Mr Masters, page 35
“Would you like to dance?” my sexy date asks me from across the table.
I smile. “You know I would.”
It's Saturday night, and Julian and I have the luxury of being out. Sammy is sleeping at his friend's house and Willow is at dinner and the movies with Lola. We're in a cocktail bar and lately, we've found a penchant for dancing. Julian stands, taking my hand in his to lead me to the dance floor. I put my arms around his neck. "Thank you." I smile up at him.
“For what?” His hands drop to my behind.
“Can you put your hands back on my waist, please?” I smirk. “There are other people here, you know.”
He widens his eyes and places his hands back up to a respectable level. “That better?”
“Not really.”
“Thank you for what, Bree?” he repeats.
“For showing me what it feels like.”
He frowns down at me, clearly puzzled.
“To be loved wholeheartedly.”
He chuckles and spins me around. “I think you mean wholedickedly.”
I giggle. “That, too.” Our lips touch. He glances up and his face falls, making him step back from me immediately.
“What?” I frown as I look around.
“My parents are here.”
“So?”
“So… we can’t be on a fucking date,” he whispers, dragging me to the back of the restaurant.
“They’re going to have to find out about us eventually.” I frown.
“No, they’re not,” he whispers angrily, pulling me the exit.
What?
He drags me from the restaurant and out to the car, not forgetting to and open my door for me.
“I didn’t want to go.” I pout, annoyed.
“Well, we had to.” He pushes me into the car, closes the door, runs to his side in a rush and gets in.
“Why?”
“I don’t want anyone to know about us?” He starts the car.
“Why?” I frown over at him. “Are you ashamed of me?”
He scowls as if the very thought is ridiculous. “No, I’m not ashamed of you.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I snap.
“I don’t want us to be a thing.”
I glare at him as he drives. “Newsflash: we are a thing.”
He glances at me, annoyed.
“You don’t have a problem with us being a thing every morning with your dick out, do you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Stop being so crude.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Crude?”
“Yes, crude.”
“What’s the problem with people knowing about us?”
“I just want to keep you to myself.” “For how long?”
He shrugs.
I watch him as he drives. “Julian we’ve been together for months now. We’re in love. I want to tell the children.”
His face pales, his eyes widening. “We are not telling the children. No way in hell!”
“Why not?”
“Because they will only get excited and think we’re getting married.”
My brain tries to catch up with what he just said. “Where exactly do you see this relationship going, Julian?”
His eyes find mine. “Don’t start.”
“Don’t start?” I shake my head. “What do you fucking mean, don’t start?”
“It means I’m not having this conversation.”
“So, that’s it? As far as you’re concerned we’re just going to keep going on like this?”
“Like what?” he snaps.
“Sneaking around.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
Oh, my God. I shake my head and stare out the front windscreen.
“What do you have in that head of yours, Bree?” He huffs.
My face falls and my anger begins to simmer. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a future with a man who is actually proud to be seen with me.”
“Don’t start that fucking shit.” He sneers. “You know how I feel about you.”
“Fucking shit?” I repeat. “I don’t know what part of ‘I love you’ you don’t understand, but I want to be with a man who one day has plans to maybe marry me.” His looks at me like I’ve gone completely mad. “I’m not marrying again. No way in hell am I ever getting married again, Brielle. Get that shit out of your head right fucking now.” He grips the steering wheel and shakes his head. “So if that’s what you want from a man, we should probably end it.”
“What?” I gasp. I watch him for a moment as he grips the steering wheel with white-knuckle force.
“I am not going to be fucking controlled again with a wedding ring!” he yells.
My mouth falls open in shock. He’s actually serious. “What about children?” I ask, feeling my blood run cold. “Do you want more children?”
“I’m thirty-nine, Brielle.”
“So?”
“I’m not having any more children. I’m too old.” My eyes instantly fill with tears. “Then what are we doing here?” I cry. “I thought we were in love?”
He falls silent and stares at the road. “And I thought you were happy with simply having me,” he says flatly.
“I am happy with you, but what about my needs? I’m twenty-six. I’ve never been married and I want my own children.” I put my hands up to my chest. “I want your children and my children.”
He inhales deeply, not saying another word. Julian keeps his eyes on the road and we drive home in silence.
When he parks the car, I get out and slam the door shut before I march inside. Willow and Lola are sitting on the sofa watching television. “Hello.” I smile as I walk past them. “I’m beat. Going to bed.”
I hear Julian put the keys down on the bench in the foyer as he walks in behind me. “Hi, Dad,” Willow calls. “What’s wrong with Brell?”
“I don’t know. I just picked her up on my way through. She was out with Emerson.”
I close my eyes in disgust and walk into my bedroom.
What a gutless wonder.
It’s 2:00 a.m. when I feel my bed dip and Julian climb in behind me. I pretend I’m asleep. I don’t want to talk to him. He wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my hair.
“I can’t sleep without you, baby,” he whispers.
I close my eyes. If I open my mouth now we’re only going to fall into a huge screaming match. Maybe he just needs time to get his head around everything.
I suppose we’ve never had this conversation before. I just assumed that he knew I would want these things. I lie in the dark for a while, thinking. Maybe if I just let it lie for a while he could come around to the idea. I roll over and face him.
We stare at each other in the darkness.
“I’m not Alina, Julian.”
“I know.” He pulls me to him. “I never loved her.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Yet she got to be your wife and have your children,” I whisper.
He holds me tight and kisses my forehead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, babe.”
I close my eyes against his shoulder, and I know this conversation is far from over. “Me neither.”
Julian
I’m sitting at the bar in a pub with Sebastian and Spencer. We’re twenty-two years old, and it’s the morning of my wedding. Dressed in our suits, we’re ready for the church, but the mood is sombre. They’re trying to comfort me the best they can.
I’m devastated about what I’m about to do—for the way I fucked up everything.
If I were going to prison for life, I would be happier than I am right now.
I stare at a small droplet of beer that has spilt next to a coaster, and I release a shaky breath.
“Did you organise a honeymoon?” Spencer asks softly.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Scotland.”
“How long are you going for?”
“A week.” I sip my beer.
We all stay silent and stare straight ahead.
“Any luck, she’ll fuck a Scotsman and ask you for a divorce,” Seb offers.
I nod without emotion, and I close my eyes in regret. Another wave of nausea rolls through me. I’ve been throwing up all morning.
“Don’t do this, Masters,” Spencer begs. “This is the worse fucking decision you’ll ever make.” Seb and he exchange looks. “She trapped you, man. She’s after money. Just give it to her. Give her fucking all of it.”
My eyes rise to meet his. We’ve had this conversation a million times. Even my parents have begged me not to go through with it.
“I’m not letting another man bring up my child,” I tell them sadly.
“So, you’re sacrificing your whole fucking life for a baby that you don’t even know?” Spence snaps in disgust.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I can stand next to you and watch you do this,” Seb says, his voice monotone.
I get a lump in my throat. “That’s okay. You guys don’t have to come if you don’t want.”.
The driver arrives at the front door of the pub. “We need to get going for the church or we’ll be late,” he says.
I nod, watching as he disappears out the door.
My heart begins to hammer in my chest.
“Let’s just fuck off,” Spencer splutters, his panic rising. “We can go to the states. Yeah. We’ll live there and you can send her money.” He shakes his head. “Just don’t fucking do this, Masters.”
I drag myself off the stool
Beep, beep.
I’m snapped back to the present by the car honking its horn behind me. I look up to see the traffic lights have now turned red, meaning I’ve completely missed them.
I’m on my way to work. The horror of my younger life has been playing heavily on my mind this week. It’s as if I’m back there, dealing with it all over again.
The lights change, and I click into first gear to floor it.
I can’t go back there again.
Not now. Not ever.
Brielle
I’m sitting on the sofa as the movie plays on the television. It’s Thursday night—date night—but we’re home. I didn’t get my email invitation this week and that hurt. Sammy is snuggled up beside me while Will is lying on the floor. Julian is sitting in his wingback chair with his book, uninterested in what we are doing.
It’s been a week since we had our fight about marriage and babies, and we haven’t discussed it since. I’m too scared to bring the subject up.
Julian has pulled away from me.; the force field is back up. His heart is locked safely back into the freezer, never to be defrosted. I know he’s scared, terrified that he’s going to be trapped in a loveless marriage again.
But that marriage would be to me, and it hurts that he doesn’t trust me enough to let himself fall.
Maybe he will. Maybe he will come to me any day now, and the two of us can sit and openly talk about it. He can explain why he feels the way he does. But until he does, there’s a huge elephant in the room, in our bed, everywhere between us.
“I’m going out with the boys tomorrow night straight from work,” he says quietly as he continues to read his book.
I turn and watch him until he looks up at me, and I raise a brow in question.
“Mother will have the children, so you can go out if you wish.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
His eyes hold mine. I just want to scream and call him a coward, but I’ll only push him further away.
“I won’t be late,” he says after a moment.
I nod and turn back to the television. The lump in my throat hurts again as I try to hold in my tears. I can’t stand this. Screaming, yelling, or anything would be better than this.
My mind goes to Alina. Is this what she dealt with? The silent treatment?
While he fucked prostitutes on the side.
Stop it.
I close my eyes in disgust. Stop thinking about her. This is different. He loves me. He wouldn’t do that to me, I know he wouldn’t.
Would he?
I kiss Sammy on the head. “I’m going to bed, baby.” I stand. “Goodnight, Will,” I say.
Julian doesn’t say anything.
“Night, Brell,” Will and Sammy call.
I walk into my room, get into the shower, and I cry.
I can’t stop thinking about Alina and worrying that we’re falling into that same pattern. He’s hardly touched me in a week, and we haven’t made love once.
He’s pulled away from me without any regret.
I scrunch my eyes together and let the tears roll down my face. My heart feels like it’s being torn out of my body in slow motion.
Maybe my fairy tale is already over.
“Come on,” I laugh as I run about outside with Tillie at the end of the driveway. It’s 4:00 p.m. and Willow is still at work while Sammy is at his little friend’s until later tonight, after dinner.
Julian came to my bed last night, and we made love. Well, not really. We basically fucked with no emotion attached to it. But I felt like he was sad, too. We laid in silence after we were finished, clinging to each other, as if hoping the other one would take back what they said last week.
I can’t take mine back because it’s true, I do want children. I may not be gifted them by God’s hand, but I want to at least try. I can live without marriage, but motherhood… not so much.
The mailman pulls up and I smile and wave as he hands me the letters.
“How are you today?” he asks me.
“Fine, thanks.” I smile. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“It is, it is. See you later.”
“Come on, Tillie.” I begin to walk back to the house as I flick through the envelopes. Boring, boring, boring. I come to a letter in cream paper.
Julian Masters.
I turn the letter over to see who the sender is.
Dr Edwards.
Rosedale Clinic.
Hmm, I wonder what that is? I continue to look at the letter as I walk back up to the house. I stop to take out my phone and I Google Dr. Edwards, Rosedale clinic.
Dr Edwards is the leading vasectomy specialist in London.
My heart roars, racing wildly in my chest.
No. He wouldn’t?
I run back to the house with the letter in my hand. I put it onto the kitchen bench and stare at it.
My blood is pumping hard through my body as I begin to pace. Why is he getting a letter from this doctor? For fifteen minutes, I stare at it until curiosity gets the best of me and I tear open the envelope.
Mr. Masters,
Thank you for your enquiry this week regarding our vasectomy services. Please find below a quote as requested. Your initial appointment is on the 17th and then the procedure is booked for the 25th as requested.
The words go blurry as tears fill my eyes, and I put my hand over my mouth.
He’s going to have a vasectomy without telling me.
I stagger back in shock.
Oh… this hurts.
I grab the car keys, and I get in the car and with the letter in my hand. There's no thought as I tear down the driveway.
He wants a fight. He just fucking got one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I speed to the courthouse with my heart beating wildly the whole journey there. He wouldn’t do this to me. I know he wouldn’t.
He loves me.
Why am I even going to see him when I know that there must be a reasonable explanation for this? Maybe he’s getting a reversal? Yes!
My eyes widen. Yes, of course.
My face falls. No, that’s not it. We used condoms in the beginning because he was scared he was going to get me pregnant. If he’d already had a vasectomy he wouldn’t have been worried about that at all.
My stomach rolls and the tears well again. He’s going out tonight with his friends. I can’t deal with not knowing what’s going on.
I need to talk to him.
I glance down at the letter on the seat, I screw up my face in tears and I sniff loudly.
He wouldn’t.
I stop at the traffic lights and I glance at my watch. Shit, hurry up.
If I don’t catch him as he’s walking to his car, I won’t know where he is, and I am not having this conversation over the phone. I need to see his face when I confront him.
I glance at the car next to me. The lady is looking at my crying face with a worried expression.
No, I’m not okay, bitch.
I shake my head and wipe my eyes with my forearm.
I know this has to be a misunderstanding. He wouldn't do this to me. Of course he wouldn't because that would be the end of us and he knows that.
Please don’t let this be the end of us.
I’m not ready to let him go.
Please, please, please, baby. Don’t let this be true.
I turn into the underground parking lot and I drive around until I see his car in his reserved parking space.
He’s still here.
I park my car and get out with the letter gripped firmly in my hand. I glance down at my watch. It’s 4:30 p.m and he’s finished for the day. He should be coming out at any moment. I walk over to his car and lean on it and I wait.
Twenty minutes later, he appears, talking and walking beside another man in an expensive suit. I immediately stand up straight, my racing heart driving me wild. He glances up and frowns when he sees me.
“See you later,” he says to his friend as he walks over to me. His eyes hold mine, and I know he can tell I’ve been crying, “What’s up?” he asks.
I should say something intelligent, or ask a calm question—anything that will help me not look like a complete lunatic—but I just don’t have it in me.
I hold up the letter. “You tell me.”
He frowns, takes the letter out of my hand and reads it. His eyes come back up to my face and he rubs his tongue over his teeth.
“You opened my mail?”
“Tell me it’s not true,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes and opens his car to throw his briefcase in his trunk, slamming it shut with an almighty thud. "This is not the time or place to discuss this," he says calmly.
