Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

the Love Phantom at a show. He claimed later to have been dragged along by friends – possibly true as some of his workmates were in attendance with him. She realised early into her act that she was not strictly the focal point. The audience were looking at her off and on, shifting their focus to the handsome stranger. As she progressed through her act, she realised their attention was not split at all. They were looking at her too, yes, but only because he did; they were watching him watching her and needed to see what he was seeing.

She would not be upstaged. If all eyes were on him, then she would be on him too. Marcella incorporated him into her act, placing her stockinged foot onto his table before moving it onto his chest. He did not seem enamoured about becoming part of her routine but was not given the option of refusing. Bar walking out, but as he stayed, he was fair game. He returned a few weeks later alone and drew the gaze of a mostly new crowd. She didn’t go over to him this time – he came to her later. He asked her for her name and asked what she wanted to drink. She only answered him about the drink – that was how Chablis became his pet name for her and her infrequently used alias. He’d been thinking about her, so he said. She’d heard this song before, only she had been thinking about him too, so she went along with his offer of a drink. A quick fuck and they could both move on.

One quick fuck turned into two, three, four, one damp squib, a good recovery for six, etc. etc. Neither had planned for it to develop into anything else. But develop it did. They talked and got on well. Marcella told him early on that he didn’t need to use a condom, that she could guarantee she wouldn’t get pregnant. To his credit, he did enquire further into this rather than going off like a rocket and did so with compassion and sensitivity (and then left the room and punched the sky, probably). She felt no shame about the miscarriage and told him it all straight. He was sympathetic and supportive, which was nice for her to hear, and he got to fuck her without wrapping his dick up, which clearly made him happy, though not so much by the manner it came about.

She had one condition that she made early on. No matter what, he was never to come and see her perform again. She could strip for him anytime and wasn’t coy about that. But she would not have him steal her spotlight again when she was working.

He was the first to speak of love. She did not say it back, not until much later that evening. She held his cheek tenderly, letting him know that she had heard him and appreciated the sentiment without rushing to reciprocate. She wanted to give the words and the sentiment room to breathe, for him to think about what he had said and the gravity of it. She didn’t need to say it back immediately for he knew she was his for the taking from the start, just like everybody else was. She said it to him later, and many more times since, because she wanted to. Relationships where only one person said those special words was like a boat ride in rocky water with one oar. It was possible to make it through, but it would be rough going. She’d had past lovers she said it to and got nothing back. I love you this much, how much do you love me. Okay, how much do you like me? How much can you tolerate me? Okay, why are you with me? Sadly, she’d often lacked the self-respect to ask that, wary of giving them that opportunity to leave her.

Marcella was still unsure if they had a future. From her end, she was willing to try. César claimed to want the same, that she would move in after the war, but it was easy to say that during the conflict. What made his offer seem more plausible was that he didn’t mention marriage. But she had been kept in a separate compartment of his life throughout their relationship. She’d never met his legion of friends (he was in the lucky position of being able to pick and choose) nor his family. They had been safely ensconced in Switzerland for the duration of the war. They hadn’t wanted to go and had only done so when he used his influence to make them. It was what he wanted, they complied. He had to remain to provide an income for them, in the fortunate position of knowing that no harm would come to him, at least not intentionally. They wrote him letters on an almost daily basis. What would they think of her? Nobody was ever going to be good enough for him anyway in their eyes. She couldn’t give them any more grandkids; César claimed not to care, that he made a better uncle and brother than he’d make a father, but he still wasn’t 30. Men could become broody at any time, no clock ticking for them, while hers had stopped.

The plan had changed subtly in recent months since the prospect of victory became more imminent. Moving in together had morphed into him buying a flat for her. That sounded good on paper, a very generous offer. She spotted the distinction and should have called him out on it. Buying a flat for her meant that he was keeping his own house. They were not moving in together at all. She would remain his girlfriend or his mistress, Marcella unsure which she was currently. She knew he wasn’t married but could not be sure that she was his one and only. She was not the kind of woman that men took