‘Oh …’ I looked around. Everybody seemed pretty involved with their own conversations. ‘Go on, then.’
He beamed and handed over his bag, then retreated into his champagne glass, sipping with measured calm.
I opened the delicate tissue wrapping and had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself screaming.
‘Happy anniversary, my darling little Twinkletoes,’ he said, flushing with pleasure at my reaction.
‘Is this genuine?’
‘It’s not a bloody knock-off. What do you take me for?’
‘A genuine Mulberry Alexa? Christ, Dan, these cost a fortune.’
‘Well, I got it from an outlet store,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I turned the deliciously soft tan leather every which way, putting it up to my face and sniffing, just the way I did with the belt. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever been given.
He was perfect. Why would I want to change him? I felt guilty and cheap for even considering it.
‘You don’t have to say anything. It’s written all over your face.’
He sat back and basked, while I became conscious of the indulgent good wishes of the other diners. Suddenly the parcel at my feet became my nemesis, a terrible mistake. I should have got him something else.
Too late.
‘So, come on then. Hand it over.’
He held out a palm. Lately, he couldn’t do that without me imagining how it would feel cracking down on my bum. Tonight was no different.
I shut my eyes for a second of unspoken prayer, then reached down for the gift.
The shop had been a high-end establishment and they had put the belt in a smart silk-lined box with a gold monogram. When Dan unwrapped it, I think he was expecting something you’d find in a jeweller’s, like cufflinks or a watch.
He looked surprised when he opened the box.
‘Oh,’ he said, pulling it out. It was rolled up like a coiled snake, a deadly spiral in his hand. ‘This is a very de luxe number, isn’t it?’
‘Do you like it? I just thought it would look really good on you.’
Suddenly I was desperate that he didn’t guess my true intention. I wanted to turn back that tide, ignore my stupid repressed fantasies and live with what I had.
‘It looks vintage,’ he said.
God, he had uncoiled it and was letting it slide around his palm, then he pulled it taut between his hands and I nearly doubled over with arousal.
Surely he must see the effect this had on me? Instant wetness, so much so that I worried about leaving a damp patch on the chair.
‘It’s pretty sexy,’ I said.
He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You think?’
Waiter-with-chronic-bad-timing appeared to take our order and the sexual vibe lowered to a simmer, but it was nonetheless there all the way through the three courses, especially since the belt lay on the white tablecloth for all to see.
I imagined that everyone knew what it was really for.
Everyone knew that it had been left there, in my line of sight, to remind me what awaited me after the meal. They were all aware that, once the last mouthful of dessert had been swallowed, I was going to be escorted out through the kitchen to the back yard, bent over a barrel with my dress up and knickers down and strapped long and hard by my elegantly besuited husband.
What for? I tried to make up a reason, but I was fatally distracted by my own lust and the growing excitement in the pit of my stomach. It made for an uncomfortable eating experience, but three courses were a challenge for me anyway, so I picked and pecked at my food.