by Stasia Black
“Yes,” the answer was shaky, but sure. She smiled again, the same fake smile. Marcus didn’t notice anything was amiss, and that broke her heart a little.
“I told you, babe,” was all he said, “I’m going to take care of you.”
“I have to get off early tonight,” Cora called to the back of the shelter where she’d started volunteering. She hadn’t been able to find another job without an ID and social other than a few other all-cash modeling gigs she’d gotten off of Armand’s show. Volunteering made her feel less stir-crazy in the meantime while she tried to sort something more permanent out.
“Okay,” said Maeve, who ran the shelter. “Start at the end and get as far as you can, cleaning. The bucket is in the closet, sponges and soap by the sink.”
Cora passed two hours in silence, cleaning cages. It was hard, dirty work. Somehow, though, she felt cleaner after doing it. Scrubbing reminded her of being a kid on the farm where life was simple and full of honest, hard work. At the age of ten, it had been her job to scrub the floors of the house and to muck out the stables.
Ironic that she should be feeling nostalgia for that place she couldn’t wait to get away from.
But things were so confusing here in the city.
Marcus continued to court her, taking her to the best restaurants. Sometimes she felt like he was showing her off. But that was ridiculous, he was the glamorous one. Whenever they walked into a place, people sat up and took notice. The restaurant owner would rush out to greet them, give them the best table, and check in during the meal to make sure everything was okay.
Everywhere they went, people kowtowed to Marcus, and, in turn, Marcus took care of her. He continued with the gifts, no matter how much she continued telling him they weren’t necessary. He even insisted his car pick her up from the apartment and drive her to the shelter. She protested but Marcus said, “goddess,” in his deep voice, amused and superior and sexy all at once, and got his way. He always got his way.
And as for her misgivings from the other night…
She frowned as she scrubbed even harder at the bottom of the cage. What was she really complaining about? That a man considered her so precious he wanted to make sure she was safe at all times?
And if he was having her followed because he didn’t trust her, well, he was a wealthy man and she was a nobody. Maybe he’d been burned before. She didn’t know just how rich he was but she knew he owned lots of businesses and was powerful, too. He’d only just met her. It was only smart for him to want to know if she really was who she said she was. Plus, it wasn’t like she had anything to hide.
And, the question she’d finally asked herself several nights ago: wasn’t he worth it? When she was with Marcus she felt like she could fly. And gods, when he touched her, even just the barest brush of his hand against hers...goosebumps pebbled up and down her arms at the mere thought.
She liked him. She really liked him. She was scared to let her think about how she felt about him, it was so strong. A lot stronger than like, if she was honest with herself. And he was giving her everything she’d ever wanted. A new life, a new identity, one in which she could be suave and city-savvy and glamorous. That’s why she came to the city, to be free of her mother. Even if Marcus helped her, protected her, okay, maybe controlled her a little, did that mean she wasn’t free?
A long time later, Maeve found Cora sitting in one of the cages surrounded by cleaning supplies, one rubber glove on and the other off. Maeve had long red hair threaded with gray that she mostly kept braided. She came to check on Cora.
“Cora,” she called, and Cora blinked out of her musings and glanced up. “How are things looking up here? Oh wow, you got through more cages than I thought you would.”
Cora smiled. “I have experience.” Cleaning cages wasn’t exactly the same as mucking out stables, but the work ethic required was the same.
Cora yawned and swiped at her forehead with her arm.
“Aw, you look tired. I hope you’re taking off early to head home and get some rest.”
Cora shook her head. “Not quite. Marcus is taking me out to a friend’s restaurant.”
Maeve’s easy expression dropped and her eyebrows furrowed. “I worry about you, honey. Are you sure things aren’t moving too quickly with that man?”
Cora smiled at the older woman. ‘That man’ treated her like a queen. He could have anyone, and he looked at Cora like she was the only woman in the world. She still didn’t understand it, why he’d chosen her. But he had and that was all that mattered.
Cora knew Maeve felt a matronly affection for her but it wasn’t necessary. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”
Maeve didn’t look convinced. “Did you see today’s paper?”
Cora frowned. “No,” she said but Maeve was already holding out the paper she’d had under her arm.
“I was using the paper to line the cages and the headline caught my eye. How well do you really know him?”
Cora stared down at the New Olympian Times. Known Crime Boss Surfaces at Club. The picture was grainy but she’d recognize Marcus anywhere.
Cora averted her eyes from the paper and scrubbed violently at the corner of the cage for a moment while she tried to gather her thoughts.
Crime boss.
Was it true?
But then she thought of how Marcus was treated everywhere they went. The bowed heads, the fearful, surreptitious glances. The power she knew he wielded, even if she hadn’t understood why. And the darkness in him. If she was being honest, she’d suspected it was something like this, hadn’t she? But being honest with herself wasn’t her forte lately.
Because what she was feeling wasn’t surprise. It was the queasy uneasiness of confirmation. She’d never asked Marcus too closely about his business because she hadn’t wanted to know.
But here it was in black and white. Printed on the front page.
She glanced back at the paper Maeve was still holding out and her eyes skimmed the first paragraph. They called Marcus the Lord of the Underworld. She looked away again but Maeve obviously wasn’t going to drop the issue so easily.
“How well do you know him?” she asked again.
Cora stopped scrubbing and tossed the sponge back into the bucket of soapy water. She scooted out of the cage and pulled off her second glove, then pushed back wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“He’s a good man, Maeve.”
She pulled the newspaper out of Maeve’s hands and tossed it to the floor of the cage she’d cleaned. She liked Maeve, she really did. They’d hit it off ever since she’d come in to volunteer, but Cora didn’t need another mother trying to tell her what she could and couldn’t do.
Still, she respected Maeve. She was nothing like Cora’s real mother. She wasn’t pushy or overbearing and it was unfair to lump the two into the same category, so Cora reached out and squeezed the older woman’s hand.
“Trust me,” Cora said. “The paper always sensationalizes things. Marcus is a good man.” She didn’t know what else to say, but of that she was sure. He was good.
Maeve looked unconvinced but she nodded and squeezed Cora’s hand in return. “Promise me you won’t let yourself get swallowed up in him. You left home to find yourself and be free of your family.” Cora had told Maeve a truncated version of why she’d left home, and she nodded at Maeve’s assessment. “So don’t let him steamroll over you. There’s no need to rush things. And if you ever need help, remember you can always come to me.”
Cora smiled in appreciation at her friend’s concern. After months in the city, she did count this woman as a friend, the first she’d made apart from Marcus. Did it say something about her that the two people she’d gotten close to were both over a decade her senior, with Maeve make that two decades? Her mom had always said she had an old soul.
“All right,” Cora dusted off her jeans as she stood up. “I have to go. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
Maeve nodded and Cora headed for the bathr
oom. She changed quickly out of her work clothes and into a clingy black dress with a daring slit up the thigh. She put on some mascara and lip-gloss, and headed to the front, which was a little shop for pet goods.
Sharo was waiting. “Miss Vestian,” he said, holding open the door for her.
Marcus worked so much, she only got to see him every few days. But whenever they were together, it was like no time at all had passed. They picked up right where they’d left off.
Sharo drove her to the club where she’d met Marcus the very first night. Walking the steps she’d run down so fearfully gave her the oddest sense of déjà vu. She could remember the fear so vividly.
Sharo pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs and held it open for her. She swallowed. It was just the echo of that fear that was giving her goosebumps right now. It had nothing to do with the newspaper article. Right? Right. She took a deep breath and followed Sharo through the door.
She walked back to Marcus’s office, knocked lightly, and pushed the door open. And immediately relaxed upon seeing Marcus’s familiar and beloved face.
He kept his office so dark his face was as shadowed as it was the first night she’d met him, all hard lines and harsh angles. But that was the air that Marcus liked to project, wasn’t it? He was cold and scary to everyone but her.
...or was she just deluding herself? Was she actually special? When it came down to it, how well did she really know Marcus? She knew how he made her feel but that wasn’t quite the same thing.
“Hi,” she said shyly.
His head came up from the papers he was looking over and he paused, obviously taking her in. He did that fairly often, unabashedly checking her out and if the heated look in his eyes was anything to go by, appreciating what he saw.
He pushed his chair back from the desk and held out an arm for her, beckoning her closer.
She went. As she crossed behind his desk and stopped in front of him, she saw how tired he actually looked.
“Long day?” she asked, and he didn’t reply, simply put his hands on her hips and pushed her back so that she was leaning on the desk. He gripped her hips and squeezed them, digging his thumbs in and massaging her flesh. The touch was so presumptuous and possessive, all the air fled Cora’s lungs in one great gasp.
Marcus looked up at her and she couldn’t read what she saw in his storm grey eyes. “Sweet Cora, so innocent,” he whispered. He bowed his forehead against her middle. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, his face still flush with her stomach.
Her hands dropped to his hair. He hugged her with the desperation of a little boy holding onto a blanket for comfort.
Was that what she was for him—a place he could finally relax and find comfort? The thought sent an elated zing down her spine. How she would love to be this complicated man’s safe place. She stroked his hair, down to his neck, massaging his shoulders, before her fingers drifted back to his hair, and he clutched her tighter.
The New Olympian Times stuck out from underneath the papers he’d been looking at. Had he been upset by the newspaper? Because maybe they’d gotten it all wrong and it was slander and—
“All right, we need to get going.” Marcus pulled back and if she’d expected to see his features soft or tender, she was disappointed. He looked as calm and cool as ever.
Cora frowned but he was already standing and taking her arm to lead her out to the car.
Marcus never liked to talk much when they were in the car. He always had Sharo put on classical music and Cora got the feeling it was the one time in his busy day where he got to just sit peacefully and relax. He rarely pulled out his phone to check emails or take calls. He simply sat, sometimes with his eyes closed, most of the time just watching the city streets going by, often taking her hand like he did today. He rubbed circles back and forth with his thumb and she couldn’t deny that the rhythmic motion along with the music was relaxing, to the point of being hypnotic.
Cora was tempted to let the relaxation of the moment and Marcus’s touch soothe her fears. But she kept hearing Maeve’s voice in the back of her head: How well do you really know him?
And it erupted out of her: “I saw the paper today. It scared me, Marcus.”
He immediately went tense and pulled his hand back from hers.
“Please, Marcus. Will you tell me what’s going on? Is it…is it true?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him, forcing herself to wait for an answer even though she could see a glint of anger in his eyes. After a moment, something like a smile quirked his lips, though the coldness didn’t leave his face.
“But you’re my girl, so I’ll tell you.”
She waited through a long pause for him to continue.
“Couple of weeks back, two friends of mine decided to go in on a club. They bought the old theater, renamed it, set it up real nice. Big project like that, they needed some help. I helped them.”
He paused again as if wondering how much he should share with her.
“But rumors were circling—you know, people talk. Someone thinks something’s up, and the press hooks on it like it’s the only story in town. There were stories going around even before the place opened. Then last night,” a large sigh, “the press showed up.”
She waited a moment after he stopped. “And?”
“They took pictures and jumped to conclusions. They slandered my friends and tried to shut them down. And, because they can print whatever trash they want,” his jaw went hard, “it got smeared on the front page. All my friends wanted to do was open a club. Whose business is it how they run it? And the stuff they said—drugs and dirty money—none of that’s been proven. Those accusations belong in court. To slap it on a front page to sell papers—that’s what’s illegal.”
From where she sat, Cora could feel him getting angrier, though his voice never rose. She could feel it through the small distance between them, waves of cold fury, kept tightly clenched under his suit and silken tie.
“It’s one thing to come after me directly. It’s another to use my friends.” He stared forward at the rearview mirror; he and Sharo’s eyes met there.
The car glided through the streets. The windows were thick, keeping out sound, so it seemed silent, apart from the brooding classical music. Cora studied Marcus’s face, afraid of what she saw there. He was distant, cold.
Without thinking, she shivered, and with a murmur—“You okay, babe?”—he put his arm around her, and they rode on with the heavy weight across her shoulders.
And, though the questions screamed inside her—who are you? Is that really all there is to it? What do you mean, you ‘helped’ your friends?—she found she couldn’t say any more.
So deep was the silence, it took them both a moment to realize the car had stopped.
Sharo opened the door and she found herself looking up at a tall building, with many stairs leading up to its large doors.
“Go on.” Marcus pushed her gently, and she dutifully climbed out.
“Is this the restaurant?” she asked, teeth chattering with a sudden cold wind. Marcus, having stopped to speak with Sharo, came and took her under his arm and coat jacket, ushering her forward.
He gave her an enigmatic smile as they went up the steps. She could barely see beyond his sheltering arms as he pushed open the doors.
As soon as they stepped inside, humid heat rolled over Cora, lapping at her arms and face like an ocean wave. It was completely dark, though. But Cora relaxed anyway, walking into the darkness without being afraid. Marcus was at her side.
“What is this place?” she breathed.
A flashlight switched on, and the beam danced over palms and ferns, flowers and green—a whole host of growing things, sheltered in the building of glass.
“A greenhouse!” she cried, and Marcus chuckled as he came forward to show her around. They traipsed the narrow paths and found their way through the dark with only his single flas
hlight.
How did he know that this was exactly what she’d needed? As much as she admired the city, sometimes it got to be oppressive—so much concrete, pavement, brick, and steel, block after block in all directions. She missed growing things. She missed being able to walk out her front door and touch the earth, smell the soil, and watch the sun rise in the big open sky.
She held out her arms and laughed as her hands brushed the beckoning soft branches and leaves.
She squinted. “I see something up ahead.” She dropped her arms and pressed forward.
Marcus obligingly followed with the light, until they pushed past one great frond and found a little table and some wine, lit by a silver candelabra. Going around her, he pulled out one of the chairs.
“Welcome to paradise, goddess.”
Speechless, she sat quiet while he poured the champagne, and took a glass without a word.
“A toast,” he said, “to our new favorite place.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. His eyes sparkled over the glass as he drank first. She was still waiting, wide eyed, when he finished. He toyed with his glass before placing it down decisively.
“You aren’t like any other woman I’ve dated.”
“Oh?” she asked. He came over to her, and she looked up at him, heart beating so rapidly she lifted a hand to her chest like that might slow it down. Would he kiss her again? Every time he did was so overwhelming and exquisite, she thought she might die of the pleasure.
“When I first saw you, angel,” he said, “I knew you would be my wife.”
Cora lost her breath for the second time that night. He— He did? His wife?
Her mind was racing a million miles a minute as he came near her and cupped her cheek.
“So lovely, so innocent. You are exactly what I’ve been looking for and didn’t even know it.” He knelt down before her on one knee. “I need you to be mine, Cora.” He reached into his pocket, keeping his eyes on hers.
What was happening? This couldn’t be happening. Oh gods, was this happening?
“Marcus?” she started to ask, but he opened the jewelry box, and she found she couldn’t speak.