Heaven And Hell novel Chapter 48

Michael sighed and closed his eyes, but he didn't let go of my hand. I felt better.

When he spoke, though, I could tell there was regret laced in his voice and he wasn't very comfortable telling me the truth. I admired him for trying.

"Yes, they were," he confessed, entwining our fingers tighter. "I met and hooked up with a lot of women although I didn't really feel anything for them other than..." He looked at me intently.

"Than...?"

"Sex."

"Oh."

I tried very hard not to imagine him and Natalie naked together, I really did.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Anyway...so, yeah. I didn't feel any affection for them other than pleasure -- they meant something to me, but definitely not anything deep. I got them whatever they wanted -- they were lavished with clothes, jewels, houses, cars. It was an exchange for what they gave me when I needed them."

Michael fell silent but I gently squeezed his hand, urging him to go on.

"We used one another, to say the least. That's how it had always been," he muttered with a bitter laugh. "I dated the most beautiful women but I didn't love them. I only wanted to shag them."

Despite myself, I laughed. That seemed to calm Michael.

"But you, Keller," he continued in a soft voice, pulling me into his arms, "are not like them. You have a bloody good right hook and a forehead made of steel."

He chuckled and I liked the sound the rumble his chest made. I wrapped my arm around his waist.

"You are far from them, Keller Blakely. You are my proud, headstrong, sweet and impertinent golden girl. My golden girl."

His.

"Always." Michael pulled my head and kissed my temple.

I closed my eyes and tightened my arms around him, whispering, "Always."

"Oh God."

I literally tossed myself onto Michael's gigantic white leather sofa in the living room, massaging my feet from the Manolo Blahniks I wore at a party we had attended just a few minutes ago. "I am so tired of attending these soirées!"

"So am I," Michael admitted from above the sofa, tossing his leather jacket on the headrest.

I peeked up at him then closed my eyes again, wanting nothing but to get a good night's rest. That is, if you consider four in the freaking morning to be a good night's rest.

"If you said you used to turn down invitations offhandedly, why didn't you just ignore the invitations this time?"

"Because," he stated somewhere in the living room, shuffling through his stuff, "I have -- and obviously I want -- to introduce you to everyone."

"But it's so tiring!" I whined, rubbing my feet with each other, scowling. Never would I wear heels again until it was necessarily needed, I vowed.

"Keller," Michael said, "you're not the only one who's getting knackered with all this. Nobody said being my fiancée would be easy." He sighed.

We hadn't been taking care of Moan -- there was no point calling her Sloan, now -- in a while, because you know why?

Michael dropped the sack.

Where, you ask? Out the window.

Yesterday, after spending time with Kimberly and Renzo (who had been clinging to Michael like an orangutan hugging a tree), we had brought Moan along for them to meet. We went to the London Eye in Westminster because I'd never been around the city before.

Michael, Kimberly, Renzo and I had hopped inside the glass Eye and before you knew it, my fiancé and I had fought on who was going to hold Moan as the good parent.

Since Michael was such a good father, he stated, he ought to show the world how great he really was by raising Moan in the air, showing her off like Simba from the freaking Lion King.

I had no choice because Michael had a stronger grip than me, so he'd easily taken the sack of flour from my hands.

The minute he'd raised Moan up, the Eye jiggled as it began to rise up in the air, making Michael jiggle along with us, making him drop our baby.

And what do you know? The sack crashed to the floor with a bang -- that was because Michael raised it high in the air -- and the floor of the Eye was full of baking flour.

That was what happened to our project.

Also, the tabloids seemed to eat it up. They had pictures of us and the dead flour on every gossip sheets, or "glossies," as Kimberly had stated.

And now, we were doomed. Michael had assured me that he'd call Happy Sacks Emporium for a replacement, but I'd said that was cheating, so I had rejected his suggestion. Might as well tell our teacher the truth than to lie to him. Argh.