Jays POV
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She's dreaming. And I'm just here watching her the way her lips purse together and when she occasionally reaches out for me. Her hands with our ring placed upon her finger and the tattoo of our initials.
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"Jay" she whispers.
I smile and shh her tucking her hair behind her ear and stroking her face.
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I've dreamed continuously about that moment, her telling me that she wants my babies. Passion possessed me and I had to take her then and there. Perhaps I got a little bit carried away but I need her to know, just how much I want this.
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There is a minor thing that's annoying me. Matthew.
I'm going to sort that out.
I have too.
I don't leave things be. It's why I win. Everytime.
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I stroke her tummy and waist and she shuffles into me.
"I love you" I whisper and then I gently remove myself from the bed and walk over to the bathroom.
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Splashing my face and checking my reflection in the mirror. I put on a shirt and some shorts and walk out of the bedroom.
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I cross the long hall, it has a deep red carpet and light neutral walls lined with art. There's a console table at the landing which has various prints from holidays on it in large marble frames. Not forgetting the vase with fresh honeysuckle and roses in.
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There's 25 marble steps down to the foyer. I take them one by one, not wanting to wake her up. Maeve has gone home now, she usually waits until midnight and then she takes a paid cab home. I always wondered what she did when she got back. And I always hoped that she didn't have to clean her own home and that she took a well earned rest.
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Once downstairs I head to the kitchen, and retrieve a can of drink. Diet Coke, I down it not realising my thirst before I fire up the coffee machine. Fancy coffee in hand hesitating briefly I walk to my father’s office, it's an off bounds area. Even to family.
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Three long halls and round a corner and then I am there outside the large door that I'm not allowed in.
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Of course I know the combinations. I begin entering the numbers into the lock door and after around 10 minutes I hear the familiar click. I smile and waltz in. I'm sure in some way he knows that I come in here. Something about the way he looked at me differently after that first time. When I was twelve I broke into the office and the following morning over breakfast he eyed me for twenty seconds longer than normal, before clearing his throat and avoiding my eye contact and eating Maeve's egg on toast.
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As fervently as I do not want to be a part of business I enjoy eavesdropping and watching what he is doing. Fearing that he might leave me his shoes to walk in someday, and having no idea what to do is something I think about most of the time. Throughout being a teenager, I thought about and tracked his business moves and in various instances I admired his boldness and creativity, as a business man not as a father. I cannot deny his ability in business, even if I discount him in almost every other area.
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The arch windows in the office look over the back of the house, the privacy blinds are always down in this room. The large oak desk takes pride in the centre of the room, decked out with all of the latest tech and chock full of papers and invoices. A wall lined with bookcases on the far right holds books and journals, nothing creative all just information books. I imagine Taylor enthusiastically browsing this bookcase and then feeling at a loss at the lack of interesting reading material.
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I head to the desk, breathing in the smell of cologne, cigars and brandy. I take a seat in the leather chair and sigh. I gently move some of the stuff aside slightly and go though what he has been looking at.
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Lots of stuff, it's like a glimpse into his brain. What he's been considering, how he's going to play situations. He's got a lot of stock figures and it appears he's going to buy into something. Good idea. Like I said he is bold. He takes risks.
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I'm going through the invoices and since five years ago money has tripled if not quadrupled. He's been risking for some reason, but also winning and making money. Serious money.
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He has files on properties, and I recognise the address on one of the properties. He mentioned it over dinner and it's the one he wants to upscale the lake house for. Curiosity devours me and I scan through the document taking in the high gloss images of this new property. It's state of the art, it's highly finished. The kitchen is the size of the downstairs area of the lake house. Marble worktops and floors. I imagine Taylor and myself cooking on the double cooker and eating in the large grande dining room. Stocking up the large cupboards with food and chilling in the indoor cinema room.
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It has a pool and it has a separate studio space, just as dad explained earlier. A short walk from the main house is a building the size of a small home. And not one but two studio spaces. With barres and sprung floors. It's ideal for Taylor.
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Having flicked through over five pages of samples of the grounds with its statues and water features I land on a page with pictures of the study within this mansion.
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Just like my fathers. Just like the desk I'm sitting at here in this house. And I see it, his plan, his desire for my life. After taking a look at the similarities and imagining myself 30 years down the line, like him in that office my children in the pool outside swimming. I imagine Taylor sunning herself by the pool just before having private dance classes in her own studio, our own version of Maeve watching our children whilst Taylor teaches. Us meeting by the outside pool for dinner and myself and Taylor tucking our children into their beds at night in the glorious nurseries that this place has to offer.
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I shut the pamphlet, now sure that he knew I would snoop and see it. So that he could just implant the idea in my brain. He lives for winning. He loves manipulation. He left it near the top just so that I would feel like I discovered it, myself.
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I place everything back and sit back in the chair. I hear the clock ticking and wonder how often he has sat here himself in the night listening to just the clock and his own thoughts in his head.
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I see a few pictures printed on paper that catch my eye way down in a drawer that he's left open. Not like him. I notice the wavy brown hair instantly. I grab for them.
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Taylor Elena Harris is the title and an image of her in a pale blue shirt is on the front. It's a snapshot of her entire life. I'm not surprised. Everything is in here. Even her birth time and place and how she was delivered via vaginal birth. It's totally invasive and thorough. It includes snaps of her through time and I imagine just how much he paid for this information. I flick through and realise that my dad had already prepped himself for meeting her. He wants to establish her wants and needs. This is how he understands people, it's his way.
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There's a ring around Taylor's fathers name, Johnathan Harris. Something my father is further looking into. It intrigues me. I briefly consider whether she has opened her fathers letter and push the thought away. I am not my dad, I do not have to know.
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At the end of the document there's a second one smaller in size than Taylor's but with a recognisable face on it. Matthew’s. I take in his brunette hair and green eyes and wonder what my father could possibly need to know about him. It's just as invasive and I'm shocked to learn that Matthew’s dad left him when he was a boy. He's never even told me that before.
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Matthew’s mum worked several jobs to bring him and his sister up according to this document. Matthew. Why Matthew ? Why look up him and not Ross? Is he considering Matthew a possible threat, something that gets in the way of us?
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I ponder this for a further hour or so with the record player on low sipping dad’s brandy. I always leave the glass there almost like leaving a note to tell him that I have been here watching. I've been sipping his brandy for years, just dipping my toes into his way of life.
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I glance at Taylor in her picture, I'm of course in the snapshot. It's a PI shot. For a long time I look at her. I evaluate my expression the way I am holding onto her and meeting her eyes.
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I can do this for her. I can be everything for her. I can give her everything even at a price. The price of a mansion in the hills.
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