Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A short prologue…

The butler’s white-gloved hand placed a large, bulbous glass in front of Alex. He covered the top of the brandy snifter with his hand before the butler could fill it from a bottle that probably cost more than what Alex used to earn in a month.

“Not for me, thank you.”

The butler silently moved along to the next guest.

“Are you not partial to brandy?” Asked Rupert from across the table.

“No. The last time I drank brandy, I woke with a terrible headache.”

“Brandy will do that if you overdo it.”

Victor, their host, who was seated at the head of the table to his right, shared a knowing look with Alex. They both knew why he didn’t drink brandy, and it had nothing to do with overindulging. Although headaches were involved.

Cigars were passed around, and again, Alex refused; he’d never smoked in his life and didn’t intend to start now. Of the ten tuxedo-clad men seated around the table, all except Alex had a Brandy and a cigar.

“Come now, Alex, you can’t very well sit there twiddling your thumbs. It’ll be a while yet before the ladies are ready. Here, let me at least show you how to smoke a proper cigar. And maybe just a tipple of Brandy? The cheap stuff will give you a headache, but a small measure of this excellent example here will be fine, I’m sure.”

Rupert meant well; there was no intent on his part to talk down to Alex or patronise him, but that was the result, intended or not. Victor cringed at Rupert's crass behaviour and set about making Alex feel at ease again.

“PAH,” he said loudly. “I admire a man who knows what he does or does not like. And I especially admire a man who’s comfortable in himself and doesn’t try to be what he’s not. Alex, would you prefer a cold beer?”

Alex smiled at their host, “That sounds good, thank you.”

“I thought so. Colins…a bottle of beer for our honoured guest.”

The butler disappeared and a minute later returned with a cold bottle of Beck's and a glass on a silver tray. He placed the glass on the table but Alex took hold of the bottle.

“That’s fine, thanks, I don’t need a glass.”

He took a big swig, slammed the bottle firmly on the table and stared at Rupert. The point he made was clear.

I may not be one of you, but I have a place here nonetheless.

Rupert blushed at the less-than-subtle hint. Victor grinned as he puffed on his cigar.

“I’m sorry, old chap,” said Rupert as Alex continued to glare at him. “I didn’t mean to cause any offence. You must think I’m a snotty old bafoon.”

“No, I don’t think you’re snotty or old,” said Alex, raising half a grin.

“Ha!” bellowed Victor, “Good show. That’s the spirit!”

Laughter erupted around the table and the atmosphere relaxed as the cigar smoke filled the room. Alex didn’t think his joke was funny enough to elicit such a response, but he took his wins where he could get them.

Sometime later, Colins whispered into Victor’s ear. Their host then tapped the side of his brandy glass several times with a spoon. His guests quietened and looked to him.

“Gentlemen, the ladies await us.”

Victor led the men from the smoke-filled dining room to the drawing room. Alex stopped just inside the double doors of the elegant room to take in the sight. Ten ladies and fifteen girls of varying ages adorned the room. They were the wives or partners of the men, and their daughters.

They were in small groups, some standing, some seated, chatting happily, while sipping on champagne or sherry, with one or two smoking a cigarette. The girls mingled with the adults rather than group together with peers of their own age. It was a sight that took him to a chapter in the Evelyn Waugh novel, Brideshead Revisited. Or perhaps a scene from Downton Abbey. There was one significant difference with this scene though.

Every woman and girl was naked.

They all wore shoes, mostly designer heels, and some wore fine jewellery that sparkled under the lights. A few wore stockings. But that was all; there was not a stitch of clothing given over to their modesty. And not one of them seemed to display anything like discomfort, quite the opposite in fact. There was laughter and calm chatter, the atmosphere relaxed and casual.

The two Sapphire blue doors that dominated the far wall remained closed, for now. 

Bella came striding over to him, wearing just her heels and a smile. Her breasts swayed as she walked, one foot placed carefully in front of the other like a model making her way down a catwalk.

She took Alex’s arm and stood with him in silence for a moment before speaking.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

“Are you okay? If you’re not comfortable, then we can just stay for a few drinks and take the girls up to bed.”

At the mention of the girls, Alex’s eyes darted around the room and found Bella’s two daughters chatting in a group. They looked happy and at ease.

“No, I’m fine. I know you told me what to expect, but still, it’s a lot to take in.”

She looked up at him, caught momentarily in his dark eyes. “I love you,” she said, and kissed him.

At that moment, the blue doors opened, and Victor’s voice boomed above the din, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Sapphire room is open.”

Eighteen months earlier…

Alex pushed the book trolley down the narrow aisle, lining up returned volumes with precise care. The rhythm of reshelving books was familiar. Sliding into their proper places, the faint scrape of cover against cover was soothing. Behind him, a low murmur of frustration floated from the front desk.

“Sorry, I don’t understand…”

He glanced back. A colleague was gesturing patiently to an elderly woman, wearing a colourful Sari and a headscarf.  The woman's hands were fluttering over a stack of books as if they might rearrange themselves into meaning. She was trying to pay for the books, unaware of the loan system in libraries. Alex smiled faintly, library chaos was rarely catastrophic, just slightly awkward.

His attention was then drawn in another direction. First came a tip-tap of heels, then the faint whisper of perfume, and finally she appeared at the edge of his vision.

Too poised and impossibly glamorous for a library in Tooting, south London. She moved as if she belonged on a magazine cover, not among dusty books. She paused a few feet away, eyes scanning the shelves with a mixture of curiosity and mild amusement.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice soft but certain, “I’m looking for a guide on the correct way to organise a book collection.”

She spoke with exacting clarity, every syllable hinting at a lifetime of privileged education. Alex’s hands froze mid-shelf. He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of his mundane shirt and slacks and the embarrassing photo on the ID hanging from the lanyard around his neck.

“Next isle along,” he said, pointing, “Library of Congress, call number… just over...erm, would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” she said with a hint of a smile.

He found the book in the next aisle and passed it to her.

“The Dewey Decimal System is probably the place to start.”

Her smile was brief, fleeting, and disarming. “Thank you.”

She moved off gracefully, heels clicking lightly against the floor. Alex watched her disappear between the stacks and breathed her perfume long after she’d gone. Beautiful, classy, sophisticated, and she had a book collection, too? The term perfect woman sprang to mind. 

He shook his head and resumed reshelving, but couldn’t help noticing that the library felt a little greyer the moment she left.

He went to the gym after work, grabbed a falafel wrap on the way home and ate it on the bus. A few stops later, he got off and walked the short distance from the main road to his flat. It wasn’t much, a small two-bed conversion, the top half of what was once a fair-sized Victorian family home. He got it for a steal many years previously from his father’s inheritance. Property prices had gone through the roof since then. His father would have approved of such a shrewd investment, even if it was down to luck more than any sense of financial acumen.

After a shower, he sat at his desk and fired up his laptop. Moments later, he was lost in the words, tapping away at the keys as his beloved characters came to life once more. The drab existence of the day was forgotten; he was immersed in a world entirely of his own making. After a few hours, he stopped at the natural ending point of a chapter. He walked about the small flat to get his circulation going while the kettle boiled, made a cup of tea and then returned to his desk and munched on a few biscuits.  

He spent the next few hours editing some chapters he’d written a while ago and carefully checking the next one to be published. He released one chapter a week, rarely if ever breaking his routine. His readers thrived on the long-established rhythm of his work being dropped online the same day, week in, week out. And it worked; his readership swelled to dizzying heights.

Once his editing was done, he allowed himself some time to check the messages and feedback from his last published chapter, dutifully replying to each one, thanking them for their support and praise. He spent some time on the message boards too, jumping into a few threads that interested him and giving advice to someone looking to start their first story.

Outwardly, his existence appeared mundane and unremarkable. But the work he did in secret online, under the moniker of Wild&Hidden, and the acclaim he had earned under that name, lent his life a quiet intensity. It was a constant source of private exhilaration that he pursued not for money, nor for recognition, but for the thrill of it; a pulse of excitement that few could ever experience. If he had chosen to write in any other genre, he’d likely have acquired considerable wealth and fame. As it was, his particular niche of erotica was not deemed suitable for publication, and thus, he was confined to a small but avid corner of the internet.

Finally, he went to bed, then woke the next morning to repeat the cycle.

A week later, she came back, and just as before, her perfume hit him before he caught sight of her. The designer dress and heels were replaced with black leather ankle boots, jeans and a shirt. But she’d lost none of her glamour or sophistication in the process.

“Hello,” she said, brandishing the book she’d borrowed.

“Oh…hi. Was the book useful?”

“Unfortunately, not. I’m ashamed to say it’s all a bit over my head.”

“Perhaps we’ve got something else that might be more useful. I can help you look for one if you like?”

“Thank you, but no. I know when I'm beaten. But a thought has just occurred to me.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps you could help me?”

“Me? How can I help you?”

“You’re a librarian, aren’t you? That makes you an expert on the subject.”

“I’m not sure I could call myself an expert.”

“From where I’m standing you are. I’m thinking of having a library in my home, but I haven’t the first clue where to start. I’d appreciate some advice.”

“Sure, what would you like to know?”

“Gosh, I feel a bit on the spot now. Rather than me taking up your valuable time, perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Uh-huh, dinner. It’s a meal. Usually eaten in the evening.”

“Um, yeah, okay, why not?”

“Splendid. There’s a little Italian place in Wimbledon Village, Carlo’s. I’ll meet you there at eight. And just so we’re clear, dinner is on me, for services rendered.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be rendering any services that warrant the cost of a dinner, but I’ll do my best.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you tonight then.”

As she walked off, he called after her, “Wait, I don’t know your name.”

She fished a card out of her handbag and handed it to him. Then she grabbed his ID and had a close look.

Alex blushed. “I hate that photo.”

“Nonsense, it’s charming. Alex…Wilder. I’m Bella. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They shook hands, then she said, “See you tonight,” and walked out.

This time, he had a good view of her as she made her way to the exit. He was captivated by her walk and the wiggle of her hips clad in tight blue denim. She turned and looked behind her, catching him red-handed as he glared at her. But rather than blush with embarrassment, he smiled confidently as she made her way out of the building.

He glanced at the card she gave him. It was deep crimson, rich and smooth to the touch. Her name, Arabella Montrose, gleamed in embossed gold script, with only a mobile phone number and an email address. A faint trace of jasmine clung to the card, as if even paper wasn’t immune to her presence.

What the fuck just happened he thought to himself.

For dinner, he wore black jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt that clung just enough to hint at the physique he usually kept hidden. When he was younger, his father had passed down tips on the subject he referred to as courting. They were lessons that had served Alex well over the years. One was simple: when meeting a woman, arrive early, wait outside, and escort her into the establishment. Ladies appreciate that sort of thing, his father used to say. And once again, the advice proved sound.

Bella stepped gracefully from a black cab, her bare legs catching the light as she moved. She handed the driver a twenty and didn’t wait for change. Her dark hair was swept up in that effortless, shabby-chic way that likely took an hour to perfect. The black dress clung to her like it had been made for her; modest yet daring, offering just a suggestion of cleavage.

“You waited outside for me. The mark of a true gentleman,” she said, brushing his cheek with a kiss.

“You look beautiful,” he replied.

“Thank you,” she smiled, “you’re rather handsome yourself. Though we do look as if we’ve just come from a funeral.”

Carlo’s was small and warmly lit, tucked away in Wimbledon Village, with linen tablecloths and soft jazz humming beneath the chatter.

The conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Alex learned that she was thirty-two, making her two years younger than him. She described herself as a socialite, which meant she was wealthy, well-connected, and quite honest about never having done a proper day’s work in her life. But she wore it well, unashamed and with an aristocratic confidence that he found oddly endearing.

She was divorced, with two daughters, nine and eleven years old, whom she spoke about with warmth and affection. Her laughter carried an ease that surprised him. Her money, she admitted without pretence, came mostly from inheritance. “I dabble in stocks,” she said, “but only to justify brunches at Annabel’s.”

He, in turn, told her about Oxford, Magdalen College, where he had studied English Literature on a scholarship, and the quiet satisfaction he found in the rhythm of library work. She raised an eyebrow when he mentioned the gym.

Her eyes glinted over the rim of her glass as she studied his physique. “You hide it well at work.”

He smiled, leaning back. “That’s the idea, keeps people guessing.”

By the time dessert arrived, the air between them had shifted. Her laughter lingered a little longer, his gaze met hers more often. The waiter brought the bill, but neither of them reached for it right away. There had been no talk of shelving systems or book collections, only the unmistakable spark of two very different worlds beginning to lean toward each other. He felt a flicker of guilt, realising they hadn’t spoken once about her book collection.

He went to grab the bill, but she beat him to it.

“No, I told you, dinner is on me.”

“But that was for services rendered, which I’ve not done. We haven’t talked about your book collection at all.”

When she placed her card on the plate with the bill, a waiter appeared with the payment device. Conversation paused until she tapped the card and he moved away. She set a twenty on the table, then looked at Alex.

“Okay, cards on the table. I don’t own a book collection.”

Alex frowned. “So why the subterfuge?”

“Let me ask you something. Did you really think I invited you to dinner for advice on a book collection?”

“Yes. I did.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I might have been hoping there was more to it than that,” he said.

“Don’t be fooled by the fancy war paint and confident swagger. I’m really not that bold. Certainly not enough to blatantly ask a man I’ve never met before out on a date. But I knew you were at work, and it wouldn’t have been appropriate for you to ask me out yourself. So I was terribly naughty and made up a little story to save my blushes. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a chance to make up for the lack of services rendered. Let me buy you dinner next time.”

“Done. But, you do know there’s more than one way to render services to a lady?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“I was hoping it might. Are you ready to leave?”

He nodded, and they left. As they stepped outside, a black cab passed. Alex jumped when Bella stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled so loudly his ears rang.

“Daddy taught me a lot of things,” she said with a grin, “and hailing a cab in London is right up there with the best of them.”

“I can see that,” said Alex.

Bella climbed into the back of the cab but didn’t close the door.

“It’s not far, just up to Feather Lane, please, driver,” she said. Then she looked back at Alex.

“Are you going to stand out there all night, or are you getting in?”

“Getting in. Definitely getting in,” he said, unable to wipe the smirk off his face.

Best decision he’s ever made, thought the cab driver.

Chapter Text

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning taking the heat out of the summer night. Clothes were scattered across the thick weave carpet, his shirt near the foot of the bed, her dress draped over a chair.

Standing naked before him, she became even more captivating, although he’d expected as much, but she still took his breath away. Her figure was sublime, breasts that bordered on large, a pinched waist and hips that curved just enough and sat atop long, shapely legs. And there was not a hair to be seen on her body. He drank in the sight, burning the vision into his memory, just as she did with him.

Bella wasn’t picky about a man's physique. Cliché though it may be, to her, what mattered most was what was inside. Still, she was only human and had hoped for an average body at the very least. But come the moment when she saw him naked, she was quite taken aback. He was toned and well-muscled, but not overly so. He obviously kept in great shape, but was not obsessed with his body. Even his manhood was perfect; long and thick, with veins pulsing hypnotically. She couldn’t have asked for more.

There was no foreplay. There was no making love like the romantic movies. They fell on each other with an insatiable need. She laid herself open, inviting, vulnerable and exquisit. He took what she offered and more, driving into her with a force tempered in affection but driven by a desperate need. It was wanton, hard fucking. He bit her neck and shoulder as she clawed at his back with her nails. He filled her perfectly; any wider or longer would have been too much…a perfect fit.

When she yelled aloud on the crest of a blissful wave, he burst, unloading deep inside her; two orgasms perfectly synchronised. She dug her heels into his butt, willing him on as he pumped a second, third and fourth time, each slightly less than the one before, echoing the gradual decline of their frenzied state. They collapsed next to each other, then wrapped themselves into a tangle of arms and legs, bathing in the endorphins buzzing through their bodies.

Alex lay on his back, catching his breath as he stared at the ceiling, the afterglow settling into something warm and contented. He’d never meant for the evening to end as it had, yet now that it was done, it felt as if it had been strangely inevitable. He turned his head toward her, watching as she toyed with a loose strand of hair, her bare shoulder catching the light. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about work or his secret life online.

“So,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice, “do you always charm strangers into bed this quickly?”

“Only the ones worth knowing,” he said, letting his gaze linger on hers, steady, confident.

“Sorry for the cliché, but how is it that you are single?” she asked.

“I could ask the same thing.”

“My divorce went through almost two years ago. It wasn’t pleasant; he’s a petty, vindictive man. It was hard on the kids. They’re tough, but still, the last thing they need is to see their mother get divorced and then have a stream of guys wandering in and out of their lives. So I boarded the chastity wagon for a while. That’s my very predictable story. Have you been single for long?”

“About a year. I’m just fed up with the dating merry-go-round and all the bullshit that comes with it.”

“Have you ever been married? Any kids?”

“Never married, no kids. I’d like both someday though.”

She looked at him, staring intently into his eyes.

“What are you holding back?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I can sense something hidden in you. If I ask some quick-fire questions, will you answer honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“Only once, when I was at uni. I got busted smoking a joint outside a chicken shop. I haven’t used recreational drugs since I left Oxford.”

“Have you ever hit a girl?”

“Does spanking count?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“Using your last two girlfriends as an example, if I called them and asked them about you, what sort of reaction would I get?”

“I’m on good terms with both of them. I mean, we’re not friends, we don’t socialise, but I parted with both of them amicably. I don’t think they’d have anything bad to say about me. Why, do you want references?”

“No, I’m just trying to get a handle on you. How long is your longest relationship?”

“Just over a year. I’m not afraid of commitment, I’ve just never found the right girl to settle down with.” He said with a frown.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be acusational,” she said, kissing him tenderly. “I just get the feeling something is getting in the way of your relationships.”

Alex began to panic a little. She didn’t know it, but she was referring to his online persona. It was the one thing he was not willing to give up for a woman. But given the nature of the content he wrote, he could not tell them about it. Eventually, they always asked questions about what he was doing when he tapped away at his laptop. His feeble excuses only lasted so long before his secretive writing caused his relationships to sour.

But maybe Bella could handle it. Maybe she was the one he finally opened up to about his secret life? He always thought that in the beginning though. But to date, he’d never found the courage to open up. He needed time to think about whether Bella was the one he finally was honest with. While he stayed quiet, she continued talking.

“I mean, you’re an Oxford grad. Devilishly handsome with a great body. You’re intelligent, charming, and likeable. You’ve got a steady job and your own flat. And you’re a demon in the sack. I’m stumped. I can’t believe no one has snapped you up.”

“I don’t remember saying I live in a flat?”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments.

“You said you live locally, so I just presumed it was a flat. It doesn’t make sense to live in a big house by yourself. Oh god…that’s it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You live at home with your parents!”

Alex laughed.

“No, I do actually live in a flat, in Tooting, not far from work. It’s mine, I own it and I live alone. I’d invite you over sometime but it’s…well, nothing like this,” he said, waving his hand about.

Her house was exactly what he’d expected, though no less impressive for it. A sleek, modern detached home tucked behind high gates in Wimbledon Village, all clean lines and classy luxury, there was nothing ostentatious about it. It’s the kind of place you see in glossy magazines: stone floors, minimalist furniture, soft lighting, and a glimpse of an outdoor pool through the wide glass doors in the kitchen.

“I’m not a snob, you know. I don’t care where you live. I like you, and your home is a part of you, so I’ll like that too. Anyway, fancy some ice cream?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They padded naked down to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of spoons and dug into a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Hey, stop hogging the cookie dough.”

“You eat too slowly,” he said.

Alex looked about, gazing through the large bifold doors that spanned the whole back wall of the kitchen to the garden.

Bella looked at Alex, then the garden, then back to Alex.

“What are you looking at?”

“There’s a lot of glass here, the place is like a fish bowl. Can anyone see in?”

“No, we’re not overlooked. The garden is completely private.”

“That’s good.”

“I’d like to ask you something,” she said in a serious tone.

“Okay, I’ll stop hogging the cookie dough.”

“No, it’s not that, although I’ll hold you to it anyway. The girls are away at their grandparents' until next weekend. It’s not often I get the house to myself. I was thinking maybe we could make the most of it?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Why don’t you stay here with me for the week?”

“That’s a nice idea, but I’ve got work.”

“You can get to work from here; it’s not that much further. I’ll drop you off and pick you up each day if you like.”

Then she blushed and hid her face in her hands.

“Oh god. I just realised how awful that sounds. You must think I’m sort of a bunny boiler coming on so strong. Forget I said anything, please?”

“I don’t think you’re coming on strong, not at all.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I think you asked because you feel the same way I do.”

“Which is?”

He thought for a second, then said, “It’s that thing you can’t put your finger on. The spark, the connection, call it what you will. I don’t just mean the sex, which was awesome by the way. I mean…I don’t know.”

“I know exactly what you mean. It’s why I asked you to stay. I just want to get as much of you as I can, while I can, before the girls come home.”

“Okay then, yeah, let’s do it, let’s spend the week together.”

“You really mean it?”

“Uh-huh. But erm, if we’re going to do this, why not do it properly?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m long overdue for some leave; my boss has been nagging me to take some holiday. I could take the week off if you like? Unless that’s too much, I mean, I can still go to work and ….”

“No! Don’t go to work, take the week off! Please, take the week off!”

“Okay, done.”

“Oh, you wonderful hunk of a man,” she said, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

With a glint in her eye, she looked at him and said, “If you’re going to be here all week, then we’d better start as we mean to carry on.”

She dropped down to her knees, took his partially erect cock in her hand and slowly sank her mouth down his length. She delighted in the sensation of him growing hard in her mouth as her tongue massaged his cock.

She withdrew, looked up at him with her big blue eyes and said, “You’d better get used to this.”

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do insist.”

Her naturally plump lips were seemingly made for this. She took him to the back of her throat with effortless ease, massaging him with her lips as she slid back and forth.

Alex is a good-looking guy; he attracts his fair share of women, many of whom sucked his cock; in that regard, this was nothing new. But he couldn’t say he had ever been with a woman of such beauty, with such a stunning body, with such wealth. And he certainly had never had a woman do this with such skill. It was only around half an hour ago that he’d come inside her, and yet here he was, almost ready to pop again mere minutes after she’d started on him.

“God, that feels good. But if you don’t slow down, I’m going to come.”

Her mumbled reply could only be interpreted as ‘Okay’, and was backed up by an increase in her rhythm. He held off as long as he could, which amounted to just a few more minutes. Not to show off and demonstrate some sort of stamina, but because he didn’t want the delicious feeling to end. When he blew his load, she didn’t miss a beat, deftly swallowing without losing a drop.

At this point, ninety-nine per cent of women stop, thinking the job is done. Certainly that was the case with all his ex-girlfriends. But not Bella. She stayed on her knees, keeping him in her mouth and lovingly sucking his deflating cock, licking it and planting kisses on him, almost as if in worship. She didn’t move until he indicated he was done, then stood up, and they held each other tightly.

“Thank you, that was fantastic.”

“You’re very welcome. And I meant what I said, get used to it, I plan on doing that a lot.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

They went back to bed and chatted, kept awake by the pulsing of new relationship energy. In a break in the conversation, he asked a question that had been on his mind. He’d wanted to ask it earlier, then she took her clothes off and his mind was elsewhere.

“We didn’t use any protection,” he said.

“I noticed that.”

“Are we going to have any problems?”

“You mean in nine months?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Uh-huh.”

In the deafening silence, she could hear his mind working and answered the question he was plucking up the courage to ask.

“You’re wondering why a single woman with no boyfriend is on the pill?”

“No, I mean, a bit, but it’s none of my business.”

“I like to be well prepared. I thought my chances of having sex with you were slim, but I wanted to make sure I had the bases covered, just in case. I finished my period two days ago, which means you can have sex the first day after if you take the pill straight away. Which I did.”

“Sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be silly, you were right to ask.”

As the chatter faded and they drifted off into a slumber, another piece of his father’s sage wisdom echoed in his mind.

‘Remember, son, if she looks too good to be true, run for the hills and don’t look back.”