Page 70 of The Magic of Provence

Fi was ready to embrace every bit of this lovemaking, and it was surprisingly easy to try and give back as much as she was being given by a man who had to be the most generous, considerate lover any woman could wish for. Was this what both her sisters had been lucky enough to find in the men they had fallen in love with? If so, it was no wonder they wanted to build a family and life around it. That they wanted it to last forever.

* * *

When Bouton was two weeks old, they taught her to drink from a bucket.

Fi explained the process to Christophe.

‘Ellie took me to the bricolage and we found this flexible bucket which is perfect because it’s wide and shallow and it has handles. We’ll put the milk into it and hold it at head height but she won’t know what to do at first. We’ll have to show her.’

They had been taking the foal out to get some sunshine and exercise for days now after Christophe had finished work. He and Julien had built a pen near the terrace that would keep her safe when they weren’t outside to watch her, and it was close enough for her to see Marguerite and Coquelicot and for them to get used to the baby before they were properly introduced. It turned out that the rock wall in the lemon orchard that made up one end of the pen was the perfect height to set the bucket onto and teach Bouton to feed herself.

Christophe sat on the wall and held the bucket steady and Fi sat on the other side of the bucket and put her fingers into Bouton’s mouth. When she started sucking, Fi slowly lowered her fingers into the milk. Bouton threw up her head when she found herself sucking on liquid and gave a disgusted sounding snort that splashed milk all over Christophe and Fi’s faces. They both dissolved into laughter.

‘It might take all of today for her to learn. Why don’t you try this time?’

Christophe was looking down at Bouton as he offered his fingers to the foal but, as soon as she started sucking he glanced up and caught Fi’s gaze and he knew she’d found the sensation on all the nerve endings in her fingertips had made her mind wander in exactly the same direction. Christophe could feel his entire body responding to what felt like a desperate need to take Fiona into his arms and make love to her again.

Once hadn’t been enough.

Neither had twice.

It was so easy to think of a reason for just one more time. Maybe there were other things he could teach her. Maybe it was a process that needed longer to become truly confident in, like most learning situations.

And maybe… just maybe… it didn’t even have to end?

Oddio… Where hadthatcome from? It should have been a warning but this wasn’t the time to worry about the implications of what was no more than a fleeting thought. He managed to focus on his task instead and it seemed as if Bouton had managed to swallow some milk as he dipped his fingers just below the surface.

The rest of this learning session for Bouton went past in a blur that ended with her alone in her pen, under the shade of a lemon tree, with enough milk in her belly to keep her happy for at least an hour or two. She had some hay in the pen to practise nibbling on, as well.

It was the first time they’d made love in daylight. It was also when Christophe realised that he did have more to teach Fiona. He saw a shyness that hadn’t been there in the safe cover of a dim light at night, and when she tried to hide herself with the sheet, he gently coaxed her to let it go.

‘Why?’ he asked, leaning in to kiss her. ‘Why would you want to hide something so perfect?’

* * *

When Bouton was four weeks old, they put her into the now dusty, sun-baked olive grove with Marguerite and Coquelicot for parts of the day so she could learn to be a donkey. She adored Fi. And Heidi. But neither of them could explain to her that she was actually a donkey. The older jennies accepted her presence without any fuss and tolerated the baby’s antics patiently, but if she had any ideas of them providing the milk instead of her having to go to her bucket, they politely, but firmly walked away.

Heidi loved the antics. The big, gentle dog would play with the foal, sometimes being the one to initiate a game with a play bow and then a very sedate chase that Bouton was always allowed to win. At other times she would find herself being chased or jumped on without warning when Bouton felt the need for a frolic.

The adoration between the little donkey and Fi was mutual. She didn’t need any help to care for the foal during the day now but she still brought her inside at night to her straw bed, which now had a guard made out of a child’s wooden playpen, and she got up at least once to give her a feed during the night. She could easily have managed that by herself, too, but it was a reason for Christophe to stay and, if Fiona’s sisters or his friends were reading any significance into his frequent overnight visits, they weren’t saying anything to intrude on their privacy.

His mother had guessed they’d taken another step in their relationship, the last time he and Fiona had gone to Menton to have dinner with her and Nonna. She’d been watching them and perhaps she’d caught a glance they shared, or the way they seemed to find an opportunity to let their hands brush in passing or their legs touch when they were sitting side by side. It was no more than a fleeting smile but Christophe knew that she was thinking of the joy abambinowould bring. Maybe she was wondering where it was that she had stored the box with the toy train set inside it.

He couldn’t blame her.

Despite his best efforts, he was starting to think about things like that himself.

Somehow, this friendship with Fiona had snuck past the boundaries that he’d considered unbreachable. This was no longer a means to help her to have the better future she deserved and enjoy all the good things that life could offer – including sex. It wasn’t the kind of being ‘in love’ that Christophe had learned to dip into long enough to enjoy the buzz but to walk away from before he’d got out of his depth.

That errant thought that this might not have to end had taken root in the back of his mind and it kept coming back to whisper more. Okay… Christophe’s trust had been broken beyond repair. But it wasn’t Fiona who had broken it, was it?

She was nothing like Marcella.

She was nothing like any other woman he’d ever known.

Hecouldtrust her. How could he not, when she had trusted him with something so huge that was far more than a purely physical act with her body?

He’d put up a wall to prevent this becoming anything serious. Was that wall his declaration that he could never provide the bride his family were so desperate for? Or him telling her how much his mother wanted grandchildren that Fiona would never be able to have?

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