Port in a Storm

The sun rays streaming in through the open blinds greeted me into the morning, as I stirred from my sleep and groaned, my eyes barely adjusting to all that light. I realised I'd forgotten to close the blinds at night, exhausted as I'd been after three meetings. Fumbling around with closed eyes, I located the button for the blinds and pressed it, sighing in relief when the room became dark. I sank back into the mattress, hand travelling to the other side of the bed.

Empty. Like most Friday mornings.

I dragged myself to the empty spot, and buried my face in the other pillow. Despite the grogginess, my lips broke into a smile when I smelled the familiar fragrances. Yardley. The bathroom shelf stacked the whole range practically. It was the same one, galbanum, apple and bergamot, with classic lavender fougere and warm coriander and clean musks. Over the years, I'd become so well-acquainted with that smell that I'd be able to tell it from a mile off.

My eyes had just started dropping close again when the doorbell rang. I pushed myself off the bed and walked barefoot out of the room, scratching my hair as I walked down the single flight of stairs, up to the front door. It was well and truly morning, the sun bathing the luxurious living room in its warm glow.

"Hey." The six feet of strong flesh was leant against the wall, clad in dark denims and grey tee, feet crossed. I stared at the figure in front of me. Dark hair, green eyes, chiselled jaw, and aquiline nose, with kissable lips, totally lickable neck, hands that were strong and gentle at the same time, arms that could squeeze away all bad memories, and a smile that melted my heart.

He was perfection. Each night that I spent alone, I wished I got more of him. But I also knew why he couldn't give me as much time as he wanted to. He had lives to save. Just like he had saved my life all those years ago.

"Good morning," he smiled, coming away from the wall. I noticed a brightly coloured box in his hands. "Did I wake you?"

I groaned, shook my head, and moved aside, letting him enter. He stared at my face as he walked in, leather loafers making crunching sounds on the floor.

"I assume I did, going by your vocalizations" he laughed, taking off his jacket and tossing it in the direction of the sofa, but it landed on the floor nevertheless. He rolled his eyes, and put the box down on the teakwood table next to the door. "Come here," he said to me, walking over to put the jacket in its proper place. Then he looked at me. "Vivienne, come here."

I groaned again, going up to him. He opened his arms, and I gratefully sank in the embrace, felt a pair of loving hands against my hair.

"Missed you," he whispered as I breathed against a broad shoulder. "Slept well?"

"Mmm." I put my arms around him, closing my eyes, feeling sleep coming over me again. "How was the surgery?"

"We didn't. His pulse was too weak. We kept him under observation through the night, but he wasn't fit for surgery." He held my face up with both hands, smiling softly. "I thought of calling you, but it was late, and you'd be asleep..."

I nodded, moving away from him, and knotting my hair into a bun. "What's this?" I asked, gesturing at the small box he'd put down on the table. He went up to the table and picked up the box, unwrapping it to reveal my favourite dark chocolate. I raised my eyebrows.

"Engagement chocolates." He opened the box, picked one perfect ball of sinful delight and put it into my mouth. Then he leaned in, kissing my lips.

"I love you," he whispered. I felt my breath catching as I tried to chew down the delicious chocolate despite the lump in my throat. Then I put a chocolate into his mouth, laughing when he tried to take it all at once.

Four years. It had felt like such a natural progression when he popped the question over breakfast three weeks ago, complete with a nice cake, a sweet speech, and a ring that I now wore around my neck. His parents hadn't been satisfied with just that, so they were hosting our engagement party that evening. It was supposed to be a big gathering.

"I love you too, Dr Thompson," I reached up to peck his nose, giggled when he caught my lips again. As much as I wanted to curl in his arms and forget I had anywhere to be, there was no way I could stop the ticking clock.

"I need a shower," he announced, pulling away. "Join me?"

I shook my head. "I'll brush my teeth and then brew the coffee."

"Oh, come on," he said longingly, dropping a kiss onto my hair. "Take the day off. We can sleep in."

"Thanks for the offer, but no." I turned around and proceeded to walk back up to the master bedroom, him following me. There was no point making the bed since he was going to sleep in a while, so I grabbed my comb instead and started brushing my hair.

"I heard you fired the newspaper boy." He walked into the attached bath, and a moment later, I heard the splash of urine against porcelain. I sighed, nodding at my own reflection in the mirror. "What happened?" His voice was muffled by the sound of the flush, then the sound of footsteps.

"Don't tell me," I said, walking into the bathroom. "Every week, he skips at least two newspapers. When I ask him, he makes one excuse or the other. And it happens every damn week. I deducted from his wage last month, but he's incorrigible. It's frustrating."

"That's just a couple of bucks a month. How does it matter?" he responded, leaning against the shower stall and watching me put toothpaste on the brush. I turned around and narrowed my eyes at him.

"It isn't about money," I said slowly. "It's about principles. How hard is it to deliver a newspaper properly?" I turned back, put the tube of toothpaste inside the shelf and slammed the door. He laughed quietly, turning around.

"No wonder they're afraid of you at your office." Clothes and shoes were tossed on to the floor of the bathroom. I shoved the toothbrush into my mouth and rolled my eyes as the shower door shut. Okay, I was tough. But then, you couldn't survive without being tough. I hardly gave second chances. I rarely did mercy. All for good reason, of course. No one could blame me for being unfair, because I wasn't. I could hire somebody as effortlessly as I could fire them.

Life had made me tough. I still felt that if I'd been tough earlier on, when I was younger, I could have had a better life.

The shower door opened, a wet figure leaning out.

"Dave, you're dripping water on the floor," I tried to speak with a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Sorry. Pass me the body wash, please," he reached out a hand, dripping some more water. I scanned the bathroom shelf, found the bottle, and quickly shoved it in his hand, mopping up the water with the rug once the door had shut again. The broad silhouette moved against the wet glass of the shower stall, and I could discern his actions, running fingers through his hair, scrubbing his back and armpits, even as his singing vaguely reached my ears through the glass partition. He had a deep, buttery voice, and childhood music training, making him a lot more than a bathroom singer.

I turned around towards the mirror, feeling affection flood my heart. It was good with him home. He made the place come alive in a way only he could.

I rinsed my mouth and washed my face, trying to remember if I had any meeting that day. I was supposed to come home early and then get dressed, then head out for his parents' place. We didn't have a clue about what they had planned. It was supposed to be a surprise, kind of an engagement present. I couldn't believe all of it was actually happening.

"Blushing makes you look lovely." I saw him stepping out of the shower in the mirror, quickly grabbing a towel and tying it around his waist. "I wish you did it more often."

He walked up to me, one hand holding the towel close, other one raking back wet hair. He was gorgeous. Six-pack abs, toned sinewy muscles, strong, utterly lickable thighs and arms, and...

"Look at me," he turned me around, snagged a towel to gently pat my face dry. Then he smiled, kissing my forehead. "Sure you can't take the day off?"

"Yeah." I leaned into him, running my hand through the smattering of dark hair on his chest. "I'm kind of nervous."

"About taking the day off?"

"About the party. There'll be important people?"

"You mean dad's colleagues? Not too many of them, I guess. Just a couple of them maybe, and his close friends and their families." He moved dark hair out of my face, brushed a finger against a cheek. "What are you nervous about? It's your day. The father of the groom introducing the future bride to the clan."

"Precisely that."

"You know most of them."

"Yes, but...." I bit my lip, holding up my right hand. The finger stood out among all the others, deformed, tiny, almost nonexistent. The worst part was not having a reply when people asked me the reason. I'd taught myself to say that I was born with it.

Dave wrapped his hand over mine, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, his face serious. "You know it doesn't."

I nodded. It had never mattered. But it was still there, as a sore reminder of my past.

"I'll make breakfast," I said, forcing a smile.

"No, I will. You get dressed." He pecked my lips, then turned to pick his clothes and shoes up from the floor. I eyed his strong, muscular body as he went over to the walk-in closet and slid it open. He continued singing, opening the wardrobes and picking out fresh clothes. Then he dropped the towel on the floor, revealing his firm arse. I looked away, not wanting to ogle, but broke into a smile nevertheless.

He was mine. My...fiancé. I was still getting used to referring to him as that after four years of calling him boyfriend. It would be even weirder calling him husband.

My husband.

Oh god. A part of me still thought I didn't deserve him. He was too good for me. Too nice, too...

"You want eggs or pancake?"

I turned back at the voice, found him walking out of the bedroom, in a pair of shorts and a tee, with the old clothes in hand.

"Anything that you want," I said, walking back to the room. "Surprise me."

He smiled, nodding. "I know the perfect thing," he said smugly, disappearing out of view. I opened the walk-in closet, wondering what to wear, when the phone rang in the living room. I held my breath and pricked my ears in attention as he received the call and started talking.

"Mum, we don't care about the wine!" He sounded exasperated. "Or the lights."

His mother had organised the party and was excited like a child about it. She only kept forgetting that decor and design were my interests, not his. He couldn't care less about what the coasters were made of, or how old the wine was.

"No, I mean, of course we care," he corrected himself. "But you're the host, you should-- Mum, listen to me! Mum!"

I laughed, leaning back against a wardrobe. It was going to be one hell of a day.

*

"Am I late?" I asked my secretary as I entered my office on the fourth floor of the swank building that was Kingston Regency, one of the biggest hotels of the country. Dave had made spicy potatoes and scrambled eggs for breakfast, relieving me of the grogginess. It was ten thirty when I reached office, feeling more energetic than I'd been when I woke up.

"No," Kristin smiled, following me inside. "But there are three messages for you."

"Meetings again?" I asked nervously. Kristin laughed, shaking her head.

"The dates for the annual multi-cuisine festival need to be postponed because they clash with the jazz fest. The manager wants you to speak to the event planner and reschedule the dates. And Michael McKay wants a private audience with you."

I looked up from the computer that was starting to boot, a moment of confusion running through my brain.

"Michael McKay?" I asked, just to confirm if I'd heard it right. "What does he want?"

"He didn't tell me." Kristin pointed at the computer. "I've forwarded the email to you. Have a look."

I stared at the bright blue background of the monitor, not sure I wanted to read that email. "Oh...okay. I'll take a look," I told Kristin, who nodded with a smile and left the room. I sank into the executive chair, closing my eyes. As the marketing manager of the hotel, my responsibilities were huge. From reviewing future booking levels to planning dates for promotions to increasing occupancy rates to working with the event management team, I had a lot to do. The great thing was that I loved everything about my job. I'd started from scratch, had come up to be a manager from a mere sales executive. I'd also helped redesign and relaunch the hotel six years ago. Today, it earned the highest revenues in the hospitality sector.

I laughed when I remembered how I'd drive Dave crazy with my home decor plans when we first moved in to our house. It was our home, our abode, and it made decorating it all the more special.

Over the next few hours, I had event planners, restaurant managers, front office executives and other employees flitting in and out of my office, with the phone on the desk ringing almost incessantly. In between explaining duties, reviewing reports, and selecting dates, I managed to answer the phone, my hand, mouth, eyes and ears all working at the same time.

And in a few hours, I had to turn up as the bride-to-be, meet people, and make small talk.

I was leaned in the chair, my feet neatly tucked under my thighs, working on next month's newsletter when my phone blinked. I absently grabbed it, found a message from Dave.

Had something to ask. There's this really sexy girl I've been thinking about all day long... what should I do about it?

I dropped my head back, laughing aloud as I read the words. He'd probably woken up from his nap, and now had nothing better to do than flirt. As busy as I was, I still decided to play along.

Ummm...tell her?

Putting the phone back on the desk, I returned to the story, still giggling inwardly. A while later, my phone blinked again.

Tell her that I can't get her out of my head?

Yes.

I put the phone away and started to type on the keyboard, the words falling into place as I proceeded with the article. The manager called to say he was sending over a few things that I needed to look at. As soon as I put down the receiver my phone blinked again.

Great. Will do.

There was silence after that. Smiling to myself, I returned to work, going through the things that my boss had just sent over. I was going to pick up my dress after lunch and then head straight home. It was my engagement party after all. I had to look good, feel good. Packing up early would not only give me more time to get dressed but also allow me to shake off the day's stress and get into celebration mood.

My phone blinked again.

Vivienne, I can't get you out of my head. Will you please come home so I can shag you for the rest of the day?

I covered my mouth with a hand as I exploded into a fit of laughter. Dave was famous for his sense of humour, something he used to calm down nervous patients as well as to keep me quivering with silent laughter. As serious as his profession was, he was never boring. Being with him was like being bathed in sunlight on a winter's day.

Can't. Engagement party.

The desk phone rang. It was Kristin.

"Michael McKay on the line," she said. "He says it's urgent."

"Kristin, you know I'm leaving early today." I suddenly felt annoyed. I didn't want to have anything to do with either Michael or his boss. "Some other day."

"He isn't letting go, Vivienne. Just seeks five minutes."

I sighed, clenching my fists. "Okay," I relented. "Put him on line."

A moment later, a male voice came on the other end.

"Vivienne? How are you?"

"I don't have time for small talk, Michael." It was getting late. I had places to be. "What do you want?"

"Just five minutes of your time. I sent you a number of emails but never got a reply."

"Must've got lost somewhere," I shrugged, when actually I hadn't bothered to open them. "Kristin said you want to meet me."

"Yes. I'm helping Simon launch a new hotel. He wants your input."

"My input?" I barked out a laugh. "Simon's seeking inputs from others now?"

"You're not counted as others, Vivienne. Given your history, I'm not surprised he wants you to market the hotel."

Our history. I hadn't spoken to Simon in a few years, but had certainly felt the man's presence in my life, especially since the rather crass wad of cash had appeared in a shitty motel room safe. I owed a lot to him, despite how little I wanted to. He'd given me some of my biggest jobs. Kingston was also owned by him, and to this day I didn't know if I sat in the marketing manager's chair because I was good at this or because of our history.

Simon sure as shit owed me too.

"Not today, Michael. I got to go."

"Engagement party, I know. I won't keep you."

My mouth dropped open in surprise. "How do you know?"

Michael snorted. "The former permanent secretary hosts his neurosurgeon son's engagement party and you think nobody gets to know? Anyway, think about the offer, though. I mean it. Simon wants you. I can send a contract over if you want to have a look at it."

"Thanks." I was already sliding the phone off my ear.

"Call me. The offer won't last forever."

I sat thinking for a while, ignoring my blinking phone. Then I packed my things and turned off the computer, making sure everything was okay before stepping out of the room. Rattling off instructions to Kristin, I began to walk towards the elevator, but then I felt I could use the bathroom.

Simon usually didn't meet anyone in person, unless he had really personal intentions. His secretary and right hand man Michael handled everything. Whenever I read in the papers that as the owner of the largest hotel chain of the world Simon was way too elusive, it only made me wonder if I'd been lucky to have known him from such close quarters.

I stood in front of the mirror in the ladies restroom, thinking to myself that I needed a shower and a blow dry once I got home. I stepped back, looking at myself. Thought I looked good in that skirt suit despite the messy hair and the dull face. My face was usually brighter than that but the work stress usually drained it of all colour. Thank god for makeup.

I had just turned off the tap after washing my face when I thought I heard low sobbing sounds coming from somewhere. I looked around the restroom. There was no one other than me there. The stalls were also unoccupied. I wiped my face with my hand towel, heard another sob. I frowned, proceeding to walk down the restroom, looking inside every stall. The one on the very end was locked. I stood there, my ears sharp. There was definitely someone crying there inside. But I couldn't for the life of me think of anyone who'd cry in the office restroom.

"Anyone there?" I asked, bringing my mouth as close to the door as possible. I didn't mean to intrude but the sound of crying always made me uneasy. The sobbing stopped. I waited patiently outside, having decided that I had to know who it was. The door scraped open after a while, and I got the shock of my life when I saw a young girl there. With puffy eyes, swollen lips, dishevelled hair and a trembling body, she was a sight that scared me. I didn't know who she was but I vaguely remembered having seen her in the building earlier.

I instinctively reached out to hold her.

"What's wrong?" I gently asked her. "Why are you crying? Is everything okay?"

The volley of questions was out even before I could stop it, but the girl wasn't in the mood to answer any of them.

"I'm...f-fine," she stammered, trying to wriggle free. "Let me go."

With that, she was gone, walking away as fast as her trembling feet would allow her, leaving me confused. I followed her outside, but she was nowhere to be seen.