Ruin

by Laurelin Paige

  Until now.

  Now was like that moment, and as I sat on Edward’s lap and he wrapped his arms around me, I lifted my petals toward the man I’d married and woke up. The world became vibrant. The colors of the greenery out the window, the blue of the ocean meeting the horizon in the distance, the aroma of roasted coffee, and the warm wall of man at my back—my senses were flooded with an effervescence that had gone unnoticed. Was this what normal people experienced all the time? Was this what it felt like to be alive?

  He nuzzled into my shoulder, sending a zing of pleasure through my limbs. “You’ve been such a good little bird, sharing everything I’ve asked from you.”

  The praise brought on a sort of orgasm, my entire being lighting up with euphoria.

  His mouth moved up to suck on my neck. “We have a trust between us now, don’t we? You’ve learned the reward of confessing your secrets, haven’t you?”

  “Mm hm.”

  His lips continued up to nibble on my earlobe. I could feel the pleasure sting of his teeth rumble between my legs, and I was suddenly very aware of how naked I was below my robe. “Now,” he said, his breath hot on my skin. “Tell me about The Game.”

  Darkness fell like a veil over my vision, a darkness thick enough to permeate all my senses. I clawed my fingernails through the cotton material until I felt them dig into my thighs, bracing myself. Holding myself together.

  Then I took a breath, and the haze began to clear.

  * * *

  I was overreacting, like I always did when I heard the term. He hadn’t actually made the capital T and the capital G. I was sensitive to the phrase and tended to hear what I feared most.

  “What game?” I asked when I had my voice, certain he meant my latest chess match with Eliana or some other benign activity.

  But he brought his hand up to grip my chin, hard, holding it in place. “Don’t do that,” he fumed at my ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, straightening my spine. Embracing the lie was the best way to pass it off, a lesson I’d learned quite well, though for half a second, the tiniest fraction of time, I considered laying everything out and giving this to Edward too.

  Then the second passed. “That would be easier if I actually did know what you were talking about. And I don’t.”

  “You don’t.” It sounded less like a question and more like an incredulous clarification of my last words.

  Still, I answered it. “No, I most definitely do not.” Then I held still, my breaths shallow as I waited out his skepticism.

  He dropped his hand from my face. “Your determination is almost admirable. I’d be impressed if you weren’t such a bold-faced liar. And there’s nothing I hate more than a liar.”

  My stomach plummeted. A minute ago, I’d been glowing in his praise, and now I wanted to crawl under the dining table where I could hide under the long tablecloth.

  At the same time, my feathers were ruffled. Being called out irked me, even when it was deserved, because he couldn’t know. It was impossible. He would have confronted me with it long before, and while he’d acted somewhat guarded around me on this visit to the island, what could have happened while he was gone that would fill him in on the truth?

  Nothing. There was nothing.

  He couldn’t know. He didn’t know, and I wouldn’t stand to be accused. I started to get up so I could face him with my indignation, but his arm around my waist tightened, holding me to him.

  “Shall we go about this a different way then?” his voice was controlled and confident. “Who’s A?”

  And then my stomach dropped again, hitting the floor this time. Dropping lower still. That simple question proved he did know, as well as told me exactly how he knew.

  “You read my journals.” It was the only place I’d referred to Hudson as A, afraid someone would find them accidentally and discover who they were about. There was nothing to protect me, though, when they’d been found in my own possession.

  Fuck, if he’d read those...he knew everything. Every terrible thing.

  “I read some notebooks, yes,” he confirmed. “Filled with some very interesting things, I might add.”

  And this was what had bothered him over the last few days. He’d been waiting to bring this up, looking for the best moment to destroy me with the information.

  “Things that weren’t for you to see.” I cursed silently. Then I cursed out loud. “How the fuck did you even get them?” I’d left them in the closet of my condo back home, boxed up so no one would find them.

  “I had my wife’s belongings sent from her residence in New York to the one we share in London.” His breath at my neck had been arousing before. Now it felt menacing, as he surely meant it to.

  “Oh, fuck you. The house we share in London?” The house I’d never lived in with him as husband and wife. The house he didn’t seem to ever intend to bring me back to. “Fuck you.”

  I pushed my elbow back into his torso, hoping to throw him long enough to loosen his clutch on me, but my jab didn’t even make him wince, and he moved his hands to hold me at my forearms.

  “You’re welcome,” he said with no hint of exertion despite wrestling with me. “It was rather thoughtful on my part. When I was unpacking your items, I came across a box full of notebooks. I had to see what they were to decide where they should be kept.”

  “Sure, sure. That was why. Not because you’re a nosy asshole who doesn’t know how to mind his own business.”

  He brought his face forward so his cheek was next to mine. “You are my business, Celia. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  His words and inflection were so chilling, yet, also, somehow inviting. There was a part of me that wanted to tell him. Wanted to finally confess everything and maybe, maybe then I could begin to pay penance.

  But I didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know where to start, even when he’d given me the opening.

  I shook my head, denying him once again. “They were fiction. Stories I made up. That’s all. No one was ever meant to see them.”

  “They weren’t fiction. They were real.”

  “Bullshit. You’re guessing. And you’re guessing wrong.”

  “I can tell when you’re lying and these were honest. I don’t have to ask how long you’ve been doing this manipulation of innocent people—the dates were clearly written, which I found particularly helpful.” He barely hesitated, but when he spoke again, his words were raw. “Was that what I was to you? Another game?”

  My eyes pricked. It was the first hint he’d ever given that he might have some sort of feeling for me, and it was revealed in an accusation of betrayal.

  This couldn’t be happening like this. There was no way this could be how last night ended up.

  “You already know what you were.” A tear fell down my cheek. I didn’t try to wipe it away.

  “No.” The word was sharp and enraged. “I had a perception of the situation based on your deceit being a singular incident. These journals note that I was only one of a long list of lies.”

  I craned my neck, turning toward him as much as I was able. “Is that what bothers you, Edward? That you weren’t unique?”

  The eyes that met mine were hard and mean. “There is a hell of a lot that bothers me, and that’s not anywhere near the top. If you start explaining your gross form of amusement, perhaps I can point out my grievances as you go.”

  I ground my teeth. He’d already judged me. Of course he had, and why shouldn’t he? I would have told him eventually, probably. Possibly. If things had continued the way they were. But not like this. I didn’t want him to know like this.

  I looked forward again, unable to stare at those vacant eyes another second. “Is this a session? I’m supposed to tell you things freely in my own time. This is coercion.”

  “You get to tell me your vulnerabilities when you’re ready. What I read aren’t accounts of your vulnerability—they are accounts of your
cruelty.”

  Every pore in my body oozed of shame. And that’s why he was wrong. This was the most vulnerable thing about me. It was the worst part of me, the worst things I’d done, the actions that no one would ever forgive. The reason I would never be loved.

  How could I not be more exposed than that?

  With a sudden surge of adrenaline, I yanked myself out of his grasp and stumbled to my feet.

  Throwing my shoulders back, I threw him a bitter, forsaken scowl, and started to my room.

  He was on his feet in a heartbeat. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. We are discussing this now.”

  I swung back around. “This isn’t yours to have! We never bargained for this.”

  “Clearly you weren’t paying attention because my bargain demanded everything.”

  He’d told me he would break me down and that I would be his, and, if for a second I thought that hadn’t meant giving him everything, I couldn’t doubt it now.

  But what was it all for? Give him everything so he could hate me? I already hated myself enough for both of us.

  “Who’s A?” He was relentless.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “He sure seems to matter, considering how long the two of you played this game of yours. Did he know about this one? Is he waiting in the wings for an update?”

  Oh, the irony of that accusation. Hudson had been the one to leave The Game—The Game that he’d taught me—and found the incredibly impossible person who could love him despite everything he’d done. Then, in a fit of envy and disgust and loneliness, I’d obliterated any future for our friendship by playing a scheme on him.

  And what exactly was it that Edward was doing with me?

  I pointed an angry finger at him. “What about your games? This shit you do to my head. The way you pretend you care and that these sessions mean something to you and then pull the rug out from me when I react to that. What about those fucking games?”

  “This is not the same.”

  He began to slowly circle around me, and I moved with him, keeping him in front of me. “Right, right, because you’re above scrutiny.”

  Abruptly, I was caged against the table, his arms on either side of me. “This isn’t a game between us.” His mouth was so close I could kiss him with only a tilt of my chin.

  My heart pounded so loud, I could hear it in my ears. “Are you certain about that? It sure feels like a game, and, believe me, I ought to know.”

  His eye twitched as it glanced quickly at my lips then back again. “Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

  He thought I was cruel? That threat was the cruelest of them all.

  It was tempting. I wanted my freedom so badly that at times I was tempted to do anything to get it.

  But the truth was, my telling him what he wanted to know wouldn’t change anything. He might even leave faster if I did. “You’re leaving anyway. Eventually.”

  His lips pressed together in a tight line. A beat passed, and I could hear the gears whirring in his head, deciding his next move.

  Finally, he stepped away. “You’re right.”

  He turned around calling Tom out of the kitchen where she likely heard much of our argument, but showed no sign of it when she appeared. “Tell Lou to arrange my flight out today,” he told her, then, without giving me another glance, he strode toward his office.

  With the decision made and announced, I felt the sharp sense of loss. What if he never came back? What if we never got past this? What if he never tried to have me again?

  I tripped after him. “This wasn’t a session. You said so yourself. You can’t hold this against me.”

  “Can’t I?” He didn’t turn around.

  “No. You put out the rules, and I followed them. It’s not fair for you to change them on me just because you don’t like something you found out. You have to still play.” Please, please still play. Please come back for me.

  He spun around then, so quickly, I nearly collided with him. “There is no fairness here, Celia. You still think this is a game? That one of us is going to lose and one of us is going to win? That’s not how this will go. I will win. I will win, no matter what you do or say or don’t say. The only thing yet to be determined is how badly you lose.”

  A chill ran down my spine, and this time when he stalked away, I didn’t follow.

  Eighteen

  “What’s all the activity about?” I asked Tom as I came back from my weekly massage in the pool house. Usually it was just her and Joette in the main house on a Thursday, unless Eliana was over to play chess or Lou was there to do some repairs.

  Peter and Sanyjah usually only cleaned on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but here they were, bustling around with the vacuum and duster, and Erris and Marge were trimming the bushes in the back, something they typically only did in the mornings when it was cooler.

  Joette stepped out of the kitchen at the sound of my voice, and Tom turned her eyes toward her, questioning.

  All the walking on eggshells made the answer clear before Joette said anything. “Edward arrives today. I wanted to tell you, but…”

  She trailed off, so I finished for her. “But you aren’t supposed to give me a heads-up on these things, are you?”

  Her smile was apologetic. “His plane is landing shortly. Mateo just left to pick him up at the airstrip.”

  That was more warning than I’d gotten any other time, and, for that, I tried to be grateful. It wasn’t Joette’s fault I was married to an asshole. No, that blame lay solely on me.

  “Thank you for telling me.” I forced the words out, hoping that she’d try to share more in the future if I were appreciative. Then I took off for my bedroom to change into something less grungy.

  After tearing off my shorts and tank, I hesitated at my closet door, deciding I needed a quick shower since I was covered in massage oil and sweat from my earlier workout. Once that was taken care of, I put on a simple sundress, threw my hair in a bun, and applied a swift coat of lipgloss.

  “He doesn’t deserve this,” I told my reflection. Because he didn’t. After the way he’d left last time, he didn’t deserve my dressing up for him at all. Especially when he’d stayed gone for three months. Three goddamn months. He’d sent gifts as he had before, nothing personalized, things that helped keep my mind occupied, the biggest being permission to redecorate the upstairs rooms and remodel the pool house, a task I’d undertaken with gusto. I loved the work. It was invigorating to have something to do, something I was passionate about.

  But no matter how much I enjoyed it or how much mental energy it required, it hadn’t taken my thoughts off Edward entirely. He’d left, and I was pissed. He’d told me I couldn’t walk away, and then he had. He’d told me if I opened up to him he’d come back sooner, and then he stayed away three fucking months.

  I’d been so angered by his absence, I’d mentally given him ninety days. If he wasn’t back by August fourteenth, I’d told myself, I was done. I was going to get myself off the island, whatever it took, even if it meant taking a rowboat out on the ocean alone.

  But here he was on August thirteenth, as though he could read into my mind, and I was both relieved and devastated.

  More relieved than devastated, if I were being honest.

  And because he’d shown up within the time frame, I planned to be exactly that—honest. With myself, and also with him. I’d had plenty of time to think about what I wanted to say to him, what our next session would entail, and by God, he was going to hear it, whether he wanted to or not.

  Now that, he deserved.

  I made it to the front of the house where Joette and Tom had gathered to greet Edward just as Mateo pulled the jeep into the driveway. My pulse picked up, and I suddenly wished I’d had more time to do makeup, that I’d picked something less plain to wear. Despite his unworthiness, I had a sick desire to please my husband.

  Even more base than that, I wanted him to notice me, which felt ridiculous under the circumstances.
>
  Still, standing with the two other women who’d become my family over the better part of a year, I suddenly felt like I was the stranger. It wasn’t an unreasonable feeling considering his close relationship with Joette’s family, but it was hard to grapple with all the same.

  Mateo had parked with the passenger side toward us, so it was Edward’s long, lean body and devilishly handsome face that I saw first. My breath caught—every time, he stole it from me. It was impossible to get used to how attractive he was, even dressed down in a polo shirt and white jeans. His hair was longer than when I’d last seen him, and a bit unruly from traveling. He still wore the facial hair I’d suggested he grow, and my fingers itched to touch it. His blue eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but I could feel them sharp and focused as he scanned his welcome committee. As they landed on me.

  Just as quickly, they were gone, and he was opening the door behind his, reaching in. From around the back of the vehicle, a figure appeared. A brunette woman also in sunglasses wearing linen pants, a large brim hat, and a long-sleeved sweater over her camisole.

  My body felt immensely heavy, like it was being pulled into the earth, and my ribs felt tight like they were being crushed.

  He’d brought a woman. A gorgeous, sophisticated woman to the island where he kept his captive wife.

  If I weren’t so heartbroken, I’d be seeing red.

  But then Edward pulled something out of the back seat—someone—and I realized I hadn’t looked closely enough at the woman. It was his sister, Camilla, and the small boy he’d lifted into his arms was his nephew.

  Damn, he looked good holding a child.

  I’d seen him before with the kids on the island, seen him tease them and sneak them cookies behind Joette’s back, but this was different. He’d pushed up his aviators, and I could see the pure devotion in his expression as he looked at Freddie. It was knee-weakening. Panty-melting. Ovary-exploding. Men didn’t look at kids like that, not generally, and seeing it from Edward was especially astonishing. And poignant. And overwhelming.