Page 50 of Surrender
I’m blaming that part entirely on Gareth. Prior to meeting him and engaging in our crazy friends with benefits situation last week, I would have bitten my tongue when Margaret scolded me in front of my daughter. I would have held my breath when she commented about my trousers being much too tight, or my hair being far too long, or my makeup being too pale for my complexion.
I’m not one who enjoys conflict. In fact, most times, I shut down and walk away. When I became a mother, I really had to push myself to not give Sophia whatever she wanted when she cried, especially because she was a sick toddler. Keeping the peace has always felt like the easier road to travel. Who wants the anxiety of an argument with someone?
But after spending several days with Gareth last week and commanding control over our sex life, I have a newfound respect for people who assert themselves in situations. It’s been empowering to have such a strong, virile, beast of a man put so much faith in me. He puts my needs and my desires first all the time. And the way his attention stays so laser focused on me when I show up at his house…I can’t help but rise to the occasion. He’s pushing me to be this way because it’s a turn-on for him, too!
What life is this?
This kind of devotion from a powerful man is something all women should experience at least once in their lives. It would give them the strength to shoot for whatever goals they want to accomplish. Anything is possible when you can take control of your sex life.
Sophia flounces down the stairs, snapping me out of my musings of Gareth. My eyes fly wide and I bite back a laugh as I take in my daughter’s appearance.
She looks like Courtney Love after a bender in London. For bottoms, she’s wearing metallic silver leggings with a pair of purple Wellies. For a top, I think I see a pink tank top with silver studs around the neckline, but it’s difficult to get a good look at beneath her long, white faux fur coat. Her normally perfect skin has been massacred with eyeliner, eyeshadow, and…Is that glitter lotion?Her big brown eyes are lost in a sea of makeup in all the wrong places.
Trying not to laugh, I ask, “Sophia, what have you done?”
Her eyes fly wide. “I’ve dressed properly for Grandmama.”
My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”
“Grandmama said I should dress my best when I come to her house,” she replies in her British accent.
My nails dig harshly into my palms. “She did, did she?”
Sophia looks down at her Wellies. “I’m not sure she’ll like my boots, but those puddles simplymustbe jumped in. The last time when I jumped in my trainers, Daddy had to buy me new ones.”
Irritation presses sharply into my temples like a blunt force trauma. This is a prime example of having no control over what’s being said to Sophia and how it’s being interpreted by her. When Margaret made comments like this to Sophia in the past, I served as a buffer to explain it away.
“Grandmama didn’t mean you have to play with the neighbour boy who threw mud on you. She meant that the families are old friends, so we need to be polite.”
I stride over to where Sophia is standing on the steps and grab her cute little fingers in mine. “Sophia, while I love, love, love this look you have going on here and think it is one hundred percent red carpet-worthy, I think we need to go upstairs and tone it down a little bit.”
She looks back at me in horror. “But Grandmama said!”
My eyes fly wide. “I know, baby! I know. But you can’t wear white fur to the country!” I laugh heartily and swat her on the shoulder. “The polar bears will think you belong to them.”
Sophia’s furry brows crumple. “Mum, there are no polar bears out at Grandmama’s.”
My jaw drops. “There aren’t?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. You should be embarrassed that you thought that, Mum.”
I bark out a laugh but sober immediately. “I’m humiliated.”
She clutches my cheeks in her hands. “No, but really, Mum. Don’t ever tell anyone you said that. It’s not very bright.”
This elicits a genuine smile. Through a few more giggles, I convince Sophia to let me style her like one of my clients. But being the negotiator she is, I have to promise to let her style me sometime in the near future. It’s a price I’m very willing to pay.
The Lake District is a good thirty minute drive from my house. Normally, I dread the drive. It’s like driving down death row and preparing to give away my child to some horrid criminal.
Today it’s not as hard, though. The past week with Sophia was so different than it’s been in months. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been constantly searching for fun things to do with Sophia so she will love me more than Callum. I was desperate to make memories and ease the burden and pain of having a broken family.
But last week wasn’t a constant, “What are we going to do next,” state. There was a sense of living in the moment and seeing it for its simple beauty. Watching Sophia play with her dolls on her bedroom floor was suddenly so much more emotionally rewarding than all the excursions I’ve taken her on around Manchester this past year. Even the makeover I gave her just moments ago involved more giggles than a full day at some museum. Maybe having a bit of balance in my life isn’t so bad after all.
I drive up the long gravel lane, passing through the perfectly manicured landscaping, orgardensas the British call them. Shrubs trimmed perfectly, fall flowers in bloom, orange leaves falling all around us. Honestly, it is dreamy. Margaret Coleridge’s estate is quite similar to the one where Callum resides but older. It’s also larger in the sense that it occupies two acres and is elevated so when you drive up to it, you feel a bit like you’re driving to a castle.
I’m grateful for the estate in a lot of ways because Sophia has the best experiences out here. She really embraces nature. She loves running in the woods, jumping in the puddles, and going out on the sailboat whenever Callum agrees to take her. They are the kind of memories I would have killed for as a child.
When we pull around the large fountain in the middle of the driveway, Callum and Margaret walk out, clearly watching for our arrival. Hot on their heels is the oh-so stunning, blonde, and ridiculously made-up Lady Godiva.
