Slay complete series, p.31
Slay Complete Series, page 31
“It was all fine until the end of August. We’d gotten close, really close, and sure, I still felt things for him. Those aren’t the kinds of feelings that go away easily, but I was okay with what we were and what we weren’t, and I had Dirk, who I talked to every day.” I checked myself. “Maybe not every day. Not at the end.”
“Because the boy was seeming interested.”
I scowled because I hated how Edward thought he knew everything. But he was right this time. Which I hated even more. “Yeah. He did seem interested.”
I took another swallow of the Malbec and ignored the way Edward made me feel with his presence in order to better remember how Hudson had made me feel in the past. Literally manipulated me into feeling, to be truthful, but I wouldn’t know that for sure for another several months. “He would brush up against me, accidentally. Or he’d sweep the hair from my face. Touching, he was always touching me, and that had never been like him before. He’d never been a real physical guy. And he was thoughtful about me. I’d lamented to him about not knowing what to major in, and he’d researched my school and gotten all these brochures on interior design and gave me a gorgeous coffee-table book about it.”
The memory made me smile. It had seemed utterly romantic to me—a guy going out of his way to help decide what I should do with my life. What I should be. It was the best proof of mattering. A guy wouldn’t go out of his way like that, wouldn’t notice, if I didn’t matter. That kind of gesture got me fluttery every time.
Though there hadn’t been that many. The last time a man paid that much attention to me…
I glanced quickly at Edward, as if he could read my thoughts, as if he could know I’d almost compared his gifts over the last three months to the gift Hudson had given that had swept me away.
They weren’t the same. I refused to think of them as the same.
“Is there something else?” he asked, trying to interpret my train of thought.
“I didn’t sleep with him.” I couldn’t tell from his expression if that had been truly what he’d assumed. “I did kiss him. Or I let him kiss me. I’m not sure which it was anymore. And I wanted him to kiss me.”
I’d wanted him to do more than kiss me. I would have let him, if things had gone the way I’d wanted. I’d thought it was inevitable after that kiss. That we’d be together. That we’d be a couple.
I could still feel that wanting, under layers of years and walls and nothing. Like a bruise that never healed but only hurt when I pressed on it. Of all the made-up things there had been between Hudson and me, before and after, that moment was real. That wanting was real.
Wanting that was magnified by believing he felt it too.
I’d thought all that had stood between us was Dirk, a guy who, as Edward had pointed out, was good but bland.
“I wasn’t a terrible person.” How long had it been since I’d been able to say those words? “Not yet, anyway. So I did the honorable thing, and tried to call Dirk to break up. But he was at work so I had to leave a message and when he called back I was already at this big party Christina was having, which wasn’t the place to break up with a guy, and I knew it, but…” My only excuse had been eagerness, and that sounded petty, so I left it there. “He was hurt. I could tell. Even over the phone.” Let’s wait and talk this over when we get back for the new semester, he’d begged. “It hurt more than I’d imagined it would, hurting him like that. I had to leave for a bit to take a drive and get my head together afterward because it hurt so bad. But when I came back, I was better and ready, and I saw...I saw the boy’s car, so I knew he was inside, and I looked for him everywhere. Asked everyone. Searched every room, and when someone said he thought he was hanging in Christina’s room, I ran up there.”
I could still see it like it was happening. Me flinging open the door, and them. The image permanently seared into my mind.
“He was fucking her. Fucking my best friend. As if we hadn’t kissed the night before. As if we hadn’t agreed to talk more about our relationship at the party. As if I hadn’t told him I loved him.” It sounded so insignificant in the telling compared to how it had felt to witness.
The worst part, though, hadn’t even been that moment but after, when I’d confronted Hudson, and he’d pretended there’d been nothing, that all the signs I’d read were mistaken. He’d told me to grow up.
What did you think was going to happen between us? You thought I was going to love you? You thought we were going to ride off into the sunset together?
“And all I could think was how duped I’d been. Because I hadn’t thought he was going to love me until he made me believe he would.” It was strange how mad I could still be about it, even after everything that followed. How hurt and abused. How raw. “He’d insinuated the only thing holding him back from me was my relationship with Dirk. And so I’d ended that! To be with him! I’d had real feelings for him, and me? I’d been nothing more than something to do. Nothing more than a game.”
It was over. I’d said it all. I’d told it the way it happened, in a way I’d never told anyone, and yeah, I felt vulnerable. It was cathartic too. Cleansing.
Edward remained silent for long beats after, as he’d been through much of my wandering through the past, and while I’d never forgotten he was there, he had made it easier to feel like the telling was natural. My parents had always poo-pooed therapy, and I wondered if it was like this—sitting on a couch, uncomfortable, trapped. Waiting for the therapist to speak and declare you sane.
“That must have made you feel very betrayed,” he said eventually. Which would have been comforting if he hadn’t added more on. “Being someone else’s game.” His subtext was clear.
Shame pricked at my insides. Maybe this had been the wrong story to tell him after all.
No, it still could be the right story. If I told it to the very end.
I leaned forward. “So you know what I did? I left him at that stupid party and went back to his place. Then I fucked his father in the pool house for two hours. Did I feel betrayed? Yes. And then I got even.”
Edward held my stare for a long time. I could tell his thoughts were brewing, but his expression gave nothing away. My heart hammered in my chest as I waited for his response. I’d bared myself. Then I’d reminded him that I was vengeful, but I’d bared myself first.
Finally, after an eternity, he spoke. “This boy betrayed you, so you ruined both his parents’ marriage and your mother’s friendship by fucking his father. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
I could feel the color drain from my face. That was what I was saying, but put like that, it sounded...well, it sounded reprehensible.
And it was reprehensible.
Even though I’d left out the fact that Jack already cheated on his wife all the time, and that it had been another decade before anyone found out about it, so my mother’s friendship had remained intact. Even with those details, what I’d done was fucked up.
Which was the most horrible part of the story, if I was honest with myself.
The pain that still lingered all this time later wasn’t from what Hudson had done to me, but what I’d done to Hudson. What kind of messed-up person did that shit? What kind of fucked-up human was I?
I turned my head, afraid that Edward would see that I understood what I was, what I’d done. Because if he saw that, I’d really be exposed.
I couldn’t bear being that vulnerable.
He rose then, and I could feel his anger rise with him like fanned flames. “This evening has been a waste of my time,” he said, his voice eerily controlled. “This isn’t breaking down. This is bragging.”
Without giving me another look, he pivoted and headed to the door. Before he disappeared beyond it, he said, “I’ll give you my response tomorrow. You’re free to do as you please until then.”
He shut the door behind him with an uncharacteristic slam.
I sat stunned. And mad. And hurt. And embarrassed. But mostly mad.
I’d done what he’d wanted. I’d given him his stupid-ass story. And now I was free to do as I pleased? Fuck him because that was a lie. I wasn’t free to leave the island.
And fuck him for thinking he knew anything about me, about what was and wasn’t breaking down. I’d opened up to him. What I’d said was horrible, but it was hard. Sharing what I’d shared had been hard.
I reached for my wine and chugged the rest down in an attempt to push down the emotions building up inside of me. When it was empty, and the feelings remained, I threw the glass against the wall.
Shattering items was becoming a habit.
If only it were just Edward’s antique vases and glassware being shattered and not also me.
NINE
As bitter as the night before had ended, I woke up with a tickle of excitement. He was here, on the island, and that meant that no matter what happened, the day would be different than they had been when he was away.
Plus, there was the added expectation of his response. I lay awake in bed for nearly half an hour wondering what it would be, imagining the ways his reaction to my tale could play out. Now that he’d made clear his sadism centered around the psychological rather than the physical, the boundaries of what might happen felt exponentially larger. The possibilities of what would happen next were titillating and unfathomable and frightening, and the dread I’d felt about what he’d do to me when I’d thought pain would be involved had been replaced by intrigue. I wanted to find out. I wanted to know.
Once out of bed, though, the thrill simmered down.
The house was quiet, Edward wasn’t around. It was exactly like every other Saturday on Amelie, when Joette and Tom and the staff had the day off and the meals were prepared beforehand and the day belonged to myself. There wasn’t even yoga on the weekends. Ideally, the privacy was a good setup for newlyweds who hadn’t seen each other in months.
Edward and I had never fit the notion of “ideally.”
With no interest in being the one to seek him out, I went about my routine in the ways I normally did, lounging by the pool, reading An American Marriage until the story of a black man’s twelve-year incarceration for a crime he didn’t commit began to diminish the terribleness of my own imprisonment, and I had to set it down. It was hard to complain about my situation in comparison. My jail was a paradise, sure. And it could be argued that I deserved it, since I was far from innocent. It could definitely be worse, was worse for other real people.
I saw that, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to believe I had it bad. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be pissed. I wanted to be self-righteous and indignant and full of contempt.
The fact that those emotions weren’t as readily accessible as they’d once been was both surprising and surreal, and it was definitely discomforting.
Edward arrived back from wherever he’d been in the early afternoon. I didn’t see him come in, but I felt the atmosphere change, felt him, and when I looked up, he was at his library window watching me. He saw me notice him and didn’t flinch, as though he had every right to be staring at me.
My pulse sped up and my cheeks flushed, and especially perceptible because of all the weeks he’d been away, I realized how much I liked having someone around to look at me. How much I liked him looking at me.
Before I could help it, I smiled.
Immediately, I thought better and scowled, hating myself for getting caught up in his stupid gaze. Hating him for having a gaze worthy of being caught up in.
I’d turned away too quickly to find out his reaction to my mistake, but imagined or not, I felt his smirk on my profile and hated him for that too.
When I finally came in an hour later, the house was buzzing with the makings of a big dinner, the kind we’d had regularly on our honeymoon, and that sent me fuming again, for no reason I could discern. Then, later, as I cleaned up and applied makeup in my bathroom, I realized the reason was because company for dinner very likely meant company after dinner. Which meant waiting another day for Edward’s response.
It also meant sharing him with others, and I wanted him all to myself. With that awareness, another wave of anger rolled through me.
My mascara applied to one eye only, I leaned back to study the woman in the mirror. My blonde hair was coiffed in a low chignon, sun-kissed highlights giving vibrancy to my appearance. My face—which I kept meticulously protected with sunscreen—was flawless, my foundation seamlessly matching the tanned skin at my décolletage. My yoga-toned shoulders curved pleasingly, my never-nursed-a-baby breasts still as perky as they’d been a decade ago. In every way, I was a portrait of stoic beauty. No one could possibly know that my insides were shaking with fury and shame, that there was a magma chamber of turbulent emotions in the pit of me that only seemed to erupt in my husband’s presence.
My appearance was a lie I told without even trying.
What did Edward think he’d find underneath? What would he find if he kept looking?
It scared me that I didn’t know the answer to either question.
Having been given no instruction and needing armor, I dressed powerfully for dinner. The dress was ordinary enough—a mid-thigh length black silk slip dress with a racerback. It was a little fancy for our group, but Edward had included it in the wardrobe he’d sent, so that made it appropriate in my mind. The part that gave it power was what I’d put on underneath—sheer black panties, matching garter belt, and thigh-high stockings. Hosiery on the island was completely impractical, even in February, but they made me feel good. Made me feel sexy and potent and charged.
Especially when I added the red satin Casadei plisse high-heel sandals. Try calling me little bird now, Fasbender. I was anything but.
Yes, it was a power play, too. An outright opposition to what he’d had me wear the night before. Maybe it was asking for trouble. Maybe I wanted trouble. I didn’t really know anymore.
The irony was that he probably wouldn’t even notice.
Except that dinner wasn’t like the old days.
When I came out, it wasn’t the big dining table that was set, but rather the small radial dinette that overlooked the ocean. And it was only set for two. The lights were off, candles were lit. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a bucket of ice next to a bowl of fresh strawberries.
I heard movement behind me, and without looking, I knew it was Edward. The heat of his presence bounced off the windows and enveloped me. Then his hand was at the small of my back, escorting me to my chair.
“Don’t let this get to your head.” His breath tickled the hair at my nape. “It’s Valentine’s Day and Joette has certain notions. It was easier to perpetuate them.”
“Easier, yes.” As if he’d ever chosen any method because it was easier.
I sat in the seat he offered, placing the linen napkin in my lap as he moved around to take the chair across from me. He was stunning in dark pants and a white dress shirt with black buttons, the top two open. It was a somewhat casual look for him, but not quite as laid back as he usually dressed on the island. And he’d taken the time to style his hair. All to let Joette believe our romance was real?
Maybe.
My breath stuttered when I considered the possibility that it was something more.
Once seated, he leaned across the table to pour the blanc de blanc in my champagne flute. “We can use the opportunity to discuss some rules.”
He was so good at plying me with alcohol just before diving into serious subjects. I took a sip of the drink while he poured his own. “Are the rules your response to last night?”
He didn’t answer at first, reaching over again to remove the silver cover from my plate, revealing white fish with lemon and capers and green beans with almonds. My mouth watered at the sight. Mateo didn’t go out on the boat that often, but all the fish that was served on Amelie came from his fishing trips. Every dish I’d had so far had been incredible.
I didn’t wait for Edward to pick up his own fork before diving in. The fish melted in my mouth. Orgasmic.
Distracted by the divine taste, I almost forgot I’d asked a question until it was answered several minutes later. “The rules are not my response,” he said, now several bites into his fish. “But you need to know them before we get to that.”
I took another sip of my champagne. “I’m guessing that I don’t have a choice in whether or not I follow them.”
I’d become quite good at considering rules as a challenge. Without hearing what they were, my mind was already preparing to find ways around them if not outright defy them.
Edward smiled, as though he expected my response. “Of course you have a choice. What choices you make determine how quickly this process goes.”
“The process of breaking me down, you mean.”
“Yes. That.” He put another bite of fish in his mouth, and I watched, mesmerized. The way his jaw worked as he took it from the fork. The way his throat moved as he swallowed. The way these simple actions made my pussy clench and weep.
I was really glad I’d worn the power stockings. I needed them right about now.
He rinsed everything down with a swig from his flute. “Are you amenable to me continuing?”
It seemed strange that he was asking. Usually he just did with no regard for my opinion on matters. I understood his motives, understood that this was a test. I knew what answer he wanted and the test was to see if I’d give him that answer or be defiant.
Defiance was my nature with him. My gut reaction.
I forced myself to think first. I thought about how things had gone so far since my captivity. How the gifts had begun when I’d stopped trying to escape. How the struggling only seemed to prolong whatever he had planned for me. How prey caught in the sightline of a predator often froze or played dead.
