Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5346512.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_Blacklist_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Elizabeth_Keen/Raymond_Reddington
  Character:
      Elizabeth_Keen, Raymond_Reddington
  Additional Tags:
      Parent/Child_Incest, Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-03 Completed: 2016-06-14 Chapters: 40/40 Words: 106695
****** Daughter ******
by Catherine_Medici
Summary
     Red has spent a decade strengthening his criminal empire. He’s
     finally in a position where he can be a father to his 14 year old
     daughter again. Red returns to Lizzie, taking her from Sam, and their
     relationship gets frighteningly twisty. TRIGGER WARNING, INCEST,
     UNDERAGE SEX. AU
Notes
     An exploration of personal issues. I sincerely suggest you use your
     own judgement on reading this. I don't mean this story to be
     titillating but there will be graphic scenes. Unbeta'd
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
 
===============================================================================
 
“I want her back, Sam.”
His old friend looked at him in shock, trembling in the living room of their
small apartment. His eyes were wide in disbelief, his skin like parchment,
leeched of all color and papery thin, almost translucent.
“You...you can't be serious. You gave her to me to raise. I adopted her. She's
my daughter now.”
“You knew I wanted her to know her heritage.”
“Yes and I've told her all about her Russian roots! Knowing her heritage is
very different from pulling the rug out from underneath her and telling her she
has a new dad, so see ya later!”
“I'm not asking,” he said implacably, his heart aching at making an enemy of
his oldest friend. But his heart had been torn out long before this day. He
wanted his daughter back. His reason for living, his reason for doing
everything he'd done to build his criminal empire since the night of that awful
fire.
“Well, you aren't having her!” He said, beginning to shout. “Get out of my
house.”
Red sighed. “Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I know exactly where
she is now and I can have her taken from her friend’s house as easily as here
and you'll never see her again. I'm offering you the chance to still be
involved in her life.”
Sam swallowed convulsively, his hand reaching out for the wall, seeking
stability while his head swam. “She'll hate you,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Do you want that?”
Red smirked. “I've kept tabs. I know for a fact that she's pretty upset with
you right now. Not letting her go to that party last weekend? Yes I know you
were just being a good parent,” he said, nodding sagely. “But I'm perfectly
capable of playing the permissive father until she comes round. She's my
daughter Sam. My blood. I'm entitled to change my mind.”
Sam shook his head. “I won't let you do this.”
“I keep telling you. You don't have a choice. I've worked for the past decade
to ensure I'm untouchable. The people who came for her that night won't touch
either of us. I have something on them that would change the world if it were
released. And I have money, Sam. I can give her the best of everything. I've
got connections. She can be anything she wants to be, do anything she wants to
do.”
“You can give her those things without taking her away from her father,” Sam
shot back.
Red's face closed off. His friend wasn't listening. He didn't want to take her
by force but he'd do it if he had to.
His daughter. His little girl. The only living child he had left. They'd taken
so much from him but he'd kept her safe. He'd given her up to hide her from
those who would harm her. But now no one would dare. He was a force to be
reckoned with in the criminal world and a wild card to his enemies in the
government. Too wild for them to risk blowing it all up. He had an arrangement
with them and he'd tested it over the years. It was solid. It would hold.
He wanted to be a father again.
“You can have this afternoon to explain. I'll be here tomorrow for her. It's up
to you how this plays out. If you love her, you won't cause her to fear me.” He
paused, looking at Sam’s horrified expression. He felt compassion but he was
determined. If Sam wanted to be involved in her life he was welcome to. He
wouldn't even try and stop her calling him dad. As long as she understood that
he was also her father.
He turned to leave, his heart heavy at the distress he'd caused. Necessary but
regrettable, he thought sadly.
 
===============================================================================
 
Lizzie paced the floor of the living room in their little apartment the next
morning. She wanted to laugh. It felt like this had to be a trick. Was her dad
mad at her? Was this the equivalent of threatening to leave the house without
her when she was little and refused to get in the car because her favourite
cartoon was on TV?
“So, you're just going to let him take me away?” She asked again in disbelief.
Her dad sat on the couch, his face grey with worry. “I can't stop him,
Butterball. He's not...the man I knew anymore.”
She snorted. “You're going to let some random man kidnap me? You're not going
to call the police? I'll kick him in the balls if he tries, you know that
right?”
Sam smiled weakly. “That's my girl,” he croaked.
Jeez, she thought, a tingle of fear shivering down her spine. Her dad looked
terrified.
Her head snapped around as they both heard a rap at the front door.
“Daddy,” she cried out, suddenly feeling very afraid. “I don't want to go with
him.”
“Listen Lizzie,” he said urgently. “Let's just meet him first. He is your
biological father after all. He won't hurt you. He would never hurt you.”
She looked into her dad’s eyes, anxiously scanning his face for tell-tale signs
of a lie. He looked earnestly back at her. Well, he believed what he was saying
at any rate.
Her dad went to answer the door. She sat in his armchair in the corner of the
room, gripping the chair arms tightly. Her position in the room trapped her in
the corner but it also gave her a spot all to herself. He couldn't sit beside
her or anywhere near her.
She watched the door as her father came back into the living room, followed
closely by a man who made her blink. He was younger than she'd anticipated. He
didn't look like someone's dad, with his dark blonde hair roguishly tousled,
his shirt opened a little at the neck, showing off a peek of his chest hair and
his full, sensuous lips open over his perfect teeth in a wide smile.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed, taking a step toward her, his green eyed gaze fixed
on her.
She flinched away as he took a few more steps into the room and he stopped
short, still looking at her as though she were his last meal.
“It's so good to finally meet you,” he said, his voice a deep, honeyed caress.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Dad says you're trying to kidnap me. I'm not going
anywhere with you.”
“Lizzie, stop,” her dad said anxiously.
Raymond laughed easily. “Well, that's an exciting theory,” he flicked the
button of his suit jacket casually open, sitting comfortably on the couch,
meters from her, crossing his legs. His shoes were tan leather, shiny and
expensive looking. She kept her eyes on the shoes, not looking at his face.
“Sam, did you tell Lizzie about that time we convinced Marcia Compton to run
away with us to join the circus?” He turned to Lizzie, smiling warmly. “We got
as far as the next town over on our bikes, Lizzie. Marcia’s dad caught up to us
and gave all three of us the hiding of our lives. Said we’d tried to kidnap his
little girl. Oh my goodness, that's the closest I've ever come to kidnapping
anyone I'm afraid.”
She flicked a look at her dad. He was smiling reluctantly. “Took me a week to
sit down again without wincing and my dad gave me a hiding after I got home as
well,” he admitted.
Raymond leaned forward on the couch, uncrossing his legs. “I'll just bet you're
a spitfire like Sam was, Lizzie. If I had a dollar for every time we got into
trouble...well,” he grinned. “I'd have a few more dollars, that's for sure.”
She cleared her throat nervously. “So you're my dad then?” She asked
hesitantly.
He nodded slowly. “I'm afraid there's a bit to the story and there are some
things neither Sam or I can tell you for your safety but yes, I'm your
biological father,” he said, looking a little nervous as he declared himself to
her.
“Dad said my mom died in the fire where I got this,” she said, holding her
scarred palm out to him. “Who was my mom? Why did you give me up?” She looked
at him, feeling hostile. Her dad had always told her that her birth father
would contact her when she was eighteen but hadn't said more than that. So why
was he here now?
“I think those are questions for another day,” he said, smiling. “For now,
would you be interested in taking a trip with me? I'd love the opportunity to
get to know you. More than anything,” he said solemnly. “I was thinking beach
but we could do mountains. Islands? Heck, we could do Disneyland but you're
probably beyond the age where that would hold your interest.”
She felt a surge of curiosity. He wanted to take her on a holiday? She looked
over at her dad who was standing near the door tensely. “What are you saying
Ray?” Sam asked belligerently. “I want this to be really clear. Are you saying
you'll bring her back to me?”
He laughed incredulously. “Sam, you've done a marvellous job bringing my little
girl up. I'm not going to kidnap her. Goodness! What happened to the level
headed friend I knew? You're not going to deny your daughter an overseas
holiday are you?”
Sam screwed his mouth up sourly. “She doesn't have a passport,” he said.
“Won't need one,” Raymond responded promptly.
She frowned. “For an overseas holiday I'm going to need a passport,” she said,
rolling her eyes at him. “Are you stupid or something?”
He laughed delightedly. “No, precious girl, just rich and powerful. I
fly...under the radar.”
Oh, her curiously was fully fledged now. She glanced at her dad again. “Can I
have some time to talk to my dad about this?” She asked.
He glanced at his watch. “Alright, five minutes. My plane is departing shortly.
You have just enough time for a quick chat and to pack your bags.”
He stood from the couch, “I'll be in the car then,” he said, “unless you want
help packing?”
She shook her head, dazed at this whirlwind of a man. He seemed to think this
was a sure thing and the force of his personality and charm had her half
convinced it was going to happen. That she'd actually leave with him.
She looked to her dad as Raymond left the house. They both appeared to be
groping for something to say.
“It’ll be fun,” he said lamely. ”And you can call me every day. Just give him a
chance Butterball. He was my best friend for years. There’s still a lot of ‘ole
Ray left there. He’s had...a rough time of it. He probably won't want to talk
about it but he was injured pretty bad getting you out of that fire.” He passed
a hand over his face wearily. “I’m sorry hon, I wish I’d told you so much of
this a lot sooner. I just...thought I had time.”
She felt an odd excitement. He was her dad, he was mysterious and kinda cool
looking. He looked like a playboy, he was rich and wanted to take her on a
holiday and he might give her some answers about the fire and her mom.
“I think I’ll go,” she said slowly. “I mean, it is the summer holidays and If I
don’t like him, I can always come home right?”
He gave her a pained look. “Just do your best to get along with him,” he said.
Well. This was going to be an adventure.
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
“Why don't I need a passport?” She asked, lugging her suitcase along behind him
onto the plane.
“Because I'm a criminal and I use bribery and intimidation to get what I want
with minimal to no questions asked,” he said baldly.
She stopped halfway inside the plane as he said this. He turned around looking
at her stalled half in, half out. She gave him an appraising look. “My dad’s
probably better at being a criminal than you,” she said boastfully.
He laughed at that. A deep, hearty chuckle. She preened. She'd made him laugh.
“Lizzie, Sam is probably the most talented thief I know alive today. So if
success is measured by how skillfully you can remove a man’s gold watch or a
woman's diamond earrings, he'd have me licked for sure,” he acknowledged
handsomely.
“He taught me some things,” she said, testing the waters. Would he be angry
that her dad had taught how how to steal?
“Yes?” He said, seating himself comfortably in a chair and reclining it.
She wandered over to a nearby seat, helping herself to a bottle of water
sitting on a trolley off to the side. She noted the large assortment of
expensive looking alcohol on the trolley. Gin, scotch, bourbon, cognac, and
some sort of Japanese distilled spirit. She threw a look at him, wondering how
far she could push him.
“Can I have a drink?” She asked.
“There's soda on the trolley if you want something other than water,” he
responded, giving her a knowing smile.
“Yeah but, can I have a drink drink,” she said, gesturing to the top shelf of
the trolley where all the alcohol sat. “My dad lets me,” she said craftily.
He laughed. “I doubt that. But perhaps you can have a glass of prosecco when we
arrive in Naples.”
She raised her eyebrows. “We’re going to Italy?” She asked skeptically. “Does
my dad know?” He'd talked briefly with her dad while she'd been packing her
suitcase. He'd gone out to the car and hadn't said what they'd spoken about.
“He knows,” Raymond said smoothly. “Sit, a light lunch will be served soon.”
She sat across from him, watching him cagily. He seemed ill at ease and was
watching her in return, his face showing genuine interest in her every
movement. He watched her like a hawk watches its prey, drinking in her every
move.
It was creepy. But it also felt kind of flattering.
Before long, a steward came from the back of the jet, rolling a trolley that
held a selection of sandwiches and cakes. She picked out one of almost
everything, wolfing her food down. She noticed Raymond kept to a glass of the
fine cognac and didn't eat much at all.
“Not hungry?”
He grimaced, placing his glass on the tray in front of him. “Perhaps I'm just
fortifying myself. A bit of Dutch courage as they say,” he huffed a laugh,
smiling pleasantly at her in a way that made her insides squeeze oddly. “I'm
more nervous than I thought I would be.”
“Nervous? Of me? Why? I don't bite,” she said easily.
“It's been a long time Lizzie, and I want things to be perfect. Will you do
something for me?”
“What?” She asked guardedly.
“Can I hold you?” He requested in a low voice. “Just for a moment. I've…I’ve
held you before, when you were a baby, when you were my little girl.”
Her skin prickled uncomfortably at his words. He was so intense, she didn't
know what to think. She wasn't someone who felt comfortable hugging just
anyone. Only her dad, her grandma and her best friend Candice got physical
affection from her. Not even her aunt June got hugs at Christmas time. She was
funny that way.
And now here was a virtual stranger asking to touch her. She didn't want to.
“No,” she said, unable to keep the discomfort out of her voice. “I don't
feel...I mean I just-”
“It's fine,” he interrupted shortly. “We’re still learning each other. I
understand.”
But he didn't look happy.
The rest of the flight consisted of Raymond reading a book in silence and
Lizzie wandering up and down the aisle and making friends with the steward, a
friendly Icelandic girl who chatted to her for a few hours about boys,
celebrities and places they had traveled.
Lizzie hadn't been out of the state as far as she knew. Her dad had told her
that her mother had been Russian but she assumed her mother had been Russian
American or at least living in America when she was born. She wondered about
that now though. She hadn't banked on her biological father being a rich and
powerful criminal.
It didn't bother her that much, knowing he was a criminal. After all, so was
her dad. He made a living from it. They'd moved around the state a fair bit
until just last year, when her dad had insisted they settle down and she take
her schooling seriously.
But she'd lived the life of a hustler long enough to be fairly comfortable
knowing her biological parent was one too...just on a different scale.
She returned to her seat, watching him read for a few minutes until he looked
up.
“Do you need something?” He asked politely.
“What kind of criminal are you?” She asked with all the bluntness of youth.
He raised an eyebrow, putting his book to the side. “A successful one, why do
you ask?”
“Well I just wondered is all. How come you gave me to Sam?”
It was the first time she'd called him Sam instead of her dad. He responded
well to it, stretching out a little in his chair, the lines of his body
relaxing just a tiny bit. “I had enemies, Lizzie, and you were in danger.
Suffice to say, you were safe as far from me as possible. I regret that you
grew up without me...but Sam kept you safe. That was the only important thing
for me...for you to be safe.”
She nodded. It made sense she supposed. “What kind of enemies?”
He frowned. “It's irrelevant now. And the less you know, the safer you are.
What matters now is that I can offer you a stable life again. There are doors I
can open for you as you grow up. You have so many opportunities now and you'll
be safe with me,” he said, his voice taking on an enthusiastic tinge.
“But this is just a vacation, right?” She said urgently. “You're bringing me
home. You said to my dad that you would.” She was gripping her armrest in
alarm, her body had tensed and she looked ready to dart away, although where
she could have gone, neither of them knew.
“Put your seat belt on Lizzie, we’re coming in to land,” he said. Her caught
sight of her mutinous expression and added, “I'm not going to keep you prisoner
if that's what you're worried about. If you want to go back to Sam, you can, of
course.” He belted himself up and didn't say any more to her until they landed.
===============================================================================
 
The first thing she noticed was the heat. It was like an oven, burning bright
and hot. She was envious of the sunglasses her father whipped out. He looked
cool, calm and collected, while she felt like a sweaty, disheveled mess.
She realized that she had started to think of him as her father somewhere along
the way on the plane. It was strange. Sam didn't feel any less her father. It
was like she had room for both men and Raymond was just settling into the space
she didn't know she'd had.
She was so tired by the time she'd gotten into the car at the airport that she
barely had the energy to muster interest in the blatant bribery going on under
airport officials noses. He didn't even bother landing the plane in a rural or
abandoned airstrip, brazenly flying into Naples airport.
“It's Naples Lizzie,” he said, smiling smugly. “Mafia run this place. We can do
what we want as long as we have the money to pay for it.”
And he had. He was throwing bribes left and right, smoothing their way straight
to a villa on the Amalfi coast. It was dark by the time the limousine deposited
them at their destination. She had never been anywhere further than an hours
plane ride away so a flight and car ride that had taken over ten hours had
wrung her out so completely that she drooped on the doorstep.
She felt sudden and unwarranted tears surfacing. “I wanna go home, I think,”
she sniffled as he saw her inside.
“But we've just arrived, Lizzie,” he said in consternation.
“I don't care,” she wailed, dropping her suitcase heedlessly on the floor. “I
want...I want my own bed,” her tears were running hot down her face and she
forgot she'd told him no, she forgot she didn't hug people she didn't know
well. Her defenses were down as her father gathered her into his arms and held
her as she cried, standing in the hallway of the villa. She burrowed her face
into his chest so she didn't see the housekeeper approach them or Raymond wave
her away.
He was enjoying this. He was surprised to realize it but a tearful Lizzie was
balm to him. He could comfort her, like he had when she was his baby girl. He
urgently signaled for the housekeeper to retreat, a ferocious frown on his
face. He didn't want the woman to spoil the moment with his daughter.
He soothed her with honeyed promises of a boat trip out to the islands the
following day. Of a private beach and jet skiing, fresh seafood and piping hot
pizza.
“Sshh, precious girl, shh, you're just tired Lizzie. Let's get you to bed,” he
said, his arms around her, supporting her sagging frame to a bedroom on the
lower floor. “Here,” he said comfortingly. “Here's your bed, lie down now.
We’ll have fun tomorrow, you'll feel so much better then,”
She curled up on the soft bed, fully clothed with her shoes still on and fell
asleep almost immediately.
===============================================================================
 
It was hours later that she woke up, according to the clock radio on the night
stand. The room was still dark. She was startled to find that her shoes had
been taken off and she was in her pajamas. She flushed hotly. He must have
undressed her while she was asleep. She felt embarrassment but weirdly no
anger, just a strange and unsettling loneliness. She was alone in an unfamiliar
bedroom in a massive house. She didn't know where the bathroom was or where her
father was and she wasn't sleepy anymore. She felt restless.
She went in search of him, banging about on furniture until her eyes adjusted
to the darkness.
She had wandered down a hall and around a corner, poking her head into a few
empty rooms before she found him.
She’d been making enough noise that he'd woken up and called out to her from a
bedroom.
“Lizzie, are you alright?” He called.
She stood in his doorway, the faintest sliver of moonlight from the window
illuminating his bed. She could just see him, a mound under the covers.
“I can't sleep,” she whispered to him, still standing awkwardly in the doorway
of his bedroom. “Can I come in with you?”
He was silent for a moment. “Come on then,” he said in a sleep roughened voice,
flipping back his sheets.
She slipped into bed beside him gratefully, snuggling into him as he put an arm
loosely around her.
It was nice to be held after all.


***** Chapter 3 *****
The housekeeper was a lovely old nonna called Fabiana who only spoke Italian
and Neapolitan. Raymond was able to communicate given his reasonable grasp of
Italian but he was aware that Lizzie didn't speak a word of the language.
He hadn’t intended to isolate her with only himself to talk to but he was
surprised at how good it felt to have her need him, to be reliant on him. He
bitterly regretted his missed years with her, ashamedly admitting only to
himself that he resented Sam for all the time he had to make special memories,
to create a childhood for his daughter. It should have been him at her birthday
parties, hoisting her onto a pony on their summer vacation, slipping coins
under her pillow when she lost her first tooth. He’d lost it all. He was
treading so carefully now, painfully aware that his own flesh and blood was a
little afraid of him and certainly didn’t feel any affection for him yet.
He’d been extraordinarily encouraged when she cried in his arms the night
before. It was something at least.
He looked out onto the ocean now, cup of coffee in hand. He’d been awake for
hours, but then he was used to jet lag. Lizzie would probably sleep a while
longer, her little body curled around the extra pillow he’d left her with to
replace his warmth in the bed.
His thoughts wandered to her sleeping form in the bed he’d deposited her into
when they’d arrived. He had thought he was doing the fatherly thing in removing
her clothes and putting her pajamas on. It was what he’d done with her as a
four year old. It had only been when he pulled her top over her head that he
realised with uncomfortable shock that his daughter had little budding breasts.
She wore a bra, his little girl. He couldn't quite account for why he hadn't
noticed this before.
If he were brutally honest, he knew he was seeing his girl through rose colored
glasses. Still seeing his baby when actually she was a young woman.
By the time he’d realised it was quite possibly inappropriate to be undressing
his teenage daughter, he already had most of her clothes off and it would have
been just as strange or stranger to put them all back on again. At least if she
had any half awake memories of this, she would understand he was only getting
her ready for bed.
His daughter had breasts. Pale pink nipples and the gentle swell of milky white
flesh. His daughter.
He shook his head slightly, anxious to dispel the image. It was natural to be a
little surprised. She’d gone from a tiny four year old to a tall, pubescent
fourteen year old.
He clenched his fist around his cup of coffee, taking a short, sharp breath,
inhaling the salty sea air. Life was going to be good. He had his Lizzie.
===============================================================================
 
The smell of bacon and eggs was what woke her. A delicious breeze wafted in
from the open window. Her dad must have opened the window when he’d gotten up.
She looked about herself now, all groggy from jet lag. The color of the decor
was largely blue and white. The bedspread was a rich, royal blue as were the
curtains. The blinds were a pearly white and the four walls also were a clean,
chalky color.
It was a relaxing scene to wake up to.
She followed her nose, ambling her way through to the kitchen, discovering the
housekeeper monitoring the food over the stove and Raymond relaxing, sprawled
out at the dining room table.
“Morning,” she offered sleepily.
His face lit up as she came into his view. She felt her stomach tighten at
that. She didn't like feeling like someone else's happiness lay so particularly
with her. It made her feel that every awkward action, every tone of her voice,
every expression on her face had to be filtered so as not to wound or cause
misunderstandings.
Who knew she would care so much?
“Would you like to go out on the boat today?” He asked.
She shifted on her feet, standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hands
clasped together, fingers worrying at her scar. “Sure, but I don’t swim very
well. I mean, I can swim,” she amended, “but not very far.”
“Comes of growing up in a landlocked state I suppose,” he said. “If you’d grown
up with me-,” he began but stopped, looking troubled. “Anyway, it will be good
practice for you. The weather is perfect. There's only a light breeze today. We
can go and see the blue grotto,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
It was an awkward breakfast, she sat perched on the edge of her seat, scooping
up her bacon and eggs hungrily, trying to answer his stilted questions about
her schooling, her friends and what she liked to do for fun. Raymond also
introduced her to Fabiana properly.
“She stays in the apartment at the back of the house,” he explained. “Her
daughter and grandson live with her. Rosa takes in washing and Simon just
finished high school. He's learning to sail so he can take tourists out and
make some money.”
She perked up at that. Someone near her own age. “Can I go and introduce myself
after breakfast?” She asked eagerly.
He frowned slightly but turned to Fabiana who was busily washing dishes at the
sink. “Lizzie può andare a incontrare Rosa?” He said in glib Italian.
She nodded and smiled.
“There you go then. I'll take you over after breakfast. Perhaps Simon could
come out on the water with us. He can help with the boat.”
It was a very excited Lizzie that followed him through the back door of the
villa and around the side of their small courtyard to the squat little
apartment where the help lived. She found it a bit odd, having ‘help’ but her
dad seemed to take it as a matter of course so she kept her feelings to
herself.
He rapped on the door, smiling widely when a woman who looked to be in her
thirties opened the door for them. She beamed at Raymond, giving him a big kiss
on both cheeks and exclaiming over him in broken English.
He said something very fast in Italian and she nodded enthusiastically. She
turned and poked her head out of the kitchen door, where she could hear a faint
thud of an axe. Someone was chopping wood in the kitchen garden.
“Simon!” She called out. “Vieni qui. Si può aiutare con del signore Reddington
barca oggi.”
The noise of the axe ceased and a moment later a tanned and muscled boy came
through the kitchen door. He had curly, dark brown hair and forest brown eyes
to match. His hair curled wetly to his head, sweat dripping off his brow. He
was impossibly cute and Lizzie felt a flutter in her stomach and a terrible
tongue tied awkwardness came over her.
“Lizzie, meet Simon,” her dad said, an odd tone to his voice. Perhaps she was
blushing? Oh god I hope not, she thought in mild panic.
Hi, I'm...yeah, I mean I'm Lizzie, of course, I mean that's what he said. So,
yeah. Hi. I’m Lizzie,”
Kill me now, she thought with all the self hatred her teenage heart could
muster. How could she embarrass herself like this? What was wrong with her?
“Pleased to meet you, Lizzie,” he said in beautifully accented English. Her
heart fluttered. She felt like a liquid, not a solid. He was gorgeous. He
looked up at her dad. “Mr Reddington,” Simon said, grinning cheerfully. “Are we
going out on the boat then?”
Her dad was chewing on the inside of his mouth, a slight crease between his
eyes. “Yes, want a bit of practice?” He offered. “You can skipper for us today
if you like.”
Simon agreed, keen to get as much experience with boats under his belt as
possible.
===============================================================================
 
Raymond looked up at the sky, out at the sea, anywhere but at his daughter. She
had emerged that morning from her bedroom in a bikini, ready to go for a day on
the water.
A bikini. Which she filled out just perfectly. He couldn't look at her without
his eyes being drawn to the valley of her breasts. When she turned around and
leant over the side of the boat, eagerly pointing to the dolphins swimming
alongside them, he couldn't help but look at her bottom, her hips only just
starting to curve into womanhood.
He felt odd. This was his little girl, his daughter. She was not a sexual
being. At least not to him.
He smiled warmly at her as she laughed wildly up at the front of the boat, the
wind in her hair, fluttering around her face like some exotic sea sprite.
She was a darling. He couldn't believe he finally had her back. He had to
stifle his urges to catch her up and kiss and cuddle her til she squealed. He
had treasured memories of doing that when she was a toddler. She'd squeal the
loudest when he blew raspberries on her tummy.
He swallowed, imagining himself doing that now. It was a very different
picture.
Grimacing, he passed his hand over his face, as if he were scrubbing away his
thoughts. He was alarmed at the strange way he'd been thinking since he'd
collected her from Nebraska. Perhaps he just needed to spend an evening with a
woman, work some of his energy out. He could leave Lizzie with Fabiana one
night soon and take Rosa out for dinner...it was a thought to file away for
later. He'd like to go over and see what Lizzie and Simon were talking about,
both stretched out at the front of the boat, their heads together.
“...my father is English, he and my mother divorced you see, when I was a
little boy,” he overheard Simon relating his story. “He works at a school in
Scotland now. I see him every second Christmas. It's good, no? To have family
in different places. I have a cousin in Australia and an uncle in Brazil. It
means I can travel, everywhere and have family to visit,” he said with
enthusiasm.
“I haven't been anywhere,” Lizzie said wistfully. “I've always wanted to go to
India and see the Taj Mahal and Paris for the Eiffel Tower.”
“You should have said so, Lizzie,” he broke in from his spot behind them, “we
can go anywhere you like.”
Lizzie turned over from her spot in the sun, reclining back on her elbows to
look at him. She gave him a calculating look. “You’d take me anywhere? What if
I wanted to go to a different place every week? What about every day?” She said
challengingly.
He snorted. “You’d get tired of that pace soon enough but I’m game if you are.”
He stretched out beside her as he was speaking, unwilling to allow Simon to
monopolize her any longer. He wanted his daughter to himself now. He wouldn't
make the mistake of inviting others on day trips again any time soon.
***** Chapter 4 *****
“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Yelled Lizzie suddenly, cannon bombing into the
water over the side of the boat.
She was so like her mother, he thought, his heart twisting. Full of mischief
and cunning. He didn't usually allow himself time for maudlin thoughts but
everything was different now. He wished he'd come for her a little earlier.
Would it have made a difference to her if he'd come the year before? Or the
year before that?
She bobbled up and down in the calm sea as he followed her in, jumping lithely
over the side. “Looks like you're the rotten egg, Simon,” she laughed as she
kicked her legs, shooting out, away from the boat. She wasn't the best swimmer,
but she could swim.
He followed her, his precise breaststroke easily catching up and overtaking
her. He swam lazy circles around her, enjoying her giggles as she tried to race
him and failed spectacularly.
He had swum out quite a way from both her and the boat, he realized, turning
back around to her.
She had stopped racing him and was floating on her back, singing some silly pop
song to herself. He grinned, an idea was forming.
He swam long, languorous strokes around her, coming in closer and closer. Then
he dipped under the water, swimming underneath her and grabbed her by the
middle, dragging her down briefly before letting her up again. He heard her
shrieks even under the water. She hadn't flailed though, instead she gripped
him tightly, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a vine. He erupted from
the surface, gasping with laughter. She wasn't letting go, pressing herself
against him desperately, half sobbing, half laughing.
“Stop it! Stop!” She yelped, water streaming down her face and into her mouth.
She sputtered, holding onto him tighter, as though terrified she was going to
sink.
Her arms were about his neck and her legs were wrapped around his waist. She
was as tight as a clam against him. “Let go, sweetheart,” he said, laughing
gently at her. “You'll sink us both.”
She loosened her grip on him but kept herself nestled into his body. This was
interesting, this was new. She stared at him, their noses almost touching while
he treaded water to keep them both afloat. He felt a painful rush of affection
in his chest. He could see the freckles dusted across her nose. He wanted to
count them, to become familiar with them.
“Why are you wearing a wet-suit?” She asked out of nowhere.
It blindsided him. He'd been self conscious dressing that morning, sure that
she would ask immediately but she hadn't inquired at all, giving his
sleeved wet-suit no more than a cursory glance. It was like she hadn't wanted
to know.
But she was asking now.
“I have...old burn scars that are sensitive to strong light,” he said
reluctantly.
“Dad said you were hurt rescuing me from the fire,” she said hesitantly, “did
you get your burn scars from there?”
His lips thinned. Sam should have kept his mouth shut.
“I did,” he said shortly. Please leave it there sweetheart, he pleaded
silently.
“What happened?” She asked. “How did it start? Dad won’t tell me anything.”
Ah well, give a little, get a little.
“Do you think you could call me dad too,” he asked suddenly. “Not instead of
Sam, but in addition to, and maybe I could see my way to telling you more about
the fire.”
He had begun this hopefully but as he was speaking, her face had fallen and she
disengaged from her grasp of him. “I have a dad,” she said, swimming a few
yards away from him. “I don't need you. You abandoned me.” Her face was a
picture of cool unconcern.
It was a fierce punch in the gut to hear her say it. It was true, but if he had
his time over again, he'd make the same decision. She had been safe for ten
years with Sam. His first few years on the run had been fraught with peril. He
was still surprised he'd lived through it.
He took a large breath and exhaled slowly. This was going to take time. Baby
steps first. She'd come round.
Simon was paddling out to them now, catching Lizzie’s attention. She playfully
splashed water at him. “Raymond thinks he's a shark,” she said to Simon, “look
out, he might drag you underwater!”
He winced at the use of his first name. She was trying to needle him. And he
acknowledged to himself that it was working.
He smiled reassuringly at Simon, who was looking at both of them, an unsure
expression on his face. He'd picked up the tension between the pair of them. It
wasn't the boy’s fault that he had turned out to be an unnecessary third wheel
on this trip.
“Simon,” he boomed heartily. “Go and get some of the snorkels from the boat and
show Lizzie the underwater caves. She'll like that,” he said.
He observed how her ears pricked up at that and her eyes brightened.
The crystalline waters of the Amalfi Coast were the perfect setting for
a snorkeling expedition. He watched, charmed, as Simon showed Lizzie how to use
her snorkel, demonstrating by fitting his own mask. He was quick
and experienced. Showing tourists the best snorkeling spots in the area was all
part of his job and he did it well.
Red let Simon take the lead, happy to trail behind the two. He watched,
fascinated with Lizzie's every reaction as she exclaimed over
brightly colored schools of fish or a piece of coral.
“Be careful,” warned Simon. “Don't dive to the very bottom. “The anemones
sting. You will not like it if you step on one.”
They snorkeled all the way to a cave glowing faintly.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, coming up for air and pushing her mask back over her
head. “This is incredible. It's like magic!”
The cave was like a fairy grotto. They had to dive down a little to enter it
and they came up again inside the cave, only half filled with water, a pocket
of air allowing them to surface inside. The light from little holes in the cave
walls was seeping in, causing the water to glow strange colors. She was right.
It was magical.
The rest of the morning slipped through his fingers far too quickly. They had a
picnic lunch on the boat, courtesy of Fabiana.
“My grandmother makes the best chocolate cake,” Simon boasted, his face stuffed
full of cake.
“She does,” Lizzie agreed, licking her fingers delicately.
Even watching his little girl eat was a pleasure. He nibbled on his own food,
stealing glances at her as she ate her fill, washing her food down with
homemade lemonade, her throat working delightfully as she took large gulps of
her drink, thirsty in the hot sun.
Her hair curled as it dried, stiff with seawater, tangled and brown, a crown of
rich mahogany like a halo around her face. He itched to pull his fingers
through it but was well aware the gesture would be unwelcome.
He satisfied himself with staring as she rose from her reclining position on
the boat after her lunch. She looked ready to hop back into the water.
“Don't you think you should wait a little before getting back in,” he offered.
“You've just eaten.”
She shot him a look. “I can do what I want,” she said challengingly, leaping
over the side and into the water with a splash.
He probably should have seen that coming, he thought with a small sigh. He'd
need to be a bit more strategic in his dealings with her. His heart cried out
at the need for that. He wanted his daughter to love him and allow herself to
be loved. But it was going to be more complicated than that.
===============================================================================
 
“Can I call my dad?” She asked as they entered the villa, giving him a sidelong
look filled with apprehension.
The tic in his face was working overtime. She was afraid of him. Despite her
best impression of uncaring rebellion, there was something about the way she
stood when he was too near her. A creeping unease in the lines of her limbs.
His daughter feared him, not even just as a disciplinarian, but a far more
insidious fear. He had to remind himself that she didn't know him yet. She
couldn't possibly understand his deep seated motivation to keep her safe over
all these years and the incredible well of love he had for her.
“Of course,” he responded easily. “You can go into the study off of the front
room for privacy if you like. There's a phone on the desk.”
He crept into the main bedroom, quietly picking up the receiver on the other
phone on the nightstand. What she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. He was a
former intelligence officer after all. If he didn't know what she was thinking,
how was he supposed to make this a good experience for her? Eavesdropping was
pretty low on the scale of things he was prepared to do.
“Dad!” He heard her practically yell into the phone.
“Lizzie! I've been waiting for your call. How've you been, hon?”
“Yeah, it's been okay, I guess,” she said reluctantly. “He's really rich, isn't
he?”
Sam was silent a moment. “I guess when I knew him he wasn't. He seems pretty
well off now though. You sure everything's okay?” He asked, his voice uneasy.
“Yeah, it is. I just...he kinda stares at me all the time.”
Red heard Sam chuckle. “Butterball, I may not like the way he swooped in with
his high handedness but I've never doubted you are the center of his universe.
He's adjusting too, remember. I can't imagine what I would do if I were told I
wouldn't see you again for ten years. I'd be in a state, I can tell you now,”
he said.
She snorted into the phone. “Well, he's nice to me anyway. He wants me to call
him dad.”
“Does he now,” said Sam, sounding displeased. “Well you can tell him from me
that when he's seen you through bed-wetting in kindergarten and that little
stunt you pulled with your baby teeth, thenmaybe he can think about
being called dad.”
“Ewwww, daaad,” she complained. “Don't remind me. God, that's gross.”
“Not as gross as finding teeth in your jewelry box a year after you lost them.”
She giggled. “I thought the tooth fairy was a thief. I didn't want money. I
wanted to keep my first teeth.”
“You're a feral child,” he returned fondly. “What am I gonna do with you,
kiddo?”
“Hey dad,” she said excitedly, “I went snorkeling in an underwater cave today.
There's this guy, Simon, and he showed us these caves that you have to dive
down to get to and there are pockets of air in the cave so you can swim around
in them and there are like these holes from the sides of the cave that light
shines through so it's all cool and glows all blue and green and stuff.”
“Wow,” he said admiringly. “Sounds like you had an adventure. Jet lag got to
you yet?”
“Nope,” she said smugly. “Well, maybe a little. I slept in this morning but I
don't feel so tired now. Raymond is gonna take me down to the village for
dinner. He's trying to convince me that garlic is yummy. But ever since Aunt
June made me have that hot water and garlic drink when I had a cold that time,
I've hated it. I bet I'll hate dinner,” she said earnestly.
“Lizzie...hon,” he began, sounding troubled, “you don't have to convince me
that you dislike him or that you love me. I know you love me, kiddo. I'm not so
insecure that I have problems with you getting to know your dad okay? In fact,”
he said hesitatingly, “maybe you could try calling him dad. Give it a go
maybe?”
“No,” she said sullenly.
He exhaled into the phone, a loud noise in her ear and Raymond's, if she had
only known it.
“Look, butterball, maybe you need to give him a chance. He does love you. You
know that right?” He asked anxiously. “You know he's my oldest friend. Just
because I haven't seen him in a long time doesn't mean I don't miss him. We've
been best friends since before we were toilet trained.”
She huffed a laugh. “I'll tell him you said that. I'm sure he'd love to hear
about you talking about his toilet training.”
“Lizzie,” Sam warned. “Don't be a brat. You know better than this. If you're
not getting along with him, tell me and you can come home, but don't torture
the man just for the fun of it, alright? He has feelings too.”
She sighed huffily. “I'll be nice, I said I would, didn't I?”
“Yes, well…” He said, sounding unconvinced.
“Okay dad, I gotta go. Simon wants to show me the boat down at the marina he's
saving up to buy, love you, bye bye,” she said in a rush, putting the phone
down with a click.
Red quietly placed his own receiver down on the hook, unsure of how he felt
about the conversation. He was pleased about his friend’s support, although
he'd been momentarily furious over Sam baulking at Lizzie calling him dad as
well.
Overall, it seemed she was happy. He'd have to keep tabs on how long he looked
at her though. It was hard not to want to just stare at her all day. His
daughter, his Elizabeth, in the flesh. She was captivating.
But he wasn't doing himself any favors, acting moonstruck over her.
He hoped she'd like the garlic in the spaghetti sauce. It was amazing.
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
“I feel like I've been here for ages,” Lizzie sighed contentedly, walking along
the boardwalk after dinner with Raymond. The stars were brighter than at home,
even with a large half moon peeking through the occasional cloud.
“It is a little paradise,” he agreed. “Time slows down here.”
She looked up at him. They'd just exited a gelateria, cones in hand. Lizzie had
selected raspberry and chocolate. Raymond had gone for pistachio and salted
caramel.
He had a little bit of gelato on his nose. She rolled her eyes theatrically.
“You're just like my dad. He can't eat ice cream without making a mess. One
time he grew a moustache and every time he ate ice cream I had to look away. It
was so gross,” she declared.
He laughed at her, wiping his nose. “I'll keep it in mind, Lizzie doesn't like
messy eating,” he teased. “What else don't you like? There’s a lot I don't
know.”
She considered, her head cocked to the side like a little bird. “Well, I don't
like pumpkin,” she said thoughtfully, “and dad said I hated mushrooms when I
was a kid but I like them now.”
“Do you like French food?” He asked. “We can go to Paris next week if you like.
We can go tomorrow if you really wanted to.”
She eyed him, withdrawing into herself a little. It was unnerving to be told
she could go anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. She could see that he
thought it would excite her but all it was doing was making her ache for
familiarity. As much fun as she was having, she missed her summer vacation
tradition of late night movie marathons with her dad. They'd sit up until the
small hours of the morning watching movies until she fell asleep on the couch.
When she was a little bit smaller, he'd pick her up and take her to bed and
she'd wake up safe and sound with her quilt all soft and heavy over her.
“I haven't really tried French food,” she said hesitantly. “Like snails and
frogs legs and stuff?”
“Well yes, that's always fun to try once, but more like Nutella crepes and
soufflé or chateaubriand. I'd love to see what you thought of all that.”
She licked at her cone, not sure at all what to make of him. She was secretly a
little thrilled that this man, with his form fitting leather jacket and movie
star sunglasses was trying so hard to please her. He cared about what she liked
to eat, what she liked to do, what movies she watched and music she listened
to. It made her feel so powerful. Her dad was probably right, she thought
uncomfortably. He knew how she could be sometimes. She was tempted to make it
hard for him, to hurt him a little just because she so obviously could.
“I'd maybe like to try that,” she said, remembering that she'd promised her dad
she'd be nice. And it wasn't so hard to be nice to him really.
She wondered what he really thought of her. Under all his charm and
graciousness, did he find her boring? Was she really as fascinating as he was
making her out to be? She didn't feel special, but he treated her like she was.
It was...nice.
 
===============================================================================
 
“So you said that you and Sam have a movie marathon tradition,” he said
diffidently.
They were back at the villa. She'd admitted the tomato and garlic pasta sauce
had been wonderful. Very different to anything she'd tasted before. It was late
though and she'd just changed into her pyjamas.
He was in the cosy living room, a load of video cassettes piled up in his arms.
“I know it's not the same thing, but I'd be happy to stand in and watch some
movies with you...if you like?”
The expression on his face was strange. He looked shy and hopeful and also
prepared for the knowledge that she was likely to say no, to reject his
presumption. The tradition was something between her and her dad.
But then she caught sight of the movies he was holding. Some of them were
comedies, some were dramas that she'd seen before. But there were a couple of R
rated horror movies her dad had refused to allow her to see.
“If I say yes, can we watch that one?” She said, pointing to the most horrific
slasher movie of the year. “And that one?” She asked, pointing now to another
horror movie that had given all her friends at school some thrills. Her dad
could be overprotective. She was prone to nightmares, always had been. So he
was extra careful about what he let her watch.
It had been a bone of contention with them more than once. He never let her
watch stuff her friends were allowed to watch. It was ridiculous.
He scanned the titles, his forehead wrinkling a little. “Does Sam let you watch
these?” He asked uneasily. “I haven't looked at them yet. I asked Simon to pick
me up some videos that you might enjoy...but these seem...a bit violent,” he
muttered.
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you don't want to watch them, you shouldn't
have bought them,” she said icily. Oh god, he was an amateur, she thought
gleefully as his scowl deepened. He wasn't going to miss out on more time with
her over the choice of movie.
Yeeeess.
They settled into the couch, Lizzie at one end and Raymond at the other. He put
I Know What You Did Last Summer into the VCR. This was going to be awesome.
She sat with baited breath, growing more and more tense as the movie went on.
This was...this was something else. She felt a bit queasy actually. And the
shadows playing across the living room in the semi dark were making her a
little nervous.
“Can we turn more lights on?” She asked finally, halfway through the movie.
He gave her a considering look. “Are you sure you want to finish this? We could
watch Home Alone III instead? Or Good Will Hunting,” he suggested.
“No, those are stupid movies,” she said resentfully. “You don't know anything
about anything.”
“Alright, it was just a suggestion,” he said mildly.
What would it take to anger him? She wondered. He didn't seem to react when she
was rude to him. He can't have a limitless supply of good humor, surely.
She watched as he got up to turn a light on, silently settling himself back
down onto the couch.
She let a few minutes pass before she felt guilty enough about the way that
she'd spoken to him that she felt she had to say something.
“Thanks,” was all she said.
She saw his answering smile from the corner of her eye.
Ten minutes later, her heart was racing in her chest. This movie was awfully
stressful. There was a blonde girl and the killer was in her house and had cut
off her hair and jeez this was scary. She found herself chewing on her nails,
which she hadn't done for years. Her legs crept up off the floor and onto the
couch, tucked underneath her. She wanted her feet where she could see them. It
was easy to think that something could jump out at her at any moment.
She glanced over at Raymond who was watching the television with an amused
twist to his lips. He didn't seem to find it scary.
“You're not scared?” She asked over the dialogue.
He laughed. “I've had stranger things than this happen to me in real life, it's
not that scary, no.” He looked over at her, eyeing her curiously. “Are you
scared?”
“No,” she said. “I just wondered if you were.”
He nodded, accepting her word. But she noticed after that he was starting to
steal glances at her, more and more as the movie went on.
It was past midnight, when the movie ended to her surprised yelps.
He laughed at her. He was laughing at her.
“Shut up,” she said crossly, reaching for Scream 2.
“Oh, come now,” he said, his eyes widening. “Are you sure we need to watch
another horror movie? There are heaps of funny ones, or even sad ones if you
feel like a tear jerker.”
She made a face. “I like horror movies. No one said you had to watch them with
me,” she said stonily.
He sighed. “We can watch whatever you want to, sweetheart. I just thought…” he
trailed off, looking stuck for words.
“What? That I'm scared?” She scoffed. “That's how horror movies work. You're
supposed to be a little scared, dummy,” she threw at him, opening up the
cassette box and pushing the tape into the VCR. He was being so stupid.
She didn't know why she was feeling these surges of irritation but she was
really mad at him all of a sudden. He was dumb enough to let her watch this, he
shouldn't be bleating about it now, as though he were her dad. He wasn't. Sam
was her dad.
She collapsed back onto the couch, picking up a cushion and hugging it to
herself. This movie looked a little less scary. It had Sarah Michelle Gellar in
it again. She was one of Lizzie's favorite actors. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was
the TV show that everyone watched at school.
But it was sorta scary enough to keep her wide awake. It was past two in the
morning and she was trembling slightly after the credits were rolling. Raymond
blinked sleepily at her. “Ready for another movie?”
“I think I'm ready for bed actually,” she said regretfully. She felt weird, all
off kilter and jumpy. They'd just been movies. She knew they weren't real.
But still.
She waited til he started moving off the couch, so that he could lead the way
through the house.
Just in case.
The hallway was dark and creepy but it was like he knew she was scared, he was
turning the lights on as they moved through the house.
“Have a good night,” he said, moving toward her and stopping as though he'd
been jerked back on a leash.
“Night,” she said briefly, disappearing into her bedroom.
She sat on the bed for a moment, listening to the night time sounds around her.
The sound of crickets chirping in the bushes, the wind blowing through the
trees surrounding the villa. It was...spooky.
She brushed her teeth and fell into bed with the light on. It was just that she
was too tired to get up and turn it off was all. She could sleep easily enough
with the light on.
She felt like she'd only been asleep a short while when something wakened her.
A noise perhaps? She sat up in bed, reaching for her hair. Something was
different. Someone had cut off her hair. It was all shorn extra short around
her head. She screamed in horror, scrambling up from the bed, terrified. Who
had done this?
And then she heard a patter of feet in the hallway, strange ghostly steps. She
bit her tongue, jumping out of bed to lock her door, turning to hide in the
ensuite bathroom. But there was no comfort there.
Someone had written the words ‘soon’ in lipstick across the bathroom mirror.
She felt sweat breaking out on her forehead and neck. Someone wanted her dead.
Someone was coming to kill her.
She screamed again, opening her eyes to a wild eyed Raymond in pyjama pants and
sleep shirt, silver revolver in hand.
“What is it, whats wrong!” He said urgently.
She sat up, grasping for her hair. It was long, she hadn't had her hair cut
off. It was a dream.
She burst into tears.
“I had a nightmare,” she cried tearfully.
He sagged in relief. He had heard her yell and had come in ready to defend her.
Against what, she wasn't sure. What did he think could actually threaten her in
real life?
He placed the revolver on her nightstand and sat on the end of the bed. “Can I
give you a hug?” He asked.
She nodded, still sniffling as he moved over the bed to sit beside her and
gathered her in his arms. She couldn't take her eyes off the revolver though.
“Why do you have a gun?” She whispered fearfully.
His arms tightened around her for a moment. “To keep us safe,” he said, his
voice low and soothing. “I'm a criminal Lizzie. I'd be foolish to have no
protection around me. Do you think that I've let us completely defenseless?”
She looked up at him. “What's one gun going to do if people really did want to
hurt us?”
He laughed, a wry, mocking sound. “This house is surrounded by my security
detail. When you went down to the marina today with Simon, do you know how many
men I had watching you?”
She thought about that for a moment. She hadn't realized at all. Obviously his
bodyguards were good at their job. She hadn't seen anyone watching her.
She giggled. “Are they trained to defend against ghosts?”
“Ah, no. But if you insist, I can add it to their training,” he teased.
She relaxed into his arms. He was funny. He smelled so nice too, and the heat
of his body made her feel all sleepy again. He was holding her close enough
that she could pretend it was her dad.
She fell asleep, drifting off in his embrace.
She didn't even notice it was the second day in a row with him and they'd slept
in the same bed twice now.
***** Chapter 6 *****
 
It had been a hectic few days for Red. He thought he was an energetic man but
he found it difficult to keep up. Lizzie had bought a guide book and wanted to
do everything in the area.
She was a bossy little thing, he reflected tiredly as he trotted dutifully
behind her through the ruins of Pompeii.
He hadn't been sleeping well. Lizzie was having nightmares regularly now and
he'd found himself in her bed, rocking her back to sleep for the last three
nights. He'd guiltily called Sam and asked about the nightmares.
Yes, she had them, Sam had said. He kept her away from horror movies, they
tended to exacerbate an already overactive imagination. He'd been successful in
weaning her from bed wetting and night terrors when she was quite little.
Sam had been angry to discover he'd allowed her to watch R rated horror.
“What did you think you were doing?” He'd said furiously. “If you aren't sure,
call me and ask. She's a teenager Ray, of course she's going to lie to you
about what I let her do.”
He'd been tight lipped, white lines around his mouth and eyes, but he had no
defense to offer. He'd failed his first test as her father.
He'd tried to be a little more disciplinary with her but she reacted with such
alarming venom every time he tried to assert some authority.
She turned to him now, guidebook in hand. “This was apparently where the
prostitutes did their thing,” she said with a nervous giggle.
He raised an eyebrow. “They say it's the oldest profession. A big, prosperous
city like Pompeii, the ladies probably had a roaring trade,” he said, ducking
inside the low ceilinged door.
“The beds are stone,” she said in amazement. “Like actual stone beds, just
built into the wall! What the…” She trailed off, scanning the walls with
interest. There was a lot of graffiti etched into the stone. Quite obviously
ancient and unmistakably...crude.
“Oh,” she said, flushing to the roots of her hair.
He stared at her delightedly. He had not realized she blushed. So few people
did. He shouldn't be surprised though. Her skin was so pale, like Katerina’s
had been, a flush would show up all too easily.
It was why she was wearing that big, floppy sun hat and her bare shoulders were
sticky with sunscreen. Her green tank top was beginning to cling to her, the
heat of the day was beating down on them and sweat was dripping down her neck.
“Can we go to Rome?” She asked abruptly.
“A day trip or do you want to spend some time living in the capital?” He asked.
She shot him a look. “I live in Nebraska actually.”
“Well, about that. How would you feel if I asked you to stay with me a little
longer than just summer vacation?”
Her chin rose. She was a darling little peahen, he thought, his chest aching
with love. Her nose was a bit sun-burnt and she was giving him the most
disapproving look she could muster.
It made him itch to catch her up into a cuddle. But he knew better. He just
raised an eyebrow at her archly, flashing her an arrogant smile. “You could go
to any school you wanted, or have tutors if you'd prefer. We could live
anywhere in the world,” he said.
“What if I didn't want to go to school?” She asked flippantly. “Would you still
want me then?”
I'll always want you with me, Lizzie,” he said, frowning as they walked along a
path, away from the brothels and toward the large outdoor amphitheatre. “But
not going to school isn't really an option...at least not for a few years
anyway. You don't have to get your high school certificate, but it would be
useful for you.”
She huffed grumpily. “You don't know anything about me, do you?” She said,
stalking off ahead of him.
He sighed heavily. He wasn't sure what he'd said but it was clearly the wrong
thing. He caught up to her, taking her arm firmly. “What is it you want me to
know then?”
She stopped on the pathway, turning around to face him. “If you knew anything
about me, you'd know that I'm good at school,” she said indignantly. “I don't
want to leave. I'm going to college to be a doctor.”
“Well, you can do that anywhere,” he said exasperatedly. “You've been to nine
different schools, for goodness sake! I would have thought a chance to go to
any school you like, have the best tutors money can buy...well, isn't that
mildly attractive?”
“No! I don't know!” She yelled, storming off again.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the urge to strangle her pass. She was
an infuriating, mercurial, illogical, little dictator.
And he wanted her to stay with him forever.
===============================================================================
 
He was relieved when Lizzie admitted to having her fill of ancient ruins. He
gratefully sat back in the car, signaling their driver to turn up the air
conditioning.
“Do you want to go for a swim in the pool when we get back?” She asked.
“Oh, so you're talking to me again are you?”
She sat silently for a moment, staring straight ahead. “You just let me go off.
What if I'd run away?”
“Why would you have run away?” He asked, bewildered.
“I don't know. I could have!”
Ah. He suppressed a chuckle. He kept forgetting it was a teenage girl he was
dealing with. She was probably testing him as often as he tested her. She just
wasn't as subtle as he could be.
She wanted to know how much he cared for her.
Well then.
“You couldn't run far or fast enough,” he said silkily. “I'd catch you.”
She scowled, saying nothing, but there was a hint of a small, pleased smile
playing about her lips.
She thawed considerably by the end of the car ride, talking animatedly about a
local talent show she'd taken part in earlier in the year.
“...and Candice forgot her lines so it was just me saying my lines. We didn't
win anything,” she confided. “I don't think we would have even if she'd
remembered her lines. It was a boring skit.”
“I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it,” he said, hinting again at his earlier
request.
“Well, maybe you could move in with us,” she said hesitantly. “I don't know if
my dad would move all the way here. He likes Nebraska. We’ve never lived in any
other state.”
“Oh, he has,” said Raymond smoothly.
“Well yes,” she acknowledged. “I know he grew up in D.C. but I've lived there
my entire life. He wouldn't move now.”
“We can talk about it later,” he said non committedly. He wasn't going to push
her any more today. He'd planted the seed. It would grow.
He had told her he wasn't going to kidnap her, and he wouldn't hold her against
her will. But he fully intended to draw her away from Sam and back to him.
Where she belonged.
He was happy to follow her into the pool area when they got back to the villa.
It was rarely used, but it was maintained regularly. The chlorinated water
sparkled invitingly in the afternoon sun. He took up a spot on a deck chair
that was right beside the edge of the pool, pulling his sunglasses over his
face and stretching out comfortably.
Lizzie swam from one end of the pool to the other a few times, splashing about
before it was clear that she was bored with the lack of interaction between
them.
“What would you do,” she said cheekily, swimming up to him as he lay by the
side of the pool, “If I had sex with Simon?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, moving his sunglasses down his nose to give her a
look. “I'd break his legs,” he drawled lazily.
She laughed delightedly. “You would not!”
“I would,” he promised, grinning at her. “Don't you go misbehaving with the
poor boy. I'd hate for him to be laid up, without the use of his legs for six
weeks.”
She laughed again, and dunked her head under the water, coming up a yard or two
to the left of him.
“What would you do...if I said I wanted to be a criminal too?”
He sighed. They were playing this game were they?
“I'd ask you what kind of criminal a doctor could be,” he said, glad she wasn't
aware of a few doctors of his acquaintance who actually were involved in the
criminal underworld.
“Ha!” She said, her mouth twitching.
Her little pink tongue darted between her lips as she licked at them, lost in
thought. It made his stomach jump awkwardly.
“What would you do if I said I wanted to be a hooker?” She said with a laughing
snort.
“I'd beat you,” he said promptly.
“You would not!” She exclaimed, outraged.
He laughed gently. “No, I wouldn't. What an extraordinary thing to say. You
don't want that. Why don't you come up here, pick a deck chair and tell me what
classes you think you'll take next year.”
She twisted her mouth up, considering his suggestion and waded through the
water to the steps of the pool, hauling herself out. She walked over to him,
water dripping everywhere and stood over him with a challenging look on her
face.
“What would you do,” she said slowly, “if I did...this!” And in one smooth
movement, she gripped his deck chair by its edge and tipped him, fully clothed
straight into the pool.
He was so shocked, it took him a few moments before he heard her shrieks of
laughter.
He was furious.
He really was tempted to beat her. The little brat.
But he hadn't spent ten years cultivating and pruning that temper of his for
nothing. He gripped a hold of his anger and stamped it down, swimming across
the pool to the ladder, making his way slowly up the steps, his slacks and
shirt completely sodden. He looked back over into the pool. His sunglasses were
floating in the middle.
Then he looked over at Lizzie. She was still laughing but her eyes were
widening in anticipation of his reaction now that he was out again.
She stood by the edge of the pool, engulfed in nervous giggles as he silently
trudged toward her, water cascading off of him and dragging his slacks down a
little so that the waistband of his underwear was clearly visible.
He stepped right up to her, a smile on his face.
“I would do this,” he said, as though there had been no interruption to the
conversation, and he gripped her by an arm and a leg, lifting her up and
throwing her into the middle of the pool, to the tune of her excited shrieks.
She splashed about happily after she surfaced, still giggling.
Oh well, if she wanted to play.
He jumped in after her, still fully clothed, grabbing his sunglasses and
throwing them back over the side onto a grassy area near the pool.
“Lesson learnt?” He asked, grinning malevolently.
“Nope!” She said, trying to swim away from him. He caught her by a foot,
pulling her back towards him. She was screeching in mock terror.
“Do I have to do that again?” He threatened.
She swam a tight circle around him, her eyes were bright with glee. This was
more like it. This was what his heart wanted.
She splashed him with water and his hand snaked out, seizing her wrist and
dragging her back to him. He stood in the shallower end of the pool and lifted
her up out of the water again, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other
tightly around the inside of her leg.
But she was slippery, all wet skin and long limbs. His grip on her inner thigh
slipped and his fingers found themselves gripping her far more intimately than
he'd intended. His hand had slipped straight against her crotch.
He heard her make an odd, shivery, grunting sound as he threw her into the deep
end.
He was mortified. Had she noticed? The sound she'd made had been...yes, she
must have felt it.
He waited with mild trepidation as her head broke the surface. She didn’t look
at him, swimming over to the edge of the pool.
He swam a few strokes over to her. “Lizzie, are you alright?” he asked
worriedly.
She looked up at him then, her pupils were blown wide and she was breathless.
He blinked as he caught sight of the hard nubs of her nipples, poking through
the thin fabric of her bikini top.
She was breathless because he’d just thrown her across the pool, he told
himself, smiling uneasily at her.
“Do you want to go inside now?” He asked. “It’s almost time for dinner. Fabiana
has something special under her hat that she’s keeping a secret from us,” he
said.
“Uh, yeah sure,” she said, her eyes still shining oddly.
===============================================================================
 
That night he had dreams of his own.
He tossed and turned, blankets thrown off and then seized again in annoyance
halfway through the night.
The night air was humid and oppressive. He woke to hear Lizzie moaning in
terror all the way down the hall from her bedroom.
But this time he didn’t go to her. It didn't seem right. She wasn’t a child
after all. Not a little girl anymore.
Guilty and heartsick, he lay awake, listening to her cries, only drifting off
in the early morning as she quietened.
When he woke, bleary eyed and mildly feverish with want, he made a decision. He
was just in need of some adult companionship. That’s what was happening. He
would go to Rosa. They’d found solace in each other before, nothing serious,
just a nice, casual dinner out, and a tumble between the sheets afterward.
He had an itch that needed scratching.
That was all.
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Lizzie sat moodily on the end of the pier with Simon. She'd become used to
Raymond only wanting to spend time with her, seeking her attention at every
turn and showering her with compliments, charming her with his little stories.
He was fun. She liked him a lot. She liked his attention.
So when he told her yesterday that he was taking Rosa out to dinner that
evening she had been taken aback.
He'd suggested that she and Simon go for a walk down to the marina. He could
introduce her to some of the local teenagers.
There was a skate park a little way from the marina that they were going to
after they grabbed a pizza at the pier. Simon had suggested it. She didn't feel
like it though.
She felt angry and confused.
He'd abandoned her again. He didn't really want to spend time with her.
“I think I'm going to go home,” she said to Simon. “I might call my dad
tonight.”
“But I thought Mr Reddington was your dad,” he said, looking puzzled.
She stood from her position on the pier, smoothing her skirt out. “No, well I
mean yes, but I'm calling my adoptive father.”
“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Well, I have the impression that Mr Reddington wanted
an empty house tonight. I'm supposed to take you to my grandmother and we can
watch a movie in her kitchen. We have a TV in there. She's making a sponge cake
with cream,” he said eagerly.
Lizzie barely heard him, stuck on what he'd said about the empty house.
“What do you mean?” She asked sharply. “Raymond said I'm not allowed to go home
tonight? Is that it?”
“No, no,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I mean, he just wants the evening
to himself. You can go back when my mother comes home.”
She narrowed her eyes, her blood was boiling. This wasn't cool. Who did he
think he was? He dragged her halfway across the world so she can sit in a
stranger's kitchen and watch movies on some old, banged up TV?
And he got to go out and have some stupid date with an Italian tart.
She wasn't an object that he could just put down when he was tired of her. She
was his daughter and he had no right.
She clenched her fists. “I'm going,” she said briefly, marching down the pier
toward the street. She was going to walk back up the hill to the villa.
“Where are you going?” Asked Simon, his voice raised in alarm.
“Home!” She threw back at him in anger. She didn't care if Raymond wanted to
bang every woman on the coast. She wanted to go home to call her dad. That's
all she was doing.
Simon was following her, looking stressed. “Lizzie, you can't, you mustn't,” he
fell back for a moment. “Please?” He asked as a last ditch effort. “I don't
know what they will say if you just burst in on them like that. It's not done.”
She turned back to him annoyed that he was taking their side. “I can't believe
you don't care that Raymond is screwing your mom,” she spat.
He looked shocked. “She's an adult. I don't make those decisions for her.”
She snorted, turning her back on him again, still marching up the hill, her
legs trembling a little, ready for a confrontation. He better not be screwing
her when she got there.
The front light was on as they approached. Simon was silent, a furrowed crease
on his brow, but he followed her to the front door.
“I'm not going in,” he said glumly. “I'm going home.” And he did, turning down
the side entrance of the villa to the apartment down at the very back of the
property.
She stood at the front door by herself, her whole body trembling now. But she
reached for the door, opening it silently. There wasn't a sound as she moved
through the house. The hall light was on, shining her way down to the back of
the house, where the bedrooms were.
It was then that she heard noise. The sound of two people groaning.
Her heart clenched. He was disgusting. An animal. She felt tears stinging her
eyes. She strode through to the open door of his room, standing there like a
judging angel, her hands on her hips and fierce condemnation on her face.
He was on his bed, completely naked, tangled in the limbs of the woman in his
embrace.
Rosa.
He was kissing her hungrily, his hands kneading at her breasts, and the noises
they were both making electrified and infuriated her.
She cleared her throat pointedly.
The two of them sprang apart, a look of horror on Raymond's face. He threw
himself back a little in an effort to withdraw from the embrace.
It gave her a frontal view of his cock.
She stared at him, it was so hard and erect. Bigger than she imagined penises
were supposed to be. How did it fit?
She had these thoughts in a millisecond before fury became the only thing she
felt.
“Lizzie,” he gurgled in embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”
”I just wanted to call my dad,” she said, emphasizing the word. But I don't
think I have the stomach for it after all.”
She turned on her heel and left, feeling sick at heart and so alone.
She was so upset that she didn't even consider staying in the same house. She
stormed out the back entrance of the villa and down to Fabiana’s apartment.
She knocked on their door, a woebegone figure in the dark, begging entrance.
Fabiana answered the door almost immediately, ushering her into a warm embrace.
She was herded into the kitchen like a lost lamb. Simon was standing nervously
at the kitchen table.
“I told her what happened,” he said anxiously. “Did you go in?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
Fabiana was murmuring something in Italian, holding Lizzie to herself and
rocking her. It was uncomfortable being squeezed against the larger lady’s
bosom but nice that she cared and wasn't annoyed at her for going in when she
knew what she'd find.
“What's she saying?” Lizzie asked, sniffling pitifully.
Simon twitched and ducked his head. “She says you need a mother to look after
you,” he said reluctantly.
===============================================================================
 
Raymond had grabbed his robe and followed Lizzie through the house. He'd been
hot on her heels but stopped short at the back entrance of the villa. He
watched as she stormed through the courtyard and made her way to Fabiana’s
front door.
When the front door opened and warm lamplight streamed through, outlining
Fabiana’s ample frame, he retreated back into the house.
It was better that she stay there. She would be fuming if he went in now. There
would be no handling her.
He returned to his bedroom just as Rosa was belting a robe around herself. She
looked up at him anxiously. “I'm sorry,” she said in accented English. “Is
everything okay?”
He smiled slowly. “Once you take off that robe, everything will be just fine.”
He watched her answering smile through heavily lidded eyes as her long fingers
reached for her belt again, shrugging the robe to the floor.
He was still going to fuck the woman in front of him. As anxious as he felt for
his daughter’s emotional well being, he knew she was safe and really, he was a
little bit annoyed at her.
She was so precocious, it was infuriating at times. The way she'd looked at
him, the way she'd glanced down at his cock, like he was a rutting beast fit
only for her disdain.
Well he felt like a rutting beast. He took Rosa by the waist, pulling her into
him hard, grinding his cock against her pelvic bone, feeling himself harden
again satisfyingly quickly.
He took her mouth roughly, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger
and kissing her full, sensuous lips. She moaned into his mouth, responding to
him so readily, pushing herself onto him as they stumbled to the bed. She took
his cock and slid him between her wet folds, stroking him with her hand.
Her breasts were heavy, sagging slightly from the breastfeeding she’d done all
those years ago.
He bent his head to her nipple, suckling on her, drawing her into his mouth and
massaging her other breast with the palm of his hand.
He was attentive. But his mind was elsewhere.
As he rubbed his fingers through her slick folds, his thoughts rebelled and he
imagined his fingers where they had been two days ago in the pool, in Lizzie's
crotch.
He winced. It had been an accident and hadn't been sexual at all.
He entered Rosa with a deep moan, grateful for his thoughts dispersing as
pleasure scrambled his brain.
She was so hot and wet and curvaceous and uncomplicated.
He needed this. Needed the touch of a woman now and again. He was a very
tactile man and he starved for affection very quickly when he didn't have
someone to touch.
Lizzie barely let him near her when she was awake. When he went into her room
and held her through her nightmares, she rarely woke during them and hadn't yet
commented on the fact that she'd found him in her bed on a number of occasions
in the early morning. The incident in the pool had been the first of its kind,
where she'd welcomed touch.
By that time, he was already burning anyway. He needed his release. And he
found it between the legs of this enthusiastic woman.
To his horror, it was his daughter's face that he imagined as he squeezed his
eyes shut, climaxing into her. He gripped Rosa’s round bottom and imagined
Lizzie's small frame writhing under him. It was impossible to remove the
images. He panted and shook as he pulled the condom off and cast it into the
waste basket, rolling completely away from Rosa, his whole body feeling sick
and aching with shame.
These thoughts were plaguing him. And they were so wrong.
===============================================================================
 
Lizzie slept on the couch in the living room of Fabiana’s apartment. The
curtains were almost transparent so she woke up with the sun, her heart still
sore. She crept quietly out of the apartment, closing the front door with a
soft click.
Her clothes felt sweaty and clingy on her. It would feel good to have a shower.
She opened the back door, for a moment unsure if it would be locked, but it
opened smoothly, allowing her to come inside.
She stood on the back landing, feeling small and directionless. She’d go home,
she'd call her dad and go home today. He better not try and stop her.
She felt her heart squeeze painfully at the thought that he may not try and
stop her.
She walked past his bedroom, hesitating outside of his closed door. She
wondered if he'd locked it but she wasn't game enough to test it.
She kept going through to her own bedroom, opening her door, closing and
locking it. She didn't want to be interrupted either, she thought indignantly.
She showered and dressed quietly, her mind going over and over the events of
the previous night.
Sad eyed, she pulled her suitcase from the stand it had been resting on. She
managed to pack it quite quickly. She would have to leave some of the things
he’d bought her behind though.
The beautiful carved stone jewelry box made out of the same type of stone that
had built the basilica in Siena. It wasn't going to fit. And all the jewelry
she had been given. That should stay in the jewelry box really.
He'd lavished gifts on her. A local craftsman had been selling an amber
bracelet in the market the other day. She’d admired it, holding it in her palm
and exclaiming over the bubbles in the amber. He had bought it for her in a
trice. He did that all the time. She just had to show the slightest preference
for something and it was hers.
She folded the clothes he'd bought her from the boutiques down in the village
and put them back in the drawers. She wasn't going to need them and had no room
for them anyway.
Looking around her room for anything she'd forgotten, she spotted the Polaroid
camera he'd bought for her a few days ago. She'd gone wild with it, taking
photos of everything. She looked at one of the photos now, taken by Simon down
on the pier only yesterday. It was a photo of herself and Raymond with gelato
in hand, grinning for the camera.
She sat on the floor and cried. It was easy to forget how much Sam loved her
when he was so far away. All she could think about was that there was someone
else who was supposed to love her and he thought she was a bore, he’d rather
spend his time getting his rocks off than be her father.
It was clear where his priorities were.
===============================================================================
 
Raymond listened out for her in the hallway, hurriedly rising from the bed and
heading to the shower. He imagined she would probably want a shower too. He had
time.
He’d always intended to send Rosa home that night before Lizzie came home, but
she’d gone even earlier than anticipated. He wondered if Lizzie had been awake
when Rosa had entered the apartment and hoped she hadn’t made a scene if she
had been.
He moved through to the kitchen, pouring Lizzie a bowl of her favorite cereal
and waited at the kitchen table for her.
He waited long enough that he started to feel a thread of anxiety for her. Was
she going to hole herself up in her bedroom? Refuse to eat?
He left the cereal on the table, wandering down the hall to her bedroom.
“Lizzie?” He called through the door.
There was no answer for a moment but then came the click of the lock on her
door. She opened the door and pushed past him, elbowing him in the ribs perhaps
a bit unnecessarily, her suitcase in hand, heading toward the living room at
the front of the house.
He trailed after her. “What are you doing?” He asked, his heart in his throat.
She couldn't leave him. He wouldn't allow it. Last night had been a ridiculous
comedy of errors, surely she could see that? She wasn't a baby.
“I'm going home,” she said stiffly. “Can you get someone to take me home now
please. You don't need to come. You're very busy with Rosa, I know.”
He huffed an irritated sigh, struggling to keep his fear under control. He
would not lose her now. “For goodness sake, are you telling me you've never
accidentally come across Sam with a girlfriend? Not even once?”
“Yes that's exactly what I'm telling you,” she shot back angrily. “My dad knows
how to keep it in his pants!”
They looked at each other, both of them shocked at her words.
The devil in him suddenly surfaced. “You only want me to have eyes for you
then? Is that it?  Because I promise you, Lizzie, you're my number one girl.”
“I don't care what I am to you,” she sneered, but there was an alarmed look in
her eyes.
Bingo, he thought. She was feeling insecure in his affections. He felt a surge
of guilt. He really should have found somewhere else to meet his needs. He
would have to do some work reassuring her.
He moved across the room and before she had a chance to protest he seized her
by the shoulders and hugged her to him. “Go away,” she said, struggling
ineffectually in his grasp. “I don't want a hug!”
“I think you do,” he said, grinning at her. “I think perhaps I haven't hugged
you enough.” He picked her up, hoisting her over his shoulders and tossed her
onto the couch, diving in after her, holding her arms above her head with one
hand and tickling her with the other.
“Stop! Arrgh! Stop!” she shrieked, twisting around on the couch. “Gerrof me!”
She was making enough noise to send the whole street into the house to see who
was being murdered. Interestingly, no one came. No one would dare. What was it
to them if the rich American was disciplining his daughter in the privacy of
his own home?
He tickled her until she bit him. Hard.
“Ouch! You little…” he trailed off, mildly surprised at the way his cock had
jumped to attention. She’d bitten him on the chest, sinking her teeth into a
tender spot underneath his nipple, right through his shirt. He fought a sudden
impulse to bite her back in the same spot. This was not what he’d intended when
he had begun to roughhouse about with her.
“Serves you right!” she said indignantly. But her indignation wasn't very
believable. She was stretched out across his lap, lolling over his legs
comfortably, as though she were perfectly at her ease, her earlier anger
forgotten.
Her shirt had ridden up, exposing her entire bare tummy to him. Smooth, pale
skin, stretched tight over her ribs. She yawned. “You know, if you wanted to
take me down into the village for some gelato instead, I suppose I could think
some more about whether I’m going home or not.”
He was barely listening, he placed a hand on her tummy, feeling her body grow
still suddenly, she stiffened across his knees. He looked at her face. Her eyes
were bright and wide. She was holding her breath, waiting to see what he was
going to do.
He bent his head and blew a raspberry on her tummy, desperate to remove himself
from the strange moment, the odd, dangerous feelings coursing through him.
“Gelato it is then” he said, smiling at her giggles as he blew another
raspberry.
***** Chapter 8 *****
She never asked him for anything, but he loved to shower her with gifts. They
were spending a few days in Rome to shop and see the sights. He'd become a
little restless with the slow life of a small village and he'd wanted to
distract Lizzie from her animosity toward Rosa.
She'd been very proprietary toward him lately but oddly was still prickly and
prone to harsh outbursts. He wasn't allowed to show her any physical affection.
His reward for any efforts in that direction was a snarl or a light slap. But
she'd talk animatedly with him for hours about anything and everything.
He'd made the decision to take her to Rome after an altercation with Rosa. He'd
gone over to their apartment one morning to speak to her about an artist he'd
heard her mention recently when he discovered Lizzie had followed him, peeking
around the corner of their front door, her face a thundercloud.
“Lizzie!” Rosa had exclaimed, her face open and friendly. “Would you like to
come in for some coffee?” She'd just been about to make him some.
“No,” she'd spat. “And my name is Elizabeth.” She'd run off, back into the
house.
He'd sighed, foregoing the coffee, going back into the house to find her
moodily stripping the leaves off of a houseplant.
He'd chided her for destroying his things and she'd burst into tears. It had
been a tense afternoon.
He couldn't help but feel a  little  smug about her feelings toward him. And
that troubled him. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate for her to feel so
possessive. And he  knew  it wasn't appropriate for him to be having fantasies
about his daughter. They'd become worse lately.
He hadn't acted on them, he hadn't used any of his fantasies for his own
gratification but god he'd come close a few times, lying in bed, sweating in
the summer heat and aching with need. He pushed them away from his thoughts
each time, horrified at the depraved way his mind wandered over her body. He'd
started to drink far more regularly than he usually did. It blurred the sharp
edges of his desire. It was a small help anyway.
He shook his head free of his thoughts again. He was standing now at the bottom
of the Spanish Steps with his daughter. He grinned at her. He wasn't allowed to
hold her but they'd come to the unspoken agreement that when he offered the
crook of his arm, she'd take it. And they strolled down the streets of Rome
this way.
“Can we go in there?” She asked, looking at a cramped bookshop stuffed floor to
ceiling with books.
“Of course,” he said, walking her into the shop.
He watched her pick a book up. It was a large, encyclopaedic sized volume on
Leonardo Da Vinci. She'd been researching him over the past few days out of
personal interest. He was looking forward to taking her to see the Mona Lisa
soon.
She flicked through the pages, the bold colors of the illustrations flashing
past her nose. It was a beautiful book. He picked it up as she moved over to
another section. He'd get this one for her. It would come in handy for her
studies if he was going to be hiring a tutor.
“Imagine your school excursions being a trip to the Louvre or the D’Orsay,” he
said, his voice deliberately seductive. He'd been working her over for days
now, each time she'd softened just a little bit. The idea of staying with him
was becoming more attractive. He was close.
He envisioned a little house somewhere, or an apartment. She was too old for a
nanny. But maybe a housekeeper who could step in for a motherly influence when
the occasion called for it. He'd teach her French, Italian and Chinese. And her
mother tongue of course, he'd teach her Russian too. She would come into his
study for an hour each afternoon and take her language lessons from him.
She'd have a tutor for everything else. Some wizened old woman, a semi retired
teacher. And he'd have scientists from NASA  teach her chemistry and the other
sciences. He'd have curators from the best museums in the world teach her art
and famous authors teach her literature. She'd have the best of everything.
“I can't leave my dad,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “Who'd he have to
make fun of him when his football team loses?”
He huffed a laugh. “Isn't it my turn now? Surely he wouldn't be so selfish as
to stop you from spending the rest of the year with me. Just a year, Lizzie.
What do you think?” He cajoled.
She didn't answer him, moving over to browse a bookshelf full of fantasy
fiction. Some of it was in English but the majority was in Italian with a few
German volumes.
“Do you like fantasy? Science fiction?” He inquired.
She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Yes! I've read Aldous Huxley’s  Brave
New World  for school. It's really interesting. Dad says I should also try Ray
Bradbury and H. G. Wells.”
He nodded. “Sam’s bang on the mark there. Have you read  1984 ? It's
depressing, maybe don't read it til you're older and you've downed a few
fingers of whiskey first.”
She giggled. “I haven't but it's on the list.” She gave him an appraising look.
“When will you let me drink if I stay with you?”
“When you're forty,” he said promptly.
“Ha! You want me to wait that long to read  1984 ?”
“Well,” he said, pretending to reconsider, “maybe thirty then.” He glanced at
her out of the corner of his eye, enjoying being allowed to play around with
her. It was disarming, her naïveté and enthusiasm. And when she forgot to be
angry with him, her sense of humor was entertaining. She was similar to Sam in
some ways. Unsurprising really.
They wandered out of the bookshop, laden down with the book about Da Vinci and
a few other volumes she'd selected and they walked further down the street. It
was the well known shopping district. He already had quite a few bags hanging
off of his arm. He wanted to buy her some new luggage. Her battered old
suitcase had a wheel that kept coming off and it was dented in more than one
spot.
“Louis Vuitton,” he said decisively, the flagship store coming into view.
She glanced around her, keen interest apparent in her face as they entered the
store. The doorman greeted them with a smile which she returned brightly.
“This isn't really the kind of stuff I usually go for,” she whispered to him.
He ignored her. A salesperson approached, dressed in tan chinos and a crisp
white shirt.
“Good afternoon,” he said to the salesperson jovially. “The lady requires a new
suitcase. Could you help with that?”
The man ushered them to the large suitcases they had displayed coyly in the
corner. He was falling over himself to please Lizzie.
“Would this suit?” He asked smoothly. “It's called the Zephyr. It's very
popular.”
She just nodded, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah I guess. It's nice,” she said.
He purchased the suitcase for her, curious about her response.
“Are you sure it's what you wanted?” He asked.
“Well,” she reflected, “a suitcase is a suitcase. I know Louis Vuitton is
supposed to be hot stuff and all but it's kinda boring...I don't mind though,”
she said, dimpling cheekily at him. “You can afford to buy me boring, expensive
luggage.”
He laughed at her. She was a firecracker. He couldn't help but respond well to
that. It was so much better than when she'd been afraid of him.
They decided together that they would head back to the hotel. They had a spa
appointment booked later that afternoon.
He unloaded all of the shopping bags onto a side table in their suite. She
didn't waste any time, rifling through the bags like it was Christmas.
“Oh, I love this! It's so pretty,” she sighed happily over a silver chain link
bracelet he'd bought her from Tiffany’s. It was delicate and lovely, the chain
links connecting to a pink diamond heart.
She sat on the floor, pulling out all of her gifts, exclaiming over each one as
though she were seeing them for the first time.
She looked up at him from her position on the floor. “Thank you,” she said
dutifully, her eyes shining in delight as her attention wandered back to the
shoe box she'd just pulled out of a bag.
“My pleasure,” he said softly, seating himself in an armchair, watching her
from across the room.
It wasn't long before it was time to go downstairs for their appointment.
“I've never had a massage before,” she said nervously. “Do I have to take all
my clothes off?”
He winced, imagining her nude and stretched out, relaxing on a massage table.
“You can keep your underwear on, but it's easier if you take the rest of your
clothes off,” he said.
They sat in a private room, music playing in the background and a selection of
cold tea and fresh fruit off to the side. A little fountain in the corner added
to the ambience, water cascading merrily into a large, shell shaped bowl.
They were greeted by a smooth haired blonde attendant, clothed in a white
pantsuit.
“Champagne?” she asked him, her elegantly plucked eyebrow arched questioningly.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, quite happy to relax on all fronts.
“And for signorina?” She asked.
He glanced at Lizzie, who was looking back at him hopefully. “ One  glass,” he
said. “One, are you listening?” He asked uneasily as she pumped her fist in the
air, doing a little victory dance on the spot.
She gulped her champagne down. “Steady!” He said, a little worried it would go
to her head.
She giggled, amused at his concern. “It doesn't taste too bad,” she said in
surprise.
“Well, you are  my  daughter. Good taste is built into your genes.”
“Ha! I hated my dad’s beer when I snuck some once at Christmas.”
They were guided into separate rooms shortly afterward. She had been looking
forward to this all afternoon. “See you in a bit then!” She said brightly,
disappearing into her own room.
He was in need of some relaxation time. He didn't want to admit it to himself,
but Lizzie was exhausting. Her constant mood changes had worn him down. He
loved her to bits and wanted her with him for good. But his nerves had taken a
battering.
He groaned unabashedly as the masseuse worked her palms into the muscles of his
back. He had stiff knots around his shoulders and she was giving them a
pounding, kneading unmercifully into him.
He blinked himself awake at the end of the hour. He had fallen asleep briefly,
roused only by the dimmed lights coming on full strength again.
As he wandered through to the sauna afterwards, he let himself lose his focus,
his usual sharp senses fuzzing pleasantly around the edges. Lizzie would be a
while. She had a haircut scheduled after her massage.
He returned to their private room to wait for her, downing the rest of the
bottle of champagne happily. He was still in his robe, completely nude
underneath. There were a number of reclining couches in the room. He took one
nearest the door.
He turned his head when the door opened and Lizzie emerged.
He smiled. She looked lovely. His heart squeezed a little at the sight of her.
She looked so grown up with her new hair style. He was going to have to get
used to her sleek, shoulder length bob. They'd cut off quite a few inches of
her long, brown tresses. He couldn't help but think that her childhood was
almost over. He'd missed out on so much.
“What do you think?” She asked shyly.
“Lovely!” Very modern,” he said, hoping it was what she wanted to hear.
She wandered to the side table and picked up a peach, neatly biting into it,
reaching for a napkin to wipe up the juices.
He stared at her, as she licked her fingers.
She looked back at him, a strange expression rippling across her features. She
seemed as though she were wrestling with something privately.
“Yes?” He asked politely, cocking his head to the side, waiting patiently.
She looked away. “Nothing,” she muttered.
Well, she'd come out with it eventually. She usually did.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Switzerland,” he said grandly to her, first thing in the morning.
She stared, bleary eyed, trying to make sense of the conversation he'd plunged
them into over the toast and eggs Fabiana had just put onto her plate.
“What about Switzerland?” She asked suspiciously. He was always like this,
running ahead in his thoughts, forgetting to let everyone else in on what was
going on in that brain of his.
She had felt a lot of confusing, complicated feelings for him lately. She
didn't understand what was happening at all. She felt angry and teary one
moment and the next she wanted him to grab her and tickle her like he had the
morning after the Rosa fiasco and when he didn't pick up on what she wanted,
she'd get cross again.
She felt vaguely ashamed of herself for how she was behaving.
She was almost happy to be back at the villa. Rome had been strange. Exciting
and fast paced but he'd dolled her up like an adult and taken her to late night
dinners and smoked cigars in front of her and she'd felt...funny.
He was her dad. He was a younger and better looking dad than the one she had at
home. But god, why would she care about that? Kids didn't care about their
parents looks.
“There's a very exclusive school in Switzerland that I could potentially get
you a place at. I'd need to pull a few strings, but I'm confident I could do
it,” he said arrogantly.
“I don't speak the language,” she said in some amazement at his idea.
“Neither do half the children there. The sons and daughters of the world's
elite from every corner of the globe attend. You could easily learn though,” he
said. “You're smart, like your father,” he grinned smugly as he said this.
She sighed. “So it's a boarding school? I'm not staying with you so you can
stick me in a boarding school,” she bit out.
“You'd be a day student,” he said. “We'd have a house nearby. You can decorate
it any way that you want.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “You know, there's a girl at school, Amanda. Her
parents divorced last winter and she says her dad only wants custody of her
because single dads are chick magnets,” she said, taking a bite of her toast.
He gave her a startled look. “What? Goodness Lizzie, you come out with the
oddest things.”
“Have you got a girlfriend,” she asked suddenly, thinking of Rosa with an
unpleasant lurch of her tummy.
“No,” he said crisply. “Have you got a boyfriend?”
She grinned at him. He thought she’d be put off from asking personal questions
by counter inquiring. He had a lot to learn about her. Truth or dare was one of
her favorite games.
“Nope,” she said matter of factly. “Haven't been kissed either.”
He paused in the middle of buttering a piece of toast, his hand tightening
around his butter knife. “Good,” he said. “You’re a bit young for that.”
“Candice says all the kids our age at her old school have pretty much had sex
by the time they turn fifteen,” she said, hoping to goad him into some small
outburst.
He just gave her a sly smile. “It’s lucky you don’t go to that school then
isn't it?”
“I guess,” she said vaguely. “How come you don't have a girlfriend? Are you
looking for one?”
His eyes widened at her frankness. “I’m neither looking nor am I not looking,”
he said. “My lifestyle tends to be a little off putting to most women,” he
added dryly.
“What? Your jet setting round all these expensive places and going boating and
buying diamonds and going to fancy restaurants, she said, giggling. “Must be a
drag.”
He was getting a little annoyed at her now. She felt bad but she loved getting
this reaction from him. She didn't understand why.
“I’ll let the ladies be the judge of that,” he said firmly. “Finish your toast,
I want to take you to Sicily today.
“We’re flying?” She asked eagerly.
He smiled warmly. “We are. It’s a unique place. I think you'll like it.”
“Lots of ladies there?”
“Lizzie! What’s gotten into you today?”
She glared. “Nothing. Can't I ask about your love life? It’s not like I’m
asking about your sex life.”
He frowned. The Rosa incident was clearly at the forefront of both of their
minds. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her today, but she couldn't stop,
her mouth had a mind of its own.
She stood from the table. She hadn't yet showered, her hair was a mess and her
chin was sporting a new zit. She didn't feel particularly well put together
just then. So she wasn't sure what possessed her.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked abruptly.
He paused, looking at her with a wary expression, his toast halfway to his
mouth.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “You’re very pretty, sweetheart.”
She flushed, pleased beyond words.
“I’ll go get ready for Sicily then,” she said.
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
“Shhhh, don't be so loud,” she giggled, downing the last of her third glass of
scotch.
Simon laughed at her, “you are, how do they say it? A lightweight,” he said, as
she lost her balance, falling off the arm of the couch that she had been
precariously perched on.
“Oh crap,” she moaned, feeling a surge of nausea and dizziness. “I fell.”
“I know,” he said with what Lizzie privately thought was a very unmanly giggle.
She scrambled up from the carpet, swaying in time to the music they had put on
and going to pour herself another drink. Simon had wanted to introduce her to
some Italian pop singer he liked. And at some point during that, she had
suggested that they break into Raymond's liquor cabinet.
Simon had been horrified. “Break in? He'd know if we damaged the cabinet,” he
said in alarm.
She'd snorted in derision. “Have you got a paper clip? Never mind, he’ll have
one in his study. Just give me five minutes and a paper clip. I'll have it
open.”
He'd watched, open mouthed as she'd shown off the skills her dad had taught
her. Sam had wanted her to learn how to pick a lock and get herself out of hand
cuffs. She'd laughed at his focus at the time. She'd far rather learn how to
forge U.S. currency or scale a building and work the combinations of a safe
like she was pretty sure her dad did from time to time but he hadn't wanted to
share the high risk parts of what he did with her.
Oh well, plain old lock picking was coming in handy now.
“Score!” She'd cried victoriously as the antique mahogany cabinet swung open.
They'd made a grand start on the scotch and bourbon. Lizzie preferred bourbon
but kept drinking the scotch anyway. It was what Raymond drank. She felt sort
of nice, knowing that she was sharing this small thing with him even though he
was far away and would probably be mad if he knew she was doing this.
He'd gone that morning to London on urgent business. “Can I trust that you'll
be fine for the time being?” He'd asked, small creases of concern around his
eyes. “I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning.
She'd acquiesced, feeling a little disgruntled that once again, he was leaving
her to her own devices. At least this time he wasn't running around screwing
every pretty female in arms length.
Or was he?
He'd said urgent business but what did that mean?
Maybe there was some piece of ass that he was chasing in London? She wondered
if he did want a girlfriend. It clawed at her, the idea that he could come home
any day with a woman who might try and call herself a step mother.
She tried not to think too deeply about it. The feeling bothered her, it was
hot and painful in her chest every time she thought back to walking in and
seeing Raymond attached to Rosa. She wasn't jealous. She just wanted him to
prove he really wanted to be her dad.
She wasn't jealous at all.
“You know,” she said to Simon with a lopsided smile, “if Raymond and your mom
got married, that would make us brother and sister.”
He grimaced. Her tummy did a delighted little jump. He didn't like that idea at
all.
“Mr Reddington is not marrying my mother, Lizzie. He isn't the type. And also,
my mother isn't in love with him. She says if you fly too close to the sun,
you'll get burnt. She's sensible,” he said, nodding solemnly at her.
Her face fell. “What would it be like though? To have a sister?” I've never had
a brother,” she said.
“Well, I have a sister. Two actually. My father had two more children with a
lady he met in Scotland. I don't see them often and I don't really think of her
as my stepmother, but I have sisters.” He gave her a sidelong look, grinning at
her. “You're not like a sister.”
She was about to respond when she heard a car approaching on the gravel
driveway outside. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. She'd just
started on her fourth scotch and her brain was very fuzzy and she was dizzy and
giggly and happy but she had enough awareness to know that sounded like
Raymond’s car.
“Quick! Go, you've gotta get out of here,” she said in panic.
He gave her a wide eyed look of terror. “If he sees me I'm going to be in so
much trouble.”
Simon stood up on wobbly legs, trying to make a run for the back door but he
crashed over a coffee table just as Raymond entered the front door of the
villa.
“Lizzie? Hello? What was that noise? Are you okay?” Came his anxious voice
drifting through the hallway.
“Shhhh shhhh,” said both teenagers foolishly trying to hush each other and
giggling at the sounds they were both making.
Lizzie was trying to help Simon up off the floor as Raymond entered the room.
They must look quite a picture, thought Lizzie dazedly. She was practically
sitting on Simon, which really wasn't helping him to get up off of the floor.
“Raymond!” She said cheerily. “You're home early! We’re playing leapfrog. Come
and play!”
His face darkened as he saw them both in their slightly compromising position.
He took a few steps into the room and she was able to pinpoint the exact moment
he smelt the alcohol. It would be hard not to. The bottles were still open and
Simon had split his glass as he tripped.
“What's going on here?” Raymond asked grimly.
Uh Oh, she thought. Did this count as stealing? When it was from her dad’s
liquor cabinet?
She stumbled to her feet, suddenly feeling even dizzier than she had before.
“We’re playing leapfrog with your scotch,” she giggled.
“Simon, get up and go home,” he instructed, biting his words out furiously.
“I'll speak to you later.”
Despite the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed, Simon was surprisingly agile,
jumping up from his position on the floor and high tailing it out of the room
like the hounds of hell were after him.
That left her and Raymond in the room. He was staring at her, he had such a
disappointed look on his face. Her heart ached a little but also was strangely
warmed. He cared enough about her to be disappointed.
He was so good looking, she thought woozily as she took a wavering step toward
him.
 
===============================================================================
 
Raymond couldn't believe it. Or rather, he could. He shouldn't have been
surprised. She acted up every time he left her to her own devices.
She smiled saucily, “Are you going to punish me then?”
His eyebrows drew together in a brief frown. He ran a hand over his eyes. “No,
you’re drunk because Simon allowed you to unlock my liquor cabinet. He’ll
be...dealt with later.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “No! Pleash don't do anything to Simon,” she
slurred. “ He was following my lead. I’m the one you should punish,” she said
desperately.
He paused, observing her closely. She was staggering a little, trying to reach
a surface she could hold onto. He felt a perverse impulse to test her. “Lizzie,
Simon is almost a man. He ought to be in a lot of trouble over this. I’m not
sure if i’ll continue to allow him to live here, to be perfectly honest.”
She hiccuped, her face crumpling. “No, please, Ra-, dad,” she said, testing the
word out in her mouth. Please, dad, don't do that.” She swayed toward him
across the room. He caught her in his arms and she folded into him, allowing
him to caress her face and stroke her hair.
Aha. Unknowingly, she had just given him a sure fire way to control her without
hurting or punishing her directly. He winced inwardly. Ten years of thinking
like a tactician, he couldn't help it. If there was an upper hand to gain, he
had to have it.
To have her compliance, all he had to do was threaten, or at least appear to
threaten those she cared about.
She was his. She had handed herself to him on a silver platter and she had no
idea, the foolish little duck, he thought fondly, kissing her forehead.
“Alright Lizzie, we’ll leave Simon for another day. But don't you think there
should be some changes around here? Your behavior leaves a lot to be desired. I
like hearing you call me dad though. Was that so hard?” He asked, brushing her
hair from her face.
She looked up at him, her jaw slackening suddenly and an urgent look coming
into her eyes. “I think i’m gonna be-”
And she vomited all over herself.
He jumped to the side, holding her as she threw up. He’d missed most of it but
it was all over her front and she was sniffling tearfully. He sighed. A small
part of him, the part he pushed down into a deep, dark corner, was loving this.
She was utterly reliant on him, she was as helpless as the four year old he’d
left with Sam. His to look after and baby while she wasn’t well.
“Come and clean yourself up,” he said, leading her through the house, into the
ensuite bathroom. He pulled a towel from the rack, wiping her mouth gently and
turning the shower on. “Strip,” he said. She looked at him dazedly. “Lizzie,
you can't get in the shower with your clothes on. I’ve seen it all before. I
changed your diapers, sweetheart,” he said patiently.
She laughed inanely, clumsily trying to pull her top over her head, getting
vomit in her hair in the process. He reached to help her, unzipping her pants
and pulling them down her legs with her underwear. He kept his eyes studiously
on her face. “How dizzy are you? Can you step into the shower by yourself?”
She grinned at him, her eyes unfocused. “I’m naked,” she said cheerfully.
He hesitated. “Do you need to hold onto something?
“You’ve got vomit on your shirt,” she declared. “Ew, that’s so gross.”
He expelled a slow breath. “Lizzie, i’m going to step into the shower with you
so you don't slip, okay?”
She nodded vaguely. “You’re not going to punish Simon though?” She asked
anxiously, still fixated on their earlier conversation.
“No,” he said, pursing his lips, silently cursing the boy. He wondered if the
crush she had on him was returned. He better not have tried anything. He really
wouldbreak his legs if he discovered that the lad had been exploring his
daughter’s charms.
And she was charming. He could acknowledge that. Her eyes were impossibly blue.
When she looked at him from under those sooty lashes he worried that she could
ask him for anything in the world and he wouldn't refuse her. Her smile, he
worked so hard for that smile, to hear her laughter, clear as the church bells
down in the village of a Sunday. She was tricksy and mischievous and
adventurous and wonderful. It was no surprise that others flocked to her like a
bee to honey.
He looked at her now, his face softening. “I won’t punish him, Lizzie. I
promise. Hop into the shower please.”
She nodded obediently, stumbling in. She wavered so alarmingly that he made his
decision. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took his shoes and socks off,
deciding he'd leave his pants on. He’d be soaked but he could change later.
He stepped in after her, the steady stream of hot water beating down on both of
their bare shoulders. She turned to him and giggled, gripping his forearms for
stability. “Now you're naked too!” She said.
“No I’m not,” he objected. “I’ve still got my pants on. He reached for a bottle
on the shower rack and squirted shampoo into his hand. “Turn around,” he said,
“your hair is full of vomit.”
She turned around and he massaged the shampoo into her hair, lathering it up,
pressing his fingers and thumbs into her scalp.
She sighed, her small shoulders heaving. “That feels so nice,” she moaned.
His mouth felt dry. She was so small, all drenched and childlike, her arms
braced against the shower wall and head thrown back, enjoying his touch.
He rinsed her hair, lathering her with conditioner and rinsing that through her
hair as well. He hadn't been given the opportunity to feel how soft her hair
was. It was like silk to touch. He wished she would be more open to affection
from him. Perhaps she would now that the status quo had changed.
He paused, swallowing hard. This was nonsense, his hesitation. This was his
daughter and she was unwell. She needed his help. He purposefully soaped up a
sponge and ran it along her arm. She lifted her arms, giving him full access,
offering him a toothy grin. “That feels reallynice,” she said as he swiped the
sponge quickly and as impersonally as possible across her front, under her
breasts and down her tummy. “Can you do that again?” she asked, stepping into
his embrace. He put his arms around her reflexively, feeling the swell of her
small breasts against his bare chest.
“You’re all clean now,” he croaked, holding her lightly.
“My turn,” she said gleefully. “Now I’ll do you.”
“Ah, no,” he said uncomfortably. “Now we get you dry and into bed”
“But we just got here,” she protested.
He laughed. “Come on princess,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “Bed.”
He dried her off, carefully avoiding her breasts and the cleft between her
legs. He couldn't help observing though, that she was just starting to get
pubic hair. Delightful, light brown, downy wisps of hair. His fingers twitched.
“Go and sit on the bed,” he said. “I just need to get my wet clothes off.”
He found her lying flat on the bed, giggling foolishly at the ceiling. He
hadn't bothered finding freshly pressed pants. He just threw on a robe, belted
securely around his naked form, and picked up her pajamas. She wriggled around
on the bed as he tried to get her pajama top over her head. “Lizzie! stop
moving. Come back here,” he said exasperatedly as she crawled to the other side
of the bed, peals of laughter erupting from her throat.
She thought it was a wonderful game.
She eventually let him dress her. By that time he had to acknowledge to himself
that he was aroused. It was just an automatic reaction though. It was normal to
find himself feeling this way. After all, she was a naked teenager squirming
around in a bed, whimpering and wriggling against him as he chased her.
Just an automatic reaction of his body, nothing more.
“You know what I did once,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows.
“What?” he asked exhaustedly.
“My friend Candice and I tried to lose our virginities with a banana,” she
said, grinning at him as though it were a huge joke.
Ah shit.
“Lizzie, shhh,” he said, incredibly aware of and ashamed by his erection.
He was breathing unsteadily, thankful at this point that he didn't have pants
on. They would have been painfully tight.
She wriggled closer to him on the bed. “It didn't work,” she said, practically
in his ear. “We couldn't figure out how to do it,” she giggled.
“I have to go,” he said urgently, standing up quickly and leaving the room,
ignoring her protests and questions. He closed the door behind him, hoping that
she wouldn't try to get up and follow. He sagged against the door, wrung out by
his own terrible feelings.
Blowing a shaky breath through his nose, he straightened and moved toward the
bathroom at the back of the house. She wouldn't likely look for him there. It
wasn't often used. He locked himself in and ran a bath, looking at himself in
the mirror while the faucet filled the bathtub up. He knew what he was doing,
he was sickened by what he was about to do. But it was better than the
temptation lying drunk on a king size bed a few rooms over.
He lowered himself into the bath, pulling his knees up slightly and parted his
legs, taking his achingly hard erection into his hand and stroking himself. He
grimaced as he let himself think of Lizzie in bed, playing with herself. In his
mind, he entered the room as she stroked herself to completion, bearing down on
her, parting her legs and touching the small amount of hair curling between
them. He imagined himself opening her up, being the first to enjoy her,
bringing her to another satisfying climax.
And as he finished in his hand, he blinked away tears, surprised at himself. He
never cried.

***** Chapter 10 *****
Ignoring reality and creating his own. It was what Raymond Reddington excelled
at. They wanted him to run ten years ago, to be afraid. He'd turned the tables
on them. He'd done what few others had. He refused to accept the reality,
bending situations to his own purpose, choosing to ignore what didn't suit him
and it went away. With a bit of work, double crossing and bloodshed.
It was easier now. Money and power smoothed over a lot of rough edges.
But all of that was dust when it came to a recalcitrant fourteen year old. If
anything, showering her with expensive gifts seemed to exacerbate bratty
behaviour. And exerting his monstrous persona as the Concierge of Crime...well,
he hadn't tried that, dreading the fear that would undoubtedly spring up in her
eyes.
A compromise then. He'd found he could balance her fear and obedience with her
trust and affection. He would never hurt those she cared about but subtle
threats toward them did wonders.
She had been a model child these past few days. She'd woken up the day after
her incident with the liquor cabinet, sore and sorry for her escapade. She'd
been fragile for most of the morning, but perked up when he'd invited Simon
over for an afternoon swim in the pool. An olive branch.
She was still calling him dad. The incident had been worth it. Even just for
that. But she'd also been so much more receptive to his physical displays of
affection. He was allowed to hug her now, to run his hands through her hair and
kiss her cheek.
He was soaring. The progress they'd made together was significant. He was sure
that he could convince her to stay with him. It just required a little more
time.
 He was in his study, reflecting on her recent change of behavior and his plans
for her future when he heard her urgent cries coming from the rear of the
house.
“Dad,” he heard her yell, “dad, help!”
He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over and tore through the house,
following her voice into the bathroom. She was seated tearfully on the toilet,
her arms wrapped around herself, her pants pooled at her ankles, taking in
sobbing breaths.
“I've got-I think I've got my period,” she cried.
“Oh...I'm sorry, do you get painful cramps, sweetheart? I can send someone down
to get whatever you need. It's okay,” he said comfortingly, a little nonplussed
at the urgency of her reaction.
He wasn't confused for long.
“This is...I've never…”
It slowly dawned on him. Her face was chalk white, drained completely of color.
“Lizzie, is this...is this your first period?” He asked uncertainly.
Her lower lip trembled. “Yeees,” she cried forlornly as fresh tears streamed
down her face.
“Oh princess,” he said, feeling completely adrift. He sighed. “I'll go get
Rosa.”
“No!” She yelled fiercely. “Don't you dare!” I'll hate you forever if you do
that!”
Her voice was strangled and squeaky with panic. Seeing her in such turmoil was
upsetting and it was so much worse because he felt so unequipped to deal with
this. Did Sam know she hadn't had her period yet? He might have told him, he
thought bitterly. Considering fourteen was on the later side of the scale to
start.
He stared at her helplessly. “I can send someone down to get the things you
need then. Can I do...anything?” He asked awkwardly.
She shook her head, looking away from him, her body hunched over. She was
clearly regretting her panic and wanted to be alone.
“I'll go and organise what you need. You stay there sweetheart, it won't be
more than fifteen minutes,” he said, leaving the bathroom and heading back into
his study.
He quietly picked up the phone in the study, dialing Rosa and speaking to her
in hushed Italian. He gave her a brief outline of what was happening and asked
her to go and pick up everything she thought Lizzie would need down in the
village.
Then he called Sam.
“Why didn't you tell me that Lizzie hadn’t had her period yet,” he demanded
without preamble.
Sam drew in a breath, he heard it loudly in his ear as his friend exhaled into
the phone. “You know I was just thinking about that the other day. I take it
she’s had it now? Is she okay?”
“You might have told me,” Red said grimly. “She’s upset. Doesn’t want anything
to do with the only woman I know here who speaks English and I’m not much help
to her.”
“Ray,” he said, a note of concern in his voice. “I think maybe she should come
home-”
“No,” he said shortly, cutting Sam off. “I don't think so. She’s not ill. She
just needs a bit of reassurance, that's all.”
“Are you sure she’s not ill? Have you asked her how she feels? Is she in pain?”
Sam asked, an undertone of anger in his voice. “Don’t be so selfish Raymond. I
remember a time when you would have given the shirt off your back for someone
in need.”
“She’s my daughter, she stays here. I’ll look after her,” he said simply.
“What do you mean she stays there? She’s coming home in a few weeks isn't she?
Ray?” He yelled down the phone.
“Ray!” he heard, even as he pulled the phone from his ear and placed it on the
hook again.
He’d deal with this. When she looked back to this when she was older, she’d
remember her dad had handled it well, had comforted her and smoothed everything
over for her.
It would be him she’d remember being there for her, not Sam.
After his aborted phone call with Sam he paced the living room, anxious for
Rosa’s return. She wasn't long. She knocked quietly on the front door and he
met her there, thanking her for her speedy assistance and kissing her on the
cheek.
“Tell her she can come and talk to me about it if she wants to,” whispered
Rosa. “I know she doesn't like me but she might find that she needs to talk to
someone, yes?”
He squeezed her hand gratefully. “Thank you Rosa, you're very kind, and I'll
tell her but I think she already knows the basics about what's happening. It'll
be fine,” he said confidently.
“There is chocolate in the bag,” said Rosa, “and a pain killer that works well
for me. And I think she will prefer sanitary napkins instead of tampons...at
least while she is so young, but I bought both,” she finished awkwardly.
He blinked, realizing that he was going to need to go in to Lizzie and talk to
her about pads vs tampons. His eyes widened. “We’ll see...how we go,” he
muttered, thanking her again and watching her turn from the front door to the
side entrance of the property.
He stood at the door for a moment, clutching the paper bag Rosa had given him
close to his chest. Well, he'd already left her to her own devices for quite a
while. Best go see what she was doing.
He found her still in the bathroom, her face tear stained and swollen, but she
had stopped crying.
“I have some things for you,” he said smoothly, reaching into the bag and
producing a box of pads and a box of tampons, as well as the packet of
painkillers Rosa had mentioned. “I know this is awkward Lizzie, but can you
tell me what you know? Do you know what you need to do?”
“Yes,” she said, looking away from him, an embarrassed grimace on her face.
“You can go now. I know what to do.”
“Alright then,” he said, leaving the items on the vanity. “Are you in any pain,
sweetheart?” He asked compassionately.
She nodded. “I woke up with a tummy ache and it's gotten worse,” she said,
tears welling up in her eyes again.
“When you're done in here, come into my room,” he offered. “We can sit in bed
and watch a movie.” He was thankful for the large wall mounted televisions in
the bedrooms. An excuse to snuggle with her.
She wasn't long, appearing in his doorway, walking a little oddly. He didn't
say anything though, aware she'd probably bite his head off.
“Let's watch a comedy,” he said lightly, switching on the TV with the remote as
she crawled into bed and tucked herself up beside him. She made no protest at
his suggestion so he started the movie.
“I'm not really focusing,” she said reluctantly, ten minutes into the movie.
“It still hurts.”
He switched the TV off, turning to look at her. Her face was crumpled in pain.
His poor baby looked so uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how she was going to take
this. Would she spurn his offer as awkward and strange? He wanted to help her.
“I've found that a tummy rub helps,” he said, clearing his throat. “It's worked
with previous girlfriends.”
He internally cursed the maladroit way he'd approached it. She was unreasonably
touchy when he talked about other women, particularly old flames.
She must have been in enough pain not to care. She just nodded dolefully,
stretching her hand over her tummy as though to give herself a tummy rub.
“That's not what I meant, he said, reaching for her. “Let me?”
Her eyes flew to his face questioningly but she pulled her hand away and
stretched herself out on the bed for him.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He was rubbing her tummy. He was being really nice, she thought sleepily. Long,
slow circles with the palm of his hand. It felt so good. She didn't like to
admit that she enjoyed it when he touched her. But she did. When he put a wary
arm around her waist or touched her on the shoulder. She liked how cautiously
he did it, as though she'd bite his arm off if he was too pushy about it but he
still did it. It was worth the risk to him.
He pulled her in for a hug and she let him, snuggling in under his chin. His
arm was around her and he still stroked her tummy. His hand was giving her the
most delicious, spidery feeling in her lower belly.
She liked that he was her dad. He didn’t make her feel the same way that Sam
made her feel. She wasn’t sure why but she felt her dad at home was just
there...always there, like a solid rock. And her dad here was like a fairy tale
castle, thrilling and confusing and built on quicksand. She had so many
conflicting feelings for him. It was overwhelming at times, made her want to
lash out at him. But she cared about him. She felt such strong feelings, rooted
inside her, growing like a weed. She wasn’t sure she wanted them but it was a
bit late now.
And his hand on her tummy felt so good.
“I should call my dad tomorrow,” she said drowsily. “I want to tell him.”
“Alright,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Sleep now though.”
She felt her eyelids grow heavy. She wasn't sure what had been in the
medication but it was making her just a tiny bit drowsy. She was already
emotionally exhausted. She hadn't been prepared for this to happen so far from
home.
“Dad,” she murmured sleepily,
“Yes, darling?”
“Thanks,” was all she managed before she fell into a comforting sleep.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He continued to rub her tummy even after she'd fallen asleep. There was
something so intimate about the act, though his hands didn't stray at all.
He splayed his fingers along her flat stomach. He should leave her alone now,
he knew that. She was asleep and not in need of any more pain relief.
But he was enjoying this.
He realized with some surprise that he'd just assumed before today that she'd
already started her period.
And now that he knew this was her first, all he could think of was that his
daughter was fertile. There was a line in her life, and he'd been there with
her when she crossed it.
The abdomen he was currently caressing was capable of holding life now.
He wasn't at all sure why he found the idea so fascinating, but he did.
***** Chapter 11 *****
“Bye dad.”
The phone was put down gently, the click barely making a sound as the handset
was placed back on the hook.
Red had been listening carefully on the phone in the bedroom to Lizzie's
conversation with Sam. He padded away now, his sock clad feet soundless on the
carpet as he made his way through the house to the kitchen.
He'd make them some iced coffee. She liked his iced coffee. It was a special
recipe of his mother's and Sam didn't let her have coffee at home. So it was
just another small concession to make to give her a picture of him as the more
desirable father, the fun one. It was all a part of his campaign.
Lizzie arrived in the kitchen only minutes later, her mouth turned down at the
corners. She'd forgotten to call Sam the day before to tell him about her
period. She'd done it that very morning and from what he'd heard from the
conversation between them, he was a little worried.
“Iced coffee?” He asked cheerfully as he retrieved a jug of cold coffee he kept
for this very purpose from the refrigerator.
“Thanks,” she said, unsmiling, heading to the kitchen bench and perching on a
breakfast stool. “So my dad wants me to come home.”
Raymond knew he should feel bad for eavesdropping on the conversation but he
didn't. He had a few moments to prepare that he wouldn't have had if he'd done
the honorable thing.
But he was still a little nervous. This would have to be handled carefully.
She'd been tired, a little bloated and in pain the last couple of days. He'd
been as attentive as he could, starting a little ritual with her. He'd invite
her to snuggle under the covers in his bed, watching movies with her and
rubbing her tummy every night until she fell asleep between his sheets.
“That's a shame,” he said lightly, pouring ice cold milk into the coffee and
dolloping in some vanilla ice cream. “I feel as though you being unwell has
slowed our plans up a bit. You'll miss out on such a lot. I was looking forward
to taking you to Venice. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to take a
gondola ride? And there's Siena, you've promised me you'd let me take you for
Palio this year.”
Rather than look at him, she fiddled with the spoon he'd pushed across the
table to her as he mixed the iced coffee.
“That horse race you’ve been talking about?”
“It's not just a horse race! It's the culmination of neighborhood rivalries
going back as far as medieval times. There's a pageant before the race itself.
You would love it, I promise,” he said earnestly. “There are these little areas
in Siena, each called a contrada. Seventeen of them, and each is represented by
an animal. They also have their own colors and flags. They take it as seriously
as any football team rivalry in America. Perhaps far more seriously. The
contrada you were born in is the one you support for the rest of your life,
regardless of who your parents support, who you marry or who your children
support.”
It was one of his favorite little oddities throughout the world. He loved
Palio. The lifelong loyalty to an area, to the people in your immediate
vicinity, a loyalty that couldn't be broken simply because you move to a
different part of town or marry into a family from another contrada. He always
tried to make it when he could just to immerse himself in the breathtaking
excitement of the race and the day itself. The atmosphere of the medieval town
was unique and wondrous. He badly wanted to share that with Lizzie, but if she
went home...well, he just wouldn't let that happen, that was all.
“I just...dad seems upset. Did you...talk to him recently?”
She seemed uncomfortable asking the question and he had a good idea why. Sam
had been less than complimentary of him on the phone just now.
Nodding at her, keeping his expression easy, he handed her a glass of iced
coffee. “I did. It didn't seem prudent not to. I've never had a teenage
daughter before now, Lizzie. I wanted to make sure you had all the support you
needed.”
It pained him to see how torn she was. Sam had been firm on the phone. He
wanted her to come home.  But  she clearly wanted to stay. So he had a good
chance of keeping her here. And he was relieved that she wanted to stay,
because he was beginning to understand that he wasn't at all ready to let her
go. Even if she wanted to. When she had attempted to leave after the incident
with Rosa, he had come to the ugly realization that if cajoling or bribery
hadn't worked, he would have kept her against her will.
It was a frightening thought.
“I'm okay. But dad seems to think it's the worst thing ever and he's even
called my grandma and asked her to stay with us for a while when I come home.”
She looked up at him then, a sweeping flash of blue under long eyelashes.
Teenagers. If he were the type of man to doubt his own ability to manage people
in general, he'd be tempted to buy a self help book on the subject.  How to
Parent Your Teen After a Ten Year Absence From Her  probably wasn't a title he
was likely to find on the shelves in any case.
He wasn't that type of man though. Once again she wanted to be chased, to be
reassured that he wanted her. He was sure of it.
Turning away from her to rinse the empty jug in the sink he asked her over his
shoulder, “Are you really determined to go, Lizzie? We’re not even halfway
through summer vacation. Isn't Sam a bit overprotective? You're fourteen, not
four. I think you should be able to make up your own mind.”
He finished with the washing up and turned back to her, leaning over the
counter so he was inches from her face. “Sam’s been a wonderful friend, and I
hate to compete, but I'll confess, I'm not willing to give up my time with you
without a fight,” he beamed at her, hoping to appeal to her sense of mischief.
“I was a rebellious teen myself. I did what I wanted to. I've a feeling you're
inclined to do the same. Like father, like daughter, I suppose,” he said,
reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
It had been too long since he had another human being to love like this. All
consuming, life shattering love. He was walking a line, he knew it. He watched
her carefully, waiting for her response as she drank her iced coffee. He knew
he was making this difficult for her. She didn't want to hurt Sam but she
couldn't help but be charmed by the way he wooed her.
He shivered involuntarily. He hasn't meant up to use that word in his whirling
thoughts. He wasn't courting his daughter...he was trying to establish a
relationship. Reestablish really. He hadn't lied when he'd told her that he
used to change her diapers. He'd missed out on the moment she'd started to
crawl and her first stumbling steps but when she'd started to speak it had been
dada he'd heard from her lips. Perhaps he should tell her that sometime. He'd
leave out the fact that Katerina had been unreasonably annoyed that her first
word wasn't mama.
“Would you talk to my dad then?” She asked hesitantly. “He's just stressed. He
thinks you're not bringing me back when school starts again.”
Biting the inside of his cheek fiercely, he did what he needed to in order to
redirect her thoughts suitably. “Lizzie, I've been wondering...did Sam tell you
what to expect with your first period? Did he ever talk to you about it?”
She ducked her head, looking away from him. “Um...no, my Aunt June did once a
few Christmases ago. But she's a bit weird so I didn't really listen. A lot of
kids at school already have them and they told me.”
She was flushing. Her sweet, creamy skin was stained a dull red. He couldn't
help but imagine briefly where else she might flush, but he thrust the thought
from him violently. “I'm surprised,” he said mildly, “it's not the sort of
thing you leave your daughter to find out from other people.”
That got her attention. Her eyes flashed indignantly. “No, he just doesn't know
how to talk about these things...not like...you do.”
Straightening up from his position over the counter he gave her a supercilious
smile. “I suppose he hasn't spoken to you about the birds and the bees either?”
Oh, she really was flushing now. Her whole face and neck were practically
glowing.
If only she were angry at him instead. But this charming confusion was pushing
his buttons. He delighted in manipulative play with other people, but this was
Lizzie.
 Normally he loved acting like a cat playing with his dinner. If only she
wasn't appearing so much like a frightened mouse…
“Well,” he said soothingly, scooping up her empty glass and placing it in the
dishwasher, “I suppose there's time enough for that.”
When he turned back to her, he was satisfied to see curiosity in her face. She
would stay with him, he was sure of it.
“I'll talk to him shall I? How are you feeling this morning anyway?” He asked,
coming round the bench behind her and laying his hand lightly on her lower
abdomen.
I'm okay,” she said.
But she didn't remove his hand, allowing him to rub gently on her belly.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
She woke to sunlight streaming in from the window and the feeling of her dad’s
hand stroking her tummy. It felt good. She was starting to feel a strange heat
between her legs though. Ashamed, she shifted her hips away from him slightly.
He was just trying to show her that he cared, why was it making her feel this
way?
It had been almost a week of late breakfasts, snuggles in bed, movies into the
afternoon and the occasional walk into the village. She knew that girls at
school didn't get coddled this way when they were on their period. So because
of that she felt a little confused. She didn't  need  this amount of cosseting
but it satisfied something inside of her.
She felt bad though. Guilty even. She would need to let him know….even
if...well she just needed to say something.
“Dad,” she said in a timid voice. She wasn't quite sure how to say this but she
felt oddly as though she were cheating, not playing fair. Would he be
embarrassed if he knew her cramps had long since ceased? He still rubbed her
belly every night, his hand caressing her lovingly. It felt so wonderful and
she didn't want it to stop. But it probably would once he knew.
“Hmmm?” He responded sleepily.
“You know that...you know that my period finished right?”
He said nothing, just continued to stroke her belly. She lay flat, snuggled
into his side, frozen in anticipation of his response. But he wasn't saying
anything.
“I just mean, you don't have to rub my tummy anymore...if you don't want to,”
she said confusedly.”
Was she handling this right? He still hadn't said anything. Had she offended
him? Her stomach flip flopped at the thought.
“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his voice deep and thick, like treacle.
“No,” she whispered.
“Well then,” he said silkily as he continued to draw small circles on her
abdomen with his fingers.
It felt so good.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Rome wasn't built in a day. Neither was the empire that Raymond Reddington had
built himself from the ruins of his previous life. If something was worth
having, it was worth fighting for, scheming for. He'd spent weeks now, tempting
her away from Sam, offering her anything she wanted, spending painstaking hours
divining her hopes and dreams, the things she truly wanted out of life.
She was fascinated with him, half in love with the idea of being his princess
in his world. The only thing that stood in his way was Sam. He felt no
animosity toward his old friend. Perhaps a bit of envy, that was true. Sam had
been gifted so much and he'd lost it all while he fled from country to country,
slowly building himself up to be the fearsome creature he was now.
All his skill, all his wiles, he was going to employ everything in his arsenal
to take back that which was most dear to him.
He sat by the pool now, watching her apply sunscreen to her shoulders, her
fingertips rubbing the white cream into her skin. He'd been stepping up the
onslaught over the last couple of days.
“Have you thought of all the bragging rights you'd have upon your return?
Imagine being able to tell your friends that you'd spent a year at the most
exclusive school in Europe.”
She rolled her eyes, flicking excess sunscreen onto her legs, massaging that
in. “Yeah, at the schools I go to, bragging just makes you look stuck up and
you're likely to get a punch in the head.”
Really.
He pursed his lips, a hideous and hateful idea forming in his head. If he did
this, if he said the words on the tip of his tongue, even if it didn't achieve
his desired outcome, he will have forever alienated Sam. He wouldn't be
forgiven after this.
It was an almost sure fire way to convince her to stay. But it might destroy
her relationship with Sam forever.
She had  him  though. And he was committed completely to being her father.
“I've always wondered about that, you know,” he said, keeping his voice
deliberately casual. “It wasn't my business of course, to direct your education
when I wasn't able to be involved in any other capacity but I  did  wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
Oh she was curious. The trap was closing over her, she was so easily caught in
his gossamer net. The little butterfly in the spider’s web.
“Oh, just the choices Sam made. I mean, the money I gave him was to be used as
he liked. I suppose I just assumed he might have sent you to a private school,”
he said carelessly, as though what he was saying was of no particular import.
“Money? What money? He never had any money from you,” she said, her voice
taking on a shrill, panicked tone.
His eyes widened in carefully curated surprise. “Yes he did. I gave him a
particularly extravagant sum of money, it should have taken care of both of you
for the rest of your lives.”
She stood up, breathing raggedly, a dull flush in her cheeks. “He was being
paid  to look after me?”
“No, no, Lizzie. He was my friend. He was doing me a favor.”
“Some favor,” she spat. “It's a pretty big ask, to just adopt someone because
your friend wants you to.”
She was trembling. He felt a pang of conscience. A bit of pain now though, for
her future happiness. It would all be worth it.
She paced the timber decking. “I can't believe I never thought to ask,” she
said, a dry sob escaping her. “Why would he adopt a kid as a single dad? Money
of course.” She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed. “I'm going to call him.
Now. I want to hear this from him,” she said, racing into the house, heading
for the phone in the study as though she thought he might try and prevent her.
He wouldn't of course. This was all going to plan.
He waited a few moments before he followed her. He heard her voice from the
next room as he made his way to the study.
“When were you going to tell me that you were paid to adopt me?” She yelled.
She was silent for a bit, listening to his response.
“No, no, you didn't tell me that he gave you money to keep me!” Tears were
running freely and she sobbed through her words.
“It's the same thing dad! No he didn't tell me that, he didn't need to tell me!
It's obvious. You would have told me about the money otherwise.” She paused,
listening again to Sam’s desperate explanations. He could hear his voice even a
few paces away, tinny and urgent through the earpiece of the phone.
“I hate you! I never wanna talk to you again!” She screamed into the phone,
causing even Raymond to jump.
She slammed the handset violently down and tore out of the room.
He knew his daughter well enough now to know she would need some time before he
should approach her. He would use that time to gauge Sam’s reaction.
He dialed his old friends number.
“Lizzie?” Gasped Sam into the phone.
“It's me.”
“You lying son of a bitch,” he spat venomously.
“I only told her the truth Sam, I'll never lie to her.”
“You twisted the truth! That money was waiting til the day she turns eighteen.
I haven't touched it. How could I? There was no way to explain that money
without lying and I don't lie to her either. Something tells me I've been more
forthright than you!”
“All I've done is tell her I gave you a large sum of money intended for her.
It's up to you both to discuss that further,” he said evenly. “And really,
Sam...nine different schools? You could have settled somewhere. I  did  think
that when I entrusted you with my daughter and enough money to-”
She's  my  daughter, she will always be my daughter and I've had enough of
these silly games. She's coming home right now Ray! Do you hear me? Get her on
a plane now or so help me god…”
“You're not in a position to make demands like that. Lizzie is upset, she's
going to need some time. I'm enrolling her in a school locally. She can spend a
year here and we’ll reevaluate at the end of that period.”
Sam was sputtering, apoplectic with rage. “You...you bastard...I'm coming over
there. How interested do you think the Feds will be to help me get my daughter
back when they hear the FBI’s fourth most wanted has her?”
“You won't do that, Sam,” Raymond said confidently.
“The hell I won't!”
“You alert the FBI or any other law enforcement agency, you’ll be serving
Elizabeth up on a platter to those who threatened her when she was four. They
think she died in that fire, that Katerina Rostova and Raymond Reddington’s
daughter is dead. I know you won't do anything to jeopardize her safety now.”
Sam's sob of anguish was terrible to hear. He wondered vaguely what had
happened to him that he could listen to that sound, that he could inflict this
amount of hurt on a man who had been as close as a brother and continue on as
if everything were fine.
“Goodbye Sam,” he said regretfully, placing the phone back on its hook. Now to
find Lizzie and see how she was doing.
He found her by the pool, sitting on the edge, her legs submerged in the water.
She'd stopped crying.
“Sweetheart, I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault,” she said in a dull voice. She didn't look up at him.
“I feel obligated to tell you that I've spoken to Sam just now and he wants you
to return to Nebraska straight away,” he said, in the same gentle tone.
She glanced up at him then. “You're not going to send me home though, are you?”
He waited for a beat. “Not if you don't want to go.”
“I'll stay with you then.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It had been forty eight hours of constant phone calls, ignored by her the whole
time. She didn't want to talk to Sam. She felt as though her insides had been
pulped and squeezed out of her every time she thought of him.  And he continued
to try to force her to acknowledge him. She wondered if he was worried he'd
lose the money.
Her whole life was a lie. The father she thought was steady as stone was a
trickster in every sense of the word. She lay in bed, drearily wondering if she
had to get up this morning.
Burrowing further into the bed sheets, she pushed her bottom further into her
dad's side. At least she had him. She hadn't really stopped sleeping in his bed
since she had her period. It had just become the norm to get ready for bed in
her own room but slip into his bed when it was lights out.
He hadn't commented so far. He still rubbed her belly every night. It helped
her sleep. But last night she hadn't been able to sleep at all. It wasn't her
tummy, it was her heart that felt bruised and sore.
“Don’t you think it's past time to get up?” His voice floated over her, crusty
and deep with sleep. It gave her a pleasant shiver.
She sat up slightly, turning toward him, her thoughts confused and fuzzy, eyes
still unfocused. Was this okay? What they were doing?
“Have you noticed,” she began cautiously, “that we’re sleeping together a lot.
Like, in the same bed.”
A spasm flashed across his face, as fleeting as lightning. “I've missed out on
ten years of your life. It surprises you that I want to spend every moment,
waking or sleeping, with you?”
She cozied into his chest again, tucking her legs up between his own legs. “I
guess not,” she whispered contentedly.
“I take it we’re not getting up just yet then?” He asked, gently stroking her
lower back, his fingers sweeping the top of the elastic of her pajama shorts.
Closing her eyes, she let the sensation of his fingers on her bare skin wash
over her. “Not yet,” she sighed, keeping perfectly still, folded tightly into
his body.
Just a few more minutes.




***** Chapter 13 *****
The day her father stopped calling was the worst day of her life. She hadn't
realized until that point that for all her outrage, for all her anger and hurt,
her desire to  punish  Sam, she had still relied on the belief that he must
love her, he must want to make things up with her.
She hadn't really believed with her whole heart that he had taken her just for
money. Not when she'd had time to think, time to step out of her sullen anger.
So when that morning she woke up and didn't hear the shrill ring of the
telephone, a cold fear gripped at her heart.
“Don't you want to go sailing today, Lizzie?” Raymond looked across the
breakfast table at her, he'd been eager to show her how to sail a boat. Simon
was supposed to come with them and help.
She pushed her breakfast around her plate. He hadn't noticed then? That her
dad-that Sam, hadn't called yet. For the past few days he'd called the house
every morning at seven AM sharp, then again at nine AM and a few times in the
evening, varying the times, sometimes after dinner, sometimes before.
She never answered the phone. Her dad would look at her for a moment each time
and unobtrusively move to answer it himself. He spoke quietly, it was always
the same.
“She's not ready yet Sam.”
“You'll just have to trust me to tell you when she is.”
“Sam, you're not being helpful, I won't tell you again...when she's ready, not
when you are.”
Sometimes she could hear Sam bellowing from the other end of the phone, his
familiar voice causing a hard ache in her chest .
That ache was nothing compared to the nausea and fear in her belly as she sat
waiting for the phone call that was half an hour late that morning.
“I don't really feel like going out today,” she said non committedly. How could
he not notice? It had been days of phone calls like clockwork, each time he'd
had to hang up because Sam refused to get off the phone.
She pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to cry. If he was giving up
that easily, he wasn't worth it. She  wouldn't  cry. He wasn't even her dad.
Not really. But when she thought that, even just to herself, it was as if a
fist seemed to punch her in the ribs. Well she'd just get used to it. That was
how things were now.
Her dad was here and he loved her. He'd given her away to keep her safe. Like
that story of Moses her grandma read her from the bible when they'd lived that
year with her. She was important to Raymond, she reminded herself, so much so
that he'd hidden her away to prevent anything bad happening to her. She
understood vaguely that he hadn't meant to become a criminal, there was
something that had gone wrong.
She asked him the other day. About her mom, about his reasons for going rogue.
She'd sat at an outdoor table with him at his favourite cafe, the one with the
whitewashed wall and shockingly pink bougainvillea creeping up the side. “Tell
me about my mom,” she'd said. “I kinda thought you would have by now. What
happened?”
She had looked across at him. Silently willing him to be open with her.
Actually, she had also wondered why it had taken her so long to ask. He loved
to tell her funny stories about his past, why not a story about hers?
He’d smiled at her, unable to keep the grim lines completely out of his face.
“I suppose Sam told you that your mother was Russian?”
“Was? So she really is dead?”
Shifting in his chair uncomfortably, he'd flagged a waiter down, ordering an
espresso for himself and a cafe latte for her. “Your mother’s name was Katerina
Rostova,” he’d said finally. “She was a Russian intelligence agent.
The...fire...she was separated from you...us, that night. She was captured and
killed the night of the fire. I'm sorry, Lizzie,” he had said, his hands
seeking hers as she choked out a ragged breath.
It made it just a shade more lonely now. No mother, no Sam. She had Raymond
though. Her real dad.
===============================================================================
 
All day she’d waited, mooching around the house aimlessly. She'd tried reading
a book, she had heaps of them piled up in her room. She'd practiced her Italian
with Ray-her dad.
No phone calls.
In the afternoon, it had started to sink in that he wasn't going to call that
day. She'd waited in the house for nothing.
She'd even made bargains. She didn't really think much about if there was a god
but she made a bargain with him anyway. If Sam would just call, she'd pick up
the phone. If he'd just call, she'd listen to what he had to say. If he'd just
call, she would give all her stuff to the homeless. She'd do extra hours of the
language lessons her dad had started with her...she'd do anything.
But he didn't call.
And she stalked out of her bedroom in the late afternoon, in a bikini with her
hair styled and makeup on.
I’m going to see if Simon is coming to the beach for a swim,” she said
abruptly, her tone an indication that Raymond wasn't invited.
He looked disturbed, concerned but he just nodded. “Alright then. Don't forget
to apply sunscreen.” He turned slowly back to his paperwork with nothing
further to say.
She stood there in the doorway to his study for just a moment longer, wondering
what kind of criminal work required so much...actual work.
But it didn't hold her interest long. She went back to Fabiana's apartment to
find Simon there with some of his friends.
“Lizzie!” He called out to her. They were sprawled out on the grass of
Fabiana’s front lawn, drinking soda and listening to music. “Come and meet my
friends!”
She hesitated at the small front gate. “I was just going down to the beach and
wondered if you wanted to come, but if you're busy…”
“No let's go down to the beach!” Said one girl enthusiastically, jumping up
from her reclining position on the grass. She grasped Lizzie in an embrace,
kissing each cheek. “Hello Lizzie, I'm Bianca.”
Lizzie smiled awkwardly. “Hi...so you guys are coming to the beach then?”
Simon was shirtless, his tanned chest sported a small amount of dark hair,
concentrated over his sternum and nipples. She tried not to stare, her eyes
darting away to study his friends.
There was Bianca, a pleasant looking dark haired girl. She was tanned and
curvy, her hair cut into a bob not dissimilar to Lizzie's.
“Lizzie is the American girl I told you about,” began Simon awkwardly, sitting
up on the grass, crossing his legs into a lotus position. His other two friends
smiled warmly at her.
“Hi, I'm Antonino,” said a blond boy sitting across from him. He gave her a
lazy wave, looking over at her with an interested expression. He pointed at the
other girl, the one with long dark blonde hair. “This is Adriana.”
Adriana waved at her too, jumping up from the grass. “I think a swim is a
fantastic idea. Simon, can you take us out on the boat?”
Simon looked over at Lizzie guiltily. “Not really, I'm not supposed to without
permission.”
Looking across from Simon to Lizzie, it was obvious that Adriana was confused.
“But we do all the time,” she said. “When have you ever asked for permission?”
“I'm not gonna tell,” Lizzie broke in dryly, aware that Simon’s panic was
because he was concerned that she'd snitch to her dad.
There were odd glances all round. Everyone was sort of frozen, looking around
at everyone else. It was weird and Lizzie was beginning to feel uncomfortable
when Antonino gave a great big guffaw at the situation. He thumped Simon on the
back. “That'll teach you to go round borrowing the employer’s toys.”
He gracefully stood, taking Lizzie's hand and giving her the same kiss of
greeting on both cheeks that Bianca had...but his lips lingered just a fraction
longer, his breath just a trifle hotter on her skin. “You should tell us about
yourself Lizzie.” He threw a cheeky look back at Simon. “We've heard some
things of course. All very complimentary, I promise.”
Oh gosh, his smile. Who was this guy? She hesitated a moment but he  had
asked. “Well, I'm staying here with my dad, trying to learn Italian. He's been
drilling me on it every chance he gets,” she said, smiling at him.
It was late afternoon but the sun was still hot overhead and the air shimmered
under the blue sky. They made a nice little group as they casually walked down
to the beach. It was pleasant to have Antonino so interested in her. He asked
lots of questions, made funny jokes and looked at her with heavily lidded eyes
from time to time...it made her warm inside.
“So” he said, as they calmly paddled further out than the rest of the group.
“Do you like it down here in the south? Simon said you've been to Rome. It's a
bit different here, you'd probably notice that, yes?”
“Yeah, Rome is pretty busy.”
She didn't know what else to say. It was obvious Antonino was flirting with
her. He'd sectioned her off from the rest of the group, swimming further and
further out. She rifled through her brain for things to talk about. “So, what
do you do,” she ventured weakly. It was all she could think of for
conversation. She paddled even deeper out, her feet no longer able to touch the
stones on the ocean floor.
“Oh I'm still in high school. Simon was in the year above us,” he said,
smirking at her. “I'm probably going to go to university in Napoli the year
after next. I'll miss home of course,” he said, as if he really wouldn't miss
it at all. “Maybe I'll go to America too.” He gave her a sly look, as though he
expected that to impress her.
The water was so calm and deep, licking softly at the sides of her body. It was
easy to lie on her back and float, letting the ocean cradle her. She drifted
further out, splaying her arms and legs like a starfish.
“Hey,” came Antonio’s voice from behind her. “Who are those men standing there
on the beach?”
Lizzie looked up, curling herself into a ball and bobbed around in the ocean to
get a look at what he was referring to. She saw five men in dark suits standing
on the smooth, grey stones of the small, half-crescent beach. They just stood
there, staring out at the water directly at them, arms by their sides like
military men on parade.
She squinted. One of them looked like Artie, a huge man with a dark blond buzz
cut and cratered skin. He was hard to miss. Head of Red’s security, she'd
become familiar with him coming and going from the villa. He'd regularly report
to Red each day.
“That's Lizzie’s security. Mr Reddington is a rich man, he takes his daughter’s
safety very seriously,” said Simon, appearing to her right with no warning.
He'd swam up around them. He sounded disapproving, almost warning Antonino
away.
Simon splashed her playfully. “Best that you do not drown then, Lizzie. You'd
get them into trouble.”
She raised an eyebrow, wiping droplets of water from her eyes. Looking back
towards the men standing to attention on the beach, she had a wicked thought.
“I wonder if they're paid enough to come in if I really  was  drowning to
rescue me,” she giggled.
Impulsively she splashed around, letting herself sink to her chin in the water.
She waved an arm around violently, in the universally accepted signal for
seeking help in the water.
“What are you doing?” Asked Simon uncertainly.
“Shhhh,” she laughed still waving and splashing about.
Antonino had caught on. His big grin would have been a giveaway up close but
all that her security team would see from this distance was two teenagers
thrashing about in a very deep part of the ocean as if they were drowning.
“Help!” She gurgled as Antonino and even Simon begrudgingly started to echo.
It didn't take long. At first they looked startled, all fanned out across the
beach, noticing her predicament at slightly different times.
It was Artie who sprang into action first, following closely by every single
one of the team.
Splashing around trying not to giggle, she ducked under the water, letting them
swim right up to her before she popped up again like a cork, snorting with
laughter, salt water in her eyes and mouth and her hair everywhere over her
face.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Artie breathlessly. “Are you alright?”
She laughed at his expression. His eyes were wild with an edge of confusion. He
looked like a half drowned sheepdog. She felt mean and she didn't care. “Yeah,
I'm fine,” she said distantly, floating on her back again after taking a quick
look at the shoreline. It seemed as though Bianca and Adriana had noticed the
commotion too because they were slowly swimming over to where she and the boys
were.
“Well,” he said, keeping to only a mildly exasperated drawl, “it looked a bit
like you were drowning. Are you sure you're okay?”
At that, all three of them burst into laughter. She heard his heavy sigh as he
turned to swim back to the rest of the team.
“It's fine,” he said shortly. “She's fine.”
A minute later, Bianca and Adriana arrived. “What was that about?” They asked
at the same time.
“Well, Lizzie has a security team and they don't want her to drown, it seems,”
laughed Antonino. “I wonder…whether they'd have to come back out again if I
pulled you under,” he said, grabbing her by her middle.
She shrieked, wriggling away from him, splashing him heavily with water. His
hands had wandered over her middle and cupped her bottom for just a second. It
was making her feel delightfully adventurous. He was  definitely  flirting with
her.
“Pretend again. Will they come back do you think?” She whispered, bobbing up
against him deliberately.
“I think that's going too far,” broke in Simon, shooting his friend a nasty
look. “Don't you think, Tony? Let's just swim. No need to get Lizzie in
trouble.”
“She's their boss, isn't she? She can make them come in and rescue her as many
times as she likes,” responded Antonino, lazily splashing Simon’s face with
water as he spoke.
For a second Simon looked  really  annoyed. Then his face smoothed over. “Fine,
if you think they haven't had enough exercise for today, go ahead.”
His friend didn't even wait for him to finish. He jumped gleefully on Lizzie’s
shoulders, forcing her under the water. She felt a moment of panic as she
struggled. His hands had run briefly down her front, squeezing her so quickly
she was barely sure if it had occurred. He let her up again, and she gasped for
air as Antonino pulled his hand up again, yelling, “help, help!”
She laughed once more, copying the blond boy, her hand waving in the air, feet
kicking up water so it looked once again like she was drowning.
It was only some silly fun really. No one was getting hurt. And they clearly
didn't really believe this time around that she was in danger. She could tell
by the way they took their time coming back out to help.
She wondered how many times in a row she could get them to come and ‘rescue’
her.
Well, she’d see.
***** Chapter 14 *****
“Lizzie, come out here please,” Red called to her. He was furious. The head of
his security team stood awkwardly in the living room. He hadn't relished being
the one to reveal Lizzie’s behavior. But  he  wasn't the one who was about to
face some much needed discipline. He'd done perfectly right and Red was quite
pleased with his handling of the situation.
With Lizzie, not at all pleased.
She bounced out of her bedroom. She'd just had a shower after spending all
afternoon at the beach with Simon and his friends. She had an easy expression
on her face til she caught sight of Artie, his most trusted bodyguard.
She stopped in the entrance of the living room, a look of distaste on her face.
“Lizzie, come here,” he said, beckoning her to him.
She reluctantly moved further into the room. “I was just mucking around,” she
said resentfully, the fingers of one hand curling around the scar on the other.
“So you  do  know what this is about?”
She glanced again at Artie, her face darkening further. “Yeah, so me and Simon
were just playing around, pretending to drown.”
“Is it true that you had some sort of competition going to see how quickly your
security came in to rescue you?”
She ducked her head. “Yes,” she muttered. “But it was just harmless fun. You
don't have to be so uptight about it.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I don't consider playing the girl who cried wolf
to be  harmless fun . In fact, it's quite dangerous. The security I pay for to
protect you is the best there is, Lizzie and they take their jobs very
seriously. I don't appreciate you making it harder for them to ensure your
safety.”
She sighed huffily. “Okay fine. I get it. I won't do it again. Jeez.”
His lips thinned. There it was again. That attitude. She'd been a pleasure to
be around since the drinking incident and she'd been completely his since she'd
cut ties with Sam but he knew it couldn't last. She was testing her boundaries
with him once more. Only this time, he had a sure fire way to bring her to
heel.
“Alright then,” he said. “I feel that I ought to punish you. There really
should be consequences for such thoughtless conduct but Simon is seventeen and
has far less of an excuse. Go and get him for me please.”
A look of alarm passed over her face. “No, dad I'm sorry! It was all me! He was
barely playing the game.”
Raymond hid a smile. “He should have stopped you altogether,” he said
seriously. “I'm afraid this is the second time I've let him off. I can't keep
doing that. Particularly when your safety is involved.”
“But it was my  fault ,” she protested passionately.
He pretended to consider for a moment. “Alright, if it was so very much your
fault, convince me you've learnt your lesson. I want you to think of a fitting
punishment for yourself and come back to me before dinner. If it's suitable, I
won't need to go and speak to Simon.”
She hesitated, not expecting this turn of events. “What...what kind of
punishment?”
He arched an eyebrow. “That's for you to decide. It will need to be a proper
reflection of the serious nature of your behavior if you expect me to believe
you really are sorry.”
She nodded miserably, turning away back down the hall to her bedroom.
Good. Let her stew there for a while. She couldn't come to any harm there.
He turned to Artie. “Thank you for letting me know. If anything of the kind
happens again, I'll need to be briefed immediately, of course,” he said
smoothly, nodding his head in a clear dismissal.
And now the waiting game.
He decided he would be cooking dinner that night. He didn't want Fabiana or
anyone else interrupting them. He was curious to see if she'd come up with a
satisfactory punishment.
The smell of sauteed onions had started to drift through the house when she
crept from her bedroom, standing in front of him in the kitchen.
“I just don't know,” she said, spreading her arms out helplessly. “Can't you
think of something? I promise I won't say no to it, whatever it is.”
She wouldn't say no to him. He felt liquid heat snake it's way through his
groin. There were a lot of things he could do to punish her. He could take away
something in her bedroom that she cared about. Her room was beginning to look
like a magpie’s nest, festooned with pretty, shiny things.
He could ground her. She wouldn't love that. The villa was comfortable but
there were far more interesting things to be doing outside the house.
Or he could spank her.
He had never done so before. He hadn't lived with Katerina, only visiting them
both secretly when he could get away. And it hadn't been his parenting style
anyway. With any of his children.
He looked at her now, feeling sick with excitement. He wanted to spank his
daughter. He felt arousal and self hatred warring within himself. Why? Was this
because she was so helpless now? She'd cut herself off from Sam and his
protective instincts were running riot. He enjoyed her clinging to him as the
only safe and constant thing in her life. Was he taking advantage of that?
Could he spank her without it becoming...strange?
He almost didn't care.
“Well then perhaps I should spank you,” he said, rolling his tongue over the
words. “You behave like a child, you get treated like a child. How's that for
you?”
“You want to spank me?” She asked, revulsion, confusion and a hint of fear
flitting across her face in quick succession.
“You deserve it,” he said crisply, lapsing into a dignified silence. He turned
around to stir the bolognese on the stove top.
He didn't turn back to her, pretending to ignore her, but in truth he was hyper
aware that she hadn't moved from her position since he'd spoken.
“Fine,” she said reluctantly after a while. “Do you want to get it over with
then?”
He turned back to her, his expression crushingly aloof. “It can wait until
after dinner.”
Dinner. He watched her all through the meal as she choked down her spaghetti.
He was numb, his mind was justifying his decision desperately, scrabbling for
logic. It was a valid disciplinary measure. He wouldn't touch her
inappropriately. She would bend over his knee, fully clothed and receive a
sharp lesson to remind her to behave.
It was a good thing that she was choosing to allow this. She was becoming more
malleable. She was learning to submit to his authority as her father.
“When you've finished, come and see me in the study,” he said, giving her a
searching look. Was she going to be obedient?
He waited for her, seated in the corner of the study. He waited for at least a
quarter of an hour. He had just made the decision to get up and select a book
from the bookshelf near the window when he heard a hesitant knock at the open
door. She'd come.
He sat back in his chair. “Come in, Lizzie,”
She slowly entered the study. He had turned on only the desk lamp for light, so
shadows moved around the room in strange shapes.
“If you do this, you'll leave Simon alone? You won't kick him out of the
house?” She asked anxiously.
“I won't. But I hope you'll take note of the lesson as well, Lizzie.”
She nodded. He was going to tell her she should bend over his knee. She wasn't
required to bare her bottom, but to his shock, she unzipped her jeans and
approached his chair, jeans pooled around her ankles.
“What do you want? Over your knee then?” She asked nervously.
He felt as though the air had left his lungs. She was so sweet, so silly. He
wanted to stroke her, not spank her. Why was he doing this again? He could
barely remember. The little darling was offering herself up for a bare bottom
spanking, to save her friend.
He just nodded at her, speech was beyond him at that moment.
She bent herself over his lap, cautiously positioning her body so that she was
lying right across him, her legs horizontal in the air.
He raised his hand, preparing to bring it down across her bottom but found that
he couldn't. When it came to it, his hand remained hovering in the air, high
above her buttocks. Realisation dawned on him as tears pricked his eyes. He
couldn't cause her pain. Even if it were to be effective in teaching her the
lesson, he didn't care. He couldn't raise a hand to his little girl.
“Lizzie, hop up,” he said, his voice cracking.
She looked around at him curiously.
“I can't hit you, hop up sweetheart,” and this time he pulled her upright.
She stood, confusedly groping for her jeans and pulling them back up her legs.
“What was that all about then?” She asked disgustedly.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said shortly, rushing out of the room.
He felt hideous guilt engulfing him.
Just as well he'd stopped. Just as well. Would he have kept it to a spanking?
He honestly wasn't sure but he'd do anything to be free of these feelings.
Anything , he thought to himself brokenly as he cowered in the bathroom.
===============================================================================
 
Lizzie's legs barely carried her to her bedroom before she collapsed onto the
floor behind her door.
She wasn't sure what had happened. Panic was starting to rise in her chest,
crushing her windpipe, almost making her dizzy.
He was angry with her. She had felt ashamed when she'd come to stand in front
of him in the living room. She knew it was a pretty poor thing to have done.
She'd known that the whole time. She'd felt so hateful and hurt though that she
had pushed her scruples aside.
She swallowed a sour taste on her tongue. He'd wanted to smack her like she was
a baby...and then...he didn't.
She had felt disgusting and strange, bent over his knees like that. It hadn't
felt like a punishment, it had felt like some sick game.
Was there something wrong with her? She hadn't wanted to be spanked, she'd been
furious that he demanded her humiliation in that way. But then he pushed her
off his lap as though she really  were  disgusting. And then somehow it was
worse that he wouldn't punish her.
Her hands balled into fists and she drew her knees up to her chin, hunching
over herself, hating herself. Maybe Sam had stopped calling because he was
disgusted with her too?
Was she really not capable of inspiring anyone to want her? She repressed a
shuddering sob at the thought.
Maybe there was a god. She didn't have anyone else to love her. Would god love
her? No matter what she did?
Tears steadily dripped down her chin for what must have been hours. Her eyes
ached. She wanted her mother, but she was long dead. She wanted Sam, but he'd
become tired of her refusal to speak with him. She wanted Raymond...she didn't
understand the feelings in her chest, but she wanted him to love her, to care
about the things she did, whether they were right or wrong.
She needed him, she needed him to hold her, to fold her so tightly into his
arms that she couldn't breathe. Staying here with him if he didn't love her was
such an awful thought. If he didn't want her, if he truly only saw her as a
duty now, then she would go. She didn't know where but the idea of him falling
out of love with her was so terrible that she'd rather go and live under a
bridge, she thought, sniffling her tears back.
She stood up on wobbly knees, opening her door and quietly walking down the
hall to his room.
She knocked but didn't wait for his answer, turning the door handle and
slipping into the master bedroom where she had been sleeping with him most
nights.
He'd been startled by her entrance. He was lying stretched out on the bed,
blankets and sheets draped casually over him. He was slightly propped up on the
bed with pillows under him, looking oddly flushed and he sounded out of breath.
She didn't spare a thought for it. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice breaking
over the words. “Please don't leave me.”
The discomfited and stiff expression on his face slowly turned to horror. He
sat up in the bed, bringing his arms out from under the blankets, reaching for
her.
“Come here, Lizzie, my precious girl.”
Oh, it was going to be okay. He sounded warm, loving, forgiving. She rushed
into his arms, letting her fears go completely. She sobbed, tucking her head
under his chin. He  did  love her. He was whispering soothing words of love and
she was telling him how lonely she was, how afraid and uncertain.
He did love her. She just had to stop annoying him so much.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Lizzie sat on the edge of the pool watching Simon do laps. She'd woken up in
her dad's bed again that morning and she'd never felt so relieved to have him
there. It had been awful, thinking he was tired of her.
She couldn't help but think that a lot lately. Everyone was getting tired of
her. She wondered if Simon was too.
He'd flirted with her occasionally, at least she thought he did. It was hard to
tell. But yesterday Antonino had definitely been flirting with her. He'd been a
bit handsy. She wasn't sure if she liked that but she did like Simon’s
reaction.
He hadn't been thrilled with Antonino’s attention on her.
Splashing her legs a little in the water, she called out to him, “hey, I saw
you working on a motorbike the other day. Is it yours?”
He looked up, his eyes brightened as if he hadn't seen her there, too focused
on his swimming. He swam over to the side, pulling himself up out of the water
to sit beside her. “It is, it's a Ducati. My uncle sold it to me. It needs some
work but it runs well.” He grinned at her. “I could take you for a ride?”
Feeling a tiny tendril of satisfaction in her belly, she giggled nervously. God
why was she giggling? He was totally flirting with her. She had to be cooler
than this. Her fingers scraped the cement as she scrambled to stand up. “Why
not now?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” he said, leaping nimbly to his feet. “Let me
dry off and we can get out of here.”
She scrambled to stand up too, eager for an adrenaline rush, something to
distract her from the persistent melancholy that had been dogging her. A
motorbike ride would be perfect.
She half turned to go, thinking he'd lead the way to his garage but he didn't
move, just standing at the edge of the pool, his towel around his neck. She
turned back to him. “Are we going then?” She was curious. He was giving her an
odd look.
“You know, you're really very pretty,” he said.
She flushed. It was a strange way of saying it. He almost sounded...surprised.
He was so tall, much taller than her. He took a step forward, his muscled body
glinting in the sun. She was mesmerized by the way each small droplet of water
just sat there on his shoulders and biceps.
He was so close to her now. Her throat felt dry and she started to feel
panicky. If he was going to kiss her, was she ready? She would have practiced
with an iced cupcake like Candice had suggested if she'd known she was going to
get kissed this year by a hot Italian.
He bent his head.
Oh god, he was going to kiss her. She suddenly felt dizzy as his lips brushed
hers, just a test, to see if she was into it.
She was. He took a step further, his hands gently coming to rest on her hips,
his lips pressed to hers. Oh this is nice, she thought wildly.
“I beg your pardon,” came a harsh voice from the entrance to the pool
enclosure.
They sprang apart.
Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, her dad had seen her. It was her first
kiss.
She wondered somewhat tangentially if he had seen that she had kissed him back.
What would he make of her first kiss. Did he think she was maybe good at it?
Her thoughts galloped through her head while she waited for a further reaction
from him.
He came forward into the pool area. “Simon, we need to talk,” he said grimly.
“Come with me,”
“No, dad,” she cried out, horrified. Was he going to do something awful and
mean like kick Simon out?
“Lizzie, run down to the marina. Fabiana wanted Simon to go and collect the
order from the fishmonger but I think that's a job for you today. Off you go,”
he said, leaving no room for discussion, turning around and heading back into
the house like he expected them both to obey him to the letter.
They did.
Lizzie crept down to the marina, a sick feeling in her stomach. She was so
worried for Simon. She had wanted him to kiss her, and really it was just a
kiss. Her dad had no right to be upset.
Chewing on her lip, she waited in line at the fishmonger. The fish was fresh
caught; sea bream, monkfish, squid, shrimp, clams of different sizes. Fabiana
could make a killer seafood pasta and they had a lot of fish in their diet.
Lizzie loved it. It was so novel, eating seafood almost every day.
She barely noticed her purchases now though, handing the money over as if in a
dream.
The walk back was a nightmare. She was desperate to return to the villa and
terrified she might come back to see Simon packing his car or with a black eye
courtesy of her angry father.
So she was extra quiet when she entered the house. Like a squirrel hiding a nut
for the winter, she buried the seafood in the refrigerator and looked around
her unhappily.
The whole house was silent.
Reminding herself to be stealthy, she went in search. They must be somewhere
here.
When she made her way to his study, she was pretty much dead certain they were
in there. And if they were in there still, her dad was probably reading Simon
the riot act.
So when she thrust the door open with a bang, the sight that met her eyes took
her back for a moment.
Her dad and Simon were seated in armchairs, laughing about something, cigars
and crystal cut tumblers of scotch in hand.
It didn't escape her though, that there were two beautiful antique looking
revolvers lying in bits on the desk, completely disassembled. It looked like
they'd both been cleaning one each and had gotten to drinking and smoking
before they were done.
She cleared her throat and both sets of eyes turned to her inquiringly.
“How did the seafood go? He asked gravely, as though she'd been tasked with
bringing home a suitcase full of hundred dollar bills.
“Fine, it's in the fridge,” she huffed. “Are you done with Simon? It's just
that he was going to take me out on his motorbike,” she said, confident that
her dad would freak out and stop her.
It's what Sam would have done.
He just regarded her thoughtfully, his glass of scotch under his nose as though
he were savoring his favorite smell.
It probably was his favorite smell at that.
“Yes, you can both go,” he said, inclining his head. “Simon hasn't forgotten
the few lessons I shared with him about...safety, just now, have you Simon?
The poor guy shook his head vigorously, standing up to follow her quietly out
the door.
“What did he say to you?” She demanded  as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Nothing, everything is fine,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead and a
sickly smile on his face
They had been walking down the side path to Fabiana's little detached garage
beside her apartment.
“What! Ugh, whatever,” she cried, throwing up her hands and walking away back
to the house.
“Where are you going?” He called out to her, his footsteps not far behind her.
“Home! I don't like being lied to.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her around to him. “Don't you want to go for a
motorbike ride?”
Fully intending to reject him, she jerked her arm away, looking into his face,
scathing words ready to spill from her lips but then she took in his anxious
expression.
He looked terrified.
“Simon,” she laughed in frustration. She'd try and be nice. He was being a bit
silly though. “It's a thing American parents do. They're more overprotective I
guess. But he's not...I mean he wouldn't really do anything to you.” She
stepped closer to him giving him an upward glance she intended to be inviting
but his face almost turned green and he stepped back from her.
“Lizzie, I should not have kissed you, I’m really sorry but you're just a kid.
If you want to go on a motorbike ride we can do that but I won't kiss you
again.” He folded his arms after his little speech, confident he'd had the last
word.
Hands on hips, head cocked to the side, she stared back at him, unimpressed.
“You don't kiss kids that way. I don't know what you're so scared of. You were
into it before Raymond caught us. That whole thing with the guns, cleaning them
together?...that was silly. He was just joking with you."
Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “You don't know what you're talking about, do you? I
suppose you can't know what it's like living in the south."
“What? What's that got to do with anything?”
Giving her a tentative sidelong glance, he slunk along to sit on the edge of a
retaining wall at the side of Fabiana’s small front garden. “Do you know how my
grandmother met Mr Reddington?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Why would I?”
He took a deep breath. “Grandmother worked as a servant in the house of a
Camorra crime boss in Napoli-”
“What's a Camorra?”
He shot her a surprised look, as though she ought to know. “The local mafia.
You know, yes? There is not a lot of work down here in the south unless you are
connected to the Camorra in some way...or pay money to them. She wasn't treated
very well. She'd been with them since my mother was a girl. And do you know
what happened? Mr Reddington was staying with the family one day and my
Grandmother was being hit around the face with a strap by the lady of the house
because she had accidentally dropped a bottle of perfume. Mr Reddington...he
demanded the woman stop beating my grandmother, and when she wouldn't, he
struck her.”
Simon licked his dry lips. Lizzie was waiting eagerly for the next part of the
story. Her dad was a good guy. He rescued Simon’s grandmother.
“What happened then?” She asked eagerly. “Did he take Fabiana to work for him
then?”
“Nooo, that's not quite...well, you see, when you insult the wife or family of
a Camorra leader, you either kill that family or you end up dead yourself.” He
looked again at her, his eyes darting around in an odd nervous way. “He killed
every family member that night. Executed the lot of them. He didn't need a
reason. He didn't say it was because of my grandmother. He didn't need to. The
Concierge of Crime does not need to give his reasons for such things."
“That's horrible.”  Lizzie shivered, sitting beside Simon, taking his hand into
her own, and looking up at him trustingly. “There wouldn't have been any
children though, would there? I mean, it was all bad guys right?”
“Lizzie,” he said, pained and uncomfortably aware that he might get into
trouble for telling her as much as he had. “My point is, he is capable of great
kindness, yes…but even the Camorra fears him. Not one other family challenged
what he did. He is...not someone to cross. Please don't ask me to."
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her grasp. “I'm going to go. I don't think
the motorbike ride is a good idea after all,” he said quietly.
She didn't protest. She felt numb. She'd known he was a criminal but hearing
that he'd shot people, really hearing a description of his activities scared
her.
And she was angry. She shouldn't have to be scared. Why couldn't he be like
normal dads? What had he actually said to Simon? He must have said something.
She was winding herself up to go and confront him, getting angrier and angrier.
===============================================================================
 
Raymond pushed aside the ugly thought that perhaps he only wanted her to turn
her maiden thoughts from Simon to himself. It was just a stray, foolish idea,
surfacing up from his hind brain like a poisonous gas bubble. He was still
adjusting to a teenage daughter, that was all. And she was far too young to be
kissing a seventeen year old. A boy on the cusp of manhood wouldn't be
satisfied with her kisses for long. He had every right to protect her
innocence. No, he had a responsibility to protect it.
Letting them both go off together had been a calculated risk. He knew exactly
how he'd made the boy feel. He'd been in his very shoes some time ago. Caught
in the act in his senior year with Melissa Briggs, he'd expected her father to
chase him out of the house with his hunting rifle. Instead, he'd sternly told
the sweet Melissa to go and help her mother prepare dinner while he had a
‘talk’ with the young Raymond.
His life to date could hardly be called a carefree one, even so, that next half
hour with Melissa’s father still rated in the top ten most hair raising times
in his life. Mr Briggs had exuded friendly menace as he took him into the
family den, beginning a cordial conversation about hunting, his favorite
pastime. He'd proudly shown off his rifles, all the while staring at the young
Raymond with an odd, knowing smile on his face.
He'd been fine of course but somehow, Melissa lost her allure. There were other
girls after all.
Lost in thoughts of high school sweethearts and simpler days, a soft and
foolish smile had crept onto his face and he wasn't really prepared for
Lizzie’s whirlwind re entry into the house.
“What did you say to him!” She demanded at the door of the study, her hands on
her hips, a dark look on her pretty face.
“Lizzie,” he welcomed her in grandly, his own hands spread wide, gesturing for
her to come further into the room. He'd had enough scotch to feel a little like
blurring some edges with his dear daughter. “Didn't I tell you I'd be happy to
talk to you about the birds and the bees? Come in, come in, let's have that
chat now.”
Frowning, she stepped further into the room. She was too angry to be
discomfited by his offer. “You know that kids tell each other things right?”
She scoffed. “I know more than you think and I don't want to talk about this
with you. I want to know what you told Simon.”
“More than I think hmmm? Do you know the mechanics of sex?” He asked, genuinely
curious now. “You know, tab A goes into slot B. How about the male appendage?
Have you even seen a penis?”
He didn't know why his mouth was running away from him like this. Perhaps he
enjoyed shocking her. But this time he didn't succeed.
“I've seen yours,” she snapped.
“I-wait, you've...no you haven't,” he said, panic filling his veins. He knew
he'd been drinking a lot lately but he would never have…
She had the grace to blush. “The other morning, in bed...you were kind of
hanging out of your boxers. It was an accident,” she hastened to assure him.
“You were asleep and it was weird...you...I didn't mean to look but you were
like…growing.”
She stopped there, going almost cross eyed with the effort of avoiding his
expression.
He was utterly flabbergasted. He wasn't angry, just...surprised. And then he
wondered why he didn't recall this himself.
“I didn't wake up ‘hanging out’, as you say, at any point recently. I think I'd
remember that.”
She looked even smaller, if that were at all possible.
“I put you back. You were all there and I was just trying to help. I figured
you wouldn't want to wake up like that.”
He swallowed.
She'd touched his penis. While he'd been asleep.
“Well, apparently we are going to need to have that birds and the bees
conversation and it might need to include the topic of consent,” he said,
feeling a slight tinge of shame at his own hypocrisy.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, so if you've stuck with me so far, I thank you.
     I want to make it clear once again that this fic is an exploration of
     personal issues.
     The next chapter contains a graphic sex scene. Please don't continue
     if this is triggering for you.
***** Chapter 16 *****
“Ho tenuto la mia lingua. È abbastanza. È abbastanza! Lei parla alla ragazza!”
Fabiana’s angry voice boomed through the house in the early hours of the
morning. It woke both of them up. Lizzie was cradled in her dad’s arms, his
legs tangled with hers, his mouth against her neck. He'd drooled a little on
her shoulder but instead of being disgusted, she shook free an odd thrill at
the feeling of his saliva on her skin.
She rolled over at the same time that he did. His face looked like a
thundercloud. She wondered uneasily what Fabiana was yelling out in the hall
and to whom? She understood the word talk and child but that was about it.
Before her feet had hit the floor, Rosa burst into the room without knocking.
Lizzie almost felt a pang of sympathy for her. She looked incredibly stressed.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she said with false brightness. “My mother was collecting the
laundry and noticed you haven't slept in your bed these past few nights. She
was worried that you had gone missing. Do you...do you sleepwalk?” She inquired
lamely.
“Rosa,” her dad said sharply, frowning dangerously. “Fabiana can go home
please. Lizzie’s bed linen can wait for another day.”
Rosa turned slowly, almost unwillingly, to look at him for the first time since
she'd entered the room. Her naturally olive skin had faded to a strange green
tinge with two pink spots high on her cheeks. She gave him a steady look, and
one of such intensity that he looked away, saying gruffly, “it's far too early
in the morning for shouting. Or bursting in on someone simply trying to sleep.
Off you go.”
He managed to be firm and playfully insulting in his tone all at once. Lizzie
wasn't at all sure how he pulled it off but Rosa practically fled the room.
Well that had been out of the ordinary.
Her dad rolled back into the bed, lying on his side, turned away from her.
“What was that about?” She asked, propping herself up on an elbow. “Dad?”
He made an annoyed noise in his throat and turned back to her. “Fabiana is
being a hysterical old woman. Never you mind. I'm sorry that she disturbed your
sleep. Lie back down, Lizzie,” he said, reaching to draw her back into his
embrace.
She did lie down, nestling into his arms, but the worry over what had just
happened wouldn't leave her, gnawing at her insides. She tried to put it
together like a puzzle. It had something to do with her bed sheets?
Was Fabiana unhappy about their sleeping arrangements? She knew it
wasn't...usual...not exactly. But neither was being separated from a parent for
so long. Her dad seemed to be saying that the normal rules didn't apply.
He was right wasn't he?
She felt a pang of loss spear through her. If she could get on the phone and
talk to her dad...to Sam, she'd feel so much better. He would give her the
right advice.
It was probably time, she decided. Time to swallow her pride and call Sam. She
missed their talks. It felt like a piece of her chest had been surgically
removed, all she had was a hollow ache and the occasional excruciating pain to
remind her of her loss.
She should have heard him out. But she'd call now and she'd listen. And then
maybe she could ask him about sleeping in the same bed with Raymond. It was
probably fine but her dad would tell her for sure.
It was late morning by the time he turned over to her, giving her a mildly
grumpy, one eyed stare. “We've been sleeping in a little too long most days.
It's not my usual modus operandi, I'm afraid.” He yawned widely, illustrating
his concern regarding slothful habits. “You'll want to get used to early
mornings when school starts too,” he added, kissing her on the cheek before
getting out of bed.
Waiting patiently, she watched as he rose from the bed, stretching languorously
like a cat waking up from an afternoon nap. He padded through to the ensuite
bathroom, locking the door behind him as he always did. He'd be in there for at
least forty minutes. His morning ritual was long and involved, including
meticulous showering and grooming. She had time to talk to Sam, tucked up in
between the sheets.
Rolling herself across the bed to Raymond's side, she quietly picked up the
handset on the phone and dialed her home number, pausing to try and remember
the international codes.
She waited expectantly, humming to herself, trying to push away the coil of
nerves in her belly.  It would be okay. He'd probably still want to explain
about the money. He wouldn't be angry. It wasn't like she was the one that had
done something wrong.
At first she didn't absorb the robotic voice on the other end of the phone.
...that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the
number and try your call again.
No.
That wasn't right. She slammed the handset down and dialed again with trembling
fingers. She'd just misdialed, that was all. Try again. It was just a misdial.
We're sorry. You have dialed a number that has been disconnected or is no
longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again.
Her heartbeat must have been going as fast as a hummingbird's wings. She felt
dizzy. Clutching the handset, she leant over, putting her head between her
legs, trying to catch her breath. There had to be an explanation.
She tried again.
And again.
Each time, the same unwelcome message assaulted her ears.
He had just bought that apartment recently. There was no way he'd moved. Unless
he was done with her? Had he moved on to his old lifestyle? The one where he
was on the road six nights out of seven looking for the latest con?  He'd told
her about his life before she'd come along. It had sounded exciting. Also,
completely unsuitable for a child which is why he'd settled...mostly. They
stayed for as long as he could stand a place. He loved to roam. She knew that
he curbed that desire, sacrificed his preferred lifestyle for her sake.
Maybe not anymore? Was he done with her? He couldn't. He was her dad.
“Please, please, please,” she begged softly to herself as she dialed her
grandma’s number.
It just kept ringing and ringing and ringing. Her grandma didn't have an
answering machine.
Aunt June did though.
She called through to her aunt.
This is June. I'm out of town but if you leave a message, I'll be sure to get
back to you when I return.
She slammed the phone down. Aunt June was always out of town for work. She'd
never gotten along with her anyway and she couldn't bear to leave a message
with her aunt begging her to call to tell her where her dad was.
“No, no, no,” she moaned, her face in her hands. Her head snapped up again.
Just one more time. And then she'd go and tell Raymond--her dad, maybe he could
help. She dialed.
We're sorry. You have dialed a number that has been disconnected or is no
longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again.
She slammed the handset down repeatedly. “No, no, NO,” she half screeched, half
sobbed. She grabbed the handset again and threw it across the room, shattering
the full length mirror in the corner. She stared at it, open mouthed, her chest
heaving and tears running down her cheeks. She hadn't expected that.
Raymond had heard the commotion, the sound of the shower had ceased abruptly
and she heard him scrambling from the bathroom.
“Lizzie!” He called out anxiously. “Are you alright? I heard a crash.”
The bathroom door opened. He stood there, dripping onto the carpet, with
nothing but a towel low around his waist, alert and on guard, his eyes doing a
sweep of the room, taking in the broken shards of mirror strewn across the
carpet and her small form, slumped forward on the bed, her body heaving with
sobs.
“What's wrong,” he asked, flying to her side. He knelt in front of her, taking
her hands in his own. “Lizzie?”
“His phone,” she choked out, “it's disconnected. No one’s answering at my
grandma’s or my aunt’s either. What's happening,” she cried, another flood of
tears engulfing her.
His face crumpled sympathetically. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Are you sure
you've dialed correctly though?”
“Yes!” She wailed, clutching his hand painfully. “You try! I don't understand.”
She sat there, frightened and confused, looking to him for guidance. He would
try and of course he'd get through on the first ring. She wanted to slow her
breathing down but it wasn't cooperating with her.
She watched fearfully as he retrieved the phone from amongst the broken glass,
thankful that he didn't say anything sarcastic about her penchant for
destroying his things. Her eyes followed him to the side of the bed where he
sat, legs splayed under his towel, his free hand resting on his thigh.
He dialled.
For a moment hope leapt in her chest and seconds later her heart came
plummeting to earth again. His forehead wrinkled as he put the handset back. He
turned to look at her and she couldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. Sam had
abandoned her because she couldn't even wait to hear his side of things.
Raymond had said it wasn't about the money. Why hadn't she just accepted that?
She threw herself into his arms, heedless of the fact that he had a towel
around him and nothing else.
“He left me,” she blubbered, her throat running with mucus. “How could he do
that? I was going to talk to him, I was!”
How could he? She clutched onto her dad, he was so thankfully real. Her hands
kneaded his body like a cat pianoing at its parent’s stomach. She felt his
sharp intake of breath and the way he drew her into his chest, but felt it
dimly, like it was barely happening to her.
He smoothed her hair, whispering into her ear. “It's going to be okay. Shhh,
it's going to be okay.”
Soothing words. But it wasn't going to be okay. All she had left in the world
was Raymond. She gripped him all the harder at the thought. If he ever left
her, she'd have no one.
She sniffed her tears back. He'd rushed out of the shower and hadn't had time
to dry off. He was leaving her all wet as he kissed and comforted her. She
didn't care. He hadn't hesitated. He'd come for her when he thought she was in
danger. He loved her, he had suffered for her many times before, she thought
mistily as her hands ran across his burned, naked shoulders.
It was funny, she didn't think she'd been so close to him with his upper body
bare before. He was quite muscular, his tanned arms rippling slightly as he
squeezed her. She closed her eyes and let his comforting words wash over her.
He was always right. If he was telling her that it would be okay...well then it
just would be.
 
===============================================================================
 
He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his daughter in his arms. His instinct
to protect her from pain was warring with a giant dollop of intense arousal.
Could she know that when she touched his bare chest like that...her
hands...Jesus. She had pushed her fingers through his chest hair, splaying them
across his chest. It was crazy. She was hurting. He couldn't let himself think
this way.
“It's alright, precious girl,” he said, kissing her cheek and pulling her
closer into him.
She had her arms wrapped around him now so tightly and she was rubbing her
cheek against his, her tears still wetting his face. Her skin was so kissable,
so soft, so smooth.
He kissed her again, just on the cheek. His lips lingering a little longer this
time. She turned her head toward him, her lips touching against his for just a
moment.
And in that moment it was like a brush fire had taken hold of him. He tried to
steady himself, to hold on, deny his impulses but it wasn't going to be enough.
Her mouth fit so easily against his. She tipped her head to him, fitting her
body closer into his. She was made for him.
If he could have recreated the world in his own design, she would belong to
him, body and soul. There would be no obstacles, nothing to separate them.
But this wasn’t his world, though he fiercely wanted it to be. He wanted to
unmake her as a child, unmake her as his daughter and remake her as his lover.
He could finally he honest with himself about that now.
She was perfect. Sweet. His. He had worked so hard for her, to keep her safe he
had sacrificed ten years, done terrible things to his soul to claw his way to a
position of strength. For her. He had earned her. Wasn't she his?
Didn't he deserve this?
Silently, as though he could deny what was happening if they both could just
remain in a void without speech, he lay her down on the bed.
Her gloriously dark hair fanned out on the pale lavender pillow like watered
silk. Her eyes met his, shining blue at him.
He bent his head to her, pressing his lips to her face. Her delicate skin was
just begging to be caressed. And so he did, pushing her thin pyjama top above
her arms, moving his hands over her. Her body had become familiar to him,
without him even realising it. He hadn't stopped to think about that before,
the danger of casual intimacy.
Their heavy, ragged breathing was the only sound in the room, a terrible duet,
desire and shame, a discordant sound in the stillness.
The covers rustled as he moved his arm over her, his hand sliding along her
stomach, finding its way under the elastic waistband of her underpants.
He sealed his mouth to hers as he quested with his fingers, feeling his way to
her centre. She was so responsive, gasping into his mouth, kissing him
hungrily, adorably clumsy in her attempts to love him.
One hand was down her pants, the other at her forehead as if he were taking her
temperature. She was burning up, hot to the touch. Like an animal hunted in the
wild, she was so quiet. His hand was moving again, this time his long fingers
spread her folds open, caressing her, dipping into her wetness.
She twitched like a worm on a hook but still she made no sound.
She was so ready, he felt it. Her juices coated his finger, her body arched
into him, silently begging him.
It should have been so simple, so uncomplicated. And perhaps it still was. He
was going to take what belonged to him.
He shifted his hips, the towel around them finally falling away.
 
===============================================================================
 
Everything was a blur, his hands fondling her, his lips caressing her. She
hadn't expected this, it didn't seem like it was really happening, like a half
awake dream. Time was trickling thicker and slower. She wasn't sure what had
started or when but she was here, and he was here, and his kisses were so
sweet. She'd bestowed her first kiss on Simon and he was nice but these kisses,
they were...shocking, arousing and they were exactly what she craved, she
realised, as a frisson of excitement curled in her belly. She felt his fingers
inside of her, probing, sliding in and out, brushing over that secret spot that
she thought only she knew about. He knew. He was touching her in the same way
she touched herself in private.
She wasn't sure what kept her silent. It felt like magic, like a spell, and to
speak would be to break the spell. So she bit down on her tongue and writhed on
his hand, desperate for more.
Her thoughts flew wildly to her virginity. He knew, didn't he? She'd never said
so but she'd told him herself that she'd never been kissed...not til Simon
anyway. And anyway, it didn't matter. He could have this. It was nice. It felt
so good. She didn't want to think about it. Why wouldn't her brain stop trying
to think about it.
She closed her eyes. It was okay. It felt so good. His breath was becoming
heavier, she could feel it now, hot on her throat. It was okay, wasn't it? If
he touched her down there? She could give him that if he wanted it. He was
alone too. He'd come for her, suffered so much for her, to keep her safe. If he
wanted this, he could have it. And it felt good anyway. It felt warm and safe.
There was nothing wrong with this.
Her arms crept around his neck, he was so close, so good, he smelt wonderful.
She let herself relax, deliberately unclenching her muscles. As long as she
didn't think, this would be perfect. It felt amazing.
She felt bursts of deliciousness between her legs as he rubbed himself against
her.  He moaned, the sound loud and guttural in her ear, his breath coming in
panting gasps.
She felt him nudging at her. His penis was hot on her stomach. It was so big.
He couldn't possibly fit, it was too big.
Her pleasure turned slowly into alarm as he moved himself over her, positioning
at her entrance and so suddenly he was pushing himself into her, inching his
way in.
“Oh no, no,” she implored as pain flooded her. She tightened her grip around
his neck. “Please,” she wept.
“It'll be over in a moment, baby girl," he whispered. “Stay with me. It'll only
hurt for a moment.”
It was awful for a few moments more, and she sobbed in pain and fear. It felt
like he was going to split her apart. It hurt so much, but he was gentle in his
caresses, slow as he moved inside of her. He kissed her and soothed her fear.
“It's okay, it's okay, it hurts less already doesn't it, baby?”
She nodded. He was right. It was hurting less, only aching slightly now instead
of that splitting pain.
“Dad,” she cried, burying her face into his chest.
“Ssshh, precious girl, shhh, tell me when it starts to feel good, hmmm?”
She looked up at him tearfully. It must have been the expression on her face
that gave him pause because he stopped, brushing a tear away with his thumb.
“Sweetheart, let me make you feel good. You've been wonderful, darling,” he
said, gently pulling himself out of her and moving down her body, spreading her
thighs apart with his hands. “This will feel good, baby,” he said softly as he
dipped his tongue into her.
A shocked gasp erupted from her lips and she lifted her hips to him in time
with his tongue lapping at her, delving into her.
Her hands worked the sheets, she gripped them tightly.
“Unh,” she grunted as his teeth scraped lightly against her.
The sounds she made were spurring him on, his tongue flicked at her, quicker
and harder, his mouth moving on her, increasing the pressure, he was sucking on
her. She felt a strange build up of sensation, the sweetest tingle in her
groin, building, building, cresting, washing over her.
She shouted, gripping his head with her hands, panting, desperate for air in
her lungs.
That had felt so wonderful. He was lifting his head to smile at her, his eyes
warm and tender. He crawled back up beside her, taking her mouth again with
his. And oh, his lips tasted so strange. She could taste and smell herself on
him.
A golden glow suffused her limbs. She felt heavy, a pleasant languor, like a
drug coursing through her. She returned his kisses, almost sleepy, so happy, so
happy. So loved, comforted and surrounded by him.
 
===============================================================================
 
He ached and trembled, fiercely thrusting his self condemnation to the back of
his mind. He loved her, he would show her, she would see.
“This means so much more, Lizzie,” he whispered into her ear, dropping light
kisses on her neck and jaw. “So much more than just sex. You're so special,
you're the only one in the world, darling. I promise I'll never hurt you. I
promise,” he said, ardent words of love spilling from his lips as he moved over
her, parting her legs, opening her up again just like in the dreams that had
been tormenting him.
“I love you,” she whispered back, tears leaking down the sides of her face,
into her hair.
“Oh Lizzie ,” he breathed. “I love you, precious girl.”
He had to believe that she wanted him in this way. She deserved better though,
he knew this. She deserved his love and protection, she deserved a father. She
shouldn't have to choose between sexual expression of his love or abandonment.
But he had the haunting, gnawing feeling that was exactly the choice she felt
she was making. It was the reason he buried his face into her hair now, as he
penetrated her, his own flesh and blood. He couldn't look at her. She was his
lover now, they could never go back, he could never undo this.
And he was honest enough to admit that he didn't truly want to.
***** Chapter 17 *****
“Rise and shine,” came a cheerful voice close to her ear. She jerked back at
the noise.
She'd been in a light, fitful sleep. Her eyes opened blearily now and she found
herself staring straight into her dad’s eyes. His face was up close to hers.
Close enough that he would just have to tilt his head a little and his lips
would be on hers. Close enough to feel his warm breath on her face.
She blinked the blur of sleep away from her eyes. Had she fallen asleep again?
It must be mid afternoon. She felt the bleary, aching head that often
accompanied sleeping for too long. It seemed as though her dad didn't have that
problem. He was all dressed for the day, an eager expression on his face.
“Wake up Lizzie, we have things to do,” he said jovially.
She sat up, propping herself on an elbow.
All at once, the events of only a few hours ago came flooding back to her.
They had...she had…her mind couldn't take it all in. There wasn't a word for
what had happened.
Her dad loved her so much. He wanted to be close to her, to make up for all
their lost time. And it all made sense now. The feelings she'd been having for
him. The possessiveness and the need for his affection and approval.
He loved her.
She smiled. “What things?”
“I want to fly to Switzerland today. We’ll stay a few days. There are two
schools I have in mind for you. Both take day students and both are on the
shores of Lake Leman,” he said enthusiastically. “You can take your pick, I've
enquired this morning and confirmed informal offers of enrollment from both. It
all depends on what town suits you, Lausanne or the smaller town of Clarens.
It's up to you, sweetheart,” he said fondly, patting her on the head.
She felt a mild panicky lurch in her stomach. School in Switzerland. It was
like in the books she'd read growing up. All those girls in boarding schools,
the dormitories, the cliques, the midnight feasts. She'd be a day student
though, an outsider.
“Can I-can we go back to America?” She asked tentatively. She ached for
familiarity...and Sam.
He frowned. “I don't spend too much time in the U.S. Lizzie. It's just too
risky. If you don't want to live with me, I suppose I could organize a boarding
school in Pennsylvania or Massachusetts for you,” he said, sounding displeased.
“No, no! I wasn't saying that! I wasn't saying that at all. I want to live with
you, I do. I'm just...scared,” she said miserably, sinking down into the bed,
her chin resting on her hands.
His expression softened. “Ah, baby. There's no need to be scared. I'll be with
you the entire time.”
She couldn't help her skepticism, she could feel her forehead wrinkling in
disbelief. No need to be scared? Had he ever tried navigating the complicated
friendships of teenage girls as the ‘new girl’ in school. She'd done it
multiple times.
It was a mine field.
But his hand had crept to her face, smoothing out the lines of concern. “Don't
look like that,” he said, gently reproving. “We’ll go and pick out a house near
whichever school you choose. Would you like to take riding lessons? You're a
bit old for a pony now but a nice thoroughbred mare might be just the thing.
You'll be a real horsewoman in no time.”
She perked up a little at that. “That would be cool. Do I have to learn a new
language though?”
He chuckled. “Both of them are international schools so lessons are taught in
English but you'll be expected to learn French and German. It's all part of the
curriculum.”
She sighed. “Okay then. But can I get a kitten?”
With a startled look, he chucked her under the chin. “You want-well I don't see
why not.”
Well, there were some compensations to her new life, that was for sure.
===============================================================================
 
“We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow,” said her dad, running his hands through
her hair proprietarily as they settled back into the car.
It had been a long day. She'd decided on St George's International School. The
principal was a nice, friendly woman in her early fifties. Ms Eveline Naeff had
been the director of the school for nine years and she was very proud of the
legacy she'd built, which impressed her dad. And she was refreshing and
pleasant, which impressed her.
“House hunting you mean?”
“Yes. It's a nice little village. You're sure now though, Lizzie? Lausanne is a
lot bigger. There won't be a lot to do.”
She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. “Yeah, but I'll be at school all week and
you have like...a jet if we wanna go somewhere else for the weekend right?”
He laughed airily. “I can see already that you're going to be my little party
planner,” he teased, poking her gently and circling her waist with his arm,
drawing her into him. “And where are we going for our first weekend away, hmm?”
His lips were in her hair. The car wasn't very private. Their driver was silent
but he could see them up front from his rear vision mirror. She smiled
nervously, glancing up at him. He seemed relaxed, he wasn't thinking of...or
dwelling on...her mind skittered.
She leant into him, enjoying the feeling of his arm about her waist, thinking
about his question.
Where could they go?
“You wanted to see the Taj Mahal?” He prompted.
Her eyes brightened. “Yeah! And can we go to Disneyland? I know you said I'm
too old for it but I'm not really, not if I've never been before. Just once?”
He looked surprised. “Of course, precious girl. Anywhere you like.”
She grinned.
They pulled into the grand old hotel they were staying at. It was a nineteenth
century treasure of a hotel, set above the lake in majestic proportions.
Nothing here seemed to exist in the twenty first century, from the furniture in
the small but elegant lobby to the creaking and slow elevator.
She followed her dad in, trotting close on his heels. She couldn't help but
feel nervous in hotels like this. She felt like an overgrown, out of place baby
with sticky, jam covered fingers.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “would you like room service again tonight
or do you want to go down to the hotel restaurant?”
“Room service please,” she whispered back, her heart glowing comfortably at the
idea of him being so concerned for her comfort. He knew she felt a little
overwhelmed. He cared.
By the time they'd finished dinner, she was exhausted. The dinner was lovely.
Her dad ordered for them both. Steak and vegetables with bearnaise sauce.
Delicious and it filled her up quickly. Her stomach felt bloated and her eyes
were heavy. There was something so draining about talking to adults and being
on your best behaviour for hours on end.
I think I'll just go to bed now, i’m super tired.” She yawned widely. It was
earlier than normal but they had had a late dinner and flying always made her
tired for a couple of days.
She noticed he was quiet as she rose from her chair. He'd been steadily working
his way through a decanter of scotch since before dinner. He'd been morosely
fiddling with his glass through most of the meal, his eyes fixed on the
complicated pattern on the side of the glass.
Glancing at the decanter, she realised with curiosity that he'd had three
quarters of the bottle.
Wasn't that a lot?
She didn't know.
She moved over to his chair, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Night dad.”
He smiled up at her, a keen eyed expression on his face, despite the scotch
he'd consumed.
He curled an arm around her, pulling her into him. “Good night, precious girl.”
But he didn't let go of her. She stood above him, his cheek resting on her
belly, arm tight around her waist.
“Are you tired too?” She asked nervously, asked just to break the odd,
uncomfortable silence.
He didn't answer her, just pulling her even tighter into him so that it almost
hurt. “D-dad?”
“Shh,” he said, pulling her shirt up with his free hand and pressing his lips
to the bare skin of her tummy.
A thrill ran through her. She hadn't thought about this at all yet. Hadn't
thought about what they had done the previous day, not properly anyway. Some
part of her just wasn't sure how to process it. So she'd ignored it. But she
was thinking about it now. He moved his lips over her belly, the tip of his
tongue leaving a wet trail across her soft skin,
“Dad,” she breathed, her voice squeaky, unmodulated. How could she breathe
properly when he was doing this to her?
The lighting was so low, he'd only turned the lamps on the side board and
mantelpiece on. Were they going to do that? Again?
Green, ponderous eyes looked up at her. “Lizzie, go and get ready for bed. I'll
come in later.”
With that, he released his hold, patting her bottom and jerking his head toward
the bathroom. “Off you go.”
She went, feeling numb. Was he going to do to her what he'd done yesterday?
She didn't know how to feel about it if he did.  But if he didn’t...she had the
stomach clenching feeling that she'd feel terrible.
She brushed her teeth, pulling her pyjamas on and getting into bed. They had
two separate rooms. It was a small suite with tiny bedrooms in the way of
genteel establishments of the previous century but the dining room and what the
caretaker had called the ‘parlour’ were a decent size.
Perhaps he wasn't coming. Perhaps he was too engrossed in his work. Or his
scotch.
Would he come in? Or go to his own room like he had last night. They'd flown in
the late afternoon and he'd been so distant with her, shutting himself away in
the master bedroom of the hotel and making phone calls. He'd even told her to
go and play. That had been weird. She had felt anger and embarrassment...but
also understanding. Was he distressed about what had changed between them? She
thought he might be.
It felt like hours, her eyes were getting heavier and she felt herself blinking
rapidly in short, determined attempts to stay awake.
It was the longest time but he came into her room just as her eyes were sliding
shut.
“Lizzie,” he called to her softly from the bedroom door.
He moved into the room, his feet were bare and made hardly any sound on the
thick cream coloured carpet.
“Lizzie,” he said again as she dragged her eyelids open.
“Mmm,” she responded dreamily. She watched him sit on her bed, his body turned
to her and he reached a hand out to stroke her face. His smile as he looked
down at her was beautiful. So much love in it.
I've had a bit to drink, precious girl,” he murmured sleepily, the smile still
on his face as he leaned sideways and fell into the bed on his back, fully
clothed.
Well that was unexpected. She sat up in bed, looking down at his still form. He
was breathing with a funny sound, a slight whistle every time he exhaled. She
hesitantly reached out and poked him, like he was a sleeping lion. “Dad...are
you awake?”
He didn't stir. She lay back down, this time on her side, quietly observing him
sleep. He was so nice, so scary and wonderful, all hers. She had never felt
this way before, this pull in her gut for another person. He could do anything
to her and she'd need him, still want him.
“I wonder why,” she whispered with no one to hear her. “I wonder why you make
me feel this way.”
She sat for hours just looking at him, her hands eventually creeping forward to
caress his face, to unbutton his vest and loosen his tie. She hesitated a
little longer before undoing his trousers and slipping his belt from his waist.
And she watched over him.
===============================================================================
 
Red woke to a pounding in his head and a rasping dry throat.
Also an urgent need to puke.
He rolled over too quickly in his haste to get to the bathroom. It just made
the dizziness worse. He barely made it to the cold, porcelain bowl.
“Are you okay?” Came her concerned little voice from the bedroom.
Their bedroom.
Had he touched her again last night? He groaned into the bowl. His stomach was
distressingly empty. He hadn't gotten this drunk since...well.
He'd prefer not to think about it.
He felt her cool hand at his back. His darling daughter playing nursemaid.
He snorted at the irony.
“I’m alright Lizzie, leave me be for a moment. I've overdone it, just a
little.”
He heard her soft laughter. “You were so drunk last night you were kissing my
tummy at the dining table and then you told me to go to bed and then you kept
drinking I think, and then you came to bed and you just fell down.”
He groaned again, louder this time, wincing at the noise created in his skull.
He'd been kissing her tummy?
Hardly worse than what he'd already done of course. He'd been waiting all of
yesterday for reality to set in. It had been an excruciating day. Part of him
had expected her to panic and run. Who would she run to though? The
authorities? Was she even aware that he was untouchable? That he wouldn't allow
her to get within ten feet of law enforcement or anyone who could impinge on
his freedom.
The worst was, it was important for her safety that he remain free. If he were
to answer for what he'd done, it would only bring attention from the wrong
people. Sam couldn't protect her. He wasn't even sure where Sam was. He'd sent
people to look into his whereabouts quietly the previous day, wondering about
the disconnected telephone.
Taking a deep breath, he savoured the sour feeling in his stomach. He deserved
it. He'd make it up to her though. Once she was in school, they'd have a normal
life, with routine and everything else he desired for them.
She seemed fine. It was a shocking let down for her. But she seemed fine. She
was resilient. Like her father.
***** Chapter 18 *****
“Let's see, there was that four story red brick monstrosity on the Rue Du Lac.
Not my idea of cosy but if you're going to that school, you're going to need to
keep up with the Joneses and all that rot,” he said, grinning expansively at
her. “Now if we’re talking cozy, our best bet would be that little villa on the
shore, but it is a bit bang up against the neighboring houses and I'm not sure
I could tolerate complaints from the neighbors over my taste in music...or the
decibel level.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don't play a huge amount of music.”
He huffed in faux outrage, throwing an arm casually over her shoulder. “That's
because I don't have my records with me. You just wait. I'm having them shipped
to us as we speak.”
Deliberately relaxing her tense shoulders, she slowed down in the street they
were strolling through to turn and look at him. “Are you...are you buying or
renting,” she asked tentatively.
“We are buying,” he responded with marked emphasis on the ‘we’. Taking her
hand, he shuttled them along to the end of the street where the car was
waiting.
Always the gentleman, he opened her door, sliding in after her into the back of
the car.  The cream leather seats squeaked as she settled herself in, strapping
her seatbelt on. It was still a habit, using her seatbelt. Her dad rarely did.
She'd never asked why.
“Can we keep looking? I just haven't seen anything that I'd actually want to
live in,” she said, looking out the window at the grey, overcast horizon.
What a dreary day. The rain hadn't decided if it was coming or going. It just
hung around, steadily dripping like a leaky tap. Lizzie hadn't thought before
that she was affected strongly by the weather but today she wondered. There was
such an oppressive feeling hanging over her. It probably was the weather.
He'd nodded at her, his face having just for a moment flashed anxiously but he
was fully in control of his features now. “Of course. We’ll need to make a
decision soon though, Lizzie...unless you want to start school living at a
hotel.”
Why did she want to cry at that? He was being so patient and good tempered with
her. She knew she was being a wet blanket, crying in corners when no one was
around, entering rooms with red eyes which, try as she might to disguise them,
didn't go unnoticed by him. Worst of all, he took it personally. She could see
the heartbreaking way his face fell whenever he had a good look into her eyes.
She had to stop this. Sam was gone. Raymond was her dad and what's more, he
wanted to be. She just felt so heavy though, like she was carrying round a ton
on her shoulders. If she were honest, it wasn't just the drizzly day that made
her feel so listless.
Honesty was overrated.
She forced a smile. “I don't mind really. Why don't you just pick what you
want? I don't know much about buying houses.”
A heavy sigh from between his lips alerted her to the fact that she hadn't put
on a convincing enough performance. Her lower lip trembled. She had a feeling
he was going to be cross with her.
Instead, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “Lizzie,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your pain.”
It was all he said.
She closed her eyes, really feeling his arms around her, the weight of his chin
on her head. It had been weeks now and he'd been so comforting and endlessly
patient.
“I'm not in any pain,” she lied defiantly. He didn't deserve a grumpy, moping
daughter. Not when he'd been so good to her. She had been awful to him and he
still loved her, still refused to leave her.
Not like Sam. She started to feel a swell of hatred for him. He had left her,
he'd gone on the road after less than a week of her refusing to take his calls.
What kind of dad did that?
Someone who was only a dad for pay, that's who.
She wasn't going to bother with him anymore. Sam and his whole family could
take a leap off a cliff as far as she was concerned. She was tired of being
sad.
Angry felt better.
 
===============================================================================
 
The car took them to the next place. The realtor was waiting for them outside.
She took one glance as the car rolled up and just knew.
It looked like a large farmhouse. It probably had been the homestead of a
prosperous farmer at one time or another. It was massive, just as large really
as the huge red brick house in the main street but it had more of a relaxed
vibe about it. The faded pastel green outer walls and grey slate roof looked
cheery and knowing, as though the house had been a part of people's lives
before. The front lawns were tidily manicured but it backed onto untamed
woodland.
She got out of the car, her interest firmly piqued. It wasn't likely she'd need
any convincing but she listened to the mousy older woman anyway as she stood
importantly in front of them, clutching her clipboard to her chest.
“As you can see, it's set on a number of acres,” confided the realtor. “The
woodland it backs onto used to be cleared farmland but the forest has grown
back a fair bit. The previous owners were environmentalists, you understand.
But it can be cleared again easily enough.”
“No, no,” Lizzie broke in. “I like it the way it is. It looks kinda spooky. Not
in a bad way,” she added quickly, shooting her dad a look. She wanted this
house.
It was two stories but so tall, it looked as though it were three. They entered
the house and looked around. There wasn't a stick of furniture left. The
sellers had already departed. She spun slowly around a few times, getting a
feel for the spacious front living room and the lovely detailed cornices on the
ceiling.
A large spiraling double staircase of polished wood led up to the second floor.
She didn't hesitate, bounding ahead of them both, taking two stairs at a time
and found herself in the corridor which led to a number of bedrooms in a row.
The last one was the master bedroom. It was larger than the rest and the
bedroom next to it had been converted into an ensuite bathroom.
She wondered if he would still want to hold her until she fell asleep like he
had so many times before. In this room maybe? The bath was a white enameled
claw foot tub, with enough room to fit a reasonable tall person, lying down
completely flat. It could probably squeeze two in really.
They'd caught up to her. She heard the realtor’s accented voice speaking
animatedly, echoing in the empty space.
“The wiring is all new and the plumbing for the upstairs bathroom is also
relatively new. The roof may need a bit of work but it's certainly sound for
the moment.”
They reached the main bedroom together to find Lizzie lying stretched out on
the wooden floorboards, looking straight up to the ceiling. “I like this room,”
she said simply, glancing over at them.
She watched as her dad turned to the realtor. “We’ll take it,” he said.
 
===============================================================================
 
They did take it. However if she'd known the amount of shopping for boring
stuff they were going to be doing in the next few days, she would have elected
to continue living in the hotel, she thought grumpily as she trailed along
after him in an uncomfortably posh furniture store in Geneva.
“I don't care,” she burst out finally as he held two different lamps out to
her. “A lamp is a lamp is a lamp. Can we go see a movie?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, we’ll take two of both. And yes, we can go and see
a film if you like. It'll help with your French.” He gave her a wounded look.
“I haven't truly made a home for myself since before you were born Lizzie.
Indulge me in this...please.”
Guilt flooded her. Why was she so awful to him all the time? She felt so angry
and irritable and he was always so calm and forgiving.
“Sorry,” she muttered. It felt like she was always apologizing to him. She was
awkward and mean. How did he still like her?
He smiled warmly, placing the lamps to the side. “Perhaps we do need a break.
There are at least some things I can have an assistant purchase for us. Unless
you have any preference for your linen? I've a penchant for nothing less than a
thousand thread count and I do like the fluffiest, most over-sized Egyptian
cotton bath towels that I can get my hands on but if you have any thoughts on
the subject?”
She felt her blood boil again. Was he teasing her?
“I like sheets and towels to be there when I need them. Then I'm happy,” she
said mulishly. “And if you make me look at pots and pans, I'm staging a
mutiny.”
He laughed deliciously. It was a welcome feeling to know she had the power to
amuse him like that still. His laughter was rich and wonderful. There wasn't
much she liked more than being able to make a sharp enough observation about
something to draw out his unfettered chuckle.
“You and what crew?” He teased, nodding politely to the sales assistant who had
been dutifully following them around the store, making note of their purchases
for shipping.
“I'll think of something,” she returned, allowing him to guide her out of the
store with his hand at the small of her back.
“Well, perhaps a film and some ice cream will keep you in line,” he said
smilingly.
It seemed by now as if ice cream was his way of fixing things. When they fought
and made up, ice cream. When she was sad and moped in her room, ice cream. When
she was rude to Simon because everyone sucked and she hated every single person
in the world (even the cute ones), ice cream.
Even she had noticed the pattern and she wasn't exactly observant of much
outside of her own little ball of unhappiness at the moment.
Hours later they sat on plastic chairs outside of an ice cream store in the
historic part of downtown Geneva, watching the traffic rush by.
She licked her chocolate and strawberry ice cream neatly from the cone, aware
that her father's eyes were following every movement she made.
“That was a silly movie,” she said assertively. “It's even sillier when you
don't understand most of what's going on.”
“Well,” he reflected, scooping up a spoonful of nuts and cream from his caramel
sundae, “you need to improve your French. This school doesn't play around.
Money bought you an entry, but it's your smarts that will ensure your continued
place there.”
Her stomach dropped. “What if I don't do so well?”
“You will,” he said confidently. “You're a bright child.”
Instead of reassuring her, it only added to her uneasiness. She did well at
school but she'd never learnt another language, let alone two and what if she
wasn't as good as she thought she was in her other subjects?
She suddenly didn't feel like finishing her ice cream.
It was better a few days later. He was keeping her so busy, she didn't have
time to feel worried or sad or even angry. They'd whirled around the rest of
Geneva and dashed into Milan for a day. He'd gone by himself to Istanbul to
choose some furnishings. He'd been so worried about leaving her by herself for
even a day that she didn't have the heart to leave the villa or talk to Simon.
She waited in the living room and explored her new textbooks until he came
back. The relief on his face at finding her safe at home and in a reasonable
mood was saddening. She didn't want to be a burden on his mind but it was clear
that she was.
She would be glad to leave the Italian villa behind. Things with Simon had been
awkward and strained since he had kissed her and she hated Rosa as much as
ever, guarding her father's one on one time with the woman jealously.
When the day came to say goodbye, she had nothing left to do. All her
belongings had been packed and moved by men in her father’s employ. She stood
out on the front step, nervously playing with the amber bracelet he'd given her
all those weeks ago. She wore it all the time now. She looked up at the villa
and then down toward the glittering blue and green sea.
She didn't want to come back.
Rosa was waiting at the side entrance. Her dad was down in the car, having
already called on Fabiana, Rosa and Simon earlier.
“Lizzie-Elizabeth,” came Rosa’s uncertain whisper.
What did she want? Lizzie paused at the gate. “I've gotta go, my dad’s waiting
in the car,” she said uncomfortably.
Rosa moved forward. “I just wanted to give you this,” she said quietly, handing
her a small, unassuming package tied in butcher's twine. “It was very nice to
meet you. I'm sorry...well, I'm sorry that we didn't get to know each other
better.”
For just a moment she considered not taking the gift and running down the
driveway to the car. She shouldered her tote bag though and took it, if a
little reluctantly. “Um, thanks I guess.”
Dropping the unlooked for gift into her tote, she awkwardly waved goodbye to
Rosa who smiled a strangely pained smile. “I hope you enjoy your new school.”
It was all she said but her voice was thick with regret.
Was she wishing she hadn't tried to horn in on her territory? She should wish
that. Her dad didn't have time for girlfriends, he had no time for anyone but
her now. He'd said so.
She threw herself into the car. He'd been ready for ages while she'd been
tearing around the house looking for books behind cushions and earrings
underneath the bed.
“What took you so long?” He asked a little acerbically.
She almost told him but something made her hesitate. She didn't want her dad to
think of Rosa again. And it kinda irritated her that Rosa was so damned nice
til the last minute.
She threw herself lazily across him, lounging in his lap. He was hers. She
could touch him and be touched. He was her dad, there were no rules, no need
for lines that couldn't be crossed. She buried her head in his lap and stared
up into his face. “Girls just take their time,” she said cheekily.
He snorted, running a hand through her hair. “I knew a woman who could get out
of combat gear and into an evening dress in under five minutes,” he shook his
head in admiration of the memory. “Managed a passable French knot in her hair
and even a touch of make up all at the same time.”
“What would she want to do that for?”
He gave her a disbelieving stare. “Well for profit of course. Best cat burglar
I ever met. Her method? She'd scale the walls of a private property while a
function was being held there and drop right in as a ‘guest’. The strategy
seemed to work. I always wondered what happened to her,” he added absently.
She sat up a little, curiosity having got the best of her. The car had started
moving and for once she hadn't bothered with her seat-belt. “Where did you know
her from then? And why don't you know what happened to her? Was she like Mata
Hari or something?”
“Oh no, much more effective than Mata Hari ever was. Think Nancy Wake...The
White Mouse. Now there was a spy to be frightened of.”
Biting her lip, she sat up even further, pushing herself into his lap, her legs
draped over his and her hands fisted in the front of his shirt. “Would you
teach me how to be a spy?” She asked in the best coy voice she could manage.
His response frightened her. He gripped her wrists, all humor wiped from his
face, only grim lines left around his eyes and mouth. “No.”
It was enough. Just one word but the way he spoke, the way he looked at
her...it was terrifying.
“Okay, okay, it was just a joke,” she quavered.
He shook his head, no less intense than before. “You are never to step a toe
into any of that, do you understand? I'd rather shut you up in the house, never
to see the light of day again, than have you risk your neck with that sort of
thing. There will be times, Lizzie that I may need to bring some of what I do
home but that is not an invitation for you to become involved, do you
understand?”
He was so fierce and it was so unexpected that she wasn't really surprised when
tears welled up, choking her response. “Yes,” she managed to get out before he
pulled her close into him.
“Shh, shh,” he coaxed. There's no need to cry. I won't tolerate any threat to
your safety, that's all. Shhh.”
To her confusion, she couldn't stop crying. She wasn't even sure what she was
upset about anymore. But she barely had her tears under control by the time
they got to the air strip.
She just wanted normal again. If she could just feel normal, she'd do anything.
She'd never backchat again if she could just see Sam. She wondered what life
would be like if she could have both of her dads. She'd be so good 100 percent
of the time if she could just have that.
She followed him onto the plane, silently cataloging the things she would do to
be good, to be better, if she could just have what she'd lost.

***** Chapter 19 *****
“A kitten! Oh my god, you beautiful little…” She trailed off, looking up at
him, a wide smile on her face and her eyes shining in that way she had that
would send tremors through him.
He nodded. “Go on, she's yours.”
She didn't hesitate any further, flinging her tote to the ground and throwing
herself on the Turkish rug in the small living room that was to be their family
room. A wicker basket sat on the floor next to the coffee table in the middle
of the rug. He'd arranged for the basket to be decorated with pretty pink satin
bows.
Foolish and overdone, he was aware of it. But he couldn't help himself,
remembering a time when he'd come to visit Katarina with pink baby clothes
after Lizzie had been born.
Having her had been a dangerous risk but Katarina had been in love with him and
he had been in love with the baby bump. In the end both of them had considered
the risk worth it.
He'd had to hide them from his wife and his job. He hadn't been there when
she'd had the scan that confirmed that they were having a girl. He hadn't even
heard about it until after she had been born. He'd been out of the country for
months. And when he came back, he barely got to see her but when he did, he'd
bring armloads of pink onesies, pink hair ribbons, rattles, books, everything
under the sun that he could purchase in pink.
The weeks and months after each of his children had been born had been the most
wonderful of his life. Nothing else compared. So it was a little bit satisfying
to bedeck a hand basket with ribbons and present his daughter with the kitten
she so badly wanted. It certainly brought back memories.
“You're so cute, ohmygosh look at your eyes,” she cooed at the small bundle of
steel grey fluff sitting in the palm of her hand. It mewled back at her as
though they really were having a conversation. “Yeees, you're so cute, you're
so cute, yes you are,” she gushed. “Daddy, look how green her eyes are!”
He stood stunned. It was as if she'd struck him. She didn't remember of course
but there was a time when she'd run down the hall on chubby legs crying for
daddy when she heard the coded knock at the front door.
Even then she'd known that knock meant her daddy was there.
And of course she couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her before the
fire. He'd stayed a few days, which he rarely had the chance to do and they'd
played games, read stories and mucked about in the backyard together, all three
of them.
His heart twisted now, remembering her arms wrapped around his legs at the
front door as he left her that one last time.
“Please don't go daddy, please don't go,” she'd grizzled miserably.
The most terrible thing was that she hadn't panicked, she hadn't shrieked,
she'd begged like a child beyond her years, one who knew that his leaving was a
foregone conclusion but her arms wrapped so tightly around his legs weren't
listening, weren't ever letting go. It had taken Katarina’s full co-operation
to remove his daughter from him without hurting her.
It was the last time she had called him daddy. The fire came so soon after
that.
He'd heard her on the phone before now. She didn't know he had been listening
to her phone calls with Sam. Most of the time Sam was dad but the endearment
would occasionally slip from her and it always caused him a tense moment when
he heard that word on her lips for someone else.
He shook himself from his reverie, thankful she hadn't noticed. She was far too
engrossed in her kitten.
“It's a girl?” She asked, looking up at him again.
“It is. She's been weaned but we’ll need to take her to get her shots and have
her spayed when she's a little older.”
She flung an incredulous look at him. “You're not spaying her. What if she
wants to have kittens when she grows up?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Lizzie, if she gets out and mates with a stray around
here, not only will you have a cat too young to safely deliver a litter of
kittens but what will you do with them afterwards?”
There was no acquiescence clearing her pretty face in response to his words.
Just a challenging scowl. He sighed. Oh well, a fight for another day. “What do
you think you'd like to call her?” He inquired, keeping his voice deliberately
light.
“Hmmm,” she considered, dropping to lie on her back, her kitten nestled into
her chest, licking at her chin, causing her to erupt in giggles. “Lola, her
name’s Lola.”
Lola it was then.
The damned thing was a nuisance, following her everywhere, crying without
ceasing if it couldn't see her in the room. It was building up an attachment to
Lizzie and no one else.
The little fluffball squeaked indignantly when he tried to pick it off of his
bed that evening.
Lizzie came trotting into the main bedroom at the sound, her toothbrush still
in her mouth. “What did you do? Why is she crying?”
“I didn't do anything,” he said patiently. “But I'd like to turn the blankets
down on my side of the bed.”
She snatched the kitten off of his pillow with a wary look.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Am I in here tonight?” She asked bluntly.
He swallowed. “Do you need help sleeping?” He wished this uneasy feeling could
be expelled like a lanced boil but he had an idea that he should get used to
it.
“I always need help sleeping...but Lola might get confused.”
Lola might what? Good grief. What was she playing at?
“Lola will be fine wherever you put her basket down. She's been litter trained
and she's been shown the spare room along the hall where her, I might say,
extensive collection of toys await her. I don't think it's a problem Lizzie. So
where do you want to sleep tonight.”
She looked at him, a strange, defiant expression on her face, her kitten
gathered to her breast.
“Your room is fully made up,” he continued, ignoring her odd expression. “It's
up to you sweetheart but you do need to go to bed. You've got your first day of
school in the morning.”
She jerked her head a little. “Okay, I'll sleep in here,” she said matter of
factly. We’ll have to leave the door open for Lola.”
Indeed.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Lizzie had never felt ashamed of her background before. She went to schools
where as long as you weren't too shy or had any particularly weird hang ups,
there would always be a group to find herself in.
She'd been friends with pretty much everyone in elementary school. She'd lead
the games they'd play at recess even though she was the new girl oftener than
not. And in high school, well, there was always a niche. She'd gone through a
time where she was hanging out with the sci fi nerds but had drifted away from
them at her next school. When she'd left Sam she'd been a part of the drama
club kids and had been enjoying herself.
No one ever asked what her dad earned or what he did. No one compared their
parent’s cars out the front of her schools or boasted about the overseas
holiday they'd taken at summer vacation. You sank or swam based on what you
brought to the table.
She had the distinct feeling that things were different here.
“Hi, I'm Marty,” came a voice from her left.
A pretty Maori girl was seated in a small ergonomic chair in front of a smooth
wooden desk. Lizzie had an identical chair and desk right next to her.
Her eyes brightened. “Hi, I'm Liz,” she responded, hopeful that she'd found her
first friend.
“You're new, aren't you? We heard about you last week.” Marty flicked a look at
the teacher who had just entered the room. “Come find me at the cafeteria at
lunchtime. I'll introduce you to my friends,” she whispered just as the teacher
started talking.
It was the first thing she did as soon as the bell chimed for lunch. The bell
wasn't really a bell. It was more of a tinkling sound over the loudspeakers.
Lizzie had swallowed a laugh when she first heard the sound.
She was looking now for Marty. There wasn't a large student body so it was easy
to find her. She was sitting with a skinny girl with long brown hair. Rich girl
hair, thought Lizzie derisively before she shut that train of thought down.
These girls could be her new friends.
“Hi again,” she said nervously, realizing suddenly with a sinking heart that
she was so tired. Almost too tired to make an effort. She hadn't realized it
before really because there had been no new introductions into her life lately.
Her time had been spent almost exclusively with her dad and she hadn't felt the
need to pretend too much. She could be silent when she wanted to be and as long
as she cried in private, he didn't push her to share her thoughts with him.
But these girls were going to need her best efforts and she didn't have the
energy.
Well, she'd just have to give it a go.
Marty’s face brightened when she looked up to see Lizzie. “Hey, Liz, come sit
down. This is Jessica,” she said, pointing to the other girl.
“Sooo, Marty’s a princess, and you have to curtsy to her before you sit down,”
Jessica drawled.
Lizzie looked at them both for a split second uncertainly before both girls
burst into laughter. Marty rolled her eyes, playfully slapping her friends arm.
“Stop it, be nice to the new girl,” she chided, still giggling. “Liz, I am
technically the granddaughter of the Māori queen but it's not a western style
honorific.
She couldn't help it, she shrugged. “Wouldn't matter if it was. I don't know
how to curtsy.”
The two girls looked at each other briefly before dissolving into further
giggles.
“We like you,” they said in unison.
Well, it had been an exhausting morning and she still felt brittle as old egg
shells but at least she had this.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Her dad wasn't waiting for her at the school gates at the end of the day but
their car was. Artie was in the back and two of their security guards were in
the front.
“Good day at school then?” Artie inquired awkwardly.
“Yeah, sure,” she responded, still a bit shell shocked at how overwhelming it
had been.
She hadn't seen Marty and Jessica again after lunch. They'd been in different
classes to her. As nice as the girls were, it had been a bit of a relief when
lunch was over. Her dad had given her instructions about his identity - Kenneth
Rathers. Her backstory; her dad had a fling when he was younger, he hadn't been
aware that he'd produced offspring but her mother had died in a car accident,
triggering some instructions in her will on contacting her dad. He'd been
shocked and overwhelmed with joy to find that he had a daughter and had brought
her to Europe to live with him immediately.
He was involved in banking and was a shareholder of a number of large
corporations. All very boring work.  A spiel designed to lose the interest of
the average teenage girl and at the same time convey to them that Lizzie’s dad
was rich and powerful.
“Lizzie!”
Oh god, he was waiting for her at the door.
She knew he hadn't intended to be at the school gate for her. It wasn't the
plan and she'd been okay with that this morning. But right now she wanted to
punch him in the face for not being there.
Brushing past him, she tried to head toward the stairs but he pulled her back
by her school bag, enveloping her in his arms.
“I know, I know, you don't feel like talking to me right now,” he said
authoritatively as she struggled against him. “And I'll let you go in a minute.
You can go upstairs and have some time to yourself but I want you to look me in
the eye and tell me you're okay.”
She slumped against him. “I'm not okay but I still want to go upstairs,” she
said in a small voice.
Tightening his arms around her for a moment, he planted a kiss in her hair,
sighing heavily. “Alright, go and have a hot bath. Come down at seven for
dinner.”
He let her go and she moved with her head down toward the stairs.
“Go and see Lola. She's been missing you,” he added as she walked away.
Feeling battered and bruised, but without a scratch on her, she slowly climbed
the stairs to her bedroom. The bedroom she’d decorated herself. The wallpaper
was a heavy cream color with silver-blue stripes running evenly down the walls.
Her furniture was mostly cream as well. The nightstand next to her bed held a
digital clock and her tote bag. She flopped into her bed, rolling over onto her
side to stare at the bag.
Completely out of the blue, she remembered that she hadn't opened Rosa’s gift.
She sprang upright again. Oh, this would be interesting. What could a woman
like Rosa want to give her?  
She grabbed her bag, rifling through it for the gift wrapped present, pulling
it out and looking down at it. Her fingers played with the twine that was
wrapped into a neat ribbon. She pulled gently on one side and it came loose
immediately, the paper springing out to reveal a dull red hardcover book with
gold lettering etched onto the front.
Rudyard Kipling'sJust So Stories.
She tossed her head back, confused.
This wasn't anything like what she'd been expecting. Curiously she opened the
cover and a small handwritten note fell out.
Dear Elizabeth,
I read this book to Simon when he was a little boy, many times over. He tells
me that he would like you to have it as much as I would.
Dearest girl, I would like you to think kindly of me but I understand why you
cannot. What a strange set of circumstances, no?
I can certainly understand your feelings now, however I wish for you to know
that if you should ever need a friend, I am here.
Sincerely
Rosa
Her eyes stung as she blinked rapidly, trying to understand what that note was
about. It was a nice gesture of course, but the letter was weird. Probably just
a cultural thing, she thought as she stood, crossing the room quickly and
dropped the book and note at the bottom of her wardrobe, behind the chess board
and painting easel her dad had bought her.

She'd go downstairs. It had been a long day and she needed cuddles with her
kitten.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Lizzie sat despondently in the school nurse’s office, clutching her home
economics textbook. She wasn't sure why she'd brought it along. It wasn't
really necessary and she'd most likely just get blood on it.
“I'm sure you won't need stitches, Elizabeth,” the nurse repeated for the
millionth time. “The headmistress would still like to kno-”
“I didn't see. For the last time, I didn't see,” she interrupted impatiently.
“Is my dad here yet?”
The nurse was still fiddling with the gauze underneath her eye. “Ms Bussinger
will be calling him any moment now. I do wish-”
“Thanks,” said Lizzie, pulling her head away in irritation. “I should go and
get my homework folder from my locker before I go."
She didn't wait to be told to sit back down. She practically fled the small
room.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Sir, it's Miss Elizabeth's school,” said Artie, holding the cell phone out to
him.
With a slight frown on his face, he accepted the phone. “Good afternoon,
Kenneth Rathers speaking,” he said smoothly.
“Mr Rathers, this is Mary Bussinger, the guidance counselor from St Georges
school. It's about your daughter…”
“Is there a problem?” His tone suggested there better not be. He paid a
significant amount of money to ensure his daughter was safe and enjoyed her
schooling.
“I'm afraid Elizabeth was involved in an altercation in her home economics
class today.” The woman hesitated, as if unsure how to proceed. “We are, of
course, sincerely apologetic, however, Elizabeth sustained a laceration to her
face...we understand that a pair of scissors was used.”
He felt his whole body stiffen with outrage.
“I beg your pardon,” he said dangerously. “Are you telling me that my daughter
was attacked today at her school? By another student?”
“I'm so sorry Mr Rathers...the circumstances are unclear...Elizabeth won't tell
me who was involved and why. The nurse has her and we don't believe that she
will require stitches, however we have a physician on call. Would you like me
to arrange for her to attend on Elizabeth?”
“No,” he said grimly. “My head of security will be down to the school shortly
to pick her up,” he looked up at Artie as he was speaking, gesturing with his
right hand for the man to be on his way. The message was clear. Lizzie was to
come home.
He turned his attention back to the unwelcome caller. “I'll have her see my own
physician. I suggest you make use of your time by finding out who is
responsible for the attack on my daughter.” He ended the call abruptly, his
fingers were white with his tight grip on the cell phone.
For a moment, he sat there, alone in the room, too filled with fury to move.
But he had never allowed himself too long to luxuriate in strong emotion, and
now was no exception.
He flicked the cell phone open, dialing a number. “Doctor Parrilla, I'll be
needing your assistance...at the house.”
===============================================================================
 
Artie stood tensely in the doorway of his employer’s private study, looking
ready for the worst. He rarely saw that expression on Mr Reddington’s face. The
last time he had seen it, there had been a lot of bloodletting. And he wasn't
sure who was in trouble but when Mr Reddington caught sight of his daughter’s
face, he had a feeling he might want to duck for cover. Better yet, he might
like to be out of the room altogether, miles away preferably.
“Sir, she's gone to her bedroom,” he said tentatively, his hand hovering at the
door knob. He wanted to get out of there at the first opportunity.
Reddington looked up from his desk. “Thank you Artie. Doctor Parrilla will be
here shortly. Please show him up to Elizabeth’s room when he arrives,” he said,
standing from his chair and crossing the room purposefully.
Artie had only been about a year in Raymond Reddington’s employ. He usually
didn't get involved with his employer's private miseries. He'd had little
sympathy for most of them. They'd created their own situations. But this one
was different. He thought of her as Lizzie in his head, even though he always
referred to her properly as Miss Elizabeth when speaking out loud.
Something didn't seem right. He couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't as if
he'd never worked for criminal families before. Because he had. He'd been
entrusted with the care of mafia families, trust fund children, even a movie
star’s brat before. But it had never been quite like this.
He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. It was time for his periodic check on
the perimeter guard.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Lizzie,” his voice came through the door, muffled but still clear enough that
her heart squeezed in response. “May I come in?”
“Okay,” she said, hiding her face in his pillow as he quietly slipped into the
room, closing the door behind him.
She had run upstairs telling Artie she'd be in her room but her feet had led
her to the main bedroom. His bedroom. She could smell him on the pillow that
she was now burrowed into.
Laying a hand lightly on her head, he sank down on the bed next to her. “Can
you show me, sweetheart,” he asked, compassion thick in his voice.
She kept her head burrowed in the pillow. She didn't want to show him, didn't
want to tell him about the girl who had been a bitch to her every day since the
start of school.
She felt her shoulders relax a little though as he gently brushed his hand
through her hair.
“Please show me,” he asked her again.
She gulped. He'd see eventually. She slowly lifted her head.
His face tightened but his touch was light as a feather, stroking her cheek as
he examined the wound. It was mostly hidden behind a dressing but he could see
a hint of angry red flesh peeking out just underneath her eye.
It had been a near thing, very close to her left eye.
She sighed. “The principal is coming to visit tonight.”
“And what will we say to her?” His voice was now a silky caress, just a hint of
anger behind it. But she knew he wasn't angry at her.
“Tell her I didn't see who it was,” she said woodenly. “Tell her it was an
accident.”
The hand that was touching her cheek grasped her chin firmly, forcing her to
look at him.
His face was stone carved, his voice tightly controlled. “Lizzie, I'm a
criminal. I understand about snitching. Did you think I'd tell her? We’re going
to handle this privately if we must but you are going to tell me who did this
to you.”
She shivered at his tone. She knew she was safe with him, she had no reason to
be afraid but she felt an icy finger claw down her back. Should she be afraid
for Nadia Lipvski? The blonde girl had her in her sights from the minute she’d
stepped onto the school grounds. She even knew who her father was. It seemed
both their fathers had some vague business connection. Lizzie supposed she
wasn't the first child of an international criminal to be sent to this
exclusive school. Hadn't Dick Cheney’s daughter gone here?
It had been the same old story with most new schools. A period of time where
the mean girls sought her out, picked on her, grew bored with her stoic non
responses and moved onto something more fun. She usually fit in eventually,
finding a group of kids that suited her. The first bit was always hard though.
Every time she changed schools she prepared herself mentally for it.
This time was the first time she'd been physically attacked. She hadn't thought
that would happen in a place like this one. Full of filthy rich kids with
entitlement issues maybe...but not violence.
She had just been ignoring Nadia’s snide comments, busy making an omelet for
the teacher to grade. She'd turned around to find the pretty, blonde girl
almost under her feet.
“Watch where you're going, stupid American,” she'd snarled, her arm flashing
up, an open pair of scissors held in her hand.
She'd been shocked. For a moment, she just stared back at the girl, not even
feeling any pain. But then a sharp ache pierced her under her eye, and she felt
a small amount of blood slide it's way down her cheek.
It probably looked worse than it was. Nadia’s eyes had widened in horror. She'd
dropped the scissors, turning away from Lizzie quickly, obviously terribly
afraid she'd be getting into trouble.
Her teacher had asked, so had the nurse and the guidance counselor. Even the
principal had a few quiet words with her.
They wanted a name.
They were terrified of losing reputation as a school of excellence.
“I didn't see it,” she'd said sullenly to every one of them, still trembling
from the altercation. “Call my dad.”
They had called him eventually. And now here he was, telling her he understood
about snitching. How you just couldn't do that if you wanted to fit into the
school hierarchy. But at the same time he intended to fix this...he wanted a
name too.
She shouldn't give it to him. She could handle this herself.
She shook her head, her eyes sliding away from him. He was sitting so close to
her, their thighs were practically brushing each other. His trousers felt nice
against her bare leg. Her skirt was up around her lap and she hadn't realized
how messy she was, her hair everywhere and her cheeks stiff with dried tears.
“I don't want to talk about it,” she said softly.
“Lizzie, tell me.”
“No,” she said, squirming away from his grip.
He followed her across the bed. “Tell me.”
She choked back a sob. It was hard to displease him, hard to ignore his demands
but she felt an inner sense of alarm growing. Would he do something to Nadia?
Did a part of her want him to do something horrible to her?
Quite smoothly, as if he were well practiced at turning teenagers over in their
beds, he flipped her onto her back, placing his arms on either side of her,
looking down at her sternly. “I don't take no for an answer. Never have. Tell
me now.”
Turning his hard, demanding persona on her had been a shock. She grimaced and
gasped as if cold water had been dashed across her face. She looked up at him
again, tensing at the hot, angry look in his eyes.
“It was Nadia Lipvski,” she said before she thought any further. “I think her
dad is-”
I know who her father is,” he breathed, reaching to push a stray lock of hair
from her forehead. “I'll deal with it Lizzie.”
He leaned further over her. “Are you in pain?”
“No.”
Even further, their chests touching now. “Good,” was all he said, remaining
over her upper body, hovering just above her.
She twitched, a panicked expression appearing on her face. She gripped his
shirt and used it to haul herself up beside him into a sitting position. She
was so close to him, he could taste her if he just put his tongue out.
 
===============================================================================
 
Struggling to control his urges, he let himself feel crushing anger instead
of...whatever else this was. The Lipvski girl would regret touching his
daughter, he'd make sure of it. The only reason her father was a rich man was
because of him.
He thought of the fear and violence he would inflict as he cupped her chin in
his hand, kissing her forehead.
Not again, not again, he thought as he caught her gently between both hands,
tipping her face up to his mouth, his lips moving on her skin, on her lips,
seemingly of their own accord. I mustn't do this, not to my little girl. His
gut churned acid with guilt even as he pulled her into his lap. Her eyes had
fluttered closed and she had her arms about his neck.
“Lizzie,” he muttered in a harsh, twisted voice, “I-”
A loud knock at the door interrupted him, jolting him out of his train of
thought. He sprang up, pushing her off his lap, “I've called my own physician
in to see you.” He moved toward the door, opening it quickly before she had a
chance to say anything.
“Mr Reddington, good afternoon,” offered the doctor respectfully. He was an
older man, dressed in a plain white button-down shirt, a slim navy tie, dress
pants and horn rimmed glasses. He had a pen in his pocket that had just started
to leak blue ink down his front.
Red had known Dr Bernardo Parrilla since an incident in Cuba had brought the
doctor to his attention. He'd been involved in a political scandal and Red had
assisted him and his adult children in fleeing the country. He couldn't afford
the fee straight off so he was working through his debt by offering his on call
services for the next five years. It wasn't a bad deal, the man was also given
private accommodation and a reasonable yearly stipend.
He looked at the doctor distractedly, running a hand over his face. “Bernie,
it's not me this time. Just a small thing but I'd still appreciate your
opinion.” He turned to indicate to Lizzie, sitting slumped on the bed, staring
dolefully at them both.
“What do we have here,” he said heartily, crossing the floor to stand in front
of her.
“My daughter,” he explained impatiently, “was attacked with a pair of
scissors...at school,” he added, noting the doctors sidelong look, a flash of
alarm occurring behind his bespectacled eyes. “Will she need stitches? Will it-
” he broke off, unwilling to bring up scarring in front of her.
Fear bloomed in her eyes. It was too late, she'd understood what he'd been
about to say.
She craned her neck, letting the doctor examine her. “The school nurse said I
didn't need stitches,” she cried, “she said I wouldn't scar.”
“Nor will you,” said the doctor, kneeling in front of her, his finger gently
probing her skin. “But I think butterfly enclosures and a tetanus shot are
called for.”
He stood again, his knees creaking as he got up from the floor. “I'll need to
get supplies from the car. We’ll get the butterfly closures out of the way and
then I'll go down to the village pharmacy.”
Red followed him out of the room, pacing in the hallway as he waited for the
doctor to return.
She'd need a tetanus shot. And at least it was just butterfly closures. There
wouldn't be any scar on her face, thank god.
He squeezed his eyes shut, sagging against a wall. He'd kissed her once more
and God help him, he would do it again if she let him. He felt goosebumps on
his skin. He was sick, weak, what was wrong with him? What was wrong with her
that she didn't think to protest against his actions? She turned to him every
time, inviting him.
His stomach was sour, but this was impossible. He couldn't not. It didn't harm
her after all, she was so happy to be with him, so at ease even when he touched
her in that way.
He paced again. This couldn't go on, there was danger in it. If she realized
how unhealthy it was, if someone asked the wrong question, and worst of all, if
he got her pregnant, there would be no alternative but to-.
He stopped. A shot. She was getting a tetanus shot. Pregnancy was the worst
case scenario, the one thing he couldn't abide the idea of. He'd been
incredibly careless when he took her that one time. He'd felt like getting down
on his knees in prayer when she’d had her next period.
So. One shot. In the arm. What difference could one more shot make?
“Bernie,” he said in a businesslike manner when the doctor returned. “I'd like
her to get the birth control shot as well.”
“Depo Provera?” The older man looked startled. “She's a bit young isn't she?”
“She's fourteen and already sexually active. I want you to do this. You won't
tell her either. Do you understand me?”
The doctor looked back at his employer, the large debt between them hanging
there in the air, a miasmic cloud of obligation. He nodded slowly. “I'll go
down to the village then. I'll be back shortly.”
Well and good.
He returned to the bedroom. Lizzie was lying flat on her back, staring at the
ceiling, her arms pillowing her head. She looked down at him as he entered the
room.
“The doctor is going to the village pharmacy for a script. You'll need two
shots,” he said smoothly, hiding his churning thoughts from her.
She didn't sense a thing was wrong. She smiled tiredly. “Okay then. But
dad...don't do anything to Nadia please. She didn't...I don't think she meant
to have the scissors in her hand. I think she just meant to slap me.”
His face darkened. “That in itself is unacceptable. I'll deal with it Lizzie.
You needn’t worry.”
He left the room, leaving her to her own devices again, deciding that he'd wait
in his study.
And as he sat on the comfortable leather couch, going through a list of his
Russian mafia contacts, he felt like he'd struck off heavy chains that had been
binding him. He was free to do as he liked, as his impulses and desires bade
him. 
He chose not to think about where his desires were coming from.
 
***** Chapter 21 *****
Gym shorts were awful, uncomfortable things. Lizzie pulled the wedgie out in
annoyance as she jogged around the field. They were doing a warmup for Physical
Education before playing a game of soccer. She hated it when she had this class
in the afternoon. She didn't feel like running around the school’s upper field
after a full day of classes. And trying to pull the injury card hadn't worked.
She'd given it her best shot that morning.
“I'm sick though,” she'd whined.
“Lizzie, you're not sick. You have a small cut and it's nicely bandaged. You're
going to school.”
The silent treatment hadn't worked. Even the tears that welled up in her eyes
in the car were fruitless in softening him.
“Why are you taking me to school?” She'd asked curiously. He never took her to
school. He was always there in the morning, to have breakfast with her, giving
her a kiss on the top of her head and sending her on her way with Artie who
would drive her to school in the Range Rover. But he never came with her.
“I have my reasons,” he’d said mysteriously.
That had been this morning. She'd asked her physical education teacher if she
could sit out of jogging but that hadn't worked either so here she was, puffing
away after her Math class. She was good at Math. She'd rather be there than
here.
“I want to be on Sara’s team today,” hissed Marty, jogging up behind her. “She
plays soccer outside of school. She's really good. You should ask to be on her
team too.”
Lizzie laughed. “I don't think the new girl gets to choose.”
“Oh well, I can ask for you if you like,” she offered.
That was nice. Marty and Jessica had been good friends over the past couple of
weeks. Lizzie sat with them most lunchtimes and they were talking about going
into the village and down to the lake on the weekend. It was the first outside
school thing she'd been invited to and she was looking forward to it.
“See you in a bit then.” Her friend sped away. It was unbelievable how athletic
Marty was. She wanted to become a professional soccer player or maybe an
Olympic track and field competitor. She was ridiculously good at high jump. But
her mother wanted her to be a lawyer and later on a politician back in New
Zealand. It was the cause of a lot of bickering on the phone when she called
her parents every Friday night.
Lizzie huffed and puffed her way through her second lap around the field. There
was a gap between her and the kids in front and behind. Then suddenly there
wasn't.
“Elizabeth, are you...alright?” Came Nadia’s unwelcome voice alongside her.
She veered away from the girl. She did not want her anywhere near. “I'm fine,”
she said curtly. “No thanks to you.”
“I didn't mean to, you know,” said Nadia, a desperate tinge to her voice.
“Listen, if my father finds out...if you tell your father...there might be
trouble...for both of us. I...I saw him drop you off at school today. Does he
know?”
Lizzie slowed, turning her frown upon Nadia. “My dad made me tell him. I
couldn't really explain it away. I had to tell him. But he's not making a
complaint at the school and I didn't tell anyone else. So just leave me alone
okay?” She sneered and shook her head. “You're the craziest mean girl I've ever
come across. What kind of psycho tries to gouge someone's eye out,in class?”
Nadia’s skin turned a sickening sheet white. “Please tell me that you didn't
say that to your dad? You didn't tell him I was trying to...do that, did you?”
Lizzie finally slowed to a complete stop in the middle of the field. “What were
you trying to do? I'm not the only American at this school. Or is it just new
kids you hate? And don't try and scare me into anything. Nothing's going to
happen to me if my dad gets upset. You, I dunno.”
Sporting a mottled shade of red now, Nadia made a reflexive gesture, a
beseeching look on her face. “Please, tell your dad it was an accident,” her
voice lowered. “Look, our dads know each other, it could cause problems, you
see?”
Problems. Sure for Nadia’s dad maybe. She suddenly realized just how much of an
impact her dad made in...certain circles. And her mind threw itself back to
Simon’s story about the Camorra. It gave her a shameful rush of pleasure. Her
dad was powerful and scary and he'd do anything for her.
She gave Nadia a thoughtful look. “I've already told him it was an accident.
And he's still pretty mad. I can talk to him again but you can quit trying to
make my life hard. I don't like you and you don't like me. So just stay away
from me, yeah?”
The blonde girl nodded fiercely. The shrill sound of a whistle split the air,
grabbing the attention of both girls. They looked toward the sound. Ms
Jorgensen was pointing to them from across the field, her gestures were sharp
and angry. Too far away to hear her, they both still understood the message.
They fell into line again, jogging silently side by side.
 
===============================================================================
 
They had a housekeeper. She came in to do daily cleaning and cook dinner for
them. Her dad had handed her a sheaf of resumes before they'd moved in and told
her to pick one. It included names, ages and previous employment. And a photo.
She'd picked the plainest applicant on the list. Her name was Bojana. A
Yugoslavian middle aged woman with mousy thinning hair and a permanent frown.
She spoke a little English. Enough for them to understand each other. And she
made the best food, all authentic Yugoslav dishes. They were both very happy
with her. She lived by herself down in the village and was only with them a few
hours a day which suited them both fine. Apparently she'd worked as a
housekeeper for a colleague of his in Zurich so he trusted the woman in his
house when she was alone or with Lizzie.
Bojana had cooked their meal that evening and left them as she usually did.
“Dad,” she said at the dinner table, chomping down on the bell peppers stuffed
with spiced mince meat, “how did you know who Nadia was?”
He slowly finished his own mouthful of food before answering. “Her father is
Chief of Staff to the Russian minister of Defense. He's well known in political
circles.”
“And criminal ones?” She prompted before she thought.
Her dad dropped his fork beside his plate forcefully. She jumped. He had a
cold, hard look on his face and it frightened her.
“Lizzie, it is vitally important that you do not run about your school or
anywhere else for that matter with your suppositions, do I make myself clear?”
Her chin trembled. Sam never yelled at her. Why was he so angry? She'd done
awful things before, had been so rude to him and he was endlessly patient. She
asked one innocent question and now the sky was falling in.
She stood on shaky legs. “I'm not hungry,” she choked out in a whisper, fleeing
the dining room.
“Lizzie, Lizzie! Come back, I didn't-”
His voice faded as she took the stairs two at a time, hurtling down the
corridor and into her room. She locked the door behind her, feeling for the
first time since her first day with him, a little afraid.
She sank onto her bed, her hands between her knees, shoulders hunched, trying
to process what had just happened. He evaded many of her questions and she was
getting used to that now. It no longer frustrated her like it once had. But
this. He'd never yelled at her like this. Was it because it was to do with his
work?
Was he feeling...weird about yesterday? She shook her head as if she could
physically dispel the thought of his arms around her waist and his tongue in
her mouth. She hadn't thought of what they'd done at all really. Until
yesterday. It had been a weird blip and her mind just hadn't gone there,
unwilling to touch on it again, like a sore spot you automatically learn to
pass over.
It wasn't a sore spot though. Not really. It had felt good. But he hadn't come
to her again and she realised that a worrying concern had been growing
unconsciously on her. He'd stopped short yesterday when the doctor had arrived
but he'd been about to say something to her. What was he going to say?
What if it been her fault? What if he hadn't wanted to do it, was disgusted
with her. What if he didn't really want her as his daughter anymore. Only he
was in an impossible position. Sam had offloaded her and didn't want her. She
was his responsibility now and he couldn't give her back.
He was only in his thirties. What if he wanted to find someone and settle down
with a new family? New kids that he wouldn't be separated from. Kids that
wouldn't come onto him and do disgusting things.
She closed her eyes, silent tears dripping steadily down her face. She sat for
the longest time on the edge of her bed, staring at the painting on the wall
that he'd chosen for her. It was a beautiful pink and gold sunrise scene, set
in the mountains. She loved that painting.
The house was old and creaked as people moved about. It was impossible to move
silently so she heard him coming up the stairs slowly after a while. He'd
probably finished his dinner. Usually he went to his study on the ground floor
after dinner. She supposed he was coming to talk to her.
Rushing to the door, she managed to have it unlocked before he arrived on the
landing. She didn't want to make him angry. She sat back on her bed, waiting
tensely to see if he'd come in.
He knocked.
“Lizzie, may I come in,” he said in a calm voice.
His tone dispelled some of her fear. “It's not locked,” she called out.
The doorknob turned and and he entered the room slowly, closing the door and
leaning against it, giving her a searching look.
“Normally I'd be unhappy with you leaving the dinner table like that but I
realize that perhaps I over reacted.” He sighed, running a hand over his face.
“I know you're a smart girl but you are not a part of the world in which I
live. And you don't see the pitfalls that loom in front of you. I see them,
precious girl and it alarms me. My only objective is to keep you safe.”
She blinked rapidly, listening to his speech. But it wasn't entirely fair. “You
brought me here to be a part of the world that you live in. Unless you plan on
putting me into a boarding school and just never seeing me again, I'm going to
be a part of your world. So like, how am I supposed to know what's dangerous to
talk about? You keep so many secrets from me.”
His lips thinned. “You need to learn to trust my guidance. Can you do that? If
I promise never to yell again will you do as I ask, follow my orders without
arguing even a little bit?”
She nodded eagerly.
“There are things I still can't tell you, for your own safety. If I promise
you, I need you to promise to trust me. Don't ask questions that you don't
really need the answers to.”
She slumped a little. Well it was better than nothing. At least he wasn't
disgusted with her about...that.
He smiled warmly. “Come here, baby,” he stretched his arms out and she flew
into them gratefully.
It was weird, how readily she agreed to anything he asked now when only a
little over a month ago she'd been so confident in herself and would argue with
Sam for hours without any fear of losing his love or respect.
It was just because he was her real dad, she guessed. He must love her more.
That's why it felt more intense. She had more to lose.
 
***** Chapter 22 *****
“Dad?” Lizzie's soft voice drew his attention from the television.
It was late. She was supposed to have done her homework but she'd been playing
with Lola after dinner. He'd been unimpressed with her forgetfulness and had
just instructed her not even twenty minutes ago to get at least some of it done
before bed.
He reached for the remote, turning the sound down slightly. “Yes?” He asked.
“Part of my social studies homework is to pick a current affair topic and lead
a five minute discussion on it tomorrow in class.” She wandered further into
the room, her eyes drifting around the den.
This was his sanctuary and she'd instinctively picked that up without him
having to say a thing. She had only been as far as the door a handful of times
and she'd never gone wandering in by herself.
It was decorated exactly to his taste. Wood panelled walls, bottle green
leather armchairs and a comfortable two seater couch on which he found himself
stretched out now. He was watching the late news carefully as was his usual
habit.
“Come,” he said, gesturing for her to sit with him, placing his tumbler of
scotch onto the coffee table in front of him. She didn't hesitate but instead
of sitting in the spot next to him, she sat in his lap, curling her legs over
his and lying back on him as though he were an armchair.
He felt his eyelids flicker, his forehead wrinkled in momentary surprise. She
shifted on him, wiggling around as though she were searching for his softest
spots to relax into. Her head fell back and she rested her neck on his
shoulder.
Breathing suddenly became a little more difficult and it had nothing to do with
her weight on top of him. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to steady
himself as a rush of affection for her surged through his chest. She was
everything he dreamed she'd be and more.
“What are we watching?”
He stiffened. She'd turned her head to speak to him and her lips had moved
against his throat as she spoke. His stomach curled in on itself. If he
couldn't exchange innocent intimacies with his daughter then there was
something wrong with him. Was there something wrong with him?
He forced the unworthy thought to the back of his mind. He kept her safe. She
felt loved and wanted. She had the best of everything. And a father who would
walk across hot coals for her.
There was nothing wrong.
“The news,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “There isn't anything of much
interest at this time although I'll admit to mild amusement at Bill getting
caught out with the intern,” he chuckled. “We have a mutual friend and said
friend has been telling him for years to be more selective with his affairs.
But will the man listen? No, he won't.”
“Hmm, so you're like...practically buddies with President Clinton then?”
“Of course not. Building an empire like mine is about staying to the shadows.
If you have too many high profile friends, you're pinned down. Look to the
faceless men if you want to see the real power and wealth behind any throne.”
He stopped, considering the wisdom of educating his teenage daughter on how the
world really worked. He wanted her to remain innocent for a little longer.
“Have you done your homework?” He asked, changing the subject without his usual
grace.
She wriggled again. “I'm doing it now remember?”
“Oh yes, current affairs.” He snorted. “As much as I'd pay good money to see
you stand up in class and talk about Bill Clinton’s depressing sex life, I'd
prefer it if you weren't expelled, so let's choose another news item shall we?
How abou-”
He was easily and shockingly silenced by her lips. She had simply turned her
head to the left and pressed her lips to his.
He dissolved.
How could she be soft and welcoming and so innocent all at once?
For the longest time, for what felt like hours, he played with her, his tongue
darting into her mouth, curling around her own tongue, sucking on her bottom
lip, licking the tip of her nose. He could barely breathe, he was so taken with
her, he could kiss her forever. She had beautiful eye lashes, sweet skin with a
powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Kissable lips that eagerly
sought his.
Running his hands down her arms, he smirked to himself as she let out a low
moan and pushed herself back against him.
Slowly, he slid one hand across her belly and used the other to flick open the
top button of her denim shorts. The zipper came down easily and she was exposed
to him. She hadn't been wearing any panties.
He knew well by now that she'd let him, she wouldn't say a thing. She had
sought him out.
His hand inched further down her belly and still she was silent, their steady
breathing and the background drone of the French anchorman on the television,
the only sounds in the quiet night.
He hummed, enjoying her shiver as the vibrations in his throat traveled from
his lips resting against her temple, throughout the rest of her body.
Her breath hitched as his fingers moved down over her. He found himself
pausing, his hand cupped between her legs. They didn't move for the longest
time, the two of them just sitting there motionless, as he cradled her against
himself. It was quite a tableau.
Then a finger, just a finger, pressed down into her folds. She twitched, god
the way she moved when he touched her. He breathed her in, the scent of her
skin, her hair, it was a sensory buffet.
“Do you want to go to bed,” she breathed, jolting him out of his trance.
He knew what she was asking, his darling girl in her shy manner. But he
couldn't. Not yet. He'd give her something sweet tonight until he could.
“Not tonight, precious girl. But…” He trailed off, pushing another finger into
her folds, sliding his hand along her slickness. She was so ready, so
pleasantly warm. How could he stop before he went too far when she was bucking
her hips onto his hand, making little noises at the back of her throat, begging
him for more. She made it so hard to stop but he must.
Swallowing hard, he pressed an index finger against her clit, groaning in sync
with her as she cried out. He rubbed through her folds, back and forth,
circling her sweet spot as she shuddered under his hand. He held her down now,
one hand firmly pressed against her hip, otherwise she'd be practically
hovering in the air, she was writhing so desperately.
“Please,” she whimpered.
“I know darling, I know. Hold on...just...a...little…lon-”
“Ahh,” she cried out from deep in her throat, an urgent sound. “Aahh ahh”. She
was sweating, her forehead beading with salty moisture. His lips were still
fastened to her temple. He could taste her, he wanted to taste her, all of her.
He increased his pace, redoubling his efforts on that sensitive little bundle
at her core.
Throwing her head back, crashing painfully into his chin, she yelped, high and
loud as she came, gasping and squirming in his hand. Her shuddering stilled and
she went limp against him, her head rolling sideways into the crook of his
neck.
This would do for tonight. This would be sufficient. He knew now that his ‘just
in case’ with the birth control had never been ‘just in case’. It was only a
matter of time. He wanted her so badly, it felt like a bodily craving. He could
wait one week but no more than that.
 
===============================================================================
 
Lizzie sat patiently a week later on the bed in her room. She had gone out
earlier with Marty and Jessica to hang out on the lake and she'd been told to
be back before dinner. Her dad wanted the doctor to examine her cut.
The doctor was fussing over her now, squeezing a tube of some cream directly
onto the almost healed wound.
“You'll be fine,” he said reassuringly, spreading the cream delicately under
her eye. “It's healing very well. There's hardly a mark left already. No chance
of a scar.”
She could see her dad leaning against the wall, his arms folded, watching the
whole process as though he were guarding her.
Maybe he was. He had been different since the other night. More protective of
her. If that were even possible. He'd started coming with her in the car to
school, and his hands never seemed to be far from her. He kissed her every
night, cuddling her to him, starting at the nape of her neck and working his
way down her body til she twisted in the sheets, crying out for him.
He seemed to want it to be left at that. It was easier not to think about it
until it happened again. Because it always felt so right when it was happening.
It was only afterwards that she became confused and uncertain. She wished that
she understood it better. What was happening? Was it her doing this? She
rejected the thought of asking him each time it entered her head. If she gave a
voice to what they were doing, what if she brought it all crashing down around
her? What if she misunderstood what was happening? She just couldn't say
anything.
Sometimes she really missed Sam. It felt like a physical emptiness inside of
her. But she had her dad.
The doctor straightened up, turning towards her dad. “All finished,” he said.
“I'll leave a tube of this with you. Keep applying it before bed and she'll be
as good as new.”
“Thank you doctor,” her dad said gravely, reaching for the cream. “You've been
very helpful. I hope you're enjoying your stay here? I notice your children
haven't been to visit yet. If there are any issues with money…” He trailed off
delicately.
“Oh! Oh no, my daughter Maria has only recently had a child, you understand.
She's unable to travel. And my son tends to wander a bit. Rarely comes to visit
his old papa.” Doctor Parrilla smiled at him, clearly glad to be talking of his
children.
Her dad nodded sagely, flicking a glance at her. “If you need some leave, you
have only to ask of course. Your first grandchild, am I correct?” He said,
opening the door and politely following the doctor out.
She listened as their voices and footsteps faded down the hall.
“Yes, a little girl. My daughter wanted a boy but her husband is over the moon
with his little princess and…”
Silently she sat, alone in her room, her arms folded round Lola who had jumped
on the bed as soon as it was just the two of them again. She felt a sudden urge
to read a book before dinner. Picking Lola up, ignoring her indignant meow, she
crossed the room and opened her wardrobe door with one hand, leaning over to
grasp at the book Rosa had gifted her.
She wasn't sure why she had chosen this book. It wasn't like they didn't have a
library. Her dad had ordered every book she could think of and plenty she
hadn't. But she wanted this one right now.
Padding back to her bed, she lay herself back on the pillow and pulled Lola up
to rest on her chest. The kitten was quietly satisfied with this arrangement,
earnestly licking her chin with her tiny tongue.
She read the note again. The one from Rosa. And then she began to read her
book.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Lizzie, Lizzie sweetheart.”
She blinked. What? What was it?
Oh.
“What time is it?” She asked groggily, sitting up from her bed. Lola had moved
from her chest and was sitting on her stomach, giving her dad an intense stare
as he hovered above her.
“Well past dinner time. You slept right through. I didn't want to wake
you...you were burning the midnight oil last night and you had a big day today.
I thought you might need it.”
Burning the midnight oil. That was one word for it. Her stomach clenched at the
thought of her struggle last night with her French homework. She'd stayed up
til some crazy hour of the morning trying to understand the work given to her.
She couldn't help but be anxious about it. Languages were difficult for her but
seemed to come so naturally to her dad. It made her feel small and stupid,
especially when he was so sure she'd be wonderful at everything.
“I'm not really very hungry to be honest. We had a huge lunch on Jessica's
dad’s boat,” she said, absently stroking her little grey kitten who was now
walking back and forth across her lap as if to remind her she was still there.
He smiled in understanding. “Alright, you should have a shower though. You
smell like lake water,” he teased.
“Mm, maybe I'll have a bath,” she said agreeably. “What do you think, Lola?”
She picked her kitten up, carefully popping her onto her chest again. “Should I
have a bath?” She grinned at her dad as the kitten wriggled around. “Lola says
yes to a bath for me but not so much for her.”
He laughed. “Lola is a quick study in English. She's picked it up remarkably
fast. You could teach her French next, I suppose.”
Lizzie's eyes widened. She'd meant to practice a few sentences on her father as
soon as she got home but she'd forgotten. “Je vais prendre un bain maintenant’”
she said slowly.
His eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. “Oui, je vais te faire couler un
bain.”
“Yes,” she translated, a furrowed look of concentration on her brow, “I
will...bathe you?” She blinked. “You want to have a bath with me?” She asked
shyly.
“No, no,” he stuttered. “I will run you a bath, that's what I said.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, feeling her face growing hot. That was an embarrassing
mistake to have made.
Quite suddenly, her embarrassment fled, to be replaced with trepidation. His
entire demeanor had transformed from indulgent father to...something else.
He leaned over her, picking her kitten up from her chest and placing it gently
on the floor, never letting go of intense eye contact with her all the while.
She barely noticed as Lola happily scampered away to her basket in the corner
of the room. His eyes were arresting.
He sat on the side of her bed and placed a palm in the middle of her chest,
leaving it there lightly, hardly any pressure at all. So still, so patient and
serene, just looking at her.
Then his hand moved gently and slowly across her chest, taking his time
exploring her.
Her eyes were popped wide. So many feelings. He was in control of everything in
her life even down to this. Especially down to this.
What was this?
She didn't care.
“Lizzie,” he said thickly, “I'm going to draw you a bath. Could you please
strip down, take your dirty clothes off and put them in the hamper,
tidily...and meet me in the bathroom. Will you do that, precious girl?"
She nodded, her eyes still wide.
He rose sinuously from the bed and padded out of the room, not looking back at
her at all.
For just a moment she lay frozen, lying where he'd left her, then she felt
herself scramble up, her limbs all shaky with the anticipation of what was to
come. She had no idea. This didn't sound like anything she had a frame of
reference for.
Despite what she'd agreed, her clothes were flung every which way as she
nervously undressed. She drew a hand over the cut under her eye. It was barely
there anymore but she still felt its presence self consciously.
Timidly, she made her way down the hall, completely in the nude and sidled into
the bathroom where she found him bent over the bathtub, his fingers in the
running water checking the temperature. He turned to smile reassuringly at her.
“Aren't you a good girl,” he breathed, staring at her, marveling at her whole
body. It was such an intense gaze, her chin dropped to her chest, her eyes
darting away from his. She couldn't look at him when he was looking at her like
that.
Gesturing her further into the bathroom, he turned to switch the faucet off and
moved to sit on a stool at the top end of the bathtub, picking up a fluffy
white washcloth and a bar of lavender soap. He dipped the cloth into the water,
wetting the corners and sudsing up the cloth.
“Hop in,” he said quietly.
Wasn't that strange. All of a sudden she felt intense body shyness. She wanted
to cover her breasts and the curl of hair between her legs with her hands. She
hunched her shoulders and swung a leg over the side of the tub, sinking down
into the water as quickly as she could.
She was relieved to find he'd put some sort of sweet smelling agent into the
water and it had turned it an opaque, milky white.
“What is this?”
He brushed her hair aside gently and splashed a little warm water over her bare
back. “It's a soy milk bath powder, with a dash of ground oats and avocado oil.
It's heavenly,” he said, sniffing appreciatively.
“It's nice,” she said absently, relaxing and closing her eyes as he poured a
small stream of warm water over her head.
“It's not quite like bathing in actual milk but close enough, don't you think?”
He hummed to himself for a moment. “You know, I used to know a woman who would
bathe in soured asses milk, just like Cleopatra. The third wife of a Saudi oil
baron. She said it was all about the conversion to lactic acid, it was like a
chemical peel, all natural of course. And you know,” he said, barely pausing
for breath in his ridiculous story, “she did have scintillating skin. I'd run
my hands over it and it was smooth as finely spun silk.”
He looked down at her and met a pair of glaring blue eyes looking back up at
him.
He laughed, bending to kiss her wet forehead. “Normally I'd find jealousy to be
common...but on you,” he whispered into her hair, “...it's enchanting.”
“I'm not jealous,” she mumbled, sounding unconvincing, even to her own ears.
“You've no need to be,” he responded, his lips still in her hair. “Lie back a
bit, sweetheart, I'm going to shampoo your hair.”
His hands were firm, sending tendrils of deliciousness down her spine. He
shampooed, rinsed and massaged her shoulders slowly til she almost felt as
though she were asleep. She was cocooned in his touch, in the warm, sweet
smelling water.
“Dad,” she said dreamily.
“Hmm?”
“Can I still learn to ride a horse?”
He paused, his hands midway down her collarbone. “Yes, of course,” he said
silkily, his fingers sliding lower down her chest til he was massaging her
breasts.
Her head lolled back, allowing him greater access and he slowly rubbed his
thumbs over her nipples. They hardened almost painfully.
She arched into his hands, gasping as sensation shot straight through her to
her centre.
“Do you want more?” He asked huskily.
“Yes,” she breathed softly with no hesitation.
Giving one nipple a light pinch, he stood up and reached for a towel. “Let's
get you into bed,” was all he said but his words held so much more.
Wondering and nervous, with a fluttery feeling in her belly, she hauled herself
up, fountaining water off of her. He held his arms out to steady her as she
stepped from the tub and she fell right into his arms, heedless of his nice
shirt and pants. He was instantly wet all along his front but he didn't seem to
care.
He towel dried her, gently rubbing her down in the huge bath towel. She was
enveloped in the towel for a moment as he dried her hair and all she could
smell was him, all she could feel was his body, pressed against hers.
“Come to bed,” he said, gently leading her out of the bathroom after he had
replaced the towel on the rack. She blinked at him, adjusting to the light
again and followed him into the bedroom.
“You're not even a little bit hungry?” He asked.
Shaking her head, she clambered onto the bed. “We ate so much on the boat and
it was a late lunch.” She glanced over at him as he undressed, placing his
clothes neatly into his own hamper. “And I'm kinda tired.”
With a concerned look at her, he joined her in bed. “Lights out then?” He asked
softly.
She couldn't speak. They had been here before but never talked of it. It wasn't
the same though. Last time...last time he had a towel around him. She hadn't
seen him properly like he was in front of her now. Naked and hard.
He had joined her most nights in this bed and he had...cuddled her intimately
but he'd always been clothed in his pajamas. He'd never come to bed naked like
he was now.
She shouldn't be so disconcerted, she knew what was happening. It had already
happened anyway. And she wasn't a fool. He had guided her to bed without a
stitch on herself, still slightly damp but even though they had done this
before and even though she was nude before him, it was still a shocking thing
now to see him like this in the light of their bedside lamps.
Unsure what to do or say, she stared back at him, her eyes wide, breath stolen
from her lungs.
“Lizzie?” He prompted, his expression growing more concerned. “If you want to
go to sleep, that's....”
“I want...you,” she croaked.
He smiled, leaning into her. “Close your eyes then.”
Obedient to him, she closed them. She felt him up against her, his hot skin
rubbing against her damp breasts. He rubbed himself along her small frame as
she lay back against the pillows.
His breathing rasped in her ear, a desperate panting, louder for the loss of
her sight. He nipped at an earlobe, encouraging the tiny moan that escaped her
throat. Arching into him, her own breath started to become more and more
shallow. She turned her head to him, opening her eyes again, they were so
blurred, she could barely see him. But he was practiced at this, he knew what
he was doing, sealing his lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth. Light
touches, licking and sucking and he was so hot, how was he this hot and not
burning up? Hot to touch, hot in her mouth, on her lips. He was everywhere.
Her brain buzzed with white noise. Not a single coherent thought was able to be
formed. Just the blur of her arousal and a low hum of confusion in the back of
her mind that she wanted dreadfully to disappear. Her thoughts began to race,
chaotic and splintered as she felt him settle over her.
He was so strong, the defined muscles in his arms flexing under her fingers. He
wasn't moving, just letting her feel him, his heavy body over her, his penis
lying hard between her legs.
He shifted, flattening himself along her, fitting himself to her curves and
reached a hand down between them to guide himself. She felt him again at her
entrance
“I love you, sweetheart,” he groaned as he sank himself into her so deeply that
she couldn't help her cry in response.
“Put your arms around me,” he directed. “Close your eyes baby.”
And right before she closed her own eyes, she saw that he had closed his, a
beatific half smile on his face, his sandy eyelashes fluttering slightly as he
moved inside of her.
He was so gentle. He held her to him as though he were rocking her to sleep,
hands stroking, caressing. She had imagined before any of this that sex was
frantic, labored, exciting like in the movies but this once again was slow and
sensual, like a long hug. Each time now he had been so tender, it had surprised
her.
She slipped and slid against him as he stopped moving, shuddering with his
climax. Her body still felt a little wet and soapy. Was she trembling because
she was wet and a little cold? She wasn't sure.
“You're a good girl,” he whispered into her ear.
A flush of pleasure suffused her cheeks.
***** Chapter 23 *****
The room lightened gradually. The various items in the room slowly taking shape
as the sun rose outside. It was quite early still. He'd become used to routine
since Lizzie had started school. Five hours of sleep was generally all he
needed but he liked Lizzie to get more than that so he would often get eight or
so to ensure she had the same.
He turned his head to look at her, couched in the softest pillows, her hair
haloed around her face. She looked so young when she slept.
He felt...he didn't know what he felt.
It was as if his heart was stopped in his chest, as if time wasn't moving for
either of them and it was extraordinarily painful but he couldn't give it up.
He wouldn't give her up.
He should be frightened of his uncharacteristic lack of control. He should be
concerned that he felt as though his will was no longer his own but he didn't
truly feel any promptings other than the one that urged him on to have her and
own her completely. This dark and sick compulsion seemed like a separate entity
from himself. An enemy that had taken residence in his mind and was demanding
that this perversion be satisfied.
He watched her hungrily as she wakened, stretching herself out with an
endearing squeak, arms high above her head, an expression of bliss on her face
that soothed his concern about how well she was coping. It was an expression
that started his heart beating again.
All these years, he'd been living with a wound in his chest that wouldn't heal,
an emptiness that made him at times harsher than he meant to be in his
dealings. The loss of his little girl had been a punishment that had shaped him
over the past decade. Knowing she was safe and so close, that all he had to do
was stretch his hand out and he'd have her again had been an exquisite torture,
a rod for his own back.
He had thought he couldn't be happier to have her back, thought that there was
no love greater than the one he felt for her. He would destroy anyone, friend
or foe, who could hurt her or take her from him. He had thought his heart was
full until now. Only now, he was discovering how much more he could have.
This isn't wrong, can't be wrong, he thought muzzily as he trailed a string of
kisses across her ribs.
He looked up, his eyes catching hers. “You're awake,” he said softly, just for
something to start with.
Her hands reached for his face, cool fingers lightly tracing the outline of his
lips. She didn't respond to him, just smiled shyly.
He inhaled slowly, expelling his breath again in a stream of air through his
nostrils.
“Lizzie, we need to talk.”
Sleepy relaxedness fell away from her face so suddenly that he felt an almost
physical stab of alarm. She gripped the back of his neck with both hands,
pulling him toward her, her eyes peeled wide, her mouth trembling. “I don't
want to talk,” she choked out. “Please don't do what I think you're going to
do.”
He blinked. “Would you mind telling me what it is that you think I'm going to
do?”
There was a starkness to her features that made him want to scoop her up and
hold her close to him. She looked so unhappy but she had no reason to be. He'd
make sure of it.
“I don't want you to go away,” she blurted out in a panic, “please don't leave
me.”
He felt a lump rise in his throat. He never wanted her to feel as though he
would abandon her but with an awful heaving of guilt, he realized it was his
actions that had caused her to feel this way. Oh, not the new found physicality
of their relationship, but his orchestration of the argument with Sam. He
wished now that he'd found another way to do it.
Well, too late. It was a mistake to dwell on decisions that had already been
made. Once done, in his line of work, to go back, to self doubt could spell
death. He'd committed to this path, he'd taken her down it. He needed to make
her understand too, that he was all in. He wouldn't feel remorse and was
determined that she shouldn't either.
“We’ve come to a crossroads, Lizzie,” he said carefully. “One I'd like you to
think a while on before you make a choice. I nee-”
Please don't go, please, please, please,” she begged in a low voice, her eyes
squeezed shut and her fingers still laced around his neck.
“Lizzie, shhh,” he said sternly. Her eyes fluttered open at his tone, tears
clinging to her eyelashes. He gentled his voice, “you know...there’s a French
fairy tale, written in verse actually. It's called Peau d'Âne.” He licked his
lips, waiting to see if she had anything to add. She didn't. She looked back at
him, her eyes luminous and so earnest in her dear little face. “I can't help
but think of it. There are quite a few variations you see,” he said, stroking
her soft hair, fascinated with the dusting of freckles across her nose. He
smiled wryly, thinking of the Scottish version of the tale. “It's also known as
The King Who Wished to Marry His Daughter, or Donkeyskin or even Catskin. A
rather macabre tale depending on the version. These things generally are. But
this...it's nothing new, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about. It's been around
for thousands of years before us and will be for thousands of years after.
There are many tales in history, in literature about this. I want for you to be
happy...and to be sure of how much I love you. It's the only important thing,
the only thing that matters.”
Unsure if she was listening properly, he bent his head to nudge her cheek. She
looked up at him, curiosity shining from her eyes.
“What's nothing new?” She asked, “what we’ve...done?”
“Mmhmm, since ancient times. You've got practically the whole pantheon of Greek
and Norse mythology to look to there. I've never cared for the trappings and
the contract that society offers. I'm not going to wring my hands over this if
you aren't.” He lidded his eyes at her, allowing a hand to drift across her
bare stomach. “You need to look at the bigger picture here. You know I love
you. Do I make you feel good?” He stopped, waiting for her response.
“The King Who Wished to Marry His Daughter,”she mused as if she weren't fully
listening, but she relaxed into his hand as he fondled her breasts. “And did
he?”
He paused. “Did he what?”
“Marry his daughter.”
Raymond laughed, seizing her by her middle and planting an enthusiastic kiss on
her lips. “Not quite. You see,” he said, grinning, “she was playing hard to
get.” He tickled her til her giggles rang to the rafters and it was so easy, so
natural, as if they had choreographed it. Her legs fell open and his hips
lifted, he pushed and she twisted just so and he was inside of her again. The
way they moved together, he had no words for it. Different from every other
lover he'd had, he felt no urgency, no desperate rutting or need to scratch an
itch, only a glorious sense of peace, like he'd come home.
He would make it so that she would never want anyone else, he thought, his lips
finding hers as he gently rocked inside of her. He would fill her days with so
much love.
He could make her happy. As happy as she made him.
===============================================================================
 
The vague hum of the gardeners ride on mower rumbled in the background in the
garden outside as Lizzie walked naked from her dad’s room to the ensuite
bathroom attached to her own. She turned the silver chrome coated hot water
faucet on in the shower.
She examined her reflection in the mirror critically as she waited for the
water to heat. Her thoughts wandered. He was taking her to Eurodisney in Paris
next weekend. The original Disneyland would have to wait for school holidays
but she didn't mind. Her dad said she could take one friend. She'd chosen
Marty.
Steam started to waft through the room but she didn't step into the shower
straight away, angling her chin in from of the mirror. Her stomach tightened.
She had a cluster of zits on her chin. It was disgusting. Anxiety gripped her,
snaking its way through her mind. Was she pretty enough? Zits made her face
look so gross. She halfheartedly squeezed the biggest one, knowing that it
wouldn't make a difference. She'd still have those awful, unattractive red
marks on her.
With one last scowl at her reflection, she gave up and turned to walk into the
shower, sighing as the scalding hot water rained onto her skin.
It was hot. Really hot.
She stood there, her head bowed, water sheeting over her. She was going to go
on so many rides next week, she'd eat cotton candy and popcorn and she wanted a
new mini backpack. There would be heaps of time to shop.
It was kind of unbelievable. She had everything she wanted.
And he loved her so much.
She reached for a bottle of her apple scented shampoo but her arm fell to her
side and she turned her body to the wall. Her limbs trembled, boneless and
gelatine, suddenly they weren't limbs at all, only numb and nerveless
appendages.
She stiffened her knees and sagged against the shower wall. The tiles were
still cool despite the hot water and the steam that enveloped her.
A wave of throat crushing sadness surged over her head, splashing over her and
drowning her. She leaned her forehead onto a white tile and let the tears that
had been damming up behind her eyes flood her.
She felt something break in her chest and she wept, deep shuddering tears that
came from somewhere she wasn't even aware of.
It was a release, but not a relief. It seemed as though she would never be free
of this insidious pain that was now permeating every part of her down to her
fingertips. Why was she sad? It didn't make sense. She didn't even miss Sam
anymore. She had a real dad and he loved her so hard.
So many times she'd gone to him with her problems, her issues at school, even
her sadness at being abandoned by Sam and he'd made it okay, he was a problem
solver and if he couldn't make it better he would hold her close to him and
just make it okay with his presence.
How ungrateful to go to him now when nothing was wrong. She was so lucky that
he wanted her. She'd never been wanted and desired so fiercely by anyone and
she was crying as though she wasn't happy.
She sniveled, pulling the rest of her tears back into her aching head. She had
to stop.
Taking a large lungful of steam, she reached again for her shampoo. Everything
was gonna be alright.














***** Chapter 24 *****
Lizzie sat in the middle of her bed with a book in her lap and a certain small,
grey and remarkably overprotective feline lying wrapped around her shoulders
like a fur stole. She was waiting for her dad to finish getting ready for the
symphony orchestra in Lausanne. There was a French bistro he was taking her to
in the very same resort town beforehand.
“Lizzie, sweetheart,” he called from out in the hall.
She closed her book and unfolded her legs from under her, smoothing down her
purple dress. “Okay, Lola,” she whispered, reaching around her neck to dislodge
her cat.
Her poor baby mewled in protest, giving her a reproachful look.
She giggled, petting Lola’s fluffy head, letting her stalk indignantly off of
the bed. Oh well. She was a needy cat. Only Lizzie was allowed to feed her or
pet her or groom her. She'd hiss if anyone else stretched a hand out.
Including her dad.
It was kinda nice, being the center of the little kitten’s world.
“I'm ready,” she called out, “just a sec.” She jumped off the bed and made her
way to the door, reaching it just as her dad opened it.
“Wow! Don't you look adorable,” he said with genuine warmth, and a little bit
of a teasing sparkle in his eyes.
She flushed. Sam had never been good at compliments. He'd tell her she was a
good kid and that any guy would be lucky to have her when she grew up - not
that anyone was good enough for her. That's what Sam had said.
But Sam had never told her she was adorable, or pretty. He was gruff and not so
great with emotions. And in the end he hadn't been great with deeds either.
He'd left her.
Well, she had Raymond now. He was almost a Prince Charming with his golden hair
and glinting eyes. The way he looked at her sometimes, when she saw that look
on his face, her chest would get all twisted up and fluttery.
He smiled slyly. “I've got something for you,” he reached into his pocket,
pulling out a long, black leather case and opened it with a flourish. “Here,
diamonds don't shine half as much as you do Lizzie, but this is a little
something to wear anyway.”
Wow.
A bracelet of diamonds sat draped across the velvet lining of the case. Huge,
glittering gems.
“Thanks,” she said unsteadily, glancing at the amber bracelet that she had
around her wrist. “Can I wear it another time though?”
With a slight frown, he closed the case, taking in her uncomfortable posture in
front of him.
“I mean it's so beautiful, thank you,” she added quickly. “But this,” she
grabbed at the amber beads at her wrist, “this is the first jewelry you ever
bought me. It's special,” she said softly.
The frown didn't leave his face. She started to feel a little anxious.
“Well, that's sweet...I suppose, but that shade of yellow doesn't really match
the fuchsia tone of your dress.”
“Oh okay,” she said vaguely, slowly slipping off her bracelet and dropping it
into her jewelry box on the dresser next to her bedroom door. She held her
wrist out and let him do up the clasp on the diamond bracelet.
It was pretty.
He flashed her a brilliant smile. “There we are. All ready. Aren't we a
handsome pair,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take as they made their
way down the stairs.
 
===============================================================================
 
In public, he was still so affectionate, but there was an emotional distance
that he didn't have with her in private. His smile was warm but lacked the
sensuality he could display when he would spread her out in bed and tickle her
til she begged him to stop.
She understood a little.
Whatever they had, as long as they didn't talk about it out loud, it was okay.
As long as they didn't invite someone else's questions or confidences, it was
okay.
Maybe that was why she was finding it harder than usual to make friends. She
liked Marty and Jessica and she spent time with them outside of school, but
there was a reserve there that had never been around whenever she'd start a new
school.
She knew she was being aloof but couldn't help it.
She scanned the high ceilinged room now, her boredom barely contained as she
tapped her foot and waited for her dad to finish talking to whoever he was
with. It looked like someone's dad. Probably Zara, the red haired sophomore at
her school. He liked to make nice with the parents of the students. She had the
vague idea that he got a kick out of it. Like it was some private game of his.
See how many shipping magnate or hedge fund parents he could charm.
“Come,” he said, breaking off from conversation with probably-Zara’s-dad and
grasping her by the elbow.
“Is it starting?”
He let go his grip on her elbow, gently laying his hand at the small of her
back. “Any minute now. We should take our seats.”
The carpet was a deep burgundy, as were the seats in the large auditorium and
all the gilt edging and the rich colors made it look a little like some grand
old cinema.
“We have a box,” he said, steering her away from the seats down the front and
up the stairs to the boxed in enclosures adorning the walls of the theater. She
followed him into the enclosed space, looking wonderingly about her and bending
over the railing at the front of the small box, peering out at the box stalls
on the other side.
A knock at the door of their stall grabbed her attention. She looked over her
shoulder as her dad went to answer it, ushering in a waiter in a suit and tie.
He placed an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne in the corner that her
dad indicated to him and two glasses onto a little table that sat between the
richly embroidered chairs
“Merci,” he said quietly, palming a tip into the waiters hand.
“This is pretty cool,” she said, grinning at him as the waiter closed the door
behind him. They were by themselves now, in the privacy of their little box.
“Can I have some champagne then? You didn't order anything else.”
Laughing, he reached for the champagne, which had been popped earlier. “Yes,
you may. Sit down and I'll pour you a glass. And shh,” he said as the sound of
the crowd down in the seats below died down. “The performance is beginning.”
Silently, she accepted her glass from him, leaning over again to check out the
orchestra. The music had started with a suddenness that startled her. She'd
almost spilled her drink. Music that filled the massive room, that made her
tingle. Music that captivated her dad. He wasn't looking at her. Her was
looking out at the orchestra, his face telling her that he wasn't really with
her, he was somewhere far away. He looked enraptured, his eyes staring far off.
She quietly finished her glass of champagne. Furtively, a hand slipped from her
lap and circled the neck of the bottle that sat just in arms reach of her. She
looked back over at her dad but he was still gazing out at the orchestra, a
weird half smile on his face that almost made her drop the bottle and reach for
him instead. How could someone who was smiling look so unhappy?
But she didn't want to disturb him. And she really did want a second glass of
the champagne. So she poured it steadily into her glass, replacing the bottle
as surreptitiously as she could. If the lights hadn't been so dim, he probably
would have noticed even with his current inattention. But he was captivated,
the lights were low and she knew how to be sneaky and keep her movements
unobtrusive.
By the intermission, she was drunk.
“Lizzie!” His accusing voice rang out in the small box as the lights rose. “How
much have you had?”
A nervous giggle erupted from her throat. “Just enough to make this more fun.”
He frowned and stood up, reaching to inspect the bottle, tutting in frustration
as he realized she’d had the contents of a full bottle, save for his own
glassful.
He shouldn't be that upset though. It was just champagne. She didn't feel sick,
just giggly. It wasn't like last time when she'd had stronger liquor and too
much of it. She'd been sick that time but she didn't feel dizzy or sick now.
She felt fun and and wanted to have fun.
“Better belly burst than good liquor be lost, I suppose,” he muttered, grabbing
her face and tipping her chin up to look into her eyes. “If you keep this up,
I'll need to send you to rehab.”
“What!” She squawked, standing up too. “That's silly! I've only drunk like
three times ever. And what's that about bursting bellies?”
His face twitched as though he were trying to hide a smile. He picked up her
coat and purse, grabbing her elbow firmly. “Jonathan Swift. One of his nuggets
of wisdom. We’re leaving, Elizabeth. I'm not having you out in public while
you're drunk.”
She didn't protest. She liked the way he was holding her. It almost hurt. It
was weird. She didn't want him to hurt her but this firmness edging on pain
made her feel...good.
She had to scramble to keep up with his pace as they marched through the lobby
and out into the street where their driver waited for them. It was one of many
of their security team in the driver’s seat, parked under a bright streetlight.
He opened the car door for her and she scrambled in.
It didn't matter, did it? That they were leaving early. She'd been bored
anyway. But she felt a pang of guilt when she saw the look on his face as he
slid into the back seat beside her.
She tried to place a hand into his but his hands both remained firmly resting
palms down on his knees. He looked grim. Wasn't he overreacting though? She
wanted him to know she was okay.
“I'm sorry, we didn't need to leave though. People get drunk all the time,” she
said timidly, secretly glad that they had left, regardless of whether or not it
was needed.
He said nothing to her, only sighing as the car pulled out from the parking
space. The drive home was quiet. He eventually took her hand though and rubbed
it between both of his, as though she were cold. But she wasn't cold. She
wanted him to look at her.
“You didn't mean it about rehab, did you,” came her small voice when they were
in the house and he had handed her back her coat and purse.
“No, of course not,” he said shortly. “We need to have another talk about rules
though Lizzie. Perhaps this is a conversation better left for the morning. Go
upstairs and brush your teeth. You need to sleep it off. I'll be in my study a
while.”
She watched him forlornly as he turned away from her. Once again, she had
ruined things for him. She realized now that he had probably been looking
forward to tonight. She'd ruined a treat for him. And he probably didn't get
many of those. Her chest constricted as she began to wonder how much he gave up
in order to be her dad. He had probably lived a fairly wild existence before
her. And then she'd come along and changed it for him.
Her shoulders slumped as she slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She
hadn't been dizzy before but as she ascended the stairs she began to feel a
little woozy, just a touch tipsier than she’d thought she was.
She opened her bedroom door, her thoughts wandering freely. What could she do
to make things better?
Her eyes alighted on a pair of black underpants half hanging out of her
dresser. They weren't incredibly sexy. But she had a cute matching bra with
little red flowers across it.
She was pretty. Her dad told her that all the time. She could be sexy too.
With new purpose she strode across her room, pulling the panties and bra from
her dresser. She undressed quickly and put them on. Thinking fast, she rifled
through her make up bag. She'd put on a little mascara and lip gloss tonight
but that wouldn't do for this. For what she wanted to do for him.
As carefully as she could in from of her mirror, with her hand a little
unsteady, she drew a bow across her lips with red lip liner and filled it in.
She reapplied her mascara, heavily this time and added red lipstick within the
lines of the lip liner.
She smacked her lips, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She looked
awesome. She fluffed her hair a little. It was still a sleek bob, curling
around her ears. She'd had it trimmed in Geneva last week.
Perfect.
One more thing. She got on her hands and knees and pulled out a shoe box from
under her bed. She hadn't told her dad that she'd bought these shoes. She
somehow felt he wouldn't like them but now, with a belly full of champagne, she
wasn't sure why she had ever thought that. They were strappy black stiletto
heels, four inches at least. She buckled herself into them and walked around
the room once in a test run. She wobbled a little but that was to be expected
given the alcohol she'd drunk.
 
===============================================================================
 
Irritated and tired, he'd retreated to his study. Luli had faxed him a report
on his business in Croatia that very evening. He had a feeling he would need to
travel there soon to put down a rival group who were causing trouble for some
of his agents. He'd been laundering the Euro quite undisturbed until recently.
It was apparent that he'd have to dip a toe back in, show his face a bit to
remind people that it was the Concierge of Crime they were dealing with.
He would have to shed blood to make a point and that wearied him. He took no
enjoyment from it but apparently it couldn't be avoided.
He was just about to flick his cell phone open and make some calls when he
heard the clip clop of a pair of heels on the polished wooden staircase. It was
Lizzie of course. His head snapped up, listening to her progress down the
hallway. Why did her footsteps sound so slow and labored? Was she more drunk
than he'd thought?
He whirled around as she arrived in the doorway.
“Hi,” she said shyly.
She looked like a baby giraffe, all long legs and unbalanced pose. Those
shoes.They were ridiculous on her. Fury and disgust twisted in his gut, clawed
it's way up his throat and filled his mouth with words.
“Women who can't walk properly in heels shouldn't wear them. It's not graceful
at all,” he said bitingly before he knew what he was about.
Her face dimmed for a moment and his heart lurched. He hadn't meant...he didn't
want to...but no, she was fine. She tottered further into the room, one hand on
her hip, her lower lip protruding oddly as though she were…
Was she trying to seduce him?
He frowned at her as she stumbled to the floor in front of him, eyes
fluttering. “What are you doing?”
She snaked a hand out, her nimble fingers unzipping his fly before he could
react.
“Get up,” he said, roughly seizing her by the shoulders and hauling her to her
feet. “Your behavior is embarrassing.”
He bit his tongue. He was such a careful man with words. They were his weapon,
used in the right way, words were far more effective than a knife or a gun. The
right thing said in just the right place had been his deliverance from certain
death on more than one occasion. So why was he using them now with such laxity?
She wobbled, her eyes widening in alarm as he held her at arms length. “I was
just...I was-”
“You were just going back upstairs and changing into your pajamas. I don't want
to see you up again until tomorrow morning.”
Jerking back as though she'd been slapped, she stood stiffly, unmoving despite
the unsteadiness of her shoes. His words appeared to have shocked her into
sobriety. “You never want to talk to me anymore,” she whispered.
“That's not true-”
“Yes it is. You're always on the phone or out or locked up in here,” she
gestured to the room around them.
“I might remind you that we were spending time together tonight but that was
cut short by your actions, Elizabeth.” He was struggling to keep his temper in
check. She was being so damnably unreasonable.
“What was the point,” she said nastily. “What was the point of coming to get me
if you're just wishing you could send me away all the time. You probably want
to send me to school as a boarder. Why don't you just send me back to America?
That's what you want, isn't it?”
He shivered with the force of his rage. He would not, he must not lose his
temper with her. He was simply unused to being spoken to in this way. It didn't
come with the territory in his position. He took a calming breath. “If you
don't want to live with me anymore, you don't have to,” he said firmly.
She threw her hands up, deliberately flinging a stack of paperwork lying on the
desk into the air. The papers scattered everywhere, falling like confetti onto
the ground. “I can't win with you!”
He stared at her, amazed at her display of petulance. “Nor I with you, it
seems. You've turned a lovely evening into quite a little tragedy. Why must you
behave so childishly?”
Her eyes went round and wide at that, glittering dangerously. He almost stepped
back for a moment. She took a huge breath and howled, “BECAUSE I’M ALLOWED,”
and ran from the room, her drunken steps and sobbing breath his guide to where
she was headed - not her bedroom, but the library at the rear of the house.
He closed his eyes a moment.
Right now, he wasn't feeling very loving. She was still his daughter and she
was behaving as though she were five. He could have used a glass or two more of
that champagne at this point.
Sighing heavily, he followed her through to the library where he discovered the
door to be locked. He rattled it in irritation. “Lizzie? Open the door.”
This was beyond anything. He knew teenagers were difficult. He'd been no walk
in the park for his own parents, a precocious kid of above average
intelligence. But he somehow had never connected the dots to his own girl child
becoming difficult. At least not like this. Where everything he said or did
could be weighed for offense.
“I'm not opening the door,” she yelled through the keyhole.
His voice boomed loud and sharp. “Yes, you are.”
Silence fell for a moment and then he heard the rattle and click of the lock as
she opened the door.
He stepped inside as she turned her back to him, marching toward a bookcase.
She reached above her head for a heavy textbook, turned around, looking him
straight in the face and launched the book at his head.
He barely ducked in time. But the next book hit him. And the next. He made it
to her in time to twist the fourth book from her hands.
She threw her hands up at him, protecting her face as though she expected him
to hit her.
It was like an electric shock. Her gasping sobs, her shoulders hunched, arms
thrown up and head bowed, cringing away from him like a kicked dog.
After everything they had been through, did she fear him after all?
“Lizzie,” he said gently, taking her wrists and uncrossing them. He pulled her
arms to her side and pressed her up against a bookcase. “Lizzie, baby. Hush,
sweetheart, hush. Come here.”
She permitted herself to be folded up against him. He stroked her hair, kissing
away the tears on her heated cheeks. She was so precious, so dear to him. He
had allowed himself to forget that, allowed himself to get distracted with the
everyday irritations of a routine existence.
He could fix this.
Pulling her over to an armchair, he sank with her into it and arranged her in
his lap, still petting her tenderly. His little girl, his baby was crying. He
didn't understand her at all but he hated to see her cry. It produced a
savagery in his chest, an urge to shatter and destroy whatever was hurting her.
It maddened him that he couldn't do that any longer. So often the thing that
hurt her most was himself.
“I recall,” he murmured into her hair, “your first time walking across a room.
I missed out on your very first steps darling but did you know the first time
you crossed an entire room, you were laughing. You were so excited, Lizzie
baby. You walked right into my arms.”
He sighed, stroking her face with his hand, letting that memory wash over him.
She had been so innocent, so excitable.
“I remember something,” she said softly, her sobs quieted. She rubbed her cheek
against his shirt, wiping her nose all over his front. “Before the fire. Just
one thing. I wasn't allowed to jump on the bed and I knew that so I pulled a
chair up by the door and climbed onto it and locked the door.”
He looked down on her and watched a tentative smile blossom as she relived her
memory. Precious girl.
She glanced up at him. “I jumped on the bed for a while but then I couldn't get
the door unlocked.”
He chuckled, pulling her in further to him, her head tucked safely under his
chin. “I remember that. I had to find a screwdriver and take the door handle
apart. You were screaming bloody murder about it the whole time through the
door at me.”
“Hmm, was I naughty?”
“No, darling, you were never naughty.”
“That sounds like a lie.”
He laughed and kissed her hair. “Maybe a little one.”
They sat in a pleasant silence. She was shivering a little in his arms.
Unsurprising really, when she chose to come downstairs clothed in nothing but
underwear.
“Lizzie?”
“Hmm?”
“No more drinking, darling.”
She twisted to look at him, outrage back on her face. “You let me. I don't see
why I-”
“Enough.”
He'd said it low, he hadn't yelled but he finally felt as though he'd reached
her. She burrowed her head into his chest in response, cuddling into the warmth
of his body, saying nothing.
He cradled her against him gently. It would all be okay. She needed a firm
hand, that was all.



***** Chapter 25 *****
The bustling and chaotic French Riviera was a stark change from the slow
village life she'd been getting used to at school.
Her dad was teaching her extra languages. Although French and German were on
the curriculum, he wanted to add Italian, Russian and Chinese.
She baulked at that.
She sat next to him at a corner table of the cafe downstairs from the resort
they were staying at. It overlooked the harbor. It was a nice place to eat
their breakfast and relax as a gentle sea breeze wafted over them, stirring her
hair a little as she bent over her waffles dripping in maple syrup.
“You want me to learn all of these languages all at once...I can't do it,” she
said, scanning the books he'd brought down from the suite, panicking about it
all. “French and German is already enough!” She couldn't believe he'd brought
all these texts with them. They were supposed to be having their first holiday
weekend together. She didn't want to think about school.
He chuckled, scooping her up and pulling her into his lap. That had been a new
thing. He would often sit her on his lap, in public just as frequently as in
private now. It made her feel uneasy. But she didn't want to upset him or hurt
his feelings so she said nothing.
“Alright, alright. For now let's concentrate on the school curriculum. But you
are a smart girl. I  don't want to see it go to waste.”
Her stomach knotted. Sometimes she didn't feel so smart. She was struggling
with French at school. Most of her subjects came naturally to her so it had
been a nasty surprise to find that she seemed to have a block on learning a new
language. She desperately wanted him to be proud of her and she had joined the
French club and was studying quite late most nights.
It made her feel brittle and tearful. She never used to cry at the drop of a
hat but sometimes she'd shut herself up in the bathroom, strip down and turn
the water on scaldingly hot. It was just hot enough to help her cry.
It was school, that was all. That was what was going on.
“Do you recognize this old face or are you still having a sulk about that
diamond heist,” broke in a musical voice. A shadow appeared above them.
Lizzie's head snapped up. The form of a girl, well, a woman really, a slender
woman with glorious honey brown hair and a wide, sensuous mouth, heavily made
up in scarlet tones stood before them.
Pushing her off of his lap, her dad grinned, “Agate, you she-devil! No, no hard
feelings. I left my flank wide open. I only got what I deserved. Did you have
fun spending the money?”
Tossing her head, she slid gracefully into a chair across from them both. “You
know me better than that. Wasn't I your best student? I've invested. My father
and I have shared stakes in a casino on the Cote d’Azur. We’re doing quite
well. It's a shame we haven't seen you in these parts for a while,” she
finished archly.
This woman was different from Rosa. Where Rosa was pleasantly beautiful, with a
soft, curvaceous body, this woman was as tall as a supermodel, her rich brown
hair waving thickly just above her elbows. She had the body of a model too, her
waist was smaller than Lizzie's and she hadn't even finished growing yet. She
couldn't help but feel slightly awed, a thrill running through her as the young
woman adjusted her oversized sunglasses and peered down at Lizzie.
Smiling a mega watt smile, the beautiful woman leaned over to ask, “who’s your
little friend?”
For a moment, Lizzie tensed, wondering how she was to be introduced. Who was
this woman and how was she connected to her dad? But he was open with her.
“Let me introduce you to Elizabeth, my daughter,” he said, giving the woman
just a hint of a challenging stare. “Elizabeth, this is Agate Beaudoin, a thief
of consummate skill and a first rate spy.”
For the first time in this short conversation, the young woman looked
surprised. But she schooled her features quickly, reaching her hand out to
shake Lizzie’s limply.
“Charmed,” she simpered. “Red, if I'd known you had a daughter I'm not sure our
little fling would have gone quite the way that it did.” She shuddered
theatrically. “Having children automatically ages you at least ten years. It's
what my mother always said.” She grinned at Lizzie teasingly. “Never mind me,
Elizabeth, I do love to poke a stick at your dear old dad here. He enjoys it
too much for me to stop.” She winked at him, flicking a hand up attempting to
capture the attention of a nearby waiter.
Lizzie felt sick. She had no hope of him wanting to spend time with her this
weekend now. Not with this woman, who was clearly an ex girlfriend, in town.
She quietly stacked her books, pulling them towards her. “I should go upstairs
and get ready...if we’re still going to the beach today?” She couldn't help the
question in her voice. He looked really happy, sitting here with Agate. Maybe
he wouldn't want to hurry away?
Turning his attention from Agate, he smiled warmly at her, “yes, that's the
plan.”
Agate’s hands fluttered together in a delicate clap. “Oh, let me show you a
beach I've recently come across! It's not far from here at all. Please. Include
me, it'll be such fun,” she said, laying a hand lightly over Raymond's.
It shouldn't be a difficult decision, Lizzie thought a little resentfully. She
only really saw him at dinner during the week. They were both so busy, her at
school and he with his work. It was tricky maintaining the strings to a global
empire from the phone and fax machine of a little village in Switzerland.
He nodded slowly while her heart sank. “It would be a pleasure,” he said
suavely. “We have time for your morning Cappuccino, Agate and then we’ll need
to be off. Think you can manage that?”
“Absolutely,” she beamed at them both as Lizzie smiled weakly back, turning to
go inside. This was not shaping up to be the trip she'd hoped for.
===============================================================================
 
Raymond sat back and relaxed in his chair as he watched Lizzie retreat. He was
unsure about this but she'd not brought a single friend home from school and
Agate wasn't miles apart in age. Perhaps they'd hit it off. Two smart,
vivacious young women. Of course they'd hit it off.
“She have a mother? Asked Agate in tones a shade cooler than she'd been using
in front of Lizzie.
“Dead,” he said briefly.
Her eyelids flickered. “Oh? who killed her?”
“No one on our side of the fence, if you must know.”
Agate nodded, accepting the light rebuff. “I assume she has someone to fill
that gap. It would be a heartbreaking thing to deprive the girl of a woman to
look up to.”
He swallowed. Agate was a good sort. She'd stolen a large shipment of gems he'd
been working with her on acquiring last year though. Her father was an old
friend, a masterly thief and Red had owed the old man a favour or two so he'd
taken the nineteen year old Agate on, taught how how to become a spy. She'd
been one of his most apt pupils. The only one better was Luli, also a young
woman of prodigious talent. He'd trained them both, unarmed combat, languages,
money laundering, and the hardest one of all to master, covert operations. It
wasn't fun or exciting, learning to remain in the same position perhaps for
hours and watch someone attentively and also unobtrusively.
Agate had shown particular skill as a spy whereas Luli had shown an aptitude
for business and finance. Luli was now one of his most trusted associates. She
was currently in New York, keeping the syndicate in tip top shape with Newton
Phillips.
It had been a pity really, he held no grudges toward this amazing woman but he
never worked twice with someone who had broken his trust.
It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her company though. She was a hell of a woman.
Perhaps she was right. Lizzie needed a woman in her life to help her with her
self-confidence. He'd been worrying over her timidity lately. It was very
unlike her.
“How old are you now, Agate?” He asked interestedly.
“Hmm,” she mused as she finally caught the attention of a waiter, ordering her
coffee in elegant French. She turned back to him with a coquettish smile. “You
should remember, you deflowered me on my twenty first birthday.”
He winced. “Perhaps we won’t mention that to Lizzie...she's fourteen, darling.
She doesn't want to hear those sorts of stories.”
Agate sniffed. “Of course, I'm not completely stupid, you know. And I'm twenty
four, I might as well tell you, since you've clearly forgotten.” She leaned
forward and he couldn't help but respond by leaning toward her a little too.
“I'm surprised,” she said, “you don't go around telling many people that you
trained me as a spy. Is she really your daughter?”
Leaning back again, he stamped down a frisson of irritation. Agate had always
been a bit jealous. He even suspected that whole fiasco last year had been in
revenge for a dance he'd had the night before the scheduled heist with a
Colombian bombshell he'd taken back to his suite afterwards.
It had been some dance.
“Yes, she is my daughter, not the competition. As I said, she's fourteen and it
would please me if you would make friends with her. I think she'd like that.”
She visibly relaxed, settling back happily. “Leave it to me then. A girl chat
is exactly what she needs.”
===============================================================================
 
“It's not a busy beach,” said Agate, clambering over a large rock like a
gazelle. “But it's popular enough, and the scenery is just lovely.” She turned
to smile at Lizzie, her flowy peach kaftan swirling lightly in the breeze.
She'd been ignoring Raymond since they'd arrived at the beach, her cheerful
conversation reserved entirely for Lizzie. “So tell me, Elizabeth, do you go to
school?”
Lizzie looked uncertainly from Agate to her father.
Her dad wasn't looking at either of them though. “We don't discuss Lizzie’s
school for security reasons, Agate, darling. You know better than that,” he
said, frowning and checking his watch, glancing over at a point on the far side
of the beach. “If you’ll excuse me girls, I'm going to speak with my head of
security for just a moment. Don't go far.” He swung back to give Agate a hard
look. “Don't go misbehaving now. Lizzie’s a good girl. She tells me
everything.”
Agate made a moue of displeasure but acknowledged his words with an
infinitesimal jerk of her head.
Lizzie could feel her chin trembling. He had never called Rosa darling. And now
that she compared the two women she could see, plain as day that Rosa was only
ever a good friend despite their intimacy. Simon had tried to explain it but
she hadn't understood.
Here was someone who was not just a friend and to her own embarrassment she
felt a yearning to be just like her. She wanted Agate to extend her friendship,
to mother her a little even. How strange that she wanted this fashionable,
gorgeous woman, only a few years older than herself to mother her and she had
resisted Rosa’s open affections so fiercely.
She walked along the stony path to the beach, letting Agate take the lead.
The tanned brunette turned to look her up and down, a curious expression on her
face. “Do you want to rent a float and sunbathe out on the water?”
“Sure,” said Lizzie brightly, relieved that there was something she could agree
to. She was nervous that the woman was about to start pumping her for
information about her dad; he'd schooled her in how to respond in those
situations...and it wasn't in a way that was designed to make friends.
They'd had to share a float in the end. There was only one left for hire. Agate
had paid for it and handed it straight on to Lizzie, strolling towards the
water, not looking back once. She'd pulled her kaftan off just before reaching
the water, revealing a skimpy white string bikini. Lizzie gulped. Her eyes
roved over the other woman's body. She was so slim but still managed to have
the most perfect, pert breasts, much more than just a handful. How did she do
it?
She looked down at her own emerald green bikini. She knew she looked good in
it. Her dad had chosen it for her and he had an eye for what looked good on a
woman.
Or so he kept telling her.
She wished her boobs looked like Agate’s though. Her own skin was pale and
burned so easily. She looked over at Agate’s skin as she walked into the water,
sinking herself deeper into the calm surf. Her skin was a smooth, natural tan.
She didn't look like she even knew what a zit was.
“So you and my dad used to date?” She ventured uncomfortably, pushing the float
out towards the woman.
That only produced mocking laughter as Agate floated gently onto her back, her
hair fanning out into the water, strands of brown and lighter honey tones
haloing her face. “No, darling, we used to work together...and had a mutually
satisfying arrangement after hours, you could say. There's a difference. Your
daddy doesn't really date.”
“Um, okay.” Well, she had nothing else. What was she supposed to say to that?
Agate ducked her head briefly underwater, coming up again with slicked back
hair. “He never mentioned you,” she said lightly, swimming a few strokes past
Lizzie. “Were you a recent surprise for him?”
“Nooo,” she responded slowly, reluctant to say more and miserably confused
about what else to say. “Hey, so you’re French right? I'm learning French at
school.” She winced inwardly at her awkward change of subject but really, what
was she supposed to do?
“I am, of course. Red likes his women European. But you've probably noticed
that,” she said archly. “Is he a terrible reprobate, Elizabeth? Should we
punish him?” She smiled wickedly, mischief sparkling in her hazel eyes.
“He...hasn't really had time for girlfriends,” she muttered, looking away.
Agate smiled, slow satisfaction rippling across her face. “Would you like it if
he had time for me? I've a tendre for your father, I'll confess to you.”
“I don't know…” She began uncomfortably. “He doesn't really ask for my opinion
on who he spends his time with.”
There was a hardness growing in Agate’s eyes as she listened to Lizzie speak.
Her expression hadn't really changed at all, still smoothly smiling but there
was a suggestion of flint in her face that hadn't been there before.
They were both silent a while, letting the calm water cradle them, drifting
down the beach. Agate shielded her eyes for a moment, searching for Red out on
the sand. She seemed to locate him quickly enough because she turned back to
Lizzie purposefully. “You're so pale darling. You're going to get ugly tan
lines in the next twenty minutes if you're not careful. Why don't you come up
on the float and take your bikini top off? It'll give you more of an even
coverage.”
“Ah,” Lizzie craned her neck, looking around her. Would anyone see? Would she
be able to do it? That was so weird. And her dad! He'd be coming back any
moment. This couldn't be a good idea. She couldn't see anyone else with their
top off. “It doesn't look like it's a nudist beach,” she said weakly.
Flipping water at her playfully, Agate swam closer to her. “Nonsense! Over
here, every beach is a nudist beach. It's culturally far more commonplace than
you're used to in your puritanical country.
Lizzie looked anxiously back and forth between the beach and Agate.
She gave Lizzie an amused look, laughing, a tinkly sound. “Darling, you're not
a prude are you? Goodness, you'll butt heads with Red before long if you are.”
She swam a few feet out, grasping the bright green and orange plastic float
they'd rented from the clubhouse and hauled herself across it sideways. She
patted the squeaky wet plastic, inviting Lizzie to jump on as well.
“I'm not, I'm just...” she looked around her cagily. Her dad still hadn't come
back and she felt really strange. She'd never hated her body before but the
sight of Agate swanning around with her barely there bikini looking like some
sort of sex goddess was making her feel sad and gross about herself.  She
didn't want to go nude...even if it was a nudist beach.
But if Agate was right, and her dad thought she was being a prude. Well, what
if he got bored with her? What if he was finding her annoying. What if he
didn't want to be...close...with her anymore? What if he wanted to spend all
his time with Agate from now on? Why had they broken up anyway?
She reluctantly hauled herself up beside the lovely brunette. “I'm not a prude,
I just...you don't think it's weird with my dad here?”
Rolling her eyes, Agate patted her shoulder condescendingly. “Red has spent a
lot of time in Europe. Any foolish American hang ups he might once have had are
long gone. I'm surprised he allowed you to be raised there.”
“Okay then…can you...help me?”
“Of course.” Agate flashed a brief smile at her, reaching for her bikini
strings, unknotting them easily.
She felt the small piece of cloth slip from her chest, the cold water splashing
up onto her nipples. She gasped. It felt completely different. No one had
really turned to look but she felt as though everyone's eyes were on her. She
grimaced, trying to appear relaxed, floating about next to Agate in the water.
She pushed herself low onto the float, attempting to cover her breasts.
“Was your mother very beautiful, Elizabeth?”
She blinked just once, slowly. A strange stab of sadness had torn through her
chest at Agate’s words. She didn't think she'd ever felt the need to grieve
over a mother she'd never known, but all of a sudden, the topic felt sore and
certainly far too personal to share with this stranger. “I don't really talk
about her,” she muttered, stealing a glance at the woman's lovely profile as
she spoke.
Agate looked displeased, her full lips pursing into a prim pout. “Of course,”
she said, the words gracious enough but the tone telling Lizzie she was in
disgrace.
Misbehaving in front of Rosa had always felt kind of like ringing an alarm for
more attention from her dad. She felt somewhere inside, almost unconsciously
that she needed his whole attention, that she must have it. She knew some of
the things she had done were because of a creeping, nasty fear that he would
grow tired of her. Causing him trouble kept his focus solely on her and she
liked it that way. It was different with this woman. She had an awful feeling
that if she didn't make a friend of Agate that she had the power to supplant
her in his affections. What if she tried to turn her dad against her? Her
stomach hardened and her chest tightened as these thoughts raced through her
head.
“Girls!”
Her head spun around in time to catch an odd look on her father's face. His
thoughts on her partial nudity were indecipherable from his expression alone
but she heard a burst of giggles coming from Agate.
He waved them toward him, standing ankle deep in the water. It was awkward and
horrifying. He wanted them to leave the water for some reason but how was she
supposed to get her bikini back on?
“Can you help me?” She asked Agate in a panic.
The woman laughed, seizing her bikini top and splashing out of the water. “Of
course,” she said, “come up out of the water and bring the float.”
Well at least there was the float. She felt her cheeks burning as she churned
the water around her legs, splashing and clambering about to get back into
shallower water with the float placed strategically in front of her. She could
feel her dad’s eyes on her even though she hadn't looked at him since coming
out of the water.
She squeaked as Agate took the float from her. “Here, let me help you
Elizabeth,” she said solicitously, attempting to wrap the bikini top around her
in a strangely clumsy effort.
“There's a security risk I've been made aware of. We need to leave the area,”
her dad said lightly as though he wasn't looking at her naked breasts. “I'd
like to move fast. Agate, I'll have a car take you to the casino. Lizzie and I
will go for a drive along the esplanade. I'm not convinced it's a good idea to
show our faces here or back at the suite just yet.”
After her top was finally back in place, they hurried to the cars lined up in
the bright sun in front of a seafood restaurant. He opened the back passenger
door of the first car, pushing her head down firmly as she slipped in. He said
something she couldn't hear to Agate, sending a weird bolt of resentment
through her chest. It faded as suddenly as it had come, with him sliding into
the back seat beside her. She hadn't even heard what he'd said outside the car
so she wasn't sure why she was feeling upset. She just was.
“What security risk?” She rasped, her voice sounding unnatural to her own ears.
He gave her a sharp look, studying her through his tinted sunglasses. “Interpol
has sent out a few alerts recently. There's enough chatter to make me uneasy.
I’d like to keep moving for the next few hours. How would you like to get a
milkshake in the next town over?”
“I'm not really thirsty,” she said, licking her dry lips and swallowing,
realizing the lie as she felt the dryness in her throat. She didn't want
anything right now though. She wanted to go home. She wanted to put more
clothes on. She was still in her bikini and felt naked, exposed and
uncomfortable. The air conditioning in the car was giving her a chill,
hardening her nipples as they travelled along the esplanade.
Why did she feel so strange?
She’d never felt so ugly. Her body didn't even feel like it belonged to her.
She felt a vague sense of distance from it, like she was outside of her body.
She thought peevishly of her flat breasts, pasty skin and jaw that was so
unfeminine. She hated her face, the shape of it, the slope of her
shoulders...everything really. Did anyone else feel like this? It was like she
were adrift in the middle of a slimy oil slick on the ocean, dirty and alone.
They drove for hours until her dad felt it was safe to return to the apartment.
She changed into clothes for dinner silently, her mind a million mile away,
buzzing with the mundane details of school and languages and anything else but
the awkwardness of that day.
She felt herself automatically going through the motions through dinner. His
conversation was equally bland and robotic, it seemed to her.
“It's a beautiful drive through the hills Lizzie. We could do the mountains
here next time.”
“What did you think of that beach then? Compared to the Amalfi Coast?”
She smiled and answered his questions the way she thought he might want her to.
But she'd been far away.
When they returned to their suite, he made it apparent that he was aware she
was out of sorts. The front door shut and he followed her into the living room.
He reached for her hand, trying to pull her down onto the leather armchair.
“I really need a shower,” she said, desperately apologetic. “I'll be quick,”
and with that she disappeared into the ensuite of her room. She locked the
door, feeling guilty for it but she couldn't bear the idea of him walking into
the bathroom and seeing her. She wanted to cry at the thought of that. Why was
she feeling this way? What had changed?
She stayed in the shower long enough to know that soon he'd be knocking on her
locked door, checking on her. Despite the warmth of the Mediterranean evening,
she put on her thickest pajama pants and a tank top and made her way back out
to the living room, dragging her feet.
She found him at the window, hands behind his back, gazing out at the view, at
the midnight sea rippling darkly, ruffled by a light breeze.
He turned to her smiling, reaching to fold her into his arms. “Come on,” he
said gruffly. “Let's sit.”
He drew her into the armchair, her legs over his, her bottom resting on his
lap. Squeezing her tightly, he stroked her scar and was silent, just holding
her for a moment, as though he were gathering his courage to say something.
He looked into her face and she presented her cheek to him to be kissed, almost
perfunctorily. She didn't want to be naked in front of him today. But he
clearly wanted her. She could feel him under her, perched on his lap as she
was.
“Lizzie,” he said gently, “if this isn't okay anymore...if you want to stop,
I'll still want you in my life as much as ever. I love you, baby.” He tipped
her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Do you still want this? I
need to know.” He smoothed a finger over her eyebrow.
She nestled into him, bowing her head to fit under his chin and pressed her
body into his chest. “Can we just kiss?” She asked softly, encouraged by his
words.
Squeezing his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head, smacking his lips
playfully. “Of course, precious girl. Anything you like.”
Heart easing, body unbending into him, she felt a tiny sigh escape her lips.
She loved him so much. She felt his lips at the nape of her neck, dropping
ticklish kisses down her neck and shoulder. He nuzzled the crook of her neck,
his tongue darting out to taste her.
“You smell so lovely after a shower,” he murmured. “I don't know what it is. Is
it your body wash?” He gently lifted and repositioned her, his mouth finding
and sucking slowly on her earlobe. “Is it...your shampoo?” His lips kissed a
trail down her neck to her throat, hovering above her breasts. “Is it just the
smell of your wet hair?” This time he reached a hand to her tank top, tugging
it down to reveal her breasts. They spilled out of her top into his hands.
She took in a sharp breath. “You said just kissing,” she objected breathlessly.
He chuckled, his mouth already suckling on her nipple. He let her go
momentarily. “I am just kissing. I'm being good, baby. It's just that...there
are so many special spots to kiss.”
She closed her eyes, trying to deal with the the electrifying tingles traveling
through her body, from her between her legs to her fingers and toes, little
frissons of excitement, of desire. She needed him to just hold and kiss her
tonight but what he was doing was making her breathless.
His head was bent to her breasts and she couldn't help arching against him. He
was making happy little noises, his tongue laving her delicate pink buds. His
hands were caressing her ribs, sending the most delicious feelings coursing
through her.
“Lizzie, your clothes are getting in the way...of my kisses,” he whispered
against her skin. “Help me take them off.”
“Please,” she begged in a small voice, “please, can we just kiss.”
Laughing darkly, he gripped her bottom and stood from his armchair with her in
his arms. “I promise, just kissing.” He kissed her slowly, his tongue lazily
exploring her mouth. He just stood there, holding her to him, her legs wrapped
around his waist and his hands cupping her bottom firmly. He walked into the
bedroom so smoothly that she barely realised they'd moved to another room, so
intoxicated with his touch that her senses were fuzzy.
He laid her gently out onto the bed, covering her with his body, trapping her
with his arms.
Scanning the room wildly from left to right, her eyes finally met his.
“Please,” she asked again, softly and one more time.
“Just kisses,” he agreed, tugging her pyjama bottoms down her legs, baring her
milky white flesh and the soft curl of pubic hair between her legs to him.
He bent his head again, nudging her legs apart with his nose. She opened her
legs wider obediently, confusing tears stinging her eyes. Why was she crying?
She swiped at her eyes fiercely, frightened of her tears. It was more than she
wanted right now but he was looking after her, being gentle and nice to her.
With one long swipe, his tongue traveled from just above her puckered hole to
her clit. She shuddered under his ministrations, her knees trembling and
squeezing spasmodically around his ears.
His tongue drove into her, darting inside of her, massaging her clit. His hands
had gripped hers and he was stroking her palms with each thumb reassuringly. He
was increasing pressure on her clit, licking and nipping gently, sucking her
into his mouth and wiggling his tongue between her folds by turns.
Her breasts were still hanging out of her tank top and she felt a sudden wave
of shame crest out of nowhere, crashing down on her. It was though she were
drowning in it. Gasping, her lungs squeezed out any breath she had left. Just
as she felt her climax ripple through her, a flurry of sobs escaped her as
well. Sobbing in distress, she attempted to pull away and unable to tell which
way was up or down, she clumsily hit his head with her knees.
“Lizzie, baby what's wrong?” He asked in alarm, grasping for her, trying to
pull her back to him.
“I don't know,” she wept wildly. Her limbs flailed as she flung him off of her,
scrabbling at the sheets, desperately trying to cover herself. “I don't know,”
she wept again, falling to her side and pulling her knees up to her chin,
throwing the sheet over her head. “Turn the light off, please,” she begged.
For a moment he didn't move, then slowly she felt him crawl off the bed and the
room was suddenly shrouded in darkness.
“Lizzie,” he whispered, his voice coming from in front of her. He must have
walked around the bed. “I'm sorry. Do you want to cuddle now?”
“No,” she moaned, wadding the sheet into her mouth to muffle the strange wail
that was bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. “Please go,” she said
tearfully, chomping again on the cotton sheet. “I need to sleep by myself
tonight.”
She felt his presence in the dark, heard his quiet footsteps on the carpet as
he left the room, closing the door with a gentle click.
And she waited for sleep, craving it badly. But the silence in the room
wouldn't allow it. The dark had never been so full of other things before.
 
***** Chapter 26 *****
Raymond Reddington sat grimly in an armchair in the living room of their suite.
He wanted to go back into that bedroom and have it out with his daughter but
she had been distressed enough that he felt it would be best to keep his
annoyance to himself for now.
She would keep.
He thumbed idly through the textbooks he'd bought her, mouthing the lessons
silently to himself out of sheer boredom when a gentle knock at the door
startled him from his dark thoughts. He wondered with mild curiously who it
might be. Whoever it was had been waved through his security. Surely not Agate?
It was.
He ushered her into the suite, politely giving her a kiss of greeting on both
cheeks. “What brings this unexpected pleasure to my door?” He inquired.
She shrugged delicately. “I was bored. I thought perhaps you and Lizzie might
like to play a hand of cards.”
Ah. Hmm.
“I'm sorry, Agate but Lizzie is in bed. It's...late. I was planning on retiring
myself shortly. Perhaps you might like to join us for the little shopping
expedition that we have planned tomorrow?”
She laughed, a little nastily, he thought with some concern.
“Somehow, I don't think Lizzie and I share the same...tastes,” she murmured.
Her eyes brightened mischievously. “Come and have a nightcap in my suite
tomorrow night,” she said, an eyebrow arched suggestively. “I'm dining with my
father at the casino at eight but if you can manage to tuck your...daughter in
by ten, you're more than welcome to drop by.” She sashayed closer to him,
stroking the lapel of his jacket. “Here's my room key,” she deftly placed the
flat access card into his inner pocket. “Think about it, darling.”
He watched her spin on her heel, her hips swaying enchantingly. His heart was
hammering in his chest. It would be a lie to say he wasn't tempted but it
wasn't her offer that was leaving him with sweaty palms and a tight, anxious
feeling in his stomach.
It was Lizzie.
He understood now. He enjoyed women, loved them. Dancing the night away,
inhaling the sweet perfume that bloomed with the natural scent of a woman as
she swayed in his arms...that was heaven. Women who were soft, hard, smart,
fun, cheeky, serious, determined. He didn't necessarily need to bed her to feel
satisfied. A night in the company of an intelligent woman, dinner, perhaps a
dance, that was deeply enriching for him.
He hadn't felt he was flirting with Agate, he certainly hadn't been intending
to invite her into his bed. Not when Lizzie was currently filling it. He
thought that would have been clear. So he had been frustrated and a little
angry this evening at her behavior.
She had been so sweet, so enthusiastic, quietly initiating most of their
encounters lately. He'd only been playing a silly game with her tonight,
thinking perhaps she wanted to be taken care of. He hadn't realized just how
sensitive she'd been feeling and when he had, it was too late. He'd left the
bedroom assuming she was having a tantrum over him having another female friend
in his life. He'd thought he was going to have to chastise her for it in the
morning. Of course, he wasn't going to sleep with other women while Lizzie
filled the spot that she did but she couldn't have it all her way. He wouldn't
permit her to decide who his associates were based on their gender.
Apparently, she'd had good reason to be feeling unsettled. If Agate thought
he'd been open to an invitation to her bed, then Lizzie had probably been of
the same understanding.
He'd have to set her straight in the morning.
Thoughtfully, he palmed the access card from his jacket pocket to his wallet.
He'd have it returned to Agate by one of his staff. Perhaps they wouldn't stay
another night as planned. Lizzie needed stability. He should take her back to
Clarens, their home.
He wandered tiredly through the suite, his eyes lighting on a decanter of
scotch that currently sat invitingly on the sideboard under a huge gilt edged
mirror. He sighed, picking it up along with a tumbler and made his way down the
hall to the master bedroom.
He didn't notice that the door to Lizzie’s room had been open just a crack
during his conversation with Agate. It was firmly shut by the time he made his
way past her room.
 
===============================================================================
 
In the dark, where every noise is magnified, Lizzie lay her ear against the
door, listening to her father’s footfalls on the carpet as he made his way to
the master bedroom. He barely made any sound at all but he didn't need a heavy
step for her to hear him. She heard the clink of a glass and the click of his
door as he closed it.
For the first time, she didn't want him to come and comfort her. She didn't
understand the feelings tearing up her chest. All she knew was that they were
terrible and she wanted it to stop. She didn't want to feel this way.
Was it because of Agate? Why couldn't she identify what she was feeling? It was
all so confusing and she didn't know what to do about it.
She'd run away.
Impulsively, she leaped for the bedside lamp switch, illuminating her room with
a low light. She tore about, throwing clothes into her backpack and pulling on
a tank top and a pair of white capri pants. She'd leave her large suitcase
behind and just take the smaller bag. She had to move quickly and go out the
back way. He had Artie in the lobby and another two men outside so she'd have
to figure out a way to get past them unnoticed.
Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she turned the light off and crept
carefully from her room, opening the front door slowly and slipping out. It was
the easiest thing. She felt free almost immediately, though she had yet to get
past the security downstairs. She didn't stop to examine the new feeling of
exultation that flared in her chest, she just ran, opening the fire door and
pulling the fire alarm for good measure. That would leave them confused and
occupied enough for her to slip away.
The harsh and urgent sound of the alarm faded behind her as she melted into the
small crowd of gawking guests in the lobby. It was easy to move unobtrusively.
Her d-, Sam had taught her how.
She wasn't used to being out so late, particularly not in such a touristy town
as this one. Lights flashed, music blared from bars and expensive fast cars
whizzed past her, all clamoring to distract her from what she'd done.
What had she done? She couldn't take this back. When her dad found she'd gone
in the morning he'd know that she had wanted to run away and had done it. Would
he come after her? Would he tell Agate what she'd done and laugh about it with
her while she wasn't in the room?
The thought stung. She didn't want to think about it anymore. Without really
concentrating on where she was going, she found herself walking away from the
esplanade, further inland, where more residential housing and less and less
hotels marked the landscape. She'd walked for twenty minutes by the time she
came across a park with a small playground. It was partially lit and there were
two boys sitting in the sandpit, listening to music from a boom box, talking
and laughing amongst themselves.
They didn't look much older than her. She felt so lonely, so trapped and she
didn't even know why, but her feet did the walking before her brain caught up
and she found herself in front of them quite suddenly.
“Bonsoir,” she said tentatively, wondering already if she'd made a mistake as
she took in their surprised faces.
“Hey, yeah, American right?” Said the shorter one after a slight pause.
“Yeah,” she said eagerly, realizing with a sudden rush of pleasure that these
guys were American too.
“I'm Doug,” said the short one. “And this is Brent.”
“I'm Liz,” she said, “mind if I join you?”
They glanced at each other and then down at the open bottle of rum they had
between them.
“Yeah, that's cool,” said Brent, grinning at her. “We’re just here on vacation
with our parents. They're at the casino tonight so we thought we’d go and hang
and drink where there aren't any parents around, you know?”
She felt so good. These guys were exactly who she needed to meet with. They
both gave her big, goofy grins as she settled herself in the sandpit next to
them.
Brent offered her a swig from the bottle of rum and she took it, trying to act
as casual as possible, taking a careful swig, swallowing as it burnt its way
down her throat.
“So like, where are you from, Liz?” Asked Doug, taking a swig from the bottle.
“Nebraska,” she said cheerfully, already feeling a warmth in her limbs. “You?”
“We’re from San Francisco,” he said, nodding to Brent. “Brent's my annoying
older brother.”
The two boys guffawed at each other, rolling their eyes and exchanging a few
jibes. It was so normal. She felt normal again. When had she stopped feeling
that? Why would she miss it so much? She didn't know but the second swig of rum
went down a little easier, and the third and fourth.
They asked her about her family. Where were they? Did they know she was out by
herself?
“Oh, I'm taking off,” she said casually. “I'm thinking about getting a job
here. I don't need parents.”
The boys looked at each other uncertainly. She felt a stab of anger at that.
They didn't understand. They had parents.
Her brow furrowed. What was she thinking? Raymond was her dad. Even if…
Well.
“Have a fight with them huh?” Asked Brent sympathetically.
She relaxed. “Yeah, my dad...he’s met up with an ex and I dunno. It's just
weird.”
Brent nodded. “Man that sucks. Can you go live with your mom? I mean, if your
dad’s girlfriend is a bitch-”
“She's not his girlfriend,” Lizzie said quickly, offended and alarmed by the
thought. “He just met up with her.” She snorted. “She's probably stalking him
or something, I dunno.”
She knew that wasn't true.
She also knew the other things she told them were lies too. But it was
wonderfully freeing, to be another person in her head for a little while.
“...so my mom’s a wildlife conservationist and she's away from home a lot. She
does a whole heap of protests out on the ocean, you know, anti whaling stuff?
She's pretty cool. And my dad...he's a, he's a physiotherapist, for kids who've
been in accidents.” She pressed her lips together and took the bottle of rum as
it was offered to her again.
“Oh wow, our folks aren't so interesting. Our parents are both teachers. Mom
works at a college and dad teaches at our school actually. Kinda sucks, having
your dad teach you history,” said Brent, grinning at her in the ghostly light
of the street lamps.
“So, you guys must find it hard to get up to stuff then huh? With your dad
always looking over your shoulder.”
Brent and Doug grinned. They were two years apart, they'd said, Doug was
fifteen and Brent was seventeen but it seemed like they were twins. They had
the same good looks, laughed at the same things and their mannerisms almost
seemed synchronized.
She wished she had a sister.
“We have our ways,” said Brent, his eyes sparkling.
“Do you have girlfriends?” She said impulsively. “I bet that must be hard to
keep separate from the parents. Can't even date someone at school without your
dad all up in your business.”
“Nah, I have an after school job. I date the chicks there, and like, Doug has a
steady girlfriend at school. Dad doesn't seem to mind.”
Cosmo magazine said to bite your lip to attract a boy. She recalled the article
now as she gently chewed her bottom lip. She tilted her head towards Brent,
running her tongue over her lips. “So you're steady with someone then?”
He eyed her, his open and friendly expression turning into slight wariness.
“How old are you, Liz?”
“Sixteen,” she lied glibly.
His face cleared. “Oh right. For some reason I thought you were younger.”
She brought her knees up to her chest, stirring the sand around her. It was
gritty and getting everywhere, even in her underpants. Her head was pleasantly
fuzzy. She barely felt any regretful ache in her chest at all. These boys were
making her feel important, asking her about herself, sharing their alcohol with
her. It was an uncomfortable place to be, seated in the middle of a sandpit,
past midnight but she was happy there. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Which is why she was so disappointed when Doug glanced at his watch.
“Dude, we gotta get back to the hotel. Mom and dad will be home soon.”
“Yeah.” Brent looked over at Lizzie. “Hey, so where are you staying tonight? I
can walk you there if it's around here.” He looked around as if expecting her
house to pop up out of the sandpit.
Her face fell. “Nah, it's okay. I'm at least twenty minutes from here. I'm over
on the esplanade.”
Brent whistled. “Man, your dad must make bucket loads as a physiotherapist.
That's an expensive area. But I'm afraid we don't have time to get you home and
get back to the hotel. Our mom will raise hell if she finds out we've been
drinking. Sorry,” he said looking guilty.
For a minute she had forgotten that she had run away. Then it all came back in
an unpleasant rush. “That's okay, I don't know if I will go back just yet
anyway.”
“Um, well, maybe you should call your mom? She could come and get you. Even if
she is away I'm sure she'd come if she knew.”
Lizzie's heart lurched on hearing Brent's kind concern. It would be nice to
have a mom. To have someone soft and cuddly to cry with and to be held by. She
swallowed painfully, remembering how Fabiana had melted her defenses with one
sincere hug.
“Look, I'm fine. You boys should get back.” She took one last swig from the
bottle of rum, handing it to Doug as she stood up, feeling a rush of dizziness.
She giggled. “I might just go for a swim in the pool. Our apartment has a
rooftop pool you know. It wouldn't be so bad for my dad to wonder where I was.”
Both boys mouths were in the shape of a big O. Their alarm was palpable and
funny too, the way they had identical looks of horror on their faces. There was
no mistaking these two for anything but brothers.
“Just kidding,” she said quickly. “I’ll make up my mind about what I'm gonna
do. But I won't go swimming. Her mouth twitched. “I'm pretty drunk aren't I?”
“Yeah,” they said uneasily in unison.
She giggled softly to herself as they separated. Walking along in the quiet
darkness, her mind completely fuzzed, she let her emotions take over and talk
to her. She hadn't truly been letting herself listen to her feelings for a
while.
She felt waves of confusing anger, molten and savage, rising up in her breast.
Her hands clenched and her fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of her
palms. She didn't know why but the great thing about being so damn drunk was
that she didn't care about the why. She just felt.
Then came sadness and Sam’s face floated through her mind. She missed him. She
had been furiously insisting to herself that she didn't but she did. The
intensity of it caused her to stumble. She sank into a patch of grass next to
the sidewalk, heedless of the grass stains on her knees as she wept into her
hands. She couldn't bear the idea of his rejection. Like a gangrenous wound, it
had been festering in her until it found its outlet now, on a quiet side street
in the back end of this glitzy tourist town.
She laughed sourly at her own wretchedness. Sam had always called her a tough
kid but he was wrong. She was so needy and clingy, no wonder Raymond was
feeling trapped. When someone as beautiful and full of fun as Agate came
flitting past, of course he was going to want that.
She stood tiredly, her body feeling somehow lighter. She had cried out all the
tears she had tonight. She already knew what she needed to do. There was
nowhere else to go. She had been so stupid to think running away would solve
anything.
But it had been nice to be someone else for just a few hours.

***** Chapter 27 *****
The walk back seemed so much shorter. She didn't feel prepared. It hadn't
occurred to her that her dad would have been alerted to her disappearance that
night because of the fire alarm she had pulled.
She felt stupid.
Two of his security guards were steadily combing either side of the street,
their heads swiveling from side to side, examining the faces of everyone
passing them and any side alleys they happened to pass.
She identified Marc on the same side of the street as she was, just as he saw
her.  He was her least favourite of her dad's security team. He never spoke to
her.
“Hey!” He shouted. “I've got her!”
He leapt into action, sprinting toward her so suddenly that she stood for a
moment, stunned at the ferocity and tension in his face and body. He cannoned
into her, taking her down onto the pavement.
Breathless but unhurt, she gasped, her hands scrabbling at the pavement, trying
to get out from under him. He was a ton of muscle and she could barely move.
“Don't move,” he spat, pulling her arms behind her back and hoisting her to her
feet.
“Oh my god, let go of me! You're embarrassing me,” she hissed as club patrons
spilled onto the pavement in front of a nightclub a few yards in front of them.
A whole bunch of people stood gawking as he shoved her ahead of him, her hands
still restrained. “Move,” he responded sourly. “You're in big trouble with Mr
Reddington.”
He marched her down the street and through the lobby of the hotel, still quite
crowded from the earlier false alarm. He only released her arms when she was in
the elevator, still holding tightly to her elbow.
“Let go of me!” She pulled her elbow away, walking ahead of him into the hall.
 She'd rather walk through the door of the apartment by herself than be dragged
through it. But Marc seemed intent on refusing her any dignity.
“Someone needs to give you a clip over the ear,” he growled. “Did you think
that you might be putting people's employment in jeopardy, running away like
that?”
“If you get fired I'm sure it'll be for something stupid you can think up
yourself,” she sneered, too worked up and drunk to care about the fairness of
her reply.
She only saw a whir of movement before she felt the stinging slap across the
side of her head.
She clapped a hand to her ear, stunned at Marc’s actions.
“Marc!”
It was Artie. He'd just appeared outside of the suite, the door clicking shut
behind him. Had he seen?
“Elizabeth,” he barked, his eyes flying to the face of the guard behind her,
his expression one of horror. “Marc, what the hell?”
She heard him from behind her, sounding grumpy and defensive. “She wouldn't
stop kicking and making a fuss. It's her own fault.”
Artie’s face grew grim. “Not good enough. You can expect a severance package
from the boss. He won't need your services again after tonight.”
“Can you do that?” Slurred Lizzie in bewilderment. She hadn't expected that
others would get into trouble for hurting her when she was the one running
away. She'd expected her dad’s cold fury maybe. Not Artie’s hot anger on her
behalf.
He nodded jerkily, staring the other guard down. “If a grown man trained as a
bodyguard can't bring back a teenage girl who's having a tantrum without
slapping her as if he's some common hoodlum, he has no business being in this
line of work.” He paused, glancing toward the door and back at Marc. “Go
downstairs and wait in the lobby for me. I'll need to go in and explain your
actions.”
She heard Marc’s indignant hiss but didn't take much notice. “I wasn't having a
tantrum,” she said sullenly. “I just didn't want to be manhandled.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “Are you going inside? I can restrain you pretty
effectively and cart you in there without hurting you. I don't want to do it
though.”
She shouldered her way past him into the suite, marching through the door and
into the living room where she saw her dad on the phone, pacing the floor. He
looked up at her, his mouth falling open in shock. She hadn't noticed the
stains on her white pants or the sand sticking to her legs and feet. She looked
down now, an inappropriate giggle bubbling to her lips
She must look a mess to be getting a reaction like that from him.
“She's been found,” he said tersely into the phone. “Pull back, she's been
found,” he said again, closing the flip phone with a snap.
“What happened?” He asked her.
She was silent, not even looking at him, her chest heaving with sullen anger.
Her head was so muddled, she wasn't even really sure why she was feeling angry
but dammit, she was going to cling to that anger.
“Marc was unacceptably rough with her sir,” Artie volunteered, sounding
troubled. “I came across him slapping her. I think...I believe she's been
drinking. She smells of it.
He was quiet. She shifted on her feet. She wasn't going to be the one to break
the uncomfortable silence. All she could hear in the room was his breathing and
hers. He sounded short of breath and she didn't understand why. He hadn't been
dragged down the street like a common criminal.
“My daughter,” he said heavily, “is never to come home to me in this condition
again. Do you understand me Artie?”
The big man swallowed audibly. “Yes sir, I've already sacked Marc. He's
downstairs. He won't be working with the team again.”
Her dad nodded. “Elizabeth can run away every day as far as I'm concerned and
you will bring her back to me pristine, understood?” He continued, giving her
disheveled appearance a scathing glance.
“Yes sir, I'll make sure the team is clear on it.”
“You can go,” he said, turning to leave the room.
And suddenly she was alone. Artie had left the suite and her dad had retreated
down the hall into the main bathroom. What did he want her to do then? Was he
giving her the silent treatment?
She waited awkwardly for a few moments, unsure of what to do. But then a hot
rush of tears welled up inside of her, trickling down her cheek. Why had he
left her here? Was she just supposed to go back to bed? She was starting to
feel really sore and stiff, her shoulders hurt from Marc’s rough handling. She
supposed she should go to her bedroom and get cleaned up.
She made a move towards the bedroom but was stopped in the hall by her dad. He
lifted up a fluffy towel. “You're filthy and you smell like a distillery. You
need a shower. Now.”
She stared at him. He hadn't said anything about her running away yet. Was he
going to? Her lower lip trembled, try as she might to keep her features still,
she couldn't help it, she felt her whole face crumple.
He acted as though he couldn't see her distress, crowding her further down the
hall towards the bathroom. “You need a warm shower, come on now Lizzie.”
There wasn't a good reason not to follow him into the bathroom. She watched as
he turned the tap on.The spray of the water hit the shower recess with a loud
hiss. She jumped a little.
Looking up at him guiltily, she asked, “can I do this by myself?”
“Take your clothes off. I'm afraid I'm not leaving you alone in the condition
you're in.”
Slowly and reluctantly, she pulled her shirt over her head, feeling goosebumps
on her skin as she did so. She was embarrassed to undress in front of him.
He made a noise in his throat as he reached a hand out to touch her face. She
couldn't help shying away from his fingers. Why was he making this so awkward?
“I'm not going to hurt you, you have a handprint on your cheek, I just want a
look at it,” he said patiently.
“I don't want you to…” she trailed off, unsure what it was that she didn't want
him to do. To touch her? That wasn't it surely.
She snuck a look at him. His face was tight. “Has this been about Agate?” He
asked quietly.
She shook her head, hesitantly peeling off her jeans, still avoiding his gaze
as much as she could.
“Why don't I believe you?” He sighed. “Take your underwear off and step into
the shower.” He held a soft washcloth out to her as she did as he asked.
A burning heat glowed in her cheeks and she was confused at how dirty she felt,
standing naked in front of him. He had always made her feel lovely about her
body before. All she could think about now though was how desirable Agate must
be to him.
Warm water coursed over her body in rivulets. It was the perfect temperature
but she still shivered as she rubbed her arms. He was standing there, just
watching her through the glass of the shower. It wasn't even hot enough to
allow her the privacy of a steam fogged screen. It was humiliating.
After she'd cleaned herself up, she stepped from the shower and was met with a
big, fluffy towel and his arms gently surrounding her. He guided her into his
bedroom. She made no comment on the choice of room, just sitting drooped on the
bed.
He rummaged around in his suitcase, pulling out one of his own sleep shirts.
“Arms up,” he said in a honeyed voice. She put her arms up automatically and he
pulled the shirt over her head.
Why wasn't he more angry? She didn't understand.
Only when she was tucked between the sheets did he say anything. “In a few
hours, as soon as it's light, we’ll fly home. For now, I want you to lie back
and get some rest. I'll put a basin next to the bed. If you feel sick and you
can't make it to the bathroom, you know where it is.” He stood and scooped up
the towel, making for the door without looking at her. “We can talk about this
later,” he added.
“Can we talk about it now?” She asked impulsively. She couldn't bear an uneasy
silence all the way home.
Turning slowly to face her, his eyebrows drew together in creases, his green
eyes, so changeable in different light looked at her with such concern. “Tell
me something, are you happy Lizzie? Is there anything I have neglected to do
to-”
“Do you really love me?” She interrupted quickly, before she lost her nerve. It
was impossible to stop her hands from twisting together tightly, the thumb of
one hand rubbing hard against the scar on the other
Her question had clearly shocked him. He stood still in the centre of the room,
his eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
“Lizzie, I love you more than anything in the world,” he breathed, an
unmistakably desperate tinge to his voice. He came forward to kneel by the bed
and took her hand, forcing it to his lips. “Words can't express how much I love
you, my darling girl.”
She wanted to cry again. How could she explain how she was feeling? She didn't
even understand it herself.
“You love her too though.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I thought that was what this was
about. Were you listening at keyholes tonight, sweetheart? It might interest
you to know that I have not the slightest preference for spending time with
Agate when I have you right by me. And I certainly am not in love with her. I
only thought she might make a diverting companion for you. I was wrong, and for
that I apologize, my baby, my darling girl.”
He rose, his hand still clutching hers and slipped into the bed, fully clothed
and all. Her heart was slowly easing at his words. It was good to know, so good
to hear. He loved her, he didn't prefer Agate to her.
She snuggled closer into him, her cheek resting against his, feeling content
again. Then a new thought assailed her. “But what if...what if you get a
girlfriend,” she whispered.
He was silent for a moment, taking all of this in. Perhaps he hadn't really
considered it, involving a woman in his life right now. “I think we have a nice
little family, just as we are, don't you?” He said, lazily stroking his thumb
across her cheek.
Smiling tremulously, she allowed him to gently hold her and kiss her forehead.
“I love you,” she said softly, still a little shy each time she said it to him.
“I love you darling,” he said, humming into her hair as she drifted off,
exhausted by the night's events.
***** Chapter 28 *****
“There will be no severance package,” said Red in a forbidding tone of voice.
“What flight is he on?”

Artie stood to attention, his eyes darting warily over his employer’s face. He
cleared his throat. “Ah, he took a red eye to London. I believe he was catching
a connecting flight to Vancouver.”

Red considered. He was a demanding employer. He realized with a twinge that the
qualities he looked for in his security team may no longer be completely
appropriate for the care of his daughter. Marcus was a hired thug, chosen for
his brawn not his brains. That was no excuse for him though.

“Who do we have in London? Roberts?”

“Yes sir,” Artie bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

Swallowing, he took his time before he said the words. “Have Roberts detain him
at Heathrow. I want him taken care of.”

The man had struckhis daughter. He knew quite well that he was overreacting,
that he was not himself and hadn't been for some time. But the knowledge wasn't
enough to halt his thirst for blood.

He felt the muscles in his face twitch as Artie left the room to make
arrangements.

If it hadn't been clear before, it was now. No one would raise a hand to
Elizabeth and live.

He blinked once slowly as he forced his shoulders to relax. Lizzie was safely
upstairs, nursing the last of her hangover. He thought briefly of joining her.
There was nothing so exhausting as being a parent of a teenager. But he didn't
wish to disturb her fitful sleep. She had school in the morning.

He settled himself on the couch in his study. It would do. For some reason the
thought of using Lizzie’s bed while she slept in his made him uncomfortable. He
grimaced at his foolishness but made no move to remedy it, preferring to
indulge the fanciful image he had in his head of the sanctity of his child’s
bedroom.

Just as he was starting to drift into a semblance of restfulness, to his great
annoyance, the cellphone in his pants pocket began to vibrate, an insistent
buzzing that he knew he could not ignore. He had been expecting a call from
Luli but not until later that night. He answered.

“Reddington,” he spoke into the phone crisply.

“Sir,” said Clive Perrett, a junior in his business. “I've arrived in Lausanne
with an update regarding the Rockwell deal. I'd like to report in person. The
deal has been reached,” Clive said brightly.

Pausing to parse the man’s words, he spoke slowly. “Clive, I'm impressed.
However, I believe Luli had that meeting scheduled for this evening. What
happened?”

“Luli was indisposed. I've taken care of it sir. I believe you'll find the deal
to your liking. May I report in person?”

Thoughts and questions darted through his mind like lightning. It seemed off
but it wasn't the first time a stripling had taken a risk to get themselves
noticed. It could be that or it could be something more sinister.

“I'll have Artie meet you in town and bring you to the house. Oh, and please
try not to be offended about the increased security measures. You'll agree to
be drugged or blindfolded. There are trade-offs to having a stable base. You
can understand my need for secrecy, I'm sure.”

As he flipped the phone shut, there was a sudden commotion, a series of
unpleasant yowls coming from the window of his study. He crossed the room and
opened the shutters, eying Lola who was sulking in the flower beds. Judging
from the streak of tortoiseshell lightning crossing the farmyard, Lola had been
defending her territory.

“Vicious little thing,” he muttered, half amused at Lizzie's precious pet.

The cat didn't distract him for long however, his mind going over Clive’s words
again, dissecting them and rearranging them like a puzzle. The pieces didn't
fit. Something wasn't right. There was nothing acutely unusual about one of his
men showing up with little to no notice. Luli and Newton did it now and then,
although they were careful to come to the house while Lizzie was in school.

But this along with Perrett’s forwardness in rearranging the meeting smelt like
a potential betrayal.

He alerted his team briefly in low tones in the hallway. Artie left immediately
to meet with Perrett and he called in two more of his team from the village.
Four men in all, plus Artie, if something wasn't right.

Within the hour he had Perrett in front of him in his living room, blinking
owlishly in the light after the dark hood had been removed from his head.

“Perhaps you'd like to tell me why this was so important that you needed to be
here in person?” He asked the young man pleasantly. He moved to the couch,
seating himself comfortably and crossing his legs in a show of relaxed
carelessness. This was his domain.

“Rockwell insisted on meeting with you personally to ensure he's really dealing
with Raymond Reddington. His schedule only allowed for a meeting tomorrow in
Brussels. I've been sent to ensure your travel arrangements proceed smoothly.
And to accompany you...if you would prefer me to,” said Clive confidently.

“Forgive me my slowness, Clive. As you can see, my sojourn in the countryside
has dulled my wits. I thought you said that a deal had been reached,” he said,
smiling gently at his young employee.

He flicked a hand signal to Artie. The head of his security was well trained.
He saw the subtle indication and moved unobtrusively from the room, returning
in moments with two more of the team. They immediately spread out, covering the
entrance and the window.

“Oh, it has,” Clive assured him smoothly. “I took the initiative. I was
approached by Rockwell’s man. They wanted to step up the time of the meeting.
Luli wasn't available so I arranged it with just myself. Everything went
without a hitch. Luli is finalizing the details now. They do require a face to
face meeting with you though, sir. This time tomorrow. It's as simple as that,”
he said brightly. “It shouldn't take long at all.” He paused, seemingly just
noticing that the room had suddenly become a little more crowded.

Poor Clive. Red wondered what the motive had been. Clive wasn't married and had
no children. It was possible his parents had been threatened but he hadn't been
in service long and from what he knew of the man, it was far more likely to
have been a substantial amount of money offered.

Almost certain of the man’s betrayal, he still did his due diligence in
confirming it before he took the man apart.

“As simple as that, hmm?” Red repeated softly. “And when did you inform Luli of
the change of plans?” He asked, the same gentle tone still in his voice.

Clive visibly blanched, clearly sensing that his story had not been swallowed
as smoothly as he'd hoped. “I-I didn't until after the meeting...sir. But she
approved, I can assure you. She's organising the transfer of goods as we speak.
All they want is assurances that they're really dealing with Raymond
Reddington.”

“I see,” he said grimly, his disappointment growing. If the man sought to
extricate himself by sinking further into lies, he was a bigger fool than he
realized. With deliberate movements, he pulled his cell phone out, flipping it
open and pressing the speed dial for Luli.

“Sir! She'll be uncontactable just now. Rockwell doesn't allow phones or wires
in the compound. He's arranged to bring Luli to Brussels as...as a courtesy to
you.”

Ignoring the man’s urgent assurances, he waited for the phone to go straight to
voicemail before flipping it shut with a snap. He sighed, irritated at the
situation. “I've always had the conceit to believe myself a generous employer.
Tell me, what were you offered that could make this all worth it? It's a flimsy
story at best. At worst, it's insulting.”

Sweat was now appearing on Clive’s forehead like morning dew. His head swiveled
either side as two of the team stepped up behind him, a heavy hand on either
shoulder.

“Listen,” he begged, his voice raised shrilly, “I'm just trying to do the best
job I can for you. I thought you'd like me taking the initiative. I just wanted
to earn my way up in the organization.”

“You continue to disappoint me,” said Red testily. “If you wanted mercy, you
should have tried for honesty some time before now.” He jerked his head at
Artie. “Have him taken down to the lake. Put him in the hull of the boat and
take it out. I'll bring Brimley in overnight. He’ll be interrogated first thing
tomorrow morning.”

“No! Listen to me!” Screamed Clive, his face pouring with sweat. He struggled
ineffectively against his captors, two muscular men, thick as trees. “Listen!
Luli is dead if you kill me. If you don't appear at that meeting tomorrow
she's-”

“Damn,” cursed Red violently, looking again at Artie. “It'll have to be now.
There's no time for Brimley. Artie, go into the kitchen and lay down some
garbage bags. There's rope and duct tape in the shed.”

Artie rushed to obey amidst the desperate pleas of a man who knew he didn't
have much keeping him alive.

“I'll tell you where she is, I'll tell you everything. They threatened me-”

“I'm not interested in your justification for this, Clive. Your hazard pay is
more than adequate for your role in this organization and you know very well
that I take care of my own. So yes, you are going to tell me everything. And
you're going to suffer as you do.” He smiled an ugly smile at his captive.
“You'd better hope Luli is found unharmed, because I'm going to keep you alive
until I do find her and anything that happens to her, will happen to you,
threefold. I hope we’re clear.”

“Dad?”

Every head in the room snapped towards that voice, the confused, sleepy voice
of a child. Staring at her, horrified, he couldn't believe he'd been so caught
up in business that he'd completely forgotten where he was. Ten years of living
a life that required immense resilience and flexibility, to be ready for
anything, anywhere and only a few months of living a family life. She hadn't
even entered his mind.

“Help me!” The disgusting worm cried from his position on his knees. He
stumbled forward, towards Lizzie. She backed away, fright blooming on her face.

“That's enough,” Red said sharply. “Lizzie, go upstairs, now. Close your door
and don't come down until I come for you.”

She didn't move, her eyes as round as dinner plates, her face pinched with
horror, fixed on the man restrained in the centre of the room, sniveling, his
hands outstretched to her.

“Kid, don't go, please!” He turned back to Red. “She's not leaving. She's your
kid isn't she? You won't do this in front of her.”

Cursing, he barreled across the room, taking Lizzie by the arm and herding her
out and up the stairs with brief and harried instruction to his men to hold
Clive until he came down again.

“What's happening? Dad?” She clung to him, not resisting at all, but not
letting go as he attempted to deposit her in her room. “Don't go down there,
tell me what's happening,” she cried, her arms wrapping around his waist like
an octopus.

His mouth had gone so dry. Guilt burned at him as he pushed her down onto her
bed. “You need to stay here, do not leave your bedroom. Do you understand?”

She nodded tearfully. “Please don't...please don't do anything…” Her voice
broke and she made a heartbreaking choking noise in her throat.

He stroked her cheek gently. “It's going to be okay. I don't want you to worry,
Lizzie. Just do as you're told and everything will be fine.”

He bent down to give her a swift kiss on her forehead and turned to leave the
room, pausing to push the play button on her stereo. The jarring sound of her
favorite pop group filled the room. He winced but for once forebore to complain
about the noise as he closed her door with a gentle click, choosing not to look
back at her. He hated himself a little for that. But he didn't want to see the
fear in her face.

With heavy steps and an even heavier heart, he descended the stairs to the
kitchen to deal with the now urgent problem that had forced itself upon him.

The kitchen had been well prepped. Dark green garbage bags were spread out upon
the floor and Artie had been industrious in his absence, securing the prisoner
to a chair and laying out a number of common kitchen implements on the bench.
An assortment of knives, all finely sharpened, a meat tenderizer, a pair of
scissors, a screwdriver and the poker from the living room fireplace.

By themselves, they weren't particularly menacing but the entire scene was
certainly set up to instigate fear. Once a good amount of fear was running
rampant through the man, the battle was more than half over.

Just to be sure though, he selected the meat tenderizer, nodding at Artie who
pulled a wooden chopping block between Clive’s knee and his tightly restrained
hand. The man had clenched his fist tightly, his eyes squeezed shut and a low,
steady moan keening from his throat.

“You'd better lay your hand flat, Clive. This is going to hurt but it's better
than pulverizing a knuckle.”

This was work. He had done things far worse than this and would probably do far
worse again. He didn't enjoy it, he wasn't a sadistic man. But he did what had
to be done.

Ruthlessly, he thrust his daughter's face from his mind. Thoughts of Elizabeth
had no place in moments such as this.
===============================================================================

Hot water cascaded over his head and shoulders as he stood in the shower.
Meticulously, he scrubbed his hands and arms up to his elbows with a harsh
soap, like a doctor prepping for surgery. He wanted none of his world staining
him when he went in to see Elizabeth.

The interrogation had been thorough and methodical. Clive hadn't known where
they were keeping Luli in Rockwell’s compound but she was there and wouldn't in
fact, be meeting them in Brussels as his former employee had tried to convince
him. He'd sent a lethal team into the compound only an hour ago and was
confident that if Luli was still alive, she would be retrieved.

He regretted the loss of another employee. Artie had taken him into the shed
and put a bullet in his head while he called one of Kate Kaplan’s associates in
the area to clean. Stefan Galafrio was Kate’s personal recommendation and he
fully expected his house and life would be back to normal shortly.

But then there was Elizabeth. He closed his eyes just thinking of her. Piercing
blue eyes and chocolate brown hair passed through his mind. His heart squeezed
unbearably. What had he done? It seemed as though the longer he had her with
him, the more damage he inflicted.

His intentions were good. He wanted her to be happy, to know that her father
loved her. He wanted a simple home life. He'd wanted that for as long as he
could remember. When he'd entered into the navy, he'd been newly married.
Everyone had said he was too young. They'd told his high school sweetheart the
same. But neither of them listened. With the birth of their daughter, he
thought he had achieved everything he could possibly want in life. He'd had
numerous promotions by the time his eldest child could walk and talk and he was
on track to become Admiral before he was forty.

He blew out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping just a little. There must be
some strange streak of self-loathing that ran through the Reddingtons. Because
just when he had everything his heart desired, a burning itch to sabotage
always arose. He'd had affairs, effectively destroying his marriage. And now
this. He had his younger child safe and close. Now should be a time to
establish normalcy, to create beautiful memories for himself and Elizabeth.

Self-recriminations circled at the edges of his mind like jackals but he warded
them away, turning the faucet off with a vicious wrench.

He would not fall prey to self-doubt and weakness. He acknowledged to himself
that he had broken her in a way. But it was also he that was keeping her
together. He just had to keep her close to him, she needed him. It would be
okay.
***** Chapter 29 *****
Chapter Notes
     And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul,
     that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was
     refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him. ~ 1
     Samuel 16:23
===============================================================================
 
 
Her eyes were wide open, she didn't think she could have closed them if she
wanted to. She stared up at the ceiling, lying flat on her bed, wondering if
anyone had dusted the light fittings in a while. The housekeeper did the
cleaning but it looked like it was getting to be time for a heavy clean. When
Lizzie was younger, she used to help her grandma clean house over the summer
vacation. It was fun. They made a game of it, pulling out the contents of the
linen closet to air in the sunshine and creating tents with the big quilts that
grandma had handmade.
She remembered it now with an ache in her chest. Grandma made jam once a year,
using the raspberries and blackberries from her own patch down in the garden.
Lizzie had helped to pick them, getting purple stains all over her clothes, no
matter how careful she was. Aunt June always scolded her but her dad and
grandma would only laugh as she crept into the house with buckets full of
berries and a very purple mouth.
“You're a feral child,” her dad always said with love and laughter in his
voice.
Her eyes pricked with tears now, thinking of Sam’s homely face, his messy hair
and the way his eyes would narrow when she tried to get away with staying up
past bedtime or watching a scary movie. She used to complain to friends at
school all the time about how strict her dad was. He never let her do anything.
It was funny how she was beginning to miss that about him.
There was a knock at the door but her dad didn't wait for her to answer,
slipping into her room and closing the door behind him. She looked sideways at
him.
"Lizzie, I have no words," he said, his voice deep and hoarse with regret.
"That should never have happened." He crossed the room to stand above her over
the bed.
"What?" She said, ducking away from his hand as he leant forward to place it on
her head. "What shouldn't have happened? I don't even-I don't understand what
just happened. Did you-did they..."

She knew that he was a criminal. She'd grown up with a criminal. Her dad had a
couple of friends, swindlers like him who would come and go from wherever they
lived but they were never threatening, they'd never made her fearful. She
thought it was all the same thing but tonight had shown her that it certainly
wasn't. White collar crime was a world away from...whatever this was. And she
was afraid.
He grimaced painfully. “That man...you need to understand that he has put a
young woman who works for me in danger. He betrayed me for no better reason
than money. But you never should have seen that. I should have been more
circumspect. Lizzie, are you alright?”
Terribly numb, she just stared blankly at him. There wasn't room in her head to
process this. She watched as he sat next to her on the bed, his hands stretched
out to take hers. He didn't look at her as he stroked her scar slowly. He spoke
quietly, telling her about the deal he'd attempted to broker with a previously
hostile cartel, how he'd hoped a peace could be made in Eastern Europe but to
his dismay they'd used the opportunity to try and destroy him.
“Where is he now?” She asked throatily, afraid of his answer.
“Gone.”
“Did you...did you kill him?”
He looked at her then, his face unbearably grim. “Do you remember when I asked
you to trust me? You promised me, sweetheart.”
She gripped his arm with both hands. “Dad, did you kill him?”
His silence was answer enough. She removed her hands from his arm, shivering a
little. Finally, she was starting to feel again. A choked sob wrenched itself
from her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried, barely noticing his grunt
of anguish, uncaring that he gathered her up in an attempt to comfort her.
She wasn't sure that she wanted to be comforted.
 
===============================================================================
 
The next morning, the sound of birds in the trees behind the house woke her
early. She listened to them for some time before opening her eyes. The sunshine
peeked through the slit in the curtain, streaming into her room, casting a beam
of light onto the carpet.
He had cradled her in his arms last night until she fell asleep, exhausted with
tears. She didn't remember him leaving her room but he wasn't with her now. She
wanted him.
Throwing on her bathrobe, she crept out into the hallway and down the stairs.
The hiss of the fry pan and clink of kitchen utensils reached her ears.
“Dad? What time is it?” She asked in the doorway to the kitchen.
He looked up from over the stove, flipping bacon in the pan. Checking his watch
he said, “eight thirty.”
“I'm late for school.”
“You don't have to go today. I've called the school.”
Swallowing hard, she moved into the kitchen, observing her dad prepare bacon
and scrambled eggs, expertly flipping them onto plates and placing them on the
cosy kitchen table.
“Breakfast?” He said lightly, a hint of nervous enquiry in his voice.
She silently slipped into her chair, picking up a knife and fork. She was
starving. She hadn't eaten any dinner last night. The events of the previous
evening had been enough to ruin any appetite.
She shoveled a forkful of fluffy egg into her mouth. “If I grew up and worked
for you-”
“You wouldn't. I won't permit it.”
“But if I did,” she insisted. “If I did and for some reason I did something
awful...like that guy, would you kill me?”
His knife and fork dropped to the table with a clatter. He bowed his head over
his plate. Regret smote her. She hadn't meant to-
“Dad! Daddy I'm sorry,” she cried softly, leaving her chair to wrap her arms
around his neck. “I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.”
He pulled her onto his lap, his lips moving over her face, as if in silent
prayer. He didn't say anything, just held her, stroking her.
“I'm sorry,” she said again, terrified that she'd caused a breach between them.
He was all she had. If he did things that frightened her and left an awful
feeling in the pit of her stomach, well at least she could be sure that he
loved her and would never let anything bad happen to her.
Finally he spoke. “You need to eat,” he said, lifting his fork and scooping up
some scrambled egg. He fed her like a baby, one forkful at a time. She opened
her mouth obediently. It was strange, sitting on his lap and being fed
breakfast as though she had no motor skills of her own. But just then, if he'd
asked her to stand on her head, she would have. Anything to make him happy. She
hated to see him upset and vulnerable.
“This weekend didn't work out so well,” he said. “I thought you might like a
father daughter day. We could try again. Nothing so exciting as the French
Riviera. Perhaps popcorn and a movie on the couch?”
She nodded, her mouth full of food that somehow wouldn't go down. There was a
lump in her throat that she swallowed forcefully. “You've never let me skip
school before.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “There's no fun to making up your own rules unless you
can break them. And I think today is an Elizabeth day, what do you think?” He
said, nuzzling her cheek.
Much needed warmth spread through her as she curled into him. She tried not to
think about what had happened in this very kitchen the previous day. It was
better not to think of it. The world wasn't so simple as Sam had always wanted
her to believe. She had to remember that. It wasn't just good guys and bad
guys. It was far more complicated.
“If it's a me day, can I decide what we do?” She asked impulsively, thinking of
the woodland behind the house that remained largely unexplored.
“I don't see a problem with that. Provided we aren't required to travel. You
will have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Okay then,” she said, sitting up straighter. “There's a couple of trails
behind the house. Can we go hiking? I really want to see what's around here.”
He agreed readily and she happily slid off of his lap to get herself dressed
for a day outside. She scrambled upstairs, hurriedly shedding her clothes for
fresh ones. She'd slept in a sundress last night, too tired and upset to change
into pajamas.
Pulling on a t-shirt, jeans and her hiking boots, she threw a last look around
her bedroom, giving Lola an affectionate pat. The cat was growing so fast. Her
long, lean body curled up on the pillow and she gave a massive yawn, showing
off her pink tongue and sharp teeth.
Lizzie smiled at the cat, leaving her door open and bounding down the stairs to
put dry food in her bowl and refresh her water.
“I'm ready,” she said, presenting herself to her dad. He blinked at her, still
sitting at the breakfast table in his pajamas.
“I see...give me a moment then.” He still looked faintly surprised as she
hurried him up the stairs to get ready.
She wanted to be outside. The house felt oppressive to her. Sunshine and the
outdoors was exactly what she needed.
It felt like ages before he was ready but eventually he was and she led the
charge out the door, wishing that her horse was stabled nearer so they could
take the trail on horseback. But hiking was fine. As long as she wasn't in the
house.
She held his hand as they wandered through the back of the property to the edge
of the woodlands where the grass ceased to be mown neatly and tall saplings
grew up in its stead. The trail was only a beaten dirt track but it was wide
enough for both of them side by side. The morning sun shone strongly as they
trekked further into the wood and it was only when they'd walked for ten or so
minutes that the trees start to grow tall enough for there to be more shade
than sun.
“Hey dad, can I dye my hair blonde?” Lizzie asked, genuinely curious about what
he'd say.
He huffed a laugh, stepping over a tree root. “Your school doesn't allow that.”
“How'd you know?” She asked incredulously. She knew that but hadn't expected
him to.
“I read the handbook that was sent home.”
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. That meant he knew a lot more than she'd thought
about what was banned at school and what wasn't. “Sam never read that stuff.”
“Well, I'm not Sam,” he said gently. “I have so many plans for you Lizzie, and
they do not involve being expelled from school.”
“What plans?”
“Well, didn't you say you wanted to be a doctor? Don't you still want that?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I'm good at math and science.”
“Well, I can certainly ensure you a place at Harvard medical school, or Oxford
if you want.”
“I want to get in by myself,” she said recalcitrantly. “I can do it, you know.
I don't need to be good at languages to be a doctor.”
He squeezed her hand. “I'm proud of you, no matter what, you know that, don't
you?”
“I haven't...done anything to be proud of yet. But I will,” she promised
earnestly.
He was silent for a while until they reached a small trickle of water. “Let's
follow that to the creek,” he suggested.
The pair of them trod the rocky outcrop, following the clear water stream down
into a valley, largely deforested. The stream widened and joined a fast running
creek. They stopped, listening to the sound of the birds and the wind and the
rush of the creek.
Lizzie dipped her hand into the water. It was fiercely cold. She wiped the
sweat from her neck and looked over at her dad, watching him bend down to
splash his face with water. His usually neat blond hair was tousled and she
noticed with faint surprise that he hadn't shaved. He always shaved. It was
unusual to see the golden glint of stubble on his face. He was always so
fastidious with his appearance.
She sat by the creek, folding into the soft grass with a heaving sigh. Her dad
followed her, stretching out on the grass beside her and laying his head in her
lap, looking up at the open sky.
“I went to a baptism once,” he said presently, “in a clearing just like this.
I'm not one for belief in a higher power. Have I ever asked you if you hold any
religious beliefs? No? Well, all the same, a baptism at the heart of untamed
wilderness...it was a beautiful thing.”
“I can't imagine you at a baptism,” she said, stroking his roughened cheek.
“Were you there for the communion wine?”
He laughed in pleased delight at her quip and turned his head to kiss the palm
of her hand. “Not exactly but you've keen skills of observation there. No, I
was there for an old friend who had ‘found god’, so to speak. He'd spent some
time in prison, and as they often do, came out as a bible thumper. It lasted
less than a year but he was sober as a judge until he fell off the wagon and
spent a night in Las Vegas cheating at cards. Terribly talented with sleight of
hand, he was.”
“Do you believe in right and wrong then?” She asked curiously, remembering what
he had said about his disregard of the social contract.
“I believe in what's right for me...for us,” he said slowly, his eyes growing
heavy as she soothed him with her hand, running her fingers through his hair.
She wasn't sure what to make of that. Essentially, he meant that there was no
right and wrong, didn't he? And what would happen if right for each of them was
one day at cross purposes? She shifted uneasily at the thought.
“Do you know, there's a bible story, the king of Israel, King Saul, he was
subject to fits of mania.” He looked up into her face as he spoke, watching her
carefully. “You've probably heard of King David...of David and Goliath fame?
David played the harp and he was a shepherd at the time Saul was king. The way
the story goes, Saul was tormented by an evil spirit. The only thing that could
relieve him was music played by David on the harp.”
“How do you know so much about the bible?” She asked curiously.
“Sunday school when I was a boy,” he answered blithely. “The story paints Saul
as a jealous monster, paranoid and half insane. But I've always had, shall we
say, a creeping sympathy for him. Now more than ever.”
“Why?”
He pursed his lips for a moment, reaching above his head to take the hand that
was caressing him. He folded her hand between his. “I hadn't slept...well, for
near ten years. Having you right by me is...soothing. You're my harp music
Lizzie.”
***** Chapter 30 *****
 
It was a slow awakening to soft, warm lips on his. Smooth hands sliding through
the hair on his chest. Her hair curtaining his face. Sweet smelling hair, silky
and ticklish on his cheek.
Her hair.
Lizzie.
His eyes sprang open and he found himself looking straight into blue eyes
framed by sooty lashes. She was draped across him, straddling his hips, her
body so light as she nestled into him. The only thing lying between them was
his pajama pants. Her nightie was up around her waist, her lower body bare
under the covers.
“Good morning, precious girl,” he crooned, brushing a thumb across her bottom
lip, blinking once or twice as he looked into her face, his eyes still crusted
a little. “Sleep well?”
He watched in dark satisfaction as her throat moved and her eyes darted to his
mouth as he spoke.
“I...yeah.”
He had a hunch that she was feeling awkward about the last few nights, after
he'd asked her to sleep in his bed with him again.
It had been so easy to convince her, his powers of persuasion hadn't rusted a
bit in his semi retirement. He'd implored, using his own needs to seduce her
little heart into softening toward him. “Just in the same bed Lizzie. Just
within reach, that’s all. You're my soothing little angel, don’t forget. I've
become used to having you near me.”
She had crawled into bed with him but had been as flighty as a deer. She’d dart
out of bed for a glass of water or some forgotten thing in her own bedroom if
he so much as rolled over toward her. So for the past few nights, he’d come to
bed early, tucking the sheets in around him, lying still, allowing her the time
she needed to realize she was not hunted.
Oh, but she was. He washunting, seeking her trust again. Slow steps, light
steps toward reassuring her that he was not a monster, that he would never hurt
her.
Her wake up call this morning had been very welcome. It was the first time
she'd sought intimacy in bed since their disastrous weekend in the south of
France.
He rolled her off of him, capturing her with her arms and leaned over her,
admiring the freckles across the bridge of her nose, resisting his urge to kiss
her. She lay flat on the bed, arms splayed above her head, her dark hair
fanning out onto the pillow, just waiting for him.
But he wasn't going to do anything just yet.
“After you finish that assignment I know that you’ve been hiding from me, would
you like to go skiing on the lake?”
She looked perplexed for a moment and he did his best to hide a sly smile. He
could read her face like a book. She'd clearly expected him to take up what she
was offering, stretched out on the bed as if she were a prize all done up with
a pretty bow. Perhaps she was a prize, at that. But he wasn't going to indulge,
not yet. He was more terrified than he'd like to admit of losing her.
If he were to be starkly honest with himself, he would rather sleep chastely
beside her forever than have her run from him again. She had no idea how much
her presence soothed him at night, when visions of his past deeds crept upon
him like seeping poison and tormented his sleep.
He could be patient.
She hadn't answered him. “You don't look like you want to go skiing then?” He
prompted. “What else would you like to do? I have some calls to make in my
study this morning while you're doing schoolwork but I'm available to you after
midday.”
“Well actually,” she said cautiously, “Jessica and Marty were going shopping in
Lausanne. Could I go too? I could take the train.”
Stamping down disappointment that she didn't want to spend the weekend with
him, he smiled freely, nodding his assent. “I'll get Artie to pick one of the
team to drive you.”
Taking pleasure in her squeal of delight, he idly watched her scramble off of
the bed and out of the room to get ready for the day.
It was only when she had left with his credit card and an exuberant kiss on the
cheek that he had the uncomfortable thought that perhaps she had offered
herself to him this morning to sweeten her request for a shopping trip with
friends. It filled him with disgust, but it was a thought that wouldn't leave
him.
He shook his head, annoyed at himself for entertaining notions such as that. It
wouldn't help to mend what had been broken if he was going to become jealous
and suspicious. He needed to keep himself busy. He deliberately shook off his
dark thoughts and went down to the study. He had things to do...and a birthday
party to plan.
 
===============================================================================
 
Raymond Reddington was a well known oenophile. A passionate lover of wine, of
fine spirits and liqueurs. A bottle of burgundy was a treat for the senses, the
brioche taste of a quality champagne accompanied with a creamy brie was a
delight to the tongue.
He sat now in the dying light of the late Saturday afternoon, attempting to
enjoy his temporary retirement. He didn't intend to wrap up his business
dealings altogether but the scene with Perrett had shown him the necessity of
handing over the reins, stepping back as an active participant if he was going
to raise his daughter. A few years under the radar, his business primarily run
by Newton and Luli. He had nothing to worry about right now, the hardest
decision of his day had been whether to open a bottle of the burgundy he'd
purchased in a quick visit to the region last week or a bottle of the Pol Roger
Sir Winston Churchill he’d been gifted by an associate recently. After some
consideration, he'd opted for the burgundy.
Lizzie was due home at any moment. She'd made friends and he was glad of it,
even if she never brought them home. A shopping trip was just right for a girl
of her age. It was healthy and normal. He had no reason to forbid her this and
he wouldn't. But he wanted to. He wanted her at home. They didn't even have to
talk, just her presence was enough to ease his troubled mind. He felt complete
when he was in the same room with her, watching her seated at the dining room
table, bent over her homework.
He heard the heavy creak of the front door and he set his glass down.
She was home.
“Lizzie, come and and tell me what mischief you've been up to,” he called out
to her heartily, his tongue loosened by the quantities of ruby red wine he'd
consumed.
She peeked around the corner of the living room, “I wasn't in any mischief,”
she said with a half halfheartedly indignant tone, moving further into the room
and smirking at him cheekily, her arms full of shopping bags and boxes. Her
eyes roved slowly over him as he slouched in the most comfortable armchair in
the room, the beige, overstuffed one in the corner, near the window.
“What are you drinking,” she asked, sniffing the air as she came further into
the room, dropping her purchases carelessly on the couch.
“A burgundy.”
“Is that a red or a white? Sounds red.”
He groaned. “Can you really be the fruit of my loins,” he said theatrically.
But she didn't see the fun. “You said I was,” she exclaimed, looking alarmed.
“Oh, no, no, Lizzie, just a joke, sweetheart,” he reached out his arms for her
and she came willingly to sit on his lap, resting her head under his chin. “But
maybe in addition to our evening language lessons, we can add a little bit of a
crash course in wine. I can tell you all about terroir and the different grapes
available here.”
“Terror?” She asked, looking up at him, a small furrow to her eyebrows.
“No, terroir,” he said, pronouncing the word with exaggerated care. “It's a
fascinating word. Means everything from the soil the vines are grown in to the
amount of sun that one hill might get as opposed to another and the climate of
course.”
He smiled down on her, his hand drifting to her tummy, lightly tickling her.
She wiggled against him, protesting in between her giggles. “Stop it,” she
said, lightly slapping his hand, then reaching across his body to pick up the
wine bottle sitting on the coffee table next to him. She examined the bottle,
tilting it up to the light, her bright eyes scanning the label with interest.
“I thought all reds were just made from red grapes and all whites from white
grapes.”
“It's not that simple, you little barbarian,” he said, grinning at her.
“Huh.” She made a face, dropping the bottle back onto the coffee table with a
clunk. Stretching out over him, she bared her tummy, her shirt riding up to
give him a peek of milky white skin.
She was teasing him. It didn't amuse him very much. He felt his whole body
tighten and his mouth water. The wine had slowed his limbs a little, relaxed
his shoulders, just slightly. He had imbibed only enough to feel that he wasn't
drunk but that his mood was certainly altered. He wasn't sure yet if he was
feeling darker or lighter than usual. Perhaps he hadn't made his mind up yet.
Perhaps Lizzie was going to make it up for him.
“Bojana will be here soon to cook dinner,” she said softly, wiggling against
him.
She was teasing him.
“Shall I send her away?” He asked grandly. After all, he was the master of the
house here.
“No...no, I'm hungry. But we could have a movie night tonight and sleep in
tomorrow?”
He agreed, keeping his enthusiasm well in hand. Best not to let teenagers know
how much power they had over you.
***** Chapter 31 *****
It was her birthday. Her real one. He was going to surprise her with this. When
he'd discussed the adoption with Sam and the reasons for it, he'd picked a date
a few weeks out of her actual birthday for her to celebrate each year. It was
best not to include any details that could be used to find her. A little girl's
birth date adjusted by only a few weeks. No evidence that the four year old
child had survived the house fire.
She thought she was going to be fifteen in ten days time. But she was fifteen
today.
The large front door slammed with a shuddering thud.
“Dad! Hey dad!” She yelled, stomping through the house.
He blinked at the noise her riding boots made on the polished floorboards,
echoing through the cavernous hallway. She appeared in the doorway of the
living room and entered with a swing in her step. He wondered how she was
getting along with her riding lessons. She looked happy.
“Marty says that she's going to teach me how to jump. Can she? I know I'm not
supposed to be jumping yet but it looks really easy and Antoinette is such a
good horse...”
She slowed to a stop, pausing in the centre of the room. He noticed with
suppressed annoyance that she'd trod mud onto the Turkish rug. Well. Time
enough to remind her to take her boots off before leaving the hallway another
day. Today was special.
He had it meticulously planned. Fifteen red roses were to be delivered tonight.
He planned on escorting her to dinner on the marina. A cozy little seafood
restaurant, with red brick walls, crisp, white linen tablecloths and a
violinist seated in the corner.
“What's wrong?” She had frozen, her blazer held tightly in her arms. She had
clearly sensed the charged atmosphere, judging from her shuttered expression
and hunched shoulders.
He'd been pacing the floor with nervous energy in the living room, waiting for
her to come home from her riding class. He'd been a fool to let himself become
worked up over this and now he'd frightened her. So used to keeping everything
close to his chest, he'd just begun to think that perhaps she would prefer to
have been told before her actual birthday.
“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Quite the opposite. I have something to discuss
with you.”
“What?”
She took a step back, that terribly hunted look still on her face.
He swallowed hard. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He'd been
overconfident, used to surprising women with wild and expensive gifts, dinners
and vacations. He realized now with some mortification that he had enjoyed
whisking partners away, taking control and while he didn't think he'd ever
disappointed...Lizzie was not just any young woman. And her birthday was not
just any pleasant weekend away.
Too late now.
“Come and sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. I have a revelation for you…”
 
===============================================================================
 
A hard emptiness filled her stomach as she sat across from him at the
restaurant. She felt as though she wasn't quite real, as though she could fade
away if he took his eyes off of her. Was he the only thing that made her real?
“Lizzie,” he said softly, reaching for her hand across the table. “You're
fifteen. Far too young to be worrying about getting older a few weeks earlier
than you'd anticipated.”
Didn't he understand? She had nothing of herself. Not really. Her name wasn't
real, her family wasn't real and now her date of birth was a lie too.
“I've always missed my birthday,” she whispered. “I can't believe Sam knew and
let me think that for…”
“I've celebrated it for you. Every year, sweetheart.”
“I don't want a different birthday,” she muttered rebelliously, pulling her
hand away. She wanted to say more, hot words on the tip of her tongue but the
waiter had arrived at their table.
She had to concentrate hard to follow the waiters words, spoken in polite
French. But as it turned out, she didn't need to try and understand him to
order.
“Allow me,” her dad said smoothly, ordering oysters for their entree.
“Belon Oysters from Brittany in France,” he said, smiling at her gently as he
raised a glass of water to her.
She almost didn't respond to him, feeling an overwhelming need to be angry, and
more than that, she was frustrated that she felt so mean about being angry. It
was a confusing spiral of emotion but she couldn't help the urge to make him
happy in the end. She raised her water glass to his, clinking them together. It
was impossible to let him feel bad for long.
“To you, Lizzie,” he said, taking a sip of his water.
It hadn't escaped her attention that he was restricting himself to sparkling
water. He usually ordered wine with his meals when they dined out and it was a
glaring omission now.
“No champagne?” She inquired, trying to keep her voice casual and
disinterested.
“No.”
Letting it pass, she asked her next question. “What did you order for mains? I
didn't understand it.”
“Quenelles of Pike with lobster sauce. You have to try it at least once in your
life.”
Glancing around her at the other patrons, she observed fresh lobster being
served at one table, what looked like a duck dish and bouillabaisse being eaten
at another. Irritation flared at his heavy handedness in ordering for her. She
shoved it back down though. Getting upset at him when he meant well only ever
ended in tears for her.
“So I'm fifteen then,” she said, attempting to process it. She'd been so caught
up in trying to get back their previous harmony that she hadn't even thought
about her birthday. And now there was no time to think about it. It just was.
“I have something for you. Something that perhaps might be a little too opulent
for a young girl’s tastes but I couldn't resist,” he said with eyes that
remained unblinking for so long that they began to film over.
It was a shamefully mean feeling that arose in her breast when she saw how
nervous he was. She tucked away her tumultuous thoughts and smiled at him. He
reached for the plainly wrapped small box that had been resting on the table
since they'd been seated. She had guessed it was a birthday gift but her
feelings were still so anesthetized, she hadn't thought to ask further about
it.
She wondered now.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He pushed the package gently across the table til
it brushed her fingers.
Hesitantly, she picked it up, weighing it in her hands. Pink ribbon curled in a
neat bow around the small package, wrapped in thick cream paper. Her eyes
darted up to his. He was watching her intently, his gaze boring holes into her.
When he focused on her, he had a way of making her feel like she was the most
important person in the world. Her stomach eased a little.
“Open it,” he prompted eagerly.
Her cold fingers tangled in the ribbon as she teased the bow apart, ripping at
the paper. Inside was a small velvet ring box. For a moment she held it in the
palm of her hand, insane thoughts accosting her, thoughts of promises, of oaths
and devotion. Only a moment though. Her imagination skidded to a halt. This was
a gift from her father, her dad. She opened the box, flashing him another quick
smile as she did.
“A blue diamond,” he breathed, still watching her, greedy for her reaction.
“They're very rare. This one was given to Ingrid Bergman by her third husband
Lars Schmidt. You're every bit as beautiful as she was. And she carried off her
natural beauty very well in the golden age of Hollywood, where everyone was
primped and plucked within an inch of their lives.” He spoke very quickly as
though wishing to fill in her silence.
“It's amazing,” she said softly, gently removing it from the box. She
hesitated. “Um, which finger?”
“That one,” he said, stroking his index finger down a finger on her right hand.
She slipped it on. It fit perfectly, the platinum band gleaming in the low
restaurant lighting, the deep ocean blue of the oval shaped gem glittering
ferociously. It was encircled by smaller, clear diamonds, a massive display of
wealth all on her slim finger.
“Ingrid Bergman and I apparently had the same sized fingers.” She held her hand
up to the light examining the look of it. He was right, it was opulent. But she
had always liked her hands. She'd have to keep her fingernails shaped though
“Oh I had it re-sized, of course,” he said smoothly. “I have one more thing for
you. But it will have to wait til after dinner.”
Impatient for her other gift, dinner dragged a little. He was right though, the
food was delectable.
“Okay, the fish is awesome,” she admitted. “What's the second present?”
Laughing gently, he signaled for the cheque and they left the restaurant,
spilling out into the cool night air. He took her hand, leading her toward the
water.
“Where are we going?”
“Shush, let me show you.”
She felt the ring sitting heavy on her finger as he held her hand, warming the
cold metal with his own fingers interlaced with hers. The feeling of a ring on
her hand was still a new one. She didn't normally wear rings, preferring
bangles and bracelets instead. She'd watched friends wear cheap rings before
and listened to them complain about the greenish stain it left on their finger.
She'd never worn something so expensive. It glittered darkly like the lake
rippling under the half moon.
He took her further down, past the main dock to a smaller one, where half a
dozen boats sat on the water, bobbing gently. The water slapped up against the
concrete wall in lazy rhythm.
“It occurred to me,” he said suddenly after the silence of their short walk,
“that I tend to own boats whenever I choose to stay near water. You know I was
in the navy? Of course you do.” He nodded at her companionably. “I have a great
love of the water...of watercraft. It's been a long time...a very long time
since I've had the freedom to spend an afternoon fishing in an old rowboat as I
did when I was a young boy. But it's still one of my most enduring memories.
Fishing with my father on weekends, out on the river, wasting time talking
about boats and girls and cars. My father taught me to sail you know.”
He looked out to the water at the nearest boat, still holding her hand,
stroking it almost absently with his thumb.
“Do you...do I have grandparents?” She asked shyly, disturbing him from his
reverie.
“Gone. I'm sorry, both gone,” he said shortly. “But I didn't bring you here to
talk to you about ghosts. I wanted you to have something of the pleasure of
watercraft. See there,” he pointed out at an elegant little wooden boat, lying
sleekly in the water. Even in the dark, she could see it gleamed with a well
cared for air. It looked somehow different from the rest of the boats lined up
next to it. There wasn't so much steel and fibreglass and the varnished
mahogany lines curved in a way that the other boats just didn't.
“That's pretty.”
“It's an antique. And it's yours. It's a restored Riva Ariston. Built in 1953.”
“But we already have a boat here,” she said, staring at the boat in wonder.
“This is all yours. Your own little motor boat. There's a sun bed, so you can
take your friends out on the weekend.”
“Bellezza,” she read out from the gold lettering at the rear of the boat.
“Beauty?”
“That's it's name. I'm afraid you're stuck with it. Terribly bad luck to change
the name of a boat,” he said, grinning. “Do you like it?”
All the gifts in the world didn't take away the strange upside down feeling
that had taken residence in the pit of her stomach for some time now. But they
certainly made it easier. It was nice to be adored.
“I love it,” she pronounced, glancing up at him briefly.
“We’ll come out tomorrow and you can test run her.”
“Dad,” she said impulsively.
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry I've been so shitty lately. I don't know what's going on. I just
feel really...angry all the time.” She felt tears that she didn't want welling
up in her eyes as she spoke.
“Ssh ssh,” he said, circling her waist with his arm. “It's just hormones baby
girl. You're growing into a young woman.” He kissed her forehead, his lips warm
on her skin.
She clung to him, feeling a certainty in her gut that he wanted her again. That
if she asked to go home now he would take her into his bedroom.
“Can we go home?”
His lips didn't leave her for just a moment and she felt him tremble slightly
against her. If he wanted her again, if he would take her home straight away it
would all be right once more. He would make her feel like she belonged with him
and that he belonged to her.
Bundling her into the car silently, he signaled home to the driver and closed
the car door. The trees flashed by as the sedan crawled slowly into the hills
where the occasional street light glowed faintly, stretching further and
further apart as they drove closer to home.
Into the house they went, his hand guiding her gently at her waist, a
proprietary touch, light but meaningful.
“Lizzie,” he said, turning to her on the stairs, bending his head to her. “Kiss
me on the mouth.”
She felt her stomach flutter as he said her name, as he demanded a kiss from
her. She reached for him. He loved her, he still loved her. Even after all the
things that had gone wrong. She wouldn't be afraid of him, she refused to be.
She kissed him.
Pressing her up against the banister, he returned her affection, slow and
softly, with every sign of enjoying himself. Everything in her surrendered to
him. She felt him hard against her as he shifted a knee to open her legs. It
was impossible to stay upright, he was making her limbs feel like jelly.
He leaned into her further, his voice in her ear, dark and gravelly. “Come
upstairs,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her up the stair and down the
hall to his own bedroom. She was so familiar with it now, the gleaming wooden
floors, the large bay window with sheer curtains and a view out into the
woodland. His room was the largest in the house, the master bedroom in a
mansion full of already oversized rooms. It was uncluttered, a sign of the
neatness that he desired so much. The only furniture was a nightstand on either
side and an antique wardrobe where his clothes hung, freshly pressed and
organised by color.
A profusion of red roses decorated the nightstand on the side the that she
usually slept on. She counted them. Fifteen blooming flowers.
A nagging unease reached at her but she cast it aside. So what if he had
planned this moment? A romantic gesture, a birthday to leave her surprised and
disoriented. She was sick and tired of feeling all wrong and he made her feel
good and happy and wanted.
“Pretty roses for a pretty girl,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her
neck as he moved up behind her.
“They're gorgeous,” she said, flinching a little as he unzipped her dress,
letting it fall to the floor. His arms came around her, sliding over her skin,
confident of his welcome.
“You're beautiful,” he crooned. “So beautiful. You're my life, Lizzie. You're
everything.” His voice had roughened on his last word, his hands becoming more
insistent. Gently he slid his hands down her stomach, his fingers easing their
way into her as though it were the most natural thing. His knuckle was deep
inside her before she could even think and her legs shook, quivering with the
stimulation. It was too much all at once, as though he knew what it would take
to bring her to her knees. If he hadn't caught her, she would have fallen to
the ground.
Gently, he moved her to the bed, peeling off his clothes and insistently
tugging down at her underpants. He cradled her atop the covers, his nakedness
on top of hers feeling so strange to her. It felt as though she were floating
above her body, not inside her own skin. It was a peculiar sensation but it
disconnected her from the rush of feeling, the confusing mess of painful
emotion that had become so familiar to her. For a moment, she felt nothing,
then she came back to herself with a shock of desire as he played with her
body.
“Oh, okay,” she said, feeling stupid. “Dad…”
“Close your eyes, baby girl,” he said, kissing her eyelids as they fluttered
closed. “Shh, now,” he said, his rich voice rolling over her, his fingers
traveling along her skin in long, sensuous strokes.
Her brain went fuzzy and cold as she lay there. She pressed her cheek against
his though. His skin was fascinating. She loved to rub his cheek with her own,
to feel his skin against hers. The textures were so different. He had often
marveled over the softness of her skin, making it into almost a reverential
thing, his hands wandering over her, his voice whispering his love of her body,
growling pleasant words into her ear. He used words like silky. Lovely, so
lovely, he said. His breath, hot on her skin as his lips traced heated kisses
across her face, her neck, her breasts.
She moaned, her eyes opening wide again as he took a nipple into his mouth. He
reached a hand between her legs once more, his eyes darting up to look her in
the face.
His lips left her breast. “I said close your eyes,” he reminded her, a hint of
command in his voice.
She squeezed her eyes shut fiercely, hating when he was displeased with her in
bed. The slightest tone of disappointment in his voice was as brutal as the
lash of a whip to her psyche, so thirsty for his approval.
He returned to her though, his hand once again caressing her, his fingers
massaging her, finding the spot between her legs, his delicate forefinger
probing, magicking away any tension she felt.
It started with a shuddering tremble in her lower belly, a sweet ache of pent
up something and then built to an almost unbearable pleasure. He took her mouth
again as she moaned, trading her breath for his. His kiss was wet, hot and
demanding. She peeked at him from behind her lashes. His eyes were closed, his
forehead furrowed into creases. If she didn't know better she'd have thought he
wasn't enjoying himself, he looked so upset.
“Are you okay,” she whispered,
His eyes flashed open. “Oh yes,” he murmured, moving himself further over her,
nudging her legs wider as he settled his body on top of her. “Close your eyes,
sweetheart.”
***** Chapter 32 *****
Lizzie woke suddenly, her eyes stinging as though she had been swimming in salt
water.
“You're awake,” came her father’s voice, imbued with knowing, certainty tinging
his words despite her body lying motionless, cradled against him, twisted in
soft cotton sheets. His arms tightened around her, squeezing her til she was
breathless. The way she fit against his side was almost enough to dispel the
unease she held constantly.
Almost.
“I'm awake,” she answered him drowsily.
He kissed her neck in response. A surge of alarm pulsed through her. It wasn't
that she didn't want to be close to him like this, but she felt suddenly that
she needed him only to hold her. It didn't make sense, these impulses of
reluctance that she was having. It almost made her feel ill. One moment she
trembled with excitement, the next, the idea of him touching her with anything
more intimate than a cuddle made her feel greasy and green.
She shifted her body, turning into him, pressing her flat stomach to his, skin
against skin with her head tucked under his chin.
“I think there's something wrong with me,” she whispered as she pushed her
fingers through his chest hair.
Immediately, he stiffened as though her pronouncement had been shouted. “What's
wrong?”
“I just feel really strange all the time. Like one minute I'm okay, the next
minute I'm not. Last night you said it was hormones but I feel...like I might
be sick. Maybe I should see the doctor?”
He was silent for a moment, long enough for an uneasy cramp to grow in her
stomach. Had she upset him? A jolt of panic hit her and she tucked a leg in
between his legs, anxious that maybe she'd made things bad...again.
“Sorry, it was a stupid-”
“No, you need to see Doctor Parrilla soon anyway,” he said gruffly, stroking
her hair. “I'm still convinced your feelings are entirely normal, sweetheart.
You need to be calm. What you're experiencing is just part of growing up.”
“You think I need to see him though?” She didn't mean to press, but he couldn't
say she was okay and then want her to see the doctor at the same time surely?
“Do you remember when you were attacked at school?”
“She didn't attack me, it was just an accident.”
“Mmhmm, well, do you recall the shots you were given? I'm sure you do, they
weren't pleasant. All the same, you're going to need another shot soon. One of
them was birth control,” he said smoothly, touching a hand lightly to her belly
as if to illustrate that the shot had served its purpose.
Her entire body was on fire as his words filtered through her brain.
Fire, was it? No, she was freezing in ice. On fire, in ice, she couldn't know
which, but she felt her nerve endings screaming and growing numb by turns.
He had given her a shot for birth control and hadn't told her? Was that okay?
Of course it's okay, she thought desperately, blinking back stinging tears.
Once again, her feelings were out of control. He had been sensible and she
hadn't even thought of the consequences of their intimacy. He was protecting
her, he always looked after her.
Swallowing her tears, she rolled on top of him, throwing her arms around his
neck and hiding her face in his chest. He was warmth and flesh beneath her,
holding her close to him, his lips pressed to her forehead.
He grunted, arching his body up, his hands sliding around her waist to her bare
buttocks and rocking himself against her.
“My tummy hurts,” she said in a small voice. Not wishing to reject him, she
hoped that he would hold her and stroke her belly like he often did when she
had her period. She wasn't due for it yet but no other feeling was quite as
good as when he stroked her belly in bed. She felt restful and loved by him
when he did that.
“What a shame,” he said darkly, taking her arms and rolling her deftly under
him. She was pinned to the bed by his heavy weight, sinking into the sheets as
he slid down her body, stopping as his lips touched her belly. “Do you want me
to kiss it better?”
She flushed, the burning discomfort in her stomach now twisted with a strange
throbbing, an almost nauseating desire.
He looked up at her from under his long eyelashes with a half smile on his
face, waiting silently for her answer. She realized with a small thrill of
surprise that he really was going to require her to respond this time.
Particularly after that time in France where they had…
Well.
“Yes,” she said, her throat thick, her voice trembling.
“My girl,” he breathed, “my precious girl.” He pressed his lips to her stomach,
tracing light kisses across her skin.
She yearned for him to fold her into himself and hold her but her body wanted
other things, betraying her, buzzing with electricity. A sweet, gentle ache was
brewing between her legs, a slick sense of anticipation fluttered low in her
belly, mixing in with the burning discomfort she felt, jumbling about,
confusing her senses til she wasn't sure what she was truly feeling.
He did kiss it better in the end. His hands holding her firmly in place as she
squirmed.
 
===============================================================================
 
“I have a doctor's appointment,” said Lizzie reluctantly steering her boat back
in. Jessica and Marty were sunbathing in the back, their limbs flung out lazily
in the warm midday sun. “Why don't we go out again next weekend?”
“Ugh,” groaned Jessica, “I was just starting to relax. What's the doctor’s
appointment for?”
“Just a checkup,” responded Lizzie quickly. “My dad likes to worry.”
Jessica waved a hand out in acceptance of her statement. “Your dad’s cute.
Don't tell him I said that. But don't you think so Marty?”
Marty turned over, pushing her sunglasses higher up onto her nose. “Yeah, he's
hot. How come you never invite us over? I love that your dad moved to the
school with you instead of sending you as a boarder. You've got him wrapped
around your little finger,” she said, grinning. “He'd probably let us do
whatever we wanted at your house.”
Maybe it wasn't fair or nice, but she felt a rush of jealousy at the idea of
any of her school friends ogling her dad. He was a self possessed man who was
very aware of his own attractiveness. He'd probably pick up on her friends
crushes immediately. She hated the idea of that. Wanting him all to herself
wasn't so wrong, was it? It was becoming something that she relied on, his eyes
following her about the room, his gaze tender and proprietary. She didn't want
to see his eyes on anyone else.
“Dad’s busy with business all the time...he doesn't like the house getting too
crowded or loud,” she said carefully as she slowed the boat right down and
brought it up against the pier. Several of their bodyguards stood unobtrusively
under a sycamore tree ten or so yards away. Artie was among them and her lips
twitched in a smile as she caught sight of him. She was far past being annoyed
at them following her around now that she saw how many kids at school had their
own security. Apparently it was fairly common.
Jessica and Marty had their drivers waiting for them on the street to take them
back to school. A squat man with a lump on his reddened nose stood outside of
the limousine waiting at the pier, cigarette in hand and a long suffering
expression on his face. He was waiting for Jessica. The car behind him was a
small sedan with an older woman sitting in the front seat, her back ramrod
straight and hands on the wheel, despite the car idling there on the side of
the road, going nowhere.
“See ya on Monday then,” said Marty, giving both girls a quick hug and
disappearing into the back of the sedan.
Lizzie watched in amusement as Jessica took her own driver to task for smoking,
scrambling into the back seat of the limo as she complained.
“Kevin, that's disgusting,” she harped. “You smell so gross. God.”
Artie and the two men with him approached her casually, hands in pockets, both
with the mildest of expressions. “Home now, Miss Elizabeth? You don't want to
be late for Doctor Parrilla.”
The smile fled her face as Lizzie recalled why she had to cut her afternoon
short. It had been a whole week of knowing that her dad had made a doctor’s
appointment for her in order for her to receive another injection.
They were having sex again. There weren't many euphemisms left in her head for
what it was they were doing in his bedroom some nights. He didn't shy away from
it either, becoming bolder each time. It gave her a curious ache in her belly
every time she thought about what it was they did. But the delicious way he
held her afterwards sent the strange stomach pain fleeing. It was like being a
baby again. Or what she imagined that it must have felt like to be cradled in
his embrace when she was small.
The drive home didn't distract her from her complicated thoughts of him,
despite the magnificent glimpses of the glittering lake she was afforded at the
car window. It seemed as though she only had space for her dad in her head
these days.
She found her dad and the doctor waiting for her in her bedroom. If her door
hadn't been open as she'd stomped through the hall, she wouldn't have even
realized they were there. She used her bedroom to dress in the morning and that
was the extent of it these days.
“Elizabeth, it's good to see you again,” exclaimed the doctor, beaming at her
in his mild mannered way. “Just a quick check up today, yes?”
She threw an uneasy glance at her father, noticing that Doctor Parrilla did the
same. He nodded at them both, his arms folded against his chest, an
unfathomable look on his face.
“And another shot, Doctor,” he said lightly. “As discussed.”
Lizzie licked her lips nervously, crossing the room to sit on the bed. Her
fingers played with the beads on her amber bracelet as she sat stiffly,
allowing the doctor to lift her shirt up, placing his cold metal stethoscope
against her chest. He bent his head to listen intently for a moment. It seemed
as though her heart beat faster and her palms grew cold and sweaty. Never
before had a simple check up made her feel as though she were at the top of a
roller coaster, about to descend into free fall.
“Mr Reddington mentioned you weren't feeling well. Would you like to tell me
what's wrong?” He said gently as he tugged the front of her shirt back down to
cover her stomach and pulled her forward a little to place the stethoscope
against her back.
Furiously thumbing at her bracelet now, she tried to focus on the question
“Um,” she started. “Um, I just have stomach aches all the time. I guess.”
“You guess? How often do you have stomach aches? Out of one to ten, how bad are
they?”
Why did she feel like she was under interrogation? Her neck felt so cold, and
she found it suddenly hard to get enough air into her lungs. He was just asking
her a silly question. She should answer it.
“I don't know,” she said foolishly, looking up at the ceiling studiously as he
moved the stethoscope over her back.
She felt, rather than saw her dad move slightly from his position at the door.
“Lizzie, you've been feeling unwell almost every day this week, haven't you?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Tell Doctor Parrilla then, sweetheart.”
The doctor looked up at the endearment, surprise flickering on his features. It
seemed he wasn't used to that particular soft tone from his employer.
“I dunno, I'm just getting a lot of stomach aches, every day I guess. And
headaches too. Also,” she added with a quick guilty glance at her dad,
“sometimes I've been getting chest pain at school.”
She had been keeping that from her dad, worried that he would start to think
she wasn't coping with her school work, that she wasn't as smart as he was sure
that she was. And she wanted so badly to make him proud of her. When they
attended school functions together she would often hear him boasting of her
grades, his face was fascinating to observe, it practically glowed as he listed
her talents to those that cared to hear.
“You haven't mentioned that to me before,” he said, voice heavy with
displeasure.
Doctor Parrilla made a tutting noise in his throat, taking his stethoscope off
and placing it on her empty nightstand. “Now now, no need to worry. Your heart
sounds just as it should. Can you think of anything else that's happening when
you're having these pains?”
“Um, sometimes it kinda feels hard to breathe?”
The doctor nodded encouragingly. “You sound like you might be experiencing
anxiety, young lady. How is school? Any problems there?”
“No.” Her voice sounded hollow and distant, even to her own ears. But she was
telling the truth. School was fine, everything was perfectly ordinary. She just
had intense, burning pains in her abdomen and pelvis, felt chest pains
constantly, as though a crushing weight was descending upon her. There was no
reason at all. She felt uncomfortable, like a hypochondriac. Her dad never got
sick or complained about aches and pains and he had far more reason to, with a
network of deep scar tissue across his back.
The doctor prodded at her tummy, his eyes piercing her as though he could read
her thoughts. He spoke to her as he pressed on the exact spot that hurt the
most. “Well now, is there someone at school you could talk to, someone like the
nurse or a guidance counselor?”
She grunted as a dull burning pain flared in her lower belly. He seemed to be
aware he'd caused her some discomfort because his hands gentled immediately,
still checking her stomach carefully.
“Yeah, I guess,” she gasped.
“Hmm. How are your bowel movements.”
“Fine,” she squeaked, throwing a glance at her dad, her cheeks flushing
scarlet. God, was this going to get any more embarrassing?
For a moment it seemed like he wasn't going to press further but his hands
dropped to his sides and he gave her a worried look. “Very well Elizabeth. It
doesn't appear that anything is physically wrong but we can take some blood
today and run some tests.” He glanced back at her father. “She's been eating
well, I trust?”
“Yes I have,” she said defensively. “I'm right here, you know.”
He chuckled. “My apologies Miss Milhoan, I didn't mean to offend."
She flinched. No one had really called her Miss Milhoan since she'd enrolled at
the new school. At the time, she'd wondered about it but had been so involved
and wrapped up in her new dad and new life that she hadn't thought to ask him,
half afraid that she'd send it all unraveling, that it was all just a fragile
dream and if she pressed him as to why he wouldn't give her his last name, her
spun silk castle would collapse on top of her.
She meant to ask him soon.
Giving her head a slight shake, she watched as the doctor packed up his
stethoscope, slipped on latex gloves from the black briefcase resting on her
nightstand and turned back to her with a tongue depressor in his hand.
“Say aahh.”
She opened her mouth, allowing him to depress her tongue, checking her throat
and tonsils, said ‘ahh’ at the right time and waited patiently as he turned
away from her, finished with his check up.
“Just the shot, and we’re finished here,” the doctor said quietly, with an
undertone of something she couldn't quite place in his voice. It almost sounded
like regret.
Bending over his briefcase again he brought out a tray with a couple of
implements lying on it. She couldn't see much more, given that the doctor’s
body obscured her vision.
He turned to her with a syringe in his hand just as a wave of panic and fury
hit her. She didn't even see the swab he held in his other hand. All she saw
was latex gloves and a syringe filled with fluid.
It seemed as if everything had sped up and came into painfully sharp focus. Her
gaze took in his face, his latex covered hands and the syringe, shutting
everything else out, even the cheerful doctor's voice, trying to soothe her.
His hand snapped to her bicep and before she knew what she was doing, her own
hand took on a life of its own, her palm open, coming up to meet his face in a
stinging slap. Once, twice, a third time with balled fist. He stood above her,
stupefied, staring at her with rigid shock, his cheek beginning to show an
immediate reddened print, an outline of her intense rage.
A piercing sound hit her ears, a ringing of bells or of a siren, like someone
had slammed a panic button and all she heard was enough meaningless noise to
drown her.
Perhaps the sound in her ears distracted her to the point that she hadn't
realized her own retreat across the bed, hadn't noticed her father rushing
toward her from his position at the door, pushing away the doctor. A low
bellow, like a keening calf crying for its mother reached her ears, only
ceasing when she realized it was coming from her own throat.
She was huddled in the corner of her bed, her arms raised over her head, her
shoulder pressed against the wall, it was as if some unseen force wanted to
push her right through it. She couldn't breathe, her muscles were taut and
trembling as she came to some sense of reality again. But oh she really
couldn't breathe and her father was hovering above her, begging her to tell him
what was wrong and all she could manage were tears. Frustrated and frightened,
her lungs finally cooperated with her, painfully taking in air again, at first
shallow and fast, then deep, shuddering breath.
Embarrassment crept upon her, heating her cheeks as she surveyed the wreckage
of her bedroom through wide eyes. She had thrown anything she could get her
hands on across the room at the poor doctor. His briefcase lay bent and broken
on the floor, small items that had previously lain neatly stacked away now at
all ends of the room. She had shattered a stained glass lamp and thrown her
school dictionary against the wall, apparently quite hard, judging from the
split spine.
“Sorry,” she said helplessly. “I'm sorry.”
“Get out, Bernie,” her dad said through gritted teeth as he placed his hands
firmly around her upper arms.
The doctor remained cautiously behind her father at the end of the bed, making
no move to leave. She couldn't look at him, too ashamed of the way she'd just
treated her dad’s family physician.
“Out.”
“No,” he said firmly, surprising both herself and her dad, their heads snapping
up to look at the doctor, his shoulders hunched forward, peering back at them
both as if preparing for some unpleasant duty. “I don't wish to anger you, Mr
Reddington, but Elizabeth is my patient. I must insist on staying here a little
longer.”
Turning back to look at her, her dad bent his head down so that his lips grazed
her ear, whispering to her. “Lizzie, do you want the doctor here or not? Will
you tell me what's wrong?”
“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head and blinking back hot tears. How
could she tell them what was wrong? She didn't know herself. It was as if she
were going crazy. Was this what it was like to go insane? Would she be locked
up?
“Bernie, you may come back tonight, after dinner. Right now, you can see she
doesn't want to talk to you,” he said warningly. “I assure you, I can care for
my own daughter. Go home.”
Reluctantly, he left.
 
===============================================================================
 
Raymond’s heart twisted in his chest as he held his little girl, slumped over
in her bed. He stroked her hair as she cried, head cradled in her small hands,
her shoulders shaking with the sobs that were engulfing her.
“What's wrong with me, what's wrong with me,” she repeated over and over.
“Shhh, nothing is wrong with you,” he said helplessly, barely believing his own
words.
The truth was, something clearly was wrong with her. He tasted bile in his
mouth, choking on the bitterness of what he had done to her. She was the
daughter he had sworn to protect at all costs. Hadn't he given his life's blood
for her? He'd destroyed his former life, sinking it all to put himself in a
position of power so that he might make Elizabeth his again.
He closed his eyes, resting his chin on her head, praying that she would stop
crying. He couldn't bear it, to hear the pain that he had caused, to
acknowledge that he was holding onto a dream that had turned sour as spoiled
milk.
“Dad, I'm scared,” she said, sniffling softly. “I didn't mean to do that, I'm
sorry. Doctor Parrilla must think I'm a freak.”
“Doctor Parrilla thinks what I tell him to think, baby girl,” he said, hardness
creeping into his voice. No one would look sideways at his daughter if he had
any say in it. But Parrilla wouldn't gossip, he was sure of that. The man was
circumspect in his dealings with his employer, not likely to risk Raymond
Reddington’s ire.
Her whole body went limp after he spoke, relaxing into him but in an exhausted
huddle. They sat there for hours, her with her face half buried into his chest
and him with his arms securely around her, occasionally moving a hand to caress
her face and hair.
Perhaps it was time to reevaluate things. He'd call Kate.
***** Chapter 33 *****
"Your dad is like...obsessed with you,” complained Jessica as she gingerly held
a scalpel between her thumb and forefinger.
Biology class was something else at this school. The facilities were the best
Lizzie had ever seen and they were now standing over benches in the science
labs, considering the dead frogs lying in a dish in front of each student.
They'd only been alive a few hours ago and Lizzie wasn't looking forward to
dissecting hers. Sometimes, she thought uncomfortably, I think maybe psychology
instead of medicine might be more my thing.
“I've just really met him this year. We didn't really know about each other and
he's still getting used to being a dad,” Lizzie replied apologetically. “He
gets a bit overprotective sometimes.”
“Yeah but it's kind of weird,” chimed in Marty from her other side. “One minute
he lets you do anything you like and gives you anything you want, then he goes
all hardass and won't even let you leave the house after school. What's with
that?”
Lizzie sighed to herself. Explaining why her dad had vetoed a trip to Ibiza
with her friends was difficult. He didn't even have a reason, just saying no
and that he didn't want to hear more about it. But his anxious eyes following
her as she left the room told her that he was remembering her temporary flight
on the Riviera. She was beginning to feel like a dog brought to heel every time
he seemed unhappy with her. So she hadn't pushed it, wanting more than she was
willing to admit to keep him happy and continuing to regard her with affection
instead of concern.
“As you can all see, your specimen is pinned on its back,” intoned Ms Grant,
the biology teacher. “Now, I want you all to use your forceps to lift the skin
between the hind legs…”
“Ugh,” groaned Marty under her breath as she inserted the scalpel into the
frog’s squishy flesh. “It's just that my older sister will be coming and she's
twenty. She'll look after us and she's not gonna let us run riot over the
island. Did you tell your dad that?”
“You're doing it wrong,” Lizzie whispered back. “You've gotta make the incision
just there,” she pointed to the spot between the hind legs of Marty’s frog.
“And then just cut up the middle with the scissors.”
“Thanks,” said Marty gratefully, re-positioning her scalpel.
“What if your dad came,” asked Jessica with a sidelong look at Lizzie. “He
can't have any issues then, can he? He'd be able to keep an eye on us.”
Both girls giggled softly at that.
“Jessica, Martina and Elizabeth, is there something you would like to share
with the class?”
Crap, no, not a chance,thought Lizzie, hoping desperately that her friends
weren't going to say out loud to the class that her dad was hot.
“No Ms Grant, sorry Ms Grant,” chanted Jessica in a sing song voice which
earned her a frown from the teacher.
“Please focus on the task at hand girls. I see you've made two incisions
Martina. If you were paying attention, perhaps you would have had it correct
the first time.”
“Sorry Ms Grant,” said Marty with a grimace. She hated being called Martina.
For the rest of the day, Lizzie went from class to class with her two friends
and the same topic was brought up each time.
The last class of the day was French and it was her least favorite, the subject
she struggled the most with. So it was perhaps not a huge surprise that she
lost her cool.
“Look, my dad said no,” she hissed under her breath. “End of story, okay? He's
not changing his mind and anyway, he has a friend from the U.S. visiting this
weekend and I think he just wants me home.”
“Fine,” replied Jessica in a short voice. “Why does he have a different name to
you anyway? I would have thought you'd want to change it to Rathers when you
went to live with him.”
Lizzie opened and shut her mouth like a fish. She had wondered that the other
day when the doctor had called her Miss Milhoan. She knew that the school
believed her father to be Kenneth Rathers but the doctor knew who her dad
really was, and who she really was. Why hadn't he called her Miss Reddington?
“It's just the way it is,” Lizzie muttered, bending her head over her work
again, turning slightly away from the girls. It left a strange lost feeling
inside of her, to be unsure of what her own last name should really be.
 
===============================================================================
 
Raymond stood in front of the large mirror in his bathroom, blinking as the
early morning sun streamed through the upper window. Shaving cream was thick
across his chin and cheek. He leaned forward, concentrating on the precise
strokes with the razor, only looking up on hearing Lizzie’s soft tread on the
bathroom tiles. He saw her in the doorway from his view in the mirror.
He watched her swallow visibly and take a step further in before speaking in a
jumbled and hurried manner.
“How come I can't have your last name?”
Pausing now, in the act of shaving, he stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She leaned against the door, arms crossed, a half afraid, half belligerent
expression on her face.
He placed the sharpened razor down onto the marble vanity. “It's safer for you
to continue to keep Sam’s name. When you're older, if you want to, you can take
my name. I don't intend to put a target onto your back Lizzie. My job is to
keep you safe.”
It was clear that his explanation didn't satisfy her. She frowned, tears
gathering at the corners of her eyes. He turned to her, his heart sinking. He
didn't feel equipped for another outburst right now. Had this been Sam’s life
until this year? How had he maintained fortitude? She was exhausting and not
just because of her emotional roller coaster; his depth of feeling for her - at
times painful in the extreme - was wearying.
“Just until you're an adult. Can you not see that it's the wisest course of
action? How would we explain the number four on the FBI’s most wanted list
showing up for parent-teacher meetings?”
“Alright,” she said, taking a big breath, her slight frame puffing up as if she
had something further of importance to say and was seeking the courage to come
out with it. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a finger rubbing over and
over on the raised ridges of her scar.
“Dad,” she said, voice determined with only a slight quaver, “am I annoying?”
His eyebrows shot up and he leaned back against the vanity to get a better look
at her. He let his gaze linger on her as she stood in the doorway, shoulders
sagging the longer he waited to answer her.
“You're fifteen,” he said, “you're allowed to be annoying.”
She blinked rapidly, a smile spasming across her face. She looked like she'd
just received the most terrible news and had to smile for a camera.
“Okay, I just wondered,” she said slowly, moving away and out of his line of
sight.
It was some minutes before he turned around again to resume his morning ritual.
He felt the tension in his neck and the furrows in his forehead which was
beginning to ache persistently. Kate Kaplan was arriving today to meet Lizzie
and stay a few days. He hoped like hell that she could help him straighten his
steps, at least provide some insight. Even if she had never had children of her
own, she'd been an older sister of sorts, a maternal figure to him when he'd
been awash with grief at the loss of his estranged wife and oldest daughter. It
had been Kate who saved him then from self destruction. He wondered with a
tight feeling in his chest if she could do the same again.
He had only a few hours to ponder, or perhaps more accurately, obsess over his
relationship with Lizzie and how Kate might assist. Feeling like a school boy
waiting for the principal, he wandered uselessly around the library, pulling
out books, examining them for a short while and returning them to their
shelves.
She arrived in the late morning, a leather suitcase and large green handbag on
either arm.
“Raymond, have you been looking after yourself properly without me?” She asked
cheerily as she stepped into the house.
“Not in the slightest,” he said, kissing both of her cheeks and embracing her
briefly. “Good behavior is overrated. I've been having a ball, health be
damned.”
“Of course you have dearie,” she responded dryly. “Take me to the cherub. I've
been waiting for this moment for a long time.”
Red turned about to take a step onto the landing of the stair case. “Lizzie,
Kate is here. Come down for a moment please.”
Dealing with her thus far had taught him quickly enough that there was every
chance that she could be sulking in her bedroom over something or other. He had
vetoed a trip to Ibiza recently, uncomfortable with the idea of his daughter
amongst the next generation of playboys with their fake tans and young muscled
bodies. She had been strangely accepting of his decision and it had caused him
some unease. He hoped she wasn't seeking payback now, when she could embarrass
him in front of his most trusted friend and associate.
Hearing a few quick thumps above stairs, they both waited for her to come down,
stamping heavily as though she weren't a slight girl of fifteen but a herd of
elephants instead. He resisted the urge to turn to watch Kate’s face as they
both looked up at the stairs, observing Lizzie spilling down them, her long
limbs tripping over a step or two in her ungainly haste to reach them.
“Hi,” she said brightly with a hint of awkward reserve.
“Lizzie, this is Kate Kaplan, a dear friend of long standing.” He turned to nod
at Kate, “this is my daughter, Elizabeth.”
“He talks of you often,” said Kate with gruff warmth. “I'm so glad to see you
two reunited. How are you finding Switzerland dearie?”
“It's really um...Swiss,” Lizzie responded with a smirk.
“Let me take your bags,” interjected Red smoothly. “There's a guest room
upstairs just down the hall.
He felt Lizzie’s eyes on him as he took Kate upstairs to her room. When he came
down again, she was still standing in the hallway, just waiting absently for
them as if she hadn't even realized they'd gone.
“A tour of the house is in order,” said Red with a jaunty tilt of his head as
he sized up the two women standing before him. “Let me show you the library and
the marvelous kitchen which Bojana, our housekeeper uses to keep us well fed.”
“There's some cool walking tracks behind the house if you like hiking,” said
Lizzie unexpectedly.
Kate chuckled, “I do enough moving about in my line of work, I've been told to
put my feet up and read a good book,” said Kate, glancing at Raymond as if to
inquire if this was still the case.
He clapped his hands together once. “Certainly. A vacation is precisely what
you need, my dear, and that you shall have.”
He was pleasantly surprised at how welcoming Lizzie was to their visitor,
asking questions at dinner, talking quite animatedly about her interests,
jumping from topic to topic like a hyperactive puppy.
“...Well it's supposed to be a great horse trail but I haven't checked it out
yet. Dad didn't say you rode.”
“...Oh, I didn't know, he never said you're a medical examiner,” said Lizzie,
throwing him a dirty look.
Kate placed her fork on her plate at the dinner table. Bojana had left only ten
minutes ago and they were enjoying a roast shoulder of lamb and garden
vegetables. Her mouth twitched as though she had obtained Lizzie’s measure
fairly quickly.
“Well, I used to be a medical examiner in my youth but I've worked privately
for your father for many years now.”
“Did you know my mother,” asked Lizzie quickly.”
Well, he supposed the good behavior was too good to last for long. He cleared
his throat. “No, Lizzie, I met Kate some time later. Now, ladies, who would
like a spot of French film after dinner with some coffee?” He turned to Kate,
pride swelling in his breast, “Lizzie is studying French primarily at school
and I thought perhaps a film would be of some benefit.”
Again, to his surprise, Lizzie made no fuss over the arrangement, only curling
herself into him on the couch after dinner, her legs twining around his. For a
moment, he tensed, wondering what she intended to do in front of Kate but she
only lay back into him and ran her cheek once or twice against his as they
settled in to watch the movie.
The scene contained the achingly familiar but long lost tinge of family life.
It hurt him as much as it gave him pleasure. He tightened his arms around her
in the dim light of the small media room, pushing away his fears and self
recrimination. He had what he wanted.
***** Chapter 34 *****
“This year has gone so quickly, more so than ever before,” reflected Raymond as
he poured himself and his guest a scotch. They had sequestered themselves in
his study after the film while Lizzie went upstairs to catch up on an
assignment for school.
“Perhaps you're starting to feel your age, Raymond,” said Kate with a twitch of
her lips as she gratefully accepted the proffered glass.
“I'd like to disagree. Lord knows I'd probably have been mightily offended over
that a year ago. Being a father full time though...it's...an experience and
certainly hard on the body and the mind.”
“Are you happy, Raymond?” Kate asked gravely. “Is she?”
He stood by his writing desk, leaning slightly on the edge of it, sipping his
scotch meditatively. It was hard to say if he could ever really be happy. He
had lost his first family in a welter of blood and gore, lost his other
daughter for a period of ten years and had done things...terrible things that
kept him awake at night and churned his stomach for hours, preventing rest,
preventing peace.
“When she's near by me, Kate, it's the closest I feel i'll ever get to true
happiness.” He huffed a dry laugh. “I don't deserve her at all, or any
happiness.”
Kate frowned, setting her glass down on the coffee table next to the couch.
“You're too hard on yourself, my friend. You always have been. You're deserving
of being her father. You've protected her all these years, gave her a loving
and safe home, even if that meant she couldn't be with you.” She raised an
eyebrow then. “And I've never known you to be maudlin. You have her here with
you now and she's your daughter through and through. Cheek and intelligence and
wit shine in her the same way it did with you when we first met.”
He laughed again, this time a genuinely mirthful sound. “When we first met, I'd
just stolen state secrets that could have had us both killed. You should have
turned me in. Are you saying it was my charm that swayed you?”
“No dearie,” said Kate in amusement, lifting her glass from the table. “I have
a good eye for a sure thing. Protecting you until you found your feet paid its
dividends, shall we say?”
He nodded his appreciation of her assessment before they fell into
companionable silence. Moving across the room, he heaved himself onto the couch
beside her with a weary sigh, tossing back the rest of the scotch. Kate kept
hers in her hand, sipping at slow intervals.
“What will you do about Sam?” Kate asked eventually, breaking up the relaxed
atmosphere.
He felt his forehead tighten with guilt and worry. Sam had been in Italy for
months on a fruitless search for Lizzie. He'd been staying in flea ridden
hotels, attempting to hire private detectives to assist in the search, but
mysteriously -- at least for Sam, at every interview, the detectives turned
down the job as though it were a hot coal.
And it was one, at that. You didn't work on either side of the crime world in
the south of Italy without learning to fear the name of Raymond Reddington. No
one in their right mind would take a job to find him if he didn't want to be
found, and he'd made it very plain that he certainly did not.
Raymond’s cheek twitched. “He continues his search in Naples. He moved to
Sorrento for a while and seems to be traveling north to Rome. It's a needle in
a haystack for him. He won't risk involving local authorities because that
would put Lizzie in the firing line.” Raymond hesitated a moment. “I'm
considering contacting him, letting him see her. I don't think she will want to
leave me, not now, not after…”
“After what?” She prompted.
He smiled tightly. “After everything we've been through. Lizzie has had a
struggle adjusting to her life here, and even now after all these months we’re
still learning each other. But I have her love, I'm confident of that.”
“You still haven't told her I assume?”
“No,” he replied shortly. “If I do decide to tell her, I'll sound Sam out
first. He needs to accept the situation as it stands. She belongs to me.”
Kate appeared startled at his words, her mouth pursing into a thin pout. “She
belongs to herself, dearie. You've been very single minded in your quest to get
her back, but now that she's here, be cautious, Raymond. She's not a thing or
an employee to be used or bought.”
“I know that,” he said, irritated at her chiding. “Spare me the lecture Kate, I
know my own business quite well.”
She nodded her acceptance of his rebuff. “It seems rude to retreat to bed so
early but I'm terribly jet lagged, I'm afraid. I might as well retire now.”
“Yes, I imagine a good lie in tomorrow morning will do the trick. Do you intend
to take Lizzie’s offer of a boat ride in the afternoon? She's fair at operating
it. Not likely to have an accident in any case.”
“Well then,” said Kate briskly, “I'd be honored.”
They wandered out of the study, heading upstairs only to meet Lizzie on the
staircase clad in a light, short sleeved pajama top and bottoms in a pearly
pink color. His eyes couldn't help a brief appreciative look at her body, the
way the cotton clung to her stomach and waist, her small breasts curving out
and straining the top just a little.
“Hey,” said Lizzie, blinking tiredly. “I've had all I can handle of this
history report. I'm heading to bed, dad.”
“We were just about to turn in ourselves, sweetheart,” he said affectionately.
He enjoyed her most when she was sleepy. She was more cuddly, less prone to
prickliness and although he winced to himself to acknowledge it, she was also
more compliant. And he did gain some satisfaction when he could bring her to
heel.
Lizzie turned back up the stairs leading the way down the hall. When he saw
that she was heading directly for his room, his heart gave a massive jolt. She
opened the door of the master bedroom, slipping inside and wished Kate a sleepy
good night. He turned to observe a hesitation in Kate’s face, a shadow of
uncertainty.
“She has nightmares,” he said, keeping it as simple as he could. “Far easier to
sleep close to her than have me waking up at 3am to her screams.”
Kate nodded slowly, her hand on the doorknob to her own room. “I see. Well,
good night dearie.”
She slipped into the guest room, shutting the door with a quiet click.
 
===============================================================================
 
The next day was a clear and warm Sunday with a light breeze stirring up the
water on the lake. It was the perfect weather for the boat trip and Lizzie was
quite happy to take Kate down and show off some of her newly earned skills.
“You've got a fine handle on this old girl,” said Kate from her seat next to
Lizzie on the boat.
She barely heard her father's friend speak, the wind was rushing in her ears
and the motor gave a deep, satisfying purr as she steered them as fast as she
had been told she would be allowed to go, creating ripples on the huge lake as
they bounced over the water.
“Dad taught me,” said Lizzie breathlessly. “He's really good at it. He's going
to teach me to sail over Christmas. We’re going to the Whitsunday Islands in
Australia and he said I can visit my friend Marty. Her family lives in New
Zealand, you know.”
“And will you be seeing Sam over the Christmas vacation?”
Pain hit Lizzie in the stomach like a closed fist. It was as if Kate had
reached into her and pulled out her entrails. She slumped over at the wheel,
her hands trembling, almost incapable of holding on. The boat slowed almost to
a stop, bobbing randomly in the water as she leaned her head onto the wheel.
“I'm sorry,” she gasped, not wanting to look this strange, blunt woman in the
eyes, “I haven't talked about him in a while.”
“Elizabeth, listen to me.” She gently laid her hand on Lizzie’s arm, squeezing
her comfortingly. “If you aren't ready to see Sam, perhaps you grandmother and
your aunt?”
“No,” said Lizzie, her voice icing over. She pulled her arm away from Kate’s
grasp. “None of them wanted to talk to me. They haven't even tried to get in
touch. I heard once that aunt June laughed at Sam when he adopted me. She
thought it was a dumb idea. And I guess it was.”
“Well now, that's a foolish thing to dwell on. People say all sorts of ignorant
things about children before they're old enough to understand. Who told you
that? Surely not Sam?”
“A third cousin of some sort,” Lizzie muttered. “It was at a family wedding a
few years back and I overheard her saying something to her date about me.”
Kate raised an eyebrow, a look of skepticism on her face and Lizzie suddenly
felt really silly. The cousin had been drunk and it wasn't like she'd really
known what aunt June had thought anyway. She was only a third cousin, barely
family at all and she lived in Wisconsin and Lizzie had only met her twice in
her life.
“They haven't tried to call me anyway. I tried calling them. Even dad tried
calling. Sam disconnected his phone. He doesn't want me anymore.”
Lizzie said her piece in a flat tone of voice but inside she felt like she was
bleeding. Would it ever stop hurting? Every time she thought of Sam’s
rejection, the thought that followed was that Raymond would be next. It might
only be a matter of time before she became too boring, too ignorant, too
annoying to be wanted anymore.
“Well, Raymond certainly loves you, dearie,” said Kate in a crisp but somehow
kind voice. “From the moment he placed you with Sam, every move he's made has
been to get you back, to make it safe for you to be with him again. All the
same, I don't think he'd want you to be unhappy. If there's somewhere else
you'd…”
“No!”
Kate blinked, her face giving away only a momentary flash of surprise. “He
thinks you're unhappy. Are you?”
“I think we should go in,” said Lizzie, her back stiffened and her hands tight
on the wheel.
They brought the boat back in silently, the only sound accompanying them was
the gentle slap of the water against the boat and the birds wheeling and
screeching overhead.
Lizzie said little as they traveled back to the house. Kate Kaplan wasn't the
type to fill in silence from nerves so for the most part, both of them sat
quietly in the back of the luxury SUV as it wound its way into the hills.
As they entered the house, her dad met them, looking unusually relaxed. He had
on a plain, short sleeved Oxford shirt and light brown chinos with an apron
draped over his arm. He'd kicked his shoes off at some stage and was padding
through the hall in his socks.
“Ladies, you might like to freshen up. You have approximately an hour. Dinner
is on its way and tonight I will be your chef,” he said with a gently mocking
bow.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw Kate smirk. She wondered how well this
woman knew her father. They seemed so close, it was as if they were siblings.
Kate didn't fear him in the slightest. More than once in the day and a half
that she'd been a visitor in their house, Lizzie had heard the older woman
scolding him for something or another. She'd been half asleep in bed this
morning, giggling to herself over hearing Kate’s opinions on a diamond mine
he'd recently invested in. She hadn't been at all impressed and stridently told
him so.
“Well then, I'll be downstairs for dinner in the prescribed hour,” said Kate
affably. She started to climb the stairs but turned back to Lizzie and winked.
“Have you had a meal cooked by your father before, Elizabeth?”
“Not really,” she said dubiously. “Is he any good?”
“The man missed his calling. He should never have bothered with the navy,
should have gone straight into a chef’s apprenticeship. Foolish, like all men,
letting the sea seduce him.”
“I heard that,” drifted in her father’s voice from the kitchen as they reached
the top of the stairs.
Lizzie giggled. It was nice having Kate around. It reminded her of what it was
like with Sam when they visited her grandma. Her dad was...he was being very
dad like. It made her glow inside. Last night he had held her until she fell
asleep and woke her up with sleepy kisses in her hair but that was all. She
found herself guiltily wishing it could always be like this.
Without much thought about dressing up for dinner, she ducked into her own room
and threw off her shorts and t-shirt and washed her face, running a hairbrush
through her wind tangled hair. Deciding what to wear could be difficult because
she had so many clothes. Whenever they left town, her dad always took her
shopping for new things and if he ducked out in the jet for a day he'd always
come back with a pretty scarf or a new pair of earrings, some small bauble to
let her know he'd been thinking of her.
Bounding downstairs in her favorite dark blue Levi's and a pretty red t-shirt
with white polka dots, she took her place at the dining room table.
“So what's for dinner then? And what happened to Bojana?”
“Pork and cider casserole with parsnip mash and wilted baby spinach, also a
chocolate mousse cake for dessert,“ he said grandly. “I can't take credit for
the cake. That was kindly made by Celine down at the village bakery, but the
main course is my own creation.” He moved about the kitchen, removing his apron
and setting their plates down smartly. “I gave Bojana the evening off. I'm sure
she appreciates it.”
Just as her dad sat down, she realized she probably ought to have helped set
the table as Sam would have expected her to. But they were waited on hand and
foot here by the housekeeper. She had no chores, essentially doing what she
liked, when she liked, except when she was in school. Uncomfortably, she
squirmed on her chair, feeling strangely guilty and...wistful. What a weird
thing to be obsessing about, she thought irritably as she picked her fork up.
“So dad,” said Lizzie brightly, “a lot of girls in the village have got these
cool belly button piercings and I was wonder-”
“No,” he said in a definite tone. “You're too young for body piercings. It's
not legal here for a girl of fifteen.”
“Neither is bribery or money laundering,” she replied sullenly, stuffing a
large mouthful of casserole into her mouth before she thought of any more mean
things to say. God, he could be so strange, one minute letting her do anything,
the next, treating her like she was twelve.
Kate remained silent throughout the exchange, but she spoke now. “I remember a
time, I was seventeen and I desperately wanted to go to Woodstock. My parents,
well...my mother was a school teacher until she married and my father was an
aeronautical engineer. Both very conservative, certainly not the type to allow
their youngest daughter to travel interstate to attend some hippie convention,
as they called it. Of course, I escaped through my bedroom window one night and
piled into a van owned by a college friend. There were eight of us,” she
reminisced, “all sleeping in that one van and driving through the day to
Woodstock.”
Kate shook her head, marveling at the memories as she tucked into her
casserole. “This is delicious Raymond. What have I always said about your
culinary talents?”
“Go on,” her dad said dryly. “Were you about to tell us what a wonderful time
you had and how wrong your stuffy parents were to prevent you from living your
dreams?”
“Well,” replied Kate thoughtfully, “it certainly was a one of a kind event. I
can't say I've ever experienced anything like that before. But I did have the
misfortune of being robbed at gunpoint at a gas station restroom on the way
home. Took me years to get over that. My father spent a lot of money on
psychiatrists and I had to delay college for a whole year.”
She raised an eyebrow at them both from across the table. “I suppose there's
something to be said for a bit of give and take. I always wondered if it would
have happened the same way if my parents had agreed to let my older brother
take me.”
“Mm hmm,” her dad said, looking across the table at her. “Lizzie, would you
like to play a hand of cards with Kate and I after dinner? Or you could
practice on the piano and show Kate what you've been learning.”
“I can do both,” Lizzie responded, content with this arrangement. She'd only
just started piano but she had taken to it really well and was enjoying playing
for her dad a couple of nights a week. He would lie stretched on a sofa in the
living room with a tumbler of scotch in his hand and hum along with her music,
keeping his eyes on her, a dreamy smile on his face.
She couldn't help smiling at him as he grinned at her. “I'd like that,” he said
with soft eyed affection.
 
===============================================================================
 
Feeling refreshed and relaxed after his shower and a long evening playing cards
and listening to Lizzie at the piano, Raymond was more than happy to head to
bed later that night.
“School in the morning,” he said quietly to his girl who was sitting in his bed
reading a book. She looked up at him, a small frown on her face as she closed
her book and set it on the nightstand.
Tensing in anticipation of her irritability, he felt the need to probe a little
anyway. “Why so glum?” He asked, peeling back the blankets and slipping into
bed beside her.
She turned her lamp off and rolled toward him, her startling blue eyes fixed on
his face. Instead of answering, she stroked her hand over his stomach, running
her fingers through the trail of hair that ran from his chest to his groin. He
responded with his own hands on her, wrapping his arms around her waist,
pulling her over on top of him. She sat astride him, looking down into his
face, her jaw tensing and working in a way that reminded him of his own
mannerisms when he was thinking hard or trying to contain some extreme emotion.
She was beginning to mirror him. Not so strange after all. She was his flesh
and blood.
“Why can't I have a belly button piercing?” She pleaded. “No one at school
would see it.”
He sighed, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling in vexation. “Because I don't
think a young gi-”
He sucked in a breath.
She had reached between them and stroked him, her fingers circling his cock
briefly, stealing speech from his mouth. Her tongue peeked from between her
lips as she gazed down at him in concentration, stroking him a second time.
This time he had fully hardened.  All it took was her light weight astride him,
the sweet smell of her damp hair and her smooth hands caressing him.
Leaning forward, she kissed the corner of his mouth, her minty breath mingling
with his. Her eyes were still fixed on his face, the small dear lines of
concentration hadn't yet smoothed out on her brow. He reached now to run his
thumb over her face.
“The sweetest girl in the world,” he murmured. “Kiss me again.”
She did, as his hands twined themselves in her hair, bringing her down to him
for a fiercely gentle kiss. His breath quickened through his nostrils,
breathing desperately as he locked his lips to hers, probing her with his
tongue, touching her face and hair as though he still couldn't believe this
treasure was all his.
He released her only to run his lips down her neck, nibbling at the tender
flesh of her throat as he reached for the waistband of her pajama pants,
tugging them down her legs. She helped him, kicking them off as he pulled his
own sleep pants down, tugging wildly at his shirt, pulling it over his head and
rolling her under him. She still had her tank top on but he didn't mind. He
reached for the sweet spot between her legs, coating his finger with her
wetness and spreading it over her clit. She was whimpering now as she did when
he touched her directly there. He still hadn't asked her if she was extra
sensitive or just shy about the intimacy.
His excitement was heightened by the way she was responding to him. He had his
girl in his bed, willing and open for him, and he couldn't help feeling the
same way he had when he had first touched her. She had been so eager to be
taught, to be loved in this way. Lately, he had felt as though there was a
reticence in her, a troubling doubt in her mind andof course he would stop if
he were sure she no longer wanted him in this way. But it had been so subtle,
he hadn't been sure. It could just as easily be her issues with Sam or the
complexities of becoming a young woman.
She was bucking up onto his hand now, squirming around the bed, her whimpers
growing louder. With his other hand he gripped her hip and pushed her down into
the bed, holding her in place as he stroked her vulva, his fingers dipped in
and out of her in slow, teasing strokes.
“Shh,” he whispered low, chuckling at her helpless responses to him. “You'll
wake the whole house.”
“It's just...just...ahh -- Kate,” she gasped, her arms clasped around his neck,
pulling him closer to her.
“This is just for you and me, Elizabeth,” he purred into her ear, nipping at
her lobe as he trailed kisses down the side of her face, down her neck to her
collarbone.
“Dad,” she said, wrapping her legs around his torso. “Are we going to stay here
after I finish school?”
He barked a laugh, astounded at the thoughts that flitted through her head
while he was playing with her body as he was now. Perhaps he needed to work a
little harder at sending her spinning into mindless pleasure. “Whatever your
heart desires, my precious girl.”
Her face and neck were flushed a pretty pink that made her skin glow
deliciously. Pressing himself to her, he could he feel her heart beating
wildly. It made him want to gather her up as his child for a moment, only a
moment. But she wasn't frightened, only aroused, and when he was finished with
her she would be exhausted and ready to snuggle into him, to fall asleep
beside him as her heart slowed, drifting into satisfying dreams.
With infinite gentleness he worked her over with his hands and his mouth,
sliding further down her body until he could burrow his head between her legs,
his thumbs first at her hips as she lifted herself to him and then sliding
along her flat stomach and under her tank top until her breasts were in his
palms.
To his surprise, she reached for him, pulling him back on top of her, shaking
her head.
“Not...that. It's okay, don't you want to...to put it in?”
Doubt crested over him, a sick wave of feeling and he raised himself over her
on his elbows to look at her hard in the dim lamplight, searching her eyes, her
face for meaning to her words. “Do you want me to?” He asked quietly.
She nodded with an easy smile, pulling his face down to hers for another kiss.
He smelt lavender in her damp hair as she spread her thighs apart for him. He
reached down to fit himself into her, groaning in delight as she gave way to
his hardened cock. She was trembling only slightly, her hands gripping the back
of his neck fiercely as though she sought to control some small thing about
this entanglement.
Thrust after thrust, at first, slow and gentle, giving him leave to explore her
mouth, to push her tank top far above her breasts so that he might bite and
suckle her.
“Quietly now,” he gasped, responding to her yelps as he slipped a hand between
them, rubbing his finger against her clit.
“Please,” she begged, holding onto him so tightly. She clung to him like a
child entering a bathing pool for the first time, terrified and fascinated all
at once. Trembling with the excitement of new adventures but clinging like a
limpet from fear.
It reminded him of his oldest daughter, teaching her to swim at the local pool.
The memory surfaced unbidden, the scent of sunscreen, the heat of a late summer
afternoon, his daughter timidly wrapping her arms around his neck as he lowered
them both into the chlorinated water. Lizzie hadn't even been born then.
His stomach roiled at the memory. Gasping, shaking his head as though he could
shake the association loose, he increased his pace, thrusting into her quick
and deep. The sounds they were both making weren't soft sighs of pleasure
anymore, but harsh gasps for air. Lizzie's eyes were screwed shut and she
whimpered when he thrust especially hard inside of her. Her legs and arms still
remained tight around his body. Her lips were folded and flat, her chin
trembling.
He had never intended to be rough with her. Only the gentlest love making was
good enough for his precious girl. But her arms and legs around his body were
forcing him to recall the arms and legs of another little girl he had loved. A
daughter he hadn't damaged. He didn't want to think of his two little girls in
juxtaposition. He just couldn't, not when his eldest had a loving father and
mother...and then Lizzie, who deserved no less, had...whatever it was he had
become. So, grimly they held onto each other, the bed creaking under his
vigorous pace, even moving slightly against the wall. He didn't stop, couldn't
stop while his other child’s image was before his face. He needed to climax
inside of Lizzie now, release the madness in his head and hold his little girl
for comfort afterwards.
“Dad, ow,” she gasped finally, “ow, ouch!”
He froze, gulping in air. She had slipped upwards with the force of his thrusts
and her head had hit the wall with a sickening crack, not once but twice.
“Baby,” he cried softly, mortified, all thoughts of his eldest daughter fled.
“Are you alright?” He lifted himself off of her, taking her head between his
hands to examine her scalp. She twisted like a live fish in his grasp.
“Stop it, get off,” she said with indignation, pushing him away, and in the
process of pushing she hadn't realized how close to the edge of the bed she
was. She had shoved at him with such force that she pushed herself clean off
the bed with another great thump.
If the first thump against the wall adjoining Kate’s hadn't been enough for her
to inquire, this one certainly was. Red and Lizzie stared at each other as they
both heard the click of the hall light switch. Moments later, a sharp knock at
their door.
“Raymond? Elizabeth? I heard a noise.”
Red filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly through pursed lips. “Never
mind, Kate,” he called back loudly. “Lizzie had another dream and rolled off
the bed. She's fine. Good night.”
There was a pause, but no footsteps indicating that Kate had gone to bed.
“Alright then dearie...goodnight.”
They both listened breathlessly as Kate's light steps and the hall light
switched off again signaled that Lizzie could now get up off the floor. She
hopped into bed shivering, throwing the blankets up to under her chin and
staring straight at the ceiling.
“Baby, I'm sorry,” he said contritely. “Let me see your head...please?”
At first it seemed as though she intended to ignore him but she eventually
inclined her head toward him and he examined her for any bumps, blood or
lacerations. He kissed her lightly on top of the head. “Always gentle with you,
sweetheart, I promise,” he whispered into her hair. “You deserve to be treated
like the princess that you are.
She turned over onto her belly, giving her head a rueful rub. “Don't you think
it's fair that I can get a belly button piercing now?”
His mouth fell open. All the tenderness in his breast evaporated like the
familiar morning mist in the mountains. “You can't have what you want all the
time, Lizzie. This isn't negotiable.” His muscles contracted in horror. This
wasn't the first time she had initiated intimacy with him only to then ask for
a favor.
She snorted, her body stiffening against him in annoyance.
“Lizzie,” he said sternly. There must have been something in his voice because
her head whipped over to look at him, her eyes wide. “Elizabeth, I'm not a
candy machine. You don't get to just twist the handle and a treat comes out.”
Throwing herself into his arms, she made short work of that theory. “No, daddy,
no, I didn't mean it that way, I love you, I love you, you know that, don't
you?” She said, looking anxiously into his face. “It's just that…” She lowered
her eyes. “Well, I reeeeally want a belly button piercing and it's silly,
saying no-”
“Enough,” he said, trying to keep his odd combination of irritation and
amusement from her. “Go to sleep baby. In this, you'll do as you're told.”
She slept eventually, curled in his arms, her body soft and warm against his,
her hair drying into small frizzy curls around her head that still smelt of
herbs and springtime.
When she woke up for school the next morning, she had a garish, pink bump on
her forehead the size of an egg.



***** Chapter 35 *****
The front door opened and closed with a small squeak, alerting Red to Kate’s
return. She had risen early and gone for her usual morning walk, missing
breakfast in the Reddington household. He winced thinking of his last name.
Perhaps he should make some arrangements to change Lizzie’s name to Reddington
after all. It held some risk but Lizzie still seemed so fragile, so unhappy and
teary at times. He couldn't think of anything else that would finally convince
her that she belonged to him. He felt a particularly heavy guilt after last
night. She'd come downstairs for breakfast this morning with that awful bump on
her head. He'd waited tensely to see if she was going to do something about it
or let it be plainly seen.
Something in him loosened when Lizzie had met him at the front door, ready for
school with her bag over one shoulder, a light creamy foundation spread over
her face and her hair swept low, directly over the egg shaped bump.
Whatever she felt about last night, they were on the same team.
He had kissed her goodbye with those thoughts in his head, forcing back the
uneasy hind thoughts that accused him when he let himself slow down enough to
truly examine their relationship.
Red waited for Kate to arrive in the kitchen, feeling a warm regard for his old
friend as she entered.
“Hello, dearie,” said Kate somberly, taking off her coat and hanging it over
the back of a chair. She sat across from him, her hands in her lap, her lips
pursed as though she were about to say something unpleasant.
“Coffee or tea?” He asked brightly, rising from his chair and crossing the
kitchen to put the kettle on.
She looked down her nose at him over the top of her glasses. “Tea will be just
fine.”
Pulling two teacups from the overhead cupboard above the kitchen sink, he spoke
aloud, thinking that whatever Kate was disturbed by, she'd best get it out in
the open. He deliberately calmed the sudden pounding in his chest with small,
slow breaths. “Something on your mind?” He enquired lightly.
“As a matter of fact, there is. Raymond, I'm not sure it's appropriate to sleep
in the same bed night after night with Elizabeth. She's a teenager and-”
“Kate, I'm a father, I have been a father twice over. I'm not perfect,” he said
grimly. “But I love and cherish Elizabeth more than anything on god's green
earth and if she wants to sleep near to me at night, I'm not going to make a
fuss over it. I certainly expect that you won't either.”
If it were at all possible, Kate's lips thinned even further and her eyes
narrowed as Red spooned tea leaves into a teapot and turned to put the milk and
tea strainer on the table with a thump. He stared across the table at her as
the kettle started to whistle, neither of them making a move to turn it off.
“Does she though?”
“Does she what?” He repeated flatly.
Kate sighed, tossing her head irritably, her fingers drumming an impatient
tattoo on the surface of the heavily carved dining table. “Don't play word
games with me, Raymond. You know better than that. Does she want to sleep in
the same bed? How did this come about? Have you encouraged her to try her own
bed for a while? Have you thought about what her friends at school might say if
they were to find out? You don't set any boundaries for her and-”
“I certainly did last night and thank you for the back up on that by the way.
Your little story really didn't help matters.”
“Would you stop interrupting me for a moment and listen to me Raymond? For
god's sake, you asked me here to see if I could help her with her adjustment to
life with a new family in a new country. Well, let me tell you, sleeping in the
same bed as your teenager is not healthy. I'm not accusing you, I'm just
telling you to be mindful of appropriate developmental behaviour. And another
thing, she's not four anymore, the way you encourage her to drape herself all
over you is no longer age appropriate. She shouldn't be sitting in your lap at
her age. You are the parent Raymond, it's your job to set these boundaries and
do it in way that reassures her that you care for her and are not rejecting
her.”
The kettle was still whistling. He felt the blood draining from his face as he
heard these damning words from his most trusted friend. She wasn't correct, not
entirely. Perhaps some of it. Perhaps he needed to provide her with more
boundaries but she needed…
His mind stuttered away from what she needed. He turned to take the kettle from
the stove and silently poured boiling water into the teapot.
He owned an apartment in the U.S. Just a small, poky little flat where he could
store his mother's and his grandmother’s things. When he had decided to take
Lizzie back, he'd planned to set up a home for them and part of that had been
pulling out some of his mother’s crockery, her tea cosys and table cloths. It
made him feel a part of something good and he hadn't felt that since he'd left
to enlist in the navy. Life had become complicated very quickly after that.
He stared down at his favourite tea cosy now, picking the pot up with both
hands and placing it between them at the table, taking his seat again.
“I wanted you here because she needs a woman's influence. I can't be everything
to her, as much as I'd like to be. I want you to talk to her, be her friend,”
he said, keeping the pleading tone out of his voice with iron effort. He
studied her as he poured the fragrant tea into his grandmother’s old tea cups -
- the ones with the red breasted robins in flight along the side.
“Milk?”
“Just a dash, thank you Raymond.”
Splashing the milk neatly into both tea cups, he sighed and leaned back,
leaving his own cup untouched on the table. “She was here Kate. When Perrett
came to the house,”
Kate's cheeks hollowed and her jaw tensed as though she had bitten the inside
of her mouth hard. “You young fool,” she hissed, “what did she see?”
“Only Perrett begging for his life,” Red responded coolly. “I rushed her
upstairs and I don't believe she saw or heard anything else that she shouldn't
have.”
Taking a gulp of her tea, Kate hunched over at the table, looking for all the
world like a disgruntled goblin, her face scrunched up in disapproval, lips
pursed in sour annoyance. She set her cup down again gently. “I'll stay the
rest of the week,” she said abruptly. “I'll talk to Elizabeth and see what I
can do. But you do make messes...wherever you go. There's a possibility you
should have waited until she was an adult. Or visited regularly rather than
stealing her away. I told you at the time it was too-”
“Excellent,” he broke in with brittle cheer.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
A week later and Raymond was half convinced that he almost regretted inviting
his friend to stay. He'd tried suggesting to Lizzie that she sleep in her own
bed for the rest of Kate’s visit, his heart heavy with the hypocrisy. He wanted
her in his bed, for his own selfish reasons, and as he watched Lizzie socialize
with Kate and finally bring her friends home, his mind began to allow himself
to see the pictures of how selfish he had been. Fragmented pictures at first,
little stabs of guilt that grew like a cancerous tumour in his belly and
throat.
He hadn't even been successful in convincing her to sleep in her own room
either. She'd obeyed the first night he'd asked, giving him woeful looks,
clutching Lola in her arms as she disappeared into her room. It hadn't been any
use. He'd woken up in the morning to find Lizzie and Lola curled up on the end
of his bed, her head resting against his legs like a pillow. He refused to do
that again to her.
He had to stop. That was all. He had to stop this intimacy that had consumed
them both.
It was like voluntarily weaning oneself off heroin. He couldn't convince her to
stay in her own bed now and it was his own fault. He'd been the one to desire
her by his side at night. But he could convince himself to let her alone. To a
certain degree anyway. He made a deal with himself. If he could just touch and
kiss, he wouldn't have penetrative sex with her.
To his surprise, she was delighted with this unspoken arrangement. He had half
expected her to feel rejected by him but his hands caressing her were welcome.
She grew happier in his company and at night she didn't seem so jittery,
becoming more receptive, enjoying the time in the hours before bed, spent
petting between the sheets.
He sat at the piano in their large living room on the Friday afternoon,
watching Lizzie mess around on the rug in front of the fireplace with her
friends. Lizzie had invited Jessica and Marty over for a sleepover and the
three girls were currently giggling over a trashy teen magazine on the floor
across the room as Kate watched on benignly, seated comfortably in an armchair
in the corner. She had a book in her hand which she had been reading on and off
for the last hour, occasionally glancing up as gales of laughter erupted from
the corner the girls were in.
“Jonathan Taylor Thomas, of course,” sang Jessica with the light brown hair.
“I'd just die if I ever met him.” She grinned, rolling over onto her back with
the magazine held high over her head.
“Nope, totally Leo DiCaprio for me,” disagreed Lizzie gleefully, snatching the
magazine and spreading it open to a different page.
“Hey!” Jessica squealed and the girls tumbled across the rug, fighting
playfully over the magazine.
Red noted that the other one, Marty, was coolly stretched across the rug, lying
back on her elbows, giving him covert glances. He swallowed uneasily. He knew
that look. He'd caught it in Lizzie's eyes many times before. He was aware that
he'd garnered a reputation for being a ‘cool dad’ at Lizzie’s school, which
wasn't really hard, given the majority of fathers were weak chinned investment
bankers playing with their grandfather’s money or doddering older men on their
second or third marriages who had children with their much younger trophy
wives. The only other fathers like him were one or two world famous sportsmen
and a former B list actor from the early eighties.
He ceased the absent tune he'd been playing at the piano. “I think I smell
pizza. I believe Bojana is ready for you lot to head into the dining room.”
 The girls heaved themselves from the floor with remarkable speed in response
to his words and hurtled out the door toward the smell of garlic bread and
pepperoni pizza, giggling and whooping chaotically.
The room was empty and silent save for the almost grown Lola lounging on the
back of the sofa, a steady purr rumbling from her glossy grey throat. She'd had
her eyes fixed nervously on Lizzie while she'd been in the room but now that
she'd left for dinner, Lola slowly raised herself on all fours, neatly padding
down the sofa and lightly leaping onto the ground, leaving the room with a
haughty tail in the air, off to find her mistress.
That's a one woman cat if I ever saw one,” muttered Kate, turning another page
of the book that she wasn't really reading.
“So, you're leaving tomorrow,” said Red, ignoring her comments on the cat.
She'd clearly picked up that he hated to share Lizzie with anyone...even a damn
cat. “We shall miss you. You've at least convinced Lizzie to bring her friends
around to check we’re not dragons here.”
“Oh I think we’re still dragons in a way. Certainly a threat to those around
us. We always have been Raymond. This is the life. It's what you signed up
for.”
His lips opened slightly in shock. “Are you saying I'm a threat to Elizabeth?
That I can't offer her a family? Safety? Opportunities?”
Ruefully, his friend shook her head, her straight brown bob swinging slightly.
“Perhaps I've said too much... or not enough at all. I don't know Raymond. I’d
follow you anywhere, you know that. I've...I've cleaned up the bodies of
friends and remained loyal to you because I knew you always had good reasons
for everything you do. So I wonder why I'm uncertain of that now?”
Raymond stood up stiffly from the piano, pushing the seat back with a sharp
squeak. “You should come in for some pizza if you're hungry,” he said curtly,
leaving the room with a miasmic air of offence trailing behind him.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The day after Kate left was a strangely empty one. Raymond Reddington was used
to filling his time with either work or pleasure. He wasn't one to idle to the
point that a head full of regrets was easily able to take foothold but this
time he found himself alone on their rambling property, sitting disconsolately
under an oak tree in the side garden of the house. Lizzie had set up a little
wrought iron table and two chairs under the tree and a free standing hammock
where she had spent hours translating French or reading for her English
literature class with Lola purring contentedly on her chest.
Instead of keeping busy, monitoring threats that were still ever present to a
retired crime lord, he found himself slumped in the hammock for some hours,
mulling over his decisions and their consequences since he had first set eyes
on his teenage daughter’s face.
He recognised now, the pull he had felt on seeing her crouched tensely in Sam’s
ratty old armchair. He had failed to recognise it for attraction, thinking only
that he was marvelling at seeing his daughter again. He thought back to
watching her in a bikini, his groin tightening uncomfortably at the sight of
his little girl - all curves and porcelain skin.
She had smelled irresistible too, her clean scent, reminiscent of alpine peaks
despite her midwestern upbringing. Oh, of course he knew that chemicals and
hormones had played havoc because it was as if she had been designed to tempt
him, to make him want her obsessively.
The way she tilted her chin and grinned at him, the way she held her hands on
her hips and cocked her head when she was angry, her very breath in his mouth
was too sweet for words. All of this, all his and he could have it forever if
he really wanted. It might cost him his few friends. Kate wouldn't condone it.
He'd seen it in her eyes as she stepped into the car to begin her journey back
to New York. She had known, or at least strongly suspected. There was love and
friendship enough between them that he thought she might still stand by him if
he gave Elizabeth up now, gave up everything he desired in the world.
How could his whole life be wrapped up in one small person. One delightful
little ball of hormones and passions and love.
He stayed there all morning in the hammock thinking, moving in the afternoon to
the table that sat under the spreading green oak tree. He was still there when
the SUV rolled up the winding driveway into the carport that housed several of
the vehicles he owned. He looked up to see Lizzie jump out and catch sight of
him under the tree. She shouldered her school bag and instead of walking into
the house, she ran over to him, dumping her bag on the table and giving him a
kiss on the cheek as she threw herself across him, into his lap.
“You look sad, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear, giving him another lingering
kiss.
“Oh, I've only been thinking...of this and that. You know me by now sweetheart.
Give me too much time alone and I'll worry myself into an early grave,” he
teased, jostling her lightly on his knee as she clung to him.
We've been doing the Iliad at school today,” she offered quietly. I know you
love this kind of thing. Will you read a bit of it to me tonight after dinner?”
“Oh yes,” he said, pulling her in for a hug, nuzzling his nose into her neck
and breathing in her slightly sweaty schoolgirl scent. “I would love to, my
precious girl.”
***** Chapter 36 *****
Lizzie slammed the front door hard enough to make the windows in his study
rattle. He had been keeping himself busy since Kate had left a few days ago,
planning a small trip into London and Belfast which would keep him occupied for
a few days at least. The security here was the best but he was still nervous
leaving Lizzie for so long. And now she had come home from school upset. It was
disquieting.
He left his comfortable leather chair, swiftly following the noise of her
polished black school shoes as they tramped up the stairs. He could hear her
sniffling up a sob or two.
“Lizzie! Why are you crying?”
She froze on the stairs and turned back to him, one hand clutching the banister
until her knuckles were white, her face screwed up and blotchy. His stomach
tightened painfully at her anguished expression.
It seemed as if the both of them bounded toward each other; her down the stairs
and him up them. They met halfway and he engulfed her in a fierce hug.
“Tell me what's upset you,” he growled dangerously. “Let me fix it, my precious
girl. It's what I'm here for, remember?”
She blinked her tears away, ducking her head into the crook of his arm.
“Everyone's talking today about getting their learning permits to drive next
year. Most of the American chicks are going back home to get them. My d-Sam was
going to teach me how to drive,” she said tearily, her voice getting higher and
higher. “He was going to show me how to drive his truck and now I'll never-”
she broke off, horrid sobs choking the rest of her words.
He drew her further into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head,
hands gently stroking her back. “He's not the only one who has driven before,”
he said dryly. “I’ll teach you.”
“When do you ever drive?” She wailed, renewed sobs pouring out of her.
His heart pinched. He could drive, but he rarely did. There was no need.
Truthfully, he'd rather hire someone to teach her but he could see that wasn't
the problem. And he had no solution for this.
Not for the first time, he wondered as he gazed up the stairs into the empty
hallway, just what a dark thing it was that he had done.
 
===============================================================================
 
It took a week longer. A week to struggle against his baser instincts. Surely
he was bleeding, it was as if he had carved his own heart out and was sitting
there, a dead heart housed only in beastly flesh, nothing left of him that
mattered. He had lost a child before and felt terrible grief, wrenching guilt
for the path he had taken that had put his eldest daughter in harm's way. This
was entirely different though. It hadn't been hishands at his strawberry blonde
daughter’s throat, not his actions that had ended her life in their family
home. This was his will, his own body had violated his youngest daughter. He
had called it love but had known from the very first moment that he had broken
something in her, something more than a simple string of flesh.
This wasn't love. It could have been if he hadn't been so desperate to recreate
the family he had lost. His desires had seemed right to him, as though if she
could only see that he was far older and wiser and adore him as he was used to
being adored by all sorts of women across the globe, then she could be happy
because he would adore her in return ten fold.
How could that fail to content her?
“Am I so arrogant,” he muttered. “Even now though, perhaps…”
No. He had to send her away. Every atom in his body, every particle in his soul
was screaming out that it didn't need to be like this. He could fix it, he
still had time. But he knew in his heart that he had destroyed his only chance
at happiness. He would send his reason for living away from him one final time
and never see her again. She would return to a home where she was cared for in
the proper way.
It would be so much easier if he could excuse himself, but his reasoning was
crumbling, he could barely remember what his justification had been. Her eyes,
the way she'd look up at him, her chin tilted at an endearing angle, her
innocence perhaps? She was a sponge, willing to soak up his love and wisdom and
she'd eagerly soaked up anything he'd given her, reckless of the fact that he'd
offered her nothing but poison. Would she ever recover? He didn't know.
He rose from his chair before Lizzie returned from her riding lesson, feeling
diminished, like an old man as he crossed the kitchen and walked the halls to
his study. Despite his grief at what he must do, his mind was already whirring.
There were plans to be made, her school enrollment would need to be cancelled,
transcripts sent to Sam, her belongings packed up and shipped home. He wondered
with a sickening lurch as he picked up the telephone, if Sam would guess what
he had done. His hands trembled slightly as he dialed. Perhaps Lizzie would
tell him herself.
“Hello,” he croaked into the phone, clearing his throat. “This is Kenneth
Rathers. I'm calling to cancel my daughter’s enrollment.” He paused, listening
to the dismay of the administrator. “No, we intend to move back to the States.
I'll need her transcripts by the end of the week. Yes, thank you. That will be
fine.”
 
===============================================================================
 
It was after six when Lizzie came home, tramping through the house, her usual
noise levels somehow not giving him the twinge of annoyance he tended to feel
as she stomped on the polished wooden floors. It wasn't something he'd thought
about until hearing her move around the house but he realized he couldn't stay
here. Why would he? He'd return to the life suitable for the concierge of crime
of course. The memories would be far too painful anyway. Being alone in this
large house would be intolerable.
“Dinner is ready,” said Bojana, appearing from the kitchen with a dark green
apron on, folding a tea towel up and beaming at him. “Is there anything else?”
“No, Bojana, thank you,” Red said distractedly from the door of his study. He'd
spent hours slumped at his desk, drinking glass after glass of cognac until his
senses fuzzed enough for the sharp pain to dull. He'd stopped an hour ago
though, realizing with breathtaking force that this was to be his last night
with Elizabeth. He wanted to be sober. Every moment must count.
As Bojana took her apron off and bid her goodbyes, he stood at the bottom of
the stairs, knowing that Lizzie had heard Bojana call out that dinner was
ready. He felt ill prepared if this was to be their last shared evening meal.
There she was then, at the top of the stairs. Everything was different. She
hadn't changed her riding clothes, other than to remove her boots and run a
hairbrush through her hair. Normally that would have irked him, his desire for
tidy dress clashing with her teenage carelessness but now he smiled fondly up
at her. “Dinner might get cold,” he said, almost alarmed at the softness he
heard in his own voice as he watched her descend. She mustn't know, he was sure
she would cling to him fiercely if she were to be told. It would be too much to
see her distress. He knew in the deepest part of himself that if he told her
what he planned to do, he could never go through with it. She would weep and
claw at him and he wouldn't be able to tear himself away.
“Man,” said Lizzie, looking out the kitchen window at the grey drizzling skies,
“I wouldn't want to be Bojana driving home in that. It looks like a storm is
coming in don't you think?”
“Never mind, I'm sure she'll be home in time before the storm gets bad,” he
said placatingly, taking her by the shoulders gently and steering her into the
dining room. He pulled her chair out with his usual casual courtesy and she
dimpled up at him in silent thanks.
“Hey dad,” Lizzie began with a slightly nervous whine in her voice as he took
his seat close beside her, “you know how you gave me one of your credit cards
the other day to go and get some new clothes?”
“Hmmm?” He asked distractedly running a hand caressingly across her shoulder,
leaning into her slightly before he even realized it..
“Well, listen it was just us girls but we also met up with Marty’s brother and
a few guys from school and there were these helicopter joyrides in town and I
dunno how it happened. I honestly didn't mean to but everyone was so excited
and I just ended up paying for it with your card,” she finished with a whoosh
of breath and a quick look at his face before glancing down at her dinner with
hunched shoulders.
“I see,” he said in mild amusement. “And how much did your err...fun set me
back?”
The silly goose was fiddling with her napkin, her eyes still trained on the
steak, garlic beans and Lyonnaise potatoes resting on her plate.
“Almost five thousand dollars by the end of the day,” she said in a rush. “I’m
sorry, I know I should have asked and I'm not...I mean, I've never done
anything like that before. I don't take money from people. I can pay you back,”
she faltered, her eyes finally rising to look at his.
He barked a laugh. “Temptation takes a very specific sort of satisfaction in
drawing in those who think they are above such things, who think they are
immune. I often think of temptation as a lady, a clever one, far cleverer than
I.” He tilted his head to get a better look at her face. “I understand, love.
Better than you suppose.”
Her eyes brightened. “So you aren't angry?
How could he be angry at her tonight? No, she could fritter away his wealth,
his reputation and he would still love her, still treasure her. That didn't
matter though. The only thing that mattered was Lizzie's health and happiness.
She had neither.
He quashed his own temptation, a passing impulse to throw himself at her feet
and beg her to start again, where she might be his child and obey him and he
might be her father again and only love her as a father should. If he thought
he could keep to that oath, he might really have done it. But he knew himself
now, knew that in this, he had no control. He was not to be trusted.
With a dry mouth and a low voice he spoke, “I'm not angry at you, sweetheart.
You could easily have asked me and I would have given it to you though.”
There, he was doing it again, enticing her to stay with him and she wasn't even
aware he was sending her away! His mind was a murky morass of lies and tangled
thoughts. He had to be careful not to be cruel. How could he show her his love
for her tonight, on their last night together, without making tomorrow more
bitter than it had to be?
===============================================================================
 
In the end, perhaps he was cruel. He didn't have it in him to be distant with
her. It would have hurt her, to have a memory of her father on their last night
together as distant and cold. There were no words to explain why he had done
the things he had and no words to explain what he was doing now.
It would hurt her for a while, to have no understanding of why he loved her so
fiercely on their last night together and then sent her away. But it would be a
bittersweet hurt, a clean wound, not a festering poison in her veins.
“Lizzie,” he said a little hoarsely hours later as the storm raged outside,
battering against the thin, old window panes. “Will you lie still with me for a
little. Right here, just with me.”
He sat on the bed, showered and shaved, his teeth brushed and grey pajamas
donned, making no movements to indicate he wanted her to take her clothes off,
nor did he take his own off. “I feel...nostalgic tonight. Indulge me, I'd like
to tell you a story or two.”
“About my mother,” she asked eagerly, bouncing onto the bed and crooking her
legs in front of her to rip her socks off and throw them across the floor. She
turned to him with eyes brimful of hope and innocence, her own pajamas making
her look even younger than she was, clothed in a long sleeved pastel blue top
and sleep pants with little dark blue hearts dotted across them.
He had meant to spin a pretty cobweb about her future, share some of the dreams
he'd had for her since she'd been a baby, but that look on her face dried the
words in his throat. He wouldn't be selfish with her, not tonight. She thirsted
for stories of her mother, of her family before it had all been torn from her.
She could have this one thing.
“That sounds like something I can manage,” he said comfortably as she lay
stretched out facing him on the bed, propping her head up on one hand and
looking up at him adoringly. He stretched out with her, bending down to give
her a swift kiss on the nose. “Shall I tell you about your imaginary friend
when you were three?”
“Billy!” She yelped excitedly. “I remember Billy! When did I stop believing in
him? I don't even remember.”
Red shifted his body to a more comfortable spot and flung an arm across
Lizzie’s middle. “No,” he said thoughtfully, glancing at her, “I don't remember
when you stopped believing in him either. Perhaps you still did when...well
anyway, you were almost four, I think your birthday was only a few months away
and I'll be honest with you sweetheart, we didn't have a lot of money at the
time and your mother was a target for a lot of dangerous people...so we kept
you two moving through a network of safe houses. Of course that didn't give you
the opportunity to befriend any other children your own age so I remember
coming to visit one day and instead of little feet scampering to the door as
soon as the doorbell was rung, I found myself going in search of you.
Lizzie giggled. “Was I playing with Billy then?”
“You were,” he responded in mock indignation. “Kat- your mother could be
possessive of you at times and I suppose it irked her to see you so eager to be
with me on my short visits so she had quite a laugh at that. Instead of being
the center of your universe that day, I was required to sit down at your midget
sized table and take tea with you and Billy. I remember you were quite
impressed with his conversation and manners and much less so with mine. He was
rewarded with an extra slice of imaginary cake, as I recall,” finished Red, his
heart bumping in his chest at the way his daughter’s face drank in every
detail. Such an innocuous story but she lapped it up as though he were spilling
state secrets. Really, he'd been miserly with her, sharing only crumbs here and
there of her half remembered childhood. He'd told himself it was for her safety
but as he watched her face now, he wondered bitterly if perhaps he'd been too
guilty to share freely with her, if his own pain and reluctance to relive the
past had played more of a role than he had been able to admit.
“I think I remember him when I was with Sam,” Lizzie said dreamily, her eyes
unfocusing a little. “I had...terrible nightmares and Sam would come and sing
me to sleep. When he went back to his own bed he used to tell me that it was
okay because Billy was watching over me, I could go back to sleep and be safe.”
She looked away from him wistfully. “I wonder why I can't remember when I
stopped believing. He just sort of...faded away.”
Red patted her hand, seeking to hold it, rubbing his thumb over her scar. “Our
mind tends to supply us with what we need.” He smirked at a sudden though that
had popped into his head. “Although, I'm not sure what I think of Sam allowing
boys into your bedroom at that age, even if they were imaginary ones!”
Lizzie laughed wholeheartedly, rolling her face into the pillow as she giggled.
When she surfaced to look at him again, her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Billy
was a goat,” she chortled. “Get it? Billy goat?”
Such a small and silly detail and yet he lay there with her face so close to
his and felt affronted for a split second before realizing how ridiculous the
situation was. “Well,” he grumped, reaching to brush a tendril of hair back
from her face,” I'm not sure how he always got the extra piece of cake. I'm
quite certain I had better manners than a goat.”




***** Chapter 37 *****
Lizzie trailed after her father unthinkingly. He did this sometimes, not often
but sometimes when she wasn't at school and he didn't want to leave her at home
he would take her out places and wouldn't tell her where they were going or
what they were doing. Sometimes he'd meet with someone to exchange a few words
or receive a package, sometimes he just sat on a bench and read the newspaper
until it seemed like he found something in the paper he'd been searching for.
He'd nod to himself decisively and stand up, leaving at a purposeful pace with
her scrambling to follow him.
He turned to her now, a strained expression on his face. “Wait here,” he said.
“Okay,” she agreed trustingly, turning to sit on a bench near the fountain in
the middle of the plaza.
She wondered why he looked so stressed. Was he going to meet someone dangerous
today? He wouldn't have brought her along if he was, surely?
Her mind wandered, scanning the crowd disinterestedly. Maybe he'd come shopping
with her at the mall in the next town over after he was finished. He usually
avoided malls, his opinion of mass produced cheap crap was fairly low. He
didn't get that sometimes it was fun to window shop.
Ten minutes passed quickly. Where was he? He was never more than ten minutes
when he left her to her own devices.
It was then that Artie approached her.
“Elizabeth, you need to come with me,” he said expressionlessly, his body
looming in an unusually stiff way.
“Why? Where's my dad?” A stab of cold fear lanced through her. What was
happening? He never had his security collect her on one of these outings.
“Mr Reddington has instructed me to escort you home. Come with me now please,”
he said, gripping her upper arm firmly.
She jerked her arm away from him. “Did he go home? Where is he? Why hasn't he
come back for me?” She bit out, her voice going all squeaky in panic.
“I’ll tell you more in the car,” he offered. “But you need to come with me.”
She looked around her. All these people and not one of them was the face she
wanted to see. Her eyes rested again on Artie. He was her dad’s head of
security, often her personal bodyguard. She could trust him. Her dad had said
so many times.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “But in the car, you'd better tell me what's
going on!”
She trotted after him as they took an escalator to an underground car park. A
dark grey sedan awaited them, the engine purring to life as soon as they got
within five paces. The driver had been on the lookout for them.
She ducked her head as she clambered into the back of the car. Artie got in
from the other side.
“So where's my dad?” She asked belligerently.
“Wait,” was all he said as the car pulled out and left the underground car
park.
It was only when they turned onto the highway that he looked at her again.
“I've been instructed to escort you home. You won't be seeing Mr Reddington
again,” he said, his voice not so expressionless now. There was a hint
of...pity in his eyes.
“So you're kidnapping me,” she said calmly. This was okay, her dad had told her
what to do in cases like this. She had to stay steady and take note of
everything around her. It concerned her a little that it was his most trusted
man doing this but he'd come for her, he'd find her.
He shook his head sorrowfully. “No, my instructions are from Mr Reddington.
You're to return in the jet to Nebraska,” he went on mercilessly.
“I'm...sorry,” he said, as though his pity would make it easier to bear, would
explain why her dad was doing this.
“I don't understand,” she said numbly. “Is he in some sort of danger? Am I? Is
he trying to protect me? Because I'm safest with him, I know I am,” she
insisted heatedly.
Artie hesitated at her questioning, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes looked
sad. He put his hand on her shoulder.
No, she wasn't having that. “Don't touch me!” She spat, drawing away from him.
“Tell me what's going on!”
“Elizabeth, I'm sorry, this is all I've been told. You're to return to
Nebraska, and Mr Reddington will be out of contact for a few days. I haven't
been briefed on where he's going. I haven't been told why either.” He stopped
now, his lips pressed thinly together. “I believe this is for good though. I
don't think he's coming back. I know he's made arrangements to cancel your
enrollment at school.”
She sat back on the seat, feeling an awful lot like she was dying. This
couldn't be happening. He had to want her. He was her dad. How could breathing
be so painful all of a sudden?
No. This was a lie. She was being kidnapped and he was lying to her to ensure
her compliance. She leaned further away from the bodyguard, her heart beating
wildly in her chest and her lungs begging her for air.
She had to take steady breaths. She had to calm down if she was going to
escape.
She sat frozen for the entire car ride, her back ramrod straight. Waiting for
an opportunity.
It came while they were almost at the small airport. They'd taken her all the
way out to a rural airstrip. Only a village was nearby, but she spoke basic
German and French now. Enough to get help if she could only make it to a house.
As the car slowed and passed through the security gates, before it had even
stopped, she leaped for the door, tumbling to the ground. She righted herself,
stumbling away, ignoring her grazed knees, adrenaline pouring into her, pumping
through her. She had to get away, find help. If she could just get to a phone,
call her dad’s cell, he’d come for her, with all the weight of his syndicate
and reputation behind him.
She ran and ran, her legs carrying her faster than she'd ever gone. She was far
fleeter of foot than the muscular bodyguard. He might be strong but she was
fast.
And she would have made it, except for the gate. Her eyes were so blurred with
fear, she'd run almost directionless, her brain just telling her that she had
to get away, far and fast. The gate loomed up in her vision. She had a few
seconds of indecisive panic before she decided to scale the wire fence. It was
the only way.
But those few seconds cost her. Artie caught up to her, pulling at her foot.
She was so close but he was so strong. He tugged at her leg with an almighty
wrench of his muscled arms and she toppled off the fence, falling hard to the
ground, all air leaving her lungs.
She wept, she couldn't help it. She'd been so close and he was going to kill
her or hide her away somewhere and her dad might not find her in time.
He sat on her, forcing her arms behind her back. “I'm sorry,” he gasped out.
“I'm so sorry, blossom, but I have my orders.”
“You're going to kill me,” she wailed. “My dad will kill you if you do, he'll
find you.”
“Elizabeth,” he shouted at her. “Sit still, I'm going to call him now.”
She stopped struggling, a different kind of shock working its way through her.
He wasn't serious, he couldn't be telling the truth.
Her dad loved her.
Artie held her down still with one powerful arm and fished his cell phone out
of his pocket with the other hand, dialing a number.
“Mr Reddington,” he said, still breathless.
“Is there a problem?” She heard the terse words, they were her dad's words,
hitting her in the gut, freezing the thoughts still running through her head.
Artie had turned speakerphone on.
“A small one sir. She ran at the airport, I've had to subdue her. She's a
little dinged up.”
“A little dinged up?” He repeated, his voice deepening in displeasure. “If
she's hurt, you'll be answering to me, Artie. Tell me she's not hurt.”
“Dad!” She shrieked. “Help me! What's happening?”
“Christ,” he cursed, “call me when she's delivered Artie. That little stunt has
cost you.”
The line went dead.
She didn't really see anything around her as he hauled her up off of the hard
ground. She was crying too hard to see. Her body felt like it couldn't contain
the grief. She felt hollowed out, empty and so full of fear and loneliness at
the same time.
What had she done? Why was this happening?
He'd told her that he loved her. He'd planned a life for them.
He led her, stumbling, unresistant, onto the plane. He seated her on a chair.
She barely noticed.
The fugue lasted for hours. An attendant with a trolley of food came out but
she shook her head mutely as she was offered plate after plate. Artie silently
removed a slice of key lime pie and placed it in front of her. She turned her
head away.
“You should eat,” said Artie, concern again etched across his face.
“I'm not hungry,” she said dully, wrapping her arms around herself. It felt
like she'd never be hungry again, never feel anything but this heavy stone in
her stomach and throat again.
He cleared his throat. “Your...adoptive father is still in Europe, so we’re
taking you to your grandmother’s house. Your belongings are in the hold.”
Her head snapped up at that. “Still in Europe?” She repeated blankly. “What do
you mean?”
He spread his hands out. “That's all I've been told. He's in Europe but your
grandmother will be home to receive you.”
“I'm not a package.”
“I know you're not,” he sighed sadly.
She let the silence stretch for a bit. She might not have any feelings left in
her but she was fair minded. “I hope I haven't cost you your job,” she said in
a croaky voice.
He snorted at that. “Nah, as long as you're safe, the worst he’ll do is dock my
pay.”
She winced. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” he said grimly. “I'm sorry...Lizzie...can I call you Lizzie?”
“Sure” she said. What did it matter. What did anything matter really.
“Well, Lizzie, it was worth it. I hope…” he flicked a guilty look at her, “I
hope your folks in Nebraska treat you better than this. This was shabby,” he
said indignantly.
Her eyes welled up again. “It's not shabby,” she choked out. “Don't talk about
my dad that way. It's me. I must have done something really bad.”
And it felt like she’d only just been told all over again, the painful burning
in her chest, the leaden weight in her stomach, the grief a solid thing clawing
it's way up her throat and windpipe.
What did she do?
***** Chapter 38 *****
Artie walked Lizzie to the door. He didn't need to steer her, to grip her arm.
She followed him woodenly just as she had off the plane and into the waiting
car, her eyes dry, her brain a mess of white noise. It was all she could do to
remember to put one foot in front of the other.
Her grandmother's house was an old, red brick building, with a lovely front
garden, filled with apricot trees and flowering shrubs. Her assortment of herbs
and vegetables grew down the side of the house. Lizzie had loved helping weed
that garden when she'd come to spend vacations with her. She still had a pair
of heavy, canvas gardening gloves in the back shed. Unused now and probably too
small.
But she had treasured those summer vacations.
Artie knocked on the door and her grandmother opened it as if she'd been
waiting for the knock. Her soft, wrinkled face crumpled a little. She ignored
the large, suited man standing on her doorstep, her eyes seeking out her
granddaughter.
She stretched her arms out, “Lizzie, honey,” she cried thankfully, taking a
step forward, brushing past Artie and folding Lizzie into her arms.
“Grandma,” she choked, her voice clotted with the tears that had been waiting
for this moment. It didn't feel like she could have stepped into her
grandmother's arms first and she was so glad, so thankful that she had made the
first move. “Grandma, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she gasped, burying her face into
her bosom.
If she could have seen, she probably wouldn't have understood the furious look
her grandmother gave Artie from above her head. “Go,” her grandmother said, her
voice curt, a hangover from her schoolteacher days.
He went. He turned and fled just as the children in her classroom had when she
used that voice.
She rocked Lizzie gently on the front step, murmuring a prayer of thanks into
her hair.
But if she knew, if Sam had told her what she'd said to him...how she'd run
away from him...and then if she knew that her own dad didn't want her...would
she hold her as she was now? Would Sam let her come home? Was she at her
grandma’s now because he didn't want to see her? Why was he over in Europe? Was
he enjoying being relieved of his burden? She wouldn't blame him really.
“Grandma,” her voice wobbled. “Will dad let me...come home?”
Her grandmother's startling response was an awful, low, pained sound, like the
cry of a wounded animal. She held Lizzie to her even tighter, keening over her.
“Your dad has been looking for you honey. He sold the apartment and went
looking for you.”
Lizzie stepped back, her eyes wide. “That's why he's in Europe? He's been
trying to find me? For how long?”
The stooped, grey haired older woman sniffed, reaching for her front pocket and
pulling out a starched, white handkerchief with yellow daffodils embroidered in
the corners. She dabbed her eyes with it.  “Almost the whole time. Your aunty
and I looked after the arrangements for the apartment and he flew over there.
He's been trying to hire a private investigator, someone who speaks Italian.”
“But we haven't been in Italy for ages!”
Her poor grandma drooped. “We know that now. He's on his way home, Lizzie. He
wanted to talk to you on the phone but that would have delayed his flight so he
didn't stop.”
Lizzie blinked back her tears furiously. “So he wants me back? I just...I don't
think I have anywhere else to go.”
“Oh...my...my Lizzie.” She took a step back, her arms still curled protectively
around her granddaughter. “Come into the house,” she said quietly, her voice
trembling.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Her grandma had assured her that she was wanted, that her dad had been
searching everywhere for her.
“Everywhere he went in the south of Italy,” her grandmother spat bitterly, “he
was stymied by connections ofthat man. No matter who who spoke to, he was told
no one would dare take the job of trying to find you. The name of Raymond
Reddington being talisman enough to send them fleeing like a pack of scared
dogs, tails between their legs.” Grandma took a shuddering breath, trying to
still her trembling fingers by clasping them together. “I blame myself. There
was a time I treated Raymond like a son in this house. He had the run of it
when his family moved here. I had no idea honey...just no idea.”
Lizzie shook her head mutely, unable to tell her grandmother that it wasn't
Raymond's fault. She must have done something. But she listened and slowly she
learned of her father's search, how he'd even met some of the people down in
the village where Rosa and Simon lived. But they’d all known better than to
give away Reddington’s private information. None of it felt quite real. Lizzie
sat at the kitchen table, at the same old, vinyl, green upholstered chair that
she'd sat on each summer until her feet finally reached the ground and she
hadn't come to visit her grandma as often, instead wanting to hang out with
newly made friends.
She looked around the kitchen drearily. Grandma was putting the kettle on. Her
back was turned to her, as she hovered over the stove.
The house was small but snug, it had been her favourite place to be when they
used to move around a lot. A refuge, peaceful and always the same. Nothing ever
changed in this house. The furniture had been her grandma’s when she'd come to
this house with her young family. She had a TV in the kitchen that was still
black and white. She'd successfully resisted aunt June’s efforts to get her to
modernise.
Grandma turned around to pop tea bags into two delicate China cups sitting on
the counter top.
She smiled a small reluctant smile. “Grandma, I don't drink tea.”
“Her grandma looked up, blinking at her. “Today, I think is a day for
exceptions. Don't worry, dear, I'll pop enough sugar into it that you'll think
it's a soda.”
Rolling her eyes would be rude, so she kept the smile on her face, watching as
her grandma poured the tea and stirred in the sugar. She accepted the cup with
whispered thanks, awkwardly watching as her grandma took a seat across from
her.
There was a hint of steel around the old woman's mouth and eyes. It was always
there but particularly noticeable today. “Lizzie, your father...Sam...he never
told me the details of your adoption until...until he told us that
Raymond...his friend Raymond, was...is your natural father. I didn't know dear,
until he took you away. He told me about the money. And I'll admit, I was
inclined to advise him to use it to assist in his search for you but he
refused. He said he'd only use it if things became desperate.” She stopped
there, bringing her handkerchief to her eyes once more.
Lizzie’s mouth trembled, her eyes blurred again with tears. It was terrible to
see her grandma so upset. She was the only grandchild. Aunt June hadn't had
children. She'd never married, never wanted a child, she'd been perfectly happy
to be an aunt and she did enough mothering anyway for all of them put together.
The only grandchild and she'd caused this much distress. It was all her fault,
she realised that now. She laced her fingers together, bowing her head over her
cup of tea, unable to look her grandmother in the eyes.
Her grandma reached out a hand to cover her own tightly clasped ones. “Lizzie,
your father loves you,” she said sadly. “I don't know what that man said to you
but I'm sure it was a pack of lies.”
At that, another waves of tears engulfed her.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“Do you still play Bridge on Saturdays,” asked Lizzie timidly from her quiet
position on her grandma’s comfortable floral couch the morning after her
arrival.
She'd spent an uneasy night in the room that her grandma always set aside just
for her. The small one at the back of the house that grandma would also use as
a sewing room. The single bed was positioned against the far wall and as she
tried to sleep that night she'd watched the shadows on the walls, dully
imagining the sewing machine in the corner as a monster that would tear her to
shreds if she closed her eyes.
She'd almost welcomed the idea. Perhaps if something could physically attack
her, run a needle down her face and arms, her pain would be visible. As it was,
she hadn't wanted to wake up in the morning to a pain like that, so sharp and
intense it made her nauseous.
“I cancelled Bridge this week, honey. I didn't think...I thought...well, you
need a bit of quiet time. And your father should be arriving today. You don't
need a gaggle of old ladies hooting about in the house.
Lizzie smiled wanly at the image, watching her grandma fuss around the room,
pretending to clear away and straighten things that didn't need straightening.
She had her legs tucked under her and a cushion held tightly to her chest. Her
dad was supposed to arrive soon and she was both desperate to see him and
terrified almost to the point of tears of what he might say. What should she
say to him?
Just at that moment, the doorbell rang and her heart seized painfully before
she remembered that her dad had a key to his mother’s house and would be
unlikely to bother ringing the doorbell today of all days. She watched her
grandmother leave the room and head to the front door, frozen in place, tensely
waiting to see if it was someone connected to Sam or Raymond. It could be a
friend of her grandma’s for all she knew. It could be a salesman or anyone.
“Lizzie,” called her grandma from the hall.
That galvanized her. Untucking her legs, she scrambled from her place of
comfort and ducked swiftly through the kitchen and into the hall. At the door
stood her very confused looking grandma and a man with a grey baseball cap on,
holding a small purple pet carrier that wobbled occasionally as if the animal
inside was pacing frantically. Lizzie heard a familiar yowl and tears thickened
her throat.
She leapt towards the man, intending to grasp at Lola’s cage but she was headed
off grimly by her grandma. The old lady had thrust both arms out, pushing
Lizzie back and at the same time pushing the man a step backward onto her front
porch.
“This man says he's delivering your cat. Is it yours Lizzie?”
“Yes! Please grandma, don't send him away. It's Lola, she's mine. I've had her
since she was a kitten. She loves me. Please let me have her,” begged Lizzie
breathlessly.
Her grandma nodded grimly. “That's fine then,” she said, turning back to the
man in the grey cap. “You may put the carrier down and leave. There is no need
for you to come in.”
Judging by the man's quiet acceptance of her grandmother's instructions, this
wasn't just a courier, this was one of her dad’s people. He seemed to expect
this reception.
“Please tell me,” said Lizzie, words tumbling from her mouth as she took a step
forward, “is my da-” she gave her grandma a quick look. “Is Raymond okay? I
don't know what happened. Will he call me? Please tell him to call me.”
“I'm sorry,” said the man uncomfortably as he placed the carrier on the
landing, “I don't have any further instructions.”
He turned to go and Lizzie would have leapt after him, grabbed at his arm,
begged for something, anything from her dad, even if he could deliver a
message, just something he could take back to wherever her dad was. She'd be
waiting, any time of the day or night, he could call her and she'd be ready.
But her grandmother was too quick, catching her around her middle and pulling
her gently inside, swiping up the cat carrier as she closed the door on the
retreating back of the last connection she had left with her dad.
Staring down at the carrier for a moment, she felt nothing but loss. Then, an
aching stab of love broke through. Her Lola was here. Shamefully, she knelt to
open the door of the carrier. She hadn't even thought of Lola since she'd been
bundled onto the plane. She made up for it now as her beautiful sleek grey cat
leapt into her arms, giving her a gentle bite on the ear and yowling at her as
if to punish her for her brief abandonment.
“My, that's a fine looking cat,” said her grandma in admiration. “Lola, did you
say? I can see she's certainly attached to you. Why don't we get her settled
and I'll call the neighbours young boy and see if he wouldn't mind going to the
store for us to pick up some cat food.”
Lizzie smiled as she caressed her cat, burying her face into the soft grey fur.
It was funny how her grandma persisted in calling her neighbours son a boy.
He'd be perhaps 19 by now. She was glad to know that he still helped her
grandma though. The family next door had always been very friendly with her
grandma. It was one of the reasons her dad felt okay about moving them around
so often instead of living nearby like aunt June did.
I'll take her to the sewing room and get her settled in,” said Lizzie quietly.
She's an outside cat some of the time but it's so far from...from…”
“Yes, I understand dear,” said grandma briskly. “We'll need to get a litter
tray, some litter, plenty of food and a few bowls. My, it's been awhile since
I've had a cat in the house. I'll have to tell you about a ginger tom I had
when I was a girl,” she said, trailing off as she left the room to telephone
the neighbours.
Lizzie clutched her cat to herself, desperately hoping this was a sign that her
dad was coming back for her. Maybe he wanted to reunite the whole family? Maybe
he just wanted Sam and grandma and June to be a part of her life again and he'd
come and live in Nebraska.
It could happen, she told herself feverishly, her thoughts only derailed as
Lola squirmed out of her grip.
She hadn't realized she'd been clutching at her pet too hard.
***** Chapter 39 *****
Sam marched through the front gate of his mother’s house, heart hammering in
his chest. He was incredibly weary, not tired, the adrenaline he felt wouldn't
allow for that. But he was weary, he felt the most fragile he'd ever felt in
his life before.
He'd gotten a brief call from Raymond at the cheap hotel he'd been staying at
in Naples days ago. He'd only said he was returning Elizabeth home. They tried
it and it hadn't worked out. He thought she would be best with Sam. He'd said
he would send her to his mother’s house.
Fury ballooned in his chest as he thought of how Raymond hadn't let him get a
word in edgewise. He'd just hung up.
And the fact that he'd called his hotel could only mean he'd been perfectly
aware of his every move in trying to get Lizzie back.
Prick.
He pulled his house keys out of his pocket, opening the front door quietly. He
felt nausea and chest pain. He wondered briefly if he was having a heart
attack. But he couldn't be, he couldn't allow it at a time like this. He had to
see his daughter.
“Mom?” He called out, poking his head into the kitchen. His mother was bent
over the oven, withdrawing a batch of her chocolate chip cookies.
Her face broke out into a relieved smile at his appearance. She set the cookies
down on a cooling rack. “Sam,” she said, reaching for him, oven mitts and all.
She folded him into a fierce hug. “She's in the attic, sorting out some old
photos albums for me. I thought it might help.”
He gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, dropping his duffel bag on the
kitchen table and hastening out of the kitchen. But his mom called him back.
“Sam,” she said urgently.
He turned back, impatient to see Lizzie again.
She hesitated. “Something's...wrong. I mean, something awful has happened...I
believe. He's a criminal now isn't he? Could he have exposed her to violence?
Dangerous situations? I haven't asked her, Sammy, but I'm worried for her. Just
don't...overwhelm her. She blames herself for being sent home. But she isn't
upset to be back or causing a fuss. She mostly just...sits and stares at
nothing. He sent a cat to her, apparently it was hers over there. She's  been
petting it most of the day but that's about all the life I can get out of her.”
His stomach clenched. What had Raymond done?
He nodded at his mother and turned to bound up the stairs, two at a time. He
reached the attic in no time, crawling into the space where his mother stored
all their old photo albums and his and June’s childhood toys.
“Lizzie,” was all he could say, his voice breaking over her name.
She had her back to him, crouched down on the floor, poring over an album of a
few Christmases ago. She'd been ten and Santa had brought her a pink bicycle.
She looked up, startled, so engrossed in her own memories that she hadn't heard
him come up.
She rose on trembling knees, “daddy,” she said shakily. Fear and shame and
pained pleading strained her small voice, “please don't be angry at me.”
He made an involuntary noise, striding across the room to pick her up in a bear
hug. “Butterball, I'm so relieved, so, so relieved you're home. I'm not angry
Lizzie. I'm so sorry I let you go. I should have said no, I should have trusted
my instincts. I'm so sorry kiddo, can you forgive me?”
He never cried, not when his father died when he was a teenager, not when the
love of his life broke up with him the week he'd intended to propose, not when
he'd been searching for her all these long months. But he cried now, silent
tears running down his face as he bought his hands to her face, almost
reassuring himself that she was real, not some phantom that could evaporate at
any moment.
And she was real, painfully so. She looked terrible, and older than her years
with her sharp new haircut, all modern, jagged edges, so different from her
natural, wavy style. She hadn't lost any pounds but her face was pinched
somehow and her frame hunched inwards, as though she carried a great weight
across her shoulders. Her eyes were big and haunted, deep set in her face. The
purple smudges under them were an indication of how little she'd been sleeping.
He searched her face carefully for signs of violence. What could have caused
this change in her? Why had Ray gone to so much trouble to take her away and
then cast her aside like trash? He hadn't explained. As deeply grateful as he
was that his daughter was safe at home, he was furious at the idea that she had
grown attached to Ray and he'd rejected her.
Her jerked his head sideways. “Come on, your grandma just made cookies. Let's
go downstairs.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“Butterball, up you get. You've got school, kiddo.”
Lizzie blinked tiredly, staring at the clock radio on her nightstand. Her
grandmother had retrieved her sewing things and turned the room into a small
bedroom for her. Sam slept in the guest room and had enrolled her in the local
high school. He was doing odd jobs around the house for grandma and had been
working some casual hours at a local canning factory. It wasn't his usual thing
but he had said he needed to keep his hands busy and he wasn't comfortable
slipping into petty theft in the small town his mother lived in.
Lizzie rolled over in bed, a heavy and dull acceptance in her bones. It wasn't
that she didn't want to go to school. She just didn't care. It had been a few
weeks now and she'd called Artie's cell every day. Most days he didn't answer
but once or twice he'd picked up and she'd had an awkward conversation. It went
the same way each time. Pleading and desperate on her side and stiff and
sorrowful on his. He never budged though, never passed the phone to her dad.
Lizzie's stomach cramped, thinking of her father and how much he had loved her.
He had promised he'd never leave her again, he would watch her do the smallest
thing like she was an angel in his sights and she couldn't believe that was all
gone. No one lost that amount of love so quickly, did they?
Silently, she sat up in bed, throwing the covers off and planting her feet onto
the rug. If she stayed in bed and didn't move, her grandma would try and make
her go to the psychologist like she had last week.
It had been awful. The waiting room had been small and twee, white picture
frames and white couches with a frilly white tissue box cover centered on the
glossy white coffee table, where a few scientific magazines lay fanned out. A
fish tank had sat in the corner on a heavy wooden frame. Lizzie had idly
watched the occasional tropical fish move around in the watery ferns. The
therapist had been nice enough but she didn't want to talk and the probing
questions had enraged her. How dare they ask her if she felt suicidal! How dare
they ask her if she wanted to talk about being kidnapped! She hadn't been
kidnapped at all and it was none of anyone's business how she felt. And her dad
had a brief and urgent talk with her about some of the things she couldn't
mention to the therapist for safety reasons. There really had been nothing to
talk about so she'd sat there sullenly, answering with monosyllabic grunts. The
idea of going back there left her feeling queasy and if all she had to do to
avoid it was go to school and pretend to make new friends, well she could do
that.
It felt like limbo. A perpetual state of waiting in a grey and dreary
landscape. She smiled when others smiled, answered mundane questions with words
that she knew they wanted to hear and sat with some kids at school so she could
say she'd made some friends.
Her clothes had been sent with her from Switzerland. Her grandma had sorted
through them with a keen eye but hadn't found anything to complain about. So
she wore designer clothes to school and found that it attracted a small amount
of jealous criticism and jeering from other students but there were a few girls
who were shallow enough to hang on to the new girl with the Burberry tote bag
and the Armani skirts and blouses.
It wasn't that hard with those girls. They saw the clothes, not her. It was
easy to talk about shopping and makeup and nails instead of all the things that
were waiting to burst out of her like how it felt in her father's arms, how
much she missed his deep voice and his comforting smell.
Lizzie ate her breakfast mechanically. Toast with her grandma’s homemade
strawberry jam. Lola sat in the corner of the kitchen, greedily wolfing down
her own breakfast.
Her grandma was already halfway through her own breakfast at the table,
placidly drinking her tea and eating her plain buttered toast. She pursed her
lips. “How would you like to help me weed the flower gardens after school?”
Lizzie swallowed. “Okay, sure,” she said, smiling briefly.
“I've bought you some new gardening gloves. Your father did the vegetable patch
for me last weekend but the flower bed at the back fence needs some neatening
up.”
Life was reassuringly boring again. No thrills or glitter. Part of her was
grateful for the quiet and the sameness of life but there was another part that
wouldn't stop aching, wouldn't let her give up trying to get Raymond to
acknowledge her.
She could fix it if only he'd tell her what she'd done.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Sam took the steps two by two, carefully avoiding the creaking step third from
the top. He had his suspicions about who she'd been calling in her bedroom. She
had been taking the hall telephone into her bedroom every night, telling him
that she'd made some friends from her new school and wanted to chat.
He had a niggling feeling this wasn't the case.
He hesitantly approached her bedroom door. She'd left it open just a crack to
allow for the telephone cord. It didn't reach all the way to her bed so he
could hear her, she must be seated on the floor just behind her door.
“Artie, please, please just let me talk to him,” she cried, the misery in her
voice stabbing him in the chest.
“I just want to know what I did, tell him I love him. Tell him I'm sorry,
whatever it is, I can fix it. Please Artie.”
She was silent for a while. He leaned against the wall, his whole frame sagging
a little against his mother's floral wallpaper. What had happened? Ray had kept
her so long, had destroyed their trust and friendship and all for what? What
had been done? He needed to know. His kid wasn't right and he was going to get
to the bottom of it.
“Tell him,” she began again hoarsely, “tell him I didn't tell anyone about us.
Tell him I would never. No! Artie, please just let me talk to him! Don't hang
up!”
The click of the handset falling into its cradle.
And a muffled wail.
His heart twisted, feeling as though it were leaping up out of his throat.
Us?
What the hell did that mean?
He straightened up and squared his shoulders. Enough was enough.
“Lizzie,” he called in the strongest voice he could manage.
He heard her gasp as he strode forward, pushing her door open.
She was lying curled up on the carpet around the telephone, her face red and
blotchy with tears, clutching an amber bracelet in her fist.
“Butterball, we need to have a talk,” he said kindly but firmly.
***** Chapter 40 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Raymond Reddington entered his suite cautiously. He was in Mexico City for an
arms deal and had found Artie incapacitated moments earlier. He'd discovered
him unconscious in one of the service elevators.
Whoever was in his suite now had done this. After sending his daughter away, he
hadn't felt the need for excessive security, often taking only Artie with him
on business. But Artie was one of the best, so either he had an ambush waiting
for him or there was someone here that was better than Artie. Interestingly
they'd deliberately left his bodyguard unconscious but alive. The worst he'd
have is a headache. So whoever was here just wanted to talk to him. At least
for the time being.
His mind raced through a catalog of his enemies, attempting to place who was
likely to do this. He turned on the light for the living room, doing an
efficient sweep of the room. Nothing there.
He crept into the main bedroom and turned on the light. Nothing.
There was only one more bedroom.
He stealthy slithered his way in, turning the light on, his revolver at the
ready.
A sight he did not expect met his eyes.
Sam was sitting in an arm chair in the corner, a small handgun resting on his
knee. He was holding an amber bracelet in his hands, working his fingers
through the bracelet as if it were a strand of rosary beads.
He looked up slowly. “Raymond. I've been wondering. Did you come for her in her
own bed or did you take her into yours?” He leaned back in his seat, a granite
look on his face.
Raymond wondered if he was going to make it out of this room alive.
He wondered if he truly wanted to.
“It's a smaller room, this one,” Sam continued, looking around him. “Small
enough to be a nursery. A child's room. Did that suit you? Was it all set up
precisely the way you wanted it?”
“Are you here to make me pay, Sam?” He asked lightly. “Are you her avenging
angel?”
“I'm her father,” he shot back sharply. “And what are you, Ray? The angel of
the morning? Lucifer in disguise?”
Raymond blanched at the comparison. He knew he was a monster, the devil. If Sam
were to kill him now, it would only be what he deserved. For the first time in
perhaps forever, he felt like a mouse before a snake. He couldn't move, the
words that bubbled to his lips sealed off before they could do further damage.
His lips pressed tightly together and he stood, hands by his sides, like a
penitent waiting for a lord’s judgement.
Sam gazed at him fixedly. He snorted suddenly, shaking his head. “Raymond, when
I was looking for her all those months, holed up in shitty bedsits, I had a lot
of time to think. To think about going on, if I should, you know? Every PI I
spoke to seemed to know your name and no amount of money could convince them to
take the case. It'd be sitting there, bills stuffed in an envelope between us
on the table and every time, Raymond, every time they'd look at it longingly. I
sold everything I had to afford this, so it wasn't as though I couldn't afford
to be generous. But not once did anyone reach across the table to take that
money.” Sam's eyes still hadn't left his friend’s face, but a film of moisture
had started to appear in them as he gripped the amber bracelet, still pulling
it through his fingers, bead by bead.
Red cleared his throat. “I'd arranged-”
“Yeah, I know you'd got to them. All of them. It's funny, they all said the
same thing. They'd say to me, why? Why are you doing this? Isn't she his
natural daughter? Best let sleeping dogs lie.” Sam sat back in the armchair
further and sucked in a breath as though he were dealing all over again with
the pain and misery of that time. “But something kept me going. Dozens of times
I thought to myself, no, Raymond loves her. He doesn't give a shit about me
anymore, doesn't care that I parented that little girl and have some stake in
her wellbeing, but he loves her. I almost went home a few times you know? But
then I remembered every one of those PI’s. Their faces so full of fear at your
name. You don't see people anymore do you? You just see pieces on a chessboard.
That shouldn't include your own daughter but I had a feeling it might so I
stuck it out.”
“I wasn't ready...for a teenager. I should have come earlier. I should have…”
He trailed off, looking away briefly, just enough time to pull himself together
and then looked back at Sam, whose face hadn't lost its stony grimness. His
eyes were glittering like burning rocks.
Sam’s voice though, it cracked and splintered as he spoke, shearing as sharp as
spears through Raymond's chest.
“She can't say all the things that she'll want to say over the years. She can't
speak of your betrayal yet, but she will. She's going to understand that she
did nothing wrong, nothing, do you hear me?” He said, sitting forward again,
rage twisting his features so that he no longer seemed as hard as stone, now he
seemed more like a man being broken on a rack.
Red watched Sam carefully, his old friend’s hands were still tangled in the
bracelet and his knees were pressed so hard together they were trembling. The
man was strung as tight as he could go and Red was on alert in case he snapped,
although if he did, what he should respond with was beyond him at that moment.
Perhaps he should let him make an end of it.
There was no moisture left in Red’s mouth. He swallowed anyway, the sides of
his throat sticking together painfully. “I hear you.”
Sam stood up. He was a tall man. He pulled himself to his full height. “I came
here to give you one message Raymond”
He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment as if in some silent struggle. “If it
were up to me, I would have shot you the moment you stepped into this room.
It's my job to sweep away the monsters under the bed because I'm her father.
But God help me, she still loves you. She begged me not to hurt you. So I've
come here with a warning. Lizzie is going to rebuild her life with the help of
her family and those who love her. If you ever step one toe into her life
again...I mean this with everything I am so listen to me Raymond...if you
ever...for any reason step a toe into her life again...know that I will kill
you.”
Raymond nodded. It was only to be expected.
He watched as his former friend walked out of the room and out of his life,
leaving him with his own life intact. He looked over again to the chair Sam had
been sitting in. He startled, taking a step toward the chair reflexively.
Sam had left the amber bracelet behind.
Chapter End Notes
     I did not expect the amount of love and support that I received while
     writing this fic. I was amazed and humbled. This fic is a self
     healing/self exploration for me and at times I wasn't sure if I
     should continue. I'm glad I did.
     There have been extraordinarily insightful reviews left here and I
     thank you for that. I can see that there are readers out there who
     have been similarly abused and have hinted at how this fic has helped
     them too. I didn’t realise when I started this that others might
     benefit too. If this fic has helped anyone else, I'm so glad.
     I particularly owe a great debt to NeedTheDark who held my hand the
     whole way through this, who has been endlessly supportive, honest and
     gentle in her feedback and just an amazing friend. I couldn’t have
     finished this without you. Much love.
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