Indigo Bloome Collection: The Avalon Trilogy: Destined to Play, Destined to Feel, Destined to Fly

‘Oh, no you don’t.’ My hand is guided away. ‘No touching whatsoever. That is why you will also be wearing this blindfold, as a reminder to leave your eyes alone.’

‘No way! That won’t be necessary. I can’t see a thing.’

‘It is and you will.’ He places it over my head. It fits snugly against my eyes and feels silky soft.

‘Well, well, another perfect fit. Did you have it made especially?’ I say jokingly.

No answer. ‘Jeremy?’ There is a long pause.

‘Yes Alex, as a matter of fact, I did.’

***

‘Come with me.’ Jeremy holds both my hands and assists me carefully up from the bed. I forget I have high heels on and stumble a little before I regain my balance.

‘Wow, this is really, really weird.’ He places his arm around my waist and leads me out of the second bedroom rather precariously. I feel like an invalid. I am stunned this has happened, that I am now blind and fully dependent on Jeremy for the weekend. It makes me feel nervous and tense, but also excited somehow, not knowing what to expect. My dreamlike state has evaporated so I can only hope I’m not entering into a dark nightmare.

‘Here, let’s sit on the lounge.’ He guides me down into the soft velvet cushions. I feel either side of me for armrests but there aren’t any. I wonder how blind people do this every day of their lives? Not knowing how or when things are happening. The positive voice inside me is quietly grateful I had spent some time in the hotel suite earlier. At least I have some familiarity with my surroundings.

A knock on the door startles me.

‘Stay here, I’ll be right back.’ His hands leave mine before I can respond. Jeremy briefly greets whoever is at the door as I sit on the lounge silently like a complete idiot with a blindfold on. I am deeply embarrassed.

I hear noises of plates being efficiently set up and arranged and a bottle crushing into ice, perhaps refreshing the champagne? There is a vague aroma of food in the room. There is no discussion between Jeremy and the ‘door people’ as they go about their business and they remove themselves as quickly as they arrive. I hear Jeremy thanking them and securely closing the door behind them.

He sits beside me on the lounge and places a glass of champagne in my hand.

‘Thank you, Alexa, this means everything to me.’

It is so strange not being able to see that I find myself utterly lost for words, so I don’t say anything. I hear our glasses clink together and feel a desperate need to gulp the bubbles down fast. I swallow as much champagne as physically possible, so urgent is the need for me to drink it. I suddenly feel completely out of control, reality hitting me like a brick on the head. I find myself wishing for another shot of absinthe to numb me from it all. What have I done? Anything could happen … I have literally handed myself to him on a platter. Oh well, what possible difference could another glass of champagne make? At least if I pass out I won’t be conscious of how freaked out I am. The rational voice in my head quickly questions the sanity of this particular logic. I keep tipping the glass up but it must already be empty given nothing is coming out.

‘Whoa, Alex! You never drink that fast!’

‘No. I don’t, Jeremy.’ I finally find my voice. ‘But extreme situations can result in extreme behaviour.’ I place my glass out into the space in front of me.

‘Would you mind filling up my glass again, please? This champagne is delicious.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks tentatively.

‘Oh, yes, I am very sure I would love another glass of champagne. I would be very happy to pour it myself if you would be kind enough to direct me to the bottle, although I would hate to spill any on the lush, five-star carpet,’ I say pointedly.

‘You’re mad at me?’

Such an emotional rocket scientist, I think to myself sarcastically; maybe his EQ isn’t quite what I thought it was after all. Or maybe it is? I’m not so much mad at him as angry at myself for allowing this ridiculous situation to occur in the first place. The reality of being blind has caught me completely off-guard. It’s one thing to be enticed by the concept, the sensuality of the idea, quite another to know I’ll be living like this for the next forty-eight hours. My emotions are threatening to overwhelm me as the significance of what I have just done settles in to my bones.

As I can’t see him, nor read his emotions, I just keep holding out my empty glass, waiting for him to provide the refill, needing the alcohol to fill the void.

‘Alexandra, are you really angry with me? Honestly?’

Another Alexandra moment. I wait with my glass extended toward his voice. He takes it, refills it and places it back in my hand. Thank goodness. I’m relieved as I raise the bubbly liquid to my lips. I decide to ignore his question, believing it at least gives me some control.

‘Lovely champagne, Jeremy. What is it? I’m not sure I’ve had it before.’

I sense he is bemused at my avoiding his question. Unfortunately, he knows me well enough to recognise the more polite I am being, the greater the emotion I am hiding. Basically, he knows me almost as well as I know myself, if not better. Which is no doubt why I am sitting here in a ball gown, with a blindfold on, in the penthouse suite, trapped for the weekend. It is just all the more frustrating.

‘It’s Krug. We had it when I graduated. You loved it then as well, said it put you in a really great mood and —’

‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ I cut him off, not wanting his version of a trip down memory lane right now. My emotions are in overdrive, all the hypnotic calmness having taken its leave.

‘Well, all the more reason for drinking it now.’ I say as I take another sip. At least I am not gulping it now. I hear him sigh.

‘Will you at least have some hors d’oeuvres to go with your champagne?’

I have to agree some food wouldn’t go astray. Even though my mind is spinning and my emotions are all over the place, I’m sure my rational brain wouldn’t be encouraging me to drink any more alcohol without food.

‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ I say very politely, formally. I can just imagine him rolling his eyes at my behaviour.

‘Open your mouth, please.’ He is close to me.

‘In my hand will be fine, thank you.’ It feels good to assert myself.

‘Alex, this is ridiculous.’ I take another sip of champagne in defiance. Maybe being blind doesn’t result in complete dependency after all. I can’t help but allow a small smirk to ripple across my face. He quickly snatches the glass out of my hand.

My smirk vanishes immediately.

‘Open your mouth and I will give you your glass back.’

I am just about to answer back when something small and delicious lands on my tongue. Taken aback, and with a mouthful of food tickling my tastebuds, I decide to close my mouth and eat it. After all, it would be a shame to waste such tantalising cuisine. Another one arrives not long after. Blini — absolutely delicious. I can taste the strong flavour of smoked trout against the light buckwheat pancake and feel the salmon roe slide around my mouth. The slightest hint of fennel confirms they are just like the ones we had in Russia all those years ago, amazing! Though I’m pleased we are drinking champagne rather than vodka as we were back then. My stomach is very grateful for the food.

‘More?’ I hear him ask. I nod and turn toward him, not really wanting to give him the satisfaction of my words. Something warm and soft arrives this time with an aroma of garlic and herbs.

‘Mmm.’ This time I can’t help but let out a groan in delicious delight. ‘Gorgeous. Scallop?’

‘Indeed it is.’ He dabs the corner of my mouth with a linen serviette. ‘Another?’

‘Yes, please,’ I hear myself answer. After I swallow it he hands me back my glass of Krug. I sense he is happy that my frustration is dissipating alongside the food and champagne. Something about good food and wine that lifts the spirit, I think to myself.

‘Care to share your thoughts?’

I eventually come to the conclusion that my anger is a result of my anxiety about losing control, particularly as I am so used to being in control of everything. I allow the emotion to leave me, as it is serving no purpose. Given my current predicament it would make the next forty-eight hours downright miserable for both of us, so I relent and share my thoughts with him. Although I am still on edge with my blindness and the dependency that surrounds me, it feels better being at ease with Jeremy and allowing the conversation to flow between us.

After a few minutes of banter, Jeremy sidles up against me.

‘So tell me, honestly, how do you feel? Are you having fun?’ He lifts me slowly off the lounge to my feet.

‘Oh. Let me get this straight. You are allowed to ask as many questions as you want but I can’t ask any, is that the way it works?’ He caresses my neck and collarbone with his lips, oh so slowly, his breath like a feather against my skin.

‘Yes, that’s the way it works, for this weekend, anyway. There will be plenty of time for your questions later. So tell me, does this excite you?’ he asks again as his lips locate the top of my breast and I feel a little light-headed as my breath becomes radically uneven for the umpteenth time this evening. His touch engages the rest of my body and my vulva swells and moistens in anticipation. I can’t withhold a slightly muted sigh at the sensation.