Zach’s already at the table when I arrive at the restaurant. It’s a grown-up but friendly little Italian that’s tucked away on a side road in Notting Hill and feels like it’s been here forever. The tables have starched white cloths, and the servers all look like they’ve been here forever, too. The place smells so epically of garlic that if and when we get our hands on some garlic bread, I may just attack it like a madwoman.
He stands for me, his smile so intimate it takes my breath away.
He’s beautiful.
His hair is raked back off his face and he’s changed out of his work clothes into a shirt under a fine grey sweater. He runs an approving gaze over my LBD as I approach before cupping my face in his hands. His kiss is perfect—chaste but warm. His lips are soft against mine.
‘You look so, so beautiful,’ he says to me as he releases me, and I swoon.
This guy is good.
I don’t do dinner dates, usually. Since I got access to Alchemy’s fucking-on-demand service, I haven’t bothered with dates at all. But usually, if a guy asks me out, I’ll make sure I stick to drinks only in some swanky hotel bar. That gives me far more flexibility to either escape quickly or drag him home, depending on how I feel.
This is different. A sit-down dinner with Zach in a neighbourhood restaurant whose patrons are, I strongly suspect, all regulars is a whole new experience.
It feels special. I feel special. Especially given the admiring glances my hot date’s throwing my way as I slide my coat off and take my seat.
Once he’s consulted me on my wine preferences (spoiler: anything) and ordered for us, he reaches over and takes my hand. ‘I like seeing you out and about.’
‘You see me in Alchemy,’ I counter.
‘That’s pretty much the opposite of out and about.’ He lowers his voice to a seductive level. ‘Much as I enjoy trussing you up on a cross, sometimes I just want to sit across a table from you and hear what you have to say.’
I shift nervously. I’m not sure my chat is all that great, really. Yes, I’m often the life and soul of the party, but Zach is a seriously smart, well-educated guy who probably attends dinner parties where they talk about politics and climate change and, I dunno, the Booker Prize finalists and shit like that.
I’m much more in my comfort zone predicting the finalists of I’m a Celebrity than the fucking Booker Prize. And it may not take Zach until the end of this dinner to work out that I don’t have much more to offer him than a nice face and body and a willingness to try anything once.
‘I’m assuming you’ve watched all five seasons of Selling Sunset?’ I retort. ‘Because that’s what I do when I’m not fucking you. I watch shallow shit.’
His mouth twitches. ‘I’m not familiar with that particular programme, but you do you, Mads. No judgement here.’
‘I’m just letting you know what you’re getting yourself into.’ I flash him a signature bright smile. ‘Because when you throw around terms like girlfriend, even if I’m a secret one, it makes me realise we don’t know each other that well.’
He squeezes my hand and releases it, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Surveying me.
‘That’s what’s got your back up, hmm? Did I freak you out?’
‘No,’ I lie, because I’ve only been obsessing over the girlfriend comment every single second since he said it. I cock my head and shift in my chair, instantly uncomfortable. I hope they hurry up with the wine. ‘I just—it seems—improbable.’
‘How so?’
‘Well.’ I hold up a thumb so I can start striking items off on my fingers. Because yes, I’ve made a list. A mental one, anyway, and it doesn’t look promising. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ I ask.
‘Yep, Mads. If there’s stuff that’s bothering you, then I want to know.’
Our smiley server arrives and proceeds to uncork a bottle of Tignanello. Nice. We sit and wait for him to pour Zach a splash to taste. Zach nods his approval. The server pours us each a glass and leaves us alone after we’ve put our garlic bread order in. Thank God.
‘Okay. Um. Let me see. Well, you’re a lot older than me. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he says. I suspect he’s swallowing a smile.
‘And we’re very different.’ I don’t wait for his comment on that. ‘And, come on. You lost your wife. You’re raising two little girls and the three of you are grieving. You’re doing an amazing job, don’t get me wrong, but the last thing you need is some girlfriend wanting attention when you’ve got someone offering you secret sex on tap. I mean, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
I pause to take a breath, and he raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you finished?’
‘No. I’m not. I don’t do relationships—I’m supposed to be spending my twenties sowing my wild oats. It’s not just guys who can do that, you know. And’—I point to emphasise my pièce de résistance—‘imagine what your friends and family would say. They’d be horrified. They’d think you were having some kind of middle-aged breakdown—no offence—and that I was a gold-digging little whore intent on scamming the grieving widower.’
I slump back in my chair and take a slug of wine. Bloody hell, that’s excellent. I take another. When I look back at Zach he’s sitting quietly, watching me.
‘Please tell me that’s it.’
I give a defeated nod.
‘So you’re saying you want to sow your wild oats?’
‘Seriously?’ I ask. ‘I said all that and that’s what you fixate on?’
‘It’s the only impediment pertaining to you.’ He twirls the stem of his glass between his fingers, but those blue eyes are fixed squarely on me and I don’t like how probing they are. Almost as if he’s a therapist looking at a delusional patient.
I roll my eyes. ‘I said I’m supposed to be sowing my wild oats. Not that I want to.’
‘Do you want to? It’s a straightforward yes or no, Mads. We’ve had some fun at the club, and you’ve opened my eyes to some new stuff, for which I’m grateful. But if you’re to be my girlfriend, we’re monogamous. I don’t want another guy laying a finger on you. I don’t want anyone even looking at you. Got it?’
I detest the warm thrill that courses through me at his possessiveness. I jut my jaw out sulkily before admitting the inconvenient truth. ‘I don’t want to be with anyone else. I just want you.’
He exhales, emotion flooding his gorgeous features. ‘You sure, sweetheart? Because you need to be sure I’m enough for you. You’re a hell of a lot more adventurous than I am. If you need that lifestyle, then I understand. You shouldn’t make any sacrifices for me that aren’t worth it. I need to know being with me alone can satisfy you.’
Images flash into my head. Zach fucking me on the floor of my shower. Up against the wall. In various rooms in Alchemy, bent over for him, or being fucked from behind, or having his hands hold my wrists in place while he bears down on me.
The desire I feel for him. The extraordinary waves of emotion and ecstasy that wash over me when we’re conjoined. The perfect pleasure of submitting to him, of letting him use me however and whenever he wants. The intense power of our connection is like nothing I’ve ever, ever experienced.
I shake my head, my voice threatening to give. ‘You’re more than enough for me,’ I manage. ‘You’re everything. I don’t want any other men—I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest.’
His head slumps forward for a second before he raises it, his eyes finding mine and his hand reaching across the table once again. He smooths his thumb over my knuckles as he says in a choked voice, ‘Then we’re good. That’s the only thing I was worried about, that you’d get bored with me.’ He pauses. ‘That I wouldn’t be able to make you happy.’
We stare at each other and I shake my head, rolling my lips between my teeth as I attempt to rein in my emotions. Because these are big, scary feelings we’re admitting to, and, as uncomfortable as I am admitting to this kind of stuff, it must be harder for Zach.
I’m in awe, actually, of the bravery of this man who lost the love of his life and yet has the courage to sit here and open himself up to more emotions. More vulnerability. More potential for agony. Just seeing the expression of quiet hope on his gorgeous face has my heart cavorting around in my chest cavity like a baby lamb on speed.
‘Not true,’ I tell him now.
We smile idiotically at each other as his thumb maintains a steady rhythm over my knuckles.
‘So,’ he says. ‘Let’s cover off the rest of your worries—what were they? Oh yeah. My friends and family. Nope, don’t give a flying fuck what they think.’
I gasp in surprise. Zach strikes me as the kind of guy who’d be just the opposite. Who’d insist on respecting, accommodating, everyone else’s feelings to the detriment of his own wellbeing. ‘Wow,’ I say, and he laughs.
‘Look. I’ve done a lot of therapy over the past year, and one thing my therapist has rammed home, over and over, is that I need to look after myself and the girls, and I can’t bear the responsibility for everyone else’s grief. I know what you’re getting at, and yeah, there might be some pearl-clutching as well as some genuine upset from parties whose own grief makes it hard for them to see me move on. But I have to work on my own timeline, Mads. If I don’t seize my own happiness when it seeks me out then I’ll be no use to anyone.’
His voice softens. ‘And you make me very fucking happy. And you’re right, some people might be surprised to see I’ve managed to bag myself someone as youthful and stunning and incredible as you. But as long as you and I are in good shape, and the girls aren’t upset about it, the others will just have to get on board. Or not.’
It makes sense. Zach can’t possibly bear the burden for everyone else’s grief, even though I can’t imagine how awful it will be for his parents-in-law to find out their dead daughter’s husband has a new girlfriend. God, it’s all so fucking brutal. But he’s right, of course. He has to put on his own oxygen mask first, and I suppose him knowing that he deserves to be happy is a great place for him to have got to in his grieving process.
‘Do you think the girls will really be okay with it?’ I ask him. Because this is the big one. They have to come first. Before me. Before him, even. They’ve lost their mother. Having their dad wheel in some random new girlfriend could undo all the baby steps they’ve taken so far.
He sighs. ‘I honestly don’t know. It could go either way, really. They adore you—you know that. They think you’re so fun. But, you know, we’ve built up this little circle of three, and we’re tight. I’m all they have, so I have to tread carefully. But if you’re on board with it, I’ll have a chat with them. Sound them out.’
Our garlic bread arrives. It’s a huge pizza base, and it’s loaded with melted butter, fresh parsley and crispy garlicky shavings.
Oh my God. It is divine.
Zach watches in amusement as I dive right in. I grab a massive piece with both hands and shove the pointed end in my mouth before giving him a thumbs-up.
‘Is that for the bread or me talking to the girls?’
‘Both,’ I mutter through a mouthful of carbs. Uncouth, but worth it. My mouth is filled with the most incredible taste of garlic butter.
He takes a much more polite bite and chews before asking, ‘What else?’
I stare at him over my acre of garlic bread.
‘Come on, Mads. Out with it.’
I wash my mouthful down with some Tignanello before replying. ‘I’m wondering if you’re sure about this.’ He raises his eyebrows, but I stumble on. ‘You’re still grieving—I know you are. And that’s okay. But I’m wondering if I’m enough for you. Look, I’m well aware I’m an extremely good fuck. But that’s one thing. Having me as your girlfriend is, like, totally another.’
‘Why?’ he asks, an intense look on his face.
I wave my hand around. ‘Because, come on. I might be in over my head here. I mean, I don’t know how to look after anyone but myself, and I’m still at the stage in my life where it all feels a bit like a game, really. Like I’m playing. But your shit—that’s some serious stuff. And I think maybe you need someone more… heavyweight.’
He opens his mouth to answer, and I hold up a hand to stop him. ‘One more thing. I’m just—this wasn’t part of the plan, you know? I was just supposed to fuck you till I got bored and you felt better, and clearly I’m very, very un-bored by you. But.’
‘But what, sweetheart?’ he asks softly.
I sigh. It’s possibly a little over-dramatic, just like what I’m about to say. ‘But, even though you’re being really sweet to me, I just—I’m worried you don’t really feel how you think you feel about me because of what you’ve gone through. Like maybe I’m just a hot little distraction and you’re confused about your feelings.
‘And I also feel like I’m in way over my head and I have no fucking clue how to do any of this grownup stuff, like be with a guy like you who I want to make happy more than anything else, but I don’t know how to look after you and be what your girls need too, because I’m out of my depth, and maybe it’ll all be a total shitshow.’
I ram the rest of my piece of garlic bread into my mouth before I can say a single other stupid thing and slump in my chair.
He’s staring at me, his bread suspended in mid-air. ‘Fucking hell, Mads.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I know.’
‘You do a very good job of hiding all this stuff under a veneer of extreme confidence.’
I shrug. ‘I’m very confident in the bedroom. That’s where we’ve spent most of our time.’
‘You’re confident at work too,’ he says. He puts his bread down. ‘Okay. That was a lot of thoughts, but really, there’s just one issue in my mind, and that’s that you make me stupidly, obscenely happy, sweetheart. You are a walking fucking ray of light and I can’t tell you how attractive that is, and I also can’t tell you how badly I need your light.’
I watch his face, wanting badly to believe his words. ‘Really?’
He nods. ‘Really. I have enough fucking weight, and darkness, in my life. I need some fucking levity. I love being around you because you remind me it’s possible to live in a pure and joyous way.’
I grimace. ‘I wouldn’t say pure.’
He laughs. ‘Pure filth, more like. But you know what I mean. I can’t fight my darkness with more darkness, Mads. I’ve tried. It’s a fucking disaster. My only hope of building a meaningful future for me, and for my daughters, is to focus on moving forward, and on choosing the light while honouring what an amazing wife and mother Claire was. And that’s not to say I’m using you just for your light like a beautiful little candle.’
His face grows serious. ‘At first, I might have been trying to find oblivion through you, to be honest. It was so fucking tempting to just lose myself in you. But lately, I feel more found than lost.’
I press my lips together as tears sting the corners of my eyes, because that is simply the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.
And I want so badly to believe him.
