I fluff my hair before reaching forward for the powder brush and bronzer in an attempt at giving my face some modicum of colour.  I'm so bloody pale. I'm always so pale. There's some colour in it from my three weeks in France, the freckles across my nose a shade darker and more evident than usual, but the often spoke of 'glow' from the pregnancy still hasn't arrived.

I look tired too. Worry and uncertainty is thick in the whites of my eyes, and heavy and dark under them. On the upside; it was a vast improvement on how I looked a few weeks ago. 

Jake reappears from the bathroom behind me and crosses to where I'm sitting at my dressing table. He looks good; healthy and tanned with his head up and his shoulders pulled back in their normal confident pose.  No stress perched on his shoulders that I can see. Not about our lives, or about the more immediate threat: My Parents.  But then he could be merely hiding it better than I am. He always has been able to hide things better than I can.

He's dressed casually in dark navy chinos and a bright white shirt, the sleeves rolled up and his dark sunglasses tucked into the pocket. 

When he arrived about half an hour ago, I was getting out of the shower.  I'd squealed slightly in shock before practically throwing myself at him.  He lifted me up in a warm, masculine scented hug and kissed me hard, not seeming to mind that I was soaking his crisp, neatly ironed shirt. After checking over his face and body, like I did now whenever he got home from doing Dan related activity, he stepped back from me and ran a hand through his neatly styled hair.

Then he asked how he looked. 

"Very handsome, the Scottish air clearly agrees with you." I smiled. He always looks better after I haven't seen him for a while though. It was as though my mind was incapable of remembering something quite as perfect.

He smiled. "Should I have shaved?" He asked then.

"Do you want to shave?"

"Not particularly, but I will if you want me to. If you think I should." He said, running a hand over the thick brown hair that covered the lower, half of his face.

"You know I like the beard, it suits you. It's sexy." I shrugged.

"Yeah but does it look lazy? Like I haven't even bothered?"

I glanced round at him from my spot at the wardrobe. "No, it doesn't.  Beards are very much in style right now; they're not an advert for laziness." I told him.

"Do your mum and dad know that?"

I find the loose white shirt dress I'd been looking for and take it off the hanger and lay it on the bed. It sat loose around the lower half of my body and wide around my hips and tummy - something I was going to have to look for in my clothes from now on, at least until I tell him.  Then I moved back across the room towards him. Wrapping my arms around him and pressing my mouth to his, I kissed him.  He moaned softly as he pulled me tight against the growing hardness between his legs. "They're going to love you." I whispered against his mouth. "Like I love you. Beard or no beard."

"Well I've got fuck all to worry about then," He smiled, the tension lifting slowly off his face. "And if they don't I'll just turn up at their house in the middle of the night and make them like me. Worked with their daughter." He smirked.
I laughed. "Oh, is that what you think happened?"

He nodded. "That's exactly what happened. You couldn't fucking resist me." He licked his lips before biting the bottom one seductively.
I sighed. "You were pretty irresistible. Still are," I kiss him again, before extracting myself from his arms. "You know something, I never told you this, but I always wanted you to turn up at the surgery one night and fuck me there..." I said, dropping the towel.
Keeping my eyes on his, I pulled the soft white cotton of my knickers up my legs and over my hips. His eyes blazed before growing a little heavy as he drank in the sight of me. Jake was going to notice soon. He stared at me so hard when I was naked – that it was only a matter of time. Though perhaps he'd think I was merely gaining weight and would be far too considerate to mention something like that. As far as I could tell there was nothing for him to see yet. But still, I angled my body away from his gaze ever so slightly.

"You've no fucking idea how many times I almost fucking did that too," He groaned, frustrated. "Drove past twice to see if I could see you."

My heart flipped over. "Seriously?"

He nodded.

"Well, there's still time. You know where I work." I smiled. Though really, I shouldn't joke about that because Jake is likely to take it as an invitation. He didn't care where he fucked me, and for the most part neither did I. My office couldn't happen though. I was a bloody partner.  It sent a shiver through me to imagine it though.  My office door locked hastily behind him before he pushed me back against the wall and had his way with me. I could entertain that thought for hours quite happily. 

As he comes up behind me now, I smile at him in the dressing table mirror. He no longer looks nervous or tense and smiles back at me, as he scrapes the back of his hands against the nape of my neck.   He was back to his usual, calm, sexual arrogant self, wearing his confidence and self-assuredness like a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.  It fit him in all the right places.

"You almost done?" he asks. "You look almost done." His hands move up to my hair, which he sifts his fingers through softly.

"Almost," I smile

He nods and brings his mouth down to press it to the side of my neck.  I close my eyes in pleasure as a shiver rolls through me. His fingers are hot and soft as they move sensually across my neck. His hand comes around the front of my body and moves across my chest, stroking at my breast through the soft cotton of my dress and up to cup my throat as he twists my mouth around to meet his.    He tastes so good; spice and heat and of promises of delayed passion. 

As he pulls up from my mouth he touches his nose to mine and licks his lips.  "I'll wait for you downstairs." he says. 

"Ok," I manage, breathless.   As he moves away from me I remember something.  "Would you mind putting some more food out for Fred? Just half a pack is fine – it's just in case we're late back."

He nods "Sure, I'll feed your pussy baby, no problem," he winks before disappearing out of the bedroom. 

"Deviant!" I call after him. 

"You fucking love it.  Hurry up, I don't want to be late!" He calls back. 

I've already decided that my parents not liking the man I love just isn't an option. Tonight would be the first of many nights at my parents with him and if they didn't fall in love with him at first sight, like I did, then they would eventually.  Dad would see Jake's heart and soul and how much he means to me and everything would be fine. And if by chance they see what Rob sees when we're together, then it would be plain sailing.   

From nowhere, the image of our child running around the dining table being chased by my dad projects itself on the wall of my mind.  My dad catches him and scoops him up high - and in my mind it is a he - and spins him round in circles before pulling him into a hug.  The breath whips out of my lungs as a rush of something that feels like warm milk, washes over me.  In the mirror I notice myself smiling at the idea, and I run a hand across my tummy. 

"Your mobile's ringing!" Jake's voice shouts from downstairs, breaking through my half trance.

"It will be my mum," I turn and shout towards the open bedroom door.  "Can you answer? She'll just stress if it rings off - I'm coming down." I stand up from the dressing table and half sprint.  I don't want to leave him on the phone with her too long.

He's at the foot of the stairs, with his back turned to me and the phone to his ear, but as he hears me come down he turns to face me.  There's an odd, almost dark, look on his face and his eyes are narrowed.  Oh god what on earth has she said to him?  You hurt my daughter.  Don't think we will be as quick to forgive you, and all manner of threats and warnings occur to me. 

"Yeah, she's here. Hang on," he grunts before stretches his hand out to me.   "Some guy," he says.  "Lawrence, I think he said, sounds French."

My heart stutters to a stop along with my body and for a moment I'm sure I'm not breathing.  My body turns to cold hard stone and a cold chill washes over me - it matches the look in Jake's eye perfectly.  I reach out to take the phone from him and lift it to my ear slowly.  I want to look away from him but I find that I can't.

"Hello?" I say quietly. 

"Alixxx bonjour!" comes that friendly but unwelcome voice.  So so unwelcome.  It feels even more unwelcome, because it's completely at odds with the tension and suspicion now flooding into the space between me and the man I love. 

Some ridiculous notion occurs to me. I could just hang up now and pretend it was someone with the wrong number.  I could just say he has the wrong person and hang up the phone.  I wouldn't have to deal with this.   I don't know how to deal with this.  I don't want to deal with this.  But I can't do that, because he asked for me by name, and also because I'm a grown woman not a bloody child.

"Oh hello," I reply. "This is a surprise."

I'm still completely unable to look away from the coldly suspicious turquoise stare, boring into me from the foot of the stairs.

"Yes, I know. Did I call you at a wrong time? It's not good?" Laurent asks. Oh it feels so strange to hear his voice now; here.  It doesn't belong here in my house with Jake. It belongs somewhere else; in a place where I'm sad and lonely and stupid. A place where I make decisions that come back to haunt me. "Je suis à Londres." He informs me.  Oh my god.  He's here. 

"Oh, you are?" I swallow, moving down the last few steps and past Jake, smiling at him as I do. He doesn't return my smile.  His mouth stays in a tight straight line, his eyes absent of most of their warmth.  I walk down my short hallway to the kitchen, expecting him to follow right behind me. Which, he does. 

As I focus on Jake's footsteps, Laurent tells me he arrived last night and that he thought about not calling at all, but then changed his mind when he woke up and it was sunny in London and he saw a woman buying coffee, who he thought was me.  It was a sign, he said.  He slips into his own particular brand of lazy French as he tells me about a meeting with some financiers and an English production company who want to option one of his terrible movies for British TV.

"So, we should have dinner," he announces.  It isn't a question.  I had forgotten he did that.   "Are you free, tomorrow night? It will be my treat, but your choice. Tell me where the food and wine are as good as your parents served me in France."

"C'était votre vin," I point out.  I'm afraid to turn around.  I can feel the heat of his eyes on the back of my neck.  It's hot like his fingers were upstairs.  Hotter maybe. 

He laughs. "Yes, that is true, it was my wine.  Well, then if I can't have the wine, then at least I will have the company." There's a smile in his voice, one I remember to be charming and seductive; one that does nothing for me now.  I feel sick.  "So, Dinner?"

When I finally turn around, I find Jake watching me from the doorway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.  Tense.  Not in his face, which is eerily impassive, but in his body and his eyes which are still dark. In a gesture echoing one his own, I begin to nibble hard on the inside of my cheek.  It's comforting. 

"Laurent, je suis tres désolé," I begin.  I am sorry.  And it's true, I'm very sorry at this point.   

"Occupè?? Ah. And you speak in French now...," he says, like he's thinking out loud.   "Ah, so he is the one who broke your heart? Or is new?"

Part of me wants to tell him none of it, is any of his business. But I don't. I can't. 

"Oui. C'est celui," is what I say, staring at Jake hard. He is the one.

Jake stares at me a few moments more, his expression unreadable, before he lets out a small sigh and turns and walks off down the hall towards the living room and leaves me alone with Laurent. I step forward as if to go after him, but I'm not sure why.

"Ah, then I understand. I am happy you are happy again Alixxx." He sounds genuine. "Perhaps we could meet as friends non? The conversation was good I recall."

I take a deep breath. "I don't think that would be the best idea Laurent," I say quietly. In English; Now that I'm alone. "And I'm busy tomorrow. I'm sorry."

Even if I weren't, I don't think Jake would understand my meeting Laurent. How would I explain that?  Oh I'm having dinner with a man I almost slept with, to try and forget you - it's purely platonic.  No.  He wouldn't understand. 

I'm still trying to figure out how to explain him calling me - which I'm also certain Jake won't understand.

Laurent is silent for a moment and then he sighs, loudly. "Okay.  Then that is that.  I called and fate was not on my side," he says with a small laugh.  "I thought about you a lot since Fayance, Alixx."

"A lot has happened since then," I say.  I'm with Jake now. He's in danger now. He's risking his life for us now.  I'm pregnant with his child now. How had so much happened in such a short time?

In any case, I'm a very different person to the pale, lost English woman Laurent seemed so enamored with in France.  Well, I'm still pale.  Some things were constant.

"Oui, je pense que beaucoup de choses ont changées. Mais vous allez bien?" He agrees.  Things have changed. 

"Yes, I'm well. Yourself?" I lift my hand to look at my watch.  Then crane my head around and down the hallway to see if I can see Jake.  I can't. Then it occurs to me that he's walked out on me.  A cold icy shiver crawls up my spine. 

"Oui oui, Je vais très bon. But now I have to find somewhere good to eat, alone on a Saturday night." He says lightly. "What do you recommend?"

"I'm sure my parents would be happy to have you." I smile.  I need to get off the phone.  I need Jake to be in this house. 

He chuckles. "That would be perfect. Tell them I'm in town and free tomorrow evening? I actually sent them some wine."

"Oh you did? They'll be pleased with that then..." 

"I sent a few bottles for you also."

"Oh, that's very kind of you Laurent, thank you."

"Then I may see you the next time you are in France?" He says hopefully.  "We are neighbours after all."

"Yes, that would be nice." I nod. Jake may have forgotten about this by then. 

After we say our goodbyes and I promise to give mum and dad his number, I move immediately through the house to find him. 

He's slouched on the sofa, legs wide apart and looking utterly relaxed, as he scrolls lazily through his phone. From here he looks to be checking football scores.

He was our neighbour from France. He is trying to resurrect his vineyard. I like wine. No - too much detail.  He's our neighbour - I had dinner with him.  He kissed me.  Nothing happened beyond that.  I didn't want it to.   He's just a friend, not even a friend - a neighbour.   

I open my mouth to speak as he turns his head to look at me.

"Ready to go?" He asks, standing up from the sofa. "I really don't want to be late and I don't know what the traffic's gonna be like at this time." He looks down at his watch. 

There isn't a trace of anything on his face and his eyes are bright and warm now.   He moves toward me and wraps his arms around me, pressing his mouth tenderly to my forehead. The kiss feels heavy.  It feels like he's trying to tell me something with it.  Or maybe I'm just hoping he is.  I tighten my hold around his waist, interlocking my hands at the bottom of his back.

"I love you." I whisper against him.   He says nothing straight away.  He breathes deep and slow with his mouth pressed against my head.   When he speaks it feels like hours later.  "I love you too." he says.   "So, am I driving or you?" He asks, as he steps out of my hold.

"Um, I'll drive. Still detoxing; you can have a couple of beers if you like."

He nods, turning his mouth up in agreement. "Sounds good to me, let's go."

When he moves away from me, I stare after him for a few moments feeling like I managed to just dodge a bullet.  Perhaps like me he feels we have enough weighty things to navigate our way through, without adding to them with something like this?   He can be jealous, but things were different now.  We were in a relationship and we loved each other. 

The drive to mum's is mainly quiet.  Jake stares out the window, deep in thought and miles away before focusing his attention on the radio; he flicks back and forth, between channels we decide hold no interest for us.  As I pass it, I point out Rob and I's high school, which is about two miles from mum and dads's on the road into Camberley.  Part of it had been knocked down to make way for a severe and modern looking glass fronted structure which looks much smaller, now that I no longer have to spend seven hours a day in it. 

He asks if I was popular and how many guys fought over me, to which I reply: against my will and two.  I was only popular because Nick was popular, two years above me. Things only calmed down after he left for Uni.  Nick was one of the boys who fought over me – he broke Scott Chiltern's nose and broke his protruding front teeth for drawing a naked picture of me in the boy's changing rooms.  According to Nick the drawing was actually pretty good, which for him made it worse.   When I tell this story to Jake he smiles and nods in approval at my brother's heroics.  Unfortunately Mum and Dad weren't as impressed as Jake. 

As soon as I turn into my parent's driveway, he sits up straight in the seat and runs a hand through his hair.   I pull in next to mum and dad's car and turn off the engine, before turning to look at Jake. He's staring hard at my parents' house; another one of those strange distant looks on his face.

"So this is where you grew up?" He says looking out the windscreen at my parent's house.

I follow his eyes. "Yes.  I lived here my entire life, god.  I moved out for Uni at eighteen, back for a bit before moving to London," the words with Ben, I leave out of course.    "Mum and dad moved here, when mum was pregnant with Tash. Then Nick and I came." I add, reaching for the car door.

"Nice house to grow up in." he nods, still staring at it. 

"It was." I reply, before getting out of the car. 

For some reason Jake lingers inside the car a moment after I leave it.  His eyes move from the house to me and I see a flicker of something, a shadow, pass over his face before he pops open the door and climbs out.  He smooths down his shirt and switches his casual blue blazer from his left to his right hand, before coming towards me.   His fingers are warm and thick as he reaches out to take my hand and they fit snuggly through my own.   As I pull him towards the front steps, I feel his hand tighten on mine, ever so slightly.

I turn to him, as I place my hand on the large brass door knob. "Ready?" I ask, widening my eyes playfully.

He nods.  "Yeah, I'm ready."

He looks miles away again, as I push open the door.