Lured into Lies by Melanie Martins
Chapter 16
De Haar, November 27, 2020
Petra Van Gatt
“So? What do you think about hosting your wedding reception here?” Julia asks as we pace around the grandiose neo-Gothic ballroom in the Kasteel de Haar—restored by Hélène de Rothschild in the nineteen century, the castle dates all the way back to the middle ages and has become a reputed address to host private events over the years. There are so many carefully planned and perfectly executed details that make this place so special; from the richly ornamented woodcarvings, to the walls filled with old Flemish tapestries and oil paintings, to the coffered ceiling… Picturing my wedding here feels like stepping into a fairytale that not even my wildest imagination could have thought possible. “Here you could have the wedding cake,” she gestures at the right end of the room, “and over there, the band so that you have plenty of space left for the dance floor.”
Still taking in my surroundings and the immensity of the place, I’m left with only three words, “It’s absolutely perfect!”
“I’m glad you like it,” she says, her beautiful smile on display. “It’s Alex who suggested to do it here actually.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, he even asked to Sebastian to book this venue for your birthday. So we did it.”
“Oh, wow.” I remain looking around, still barely believing that in a few days I’m gonna get married here. Then my eyes land on Julia, and I can see hers glittering with emotion as she keeps observing me with a broad smile. “Thank you so much for everything,” I whisper to her before opening my arms and embracing her tightly.
Julia gasps a bit, but she returns the sentiment by clasping her arms around me. “You're most welcome, my dear.”
After releasing her, my gaze drifts to Margaret who walks into the ballroom, her expression deeply stoic and serious. She seems to be observing every little detail of the room, from the ceiling to the floor.
“It’s a great place to celebrate your birthday and sign the paperwork,” Margaret begins as she walks toward us. “But unfortunately, not to host the official wedding reception.”
“What?” Julia and I ask at the same time.
“How come?” Julia takes over, sounding even offended. “What does that mean? I had mine here and loved it.”
“I understand,” Margaret answers back, her tone just as cold. “But this venue is unfortunately too small to host all the expected guests.”
“Too small?” Now I’m the one asking, deception settling deep in my heart. “Our guide just told us this castle is the biggest in the country.”
“Yes, darling. But it can’t host a dinner for eight hundred people.”
“Eight hundred?” Julia repeats as I remain mute, my heart frozen at the news. “Don’t you think eight hundred is way too many?”
“We have a lot of clients, friends, and acquaintances who are looking forward to attending,” Margaret replies with her tone just as uptight.
While Julia is looking at her mom with deep concern in her eyes, I try to mimic Margaret’s indifference and stoicism. I don’t want her to see how much her decision is hurting me. Yet, all I can think of is how a wedding with eight hundred people is a horrible, horrible idea! It will be just like those corporate gala dinners my dad used to host: extremely anti-personal and with a multitude of people who couldn’t care less about him. Why does my wedding need to be like that? It’s my wedding for fuck’s sake! As I’m about to protest, Margaret glances at her watch and turns in the direction of the door, saying, “Well, let’s go, we have lunch with a few guests today.”
But before Margaret can leave the room, Julia steps in. “Do we?”
Margaret turns her head back to us and gives us a polite smile—the type of smile that hides everything you would rather say but don’t because it’s not appropriate. “Yes, Julia. We do.”
“May I know who?” Julia asks once more, resulting in Margaret sighing at her.
“You’ll see.”
* * *
The drive back to the estate has been way too silent. And it’s not even a peaceful type of silence, but a painfully uncomfortable one. As we each remain quietly watching out of our respective windows, Julia seems to be holding a grudge against her mom while I’m trying to figure out what to do to avoid having a reception with eight hundred guests. I loved De Haar. The neo-Gothic castle is perfect for an intimate reception with only our closest friends and family members. Plus, the guide who showed us around told me the main hall could host a dinner for one hundred-ten guests, which seems pretty reasonable for me. Looking at Julia, who’s sitting beside me in the backseat, I feel tempted asking her how she managed to have a small wedding without her mom stepping in and inviting more people. But Margaret is sitting right in front of us beside the driver, so I refrain from doing so.
“Here we are,” Margaret announces as the car finally steps onto the driveway of the estate.
Once we arrive in front of the manor, I notice two new cars parked a bit farther away. They are most likely from the guests we will have lunch with.
Without saying a word, we exit the car, except for Margaret who waits for the driver to go and open the door for her. My gaze lands on Clarissa, who steps outside and welcomes us back, before informing us that the guests have arrived. As we get into the sumptuous entryway, my attention goes to the two guests standing a bit farther away on my right and talking to the butler. One is an older man with white hair, sporting a black suit with a clerical collar and the other, a woman maybe on her mid-fifties, tanned with short black hair.
Their gaze goes from Stuart to us, and Margaret is the first to greet them. “Thank you so much for waiting,” she begins as we walk toward them. Then she and Julia give them a long, energetic handshake before Margaret gets to introduce me. “Sharon, Gerard, this Petra, my son’s fiancée,” she says with a perfect joyful expression.
I give them a polite smile in return and a quick hi before Gerard takes over.
“Ah, here she is!” he replies immediately, his tone quite enthusiastic as we shake hands. “Congratulations! You have no idea how happy Margaret was when she called me.”
“Petra, Gerard De Korte, a long-time friend of mine and the current bishop of Utrecht.” Oh, so that’s the famous bishop Alex and Julia talked about.
After exchanging a few words with him, Margaret’s attention lands on the other woman in order to introduce me to her. “And this is Sharon, the mayor of Utrecht, who will do the civil ceremony.” The civil ceremony? So we’ve got two ceremonies?
“Congratulations, you must be quite excited for the big day.” Sharon is wearing a very enigmatic smile that I can’t help but mirror as we shake hands.
After exchanging a few words with her, I notice Gerard glancing around; he seems to be searching for something. “Alex isn’t here yet?”
“Oh, still in New York, unfortunately,” Margaret answers before I can even do so. “But he should be back next week.” Then she starts pacing ahead of us. “Aren’t you all hungry? Let’s continue at the table.”
And while Julia seems to be well trained at hiding her internal feelings and emotions, I can sense she wasn’t in the mood for a lunch with a mayor and a bishop.
“Thank you. Of course,” I answer and, looking at our two guests, I ask, “Um… so we will need two ceremonies?”
“Correct, here in the Netherlands you need to be civilly married before doing a religious ceremony,” Sharon explains. The idea of doing two ceremonies seem quite odd to me, but at least now I understand Margaret’s comment about De Haar and signing the paperwork.
We quietly take our seats, and the conversation flows from the weather to the wedding, before it focuses on me. “Margaret told me you were also in finance?” Sharon begins, and I can tell by her question that Margaret left it pretty open.
“Yes, um, I also have my own fund, but it’s in art,” I tell them, unsure what Margaret told them exactly.
“Oh, that’s amazing,” Sharon says. “You also work at Gatt-Dieren, then?”
“Well, I was only there for an internship. My fund is not attached to the firm and, um, I’m also in college still.”
“In college?” Gerard asks, cocking his head to the side. “How old are you if I may ask?”
I see Julia giving a long gulp on her water, averting eyes with everyone.
Old enough to marry, the answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t think it’s prudent to be rude toward my future officiants. “I’m turning nineteen on my wedding day,” I tell them for the sake of politeness.
While Sharon gapes at me without any bother, Gerard nearly chokes on his wine. And Margaret just chuckles at the whole thing.
“Excuse me?” the bishop asks, blinking twice. I wonder if he didn’t hear my answer or if he’s just uttering those words instinctively. “Um, that’s… well, that’s a very bold move for your age.”
“I must say I’ve never officiated a marriage with a bride so young.” Sharon tries to ease herself with a gulp of her wine too. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” She then offers me a pleasant smile, trying to light up the mood.
Gerard, on the other hand, still seems pretty shocked and confused. He removes his glasses, takes a tissue from his pants pocket and starts cleaning them softly. “Well, I did officiate a marriage with a very young bride once…” My heart starts pounding faster and faster at the anticipation of his next words. He puts his glasses back on and looks at Julia, his lips curving up. “And that was twenty years ago.” His gaze meets mine again, and he waits, gauging for my reaction. “I didn’t think I’d have to do it again, to be honest.” I frown at his directness and wonder why on earth my age is such a big deal to them.
“Which is why I wanted to bring you both here,” Margaret takes over, trying to ease the mood. “It’s important for me that you are both comfortable with it. I know it’s a very young age, but by what I have seen, Petra has got her head on her shoulders and is pretty certain of her decision.”
But why do they need to be comfortable with it in the first place? It’s not a crime to get married at nineteen. I understand Margaret wants to be agreeable and diplomatic, but my age is none of their goddamn business! All of a sudden, though, my iPhone starts ringing, and by the ringtone, I know it’s Alex. Thank God for that! I excuse myself and leave the table discreetly, making my way out of the dining room and through the corridor. As he spots me walking down the hallway, the butler Stuart gestures me to go to the petit salon as he opens me the door and invites me in.
Once I’m left alone, I call him back, and my face beams with joy upon hearing my fiancé. “Good afternoon, Ms. Van Gatt…” Oh gosh, I’ve missed him so much. “How have you been? Are you enjoying the Netherlands?”
“Good morning, Mr. Van Dieren,” I answer, playing along, yet my tone comes off way too sugary and slutty for my taste. Clearing my throat, I aim for a steadier one before proceeding. “Um, yeah, your mom has been a great host.”
“I can imagine, she must be on cloud nine having you there.” His tone is delightful and, I must admit, my lips twist into a smile knowing that at least one of our mothers is happy with our upcoming marriage. “Did you visit De Haar yet? The castle where Julia and Sebastian hosted their wedding reception?”
My heart speeds up as I recall how much I loved it. “Yes, we went there this morning actually. The ballroom and the main hall are to die for, and the neo-Gothic style, the tapestry, the library, the chandeliers, everything is so beautiful there. Plus all the gardens were already covered with snow.”
“Perfect. We can host our reception there, if you want.”
I wish I could match his excitement, but instead I say, “Um, your mom doesn’t seem to like the idea.”
“Why not?” Alex asks. And I’m glad he did so because this is something we need to talk about.
“Well, um, she said it’s too small for our wedding.”
“Too small?” he repeats back, audibly surprised, and most likely unaware what Margaret is up to. “That’s like one of the biggest castles in the entire country.”
“I know…”
“How many people does my mom want to invite?”
I give a quick glance around the room making sure no one is listening, and lowering my voice, I say, “Well, too many for my taste.”
“Petra…” his tone is insistent, but I’m not sure how to tell him the rest. “How many?”
I let out a sigh, hesitating whether or not to go ahead. “Like eight hundred or something.”
“Jeez!” he shouts instantly. “Are you sure about that?”
“Unfortunately,” I reply, keeping my voice just above a whisper. “She told me that this morning.” I pause for a bit as I start pacing around the salon. “And she also confirmed there will be eight hundred guests at the St. John’s cathedral.” I take a deep breath in and out, taming my growing anxiety. “There will be so many people…” Despite letting my words trail off, the frustration and fear in my voice are quite palpable. “People I don’t even know, people I’ve never met before.” I go and open the window at the end of the room to take in some fresh air, my throat tightening at only the thought of the reception. “I thought we’d be doing a smaller reception like Julia and Sebastian did. You know, with our friends and family.”
“Well, I thought the same,” he answers back. “Eight hundred people at our wedding reception is ridiculous.” I can hear Alex drawing out a breath as he thinks something through. “I’ll have a talk with her.”
“Thanks…” Biting my bottom lip, I then ask, “When are you coming? It’s not the same without you here…”
“Are you missing me that much?”
His tone awakens something in me that spikes my body heat, and I can’t even control my growing smirk. “A bit…”
“Just a bit?”
A flush of heat surges through me, altering my breathing. “A bit more,” I mumble.
“I’ll call you back later in the evening. Make sure when you go to your bedroom to lock the door, alright?”
His question makes my curiosity spark, and I feel tempted to ask him what he’s got in mind straight away. But instead, and knowing I’ve got to go back inside before Margaret gets mad at me, I simply say, “Um, okay…”
Hearing a few knocks on the door, I know it’s time for me to finish our call. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.”
“Alright, speak soon.”
After hanging up, I leave the petit salon escorted by Stuart back to the dining room, and slide on my seat as discreetly as possible. Despite not making a sound, Margaret notices me straight away. “Is everything alright?”
“Perfect,” I answer abruptly, before taking my cutlery to continue eating.
Aiming to avoid further questioning, I focus on cutting my food, never raising my eyes to look around.
“Petra?”
But it seems like my approach didn’t work.
“Yes?” I look up at Margaret first before noticing that everyone else is also focused on me.
“Do you know if Roy is coming to the wedding?” she asks. “We’ve asked him to send us his guest list a few days ago, but he hasn't answered yet.”
Oh, the question. Who knows if Dad is coming or not? Maybe Mom will tell him not to go at the very last minute, who knows…
“I think so,” I tell them. Despite knowing he wants to, Mom can perfectly forbid him to go, and knowing him as I do, he might even comply with her. The likelihood that none of my parents might attend my wedding creates a knot in my stomach, ending my appetite. My mouth drying up, I take some water to ease myself, and I swallow through the fear stuck in my throat.
After lunch, I manage to excuse myself and retreat to a quiet corner of the dining room. Standing alone by the window, I watch the rain falling on the driveway and gardens. Most people might hate rainy days, but I love them. To me, it’s the perfect weather to get some reading done. After all, my exams are less than a month away…
“Beautiful day, huh?” I hear Gerard jokingly asking as he walks in my direction. My attention goes to him, and I give him a brief smile in return, before giving a quick glance at the outdoors.
“I love rainy days,” I tell him. “So, yes, to me, it’s a beautiful day.” There’s a small pause as I remember something fond. “When I was fifteen, my dad took me on a trip to Barbados, and despite being told we were on the dry season, it started raining all day long. Dad didn’t stop complaining the whole trip about the weather until a local told him for them rain is a blessing and they actually welcomed it with open arms.” I let out a sigh, thinking how old this trip seemed to be. “For some, rain can be terrible, but for others it’s a true blessing.”
Gerard stands beside me and following my gaze, he also briefly glances outside to the soaked driveway. “That’s a great way to look at marriage.”
I can’t help but chuckle as he unmasked my analogy so quickly. I mean, it was quite obvious in the first place.
But Gerard doesn’t say a word as he keeps staring out of the window. And with my curiosity taking over, I ask, “Why are you so, um, defensive about officiating our marriage?”
He gives me a big smile, which I haven’t seen before. “Apart of the bad press I will get? It’s a moral conflict too.”
The bad press?I’m totally baffled by his answer, but instead I just say, “A moral conflict?”
“You are turning nineteen, and he’s forty-one,” the bishop says, giving a quick chuckle. “If I didn’t know Margaret so well, I’d have never even entertained the idea to do the ceremony.”
“Julia and Sebastian also have a big age gap, no?” I say.
“Yes, which is why at first I declined to marry them.” I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not by his statement. “There was not only a big age gap but Julia was also just nineteen,” he explains. “And to me that was wrong on so many levels.” Wow. My mom would’ve loved to meet this bishop. They think exactly alike.
“So what made you change your mind?”
“Well, Margaret asked me to think about it and to keep an open mind. So that’s what I did, and after some pondering, I accepted. But I told myself this would be an exception.” There’s a small pause as the bishop keeps staring at the rain pouring outside. “And frankly, I didn’t expect to repeat it.”
Despite my many attempts, just like with Mom, I can’t understand why they are so against young adults getting married. Is it that morally wrong? “If I may ask, why are you so against young people getting married?”
“Because marriage is a lifetime commitment, and it requires a lot of maturity,” he answers. “Maturity that most people don’t have at nineteen.” And before I can add my two cents to the discussion, he adds, “Nearly half of the marriages in this country end in divorce. The least I can do is make sure the couple knows what they are up to.”
“Well, I can’t blame you for that,” I tell him. “My parents and his are part of such stats.”
“Which is why I’d rather marry couples that are in their mid-thirties and that have spent a considerable amount of time together.”
I frown at his comment, and I can’t help saying, “But that doesn’t mean it won’t end up in a divorce anyway. Despite getting married at a young age, Julia seems to be pretty happy.”
Gerard instantly turns to look at her as she stands on the other side of the dining room discussing with Sharon and Margaret. “Yes, I believe she is.” Then as his stare lands back on me, his lips twists into a big smile, and I wonder what he’s thinking. “And you seem to be a lot like her, which is why I will open an exception once more.”
My brows raise up at his announcement, and mimicking his smile, I say, “Thank you, I truly appreciate that.”
“When Alex comes back, I’d love to take you both out for lunch. I mean, whenever you both have time.” My mouth nearly falls at his invitation, but he seems dead serious. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, well, um, that’s a great idea, thanks.”
“Well, see you soon, Ms. Van Gatt.”
And we shake hands wholeheartedly before he goes.
“See you soon.”
* * *
After dinner, while Emma and Yara are still engrossed in conversation at the dining table, I make my way to the petit salon, my current read in hand. The lights in the manor are low for the evening, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. I settle into the leather sofa, tucking my bare feet underneath me and cracking the novel open.
This room seems to have been tailor-made to enjoy a good read. The dark cherry wood of the walls, thick carpet, and heavy leather furniture is nice, but it’s the sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows with their curtains wide open that really catches my attention. There’s just enough of the setting sun’s light left to illuminate the fat, lazily falling snowflakes as they add a new dusting to the already snow-covered ground.
I had only just become really engrossed in my novel when I feel my iPhone vibrating in the pocket of my jeans. Pulling it out, my heart speeds up seeing Alex’s name flash across the screen. Jeez, we might have been together for a while, but even seeing his name pop up on my phone still gives me butterflies.
“Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt.”
“Hey,” I can't keep the smile out of my voice. “What are you up to?” I glance quickly at my watch, realizing it should be around three p.m. now in Manhattan.
“I’m in bed, thinking about you…”
His unexpected answer sends a wave of heat to my cheeks. “In bed? Isn’t it too early for that?” I ask, my tone playful.
I hear him chuckling at my question, and I love the sound coming from his mouth as he does so. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Something for me?” I repeat, curiosity thick in my voice. “What is it?”
“It’s on your nightstand,” he says simply. “Go on, hurry up. I want you to see.”
Feeling giddy despite myself, I quickly pad down the marble hallway, my feet silent on the floor as I hustle to my bedroom. The marble floor has chilled me, but when I open my bedroom door I am suffused in warmth. After locking the door behind me, I am delighted to see that a fire had been lit, bathing the room in warm orange light. To my surprise, there’s a fresh bouquet of roses in a vase on the bedside table, along with a tiny gift bag stuffed with tissue paper.
“Hold on, let me put my AirPods in, so I can open it.”
I jump onto the bed, sending decorative pillows flying, and crawl across to the bedside table, putting my AirPods in. I can hear Alex breathing on the other end of the line as I tear the tissue paper from the bag, and I pull out a small glass bottle with a pump on the top. At first, I think it's a perfume bottle, but on closer inspection…
“Is this what I think it is?”
“I don’t know. Do you think it’s lube? Because if you do, then yeah, it’s what you think it is.”
I don't get why he bought me lube when he is thousands of miles away, but he quickly fills in the blanks for me.
“If I can’t be there to touch you, then you’re going to do it for me,” he rumbles low in his throat, and his voice has my skin raising in goosebumps. “You’re going to relax and do it exactly how I instruct you to, alright?”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I can’t contain the parting of my lips. Alex might have had his hands and mouth on every inch of my body, but masturbating myself under his command isn’t something we have ever done before.
“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” I huff. “And it’s annoying that you know me so well.”
His laugh runs across my nerves, soothing my anxiousness a bit. “Undress. I want you in just your panties when you do this.”
“Do you want to video call me?” I think maybe I’d be less panicky if I can see his face, the look in his eyes when I undress, but he makes a sound of disagreement.
“No, Miss. I just want to hear your voice.”
I’m still blushing when I strip down to my panties, the heat of the fire warming my pale skin and turning it rosy from the flames.
“I, uh, I’m undressed,” I squeak.
“Describe it for me.”
I crawl back onto the bed, lay my head on one of the fluffy pillows and close my eyes, letting the ambiance of the room wash over me. The idea of him in our bed, waiting for me to describe my surroundings and naked body, sends a rush of adrenaline through me that I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’m in bed, on top of the covers. Clarissa made me a fire, and it’s the only light in the room,” I lower my voice to a sultry whisper, “And, um, I’m wearing the black lacy panties you like. I put them on this morning because I was thinking of you.”
“Are you wearing a bra?”
“No,” I tell him.
“Are your nipples hard?”
“N-not really. It’s pretty warm in here.”
“Then touch them for me, baby. Run your fingers around them and tell me how it feels.”
I realize he had never called me baby before. I never did it either. Maybe because of the age difference, we never took the risk, but I actually love it. Licking my lips, I follow his direction, running my fingers in slow circles around my bare nipples until they harden into tight peaks. The sensation sends tingles from the tips of my breasts, down through my belly to my core, and my pelvis arches at my growing pleasure, heat flooding between my legs. My breath is becoming heavy when Alex speaks up again. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” I breathe as I keep the pace. “Really good.”
“Now, grab the gift I got you and put some on your fingers. I want you to rub it over your clit until you’re nice and slick for me.”
Oh, gosh, I’m way too self-conscious for that. I start to sit up and try to protest, “Alex.”
“Don’t you start,” he ripostes quickly. “Don’t I always make you feel good?”
“Yes, but I’m here at your Mom’s place…” I look around trying to find another excuse for my uneasiness.
“Trust me on this.”
I exhale deeply, knowing those fears are all in my head and they are preventing me from enjoying an intimate moment with my fiancé. So I make a conscious effort to focus back on us. Yet, my heart is thundering as I grab the bottle and wet my fingertips with the slippery lubricant. I slide my hand down my panties, covering my swollen clit with it. I must have made a small sound because Alex growls on the other end of the line.
“Have you gotten yourself wet for me?”
“Yes,” I gasp out.
“Fuck yes, you have. Now put your fingers on either side of your clit, and rub it for me. I want to hear the sounds you make when you touch yourself.” His voice is getting rougher, more clipped with arousal, and despite how nervous I was, it fills me with a deep desire to make myself come. I wish he was here, telling me all these filthy words in my ear, guiding my hand to touch myself the way he wants, but just hearing his voice would have to do for tonight.
I put some more lube on my fingers before sliding them down my belly and onto my pussy, spreading my outer lips until I have a finger resting on either side of my clit. I’m trembling, flushed from lust, but unable to deny my growing rapture. I move my hand, fingers putting pressure on the little, sensitive nub, ratcheting my pleasure up and up. I’m not sure if it’s because of the lube or not, but the stimulation drenches me even more than usual, my mind starts loosening up, and instinctively, I start moaning and rush, pushing myself toward my climax as quickly as I can, until Alex stops me.
“Slow down. Relax, Petra, enjoy yourself.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, slightly embarrassed for trying to get off so fast.
“Close your eyes. One hand playing with your nipples, the other on your clit. Slow. Soft. Think about how it feels when it’s my tongue between your legs.”
I groan at the thought, keeping my eyes closed and replaying the erotic memory in my mind. His head between my thighs, the way his tongue sucks and blows on my little nub, the slurpy sound he makes when he eats me… I swirl my fingers around my clit, my pussy throbbing as I think about him. “Ah…” My pelvis arches at the climbing heat, and it feels good, so damn good.
I’m panting when I hear the sound of flesh on flesh on Alex’s end of the line. “Are you…?”
“Jerking myself off while I talk to you?” he asks roughly, “Yeah, I am. I can hear how wet you are, and it’s got me so fucking hard.”
“Alex,” I keen. Thinking about him touching himself in our bed is almost too much. Oh my gosh, then I imagine sucking him, feeling his cock throbbing in my mouth and tasting his hot cum on my tongue. “Oh, yes…” An orgasm is starting to wind inside of me, a taut wire getting closer and closer to snapping. I pinch my nipple with my free hand, my fingers rub my clit fully now, the lube preventing any resistance.
It feels so good, almost too good, and with my eyes scrunched closed and Alex’s heavy breathing in my ears, I can almost believe that he is with me, looming over my nude form, hot breath on my neck as he whispers dirty instructions. My body is on fire with his words and the pleasure I am giving myself at his command.
“Fuck yourself with your fingers,” he grits out. I sit up against the headboard, keeping one hand on my clit, and slowly, agonizingly so, dip two of my fingers into my pussy, using the lube from earlier.
“Fuck yes,” I whisper as I fuck myself, the lurid sounds filling the room. I know Alex can hear them too, and thinking about him stroking himself as I masturbate gives me such a rush. My legs are quivering within minutes, and my climax is curled tight in my belly.
“I’m so close,” I tell him, and I’m rewarded with his moan. I always love hearing his reactions to me, and knowing I can turn him on so much just with my voice makes me feel so powerful. A confident, flawless goddess, bringing her fiancé pleasure from thousands of miles away.
“Petra,” Alex hisses between his teeth, “Say my name when you come, I want to hear it.”
I don’t respond, fully engrossed in my own gratification now. Sweat is beading on my forehead, and my moans come freely, unencumbered by any shame or hesitancy. My focus is single-minded: come, and make Alex come at the same time. I arch my back, pressing into the headboard, legs jerking with the nearness of my orgasm.
“I’m gonna come,” I pant, and the harsh breath that I hear Alex take is enough. The wire inside me snaps, and I’m coming, the rush of sensation exploding from my center into my limbs, all the way to my fingers and toes, crawling up my spine. My body is drawn tight as I call out Alex’s name. I’m wracked with shudders, feeling my channel spasm around my fingers as I work my orgasm out until the end. Somewhere in the middle of it, I hear Alex’s muffled curse, followed by my name, and I know he is coming too, spilling all over his clenched fist.
Feeling a rush of confidence brought on by my climax, I ask him, “Are you coming for me, baby?”
“Only for you, Petra,” he breathes, sounding like he has run a marathon. I know how he feels.
I melt into the bed, boneless, my body tingling and hot.
“Alex, that was—” All of a sudden though, the land-phone resting on my nightstand starts echoing across the room, pulling me back from lusty-land. “Shit,” I mutter.
“What’s going on?”
“Um, one sec…” I remove my AirPods and pick the landline. “Yes?”
“Hi, Petra, sorry to bother you, but Lady Margaret would like to see you in her office. May I escort you there?” Oh, it’s Clarissa, the lady’s maid.
“Um, yes, give me a few minutes, please.” After hanging up, I take my iPhone, disconnect my AirPods, and say to Alex, “I have to go.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my tone though. “Your mom wants to see me.”
“Alright,” he mutters as he regains his breath. “Good luck, then. Call me afterward.”
“I will.” After I hang up, I go to the bathroom to splash some fresh water on my face, then grab my clothes and dress myself again. Not surprisingly, a few knocks on the door ensue, and as I leave the room, I find Clarissa patiently waiting for me. Fortunately, she doesn’t pay attention to my blushed cheeks.
As I follow her across the corridor, I can’t help wondering what Margaret could want to talk about. If she wants to see me in her office, then it must be something quite important, or else we’d have met in the petit salon or in the Picasso room like last time. Maybe it’s about the wedding reception and the eight hundred guests. Oh gosh, I can’t let this happen. The simple thought of it makes my stomach knot. We stand in front of a door, and Clarissa knocks a few times before hearing an approval to come in. She twists the handle, cracks the door open, and invites me in. My eyes alight on Margaret sitting in her desk chair, glasses on, and reviewing some documents.
“Did you call me?” I ask, since she is still focused on the file between her hands.
“Yes, please come in,” she instructs, not moving an inch.
As I do so, I can’t help but take in my surroundings and admire the beautiful coffered ceiling, the wood paneled-walls adding warmth and elegance to the room, and the shelves filled with countless books. “Nice office,” I find myself praising as I pay closer attention to her hardbacks collection.
“Gerard liked you a lot,” Margaret says. Yet, her attention remains on the file as she finishes to read it.
“I liked him too,” I reply, walking toward the sofa where I decide to sit. “He seems pretty cool.”
“He is.” She looks up at me, her lips curving up. “After the hardship he gave us with Julia, I’m glad he was easier to convince this time around.”
“I never thought a priest could refuse marrying someone based on age, to be honest. I mean, as soon as you are over eighteen, it’s none of their business.”
“They are under no obligation to marry you either,” Margaret snaps, closing the file. “If they believe you aren’t mature enough for such commitment, they can and have refused.” She then removes her eyeglasses, cleans the lenses softly with a lining, and puts them back into their case. “I understand him. Most nineteen year olds nowadays are still kids trapped in adult-looking bodies.”
“Gerard mentioned marrying us could bring him bad press,” I venture. “What did he mean by that?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Margaret finally leaves her desk chair and sits beside me, her expression welcoming and warm. “The Catholic media will always find something to trash.”
I blink twice at her statement, and narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Is there a thing as the Catholic media?”
“Of course,” she utters, like it was obvious. “It’s a sort of Gossip Girl meets the Vatican.” And I’m impressed that she even knows about this American TV show in the first place. “Now,” Margaret starts observing me attentively, before her voice breaks through the room with four little words, “Alex spoke to me.” My stomach drops when I meet the seriousness in her eyes. “If you’ve got a problem with how I handle the preparation of the wedding you can be direct and tell me, you know. There’s no need to go behind my back.”
My eyes dip down, a bit embarrassed to have done so. It was obvious she’d confront me about it. “I, um,…” I rub my arm with my hand, shying away from the conversation.
“I understand you want to do something more intimate with only your closest friends and family, but we have a lot of clients and stakeholders who need to be present,” she points out. “This is an important event and a great occasion to show our respect and appreciation to many families.”
Tired of hearing the same argument over and over, I step in and say, “I know, but I really want to do something smaller and—”
“Which is why we’ll do the civil wedding at De Haar on your birthday,” she reminds me, cutting me off. “It’d be a private reception just like you want, only with friends and family.” My jaw flexes at her behavior, but I remain steadily looking at her as she proceeds. “But the next day, we do the official ceremony at St. John’s and a big reception at the Beurs van Berlage.”
Well, it’s seem like Margaret is determined in having a big wedding, whether I like it or not. “And Alex agreed to it?”
“He did,” she says proudly. “My son is a reasonable man. He knows we have to.”
I’m left totally speechless at her answer. Why didn’t Alex tell me anything about it, though? Oh! Maybe that’s why he wanted to make me come over the phone, so that I’d feel less stressed and anxious once Margaret delivered the news.
“So, um, I’ll need two wedding dresses then?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, Monday we will take you to try them on.” Since she already has everything planned and arranged, I don’t see how I’ll manage to change her mind now. I heave a sigh, although not too loud, my eyes drifting down to my lap as I consider her. “Petra,” Margaret reaches down and rests a hand on mine. And as I look at her, she says, “I understand you don’t like big receptions or being the center of attention, but it’s just a few hours of your time and to me, it’d mean the world.” She pauses, gauging for my reaction.
“Alright,” I mutter, trying to get used to the idea of having eight hundred pairs of eyes following my every move as I walk down the aisle of the cathedral.
“Great.” Her face glows with a big smile, and she takes the black rectangular box that is resting on the low table in front of us. “This is for you.” I look at her, perplexed as to why she’s giving me a gift. “Go ahead, open it.”
After doing so, my eyes alight on a long quill feather pen, nibs, and ink set. “It’s so beautiful,” I utter, as I softly rub a fingertip on the feather.
“Have you ever used one before?”
“Um, not that I recall,” I tell her, my eyes focused on the different shades of blue present on the long feather, from the darkest blue to a beautiful turquoise by the nib.
“It’s a tradition to sign our marriage certificates with a quill feather pen and then transmit the set to the next generation,” Margarets tells me. “After all, it’s a signature that marks a new chapter in your life.” There’s some melancholia in her voice that makes me smile. “I mean, it had a bigger impact a few generations ago, but…” The more she talks, the more uncomfortable she seems to get. “Anyway, it’s something that Alex’s late grandmother gave me, and I wanted to give it to you too.” It’s rare seeing Margaret displaying so much vulnerability. After all, unlike Hendrik, she’s way more reserved and rigid. But it means the world when she does so. A pity she doesn’t do it more often.
So I take this opportunity to get to know her a bit better. “May I ask you, um, a very private question?”
“Sure.”
“What made you feel Hendrik was the one, when he still was?” I venture.
“Oh,” she utters in surprise. I know she wasn’t expecting it. “Well, let’s say he was everything that I’m not,” she replies.
“Such as?”
“He cares a lot about people.”
My eyes widen, a bit astonished at her answer, but at least she is honest about it. “And you don’t?” The question rolls off of my lips before I could even prevent it. Fortunately, Margaret gives me a side smile, not really bothered by it as she thinks something through.
“I care about those I love,” she explains. “But Hendrik is different.” She then uncrosses her legs, switching positions on her seat. “One time we were in Florida with our respective families, and Hendrik asked me out on a date,” she begins. “It was our very first date actually.” Amusement settles on her lips as she recalls such memories. “He took me for dinner in a restaurant on the beach, the only one that accepted credit cards at the time. Mind you, in the early seventies, there weren’t many. I guess he wanted to impress me by settling the bill with that thing made of plastic. It was revolutionary at the time. Anyway, we were already at our table outside by the beach, checking our menu when a woman carrying a newborn and a toddler approached us and started asking us for money. Since I didn’t have any cash with me, I declined and resumed checking the menu. Hendrik was only carrying his credit card too, but he couldn’t give her nothing. So he called the waiter and told him to give her food and drinks and to put it on our bill. There was also a small gourmet grocery store linked to the restaurant, and he told her she could take whatever she wanted.” I can’t help but mirror her smile as she speaks. “I’d never seen anyone care for a stranger the way he did.” She pauses for a moment, her gaze drifting away before landing back on me. “The extent he went to to make sure that woman had everything she needed was extremely touching.”
Wow. I’m not sure if she has ever said that to him or not, but I believe Hendrik would have loved to know his sensitivity and caring nature toward others was valued and appreciated, especially given how uptight and cold Margaret can be. As I come to think of it, maybe after years of estrangement and of distancing each one from the other, they became so different that they couldn’t understand what brought them together in the first place.