The Trophy Wife by Evie Baxter

Fourteen

Iwas a mess. It had been so long since I’d been around a man I didn’t really know. My judgement was not good. Instinctively I felt Bastian was a good person, but appearances could be deceiving. Robert had convinced the world he was a fine, upstanding citizen, heavily involved in fundraising for charities, including one that helped victims of abuse. The hypocrite.

What if Bastian was prone to anger? What if the way I was, so nervous and overly sensitive, triggered that anger? Maybe Bastian had never hit a woman before. But there was a first time for everything.

On the other hand, I’d slept with him. And that was the best sex of my life. Or, to put it into context, it had been the only good sex of my life. He had treated me with gentle consideration in London too, taking care of me when I sprained my ankle.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t thought of him constantly since I snuck away in the middle of the night. At random moments I’d find myself reliving his touch and just the thought of him was enough to make goosebumps rise and my abdomen contract.

What would one date hurt? I was pretty sure that an hour and half drive each way to see me, and a mini chaperone, would put him off pretty damn quick. If I let him meet up with us, just this once, there was a high chance he wouldn’t return. Therefore, what would it hurt to agree to this picnic? Isla would love it, though I would have to warn her not to get attached to Bastian as she wouldn’t be seeing much of him.

I shouldn’t be using my daughter as a barrier between me and romance. I knew this. It went against everything that I knew was right. But Isla was far more resilient than me. That child radiated confidence and joy. She was the light of my life and what kept me going through the darkest of days over the years. She would love a picnic, and would run Bastian ragged.

If the long commute for a date in daylight hours didn’t put Bastian off, then a few hours with a young child was sure to be the nail in the coffin of any budding relationship he envisioned between us. Therefore there would be no harm in this so called date.

Right?

My internal conflict was ridiculous. I wanted to see Bastian again. I craved it. But I didn’t want to see him and be tempted. I didn’t want more. It was too scary. There were too many what ifs. Conversely, I wanted everything. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be wanted. I wanted a healthy relationship like my friends had.

I was sure that every conflicting thought flickered across my face, but Bastian withheld any comment.

My laughter at Bastian’s naivety about spending time with a small child had lightened the mood somewhat. We sat at my table, sipping our tea, and I tried to find out a little more about him because I didn’t want to talk about myself, or our so called date. Making small talk wasn’t exactly my forte but it was either that or tell him to leave before he had even finished the cup of tea he had made for himself.

I knew he was a shareholder with Wideback PLC, but wasn’t sure of anything beyond that. Bastian told me he worked for himself. He had started investing in stocks whilst still in university, and had proven adept at it. Good enough that he found he was making a living from it before he achieved his degree in finance. So he kept on doing it. Trading stocks, holding on to some, like the Wideback holding, and growing the number of shares he held in his preferred companies. Annual dividends adding to the income he achieved through buying and selling adroitly.

I was certain there was more to what he was saying, because I was sure he was more successful than just ‘making a living’. A person couldn’t be adding a basement to his London home if they weren’t hugely successful. They couldn’t afford to live in a suite in a city centre hotel unless they were hugely successful. Wealth was not a motivating factor with me. It was enough to know how he spent his days. Money didn’t interest me, other than to know Isla was provided for. And that was already taken care of.

“What about you?” Bastian asked. “Do you work?”

I was embarrassed to admit I didn’t. And refused to tell him that I had barely been able to leave the house in the beginning, let alone contemplate employment. “No, I’m a fulltime single mum. That’s it.”

“There is no ‘that’s it’ to it,” he corrected me. “There is no better thing to be doing than raising Isla. Have no shame in doing that, Tori.”

“After I left London, I wasn’t capable of much,” I told him. “Robert, he, uh, he…”

Bastian went to reach for my hand, but I jerked away. I couldn’t. I was jumpy after my earlier freak out. I took another cookie, just as a distraction. I hadn’t eaten three cookies in one sitting since I was a teenager. I didn’t care, I shoved a big bite into my mouth and chewed. Therefore I couldn’t talk. Or hold hands.

“Hey,” Bastian spoke softly to me again. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. I sense I have a good idea anyhow.” I very much doubted that. “If I do something that upsets you, tell me. I won’t take it personally.”

“Can we not talk about this, please.” I don’t know him. I slept with him! I didn’t want to discuss the abuses my ex-husband subjected me to. He’s being considerate. My head hurt. I had had as much of this emotional rollercoaster as I could take for the day.

He studied me with those green eyes of his, taking in my pinched brows and stiff posture. It was too much for me, and I jumped to my feet, pacing across the kitchen.

“Tori?”

“Can you go before Isla comes back? Because if she returns and you’re still here she will want you to stay a while. And I can’t. I just can’t!”

Bastian nodded his head slowly, rising to his feet. “Sure. I’ll go now. It was good to see you, Tori. And I’m looking forward to next week’s picnic. Which day would you prefer, Saturday or Sunday?”

I breathed a sigh of relief when we exited the house by the front door. The increased space between us calmed me somewhat. He was so big and male, and dominated the space around him. In the kitchen it had overwhelmed me.

I went to stride down the front path, but my ankle gave way beneath me, still unused to strenuous use and I gave a little yelp as I almost went down. I saw Bastian go to catch me from the corner of my eye, but I righted myself at the last minute and moved beyond the reach of his hands. I wasn’t sure how I would react if he touched me. If I would freak out again? Or if I’d get a flashback from the other night and all the things those hands of his did to my body, bringing pleasure, not pain.

I looked towards the road and a midnight blue sports car was parked in front of my house, its top down. It looked expensive. Very expensive.

“Is that your car?” I asked, without turning to look at Bastian.

“Yes. Do you like it?” Such a boy question. I had no idea what make the car was from where I stood. It was a very pretty car true, but I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself by telling him that.

“I guess,” I shrugged, then I smirked. “But not a great car for around here. Which way did you come into the village?”

Bastian pointed towards the left where he would have turned to get into my road, and I started laughing. He looked at my quizzically.

“That’s the route everyone who uses Google Maps to get here arrives on. That road is crap.”

“There’s a better way?” Bastian asked self-deprecatingly, his lip curled up in a half smile.

“Way better. It’s a longer way round, which is why Google sends you the way you came, but there’s no single track involved and slightly less potholes. Here, give me your phone and I’ll show you.”

Bastian brought up Maps on his phone and I showed him the route to take him back to the motorway. It wasn’t complicated and only added on about three miles, but the extra fuel used would be more than compensated by the reduced wear and tear on his car.

He asked me to put my number in his phone while I still held it, so I did, trying not to second guess if it was the right thing to do. I still hadn’t confirmed which day he would come back, so we agreed on the following Sunday, then he slid his body down into the low slung seat of his very sexy car. When we had come round the front of it, I had spied the distinctive Aston Martin winged emblem. A very expensive car indeed. It suited him, but it didn’t suit the country life I lived.

As he pulled away from the curb, I gave a pathetic half wave goodbye and watched as his car moved down the street and spotted two figures walking towards me. Coming around the corner, holding my mum’s hand was Isla and she gave Bastian a far more enthusiastic wave than I had managed.

Bastian slowed to a standstill beside her, and I watched my outgoing daughter chatter away confidently with him. The only small consolation in the scenario was that I was managing to raise her as an independent, confident individual untouched by the drama that had brought her into the world.

I sighed, and headed back into the house, not wanting to witness any more of their exchange, even from this distance. I could hear Isla laughing. She liked Bastian and this sucked. Because she was going to be hurt when he disappeared from her life as quickly as he had appeared. I never should have agreed to the picnic.