Marc Nassar

I used to travel a lot before the twins. Dubai, Japan, and Lagos were among my favorite cities to visit for their unique, sprawling adventures.

Every time I took a trip to a new country, I'd start off visiting the places listed in my fully planned out itinerary. I knew what to expect, and those tourist areas, restaurants, and hotels always delivered. But then as a trip went on, I'd find myself going off script, adventuring into hidden areas that I happened to stumble across.

One time on a trip to India, I got lost in the streets of a market I found. It was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time with sights, sounds, and flavors painting my sensory receptors unlike ever before.

And now, as I replay the voice note from Celeste for the millionth time, I'm reminded of that feeling in the middle of the market, in a country so different from where I grew up. The fear of not knowing where to go mixed so potently with the excitement of uninhibited adventure. That feeling drums fast, and steady against my chest as a faint whimper plays aloud on my phone.

Celeste and I have already crossed so many boundaries. It's clear I am no longer following the itinerary but am going off script, directionless and chartering in territory that could either suffocate me or lead me to the best experience of my life. The question is, do I explore it or get out as fast as I can?

I sigh and play the voice note again. If anyone heard this, they'd think it was nothing. Muffled sounds of someone getting up from a chair, perhaps. It's about ten seconds of what is potentially Celeste getting into bed and rustling some sheets in the process. An accidental voicemail with no real meaning.

Yet with her text about her in underwear touching herself–a text that is now forever burned in my memory bank–I'm not so sure. Last night, as the NSFW images circulated through my brain and the voice note played over and over again like some pop music hit, I relieved myself before my balls could burst. A part of me wanted to head straight to her room to check if she was just messing with me or if she was actually touching herself. But thankfully, logic and self-control reigned. I need time to assess what to do versus acting like a teenager sneaking out of the house.

I glance at the clock and it's now 6:45, fifteen minutes past when Celeste was supposed to be here to help me with breakfast and talk about things with the twins.

Just talk, nothing else.

I grab my phone, pull up her number, and hit the call button. After a few rings and no answer, I try again. Hopefully Kristina relayed the timing with Celeste last night. The girls will be up very soon and I want to surprise them.

Finally, Celeste's groggy voice streams through. "Hello?"

My heart flutters and I press a palm against the cold, marble countertop. "Hey, Celeste. Are you on your way up to the kitchen?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Marc."

"Marc? How do you have my number?" I hear movement through the phone.

"We texted last night."

"What? No we didn't. I don't have your number. Shit, what time is it?" I hear more movement, and set her on speaker to go look through my texts, now doubting myself, despite how much I looked at our message exchange. We did indeed text last night. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Marc. You need me for breakfast today, right? I'll be over in five minutes."

The line cuts and my chest tightens. How could Celeste not remember those texts? Maybe it's too early in the morning for her? Or she could have had some drinks with the rest of the staff as last night was their TV night. How much did she have to drink? I thought Celeste had sent the messages because she liked to push my buttons, yet now...Was she drunk?

After pacing the quiet kitchen, I resolve to keep myself busy and make coffee while I wait for her. While I'm not here very much, this room is one of my favorites in the house, with its large windows allowing ample sunlight to stream through. And now with Celeste's presence airbrushed all over it, the space is somehow even brighter.

Ten minutes later she's running into the room, out of breath, while gathering her hair up into a bun. She's in a plain white t-shirt and ripped, jean shorts with the pockets hanging past the hem of the denim. Her long legs look smooth, and I force myself to look up.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Marc! Are the girls awake?" She rubs her eyes.

"Not yet."

"Oh, great!" She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and chugs some of it. "Alright, what did you need help making?" She approaches the kitchen island where I'm standing and sets her bottle down. The sunlight casts over her, making her shine. She looks tired, but as always, utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

"I-uh, I'm not sure. I was wondering if you had any suggestions." Does she really not remember the texts?

"They love French Toast. How about we try that?"

"Sounds good. I can make it, but I just need you to show me how to do it." I cross my arms and clear my throat. "Also, before we start, I'd like to talk about something."

Her lips tuck in and she nods.

My nerves spike up. I need to just say it. "The real reason I asked you here this morning is...I just have been thinking a lot about what you said yesterday, outside. And I need your advice."

"My advice?" Her head tilts back. "My advice on what?"

"On how to be a better dad." There. It's out in the open. I've said it. My chest feels lighter.

"What? I'm sure as shit not the right person to be giving that sort of advice. You should ask someone else."

"No, Celeste. I'm asking you. I've seen and heard about how you are with the girls and know you have a nephew who you're close with. Plus, I don't trust anyone else to say it like it is. You've been honest with me from the start and I need the unfiltered truth from an outsider's perspective." I sigh. "As you may already know, I'm taking them to the zoo. The thing is, I have this gut feeling that I'm already doomed to mess something up for them."

"Marc," she says softly. "Haven't you taken your daughters out before? Why would this time be any different?"

"I have, but never for a long time. And never without Heidi or Kristina nearby."

She smiles and instantly the doom feels a little less doom-like. "Well, you could start with buying them cigarettes and weed. Or just teach them how to steal," she says with heavy sarcasm.

Laughter escapes out of me despite my next words. "Celeste, I'm being serious here."

"Marc, I'm serious, you have nothing to worry about. Your daughters are old enough to understand things and can help each other too if something goes wrong. Just the fact that you're taking them to the zoo is huge. I'm actually so freaking proud of you for doing it."

My body heats before I even bring my coffee cup to my lips. "Thanks. But I do need some tips. Anything that doesn't involve drugs or stealing."

She smiles and walks to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a carton of eggs as well as a jug of milk. "Just go with the flow. If one of them cries, it's not the end of the world, just talk them through it, give them a hug, and continue on. I feel like I heard of you doing that before so that should be easy. Also, they'll be so excited about the animals and you'll have so much fun that you'll forget we even had this conversation." She grabs a loaf of bread and I search for a pan. "Worst, worst case, I'll be here if you need me. You can call me or come back home whenever. But I don't think you will. You don't need anyone else." Her last words feel heavier than the rest with the serious look that passes over her face.

I take a deep breath and grab a pan I find in one of the cupboards. "Alright, thanks. I appreciate it. I may ask you more questions as they come to mind. And I know this kind of goes without saying, but feel free to be honest with me if I mess something up. Also I'm assuming we'll need this," I say as I hold up the pan. After she nods, I set it on the stove top.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. You haven't fired me yet after what I let spew out of my mouth, so I must have some sort of immunity." She smirks and I chuckle. Maybe she does remember the texts?

"Who's to say I can't fire you after this? You know, I may just be using you for French Toast and advice before I do so," I say, loosely trying to keep her ego in check.

She places a bowl in front of me and hands me an egg, motioning for me to crack it into the bowl. "Your girls love my food too much. So, I think I have a teeny bit of job security. Besides, I think you like having me around." She hands me the milk after I crack the egg. "Pour about a quarter cup, I'll tell you when to stop," she adds as an aside.

"I can't argue with that," I say as I start pouring the milk. I'm hyper aware of her closeness at this counter. She's so close, I can practically hear her magnetism begging me to touch her. And it would be so easy to just touch her. Too easy. I ignore the thought as she tells me to stop pouring and hands me a whisk.

"Which part?" she asks.

"Which part can't I argue with?" I reply and she nods in response. "Both–my girls liking your food and me liking having you around."

Her playful expression dims and she stares at me for a moment before turning to the stovetop. "Throw some cinnamon in the bowl before you finish whisking. I'll turn on the heat," she says over her shoulder.

I can't keep it in anymore. What even happened yesterday? "How many drinks did you have last night?"

She flings a hand back that was hovering over the pan. "What? How did..."

"You really don't remember the texts you sent me?"

Her face contorts. "What are you talking about? What texts?"

"Celeste, you sent some things to me last night that were quite unprofessional. Some might say grounds for firing." I'm trying so hard to hold back a smirk.

"Shit. Whatever I said, just ignore it." She laughs in resignation, running a hand over her head and squeezing her bun of hair. "Now dip a slice of bread in the mixture," she says and reaches for her back pocket, pulling up her phone. I toss a piece of bread in the bowl and quickly glance up to find her reading what I'm assuming is our exchange. Her eyes are growing wide and her mouth falls open as she holds the device up in front of her. "Oh, my God! What the hell is this?"

I dip another piece of bread in the mix and a chuckle escapes me.

"Fuck! Marc! A-are you horrified by me?"

I shake my head. "No, I am definitely not." More like intoxicated.

The side of her lip tilts up and it turns into an amused grin. She's still looking at her screen and starts cracking up laughing. "Okay, I know I should apologize for the dirty one but let's just take a moment to appreciate that I said 'Smartful' and 'I am wise woman' and you continued on like everything was normal and that's how I talk."

I start laughing from deep in my stomach as I remember how I thought she was just a playful texter. "I thought it was cute."

"Cute? This ain't cute, Marcy-Marc. This is messy."

We both start laughing again. "I'll forget about it if you drop the Marcy-Marc." That is one hundred percent a lie. There's no way I'm forgetting those texts.

She glances between her phone and me a couple of times, then a mischievous smirk emerges over her face. "Um, Mr. Nassar." She bats her eyelids slowly, making a show of it. "Can I pretty please have your phone? I need to delete, I mean, check something."

"Since when is Celeste Peters shy? Also, don't you have a phone to check something?" She approaches me and eyes my pockets. "You're not seriously considering grabbing my phone from my pocket, are you? You know I've already seen the texts?"

"What's that over there!" She gasps and points to the window. This woman is so playful, I can't not indulge her. I look over to where she pointed, but still keep attention on her through my peripheral vision. Her hand reaches for my pocket and I grab it just in time. She tries to snatch it away and use her other hand to get to my phone, but I meet every movement, blocking her from reaching it. "Marc!" We're moving further from the counter as she giggles through her fit of trying to steal my phone. The touches are sending lines of heat through my body and my pulse is raging. I feel like we're teenagers using any innocent excuse possible to touch each other. "Just give me the damn phone, please. I'm a shy person now! So sue me!"

I'm laughing hard at her determination, maintaining my grasp on her hands, and now locking them both together in front of us. "Celeste, stop!" She's settles a bit, still fidgeting slightly, and smiles up at me, her chest rising and falling quickly. Fuck, I could bend her over this counter right now and do so many things to her. "Think through your plan here. Once you get my phone, how would you unlock it to delete your texts?"

"I am wise woman! I would've figured it out!"

We burst out laughing again. I meant what I said to her last night, she is something else.

She huffs through her laughter. "There's a fifty-fifty chance you heard the voice note I sent, so I just wanted to delete it in case you somehow didn't listen to it."

"I already heard all of it."

She stops fidgeting, her smile wilting as she stares at me. The hues of blue in her irises are like pools of water from a magical fountain that grants eternal life. "What exactly is all of it?" she asks.

"Want to hear it?" I ask.

She eyes me for a brief moment and then nods. I keep one hand around her locked hands and use the other to grab my phone. At first I think she's going to break free to finish her mission, but she remains still, as if she wants to hear it together.

I replay the audio of faint rustling coupled with the faintest of whimpers. She doesn't do anything but search my face. My dick shifts in my pants and I glance down at her lips. I breathe in her scent through my nostrils, a musky lavender, and a bit of mint coming from her open mouth. She relaxes under my touch and her eyes shift down to my lips. Does she want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her? My body tingles in anticipation. We're so close. All it would take is for me to lean my head down. What does her body taste like?

"Dad!"