Tied to You (6 page)

Our time in Bali is magical for me. When we finally walked into our villa—the presidential suite, no less—after a moderately long flight and transfer, I was fit to drop. Yet the moment I stood on the patio overlooking the Indian Ocean, my exhaustion lifted completely and poor Alex had to watch me squeal with excitement as I explored every corner of the suite. Luxurious is not an adequate description of the villa. I mean, there is a bar complete with pool table and a grand piano, for heaven’s sake. Once again, Alex insisted I take the master bedroom and I had only a moment of guilt before happily accepting and bouncing on the enormous bed like a five-year-old.

For the last few days, we have simply relaxed, enjoying our private infinity pool and even making use of the spa. In the short time, my relationship with Alex has developed and I would actually go so far as to say that we are friends. Weird, I know, but when I agreed to marry him, the last thing I had expected was friendship. I have discovered that we have very similar tastes in books and movies and we have spent endless hours chatting about our favourite characters. Alex is also attempting to teach me chess, but I am hopeless and he keeps beating me in only a couple of moves; I have found that he is an excellent strategist. However, I did manage to hustle him at pool, much to his annoyance and my delight.

The villa is so self-contained we have barely set foot outside, but tomorrow, Alex has told me, he has a surprise in store for me. I am lying on one of the comfortable sunbeds on our private patio set high up on the cliff, gazing out at the sunrise, when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn my head to find Alex next to me, wordlessly holding out a mug of tea and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. This has become somewhat of a morning ritual, me rising with the dawn and him bringing a steaming brew for me and a coffee for himself while we watch the sun rise together in silence.

Not for the first time do I take the time to appreciate his beautiful body. Years of surfing, running and daily gym visits have honed his frame, giving him muscles in all the right places and a washboard stomach that you could bounce a penny off. The first time I saw him in swim shorts I nearly had a heart attack; never in my life had I been in the vicinity of such male perfection, and I was glad to already be in the pool so that he wouldn’t know how wet he made me. Lusting after Alex is definitely not part of our agreement, and each time I start to think about him in that way, I have to remind myself that he definitely doesn’t think that way about me. Yet each time he brushes my arm or plants one of his frequent kisses on my head, I have to stop my heart from beating a little faster and remind myself that Alex is just being affectionate and that things are purely platonic. But I guess that doesn’t stop the daydreams…shit, I have this bad.

When the sun has finally made its way above the horizon, I go to stand and am instantly doubled over by a sharp pain streaking through my pelvis. I must have let out a squeak because instantly Alex is at my side asking me if I am okay.

“I’m fine,” I gasp.

“Well, clearly you are not okay,” Alex retorts, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s just girl stuff, Alex. Nothing for you to worry about. Okay?” I try to straighten up again but am instantly hit with another bolt of pain, which has me crying out, and I actually feel dizzy. I have been on the pill for years to regulate my periods and ease the agonising cramps I get, and on the whole it works. Well, apart from the odd occasion like this.

Before I can say anything else, Alex mutters “Bullshit” and sweeps me into his arms, carrying me through to my bedroom and laying me on the bed. The cramps are all consuming now, running through my back and down my legs, and I find myself curling up into the foetal position, trying to breathe through the pain. I am not even aware that Alex had left the room until he is back, crouched down in front of me with a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in his hand, his eyes filled with concern. I accept them gratefully, hoping that they will ease the pain soon; I am not sure just how much more I can take. My eyes are closed as I try to focus on breathing…in and out…in and out. The bed dips behind me and the next thing that I feel are Alex’s warm hands on my lower back, rubbing firm circles.

It takes about fifteen minutes for the painkillers to kick in and take the edge off the pain and I am finally able to uncurl myself from my position. With gentle hands, Alex helps me to roll over and then wipes the tears from my eyes. “Are you okay, Liv?” he asks.

“Getting there,” I say softly. The pain is dull now, thrumming through my body like I have run a marathon, and I feel exhausted. “Sorry, Alex. It’s not normally like that. Just every once in a while…” I trail off, feeling embarrassed discussing ‘women’s things’ with him.

“Don’t apologise, Liv. Just rest now, okay? Those painkillers are probably going to knock you out, so close your eyes and let your body recover.”

“Okay,” I murmur as the sleepiness takes over and I succumb to black nothingness.

I wake to find my head groggy and feeling like it is stuffed with cotton wool, to find the sun has set and, miraculously, I am pain-free. I glance around to find Alex seated on a chair watching me intently, with the strangest look on his face. “Hey,” I murmur, wondering if he has been in my room the entire time I have been asleep.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Alex asks.

“Much better, thanks. A little woolly-headed but no cramps, thank god,” I respond. My stomach lets out the loudest growl, making me laugh, and Alex quickly reaches out for the phone and requests for our dinner to be brought up immediately.

“Does everyone just do as you ask?” I joke, and Alex just shrugs in response. This is something I have teased him mercilessly about; when Alex Davenport says jump, people ask how high. Feeling hot and sticky with the humidity I tell Alex that I want to have a shower. The odd look returns to his face, but he just nods and leaves me to it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The roar of the engines fills my ears and I grip the arms of my seat until my knuckles turn white. It is not that I am scared of flying per se, but I really just don’t like the feeling of take-offs and landings. Without a word, Alex takes my hand and gently strokes my skin with his thumb. The physical contact instantly soothes me and I close my eyes, directing my thoughts back to my surprise trip to the elephant sanctuary as a distraction.

We had left the resort before sunrise in a taxi, which had taken several hours to drive us up into the mountains. Driving past the rice paddies, I felt like I had been transported into another world and I had to remind myself that the luxury that Alex surrounds himself with is a dream for most.

Our day was spent interacting with the elephants at the safari park, washing a beautiful, and very patient, female, feeding the babies and watching the talent show. At dusk, we went on an elephant-back safari through the forest, where I found myself hanging on to Alex for dear life as I tried to get used to the elephant’s unusual gait. Upon our return, we ended up eating in the park’s restaurant overlooking the lake with a view of the elephants getting ready for bed. It truly was one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I find myself smiling at the memories.

“What are you thinking of?” Alex whispers in my ear, making me jump.

“Oh, I was just remembering our trip up to Taro to see the elephants. It was so awesome! I still can’t thank you enough for that.”

“I am just glad you enjoyed it.” The plane has now levelled out and Alex has taken his hand back, and I suddenly feel bereft by the lack of his touch.

The rest of the journey is smooth, but gradually, I see a change in Alex as the hours wear on. He has mostly been silent, but as we come into land, his pensive expression becomes colder and colder. The descent into Heathrow is turbulent as bad weather lashes down on us and I find myself clutching the armrests once again. But this time Alex doesn’t take my hand. Instead, I notice him grasping onto his own armrests in a vice-like hold. His jaw is locked and his eyes hooded, and all at once I feel like I am sitting next to a complete stranger.

The rain beats down the side of the bus and I shiver in my coat, despite the heat blasting out through the heaters. Despite being back in London for over a week now, my body still hasn’t re-acclimatised to the December weather after the glorious sunshine I have been used to. Lost in my memories of Bali and riding elephants in the reserve, I almost miss my stop, but thankfully someone else rings the bell, breaking me out of my reverie.

I hurry through the rain as I make the short walk home along the square, the park beside me completely invisible in the inclement weather. I finally make it to the front door, where I hurriedly let myself in. As I hang up my dripping coat and stow my umbrella away, I am aware of the silence of the house and wonder whether Alex will make it back tonight.

Each night since we got back, I have made him dinner and waited up with no success. And every morning when I wake the dinner has been placed in the fridge uneaten. On the flight back to London, it was like the easy-going, friendly guy I had got to know just vanished, and in his place I was now living with the steely-eyed man I met at the auction instead. I am not sure what precipitated the change, but life feels very different from the easy-going friendship that we had whilst we were away.

I am about to make my way up to the top floor, where I have my own suite of rooms, when I notice the door down to the basement is slightly ajar. My breath quickens as the memory returns of Alex telling me, quite sternly, on our arrival that I was not to go down there under any circumstances. Truthfully, if he had never said anything, I would have probably never even thought about venturing down into a dark, dank basement, but something about his tone made me curious. Until now the door has been firmly locked with an electronic combination pad, but seeing it open makes me want to go down and see what exactly Alex has been hiding.

After a couple moments of hesitation, I decide to hell with it and push the door open quietly. I listen carefully to work out whether anyone is down there, but I hear nothing. I make my way down the dark stairs, not sure about what I am expecting to see. Alex has hinted about his alternative lifestyle and I sense the basement is linked to this, but really, the word ‘alternative’ could mean anything. By the time I reach the bottom step I am in pitch darkness. I put out my hand and immediately find a switch, which I flick on.

Soft light illuminates the room and it takes me a few minutes to comprehend what I am looking at. The room must run the length of the house and is open plan, so I step forward trying to grasp what I am actually looking at. The walls are a deep crimson, giving the place a womb-like feeling. In a corner stands a giant wooden cross with what looks like restraints set into it. On one wall I see racks holding whips, canes of various sizes and even what I recognise to be a bullwhip. Holy shit! In the centre of the room is a raised platform, about the size of a bed, covered in a silky-looking throw. Against the far wall is a large leather couch and dotted around are low benches and stools. In the farthest corner, I see a shower cubicle with a couple of robes hung up on the wall.

My subconscious is screaming a word over and over in my mind: BDSM. What the hell? I am no innocent…I read enough, but this is beyond my comprehension. Suddenly a noise behind me startles me and I whip my head around.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Alex growls at me, his voice filled with ice.

“Uh, uh, the door was open,” I say, my face flushing with shame, knowing that I have been caught out.

“I told you not to come down here,” Alex states harshly, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

I stare at my feet. “Sorry,” I say quietly. “So this is the big secret?” I ask. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I am not an idiot, you know.” I shudder slightly as I cast my eye around the room, and Alex catches the motion, causing his already explosive face to darken further.

“Does this disgust you?” he hisses into my face so forcefully that I find myself having to take a step back.

“I…I don’t know what to think,” I say truthfully. “So you hit women. Is that your thing?” I can suddenly understand why Alex would not want his family to know about this. Sheila Davenport is such a strong, independent woman and I am not sure how she would handle the knowledge that her son smacks girls around for fun.

Alex towers over me and I find myself shrinking back. The Alex I knew in Australia would never hurt me, but this one…this one I am not so sure about. “No one who comes here does it unwillingly,” Alex states bluntly. I find my eyes drawn to his and when I stare into their depths I can see honesty shining back at me, along with pleading, as if he is subconsciously begging me to understand. I don’t doubt his self-belief in whatever he has convinced himself of, but I begin to question every word he has told me to this point.

I find myself so overwhelmed that I cannot think straight, so I run, pushing past Alex, straight up to my room. I am out of breath when I finally slam the door shut behind me, sinking to the ground. The images of everything down in that room play over and over in my mind as I try to process it all, including the change in Alex’s demeanour. I wait for clarity, but it never comes.

I sit in the pew of the crematorium at Hendon Cemetery as the celebrant begins the service. As I look at my mother’s coffin, I can’t help but be glad that death claimed her in the way it did, silently in her sleep. An early morning phone call a week ago let me know that she had suffered a massive stroke during the night.

In truth, her death has been a bit of a relief; her quality of life had been deteriorating over the last couple of years and Alzheimer’s had stripped her of the person she was. Instead, the woman I had been visiting the last few years was convinced she was eighteen and she had the mouth of a sailor. The mother I knew actually disappeared a long time ago, and even though I have had time to mourn that loss, the grief still bites, opening up the scar that I thought had long since healed.

A sound startles me and then a body is sliding into the seat next to me. I don’t have to look up to know that it is Alex.

“I thought you were in America?” I whisper. Since our encounter in the basement a couple weeks ago, we haven’t spoken, communicating solely through notes and email about mundane household things. The day before my mother died, Alex flew out to the States on business and was supposed to be there for another ten days. I hadn’t wanted to bother him about the funeral, so I didn’t tell him about her death, but obviously someone else did.

Alex doesn’t reply and simply laces his fingers through mine in a gesture of support. I sit through the service in silence as the celebrant talks about my mother’s life, focusing on the good memories I supplied of her and glossing over her disease. There are not many people in attendance, but more than I would have thought, which fills me with a kind of bittersweet sadness.

When the service is finally over, we make our way out into the weak December sunshine. Christmas is just a few days away, and while it would normally be raining this time of year, I am glad for the pleasant day, which I know my mother would have appreciated. I feel empty as people gather around me to express their condolences. I try to accept them as gracefully as possible, but all I really want to do is escape. Alex remains a solid presence next to me, his hand resting gently on my back. Sensing my unease, Alex suggests heading home, seemingly aware that I have not organised a wake. I nod silently and let him guide me to his car, vaguely wondering when he went home to collect it.

I close my eyes the minute I fasten my seat belt to avoid conversation, and I am grateful that Alex just lets me be. My mother’s death might be somewhat of a relief, but I still feel sad and incredibly lonely. She may not have been much of a mother to me in recent years, but I can still remember the memories we created together when I was younger.

The moment the car stops I am out the door and straight up to my suite before Alex even has a chance to follow. I just can’t stand the idea of making idle chit-chat and I have a headache brewing that I know I just need to sleep off. I pull off my funeral dress, a black and sombre affair that I had tried to cheer up with a fuchsia flower, and pull on a pair of fleecy pyjamas, despite the fact it is only four in the afternoon, and with that, I curl under the covers and wait dry-eyed for sleep to claim me.

~~~~~~~~~~

I am vaguely aware that I am screaming, but I can’t work out if it is part of the nightmare that I am trapped in or for real. Suddenly the covers come up and the bed dips as a warm body encircles me.

“Shh. It’s okay, Liv. I got you,” Alex whispers in my ear, as he strokes my hair off my face and rubs circles over my back. My eyes are still closed as I relive the nightmare of watching my mother die in a hundred horrible ways. I struggle for consciousness, and when I finally open my eyes, I see Alex looking down at me, his face filled with concern. It is the last straw and I break down into great, heaving sobs in his arms. I don’t know how long I lie there for, crying in his arms, but he never lets go…never stops the soothing whispers in my ear. Eventually, the tears abate and Alex runs gentle thumbs under my eyes before planting a soft kiss on my forehead. Still circling me, he rolls me over so that he is spooning me, a strong arm wrapped around my waist. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “You are safe with me.” And I have never felt safer than now, in Alex’s arms. Within moments, at his command, I sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.