Penmort Castle

Chapter Twelve Painful Lessons

It took Jenny what felt to Abby like a year to reach the top floor and when she finally entered the guest bedroom, Abby knew why.

Mrs. Truman was with her.

Just what Abby needed, Mrs. Truman.

“Why are you on the top floor?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know upon entry. “I never go to my top floor. I feel like I climbed a mountain.”

Jenny ignored Mrs. Truman’s complaining, took one look at Abby and asked immediately, “What’s the matter?”

Her best friend knew Abby well but, she had to admit, Jenny freaked her out sometimes.

“I…” Abby started to answer Jenny or more to the point, lie to her but she noticed Mrs. Truman leaning toward her.

Peering closely at Abby’s face, the older woman announced, “We need tea. We can’t have drama without tea. And maybe sherry. This looks like it’s going to be a sherry drama.”

“There isn’t going to be a drama,” Abby told Mrs. Truman, wondering why she was even there but not getting the chance to ask.

“Drama is written all over your face, Abigail Butler,” Mrs. Truman shot back always feeling entitled to be wherever she was.

“Abby, what’s going on?” Jenny asked, also leaning in.

They were both watching her and Abby opened her mouth to say something to throw them off the scent.

Then all of a sudden her eyes filled with tears and she felt them spill down her cheeks. She couldn’t control them and she found she no longer had the energy to try.

“Abby,” Jenny said softly but Abby ignored her.

Stiffly walking to the bed, she sat down and put the fingers of both her trembling hands to her mouth.

Jenny and Mrs. Truman followed, Jenny crouching in front of her saying, “What is it?”

“Cash and I had a fight,” Abby blurted on a tortured whisper and Jenny’s head jerked before her face changed to a look of stunned surprise.

“A fight?” Jenny repeated.

Abby swiped at the tears on her cheeks and nodded. “A fight. An ugly, shouting, awful, awful fight.” She looked at Jenny then Mrs. Truman, finding she couldn’t keep it in a moment longer, she knew she should, but she couldn’t. “I think I hurt his feelings.”

Jenny’s mouth dropped open.

She snapped it shut and parroted, “Hurt his feelings?”

“What’d you do?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know.

Abby looked away from her friend who was clearly not taking this in and turned to Mrs. Truman.

“I…” she started then squeezed her eyes shut, tears sliding down her face, she opened them and admitted, “it’s a long story but I did something. Something not very nice. He was being nice. Very nice. And I was very not nice in return.”

“How very nice was he being?” Jenny asked and Abby looked to her friend.

“Very nice,” Abby whispered then her silent tears ended, she let go of her emotions and burst into loud, wracking sobs. She covered her face with her hands and babbled from behind them, “I was so mean. And I hurt his feelings. I know I did. Then he asked me to explain myself and I just made it worse. Then he got mad and he said the most awful things.” She pulled her hands from her face and wailed, “But they were true! Even though he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. How could he?” Abby looked at Mrs. Truman, knowing she wasn’t making a lick of sense and also not waiting for an answer, and cried, “He was so angry. I’ve never seen anyone that angry!”

“Did he hurt you?” Jenny asked, her voice hard and Abby looked at her, confused.

“How do you mean?”

“Hurt you? Did he get physical with you?” Jenny explained.

“Of course not,” Abby snapped as if the idea of Cash getting physical (in that way) was ridiculous. “He just yelled at me.”

“Did you yell back?” Mrs. Truman asked and Abby’s gaze moved to her.

“No, I mean yes. I mean, it was actually me who started the yelling,” she confessed.

“You forgot,” Mrs. Truman told her with all-knowing finality and Abby stared at her, not understanding what she meant.

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. She was certain that fight with Cash was burned on her brain until the end of time.

When Mrs. Truman didn’t say more, Abby asked, “Forgot what?”

“You forgot,” Mrs. Truman repeated and when Abby still looked confused, Mrs. Truman sat down beside her on the bed. When she spoke again, her voice was surprisingly gentle. “When they die, you forget.” Abby pulled a sharp breath into her nostrils but Mrs. Truman ignored her reaction and carried on. “When they die, you remember only the good things. You don’t remember the bad things. The fights. The bickering. Their annoying habits that drive you mad. Like when they don’t put their socks in the wash hamper even though the hamper is only two feet away. They drop them on the floor. Morty and his damned socks. Used to drive me insane.”

Abby felt her lip tremble as more silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Mrs. Truman watched her face and then leaned slightly toward her. “After he was gone, I would have paid money to pick up another pair of his dirty socks. Those socks, the blight of my life, became a cherished memory. You forget that they’re just dirty socks on the floor that you have to pick up, Abigail.” She touched Abby’s hand every-so-lightly then took her own away so swiftly it was almost as if the touch never happened. “Now, you’re remembering what it’s like to be with a living, breathing, annoying male who you yell at and who yells at you. It isn’t something that you can mould into a cherished memory because it isn’t in your head. It’s real and it’s happening. And you forgot what it felt like. Now, Abigail, you’re remembering.”

“Mrs. Truman –” Jenny started but the older woman shook her head, not taking her eyes from Abby.

“But you know,” she said softly, “you know something your young man doesn’t. You know that even these fights, that hurt so much they make you cry, are something to cherish.”

Abby stared at her, eyes suddenly dry, body frozen even though her heart was beating a mile-a-minute.

Then Mrs. Truman broke her own spell by clapping her hands.

“Now!” she announced and went on authoritatively, “Tea. And cucumber. You can’t sit down with the upper crust with puffy eyes. You need cucumber and a wet flannel.” She pushed herself up and bustled to the door with the energy of a woman who would never complain about climbing two flights of stairs. “I’ll see to the tea, cucumber and flannel. Jennifer,” she turned and pointed at Jenny, “you take care of the outfit.”

And after issuing her orders, she disappeared out the door.

Leaving Abby with Jenny.

“I think you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” Jenny said, using her best Ricky Ricardo voice, attempting to inject humour where both women knew there was none.

“Jenny, I screwed up,” Abby admitted quietly.

Jenny got out of her crouch and sat on the bed beside Abby, saying on a sigh, “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Jenny!” Abby cried loudly, stung by her friend’s words even though of anyone Jenny knew Abby could screw up, big time.

Jenny turned to her. “Girlfriend, any woman in her right mind would screw up with Cash Fraser. The man is hot. He’s also interesting. He’s also funny. He also looks at you like you painted the Sistine Chapel on your lunch break while wearing a bikini. And let’s not forget, he’s hot.”

“He looks at me like that?” Abby breathed and Jenny lifted a hand to within an inch of Abby’s face and snapped.

“Hello? A little focus?” Jenny asked while dropping her hand and Abby blinked before Jenny continued. “Have you slept with him?”

Abby’s mouth dropped open.

Now Jenny was just plain creeping her out!

“Don’t give me that look,” Jenny warned. “He’s hot. I was in your shoes, I’d sleep with him,” she announced baldly. “How long did you wait?”

“It happened Thursday,” Abby answered.

“You were always slow,” Jenny remarked.

“Jenny!” Abby cried, surprised at her friend’s easy acceptance of these facts. “Do you not see that this is a problem?”

“Yes, I do. Because you let your heart get involved with everything you do. I despair the workmen coming to your house because you’ll make them all your BFFs and end up having to buy them Christmas presents you can’t afford,” Jenny retorted.

“I will not,” Abby returned.

“You will,” Jenny replied and before Abby could get a word in, she went on, “Cash Fraser may be hot and he may be way into you but I’m not certain his heart is involved. And I know you won’t just enjoy yourself for once and keep your heart out of it. This is a problem.”

“He bought me a cashmere robe,” Abby announced and she saw Jenny’s eyes get wide. “And this,” Abby continued, lifting up her wrist to jiggle the diamond bracelet that even after that fight Abby could not bring herself to take off. “That’s why we fought. Because of the bracelet and kind of the robes too.”

Jenny was staring at her wrist but she breathed, “Robes. Plural?”

“Yes, three. Only one cashmere. The other one was silk and the other one –”

“Oh my God,” Jenny whispered, her eyes snapping back to Abby. “Why is he buying you presents? He paid, like, a fortune for you.”

“I don’t know!” Abby cried. “He’s freaking me out; it’s all freaking me out. I can’t keep my head on straight.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed on her. “You like him.”

“Well, of course I like him!” Abby clipped and shot off the bed, starting to pace then she whipped around and looked at Jenny. “He’s hot.”

“You don’t like him because he’s hot,” Jenny returned.

“You can’t not like him because he’s hot. That’s how hot he is!” Abby cried.

“Oh shit,” Jenny breathed.

“What?” Abby asked.

“He’s good in bed,” Jenny whispered while she stood then pleaded, “Please tell me a man that hot, that rich, that everything is also not good in bed.”

Abby just looked at her friend not wanting to lie also not wanting to share.

She didn’t have to, Jenny already knew. “Shit. He is. He’s good in bed.”

“Jenny –” Abby started.

Jenny interrupted her, “How good?”

“Good,” Abby answered quickly.

“How good?” Jenny pushed. “God-like good or just, you know, good-good?”

Abby thought about lying, then because she was stupid, stupid, stupid, she decided against it.

“God-like good,” she muttered.

“Oh God,” Jenny breathed.

Then, going for the gusto, Abby whispered, “Better than Ben.”

Jenny’s face went pale and Abby held her breath.

Here we go, Abby thought.

“Really?” Jenny asked softly.

“Really,” Abby replied, her eyes began to fill with tears again and she took a deep breath to control them before saying, “We had a nice weekend, Cash and I. He’s different than Ben. He doesn’t talk as much but he’s more intense. He doesn’t move around as much but somehow he radiates more energy. He takes all my concentration. And,” she paused then went on, “I like giving it to him.”

Jenny regarded Abby for long moments and finally came closer, her voice going soft. “Abby, you’ve got to be careful. You have to remember what this is.”

Abby closed her eyes and sighed.

When she opened them, she said, “I know.”

“Are you going to be able to do that?” Jenny asked.

“I might not have to. That fight was ugly, Jenny,” Abby told her. “He might not want me around anymore.”

“I still don’t understand about the fight,” Jenny said.

“I was trying to pull away from him. I threw the diamond bracelet in his face, saying he was treating me like a whore.”

Jenny sucked in a sharp breath then whispered, “You did not.”

“I was trying to maintain a distance,” Abby defended.

“Is he treating you like a whore?” Jenny asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know! I’ve never been a whore,” Abby answered, frustrated. “I’ve also never received cashmere robes and diamond bracelets like they were flowers and chocolates.” Abby pulled her hand through her hair, bunching it in a fist at the back and looked at her friend. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jenny stared at her a moment and then said quietly, “Abby, you do your job. You do nothing but your job. If you like it, okay, it’d be hard not to like. If he wants to give you stuff, okay, take it. That’s his deal. But you have to remember, always, it’s a job. Just a job. So when the time comes and he’s through with you, you can walk away, put this behind you and get on with your real life.”

Abby bit the side of her lip, not liking the idea of Cash being “through with her”, not at all even after The Fight but she nodded because she knew Jenny was right.

Very right.

It was then Mrs. Truman bustled in with a tray.

“You don’t have cucumber. All you had was broccoli and carrots. Carrots don’t take the puff out of your eyes.” She slammed the tray down on the bedside table and turned, hands on hips, to Abby. “I had to go to my house to get cucumber,” she declared, as if her house was in Bangladesh, not next door. “You’re lucky I had some. Now lie down,” she ordered and turned to Jenny. “Do you have the outfit sorted?”

“No,” Jenny admitted.

“What have you two been doing?” she snapped and then stomped to the wardrobe grumbling, “I have to do everything.”

Thus ended the drama and for the next half an hour, Abby lay on the bed with two slices of cucumber on her eyes covered in a cool, wet washcloth. She had to take them off to inspect the different outfits Mrs. Truman and Jenny brought from every corner of the house to show her.

Not one of them would do.

Mrs. Truman was holding up (and imperiously shaking) a strapless, baby-blue, knee-length dress with a full skirt made of acres of netting and a satin sash as a belt that Abby was relatively certain her mother wore to the prom (if she went to the prom) and demanding, “This is perfect!” when Jenny came in with more clothes.

“Mrs. Truman, I can’t wear that,” Abby said.

“Why not?” Mrs. Truman returned. “It’s just the thing.”

“That is not the thing,” Jenny butted in, her lip curled in disgust, her eyes on the dress Mrs. Truman was holding.

“It most certainly is,” Mrs. Truman shot back.

“It is, if Abby was going to the dance-a-thon where she’d end up doing the hand jive with Danny Zuko. It is not when Abby is having dinner at a castle with Famous-Worldwide Hot Guy Cash Fraser,” Jenny retorted then before Mrs. Truman could respond she looked at Abby and stated, “I think this is the thing.”

Then Jenny held up the dress Abby wore to Ben’s work Christmas party the last Christmas he’d been alive.

A taupe that was so light it was almost cream, the dress was made of soft wool, clingy in all the right places but providing maximum coverage. It had a cowl-neck and the hem fell to mid calf. Abby wore it with her high-heeled, mocha suede boots and matching wide belt.

It had cost a fortune though the boots and belt cost more, and Ben had loved it. He loved it so much, they left the party early so he could take her home and take it off.

It was perfect. Expensive, timelessly stylish, sexy-yet-demure and, best of all, it would remind her of Ben.

“That’s it,” Abby announced.

“Thank God,” Jenny sighed.

“I still like the blue,” Mrs. Truman grumbled but it was too late. Abby had made her decision and she had to get a move on if she was going to be ready on time which she felt at that moment was a moral imperative.

Mrs. Truman and Jenny put away the clothes while Abby did her makeup in a new look, elegant with a bit of drama (the look she dubbed “Castle Chic”).

Mrs. Truman left to see to her dogs and Jenny did Abby’s hair using a curling iron to give her loads of curls then smoothing it all away from her face in a barrette at her nape that burst in a riot of curls down her back, all the while giving her an “it’s-just-a-job” pep talk.

Then Jenny left Abby alone with her cat Zee.

It was a quarter-to-six and Abby was nervous as hell.

But, importantly, she was ready.

She was in her bedroom transferring needed items into a small, mocha-coloured, patent leather clutch when she heard the bell at the door.

Her head shot up and she stared at her bedside clock.

It couldn’t be Cash. He couldn’t be early again, not tonight of all nights. She wasn’t yet mentally prepared to face him.

Abby left the clutch on her bed and ran down the stairs to see who it was and get them gone before Cash arrived.

Zee, having absented himself during the drama and ensuing clothes-fest, ran to the door with her, nearly tripping her twice.

Abby threw it open and stood frozen, staring at Cash.

One look at him and she knew that he wasn’t over the fight.

Not by a long shot.

Abby made a mental note for possible future reference that Cash Fraser could hold a mean grudge.

“You’re early,” she told him.

“Do they say that instead of ‘hello’ in America?” Cash returned, his dry words reminding her she was being rude and she immediately felt like an idiot.

“Sorry, come in,” Abby stepped out of the way, eyes to the floor, and prattled on, “I’m ready. I need two seconds. Wait here, I’ll be right back. I just have to go get my bag.”

Then she turned tail and ran, Zee running alongside her.

She darted to her room, realised she forgot her lip gloss, flew to her dressing table and grabbed it. In all this activity Zee decided to go away and come back later when Abby wasn’t in a tizzy.

She bent over the bed, shoving everything into her purse and snapping it shut. Then she straightened, turned to run downstairs and instead ran headlong into Cash.

Her body jerked back but his hands came to settle on her hips to hold her where she was.

She tilted her head to look at him, surprised he was there and opened her mouth to speak but he got there first.

“I see they aren’t finished with the bathroom,” he remarked.

Abby stared at him.

She didn’t know what to make of this. His handsome face was closed, his eyes cold and he looked remote. Abby knew, without knowing why she knew, that this meant he was angry.

Very angry.

Scary angry.

Yet his comment was bland.

And he was there. And he hadn’t yet fired her. Not that she’d given him a chance, but still.

“They say it’ll be done tomorrow,” Abby informed him.

Keen to get on with the evening and out of her bedroom, she started to move around him but his fingers tensed at her hips and she stopped.

Her head tipped back in question. “Cash, we should –”

He cut her off by saying, “A minute.”

She looked at him and his eyes held her captive as one of his hands moved lightly over her bottom.

“Cash, what are you –?” she started but he cut her off again.

“You’re wearing underwear,” he told her.

Abby’s breath froze in her lungs.

Oh dear Lord, she forgot about the underwear.

Then she felt her pulse beating in her neck.

“Cash –” she began.

“Take it off,” he ordered and she blinked in stunned surprise.

“What?” she breathed.

“Take them off,” he repeated.

Abby felt a thrill run up her spine and it wasn’t the usual thrill Cash gave her or at least not entirely.

In a pleading whisper, she begged, “Cash, please don’t make me –”

He interrupted her again, his voice patient but barely so, “Abby, take them off.”

Abby felt her spine go ramrod straight, thinking he couldn’t make her not wear underwear. And if he tried, he could have the damned bracelet back.

“No,” she replied, her voice had grown cold.

His head tilted to the side, something dangerous flashed in his eyes and he asked softly, “No?”

Being stupid (but brave, she told herself) in the face of obvious peril, Abby held her ground and repeated, “No.”

He gazed at her for a moment then two then he replied quietly, “All right Abby.”

She felt her body relax.

He’d given in. He wasn’t going to make her do something which made her uncomfortable. And she had the fleeting thought maybe it was all going to be okay.

She had this thought right before his head bent, his arms went around her tight and he kissed her.

It wasn’t like any kiss he’d given before. It was hot, demanding and very effective but it was also hard and claiming, taking everything but giving nothing in return.

It still, unfortunately, worked on Abby because it came with the scent of him, the feel of him and the memory of how good they could be.

When her arms went around his neck, signifying her not-very-hard-won capitulation, he shifted. They fell, him on his back, her on top of him, to the bed.

He rolled immediately, pinning her under him, not giving her a chance to think, only feel.

His mouth was on hers then it was on her neck just under and behind her ear, a sensitive spot that he manipulated ruthlessly.

His hands were all over her, smoothing over the wool at her side, her hip, up her midriff then his thumb caught against her hard nipple making sweet sensations shoot through her. At the feel of them, her neck arched as she gasped and his thumb stroked back then again, and again.

When she was trembling under him, his thigh went between her legs, his knee pulling up her dress as his hand went down her belly. His fingers took over for his knee and yanked the skirt of her dress up and then they were there, in her panties, she felt them sliding against her and his touch rocketed heat straight through her.

“Wet,” he murmured, his mouth touching hers, his word shivering through her.

Then his fingers moved and all she could think of was what they were doing, how they were making her feel, how delicious it felt and then one slid inside.

“Cash,” she gasped, pressing against him, her hands roaming his body urgently and then clutching at him as her hips bucked, riding his hand as his finger moved in and out, his thumb circling magnificently at the exact perfect spot.

Somewhere in the back of her head it registered that he was holding himself away even as he held her close, his hand between her legs, his other arm wrapped tight around her, his face buried in her neck.

But before this thought could intrude, Cash forced her response and it shot through her, her neck and back arching, her hips rearing against his hand. She heard the soft, low noises she made as if from far away as her body exhilarated in the glorious orgasm he’d given her.

And when she was done, breath coming fast, her hands still clenched in his suit jacket, his fingers left her and, she couldn’t help it, that felt good too and she let out a soft moan. His hand glided over her hip to her bottom, pressing her against him as he held her until her trembling stopped.

“Now, darling,” his voice rumbled roughly against her neck, “that was worth a diamond bracelet.”

Her body went still at his words but he didn’t notice, or worse, didn’t care.

He pulled away, exited the bed, leaned over and tugged her dress down. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet at the side of the bed.

Her legs were shaky, not only from her climax but also her emotion. Her head tilted back to look at him and when her eyes caught his, his were still cold.

And that coldness froze the heat right out of her, chilling her to her core.

“Fix your hair,” he ordered. “I’ll meet you at the door.”

On that, without a word or touch, he turned and left.

Abby stared after him until he disappeared.

Then she stared some more.

Then she realised throughout the time they’d been together he’d never treated her like a whore. Not once. Not with the robes, not with the bracelet, not with all of his orders to be somewhere or do something.

She knew this because with what he’d just done, he treated her like a whore.

On unsteady legs, she went to her dressing table, smoothed back her hair and re-clipped the barrette firmly. She fixed her lip gloss, grabbed her bag and walked to the light switch. She flipped it off then walked down the hall, down the stairs to the front door where she saw Cash, standing, waiting, wearing his overcoat, ready to go.

Averting her eyes, she reached out to grab her mother’s deep taupe, long, wool winter coat.

Before she could swing it around, in one of his usual gallant gestures (this one, for obvious reasons, bittersweet), Cash took it from her hands and held it out for her.

She turned her back to him and slid her arms through as thoughts began to invade, feelings began to press in and Abby could feel the tears pooling in her eyes.

She took deep breaths to control them.

This effort failed.

Lifting her hand, she pulled the hair out of her collar after Cash settled the coat on her shoulders. In an effort to hide her face, she kept her gaze to the floor as she walked to the door, turned the latch and opened it.

“Abby,” Cash’s voice called.

Only her torso twisted toward him, her eyes, tears still shimmering and unshed, lifted to his.

When her gaze met his, Abby could swear she saw his nearly imperceptible flinch but this didn’t penetrate the aching fog that shrouded her.

“I’m ready,” she said softly, turned and walked out into the bitter cold.

She didn’t feel the chill.