Eternally North (37 page)

His “people” were
still desperately working on concealing from the press his
relationship to Boleyn, for her sake at school. Thankfully, due to
her age, Boleyn would be hidden behind a screen when the case came to
trial and would give her statements via video link. Everyone hoped
that, if nothing else, we could keep her identity secret.

I was a bit worried
about seeing Boleyn that night – the last time we had talked, she
had told me in fairly strong terms that I was the reason her
child-molesting father had returned to harm her. Not the best way to
start a relationship with your boyfriend’s family. But Tudor had
reassured me that she didn’t really mean it. We would have to see –
a teenage grudge can be enduring, we’ve all seen
Mean Girls
.
I wasn’t looking forward to living with that crap, given that Tudor
and I were very much back on, in a very honest, very open and very
touchy-feely relationship.

So there we were, the
night we officially 'met the parent' as the newbie significant
others, ready to be grilled by the brood North. Tink clearly wanted
to make a good impression and had dressed to impress. He was decked
out in a pair of brown, shapeless corduroy trousers with a white
cotton shirt and his hair combed over to the side, Tink looked
positively… normal. The things you do for love, eh?

He saw me muffling my
giggle in the mirror and whipped around to face me. "Toss off,
porky. I'm trying to impress Tate's second mam."

He looked down at
himself, slumped forward, pulled a disgusted face and sighed. "I
look like an ageing closeted reject from the seventies, don't I?"

The dam broke and the
laughter rushed out of me. I trotted forward to cuddle my dowdily
dressed partner in crime. "It's not too bad of an outfit really,
but it's not you, my fabulously fay friend – you just don’t
do
Gap. Pamela wants to get to know
you
, not Norman the
pot-bellied tax accountant who lives on microwavable meals for one.
Go and get changed into something legendary, something that makes her
believe in fairies."

He eyes widened in
horror, and he bolted back into his room. "You've just saved my
life, Bratwurst. You know, every time someone loses their belief in
fairies, one of us dies. I could have caused mass fairy-cide! I'll be
back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail."

Ten minutes later, Tink
strutted out into the living room in black leather trousers, a black
muscle tee top, Italian leather loafers and a Karl Lagerfeld
leopard-print blazer with matching 1940's vintage trilby. His eyes
were heavily coated in guy-liner, and he was clutching a Prada
man-purse which held his essentials – God only knows what they were
– but I had to admit, he looked amazing. Not a thread of polyester
in sight!

He reached the couch
where I had been impatiently waiting for him, and vogued in front of
me, hands framing his face, frozen in position. "Well?" he
asked, pouting his lips.

I clapped my hands in
applause and stood to strike a pose too, one hand on my head, the
other out to the side, cutting an odd angle. "Well?" I
asked in return.

He walked around me
slowly, tutting and mmm-hmming, channeling his inner Anna Wintour.

I was wearing my black
harem-pant jumpsuit that tied to nip in at the waist and boasted a
tailored fitted shirt, with my black sequin beaded blazer over the
top. My hair was loose and wavy (Tudor's favourite), and I was
wearing black leather ankle boots and my new favourite 'fuck me' red
lipstick.

Tink stood in front of
me and smiled. “You look as hot as a cake, my love; you nearly
turned me straight, but one look at those gargantuan bosoms and I'm
back to loving king-sized ding-a-lings! How Tudor doesn't asphyxiate
himself on those life floats mid-coitus I'll never know!"

I held his hand, ignoring his last
comment, and we made our way out to Bumblebee and to our lover boys
across town.

Twenty minutes – and
a good sing song to Beyoncé’s ‘Until The End of Time’ –
later, we arrived at Spring Valley. This time we were able to admire
the absolute palace that the Norths lived in. It was bloody huge,
especially without the sea of police cars and drama.

We made our way to the
front door and rapped the brass lion knocker down twice. Tudor
answered, looking all delicious in a black jersey long-sleeved top
with an open V-neck and black Armani Jeans. He must have just
re-shaved his head that afternoon, and he sported one hell of a sexy,
rugged five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw.

He broke into a huge
grin when he saw me, and after he pointed out the direction of Tate
for Tink, he brought me to his chest, one arm around my waist, the
other running up my spine before loosely gripping the back of my neck
with his hand.

I inhaled and nearly
toppled over at the scent of him. His aftershave was having a
Pavlovian effect on my libido (Note to self: find out brand and
drench bed sheets in it when I get home!). Tudor brushed the hair
from my neck with his fingers and pressed three light kisses behind
my ear, just on the spot that made me weak at the knees.

"My God, you look
amazing, Sunshine! I'm half tempted to blow off dinner and drag you
to my bed right now."

I giggled into his
chest. "Keep talking like that and I'll definitely blow off
something later," I whispered, watching his eyes widen with
desire.

He pushed me outside,
against the wall of the entrance way, and groaned in frustration,
moving back to kiss me, his tongue spearing hot between my lips.

Thank God for
semi-permanent lip stain!

“Ahem!”

We were interrupted by
Henry clearing his throat dramatically, hanging half out of the
doorway, covering his eyes with his hands. "Tudor, when you’re
finished mauling our guest, Mom wants you to let her come in and
socialise."

I jumped back in
embarrassment, straightening my rumpled clothes. Tudor just smirked,
absolutely no shame whatsoever at being caught. He turned to Henry
and nodded. "When I'm finished saying hello to my girl I
will
."

Henry shrugged and gave
a sailor’s salute with his hand before he headed back inside.

I turned to my naughty
macho man and shook my head in a disapproving manner. "Mr.
North, that was very inappropriate, and you deserve to be punished!"
I pointed at his chest, giving him my stern teaching voice.

His eyes rolled back,
and he bit his bottom lip. "
Fuck
, punish me! Please!
Please Miss., I've been a very naughty boy!"

I turned and walked in
the direction of the front room on shaky legs, and I couldn't help
but smile at Tudor's remark under his breath as I did.

"This is gonna be a long
friggin' night."

As I entered the front
room, everyone was seated around the monster-sized fire that
dominated the space, sipping on their drinks and engrossed in deep
conversation.

Pamela saw me first and
jumped up to say hello. She looked lovely. Her dark, tight curly hair
was styled nicely at her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple
green dress that went to the floor.

She smiled at me and
embraced me in a hug. "How are you, Natasha? I'm so happy you
came tonight. Can I take your jacket?"

I nodded my head and
suddenly felt familiar hands slip my blazer off my shoulders. I
glanced back to see Tudor taking it out to the coat stand in the
hall.

I focused back on
Pamela; she was clearly happy with her second son’s act of
chivalry.

"I'm great, thank
you for inviting us to dinner," I tilted my head in the
direction of the Tinkster, who was entertaining Samantha, Tater-Tot
and Henry with one of his stories.

She swatted her hand in
front of her face as if to say 'no problem', and then leaned in to
confide in a hushed tone, "Thank you for not deserting him when
he needed you most." She bit her lip (just like Tudor) and a
distraught look passed fleetingly over her face.

I just rubbed her back
in support. It would take her a long time to heal. Tudor took that
opportunity to wrap his arms around me from behind and whisper in my
ear, "Do you want a drink, gorgeous?"

I nodded, unable to
talk due to his ever-tongue-tying presence, and he slipped away to
fetch it after placing a kiss on my cheek.

Samantha had caught our
little exchange and, smiling eagerly, waved me over to the other side
of the room, obviously wanting to indulge in some juicy gossip about
me and the Hollywood hulk.

I made my excuses to
Pamela, and just as I was about to walk over to the bubbly blonde, a
slight touch to my arm halted me in my tracks. I peered down to see
Boleyn. She looked pale and frail, and her face was bruised and cut.
I swallowed the lump in my throat to stop from bursting into tears.

I forced myself to
plaster on a convincing smile and went to ask how she was, when she
beat me to it. "Ms. Munro, can I show you my new room?"

She could barely meet
my eyes. I could see she was wracked with guilt, and it didn't take a
genius to realise it was because of our little showdown a few weeks
back.

I nodded
enthusiastically and gestured with my hand for her to lead the way,
and we walked out the door. She headed up the stairs, glancing back
frequently to make sure I was there – the poor thing was a bag of
nerves.

I saw movement out of
the corner of my eye in the hallway, and as I reached the final step
on the first level, I glanced down to see Tudor carrying my drink
back to the front room. We caught his attention, and he looked up,
surprised, before his face melted into a small smile.

Boleyn shouted down,
"Tudor, do you mind if I show Ms. Munro my new bedroom?"

He shook his head and
smiled. "Of course not, sweetheart. I'll just be down here if
you need me, okay?"

She pulled her mouth up
in a shy smile, nodded and headed up the next flight of stairs.

Tudor winked at me and
mouthed 'I love you' as I followed his sister, his words causing me
to trip over the top step. I grabbed onto the banister for support as
my knees hit the carpet, and I quickly looked down to see if anyone
saw my little fumble.

Tudor stood against the
wall, holding back his chuckle, and I proceeded to flip him the
middle finger. He whispered loudly, "Glad I can knock you off
your feet, gorgeous!"

I pretended to laugh
and then let my face drop to show I wasn't amused.
Twat!

I dusted off my knees
and turned the corner to run after Boleyn, but unfortunately she had
stopped to wait and had fully witnessed my fall and my little
tête-à-tête with her elder brother. She was looking a bit
surprised, but a faint grin showed that she had found it amusing too.

Glad to be of
service!

Boleyn led me to a
heavy-paneled door at the very top of the house which led to a
converted loft space. As we entered the room, I gasped. It was
stunning. I knew Tudor and Henry had been working for the last few
days on redecorating a new room for their recovering little sister,
one as far away from her old room as was possible, but what they had
achieved was incredible.

I must remember to
give Tudor a little extra in the boudoir for creating this!

Boleyn walked to the
middle of the room, and I couldn’t help but notice how in only a
few days she had changed so much. She was wearing baggy black
leggings and a loose brown cardigan that dwarfed her tiny frame. She
had pulled the sleeves down low on her arms, the cuffs covering half
of her hand, which she kept bringing to her mouth. Her dark hair was
unkempt and pushed back in a tight knot.

I moved further into
the room, which still smelt of fresh paint, and admired the sky-blue
walls and framed family photos that adorned the walls. As I moved to
the rear of the room I gasped and stopped at a large glass ornament
of a sunflower.

I reached out my hand
to touch it, and Boleyn came and stood next to me, announcing in a
small voice, "Tudor gave me that today; it's beautiful, isn’t
it? He said if I get upset or I can't cope that I should look at this
flower and remember that I can get through anything.”

Boleyn met my gaze with
sadness in her eyes, her sleeve once again in her mouth. "Tudor
said that you are like a sunflower to him; strong, bright and
beautiful, and a reminder to everyone that the sun will always shine
again, no matter what happens” she admitted, smiling shyly.

"He really said
that?" I whispered, staring at the way the light reflected off
the coloured petals, and she nodded.

"Yeah, just
today," she replied, and she moved to sit on the sofa under the
window.

At least I now know
why he calls me Sunshine.

I finished nosey-ing
around her new room and sat beside her. She curled up her legs on the
couch and moved to face me, bottom lip trembling and water filling
her sad eyes. I took her hand in support.

"Ms. Munro, I'm so
sorry for shouting at you in class and for what I said."

I shook my head. "No,
darling. Don't apologise–"

She gripped my hand
tighter. "Please, I need to say this. I just want you to know
that I wish I had never said those things. I don't want you to leave,
and Tudor told me that he loves you. Please don’t leave him because
of me."

I squeezed her hand.
"Now you listen to me, young lady, I never, ever want you to
apologise again." I bent my head to meet her lowered gaze. "You
can talk to me about anything, and I mean anything, okay?"

She lowered her head
and wiped her nose with a tissue she took from the coffee table in
front of us.

I continued, "What
happened to you was despicable, Boleyn; someone your age should not
have to deal with it, and for that I am so angry and upset at the
universe. But I also know from experience that feeling so low and
scared over something you’ve been through won't last forever if you
don't let it.