My Time in the Affair (21 page)

Hard to argue with something that felt so right, even if it was wrong, and she let him remove her panties. They were gone with the flick of a wrist and then he was between her legs, parting them around his waist.

His tongue was hot and his touch scorching, she bit her lips between her teeth and went with it. When he pinned her hands to the mattress by her head, she abandoned herself to him. Let his hips ride her and guide her. His fingers moved through her own, linked them together. Squeezed so tight it hurt.

Kinda like love.

They came one right after the other, hips locked together in battle. Tal had his forehead pressed to hers, and even though her eyes were closed, she knew his eyes were open. Knew he was staring at her face. Knew he was looking into her soul.

“Say it now,” he panted above her.

“What?” she was still coming down off the orgasm.

“He's not between us anymore. You can say it now.”

“Excuse me?”

But she knew what he was talking about, knew what was going on. She kept her eyes closed, tried to keep the tears inside.

“Say it, one time. For the first time in your life, say it, and really mean it,” he whispered. She took a deep breath.

“
I love you.
”

I wanted him to save me.

I wanted to be baptized in his skin, purified in his love. I was a sinner, or worse.

I wanted him to make me whole.

I wanted him to take away the pain and the guilt and the hurt and the wrong.

I was blinded by him, with him, to him.

I wanted him to save me.

She wanted to speak to him. Wanted one last chance for some closure, before Michael left.

Tal warned her that it was a bad idea. That it wouldn't go well. That Mike wasn't ready for closure yet – he needed distance first.

But she insisted, so Tal drove her to the airport. Though he refused to wait in the car. He wouldn't interrupt them, wouldn't alert Mike to his presence, but he wasn't about to let the other man grab Mischa again, he didn't care how “
upset
” Mr. Rapaport was; Tal would kick his ass clear back to the coast.

It didn't go well, just as he'd predicted. There was a minor scene, with Mike yelling at her to get away from him. When he called her a slut, Tal stood up. But she backed away and Mike stomped off, heading through customs without so much as a backwards glance.

To her credit, she didn't break down sobbing again. She was crying, but she had on a large pair of sunglasses which hid most of the tears. Tal waited till they were outside of the airport to wrap his arm around her shoulders. He expected her to pull away at first, as she'd been doing ever since Mike came into the picture for real, but she didn't – she leaned right into his side, pressed her face into his shoulder, and walked the whole way to the car in that position.

We can do this now, whenever we want.

She was feeling depressed as fuck, so she went right back to sleep when they got to the hotel. He helped her undress, then he made her lay down on her stomach. She had acted suspicious, obviously assuming he was going to take advantage of her half naked form under him. He really,
really
, wanted to, but he resisted – he gave her a massage, instead. Rubbed her aching muscles and her sore skin until she fell asleep.

Her phone rang not long after, and when he saw that it was her dad calling, Tal went ahead and picked up. It was strange, but much like with Mischa, he felt an instant connection to Mr. Duggard. Conversation should've been awkward between them – Tal had played a large part in breaking up her marriage. He was the “bad guy” by all accounts.

But it wasn't awkward. Tal gave him a rundown of how Misch was doing, and that he thought she'd be okay. Mr. Duggard told him everything that Mike had been saying, which it was all true, technically, but very colorfully painted and with graphic language.

Mr. Duggard liked hearing Mischa called names even less than Tal.

They bullshitted about baseball and football, discussed Ford versus Chevy. Both had served in the militaries for their respective countries, and they shared stories. And they both cared very deeply for a hazel eyed girl who was very lost.

Conversation was
very
easy.

“
Don't you hurt my girl,
” her father warned.

“
I'll try my best.
”

“
That's not good enough. I want your word.
”

“
How can you trust my word, when we've never met?
”

“
You're not making a good argument for yourself.
”

“
Just being honest with you, sir.
”

“
You hurt her, and I'll fly over there and break a lead pipe over your head.
”

“
Sounds completely fair, sir.
”

Of course, Tal wanted to say that he would never do anything to hurt Mischa. That he couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt, or in pain, because of him. That he would do anything to prevent that.

But Tal didn't like to make promises he knew he couldn't keep.

After he hung up, Tal pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. And stared. Let his eyes wander over Misch's body. Over her skin and lips and hair. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was dinner time. Then he stared at her some more.

“
I love you,
” she had whispered, shivering underneath him.

“
That doesn't make you a bad person,
” he had whispered back.

“
I think it does.
”

Tal could try to kiss the pain away, try to touch the hurt away, but it would take a lot of time before she felt comfortable in her own skin again. A lot of time before she was strong enough to take another hit.

And time was something Tal didn't have. He would give her anything she wanted. Anything she asked for, he would find it and lay it at her feet. But time was a promise he couldn't deliver, not at that point. They had to stay caught in their moments, in her timeless existence, finding each other between the seconds. He just needed a few more of those moments, and maybe she'd never even have to know his secrets. She had run away from her life, and he'd found her.

Maybe he could run away from his secrets, and she'd find him.

I think I love you, too, dancer lady. Just have faith in me.

“I can't believe how beautiful it is!”

“I told you.”

Istanbul was gorgeous. And talk about being surrounded by history! Mischa loved it. She hadn't really expected to, or rather, she hadn't known what to expect. A language she couldn't speak, and a culture she knew literally nothing about; she had figured she'd feel lost, most of the time.

I don't feel lost at all.

Things weren't any better on the home front, necessarily. Her mom was still calling her disgusting. Her friends still weren't speaking to her. Mike was blasting her on any and all social medias.

But Mischa wasn't on the home front. She was
away from it all
, and that timeless feeling was slowly coming back to her. The ol' outta-sight-outta-mind trick. She knew better now, knew the come down would be harsh, but at least she was better prepared. And at least she would have Tal right next to her, holding her hand.

Such a surreal thought. She'd gone to Italy thinking she would cheat on her husband. She had never counted on finding someone like Tal. Love wasn't part of the equation, was a foreign feeling. She hadn't wanted it, hadn't been looking for it. But it seemed to have found her. She knew she should tread carefully, but the feeling was too immense. It was everywhere, all around her, blanketing her. It made her feel guilty to think it, but she could honestly say that she'd never felt that way before, with anyone. Only him.

Tal had come with her, actually flown on the plane with her. His home was in Istanbul, after all, so he told her he would stay in the city with her, for as long as he could. His photography job, whatever exactly it was, seemed to be something he could do from anywhere – she wondered if he was freelance and without work, and figured he was embarrassed to say he was essentially unemployed.

The only downside to Istanbul was she was forced to throw herself into work. In Rome, sneaking off and calling in sick had been easy, but not anymore. Her boss was gone from the office more than he was there, so the burden of getting things done fell to her.

“It's weird,” Misch finally said, sitting down to dinner with Tal.

“What's weird?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“I hardly see Peter. Like, at all. He's never in the office, or if he is, he's just dashing in and out. I don't understand what he's doing, I guess. How many business lunches can a person have in a day?” she questioned, stealing a piece of pizza from a tray in the center of the table.

“I don't know. A lot. I like lunch. Don't worry about it. Maybe you should play hookie more often, too,” he suggested.

“But still. Maybe I should talk to him, ask him what -,” she started when Tal stood up.

“Leave it alone, babe. The more distracted he is, the more time we get to spend together,” he interrupted her before leaning down and kissing her on the forehead. Then he walked away, sucking pizza grease off his fingers.

She frowned as he went into the bathroom, then she shook it off and dug into her dinner.

They were in her hotel room. She had been demoted back to the standard room, no more suites for her – though her current room did have two double beds in it. While she was at work one day, Tal shoved them together, making a super bed for them.

The guilt was still there, of course. Sometimes she wondered if it would always be there, in a small way. Her and Tal's relationship was built on top of the still-beating-heart of her last relationship. Not too cute. But the guilt was lessening in intensity, and she was grateful for that; it had been hard, at first, to have sex again, and Tal was a very sexual person. He was taking it slow for her, he hadn't pushed her or asked for anything, but she knew it wasn't easy for him, and she was grateful for his patience.

“I e-mailed Mike again,” she called out. That was another thing she was grateful for – they could talk about the dreaded “
him
” without that sense of doom anymore. No more hushed whispers or avoiding his name, like saying it would conjure him up, right in the middle of their dirty lie.

No, now it was just their dirty truth, so they could say whatever they wanted.

“Why do you keep doing that!?” Tal yelled back.

“Because, there's a lot of shit between us still. We shared an apartment, the car loan is in both our names, we have a joint savings account. We need to get divorced – that involves
some
communication. And believe it or not, I worry about him,” she tried to explain. Tal finally walked back out into the main room.

“Seriously, Misch. Give him space. You spent so much time wishing for space from him – imagine that ten fold, and that's probably how he feels about you, right now.”

Doesn't feel so good when the tables are turned.

“Whatever. Fine.”

She glared at her food, pretending it was his face, but Tal ignored her.

“What should we do tonight? I know a great club, we could go dancing, I could finally see your moves,” he suggested. She looked up at him.

“I know what we could do.”

“What?”

“Go to your house.”

He scowled at her before looking away.

“No.”

When they'd made their plans to leave Italy together, Misch had honestly thought they would just stay at his house. She had planned on canceling her hotel room, till he told her not to, that she couldn't stay at his place. He said it was too small, too crappy. A total bachelor pad, and one that hadn't seen a duster in almost two months. Not worthy of her.

But a week and a half had gone by, and he still wouldn't let her go see it. He spent some nights there, claimed he was doing work around the place, but it still wasn't up to par. It all sounded very hard to believe.

“You're not keeping anything from me, are you? There isn't, like, a bunch of baby Tal's and a Mrs. Tal running around over there, are there?” Mischa even laughed, but she felt kind of sick, and remembered their conversation from when they'd first met.

“Would you care if there was a Mrs. Canaan?”

I most certainly fucking would.

“No. No Mrs. Tal. There hasn't really ever been a long-term-girlfriend-Tal,” he joked back.

“What about the babies?”

“Oh, tons of those. It's like a baby farm at my house. Just crawling all over the place, piled one on top of the other.”

“Great, I love babies. We should totally go over there.”

“
Mischa.
”

“
Tal.
”

He sighed and finally walked back over to her. He squatted down next to her chair and took both her hands in his, pressed them together between his own. Making her pray.

“My darling little dancer, I swear to you, when the time is right, I will take you anywhere you want to go. Including my home,” he promised her. She smiled at him.

“You're only sweet cause you know I'm a sucker.”

“Totally. Now let's get out of here or get naked.”

*

Mischa was brushing her teeth the next morning when her cell phone lit up. She glanced at the screen, then frowned. She'd gotten an e-mail, but she didn't recognize the address. She spit out the foam, then rinsed her mouth before picking up the phone. She got into her inbox and opened the e-mail.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled, and headed back into the main room.

Tal was at the foot of the super bed, doing a ridiculous amount of push ups. He had a whole workout routine, she'd discovered. He paid homage to his body every single day, and she was very thankful for that – the man's body was
amazing
. But right at that moment, she didn't even notice it.

“What's up,” he grunted, not looking up as she stepped over him and sat on the bed.

“He …,” her voice trailed off, as her eyes wandered down the screen.

“I can't hear you. Are you talking?” Tal called out.

“I'm getting divorced.”

Tal stopped mid-push up. Held himself still. Then he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbed his discarded t-shirt and mopped his face and chest with it.

“I thought that had been established,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I know. I mean, it's happening
now
. I just got an e-mail from a man claiming to be Mike's lawyer, saying he wants to know where to send the divorce papers,” she told him, her voice quiet.

“What address are you going to give them?”

She stayed quiet. Tal couldn't possibly understand what it felt like, though he meant well. It was the end of an era. A huge part of her life. She'd wanted it to be over, of course, but once again – nothing ever felt like how she thought it would.

“Probably the hotel,” she finally answered, clearing her throat. “Maybe the office.”

“Good. This is a good thing, Misch. It means he's been thinking things over. Eventually, he'll think his way back to you,” Tal assured her, smoothing his hand over the side of her head. She looked up at him and smiled.

“What a nice way to think of it.”

He leaned down and kissed her. It was hard and passionate, and she wondered if maybe she'd underestimated him and his understanding. This was a kiss to remind her of who she was with, and why she was leaving a different life behind.

Crazy boy, I could never forget.

Misch e-mailed the lawyer back, giving him the hotel's address. Then she went back to getting ready. Finished doing her hair and her makeup. Put on a dress and a pair of heels. Tal left with her, and as they waited for the metro, he pulled her into him. Kissed her. Made out with her. She felt stupid, thinking that at her age, but it actually made her giddy – when was the last time she'd “
made out
” with somebody? Forever. She loved it and gripped his t-shirt, kissing him deeper.

When her train arrived, he smacked her on the ass and squeezed it, practically shoving her into the car. She stood near the door, waving goodbye to him as they pulled away.

I can't believe this is real. How is this real? I don't deserve this … but maybe I do …

Mischa could admit she was a little star struck by Tal. He was exotic, and he was different from anyone she'd ever met. He was beautiful, with his dark eyes and thick hair, his mocha skin stretched over toned muscles. He was sexiness personified, and he was able to make her body come alive in ways she hadn't known were possible. He'd swept her off her feet, literally, and she'd never quite found the ground again.

After she got off the train, she kept daydreaming about him while she walked to work. As she started to head into her office building, she glanced up, then did a double take. She could've sworn the man driving a car down the street was Tal. She laughed at herself for seeing him everywhere. But then she kept staring, her hand stuck on the handle of the door.

No, it really was Tal. Driving a big, black car. Very similar to the car he'd had in Positano. She had assumed it was a rental.
Range Rover
, that's what he'd driven in Italy, and there, in shiny letters at the top of the grill, was the same name. It couldn't have been the same car. Could it?

“What are you doing?” she asked out loud, even though she knew he couldn't hear her.

She was bewildered at first, but it quickly turned to panic as the car jumped the curb and seemed to head straight for her. She shrieked and leapt out of the way, backing into an iron statue that was behind her. The car swerved, whipping around in a fish tail, and screeched to a stop alongside her.

“
Get in!
” Tal shouted out the open passenger window. Mischa gaped at him.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” she demanded.

“Shut the fuck up and get in the car, Misch!”

“Tell me what's going on!”

“Just do as I -,”

There was a whining noise, and the glass door to her right exploded. Misch screamed again, throwing her hands up. She stared at the door – or where the door used to be – and tried to figure out what had happened. But before she could turn back to Tal, the other glass door exploded. Then a window.

Shot. That glass is being shot out.

The realization had just barely occurred to her when all hell broke loose. She screamed and ducked as an ungodly amount of gunfire was unleashed on the front of the building.

She wasn't sure how long she was down there before someone was grabbing her. Tal was at her side, all but picking her up. He dragged her to the car and stuffed her in the back seat before he got back behind the wheel. The car peeled out as he shot off down the street.

“Are you okay!?” he was shouting. There was a pinging sound, and Misch realized the car was being shot at.

“
NO I'M NOT FUCKING OKAY!
” she screamed at him, folding herself to sit on the floor between the front seat and back seat.

“I meant, are you hurt? Did you get hit!?” he demanded, stretching an arm between the seats and reaching for her. She slapped his hand away.

“No! No! We're getting shot at!” she kept shrieking.