The Ground Rules (21 page)

But just this once…
I type a message to Kathryn.

Dear Kathryn,

How are you?

I’m not sure if you and Weston have already planned our evening this next Saturday, but I would like to suggest a walk in Lincoln Park at around 5:00 p.m., followed by dinner at Mon Ami Gabi.

Please let Weston know and get back to me with his opinion on the matter.

Cheers,

Mirella

Kathryn’s reply is short and curt.

Dear Mirella,

I’m very well. Thank you. Weston is fine with your suggestion and will meet you at Elis Fountain at 5:00 p.m. Edward will pick you up as per usual.

Best,

Kathryn

I wear a flowery summer dress and sensible pumps. I’ve always loved this particular dress—the vibrant colors bring out the color in my cheeks. I curl my hair, take more care than usual with my makeup, and finish things off with a classic red lipstick. Today, I really want to look good.

I stuff Weston’s birthday presents in a large red purse, along with my camera.

I kiss Gabe and the girls before I leave.

“You’re going out early tonight,” Gabe points out. He’s the one in charge of dinner tonight, and I smile at the thought—the girls will most likely be eating boxed pizza.

“We’re going for an early walk in Lincoln Park and then dinner. I won’t be very late. What about you?”

“We’re going to eat in the Theater District. That’s all I know.”

Chloe looks up from her drawing, pencil in hand. “You’re going to see your friends in Chicago again, Mommy?”

“Yes. And Daddy too. Caroline will come over later.”

“Yay,” she says, cheerful.

I’m amazed at how smoothly this arrangement is running. We had a rough time at the get-go, but now it’s simply become our “lifestyle.” I convince myself everything’s fine. The girls are happy. Gabe and I are happy. I delude myself into thinking we’re not hurting anyone. I even convince myself we’re not taking a huge risk.

And I convince myself I’m not ashamed. But of course, no one knows…with the exception of Gwen. I’m sure that even if we told our friends and families, they wouldn’t believe us. And if they did, their opinion of us would surely change drastically—as far as everyone is concerned, we’ve always been the sweetest couple there ever was.

I sit on the concrete bench at the fountain and turn my head to study the statues of flocking geese and strange half-cherub, half-mermaid mythological creatures wrestling fish. It’s bizarre, but lovely nevertheless. I’m so enthralled by the fountain I don’t even notice when Weston walks up to me.

He smiles at me, and I stand up to greet him. He looks handsome in a dark fitted top and slim gray chinos. His hair is perfectly smooth as always, with that one unruly lock of hair sticking up—the sight of it always makes me smile. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed it the first time we met.

“You look lovely,” he says, and no other words pass between us. From his expression, I can tell he means it. He’s not just being polite—Weston is not one for pretense. I’ve noticed he only says what he means—and that’s another thing I like about him.

I reach into my bag. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a nice photo of myself to give you.”

“Not even a single one?” he asks, his expression a mix of surprise and disappointment. “I find that hard to believe.”

I pull out my camera. “It’s true, but I have something even better.” I hand him the camera.

“You want me to take photos of you?”

“As many as you would like,” I say. “And I’ll print the best ones for you and burn you a CD.”

“Sounds good. But I don’t know too much about photography.”

“It’s easy. It’s set on auto. Just click.”

As we walk through Lincoln Park, Weston clicks away and captures my image against the greenery, the cityscape in the background and the lovely fountains and ponds.

I admit—this was not a completely selfless idea—I manage to snap a few photos of him as well—capturing his gorgeous smile, the spark in his brilliant green eyes, even that rebel lock of hair.

He takes one or two selfies of the both of us, stretching out his long arms, the camera looking down on us. As I smile at the camera, I can’t help but realize this is probably one of the unspoken rules—no “loving couple” photos. But I push away the thought from my mind almost as soon as it makes its appearance. I want a photo of him and me. No matter what happens, I know I can look back at the photo when I’m ninety years old and remember him and this absolutely tumultuous time in my life.

“Nice choice,” Weston says as we sit comfortably on the terrace at
Mon Ami Gabi
, a French bistro style restaurant. “This place is quite charming.”

“It kind of feels like we’re in Paris, right?” I say playfully. “If only I knew what Paris feels like,” I’m quick to add. “I’ve never been.”

“I’m sure you’ll get to see it someday,” he tells me, looking at me in that way he always does—like I’m the cutest thing on the planet.

“I sure hope so,” I respond, scanning the menu.

Weston orders a glass of red from the rolling wine cart, and I order a white since I plan to have the roasted chicken with frites.

“Happy belated birthday,” I blurt out when the server finally leaves us.

He smiles shyly and doesn’t quite look at me. “Thank you. Although, I think I’d rather forget all about it.”

My fingers are trembling as I reach into my oversized purse. “Here, I got you a little something.” My nerves are tied up in knots as I hand him the small wrapped package. I’m not sure why I’m so flustered. I just hope he likes it.

“Thank you,” he says, clearly surprised. “This isn’t a picture of you, is it?”

He tears the wrapping off and smiles when he sees the CD I made for him.

“You’ve made me a mix-tape, I see,” he says, a grin stretched wide across his face. “Very old-school.”

“It has some of my favorite songs…some stuff you’ve probably never heard of,” I explain, a little nervous. “I’m always looking for new music.”

He studies the list of songs scribbled on the cover paper. “I love it. I like a lot of these songs. I’ll listen to it when I work out.”

I smile, happy he likes my gift. Then, I swallow hard and stare down at my dress. “I also have something else for you.”

He tilts his head. “Oh…” is all he says. He seems curious.

“Which I’ll give you at the hotel.”

A slow mischievous smile spreads across his face. “I’m intrigued.”

I smile at him, not wanting to divulge more.

And I hope he can’t see just how petrified I am.

When we get back to the hotel, Weston asks me about the second gift.

“It’s not really a gift,” I tell him as we walk into the elevator. “It’s not something tangible.”

“I am bursting with curiosity.”

I start to doubt myself—maybe this was a horrible idea. I don’t even know if I can pull it off.

I take my shoes off once we’re in the suite, and sit on the sofa. My nerves are in knots—I’m so anxious.

He pulls his satchel over his head. “It’s a shame I don’t have a CD player here. But I’ll have Kathryn transfer the songs to my iPod as soon as she can.”

“I hope you like them,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

He takes a seat next to me on the sofa and takes my hand in his. “Thanks for the CD.”

I look away, ill-at-ease. “It’s not much,” I say. “But it’s really hard to get a birthday present for the man who has everything.”

He laughs. “I do have everything,” he confesses as he trails his finger along the edge of my face.

I know what he wants. And I want it too.

But I need to stick to the plan.

I pull his hand away. “Uh…” I stammer. “About your other present…”

He perks up. “Yes?”

I stand and walk toward his bedroom. Once I make my way there, I pull one of the arm chairs and position it to face the bed.

“Here. Sit here.”

He does as he’s told, pausing to examine me, eyeing me with a suspicious smile. I’m sure he’s wondering what the heck I’m up to.

I clutch my bag against my chest and sit on the bed, right in front of him. He studies me intently and tilts his head to the side.

I’m surprised at how nervous I am. Weston and I have been together a few times now, and we’ve become quite intimate, yet he still manages to unnerve me—in many ways, it’s still like being with a stranger every time I’m with him.

I finally summon the courage to speak. “Well…Weston,” I say, sucking in a long breath. “As I’ve said already, you’re not exactly easy to shop for…”

He smiles, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his chin rests on his thumb, and his gold-speckled green eyes fix me intently. I’m sure he’s not trying to be sexy, but he
sure
is.

I reach for my bag slowly, my eyes locked on his.

He leans in. “What do you have in there?” he asks. His eyes have an energy about them—I can tell I’m driving him a little crazy.

“I’ve racked my brain thinking about what I should get you. I wondered about the things you like, what you like to do…” I go on as I retrieve a silver case from my purse. “And an idea came to me.”

I slide my fingers along the hard edge of the case, and slowly open it. My breath hitches. “I know…how…” I bite my lip. “You like to watch,” I quickly add, my words barely a whisper. I can’t believe how difficult this is. I thought it would be easier. I thought I was comfortable enough with Weston but…“I thought I’d give you a little show.”

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I turn the case toward him and show him my vibrator. I look up at him to see his reaction—it matters so much to me.

He smiles—that wicked smile which I only see when we’re about to do something delicious and naughty. He bites his bottom lip. “I must say…I love this gift so far.”

I smile. “It hasn’t even started yet.”

He leans back in his chair. “What are you going to do exactly? What will this little show entail?”

“I’m going to pleasure myself in front of you while you watch,” I inform him with a sly smile. “And you’re only allowed to watch…you can’t touch.”

He smiles, a fire in his eyes. “That’s a little cruel, but fair enough.”

I look at him and set the case on the bed, reaching for the side zipper of my dress.

His smile fades. He’s serious all of a sudden—intense. He’s aroused. “Do you do this often?”

I swallow hard. This is a conversation I’ve never thought I’d have with
anyone
. “Enough. I think about you.”

He closes his eyes. “I like that,” he says. He opens his eyes again to see my purple lace bra exposed. I’ve worn a tasteful set under my dress. I want this show to be classy—well, as classy as a masturbation show can be. A small part of me can’t help feeling a bit like a porn star. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m completely under his spell.

“And that’s your tool of choice?” he teases.

I slide my dress down and expose my matching lacy briefs. “It’s pretty effective. It’s about the same size as you. I like to imagine it’s you inside me.”

“Only I don’t vibrate,” he jokes. “It’s even better than me, I imagine.”

I shoot him a sly smile. “It’s
never
as good as you.”

I reach for the case and pull down the covers.

He scratches the edge of his jaw. “Take off the bra. I’d like you fully naked.”

I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the ground. I feel the weight of my breasts drop. My nipples are erect—I’ve been aroused since I first took the silver case out of my purse. I reach for the band of my panties and pull them down slowly, revealing myself completely.

He groans a little—he seems to be enjoying the show. And I’m still scared as all get-out. So I try to take the focus away from myself—I’m feeling way too exposed. “Are you hard?”

“What do you think?”

“I can tell,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed, vibrator in hand.

“I can’t touch you…not even one bit?”

“No,” I say firmly. “But you can watch.”

“Show me…” he says, tracing his index finger along his bottom lip.

The way he’s looking at me is so damn hot.