Page 71 of Oyster

Digging my heels into the sofa, I pushed high inside her. In a slow and steady rhythm, we fucked hard, harder than her father’s hurtful words. Beyond the pain they caused. Beyond the bigotry and hatred. Beyond the boundaries ignorant, small-minded souls drew around her.

When we found the perfect spot hidden deep inside, a warm splash of colour suffused her chest. Claiming her right to celebrate herself however the body she’d been given was capable of providing joy, she rode out the high. Embracing her sexuality, confident in her beauty, confident in our love. And when it all became a little choppy, when her knees were giving out and my thighs caught fire, she rewarded me with the most glorious sound. Desperate, hungry, and filthy, it would stay with me forever. The triumphant shout of a woman and her unlampshaded soul.

CHAPTER 16

Nico La Forge climbed out of a sleek black limousine to stand on a red carpet leading into Theatre du Chatelet, Paris’s finest opera house, like he fucking owned the limoandthe theatre.

I prayed I gave off that vibe, anyhow. Inside my uncomfortable penguin suit, I was shivering like a jellyfish, but I’d be damned if I’d allow any of the rubberneckers lining the roped barriers, in the hope of catching the first sighting of Éti in a frock, that satisfaction. She didn’t need to see me quaking either; she had enough jitters of her own to contend with. Not to mention a pair of stilettos. So, I gripped her hand in mine as tightly as she gripped mine back, kept my head held high, my eyes on the daunting entrance to the theatre, and ignored the camera flashes zinging all around us.

At least we had been warned. Once Éti’s gossipy teammates knew something was going down, once the manager had had a quiet word with the club president and the investors caught a sniff of drama, it was only a matter of hours until the press got wind. Rumours of Salvador making a big personal announcement had gathered momentum. Press and fans lined the road up to the theatre five deep.

Spooling out ahead of us, I swear the red carpet stretched farther than a soccer pitch.

“Still not regretting this, still not regretting this, still not regretting this,” murmured Éti through gritted teeth. Pausing just beyond the car to smooth down her frock, she dared a hesitant wave. The frock was one of three stunning, floor-length sheaths she’d thrown on then cast aside like an impatient stripper, until I’d coaxed her to try them all again. And again. And again, until at last she settled on this one in a shimmering mother-of-pearl, because I’d told her she was my precious mermaid in it. I, on the other hand, on a night so hot and sticky I didn’t know where my skin ended and my suit fabric began, felt like a fish flopping in wet sand.

Experienced from this side of the rope, a red-carpet event was surreal as fuck. Like we’d been deposited into the arrival’s hall of a strange and exotic destination and didn’t speak the language. Either that or we’d been rounded up as fodder for a cage of ravenous lions. Right now, the latter was an attractive option.

“Merde,my knees have gone wobbly,” said Éti, in a voice that matched. “I’ve forgotten how walking works.”

A camera flash-fried my retinas, blinding me for a few seconds. Mon dieu, how did she put up with this on the regular? “That’s nothing, my love. I’ve forgotten how breathing works.”

A few feet ahead of us, Fabien cheerfully signed autographs and shook hands. Not that anyone was watching or clamouring too hard for him—every single one of the nation’s flashlights were beamed on us. After the initial flurry of excitement, now the crowd had done a collective double take, the noise level was dropping to a confused low babble. Which meant even a single shout hit home.

“Hey, Étienne, you fag, it’s not a fancy-dress party!”

Thank fuck for security. God knew who the heckler was, but he was about to enjoy a pat down and an uncomfortable taxi ride between two bruisers to somewhere else. And if they hadn’t been up to the challenge, I’d have done it myself and far less politely.

Éti whimpered. “Don’t let go of me, Nico, whatever you do. Not until we’re inside.”

I squeezed her hand even harder. “Not a chance.”

“Do you think this was a bad idea?”

“No.” I pulled back my shoulders. “You’ve got this my love. Écoute: Salvador always stays on her feet; she always stays on her feet. Be brave, my love. Walk slow. Give some autographs like you do normally. Smile and flirt. Let them meet Éti. Let them see how fabulous she is. Remind yourself that she is the greatest soccer star on the planet.”

“She is. She’s better than Neymar,” she muttered, and the hint of a smile curved on her lips.

“Better than Mbappé,” I agreed. “Staggering, but never falling.”

“Five times winner of the fucking Ballon d’Or, that’s what she is.” I sensed her huge intake of breath as she steeled herself. “Here goes the rest of my life.”

Tugging me behind, she strode with purpose towards a group of startled young fans clad in number ten shirts.

“Hi, good evening!” she declared brightly. “Thanks for coming! I’m Éti! Hope you haven’t been waiting too long. Who’s got a pen I can borrow?”

Imagine giving a speech to a couple of million people across the world. On live television. Politicians accomplished it all the time, of course. Actors at the Oscars, too. And royalty. It came with the territory; speeches were part of the job description. Inherent competency was expected.

Now imagine giving that speech when the skills you were revered for involved your feet, not your brain. And you’d left school at sixteen without much in the way of qualifications, because those feet were so darn good at doing the talking. And, even more, the speech was about something so personal, so entrenched in your own psyche and yet so alien to such huge swathes of the audience, that you had absolutely no idea how the speech would be received.

If any of that was churning through Éti’s brain, then she hid it extremely well. I, for one, felt sick as a dog.

“I don’t need notes or a dress rehearsal,” she informed me two nights before and tapped the side of her head. “It’s all in here. I’ve had this speech prepared for years.”

Éti being Éti, some of it had been recently amended, and the new additions took my breath away.

“Good evening. And welcome to everyone.”

With a fond touch, her slim hand caressed the lump of shiny metal as, behind her, an enormous screen played her finest goalscoring moments on a loop. “I’d like to start by acknowledging that many of you who voted for me to receive this prestigious award tonight,” she interrupted herself with a soft giggle, “are now possibly wishing you hadn’t.”

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