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Chapter Fifteen
Callum
Once we started up, there was no stopping us. It was like a dyke being opened and the flood crashing in, sweeping away an entire city. Our bodies took over, destroying any coldness or space between us.
Physically, we are a perfect match. Our appetites match one another’s, as does our stamina. I could never be with anyone else after her. They wouldnae compare. Just another reason that I will have her as my bride.
Sure, she agreed to stay and get to know me. Her one non-negotiable term?
Soil for her raised garden beds.
She will be mine. I’m sure of it. But now, I’m not steamrolling her. I’m working. Hard. Fighting to earn her hand.
I’m doing as Freya says, showing my “sweet” side, which means I bring Fiona tea in bed—milk, two sugars, and by milk, she means a quarter cup—I rub her shoulders after a day of gardening, and I listen when she speaks.
It turns out that hearing what a woman says is an entirely different thing from actually listening to her.
Listening means I’m trying to understand her point of view. In the past, I’ve been able to repeat back word for word what a woman had said to me. Now, with Freya’s encouragement, I’ve learned to listen to Fiona.
In life, Fiona’s teaching me I can always take what I want and that I have to work for it. Thus, she’s teaching me patience. Only outside the bedroom, though. All things sex, she’s eager to learn, to please, to be pleasured.
She never turns me down.
I won’t let her work, but she finds her ways to try and earn her keep. I caught her dusting once, put her right over my knee, and spanked her shapely bottom, turning it that pretty blushing pink color she’s so fond of.
Afterward, she turned her attention to making metal stamps for wax seals.
She carves the wood herself, using several sizes of sharp blades set into metal handles, making little pictures of unique places on our island. The cliffs rise behind the part of the shore where we have bonfires. There’s the research center, the low building that burned down last year, the place where she’d studied the habits of cod for so long. Even the codfish himself, which she’s somehow managed to make look beautiful, has a starry design decorating the area behind the fish.
Then, she takes the wood prototype and visits the small shop of a metalsmith she’s made friends with. He takes his time casting her wood into metal and adding a red rubber-wrapped handle for her stamp. She returns a week or two later to collect it.
My guards follow her on all her outings, keeping a distance so she and Freya or any islander friends visiting her can feel free while staying safe on Buchanan Street, Glasgow’s main pedestrianized shopping area and her preferred shopping site.
Thus far, we’ve managed to hold off any curious questions from the island by saying I’m staying here to keep Freya company, which is true. Her da’s been making weekly phone calls, checking in, and staying sober. After hearing how happy she is when they speak, he's been okay with her being here. He’s proud that she stood up to me, denying my forced marriage.
My eyes on the island have confirmed as much.
Our weeks have fallen into an easy rhythm.
Freya might be right; we don’t need a false contract. Fiona is coming around all on her own.
It’s a busy time for Freya at work, but she and Fiona always make time for their Friday night LNO, or lasses’ night in, where they do beauty masks on their faces and such sticky nonsense. Then, the three of us settle in with popcorn, and they laugh at my face while we watch a romantic comedy film.
Then, they have their fortnightly Saturday night GNO with the women from the law firm and any islanders who want to visit. It’s my night off, a quiet evening to listen to my Big Country albums, smoke cigars, and drink whisky while the girls explore the city nightlife, their bodyguards in tow.
Fiona even organized a trivia night out with her Golden Girls from the church circle. The women seem to like seeing Fiona and me together when they gather at our house and board the (guarded) buses that take them to the High Street.
Where the women party their faces off at O’Malley’s.
I’m sure the women from the island feel the heat between us when I hold her in my arms and kiss her goodbye, telling her to “Be good.” I’m sure it reminds them of their younger days, sneaking off with their lovers to kiss by the island's cliffs.
I hope they spread the word that Fiona’s in good hands when they get off that ferry, spread it like the seeds from the Strawberry Grass blooms, floating in the wind.
The weather was perfect today, and she’s been in her garden all day. We’ve got tickets to a comedy show in the city at the Playhouse, a small theater company where Bayne’s brother Eamon first began acting. I’m concerned the humor will be a bit crass for my Fiona, but I’ve chosen the tamest comedian they have.
She’s been to the Playhouse but never a comedy show. First, we’ll have dinner at a sushi bar downtown. Raw fish is another first for her.
I’ll never tire of showing her new things, watching the delight pop into her pretty eyes.
