Eternally North
Page 112
He replied with certainty in his eyes, "Definitely many, many more!" We were no longer talking about my birthday.
He reached up to take my face in his hands and ran his tongue along my bottom lip. "I love you Natasha Munro, so, so much." Kiss. "Thank you for saving me." Kiss.
I jolted back, startled. "What did you say?" I asked softly.
He nodded, assuring me of what he had declared. "You saved me, and for that I'll love you forever."
I pursed my lips and tipped my head, narrowing my eyes. "Are you saying all this because you're still inside me?"
He laughed at my incredulity but then looked out of the corner of his glittering green eyes and sneered. "Maybe?"
I shrieked and slapped his chest. “You pig!"
"I joke, I joke!" he protested, gripping my wrists in his hands.
His face dropped, serious again. "You really did, gorgeous. More than you will ever know."
I lowered myself to an inch from his face and kissed him passionately. He growled in pleasure, flipped me on my stomach and off we went for round two.
Happy Birthday, Tash!
We were dozing, wrapped in each other’s arms, fully sated and I was so damn happy. And that’s when it happened.
Thunderous hammering on my bedroom door broke us from our happy place and Tink, followed by Tate, who was covering his eyes with his hands, burst into the room, hysterical and swearing like a banshee and waving his phone in the air.
I immediately sat forward, trying to use Tudor as a shield to hide my naked state. “What? What is it?”
Tink stared down at the phone and glanced back up again. “There’s been a leak to the press, it’s in all the papers… everywhere. Apparently you made the evening news last night too, even in the UK,” he whispered, tilting his head at Tudor.
I grasped Tudor’s hand in support. “Why? Tink for God’s sake, why has he made the papers? What exactly has been leaked?”
Tink winced. “Somebody has sold the story about your childhood and the abuse you suffered from your father, a very detailed story.”
He looked apologetic. “It’s also come to light about the recent attack on your sister and that your father is incarcerated awaiting trial for her attempted rape.”
Tudor immediately jumped to his feet, wrapping the sheet around his waist and began pacing, clenching his hands over and over with frustration before walking to the wall, slamming his fists against the cement and pressing his head against it in defeat.
Tate, ever the efficient assistant, ran into the front room to make the necessary communications with Tudor’s team – his PR, lawyer and agent.
My bestie, actually demonstrating some emotional intelligence for once, left to put the kettle on, leaving me alone with Tudor.
I walked towards him and took his hand in mine. He flinched and looked down, and went to pull away, frosting over again, like he always did when things got rough. This time I held on tight.
“No, don’t pull away. Don’t shut me out again.” I begged.
He looked so torn. His go-to response in life was to carry the burden himself, to protect everyone else, but no more, not this time.
I squeezed his shaking hand in mine. “I’m here with you, Tudor. This time we will face this together. You’re not alone anymore, you have me. You are not alone.”
He stared at me for a long time, fighting his inner demons and eventually pulling me to his chest and whispering in a pained voice, “This time I have you.”
This time we had each other.
After hearing the news, we immediately went to Tudor’s house, where we all – Henry, Samantha, Tudor, Tink, Tate and I – gathered in the lounge to try and come up with a plan of action to deal with the fallout of the information leak on the horrific and abusive past of the Norths.
To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement. Everybody was nervous, angry or upset, and everyone was bewildered as to who could have sold the story. A family’s dirty laundry being aired to friends and neighbours was bad enough, but add into the mix that one of the key players was mega-star famous and the situation became exponentially worse.
The world now knew that Tudor, for much of his early childhood and teens, had been subject to brutal beatings and both physical and emotional torment by his father, and to be honest, the reports were so detailed in their descriptions, that even I was learning new information about my immensely private boyfriend and what he had been through: things that he hadn’t even confided in me yet – and nor should he have if he wasn’t ready. They were heart-breaking.
He reached up to take my face in his hands and ran his tongue along my bottom lip. "I love you Natasha Munro, so, so much." Kiss. "Thank you for saving me." Kiss.
I jolted back, startled. "What did you say?" I asked softly.
He nodded, assuring me of what he had declared. "You saved me, and for that I'll love you forever."
I pursed my lips and tipped my head, narrowing my eyes. "Are you saying all this because you're still inside me?"
He laughed at my incredulity but then looked out of the corner of his glittering green eyes and sneered. "Maybe?"
I shrieked and slapped his chest. “You pig!"
"I joke, I joke!" he protested, gripping my wrists in his hands.
His face dropped, serious again. "You really did, gorgeous. More than you will ever know."
I lowered myself to an inch from his face and kissed him passionately. He growled in pleasure, flipped me on my stomach and off we went for round two.
Happy Birthday, Tash!
We were dozing, wrapped in each other’s arms, fully sated and I was so damn happy. And that’s when it happened.
Thunderous hammering on my bedroom door broke us from our happy place and Tink, followed by Tate, who was covering his eyes with his hands, burst into the room, hysterical and swearing like a banshee and waving his phone in the air.
I immediately sat forward, trying to use Tudor as a shield to hide my naked state. “What? What is it?”
Tink stared down at the phone and glanced back up again. “There’s been a leak to the press, it’s in all the papers… everywhere. Apparently you made the evening news last night too, even in the UK,” he whispered, tilting his head at Tudor.
I grasped Tudor’s hand in support. “Why? Tink for God’s sake, why has he made the papers? What exactly has been leaked?”
Tink winced. “Somebody has sold the story about your childhood and the abuse you suffered from your father, a very detailed story.”
He looked apologetic. “It’s also come to light about the recent attack on your sister and that your father is incarcerated awaiting trial for her attempted rape.”
Tudor immediately jumped to his feet, wrapping the sheet around his waist and began pacing, clenching his hands over and over with frustration before walking to the wall, slamming his fists against the cement and pressing his head against it in defeat.
Tate, ever the efficient assistant, ran into the front room to make the necessary communications with Tudor’s team – his PR, lawyer and agent.
My bestie, actually demonstrating some emotional intelligence for once, left to put the kettle on, leaving me alone with Tudor.
I walked towards him and took his hand in mine. He flinched and looked down, and went to pull away, frosting over again, like he always did when things got rough. This time I held on tight.
“No, don’t pull away. Don’t shut me out again.” I begged.
He looked so torn. His go-to response in life was to carry the burden himself, to protect everyone else, but no more, not this time.
I squeezed his shaking hand in mine. “I’m here with you, Tudor. This time we will face this together. You’re not alone anymore, you have me. You are not alone.”
He stared at me for a long time, fighting his inner demons and eventually pulling me to his chest and whispering in a pained voice, “This time I have you.”
This time we had each other.
After hearing the news, we immediately went to Tudor’s house, where we all – Henry, Samantha, Tudor, Tink, Tate and I – gathered in the lounge to try and come up with a plan of action to deal with the fallout of the information leak on the horrific and abusive past of the Norths.
To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement. Everybody was nervous, angry or upset, and everyone was bewildered as to who could have sold the story. A family’s dirty laundry being aired to friends and neighbours was bad enough, but add into the mix that one of the key players was mega-star famous and the situation became exponentially worse.
The world now knew that Tudor, for much of his early childhood and teens, had been subject to brutal beatings and both physical and emotional torment by his father, and to be honest, the reports were so detailed in their descriptions, that even I was learning new information about my immensely private boyfriend and what he had been through: things that he hadn’t even confided in me yet – and nor should he have if he wasn’t ready. They were heart-breaking.
