The man crushed his tattooed hand to Mara’s throat, his liquid-dark eyes boring into hers. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”
Mara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was naked, her back scraping against a brick wall.
The man shoved a hard thigh between her legs. “I asked you a question.”
To her shame, her nipples went hard as ice. Smirking, the man pinched one. “So, you are happy to see me?”
Mara gasped. “Please, stop!”
“And she speaks.” The hand tightened around her throat. “You gonna tell me what I want to hear, Little Miss?”
She shook her head, deathly afraid.
“Fine. I can wait.” He drove his knee upward, exposing the wet tenderness between her thighs. “You want to entertain me while I do it?”
“No,” she moaned.
He licked a hot line down her throat. “Say it, baby. Say you’re Daddy’s little girl.”
Mara woke, shivering. Sunlight fluttered across her eyelids and the tattooed man melted into nothingness. Derek always did. Yet her body remained as flushed as if her old boyfriend had thrown her against a wall and demanded she call him ‘Daddy’ again.
Ten years and it refused to know better.
Her wake-up playlist was already thrumming through her speakers. Mara lay listening to Glass Animals, her body fizzing like lemonade. She thought of grabbing her vibrator and calling Derek back from her dreams. But she knew if she waited, her desire would intensify throughout the day until she fell to her knees and took herself with the urgency of a man. It was as close as she wanted to come to being taken by a man—which meant she should wait. Besides, she had a big day ahead. Yawning, she padded to her en suite. The heated floors warmed her toes as she turned on her rainforest shower head. She heard Derek snarl as she stepped under the water. Say you’re Daddy’s little girl.
She washed him away with a natural wool loofah and Frédéric Malle shower cream. Getting rid of Derek was an impossibility, but he belonged in her dreams. Reality was for friends, fashion, her company, and Pan. She wrapped herself in an Egyptian sheet towel and descended the wooden staircase to what she called ‘Pan’s level.’ Her golden puppy was waiting inside her crate, tail thumping against the frame.
“Good morning, bubby. Did you miss mama? I missed you!”
She opened the crate and Pan bolted into her arms, frantically licking her chin and cheeks. She seemed to have developed a taste for expensive moisturiser. Mara ran her hands through Pan’s velvet fur. She’d been a dog mama for six months and she still couldn’t believe the joy Pan gave her. “Are you excited about our party, bubby?”
Pan nibbled her finger.
“Ah-ah-ah! No, Pan!”
Pan let go, her brown eyes remorseful.
“That’s okay, little one. Come on, breakfast time!”
Mara descended the second set of stairs, Pan yipping excitedly the whole way. It was a beautiful summer morning, bright with a brisk wind shaking the lemon trees outside her window. She mixed Pan a bowl of Premium kibble and set her outside before brewing herself a pot of mint tea. She carried her Wedgewood tea set to the window box and pulled her copy of ‘The Mists of Avalon’ from the hidden drawer. It had cost a fortune to expand the window and install the velvet lounge beneath it, but it had been worth every penny. Removing her towel, Mara lay down to read in the sun.
The morning passed in a delicious crawl. It was almost midday when Mara dumped her lukewarm tea down the sink and dressed in her yellow Enavant leggings and crop top.
“Ready, my sweet princess?” she asked as she bundled Pan into her Swarovski harness.
Pan wagged her tail so hard it looked like she was twerking.
She made it to the studio with plenty of time, even with Pan pooping right in front of the bank. She did that a great deal. Mara liked to think it was a doggy protest against capitalism. They raced up the wooden stairs and found Josie sitting at reception.
“Pan!” Josie screamed. “And you too, Mara. I’m glad you’re here.”
Mara smiled. “Are you sure you’re okay to watch her?”
Josie was already on her knees, kissing Pan. “Of course!”
Mara took her place at the front of Barre class. Today she stood beside a brunette model she’d once met at Richard Branson’s house. The model didn’t seem to remember her though, and Mara was too embarrassed to re-introduce herself. What would she even say? ‘Hi, I used to be someone you might have wanted to meet. How are you? Do you still do cocaine?’
A bubbly blonde instructor entered the room. “Morning, girls! We’ll be here for the next sixty minutes, let’s make every second count.”
An hour later, Mara left the room warm but not sweating. That was the good thing about Barre—it required no outfit changes. Josie was typing with Pan in her lap. Both looked uncomfortable but neither seemed willing to change their position. Mara laughed. “Jose, you don’t need to do that. She’s too big.”
“Oh, but I want to! And she was so good!”
“I’m glad. Thank you.” As Mara picked up Pan, she dropped twenty dollars into Josie’s open handbag. She couldn’t do it too often or Josie got annoyed.
“See you soon,” she called over her shoulder. “Thank you again.”
“Anytime!”
As Mara steered Pan toward Bentwood Café, a guy with a scrubby beard stopped in their path. “Cute dog. Spaniel?”
“Golden retriever-spaniel cross.”
The guy studied the front of Mara’s top. “She’s beautiful.”
She smiled and kept walking. Pan liked attention from strangers. She, not so much.
She found Chase at their usual table by the window. He was buried in his phone which always seemed wrong to her. With his crisp suit and neatly combed hair, he had the look of a man who read broadsheet newspapers while smoking cigarettes and contemplating ‘the servant problem.’
Mara slid into the seat across from him. “Good morning, Mr Hansen.”
“Ms Kennedy.” Chase’s blue eyes were serious. “What do you want to order? The staff are getting antsy.”
Mara stood. “I’ve got this. What do you want?”
“You don’t have to pay all the time.”
“And you don’t have to complain all the time, darling. So, what would you like?”
As usual, Chase asked for black coffee and an egg white omelette. As Mara waited in line to place their order, she recalled Derek’s hand like iron around her neck and pleasure spiraled through her.
Patience, Mara… Just keep waiting…
As always, her breakfast was placed in front of Chase—poached eggs, bacon and avocado, chocolate pancakes, and a tall latte.
Chase passed the plates over. “I will never understand how you eat so much.”
“And I will never understand how you drink black coffee. I know you’re American, but come on.” She sipped her milky latte. “What’s new at the office?”
They discussed the office until Chase excused himself to check emails. Mara petted Pan then opened the Emilio Pucci order she’d compiled the night before. She showed Chase a picture of a Rugiada-Print dress. “What do you think?”
“Tacky.”
“Well, I love it.” She tapped ‘add to bag’ and checked it out along with a ruby virgin wool sweater and Losanghe velvet sneakers.
“I should go,” Chase sighed. “Tonnes of work. One thing—are you sure you want Terrace Avenue? Word on the street says there’s competition. High rolling competition.”
Mara licked chocolate sauce off her fork. She knew what Chase was really asking—are you willing to annoy more rich people who could make our lives hard? She cut another slice of pancake. “How much am I worth today?”
Chase gave his phone a few taps. “The better part of five hundred million dollars.”
Mara’s heart swooped. Ten years had made no difference. She was still dwarfed by the sheer scale of her money. Still a human swimming in the shadow of a leviathan.
“I want to do it,” she told Chase. “I want Terrace Avenue flattened and turned into three Eco houses by the end of next year.”
Chase’s features hardened. “Then it’s done.”
He reached down and scratched Pan’s chin. “I’m heading off. Do you want to stop by the office and see everyone?”
“No, I have heaps to do for tonight. You and Andy are coming, right?”
“We wouldn’t miss it.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
Chase strode away, new purpose in his step. Mara watched, only a little guilty she’d lied. She didn’t have much to do for the party, but whenever she went into the office, she felt like she was pretending to work. Everyone was better off without her.
She and Pan walked to Edinburgh Gardens and knelt in the sweet summer grass wrestling and laughing and pulling each other’s hair. When they were tired, they dozed together, Pan’s head on Mara’s belly. Her puppy didn’t know how rich she was. She didn’t know about her mum and dad or what her ears used to look like. Pan loved her today, for who she was. And that was the best way to be loved.
She arrived home and found two boxes of organic produce on her doorstep. One contained a rainbow of vegetables, the other beef cheeks, saltbush lamb, marinated quail, and pork shoulder. She carried them inside and steered Pan to her bedroom. “You’ll have fun without me, won’t you?”
Pan, already chewing a beef stick, gave her a look that clearly said, ‘Go away, Mum!’
Mara spent the next few hours chopping vegetables, salting meat, and rolling pastry as she listened to Jane Eyre on audiobook. Frank from Blackberry Cellars arrived with a crate of champagne and ten bottles of Sauvignon Blanc. As always, he insisted on carrying them inside himself, offering her a shot of the anise vodka he carried in his flask.
“I can’t believe you don’t have a husband,” he said. “If my son didn’t have children, I’d make him leave his wife for you.”
Mara smiled. She could only imagine how much it would baffle nice, but incredibly sexist, Frank if she told him she never intended to have a husband. He’d probably just think she was lying.
‘You’re only saying that because you haven’t met the right man,’ he’d scold.
And if she told him she had met the right man—and that she’d endured enough of him to last a lifetime—he’d scoff and never offer her free vodka again.
Everyone agreed a woman needed a man, or at least someone. But no one appreciated that she had someone. She had Pan and Chase and everyone who was coming to her dinner party. And she had her memories—tender and exciting, but best of all, safe.
An hour before her guests arrived, Mara slid into her red belted Galanos dress and Dior sandals. There was no sense wearing a full face of make up for her friends, but she applied tinted moisturiser and peach shimmer.
Morgan was the first to arrive with her boyfriends, Liam and Jeffrey. They were loud and happy and whipped Pan into a series of excited jumps. Mara had barely fetched them all champagne when Jennica and Mitch appeared, arm-in-arm with a bunch of lilies. Tegan, Christopher, and Himeko arrived at the same time as Hugh and Crystal, all of them tipsy from after-work drinks. Chase and Andy were last, Andy bounding into the house like a retriever off his leash, Chase clearly rallying after a long day at the office. Mara handed him a big glass of wine.
She’d learned through experience that serving multiple courses was a bad idea. Too time-consuming, too many temperatures, and it kept her from her guests, who were already laughing up a storm on the porch without her.
She’d already supplied them with fresh dates and a platter of soft cheeses. Now, she slid all her main dishes onto her dining table at once. She’d made roast pork shoulder in apple sauce, pumpkin with spiced pistachios, quails in pomegranate syrup, beef stew thickened with red wine, and buttered rice served with goats’ cheese. Her centerpiece was a huge leg of lamb dripping with honey and surrounded by fried potatoes and creamed greens.
She laid out wine and good cutlery and lit pillar candles until the dining room glowed. Her final touch, the Romanian classical music, which gave the room the feel of a royal feast. At least to her.
With excitement bordering on panic, she ushered her friends in from the balcony. They gasped like they’d never seen food before.
“You should be on a cooking show,” Andy said. “You’d win in a heartbeat.”
Mara waved her hand. “You know I’d only cry in front of the judges. Come on, please sit down.”
As usual, she found she was too strung out to eat, but watching her friends devour her food was nourishment enough. The conversation cascaded from work to politics to cat videos to the Kardashians and back again. Mara laughed as she drank cool macadamia wine and dropped tactical lamb slices for Pan. She had everything she needed.
Later, when her guests were gone and her dishes were done, she rose from her bath, vibrating from head to toe. The time had come to close in around her fantasy and give herself the only other thing she needed. Her four-poster bed beckoned; her toys already laid out. She slid steel clamps over her nipples, gasping as they bit into her tender flesh. She pictured Derek’s teeth closing around them as she slid her vibrator deep, waiting for the moment she would turn it on and light herself up like a firework. She caught sight of herself in her bedroom mirror, lithe and pretty with a toned stomach and big breasts. Would Derek recognise her? She had no idea. She closed her eyes and called him back from her dreams, and this time she let herself scream the word.
“Daddy!”