Page 37 of Taming Achilles

When she loosened her muscles, finally sprawling out, she tossed and turned. Her naked torso greeted the moonlight, her breasts beautiful peaks that stirred my hunger in a visceral way. A possessive, neanderthal need to own, and possess her. To mark her as mine. Maybe with the ring that still burned a hole in my blazer jacket.

She had never slept with Callum.

It was hard to believe. Not that she didn’t sleep with him, but he did not sleep with her.

She’s a goddess. Any straight man, and I suspected some gay men, would be attracted to her. Her allure was so powerful.

Yet she had confessed it. And it was true. It was beyond what I could believe.

But why had she said it? To what purpose? To torture me? Was she trying to make me feel guilt? If so, then mission accomplished.

She had done it with tears in her eyes. She said it with earnestness in her soul.

But then why did she get engaged to Callum? Why leave me in Venice during that cursed December day? It was just shy of New Years when we had spent the day in Christmas markets, at the opera, and at concerts. We drank our weight in wine in the Jewish Quarter and were stuffed with risotto and scallops.

We had been tourists, shamelessly wearing carnival masks with little Santa hats, and taking gondola rides.

She wasn’t a selfie-taker. Neither was I. But we allowed ourselves one selfie on a gondola by the Rialto bridge. I don’t remember if it was her idea, or mine, but I felt that the day was significant. I was ready to defy her father, and the world, to make her my wife. I was certain she would say yes.

We had walked the markets, and she found that lily perfume. I had gladly bought it, and she sprayed it on her wrists before presenting the delicate skin of her inner arm to me, and I kissed it as she blushed.

She saw a ring in a jewellery store window. We walked in. It was a diamond Marquise ring with an elusive blue fire dancing in its facets, and Edwardian filigree on the intricate band. She had tried it on and loved it, staring down at it with a sweet longing that I hoped would be there forever.

I knew that was our moment. The world was sending me a message that it was time to make her mine. To add permanence to our arrangement. And hell, if she wanted to be married in secret, that was fine as well. I didn’t care. As long as she married me.

I stared at the ring, because it was mine. I knew it. It was my ring, but it belonged on her hand.

I could see the sadness in her eyes as she gave it back to the old jeweller.

I bought her drop earrings that looked like snowflakes as a New Years gift. When she wasn’t looking, I slipped the ring into the items the jeweller rang up, and he smiled at me. He gave me a wink, wished me good luck, and discreetly put the ring in a red, velvet box and handed it to me with a sleight of hand. I slipped it into my pocket without her notice.

It was the same ring in my pocket now. The same one I hadn’t been able to put down since Callum wifed the love of his life.

Why had she left me? Why had she walked away from me on New Year's Day in the middle of San Marcos Square when the snow fell like flakes of cotton? She had said that it was over and packed her bags. She said it with tears in her eyes, thick and heavy like the ones that dropped from her eyes tonight.

I needed answers, and it wouldn’t come from her.

I brought the phone to my ear, noting the phone number that she had called earlier that day.

I dialled it, and brought it to my ear. I was surprised to hear someone answer it, since it was an LA number, area code 818. Why was someone manning the phones in the middle of the night?

“Roselieva Agency,” sang the male voice on the other end. “How can I help you?”

“Hello, I was looking for Pippa Fox.” My brows furrowed.

“Oh, God, who isn’t? She’s so in demand right now.” I heard some typing on the other end. “We can have her return the call. Are you looking to have her model or are you requesting her for a photoshoot?”

“I was …” the hamster in my brain had stalled on its wheel, and I was at a loss of what to say. This wasn’t what I had been expecting. “Hoping for an interview for …” I tried to think of a magazine. “Horse and Fox Magazine.”

I almost smashed my palm onto my forehead. I was not made to be a spy. No wonder the Circus hadn’t tried to recruit Major George Campbell into their ranks.

“Horse and Fox… hmm,” the voice paused for a moment. I thought I heard a slight sound of judgement from the other line. “Never heard of it.”

“We’re only circulated in Scotland,” I said quickly.

“Well, I’ll ask her if she’s up for an interview, but you know she’s super private, so I wouldn’t hold my breath,” the voice said. “I’ll pass it along.”

There was a pause as he waited for a response from me, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

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