“Please. I’ve told you on several occasions how attracted I am to you.”
He had. I had memorized every mention. While many men had told me I was beautiful, the few times that Edward had said it seemed to hold greater meaning. He was too honest to not mean it and too rich and spoiled for good-looking women to inspire his notice.
Not that his notice had meant much. “You have said it. But actions speak louder than words.”
He chuckled. “Yes, they do. I’d never intended to fuck you at all. Remember?”
My breath shuddered as I inhaled. “I think you’ve shown an admirable amount of restraint. Not that I’m one who admires it.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you haven’t. But perhaps you have yet to learn the joy of delayed satisfaction.”
“Says the man who has a plethora of women at his fingertips back in London.” I couldn’t just be happy with the confirmation of his attraction, could I? I had to mention his possible trysts.
“Jealousy only makes you look sexier.”
“Whatever, I’m not jealous.” I was insanely jealous.
“We’re supposed to be honest here, Celia.” The stern reproval didn’t help my withering self-confidence.
“All I’m saying is that it’s easier to have restraint with me if you’re getting it somewhere else. Perhaps I need to jump Louvens the next time he’s working in the house without his shirt on.”
“Every man—and woman, for that matter—on this island knows the entire family will be fired and banished from Amelie if they touch you. Just remember what you’ll be destroying if you go that route.”
Before we’d married, he’d encouraged lovers for me, said he’d help me find one if need be. That had obviously changed. So I still didn’t know if he’d wandered into other beds, but now at least I knew that jealousy looked good on him too.
He stood and disappeared into the house, coming back a moment later with two champagne flutes. In my periphery, I saw his eyes rake over my body once more. Then he shook his head and sat down.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, reveling in the attention. I didn’t know how to get back to the sexy banter, though, not without dwelling too much on the information that he refused to give me about his fidelity, so I dropped the subject and let my mind wander elsewhere.
“My grandfather used to smoke cigars,” I said, savoring the taste of cedar and nutmeg. “They always make me think of him.”
“The grandfather who died when you were six? You were close to him?” He spoke around his own cigar as he wrestled with the cork of the champagne.
I remembered the way he’d dismissed me the last time I’d tried to talk about my grandpa Werner. I could sense now that he expected me to tell him how much I’d loved him and how it had been my first brush with death and how I’d cried for weeks.
But the profound effect his death had had on me wasn’t in the way I’d missed him, but in how my life had changed with his passing. And, as much as I was intrigued by this process of breaking down, I wasn’t ready to talk about that.
I threw the ball back at him. “I’m sure it’s nothing like having your parents die when you were only thirteen.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” he said, offering nothing more.
So much for getting him to share anything.
The cork popped and champagne bubbled out all over the sand, barely missing Edward’s sleeve. Looking smug, he filled both glasses, and handed one to me then sank back in his chair, looking out over the ocean as he puffed and sipped.
I relaxed too, following his lead when the ash grew too long at the end of my cigar and knocking it off in the sand. It was nice—the crash of waves on the shore, the nostalgic scent of the cigar. The company.
But after a stretch of silence, I grew antsy. “Should I figure out another woe-is-me story to feed you, Edward?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. Tonight, I’m going to probe one out for myself.”
I raised a brow.
“Keeping you on your toes.”
“Keeping me on my toes,” I repeated, my breath quickening. I wasn’t sure if I liked the surprise element of dealing with him. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure that the surprises weren’t my favorite part. “Just let me know what I’m supposed to do.”
“All you have to do is answer my questions. Answer them honestly.” He considered momentarily. “What was your first period like?”
“Oh my God!” I couldn’t help laughing.
“After everything else between us, that is the last thing I would expect for you to find embarrassing.”
“It’s not. I don’t. But if you’re looking for past trauma, that’s not where you’re going to find it.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug, an uncharacteristically casual gesture for him. “Let me be the judge of that.”
“I was fourteen. It started when I was at a friend’s house, and that was the best place it could ever have started because Felina had already had hers and she had an older sister who was much more supportive and helpful about it than my mother would have been. She even taught me how to use a tampon.”
A glint appeared in Edward’s eyes. “Did she demonstrate?”
“No, you pervert.” I took a sip of bubbly and remembered the details of that milestone moment, knowing he’d want more. “I hadn’t been looking forward to it, honestly. I was one of the last in my friend group to get it, and it seemed like a bunch of fuss and pain and humiliation.”
“Hm.” He puffed on his cigar. “I was around for both Camilla and Genevieve’s first period. Except for the fact that I had to be involved in the purchasing of necessities, both of them seemed rather ecstatic about it.”
My skin tingled with his words. There were very few times he shared with me, and these details, tiny as they may be, left me elated. I wanted more, wanted to know everything about him.
I also knew not to push.
So I gave him more of what got me what he’d given. “Yeah. Most of the girls I knew had been excited, too. I guess…” I’d never really examined why I’d felt the way I had, and as I realized the reasons now, I struggled to articulate it in a way that was honest but didn’t give too much away. “I wasn’t ready to be a woman, I think. There was a burden that came with that. I’d already gotten a lot of attention over my body from leering older men, and I was caught between despising that and how it made me feel and wanting more of it from the boys I liked. If I’d been given a choice, most days I would have wanted to stay a little girl. Having my period meant the decision was made for me.”
Edward’s head tilted one way then another as he processed this.
“But it wasn’t traumatic or unusual to feel that way, I’m sure. Lots of women struggle with not wanting to grow up and wanting to be an adult at the same time.”
“Men, too,” he remarked, with an empathetic tone.
I studied his profile. He’d been so young when he’d been orphaned. Then he’d lived for years in foster care before he was old enough to care for his sister. He had to know more about becoming an adult too fast than I could even imagine, and I ached for him without even knowing the story behind his simple words.