and I swear I’m about to let him—when Reha’s voice booms outside our door. “Dinner’s getting cold, you guys. Come.”
Apparently, Reha and her mum laid the table when they got hungry. Apparently, they called us a couple of times before they sat down to eat. Apparently, they thought we were dressing after our showers and would join them soon. When my mother-in-law finished plating up and we still didn’t show, she sent Reha to get us. We didn’t hear anything before that...
I’m about to tell the table that we drifted off when Imran says, “We had our earphones on. Sorry.” Everyone buys it and we tuck in.
Arun tells us how he broke the news about Seb’s takeover to his business partners today. The conversation carries on after we finish eating and leads to the rest of us sharing how our day was. We sit around the TV and enjoy each other’s company, something we’ve been doing all week after dinner. It’s nice, familiar; my family used to do this every night.
Didi, when she gets talking, is actually really entertaining, a great storyteller. Almost a different person to what she is the rest of time. It reiterates that people aren’t one-dimensional; we’re complex beings with many sides to us. Try to see the good side as much as you can. Try to show your kind side as much as you can.
Soon, Reha goes upstairs to finish her homework and Imran wishes her goodnight. He remained at the table when the rest of us moved to the sofas and I’ve felt his gaze on me ever since. Now, as our eyes meet across the room, the expression on his face intensifies. My heart races at the thought of carrying on from where we left off before dinner. I swallow. He does, too.
The next minute, my mother-in-law says that the two of us are probably tired and want to go to sleep. “We’ll go upstairs so you can have some quiet,” she adds, making to rise from her seat.
“No, stay, it’s fine,” I assure her at the same time that Imran stands up and says, “That’s a good idea, actually.”
Didi chuckles and tells him, “Fine. You go to sleep. Shell will stay with us.”
“Don’t be silly,” my father-in-law murmurs and gets to his feet. The more time I spend with my in-laws, the less they look like older versions of their children and more like individuals. “It’s late. You all have work tomorrow.” He walks out of the living room, his wife a step behind him.
The others exit, too.
Then, Imran heads into our bedroom without a word to me. But with a look in his eyes that says he’s still in a romantic mood. Gulping, I amble into the bedroom a moment later.
“You wanted to chat with the fam some more, did you?” he asks in a low voice once I lock our door behind me. He’s leaning on his desk again. This time, his hair isn’t damp. I don’t need to go up to him to dry it.
I walk up to him, anyway. “I thought you might want to spend some more time with your family,” I say pointedly, folding my arms across my chest.
Taking hold of my wrists, he unfolds my arms, pulls me close, and curves them around his waist. “I’ve spent a quarter of a century with my family,” he whispers. “I’m good for now. You, I haven’t had enough of. Kissing you for a century wouldn’t be enough.”
“We won’t live for a century,” I say, rolling my eyes at the cheesy line. “We’re not vampires.” I burst into laughter.
He chuckles. “That’s why I don’t want to waste another second before I kiss you.” He leans in.
I stop giggling and jerk my head back. He straightens up and hugs me in a comforting way.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing my back. “We can sleep if you’re tired—”
“I’m not tired,” I blurt out.
“No? Then...?”
Lifting my head from his shoulder, I look in his eyes. He’s curious and confused and hopeful and... eager.
“Can we... do we have to...?”
“Oh, I won’t take it any further, I promise,” he assures me in a rush. “I don’t expect us to break our No Sex Pact—”
“It’s not that,” I tell him. “I just want to take it slow, that’s all. Enjoy the sweet moments some more. I don’t think we’ve had enough of those. Is that okay?”
He smiles. “Of course. I mean, I agree. More sweetness.” He places his hand on my face and strokes my cheeks with his thumb. He really is the best guy. “Just shove me away if I ever get carried away in the heat of the moment, okay?”
I nod and he leans in for a sweet kiss. Then another and a another... This really is very nice.
Making out like this with Imran is like making out with a best friend who’s always got your back. It feels safe and right, and has a freedom to it. If he gets carried away, I think I will, too, and it’ll be perfectly fine. We’re husband and wife. We can touch and kiss each other anywhere if the other consents, and the next day, we won’t have to feel guilty about crossing the line. Because we wouldn’t have done nothing wrong.
I’m finally doing something right and the peace that comes with this knowledge is of the sweetest kind. The kind that only my husband gives me.
Chapter 97
Charlotte
A good two weeks later, the builders are nearly done refurbishing the shop. According to Seb, it’s time Nan and I went to see it and he’s come to drive us there. I’m upstairs, getting Nan ready to leave the house for the first time since she was discharged from hospital.
When Seb called me a couple of hours ago, waking me too early on a Sunday, I told him I’d rather see the shop when the makeover was fully complete. Grudgingly, he accepted. Over breakfast, when Nan asked who called me, I reluctantly told her what Seb said. And she rebuked me for turning down a “free ride into town”. Apparently, she’s dying to see the shop. Dying to get some fresh air.
“You need to get out, too, dear.”
She wasn’t wrong there. I’ve been doing everything, including the shopping, online, so I don’t have to leave her alone in the house. I can’t help fretting about what would have happened if she had the heart attack while I was at work. I’d love to take her out, but I fear that she’s not strong enough yet. I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happened...
“You can see the shop when we have the reopening party,” I told her. “Like everyone else will.” I never say she might not be well enough yet—she’d beat me with a broom.
“If I live until then,” she scoffed.
“Of course, you will—”
“If my heart attack has taught me anything, Charlotte, dear, it’s that nothing in life is guaranteed.” She sighed into her mug of tea. “But I understand that seeing Seb is difficult for you,” she added. “What with him being... untrustworthy.” She worked hard to not roll her eyes at the last word.
Yes, she’s been trying to squeeze information out of me about why Seb and I aren’t... a thing anymore. Not that we ever became one. I haven’t revealed any more than the fact that I can’t trust him.
At first, she understood. “Of course, it’s not easy for you to trust a man,” she murmured. Having an adulterer for a father does that to you, added her tone. As Seb’s texts kept pinging into my phone, asking about her recovery, Nan decided that he was worthy of a second chance. She’s been fighting his corner ever since.
Now, as I button up her winter coat—it’s gotten really cold in the second half of November—she says, “Be nicer to him.”
“Who?”
“Seb! You weren’t particularly hospitable when you let him in.”
Indeed, I hardly spoke to him. I couldn’t. Seeing him made me miss him even more than I have these past couple of weeks. I was afraid I’d admit that if I said any more than, “Hi, we weren’t expecting you to come over so fast.” He showed up a couple of minutes after I texted him about seeing the shop.
“I was at the shop,” he told me. His face lit up when he saw me blush at my blunder. Of course, he was at the shop.
“Take a seat in the front room,” I told him. “Nan and I need to get ready...”
“Take your time,” he said with a smile.
“What was I supposed to do?” I ask Nan now as I don my jacket. “Offer him tea and nibbles? He’s dying to take us to the shop.” I grab her hand so we can leave her bedroom and climb down the stairs.
I did look into getting a stairlift for her, but she threatened to beat me with a broom if I made an appointment for a survey. “I’m not there yet,” she snapped.
“What’s he done to make you think he can’t be trusted?” she asks me, stopping by her door.
I sigh. She won’t drop it if I don’t tell her. She’ll try to play matchmaker. “He cheated on his girlfriend,” I say, sucking in a deep breath. “With her best friend.”
“That’s terrible!” she says in a huff, eyes widening in horror. “That is the worst thing a person can do to a loved one. My goodness, Charlotte.” She shakes her head and her words come out in a rush. “I had him down as a decent person! After all my years, after all I’ve seen, I thought I was good at reading people—”
“Calm down, Nan—”
“He’s obviously a devious fellow,” she says as though I didn’t interrupt, “fooling me so easily. I have a right mind to go down there and give him a good talking to!” She looks like she’d be waving her walking stick if she had one.
“Nan, relax,” I urge her. “Doctors told you to take it easy, remember?” I’d die if this conversation triggered—
“Oh, I’m not going to have another heart attack,” she retorts. “But I can’t say the same for Seb. I’ll teach him about cheating on his girlfriend and then latching onto my granddaughter—”
“It’s not like that, Nan,” I assure her. “He did that when he was in Uni.”
She blinks for a few seconds. “University, you say?” she asks in a soft voice.
I nod.
“When he was a teenager?”
I nod again.
“I see. Do you think he’s learned his lesson?”
Another nod.
“Well, then. I don’t need to bring it up with him now. If he’s turned over a new leaf.”
“He has, actually,” I mumble.
“Not everyone does that.”
“No,” I agree with a sigh.
“As long as you know that, dear.” She looks so smug that I wonder if she’s been playing me all along.
Chapter 98
Shell
That thing about enjoying the sweet moments for a bit longer? It didn’t last more than a few days. Oops. Last Sunday was the first time that Imran, in the heat of the moment, slipped his hand under my top and I, in the heat of the moment, didn’t stop him. Or every time he did it thereafter.
It’s another Sunday now, and judging by the way he’s kissing me, even as his family are finishing their late breakfasts in the lounge—we ate and promptly slipped back into our room—I dread to think what tonight’s bedtime make out session will be like.
Am I dreading it, though? As I kiss him, my arms around his neck, his T-shirt off, you wouldn’t think I’m capable of feeling dread where Imran’s concerned.
Almost all of our nightly make out sessions start off PG-rated—and end with one of us breaking away and calling it a night. Because it gets too heated. In the last couple of nights, it’s taken us longer to disengage. We’ve gone a little further each time before hitting the brakes.
Our bodies definitely want to take the final step.
As for our minds... Imran will be happy to do it the minute I say I’m ready, so the question is: Am I ready to have sex with my husband? I think I should. It’s about time. And my sister—who keeps sending cryptic texts to check if I’ve lost my virginity yet—was right. Sex is a part of the journey. It will unite us in a way that nothing else can.
It’s what happens after you get married.
Imran is nuzzling my neck now. My body has learned that this means he will soon move his hand under my dress and caress my skin, making my stomach contract. Knowing what’s coming, I could stop him—I could stop him in a number of ways without ending the moment. I never do.
The more of me he touches, the less of me belongs to Seb. I’m so glad for it, too. The fund manager has hardly featured in my thoughts in the last fortnight. Yesterday, I was thinking that I’ll probably be over him for good as soon as Imran and I make love. Silly, perhaps, but that’s what I thought, and what I want to happen. I need it to happen—
Ooh, there goes Imran’s hand, more confident and assertive than ever, as it moves under the fabric of my dress and presses into my stomach. I gasp—like I always do—as he moves his hand up to my bra and spreads his fingers over it. This isn’t new territory for him so I’m confused when he suddenly lifts his head and looks into my eyes.
He appears to have woken up from a deep sleep, but I know he’s dazed because he was so lost in the moment. In me.
Imran continues to stare at me in silence.
Just as I open my mouth to ask if everything’s okay, he pushes his fingers under my bra. My mouth widens further than I’d ever need to speak—though, of course, words don’t actually come—and my eyes blink rapidly, my breathing becoming erratic. I think my heart is going to burst from how fast and hard it’s beating against my ribs.
I’m unable to take in his reaction—I’m too busy getting accustomed to his hand cupping my breast. Under my bra. For the first time.
And I do get accustomed to it. I don’t bat his arm away. I don’t push his body off me. I stay under him. That doesn’t mean I calm down, though. Far from it. Everything inside me is tingling. Trembling. It feels as though the thumping of my heart is making my body shudder. Could a muscle of that size move an entire body?
