The Forbidden

  His question gives me pause, despite the answer being very easy. Easy but painful. “No,” I admit, looking away from him. Nothing would make this acceptable.

  Within a second, Jack has removed my mug from my hands and has me wrapped in his arms, hugging me tightly. It feels so good, so comforting, like I’m not shouldering all of the guilt alone. I relax into him on a sigh, thinking how I could happily remain here forever.

  “My phone,” Jack mumbles quietly, reluctantly releasing me. I hear the sound of his mobile ringing and watch as his naked back disappears through the doorway. I follow him back to the bedroom to find my dressing gown. Jack dips and scoops up his trousers, rummaging through the pocket and pulling out his mobile. I know who it is before he looks down at the screen and his body deflates. The life drains out of me, too.

  “Stephanie,” he says when he connects the call. He holds his phone to his ear by his shoulder as he drags his boxers and trousers on and walks out to the corridor to get his shirt, his jaw definitely tight. It’s then I hear her shouting down the line at him. I stand back, like I’m trying to escape the private conversation. Jack’s nostrils flare, and his eyes clench shut briefly. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there as quick as I can,” he replies calmly and quietly. “Apologize to your parents for my delay.”

  He hangs up, and I stand in the doorway silently while he fastens the buttons of his shirt, my mind racing. He didn’t even bite to her rant. There was nothing in him. No emotion whatsoever. My eyes drop to my feet, scanning the carpet, my questions growing. I can’t conclude anything except one thing, and it’s a conclusion that frightens me because it could fuck with my immoral conscience even more.

  I hate his wife.

  How she spoke to him just then, I hate her for it. But I have no right to hate her. I’ve screwed her husband. Twice.

  Once Jack’s sorted himself out, he stands quietly for a moment, watching me from across the room. My heart is begging him not to go. But my head is throwing him out and telling him to leave me alone. “See me tomorrow,” he says, not as a question, more as a statement.

  I just look at him, unable and unwilling to reply. What I want to do so desperately is ask all about his marriage, but that is a place I know I shouldn’t venture. It’s laughable. It’s not as if I’m not dancing on dangerous ground already. Yet I fear that whatever I learn from Jack will just be another reason that I can use as a weapon to justify my actions. Knowing things were rocky before I came along isn’t beneficial. It’ll just help blanket my reasoning. It’s fucking backward. I can’t win here. So I do the wisest thing and keep my mouth shut. The less I know the better.

  “Annie,” he whispers. “Answer me.”

  I drop my gaze to the floor, feeling them flood with infuriating tears. “It didn’t sound like a question,” I retort softly. I need him to leave, because I don’t want him to see me break down again. I’m on the edge, my body beginning to tremble with the restraint it’s taking to hold it together.

  When I hear his steps coming near, I close my eyes and breathe strength into me. His soft touch meets my cheek and strokes delicately for a few seconds before he dips and kisses my forehead. Then he turns and walks out.

  And I crumple to the floor and sob like I’ve never sobbed before.

  Because he said that if the Fates ever led me to him again, he wouldn’t walk away.

  And he just did.

  To go meet his wife.

  Chapter 11

  How can you become so attached to something with such limited contact? The answer is easy and unbearable all at once. I feel like Jack was made especially for me, and the fact that I can’t have him is cruel. Plain cruel. He is forbidden. I shouldn’t have had him the first time. I definitely shouldn’t have had him the second time. And I’m so mad with myself. I may have been misled in that bar, I may have given into his potency, but I knew full well what I was getting myself into last night. It’s unforgivable.

  I lay in my bed mentally beating myself up all over again, the guilt returning tenfold. I tried not to allow myself to wonder if his lack of any fight on the phone with her was because of guilt. I tried not to imagine him being so subservient to her and accepting her rant, even if he deserves it. But Stephanie doesn’t know about me. So what is she yelling at him for? Simply being late for dinner?

  I didn’t sleep a wink, my mind not shutting down, but I did reach one solid conclusion. This has to end now. Whether their marriage is struggling is of no consequence. I have no place in their lives. Their problems are not my problems, and I shouldn’t make them mine.

  I’m better than this.

  By 6 a.m., I’ve given up on sleep, so I put myself in the shower and ready myself for a long day at work. After getting my car sorted out with a local garage, I stop off for a large cappuccino and drink it while I make a few calls and e-mail the structural engineer to arrange a meeting to discuss the roof issue. He comes back to me quickly saying he’s free at two for a half hour. I have no choice but to take the slot and rearrange my diary.

  I’m chewing on the end of my pen an hour later, working out some numbers, when my mobile dings the arrival of an e-mail. I snatch it up while jotting something down and glance at the screen. His name glares up at me, getting the usual expected reaction from my heart. Then the relentless flashbacks commence, too, except now there are more scenes, more feelings, more images. More words to hang on to. I read the first line of his e-mail and quickly establish that it’s in no way work-related. “Damn you, Jack.” I stop reading and delete it. We’ve crossed the line twice. It can’t happen again.

  * * *

  “Totally doable,” the engineer says, simple as that. “I’ll have the recalculations done and get them to you before close of day tomorrow.”

  “You are a saint.” I give him praying hands. “Thank you.”

  He smiles and gets his pad out, starting to make notes. As I pass the existing double doors that lead into the garden, I spot Richard pointing up at some branches of the horse chestnut tree. He spots me and waves me out.

  “Annie, this is Wes. He’s gonna get rid of these branches.”

  “Hi.” I shake his hand when he offers it.

  “Which ones am a lopping off?” he asks, looking up.

  “Lopping off?” I laugh.

  “I’m all about technical language.”

  “Right.” I catch Richard’s laughing eyes, too, as I point the branches out. “That one and that one.”

  “And that one,” Jack says, appearing across the garden. I cringe on the inside, quickly looking away before I have the chance to admire how good he looks in his suit.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I reply formally. “Just the two will suffice.”

  Wes and Richard look between the two of us. “I disagree.” Jack reaches us and points to the lowest branch. “If you remove that one, it’ll dislodge the one behind and the problem will still exist.”

  I press my lips together, breathing some patience into me. He’s pissed off. I can tell by the bulge in his neck and his clipped tone. And I know why. I only peeked at each of the five e-mails he sent me, and I deleted them swiftly the moment I gathered they weren’t work-related. Therefore, I haven’t responded to any, and when he called, I rejected every single one. “And if we remove that branch, you’ll be exposing the garden to the buildings beyond,” I point out.

  “Well.” His lips twist in annoyance. “I did e-mail you numerous times today regarding this, but you haven’t bothered to reply.”

  I shoot him a shocked glare and open my mouth to fire a few choice words at him, but quickly force my gob shut when I remember we have company. He did not e-mail me about trees or anything work-related, and he knows it. “I’ve been busy,” I reply shortly. “But we’re clear now.” I walk away, leaving Wes and Richard with wary eyes, and Jack with a fuming face. “The branch stays,” I call.

  Jack’s caught up with me before I make it inside. “Why have you ignored my e-mails?” he hisses in my ear, f
ollowing close behind. “And my calls.”

  “Because they were about us.” I swing around, infuriated. “And that back there was your way of punishing me for not answering you. By making me look incompetent in front of colleagues, just because I didn’t reply? Just because your ego is bruised?”

  “You think this has anything to do with my ego?”

  “Yes!” I hiss.

  “You’re bloody deluded. The branch needs to go!” he barks childishly.

  “It’s staying!”

  He growls, advancing toward me, forcing my steps backward until I’m pushed into a corner. No. Oh, no, no, no!

  “It’s easy to ignore me when I’m on the end of a message, isn’t it?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “What now, Annie?” He grabs my hand and slams it over the crotch of his trousers. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  He’s solid. He’s angry and he’s fucking solid. I gulp, anxiety gripping me. He’s wrong. It’s not easy when he’s on the end of an e-mail. It’s not as hard as this, but it’s still a battle that I’m losing. Or have I already lost?

  “And this?” He moves my hand to his chest and pushes it into his pec. The beats of his heart are crazy fast. Just like mine. “What do I do with this?”

  “Why don’t you ask your wife.” I inwardly wince at my quiet retort, but Jack physically winces, dropping my hand and standing back, a look of pure disgust on his face.

  He breathes in, slowly raising a finger and pointing it at me. “You don’t get to say that. Not after last night.”

  “You forget.” My jaw could crack under the pressure of the bite on my back teeth. “I can say what I fucking like, because no one owns me. And definitely not you.”

  His features twist, his disgust doubling, and he slowly places his hand on my hip. I jolt under his touch, and he smiles victoriously. “Really, Annie? Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Um…Jack?” Richard interrupts us, definite awkwardness in his tone, and I quickly dip away from Jack, moving on shaky legs to the drawings.

  “What?” Jack yells, pulling my shocked stare up.

  Richard doesn’t even flinch. “I think you need to come out front, mate.” Richard’s face is full of apologies, and Jack’s is suddenly full of dread. Then I hear it: a woman yelling.

  I look toward the front of the house, wondering what on earth is going on. “Jack!” a woman screams. “Jack!”

  Jack’s hands go to his head and yank viciously, and he shouts, a carnal sound full of frustration. He glares at me, his eyes raging with fire. I turn to dust on the spot, cowering away. Then he strides off.

  I look at Richard. Richard looks at me. “I’d avoid the front for a while if I were you.”

  Of course, that means I just go right ahead and make my way out there, curious. Too curious. Dangerously curious. I find Jack halfway down the driveway and his wife waving her arms, looking deranged, while plenty of workmen look on. What on earth?

  “Why haven’t you answered my calls?” she screeches.

  Jack’s hands come up in a pacifying way, his body language now entirely different compared to when he left me a few moments ago. “I’ve been busy, Stephanie. I’m running a business.” He sounds calm, too.

  “Yeah, it’s all about fucking work with you! What about me? What about your marriage!”

  I watch on, rapt, as he seems to talk her down before taking her arm. She yanks herself free and shoves him away viciously, though Jack’s big body hardly moves at all.

  “Daddy says I should be your priority! He says you’re selfish, and I’m inclined to agree!” Her final vomit of insults is delivered on a slight slur. Is she drunk? “Daddy”?

  “That’s enough, Stephanie. You’re showing yourself up.” Jack grabs her arms and leads her to his car, but she pushes him away again, stumbling a little in her heels on the gravel. She’s definitely drunk.

  “I’ll get myself in the car,” she spits, falling into the seat.

  Jack looks back at me, his face a picture of stress. Then he shakes his head mildly at me and mouths, This isn’t over.

  I take a backward step and find the nearest thing to cling to in order to hold me up.

  * * *

  I spend all weekend lost in work in an attempt to distract myself. It doesn’t work. And it’s not going to, when Jack’s been persistently trying to get hold of me. I’ve ignored him. It’s been hard, but I’ve managed.

  On Monday, I stop off at the store on my way home to pick up dinner for this evening. As I’m traipsing up aisle after aisle trying to decide what I fancy, my phone chimes the arrival of a text. I reach for a paella as I open the message.

  We need to talk. Meet me. Jack

  My stomach drops. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that this won’t be about business. And it isn’t even a question. I start imagining what he wants to say, my mind going into overdrive, no matter how hard I try to stop it. This isn’t over.

  My lips dry and my stomach flips. I delete the message quickly before I do something stupid…like reply. Why is he doing this? I need to quit Colin’s project. It kills me, but I have to. I can’t work with him. I shouldn’t work with him. I’ll just take on more projects, anything to swallow up all my time and take my mind away from my dangerous thoughts. That’s the plan. I just hope to God it works, because every time I see Jack, the deep ache inside of me intensifies. My want deepens, my heart splits with pain when he leaves, and when he holds me, I dream about him holding me every day, encouraging me every day, inspiring me every day. For the first time in my life, I’m imagining my world with a man in it. I’m imagining giving up some of my independence to make room for Jack. Because with him, it doesn’t feel like I’m giving anything up at all—only gaining. I’m imagining him poring over designs with me, offering advice, telling me constantly how proud he is of me. Ignoring all of these dreams is draining me. I’m all out of resistance.

  Dropping my half-full basket to the floor, I abandon my plan to eat and rush home so I can dive into my office and lose myself in work. I finish drawings, e-mail them, call the structural engineer for his opinion on a few things…and draft an e-mail to Colin advising him of my intention to pull out of his project, but recommending some colleagues who will be happy to assist and see it through to completion.

  I take a call from a potential client and schedule a meeting. It’s nowhere near the scale of Colin’s project, but it’s something else for me to get stuck into. I check in with Mum and Dad, reply to a text from Micky telling him I’m fine, so so fine, and even clean my bathroom. It’s been a productive day. The only thing that’ll finish it off nicely is clicking Send on the e-mail I drafted to Colin.

  But as my cursor hovers over the icon, nothing I say to myself convinces me to click it. I close my eyes and will my finger to push down. Just press it. Just press that little icon and your problems will go away. I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen for a good ten minutes, searching for the will and sensibility to do the right thing.

  Ding!

  I look down at my phone and see Jack’s name, and though everything tells me not to open his message, my stupid fingers don’t hesitate to click down on that icon.

  You don’t get to ignore me now, Annie.

  A second later, my phone starts ringing, and I push myself away from my desk in my chair to put some space between me and it. “Go away, Jack,” I whisper.

  As soon as it stops ringing, I quickly dial Lizzy, breathing my way through my panic. I’m going to cave soon. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Fancy a coffee?” I ask.

  “Sure. I just got done. Usual place, twenty minutes?”

  “See you soon.”

  * * *

  I spot Lizzy weaving her way through the tables up ahead, my eyes following her until she lands in the chair opposite me. “How’s work? Everything okay?”

  “Yes, it’s all fine. I hardly see him actually,” I lie. This wasn’t the plan. I need distraction! I could never tell Lizzy I slept
with him again, especially given everything she’s been through with Jason. I can never tell anyone. I’m a disgrace. A weak, pathetic woman. I also can’t tell her that I’m quitting Colin’s project. She’ll know why.

  I plaster a smile on my face, feigning normality. “Besides, there’s nothing like a wife to realign things, is there?”

  Lizzy laughs loudly, and for the first time I see the funny side. Because it’s actually quite fucking hilarious. I’m never overwhelmed by a man, and when it eventually happens, the bastard is married.

  “Doesn’t the sanctimony of marriage mean a thing anymore?” I ask, truly exasperated.