Thread of Fate

Chapter 4

The delicious shiver the depth of his voice triggered crawled all over my deprived skin. Like a seductive caress, a tender moment of emotions that no mask could ever hide. This instant alone, where my whole being turned into his to control without a fight, was the only honest second I allowed myself. Without a mask or pretence. Without judgement for giving in to something others would consider selfish. Or wrong, even, seeing as I was married despite it being a sham at this point.

"I used to," I answered with a wistful voice, remembering the times when I was nothing but a naive fool, believing in that damned fairytale prince coming for me alone. "I thought I would find that one person who was my missing half, who completed me. But then I was stupid enough to fall for the syrupy words of a pathological liar and a narcissist. Not the smartest move on my part, was it, Tristan?"

I turned away from the painting with bitterness coating my insides and came hairbreadth away from the man who made my blood effervesce. The heady scent of a male enclosed me, narcotising the butterflies only he managed to revive with their own brand of an addictive substance. They went delirious, chasing their high all over my body they used as their playground.

"Not too late to change your path, Pixie. Some men wouldn't know what to do with a woman like you even if you'd spell it out for them." Tristan's tongue darted out and he licked his lips as if he was getting ready for a feast he craved way too long. "And then, there are the ones who would worship you like the goddess you are."

"Is that so?" My lips pulled into a playful smile as my fingers came alive and boldly stroked his taut and sinewy chest. They journeyed at a slow pace, tracing invisible patterns, lower and lower until his muscular body I felt under his dress shirt was replaced by the buckle of his belt. My daring act could possibly be the product of way too much champagne I consumed since I arrived at the exhibition. Or, the suppressed urge I had crushed like the head of a serpent every time it was bold enough to make its presence known. Neither was doing me any favours, and both combined felt lethal... and right. "And which one are you, Mr Hayes?"

I swept my eyes lustfully from his grinding jaw to the belt buckle and I felt a sudden nudge bring my hands lower. As if the bubbles in the alcohol, as they dripped down my parched throat, worked against my better judgement. They had turned me into this fearless woman I always dreamed of becoming. Someone who wasn't afraid to go after what they wanted; someone who was honest and wouldn't care about other people's opinions. Well, it seemed I only needed liquid courage and the right incentive for her to show face. It would only take a second of that prodding audacity long forgotten on my part. One tiny slip of my tingling fingertips...

But his rough fingers wrapped around my wrist near his crotch. They were firm but gentle, burning their mark right under my skin as his moistened lips fell near my ear. "Careful, Pixie, you're inviting trouble you are not ready to handle."

And there, right at that moment, the harsh hand of reality grabbed me by the throat constricting my airways and shook me back to my senses. "Oh my... I'm–I'm so sorry...I don't—"

Mortification ran through me like a cold winter's breeze and I pushed myself back from Tristan's hypnotic presence. My vision narrowed with black dots dancing mockingly and sudden nausea overwhelmed my previously lecherous body.

What did I do?

Suddenly, my eyes found my leather ankle boots so much more interesting than the man in front of me. I couldn't look at him. I wouldn't dare. Shame and guilt were the only things left in me at this point. But just like sunflowers turned their head where the sun shone, blazing, so did my head snapped up against my will. His flashing orbs focused on mine, and the intensity of his desires punched me in the gut. Frankly, it rendered me speechless.

Tristan's penetrating gaze was nothing short of breathtaking in a literal sense. The vehemence of all emotions in that single stare sucked out all the air from my already tightening lungs. Yet, at the same time it filled me with a power I thought lost permanently. The power of a woman who was longed for and wanted. He regarded me with a potency that scared me to death, with its effects going for my jugular.

This was too much. The intimate atmosphere, his touch and his eyes on me... I staggered on wobbly knees.

Air... I needed air!

With clumsy steps, I shrunk away from this fierce divine-like man. I could see the reluctance written on his face when he had to let my wrist go due to our growing distance. That was what I needed; to be as far away from him as humanly possible. I couldn't afford to lose my mind over a man - never again. Because I realised what Tristan Hayes was. He was a thief of sensibility, a trickster to compel your mind. What other explanation was there for my lack of control when it came to him? So, I turned on my heels and escaped.

"Pixie, wait..."

Don't turn around, Guinevere!

The heat of a present blush on my cold-sweated skin travelled from the tip of my ears like fire on dry grasslands. It enveloped my entire body and shame cloaked me just like so many times before. When my not-so-subtle advances were shut down by my husband with that mocking look he only seemed to reserve for me. Those looks flashed in front of my blurry eyes—ridiculing me into believing I was nothing more than a joke.

Who was I kidding in thinking I could enjoy myself just a little bit? A woman like me had no right... and my boss no less! As if only now that thought entered my mind. How was I going to even look him in the eyes at work?

Then, as soon as I stepped out of the Red, the stifling air that brought nothing but chagrin changed over into an invigorating breeze. The gentle murmur of the wind filled my rigid body with pacifying emotions, soothing my rambunctious heart. There was nothing I could do to change the events of the past half an hour. There was no point in going back and forth wondering about what ifs. So, as a birthday resolution, I had decided to try and stop dwelling on things I couldn't change anymore–like my recent actions. It was time I regained some kind of a backbone and dealt with this like an adult who was taking responsibility for their lack of control and professionalism.

It was as good a time as any to take slow steps towards working on the woman I wanted to be, towards the mother I wanted my children to remember once I was gone. Because the truth of the matter was if I was to die today and you'd ask my children ten years from now what their mother was like, I wasn't entirely sure I would like the answer they would give.

I was a strong believer that everything happened for a reason. We might not have been aware of the silver lining at the time because we were easily blinded by the sheer force of our situation. However, I reckoned it was there–lurking behind the clouds, concealed for us to see with our human eyes. So as I made my way to the taxi rank on this humbly bold autumn evening, I decided that it was time. As they said, "When your tears outnumber your smiles, it is time to make some changes." And I cried enough–tears of pain and betrayal, tears for things out of my hands to change, but most of all, tears for the things I very well could control but was too weak and fearful to assert dominance.

Because everything I ever wanted was on the other side of fear. It was about time I stepped over the threshold and grabbed what could be rightfully mine by the throat.