He scoops a handful of water to test, then steps into the bath and lowers us both into the water, me seated between his legs. It’s the perfect temperature, just slightly hotter than my core. Micah lets the taps run for a few more seconds, then turns them off, reaching for a mesh sponge and raising a nice head of bubbles with the body wash.
As he leans me forward to soap my back, I close my eyes. I’m so content that I’m afraid I’ll fall fast asleep and miss out on the fun. I clasp my arms around my bent knees and rest my head against them as Micah’s strokes grow more rhythmic.
I never want this to end.
But soon my stupid head turns to practical considerations. I’m reluctant to ask, aware that it’ll sound accusatory not matter how I frame it. “Are you…?” I falter to a stop as he leans forward to kiss my shoulder, then take a deep breath. I’m allowed to ask. It’s my right to ask. “You didn’t wear a condom?”
If Micah is worried by the question, it doesn’t stop his careful ministrations with the soapy scrub. “Are you worried about getting pregnant,” he asks after a slight pause, “or that I’m carrying some horrible disease?”
I’m so relieved by the lightness of his voice that I playfully give the one-word answer to both questions: “Yes.”
As a response to the first, he already knows. I asked the doctor for the pill right in front of him. Because I did that, I also expect he won’t be moved on the point.
“I want to have a family,” he says, his voice relaxing into warmth as though he’s picturing our kids already. Then he surprises me. “But if it’s too soon for you, I can take you to a pharmacy to get a morning-after pill if you like. There’s one a few corners down. We can also make an appointment to find a suitable contraceptive.” Like an afterthought he adds, “And I’m clean.”
“Even though you sleep with sex workers?”
He lands another kiss on my shoulder. “Sleep is the last thing I do with them. That’d be a colossal waste of money.” He stops soaping me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, leaning his cheek against my upper back. “But you don’t have to worry about that, either. For one, they’re far more careful and get tested far more often than I do.”
I wait for him to add his additional points, but he falls silent. Just when I think he’s never going to expand on it, he whispers, “You know, there won’t be any more of that. I—” He breaks off, sighing against my back until I shiver at the light caress. “I paid so I didn’t have to have a relationship. That’s all. It was never anything more than a service.”
That wasn’t the question I asked but the words make my heart happier. And it practically breaks into song when he adds, “From now on, you’re the only woman for me. The only one I’ll ever need.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
MICAH
The moment I pull my suit back on, I make the decision that there’re going to be changes. I’ve let far too many things slide in the past few days and it’s time to put a stop to it. Now that Crimson is cemented into the forthcoming position as my wife, I need to take better care of her needs than I’ve been doing.
First off, the lift code. The first thing I promised her but which I still haven’t got around to doing. A sharp call goes through to Sebastian. He might have reasons for not visiting since our return but whatever they are, he either needs to front with them or get past them.
Next, I call a personal shopper and ask her to bring as many people as she needs to ensure Crimson has her own wardrobe. I can’t believe that I expected her to dress in other women’s castoffs.
No more of that. From now on, anything she needs, she gets, and not courtesy of the taste of an ex.
My friends get the heads up that they’re expected to be on their best behaviour when they meet her tonight. Crimson might have a backbone but she’s also young enough to have nerves about interactions. Especially ones where she’s right to think that she’s being assessed or judged.
Not that they’d dare to change my mind. Whatever feedback they might have on my forthcoming nuptials, it’ll be framed in a positive light.
Still, telling three of the most powerful men in the country to back off on their first introduction is advice that can hardly go astray.
Last, I phone through to a jeweller’s rep that I know is in the country. If he’s surprised at my call, he hides it, agreeing to meet me this afternoon though the request is so late it must be an imposition.
But that’s the point of the money. If I don’t spend it making things how I like there was no reason to collect it.
Montgomery beats all of them to the door. I’ve changed my shirt and tie for a more relaxed black tee just before he calls to say he’s on his way up. After Crimson’s offer this morning to forget the phone if I didn’t want her to have it, I briefly consider doing that, then change my mind again.
The woman floating around the apartment looking happier than at any time since I first met her isn’t about to challenge my trust by contacting anyone she shouldn’t.
“Do you have an existing number?” Montgomery asks when I call Crimson into my office so I can introduce her.
“No. I’ve never had one.”
She sits beside him as he cracks a new SIM out of its card and installs it. She takes it over once the introductory screen appears, following the prompts to set it up the way she likes it.
“We’ll need another few staff in rotation,” I explain as we get through a quick checklist of business. “With Crimson here, there’ll be times we both need a guard.”
He quickly shortlists a few candidates and runs through them on his laptop, giving me veto. The first man looks more like he should be gracing the cover of a fitness magazine than jumping in front of a bullet. I swipe left, doing the same again on the next one. The third man has scars knotted along the side of his face. A good choice for outings since the usual reaction from even casual passers by would be to stay away.
