Page 33 of Vivacity
‘Fuck.’
He knows he’s done badly. That’s something, I suppose. And it gives me an opening to stick my nose into his business. I decide to couch it incan I helpterms.
‘Is there anything I can do so you can sneak off with him for a couple of hours?’
He shakes his head, once, curtly. ‘Believe me, the last thing that boy needs is more time with me.’
I’m aghast. ‘What on earth does that mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. He’s better off steering well clear.’
Okay.
This I cannot ignore.
It may be clear as day that Ethan has a lot of what some might callbaggageand I would callunresolved trauma,and it’s also clear that his parenting style leaves a lot to be desired, but this is another level of dysfunction altogether. Ethan dismounts from his barstool, a sign that he sees this conversation as closed, but I’m having none of it.
The question is what to say. I could tell him home truths until I’m blue in the face, but the chances are he won’t hear them. Not at a somatic level where he needs to viscerally understand them, anyway.
Besides, he might actually fire me if they’re unwelcome and unpalatable enough.
I clear my throat. ‘You can say things like that, but that’s not you talking. It’s a part of you that’s very protective—and probably very fierce.’
He gives me awho knew she was a nutterlook. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean.’
‘Look. I know he’s your son and this is absolutely none of my business, but?—’
‘But I can’t imagine that’ll stop you.’ He sounds weary. Weary but resigned, which is good, I suppose, because he’s already come to terms with the fact that I’m getting stuck in.
‘When we have… issues,’ I say carefully, ‘with… family members—parents, say—and those issues aren’t resolved, we develop these protective parts inside of us—kind of like emotional bodyguards—that guard the vulnerable parts so that we don’t have to feel pain. It’s a very well-established therapeutic model.’
‘Otherwise known as psychobabble.’ He picks up both our bowls and puts them in the sink.
Of course that’s his reaction. He knows I have an actual psychology degree from Cambridge, which should warrant a modicum of respect (even if IFS, the modality I’m referencing, lies outside the traditional therapeutic models that I studied), but whatever.
‘I don’t think that’s fair. It’s helped me a lot. But my point is that whatever part of you believes you need to stay away from Jamie to keep him safe is just that. Apart. It looks to me like it’s working very hard right now, but it doesn’t have the whole picture—not even close. Because Jamie loves you, and he wants to spend time with you.’
‘You know precisely nothing about my family, which gives you precisely zero right to wade in.’ He strides out of the kitchen without looking at me. ‘Stay out of my business and stick to your fucking job.’
CHAPTER 16
Ethan
Sophia’s mere presence beside me in the car is enough to make me want to kick myself for not having fucked some part of her body before we left the office.
I’m tense as fuck, and she’s irresistible: a veritable symphony of all the alluring things that make up a woman. On this dreary October day, she’s in a cherry red dress that, as usual, skirts the line between professional and coquettish all too skilfully. It’s long and silky, its pleated skirt billowing around her on the cream leather seat, and it matches the perfect red of her mouth. Her dark hair cascades down over her shoulders, shielding most of her face as she sends messages on her phone at lightning speed.
She’s ignoring me, but she’s ignoring me in her regular blithe, no-fucks-given kind of way. I’m simply not entertaining enough for her to bother with me. She’s not withholding her attention in that pointed, fragile, defensive way that women do when they want you to understand just how fully you’ve pissed them off. Or offended them. Delete as appropriate.
A vivacious pain in the arse she may be, but at least Sophia doesn’t hold grudges or throw her toys. If she disagrees, she says so. If she disapproves, she says so. While I maintain that Iwas fully justified in giving her a dressing-down at the weekend when she butted into my business with Jamie, she shrugged it off immediately. She didn’t burst into tears or barricade herself in the loo, both of which are the kinds of bullshit stunts that Talia and my previous two Seraph assistants were well known for.
She just got on with it, and for that resilience I’m privately, but extremely, grateful.
And here she is in the back of my car, looking like a fantasy come to life, as I attempt to hold it the fuck together. It would be so easy to ruck up those long skirts and find her wet heat with my fingers, to have her slide onto my lap. I could bury my face in the decadent fragrance of her neck and be inside her in seconds.
Seconds.
But I need this edge, because it’s my life force. I need to preserve this stress, this tension. I’m about to walk behind enemy lines, and the last thing I need is to be in a blissed-out, post-orgasmic haze.
