My fingers slide over the whorls of my flesh. I think of his tongue sliding between my folds and groan. I move my fingers in a circular movement until I fall over the edge with a gasp. The orgasm is short and strangely unsatisfactory.
I get out of bed and go to the bathroom. After my shower I quickly call my nan to confirm that I will be going to see my dad at lunchtime. I know Nigel is probably in the underground on his way to work so I just leave him a text message. Then I get dressed in the same outfit I wore yesterday and go downstairs.
Celine is waiting for me.
Even though it is still early, 7.30 a.m., she tells me that Nikolai has already left for London.
"I thought I was going to London too," I say confused.
"I told Mr. Smirnov that you had mentioned wanting to learn to ride this morning, so he said you might as well stay until it is time for you to go see your father, and you could go to his London residence after seeing your dad."
"Oh!" I exclaim, surprised that all these plans were being made for me without consulting me first.
Celine nods. "I've spoken to Ray and he is ready to teach you whenever you want this morning."
I change into my new jodhpurs, polo T-shirt, and riding boots and I'm off to learn to ride a horse. I can barely contain my excitement as I walk over to the stables. Ray is already there and he waves when he sees me. "Mornin', Star."
Miss One Penny is so placid and Ray is so confident and clear in his instructions that I quickly learn to mount and dismount. In no time at all I find myself sitting on the horse while she calmly walks around the paddock.
An hour after my lesson I shower and get ready to go see my father. Taking my laptop with me I go out to the car. The same driver that came to pick me up from my house shows up.
This time Celine comes out and introduces us. His name is Oleg. He seems shy and can barely meet my eyes. The three of us travel together to London. Celine gets out at Knightsbridge since she has some errands to run. Oleg takes me to the hospital.
"Hello, Dad," I call cheerfully as I enter his room.
He peers at me from his bed. "Your nan said you were ill. Are you sure you're better now?"
"Dad. Take a look at me. Does it look like I'm still ill?"
He frowns at me. "No, actually, you look better than you have for years. What's up with you?"
It is my turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you've got color in your cheeks and you don't look stressed."
I kiss him on his cheek. "I used to look stressed?"
He tilts his head to look at me. "I'm glad to see you well, Star. I've been worried about you."
I shake my head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation when you're the one just out of intensive care with a perforated bowel, a horizontal cut on your abdomen, and enough antibiotics in your body to down a horse."
"Eh, don't forget the attractive colostomy bag I'm sporting too."
I smile. It's good to see that he hasn't lost his sense of humor. "Well, hopefully that will be coming off pretty soon."
"The thing about a colostomy bag is it makes you realize that your body is actually one great big colostomy bag."
I laugh. "Stop trying to gross me out, Dad."
My phone pings, and I see there is a message from Nigel. I feel a shaft of irritation.
Me: Weren't you supposed to wait for me to text or call?
Nigel: You're with your dad, aren't you?
Me: Please don't take any more chances.
Nigel: I have good news. I went to a Gamblers Anonymous. It was good. I'm going to do this Star. I'm going to beat this addiction.
Me: I'm so proud of you.
Nigel: I want to make you proud of me again.
Me: Let me text you when I finish with Dad.
Nigel: Missing you like crazy.
I put my phone back into my purse and smile at Dad. "That was just Nigel."
"Hmmm," he says sourly.
Lunch arrives and I watch my dad pick listlessly at his tasteless food. He is supposed to be on a very strict diet for weeks. Thank god, he will be moving in with my nan. She'll keep him on the straight and narrow.
Afterwards we chat about the plants flowering in my garden. Both dad and I are keen gardeners and we always share information. I taught him that pansies can be forced to flower at the same time as sunflowers. He taught me to bury a tin filled with a little beer around my dahlias. The slugs are attracted to the smell. They crawl in and drown.
I hate lying to my dad but know I have to tell him some believable story about why I will not be reachable at my home number for the next month, so tell him that I'm at a writing retreat in Surrey. Before he can ask any awkward questions, I start telling him about my horse riding session that morning. It works. We start talking about that until it is time for me to leave.
Oleg is waiting for me downstairs. He walks me to the parked car and drives me to Nikolai's London residence. Obviously he lives in a mansion right in the middle of Mayfair.
I guess there is no other way to describe his home other than to say it is exactly what someone would expect from a Russian billionaire. Lofty ceilings, granite floors, leather walls, marble pillars, intricate moldings, all designer inspired and executed from head to toe.
His housekeeper, Yana, comes out to the hallway to greet me. She is polite but stiff. She offers a tour, but I decline, so she takes me upstairs to my room. The room is cream and gold. It looks totally pristine. As if no one has ever lived in it.
She offers me something to eat and I ask her if I can have a ham and tomato sandwich in my room. Her expression of surprise is fleeting. "You can have anything you want," she clarifies.
"I know, but that's all I want right now. And a pot of tea if it's not too much trouble."
She nods and leaves me. A few minutes later a young girl knocks on the door and comes in with a tray of finger sandwiches and a pot of tea.
I eat quickly. Settling myself on the big cream bed, I open my laptop and enter my make-believe world.
Chapter Thirty-One
Star
The door opens and I jump. Without even saving my work I hurriedly shut my computer and look up. It is a force of habit. I actually feel guilty when I write. As if I'm wasting my time, or indulging myself. I never felt like that until that time I gave my work to Nigel to read.
Not even Rosa knows about that one time. I never told her because it hurt me so much I locked it away somewhere deep inside me and just pretended it never happened. After that I learned to write in secret.
What did he say that hurt me so bad?
Well, he kissed me gently on the forehead and said, "You know I love you and I want only the best for you, right?"
My heart was breaking as I nodded.
"I'm going to be really honest because I don't want you to go down the wrong path. Is that okay?"
Dumbly I nodded.
"I'm afraid to say it's very childish, my darling."
"It's a children's book," I whispered.
"I get that, but it's just badly written. I don't want you to get hurt and rejected by other people. Maybe you can try again when you are much older and you have more maturity. Then your voice and delivery style won't be so irritating."
I couldn't say a word.
"Look, why don't I take you to dinner? We'll go somewhere really nice, hmmm? How about Nama? You like their fermented mocha cheesecake, don't you?"
I nodded and forced a smile.
He smiled back and kissed me again. After that time, we never spoke about my writing again.
Now I glance up towards the door. Nikolai is standing there. There is a frown on his face. He walks towards me and I stand nervously.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say instantly.
"Are you writing to Nigel?"
"What? No. I'm not."
His eyes narrow. "So what were you doing?"
I shake my head. "I was just messing about."
"Messing about?"
"It means just wasting my time."
"Show me."
"No," I screech, alarmed.
His eyes narrow. "What are you hiding, little butterfly?"
"I'm just writing a little story."
"A story?"
"Like a book?" I try to explain.
His whole face relaxes. "You're writing a book?"
"Well, not exactly a book. Okay, yeah. It's a book. But I'm not very good and I'm not expecting to publish it, or anything. I'm just writing for fun. It's just a meaningless jumble. Just random thoughts. I'm not thinking-"
"Star?"
"What?"
"Show me," he says gently.
I take a deep breath. I can't show him. "No. It's not very good."
"Have you showed anybody?"
I bite my lip. "Yes."
"Nigel?"
"Yes."
"And he didn't like it?"
I shake my head. My god, the hurt is still there. Tears start prickling the backs of my eyes and I look down and swallow hard.
He walks over to me and puts a finger under my chin. I am so shocked by the tenderness of his gesture that my eyes widen. "What kind of book is it?"