Page 6 of Maximum
CHAPTER 2
Pierre’s Pursuit
Fleur
My days at the farm kept me busy from morning to night. At the moment, three men and two women were here to learn from me. The women were sisters from the US who were planning to run an equestrian center back home and therefore mainly focused on our horses, while Noah from Norway and Nigel from Northern Ireland worked with our canine program where we trained service dogs.
Our open house event two days ago had been a success with several educators coming to see for themselves if they should bring their classes of students to learn about animal awareness. I’d already received four emails asking to book dates.
It was drizzling outside, and my raincoat was wet when I returned from a long walk along the perimeter of my farm. Some of the others were in the kitchen enjoying a break, but I made myself a cup of tea and withdrew to my bedroom.
The book that I was currently reading lay on my night table and I couldn’t wait to indulge in a chapter before I went back to work.
As I crawled onto my bed, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and looked at the text that popped up.
Maximum: Since you haven’t answered my first text, I’m wondering if you gave me the right number.
I didn’t like the small increase in the pace of my heartbeat. I would have to be either blind or dead not to acknowledge that Maximum was attractive, but he was also exactly what I didn’t want or need in my life.
As an empath, I quickly picked up on when men showed an interest in me without issue, but I was always careful about sending out wrong signals.
Sometimes, I wondered how much easier it would be if people categorized traumas to the heart in the same way we categorize burn victims.
I’d been young and naïve when I married Pierre, and when I managed to drag myself out of the marriage eight years later, I was scarred for life just like a third-degree burn victim.
Maximum was beautiful on the outside, but my intuition told me that he carried scar tissue in his heart as well. Not that it was any of my business. There was just something restless and insecure in his energy that contrasted with his outer confidence.
Fleur: My apologies for not responding sooner. Your offer to carry my bag is very kind, but as I said, my days in South Africa will be packed and I won’t have time to show you around to the touristy things.
Putting down my phone, I picked up my book and got comfortable on my side, but then another text made my phone buzz.
Maximum: No problem, I don’t want to see the tourist spots anyway; just let me tag along and I promise to behave.
I read his text several times. There was something flattering about his insistence on coming with me that soothed the vain part of my ego. With my living out here in the rural countryside it was rare for me to receive any interest from men, unless I counted the unwanted attention I still received from my ex-husband.
Not even the distance between South Africa and Ireland had made Pierre stop contacting me.
With my phone still in my hand I looked at the endless stream of text messages from Pierre that always motivated me to stay away from men in general. He’d seemed kind and wonderful when we first got together, but looking back, our relationship had been borderline abusive with the way he took advantage of me.
I could always count on Pierre to renew my motivation to stay single. All I had to do was read his text messages.
Pierre: I still think about you several times a day. Do you remember the day after we got married and I made you breakfast in bed?
I remembered fine, but what he failed to mention was that it was the only time in the eight years that we were married that he cooked anything for me.
Pierre: Are you still ticklish on the inside of your arm? I wish I could test it to see how you’d squirm and laugh.
I’d been extremely ticklish and unlike him, I’d hated when he pinned me down and relentlessly tickled me. How could he remember it as fun when I could taste bile in my throat from the memories of begging him to stop?
Pierre: I spoke to your parents last night. They want us to get back together. Come back to me, darling. We were so good together.
My parents, Tom and Justine, had taken Pierre under their wings back when I was a young teenager and that’s how I met him. All three of them were wildlife photographers and my parents loved Pierre. He’d been in their lives for fifteen years and he’d always been good to them. Even if I’d been selfish enough to insist that my parents break off contact with Pierre, they would run into him, as they worked in the same field. There was no need to make things awkward for them and for that reason, I hadn’t told my parents the specifics about our split.
Pierre: When I married you, I promised to love you until death do us part. I still feel that way. You’re my wife, Fleur, and I want you back.
I sighed and put down my phone. The naïve eighteen-year-old girl who’d married in the hopes of finding my happily ever after was gone and instead I’d become a realist. Pierre wanted me back because I was useful to him. His work was harder without me there to bring the animals closer for him to get his pictures.
Never again would I believe in fairytales or let myself be exploited. I’d been there, done that, and was still licking my invisible burn wounds.
