The whining from the girls gets so bad that I cave and text Rafe from Harrods’ book department.
You at home? Fancy putting up with us for the time it takes me to down a cup of tea?
He comes right back.
Of course. Come on over.
Belle there? It’s actually her they want to see.
She’s a lot more fun than me. And yeah she’s here.
‘Rafe and Belle are at home,’ I tell the girls. ‘And he says we can go over. But just for a bit, okay?’
Stella punches the air. ‘Yessss.’
‘Will she let us style her hair?’ Nancy wants to know.
‘You’ll have to ask her very nicely,’ I tell her.
‘What if they have no snacks?’ Stel asks. ‘Rafe never has any fun food.’
‘I think he’s got a bit more domesticated since he got together with Belle,’ I say. I hope so, anyway. For her sake. I can’t imagine his Deliveroo habit is as bad as it was when he was a determined bachelor. Subsisting on takeaway is one indignity I don’t have to worry about, thank fuck. Our nanny, Ruth, is an excellent cook and takes pride in having something delicious in the oven when I get home each night.
‘We should buy something to take around so they don’t think we’re rude,’ Stel insists. ‘Macarons?’
God, I love this hilarious kid with her gourmet tastes and well-honed social etiquette at the grand old age of ten. I know when there’s no point in arguing.
‘Macarons,’ I agree, and we swivel in the direction of Ladurée.
Rafe answers the door to his gorgeous penthouse wearing one of his many pairs of Orlebar Brown swim shorts and a linen shirt open over his irritatingly well-kept physique. I grin to myself. It kills me to admit it, but the guy’s in good shape. Although with a twenty-two-year-old-girlfriend who’s as much of a knockout as Belle, he’ll need to stay that way.
Not that I’m a slouch in the muscular department myself. One thing I’ll say about grief is that it gives you a fuck-load of aggression and useless energy that requires an outlet. My punchbag and my Peloton don’t know what’s hit them over the past year.
He throws his arms open when he sees us. ‘Two beautiful young ladies and one ugly old man!’
Stella laughs, I scowl, and Nancy sticks out her lower lip as she takes a small fist to his abs. ‘My daddy’s not ugly!’
‘I take it back,’ he says, grinning. ‘Come on through. The girls are out on the terrace. How’s my gorgeous goddaughter?’
‘I’m excellent, thank you,’ Stella says at the same time alarm bells ring in my head.
‘Girls?’
He jerks his head to the wall of glass doors, all of which are open. ‘Maddy’s here, shamelessly exploiting my roof terrace. They’re sunbathing.’
Oh fuck.
That’s not good.
I keep my distance from that little she-devil and her siren’s call as much as I possibly can at work. Since she dropped that unnecessary and way-too-detailed insight into her slave-girl kink the other day, I’ve been avoiding her like the plague.
I just can’t.
Honestly, working with a crowd of sex addicts makes it practically impossible to uphold professional boundaries. It’s one thing having to block out the indiscretions my oldest and dearest friends and co-founders share with me. It’s quite another for our sexy-as-fuck little social media manager to sit there in our morning meeting and regale me with her love of being demeaned and dominated.
Really, it’s inappropriate. And I do not need her invading my time with the girls. But it appears it’s too late for that, because Stel and Nance are already running out to the terrace in excitement at the prospect of seeing Belle, who they treat like a real, live Barbie doll.
‘So you’re hanging around two young women like an old creep?’ I ask to mask my discomfort.
‘More like listening to Coldplay really loudly on my headphones and trying to block out their relentless chatter,’ he says, leading the way outside.
Rafe has a beautiful pad. He spent a full year and a wedge of cash getting this penthouse just right. I know he was tempted to put it on the market recently after Belle’s dad, who lives one floor down with her mum, found his innocent little daughter’s older neighbour butt naked in his own kitchen. But Belle stood her ground, and, as I understand it, they’ve reached an awkward truce with her folks.
I’m glad he’s staying put. This place is gorgeous… though if he persuades Belle to perpetuate his gene pool at some point, I can see them moving to something a bit more kid-friendly.
I follow him out onto his terrace, from which emanates much squealing of the female variety, and oh fuck.
Holy motherfucking shit.
Belle and Maddy are both in string fucking bikinis, and they’re unfolding themselves sinuously from their loungers and making a beeline for me.
Oh, Jesus.
I try not to look at Maddy as she tails Belle, who gets to me first. I don’t look at Belle either, because Rafe will have my nuts if I do, but she throws her arms around me and hugs me, as blithely uninhibited by her near nudity as I imagine anyone would be if they had a twenty-two-year-old body that’s practically perfect.
‘What a lovely surprise!’ she tells me with what sounds like total sincerity. She really is a sweetheart, and her sunny disposition has worked wonders on mellowing my gruff friend. ‘I’m so happy to see your girls again!’
She’s only met them a couple of times, but she made quite the impression on them. They’ve been star-struck ever since.
Then she’s releasing me, and Maddy’s coming for me.
Mother of God.
She’s not quite as tanned as Belle. Her skin is a creamy gold that honestly seems fucking flawless from where I’m standing and trying very, very hard not to look. She’s in a pale green, microscopic string bikini that’s positively indecent and almost the same shade as her huge, grey-green eyes as she raises her sunglasses to the top of her head.
But I’m definitely not looking at her eyes right now because my gaze is momentarily affixed, as if by some infernal magnetism, to her breasts. They’re not massive, but they’re so fucking round and perky and perfect, cradled against those useless fabric triangles. I take in, too, the luscious curves of her hips below that narrow waist, the soft, creamy expanse of skin around her belly-button, and the flimsy little ties holding more useless triangles in place around her—
Nope.
Nope.
Don’t even think about that area of her body.
She comes right up to me, beaming, and then I catch the light in her eyes, and the deep pink of her lips, and the perfectly healthy glow of her sun-kissed sin.
I mean skin.
Pull it together, I tell myself sternly as she puts a hand on each of my shoulders, framing me so she can deliver a light kiss to each cheek. And, as she does, I inhale the coconut scent of suncream and something more delicate and floral. Shampoo, maybe. Above all, she smells of sunshine, and while no parts of her body are touching mine save her hands and her cheeks, she’s far too close and far too naked for my liking.
Although that’s a stupid way to put it, because my body likes absolutely everything about this situation.
Thankfully, she then turns away from me to greet Stel and Nance, who are looking at her like she’s an angel descended from heaven, which seems not unfounded. And as she introduces herself in the most friendly, perky tones, I sweep my gaze down the incredible back view of her body.
Jesus fuck. Her bikini bottoms aren’t quite a thong, but they’re not far off, with a scrappy rear triangle that covers at most thirty percent of her perfectly peachy, golden arse cheeks. When she bends over slightly to admire Nancy’s hairband, I almost lose my shit there and then. This woman is a temptress in the office when she’s fully dressed. Out here, in that pathetic excuse for a bikini, her siren’s call is so loud it’s practically cracking my head open.
Just as well she’s about as inappropriate as it’s possible to be for a man in my position.
‘Nice way to spend a warm Saturday afternoon,’ I muse to Rafe, who has the good grace to look bashful.
‘Yeah. Not bad. I’m kicking Maddy out soon, though. I can’t take much more bikini torture from Belle.’
Lucky fucker.
The guy has nothing more on his agenda than a leisurely fuck, or several, with his beautiful girlfriend.
No responsibilities.
No grief.
And, while I wouldn’t give up the privilege of fathering my daughters for anything, the cares I carry seem a world away from Rafe’s hedonistic bubble.
