by T. K. Leigh
I choke on my champagne, the effervescent liquid burning my throat and nose as I struggle to breathe.
“Are you okay?” Wes asks, fixating his eyes on mine, patting my back.
I blink as I cough, momentarily stunned speechless. Who cares if Jay studied literature and was also obsessed with Greek mythology? That he was also extremely persuasive and a good writer? The idea is completely irrational. There are hundreds, even thousands of men who fit that description. Plus, Julia’s husband’s name is Nicholas Prescott. Not Domenic Jaskulski, or Professor Jay around campus.
I shake it off, blaming the ridiculous notion on my surroundings, and offer Wes a reassuring smile, clearing my throat. “Of course.”
“Good. Then why don’t we dance.”
“Dance?”
“You don’t expect to look as gorgeous as you do and me not want to show you off, do you?”
“Always the charmer, aren’t you?”
He leans toward me, feathering a kiss against my cheek. “Always.” He lingers there for a moment before addressing Julia. “Will you be okay for a bit?”
She lifts her glass. “There’s an open bar and overflowing champagne. I’ll be more than okay.”
“I knew I could count on you, Jules.” He laughs as he steers me toward the center of the dance floor, the familiar Sinatra tune the band had been playing coming to an end.
When the pianist plays the opening lines of “La Vie en Rose”, memories of my mother singing this song flash before me.
“Care to dance?” Wes murmurs into my ear, the heat of his breath warming my neck.
I face him, placing my hand in his. And just like earlier in the suite, he twirls me around before pulling me against his chest. He places a hand on my hip, the other one still entwined with mine, and begins moving in time with the lazy, rhythmic beat of the classic French tune.
“My mother used to sing this,” I reminisce as I drape my free arm along his shoulder, toying with the few tendrils of hair falling over his collar. “One night, when I couldn’t have been more than five or six, I’d gotten out of bed to get a glass of water. As I walked past the living room, I saw my parents dancing. My mother was singing this song. In that moment, I could physically feel how much they loved each other. It was so beautiful. After she died, I would always listen to this song, clinging to the memory of her singing it. Clinging to the man my father was when she was still alive.” I swallow hard, my heart squeezing at everything I lost when that gunman burst into the church.
“Do you know what the lyrics mean?” Wes asks in an effort to distract me.
“It’s about seeing the world through rose-colored glasses now that she’s found the love of her life.” I sigh as Wes pulls me even closer. “All he has to do is take her in his arms, speak words of love, and she’s home. Happy. Secure.”
I tilt my head back, no longer sure if I’m talking about the story in the song, or my own with Wes.
“You for me, me for you, for the rest of my life,” I murmur.
“I knew I liked this song for a reason,” he whispers as he buries his head in my neck, inhaling deeply as we sway to the tune.
When the singer starts the second chorus, Wes attempts to sing along with her, completely butchering the French language. But I don’t care. It makes me laugh, reminding me how easy it was to fall in love with him. I fought it, did everything to keep my distance. Somewhere along the way, though, I fell. It wasn’t a quick descent into madness as you often read about or see in the movies. This wasn’t love at first sight. Our journey to this point was gradual, each day causing me to sever another tie binding me to my past until I barely remember any of it.
“That’s the mark of true love,” I say through my laughter as the song fades.
“What’s that?”
“That even though you can’t speak French worth a lick and eviscerated a song very near and dear to my heart, I still love you.”
“You for me, me for you, for the rest of our lives, honeybee.”
“You for me, me for you, Wes,” I reply as he treats me to a kiss I feel deep in my soul.
The next few hours pass with much less pomp and circumstance as the ball shifts from being formal to more celebratory, the copious amounts of alcohol available causing people to let down their guard. The masks seem to help, too. It certainly helps me.
At some point, a DJ replaced the band, the music no longer jazz standards but more modern songs. And since Julia has a night when she doesn’t have to worry about Imogene, having left her with their nanny in Charleston, she has no problem letting loose on the dance floor. Being the good friend I am, I join her. Or maybe I just can’t help myself when the DJ starts playing “Uptown Funk”. Then again, neither can Julia.
“I’m going to have to start hiring the two of you to come to more of these things,” Wes laughs as Julia and I make our way off the dance floor, needing a minute to catch our breath. “Y’all make it infinitely more entertaining.”
“If you can’t let loose on New Year’s Eve, when can you?” Julia shoots back, joining him at a high-top table near the bar. She takes Wes’ scotch from his hand and throws back a healthy gulp.
“I suppose you’re right.” He smiles at me before turning his attention to Julia. “Don’t forget we have a speech to make.”
“I haven’t. If we didn’t have that speech, I would have been doing shots all night instead of sticking to champagne.”
“Aren’t you just the picture of responsibility?” He chuckles, taking his scotch back from her.
“When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand what a rare treat a night without a child truly is.”
“I’ll take your word.”
Wes brings his scotch to his lips, about to sip, when he stops, squinting into the distance. “Nick?”
Hearing her husband’s name, Julia stiffens, her eyes following Wes as he excuses himself and walks toward a man dressed like every other man here — dashing tuxedo and black masquerade mask. But I don’t pay too much attention to him, too worried about Julia’s nervous reaction.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, my hand covering hers.
“Yeah. Just surprised.” She forces a smile, but she seems jittery.
“Julia said you got caught up in New York,” I hear Wes remark over the music.
“I couldn’t miss kissing my lovely wife at midnight,” Nick replies. “Plus, it’s about time I meet this girlfriend of yours.”
“Come on over then.” Wes leads him toward the table. “Nick, this is my girlfriend, Miss Londyn Bennett.”
I tear my gaze away from Julia, unable to shake the premonition in my stomach that something is seriously wrong. When my eyes skate over the tall man in a tuxedo, his blond hair slicked back, it’s no longer just a premonition. Something is seriously wrong.
“Londyn,” Wes continues, oblivious to the panic racing through me, “meet Julia’s husband, Domenic Jaskulski. But he tends to go by Nick.”
Chapter Thirty
Londyn
It’s ironic, really. I’m wearing a Medusa mask, yet I’m the one turned to stone, unable to move, to think, to breathe. For years, I’d imagined what I would do if I ever saw him again. Now that he’s mere feet away, I’m frozen.
Truth be told, I never expected to see him again. I certainly didn’t expect to run into him here of all places. And I never could have imagined he’d be married to the woman who’s become like a sister to me. That he’d be the father of one of the most precious little girls I’ve ever met.
Imogene…
The reality hits me hard. The pictures he proudly showed me of his little girl all those years ago. It was Imogene. The man Imogene looks up to, loves, cherishes is the same man who destroyed my life.
I want to pinch myself, wake up in Wes’ arms, learn this is all a nightmare. But if this were just a nightmare, I wouldn’t smell his familiar cologne of leather and citrus. Wouldn’t feel a tingle of apprehension trickle down my spine. Wouldn’t hear his voice
with such striking clarity as he addresses me, a sly smirk curling his lips.
“It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to the name,” he says with the same smooth demeanor he had all those years ago when he first introduced himself as Jay. “Or as much of the face as is allowed tonight.” He extends his hand.
I somehow manage to float my eyes toward it, my stomach churning at the idea of his skin touching mine.
Sensing Wes’ curious stare on me, I put on the same act I have the past five years and extend my hand, allowing him to take it.
“Nice to meet you… Nick,” I emphasize.
I struggle to breathe as he doesn’t simply shake my hand, but brings it to his lips and brushes a soft kiss on my knuckles. I do everything to keep myself still, not wanting to raise any questions from Wes or Julia. When I can’t stand it any longer, I tear my hand from his, settling deeper into the crook of Wes’ arm. I’ve never been more happy to feel his protective grip on my hip than I do now.
Looking at Julia, I force a smile. “You two don’t have the same last name?”
She parts her lips to respond, but before she can, Nick drapes an arm along her shoulders, pulling her against him. I notice her wince slightly.
“I married a bit of a feminist. She insisted on keeping her birth mother’s last name. Hopefully she’ll reconsider one of these days so she’ll finally have the same last name as her own daughter.”
If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t have picked up on it, but he appears emasculated at the notion of Julia not taking his last name. Good. I wouldn’t want that attached to me, either.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Bradford,” a petite brunette in a smart skirt suit says, tapping Wes on the shoulder. He drops his hold on me, facing the woman. “It’s time for your and Ms. Prescott’s speech.”
“Of course. We’ll be right up.” He dismisses her, then turns back to me. “Duty calls. You okay?”
It’s a question he’s asked repeatedly tonight. And repeatedly, I’d assured him I was. But that was before… Before my world was turned upside down. Now I’m so far from okay, it’s laughable.
“I’ll take good care of her in your absence,” Nick says from behind me.
I keep my gaze even, doing my best not to react, although the idea of being alone with him has me wanting to scream, to run away and hide. But I refuse to do that. I didn’t spend the past several years reinventing myself just to become the scared little girl I was back then.
Wes turns his attention to Nick, scrutinizing him for a moment. Hope builds inside me that he’ll notice something’s amiss. But he doesn’t, offering Nick an appreciate smile before leaning toward me and feathering a kiss on my cheek.
“I’ll only be a few minutes. Then I’m coming for my midnight kiss.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I force my lips to curve up into something resembling a smile, but I have a feeling I fail horribly.
With a nod, Wes turns, placing his hand on Julia’s back, steering her toward the stage. But after only a few steps, he spins around, tacking several determined strides back toward me.
“Wes. What are you—”
Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulls me against him. “How about a sneak preview before I go?”
This isn’t the first time Wes has kissed me in front of hundreds of people. He’s stolen kisses all night. Most appropriate, some not so appropriate. But this time, when his lips descend toward mine, all I can feel is the heat of Jay’s…Nick’s possessive stare scalding my skin.
“I love you, honeybee,” Wes murmurs.
I sigh, basking in his affection. It’s exactly what I need right now. A reminder of how deep his devotion goes.
“I love you, too. Now go. Make your speech. Then come back and kiss me in a way that is utterly indecent.”
“Indecent?” He waggles his brows.
“Shockingly so.”
That’s all the motivation he needs. Leaving me with one more kiss, he spins, following Julia onto the stage. I don’t move. Simply keep my eyes focused solely on him. In my mind, if I keep him in my sights, nothing else matters. Only him. Only us. Only this love neither one of us thought we’d ever find, but that we somehow managed to experience.
“I must say, your mask is quite stunning,” Nick whispers from behind me as the music fades and the woman in the suit strolls to the center of the stage. “The detailing is exceptional.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Facing him, I plaster on my best fake smile. “I’m sure you get off on the story of Poseidon and Medusa. Hell, it’s probably why you love Greek mythology so much. It’s all very…” I trail off, looking for the correct description. But there’s only one that fits. Glowering, I finish, “It’s all very rapey.”
He belts out a pompous laugh, my words seeming to have little effect on him. When I first met him, I thought him to be so sophisticated, so worldly. I looked up to and admired the man who seemed so out of my league. He fascinated me, enthralled me. But it was all part of his game.
“That’s an analysis I haven’t had the pleasure of examining. At least in those terms. But as I’ve said time and again, everything that happens in mythology is important for the hero’s journey. Just like everything you’ve endured was important for your journey.”
I cross an arm over my stomach, turning my attention back to the stage as Wes takes the microphone, thanking the crowd for attending and their generosity in raising several million dollars in the span of one night.
Lifting a shaky hand to my mouth, I sip on my champagne to distract myself from my current reality. “You always did seem to gravitate to the heroism encapsulated in the tales, didn’t you?” I return my gaze to his, venom swirling within. “I always found a different theme infinitely more intriguing.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “And what’s that?”
Immediately following his assault, I probably would have backed up. Flinched. Cowered. But no more.
“Revenge.” I allow my response to linger in the space between us, making my meaning crystal clear.
“Ouch,” he muses coolly as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if he’s free of blame or fault. Based on what I’ve determined of him, he doesn’t believe he did anything wrong. “Seems the kitten’s grown some claws.” He brings his glass to his lips and takes a sip of what I assume to be a ridiculously expensive scotch.
“I had no choice,” I snarl, shifting my gaze forward once more, my brain barely registering the numbers Wes rattles off of the hundreds of people who are no longer living out of their cars or fighting for space in homeless shelters because of his initiative. “Thanks to you.”
“And therein lies the rub,” Nick counters. “It is thanks to me.”
I rip my head in his direction, jaw dropping. I knew he was self-centered and egotistical, a man insistent on exerting power and dominion over everyone and everything. That was the reputation he had all over campus, something I never saw for myself until it was too late. But this is on a completely different level.
He angles toward me, his eyes on fire. “Before me, you were this meek little thing who couldn’t even stand up for herself. You were Persephone, stolen by Hades and forced into marriage to a man you didn’t love, with no one to come and save you from the fiery pits of hell.”
I bark out a laugh. “I stood up for myself. You make it sound like I didn’t have a say in the matter.”
“Did you?”
My lips part as I mentally rewind to the day my father called me into his office and Sawyer was sitting there. Admittedly, the entire thing felt wrong on so many levels, like I was simply a pawn to get Sawyer what he’d worked for. But what about everything I’d been working for?
Refusing to show Nick a hint of weakness, I straighten my spine. “I was able to finish my education because I stood up for myself. Made it part of the deal to marry Sawyer.”
“Not sure I’d call that standing up,” he remarks nonchalantly. “You agreed to marry some schmuck who couldn
’t even satisfy you.” He pauses as applause rings out around us. Then he inches toward me, his breath like knives against my skin. “But I did, Londyn Jade.”
Inhaling quickly, I dart my wide eyes to his, speechless by his insinuation. When he inclines closer to me this time, I back up, the look in his gaze one I’d seen before. One I’d blamed on my overconsumption of alcohol, not seeing it for what it truly was. A warning. A caution to run.
“You can deny it all you want, but you enjoyed it.” His voice is low and heated as his fingers brush my hair over my shoulder.
I jump back, leveling my fierce stare on him. “No, I didn’t.”
“I know you did. I felt that you did.” He takes a satisfying gulp of his drink. “But if you need to convince yourself otherwise so you don’t feel guilty, that’s fine. Regardless, you can’t ignore that I made you into the woman you are today. If I hadn’t shown you what was possible, would you have escaped that empty life you’d been living? Would you have spread your wings? Learned to fly? Become this independent woman who turns heads whenever she walks into a room?”
“I—”
“No,” he says vehemently. “The answer is no. You’d still be sitting in the front pew of that church every Sunday, listening to the husband you’ll never love droll on about whatever wrong he felt compelled to right that day. I freed you.”
I shake my head, adamantly refusing to agree with his assessment.
“Take your darling Medusa. She would have been nothing without Poseidon. Before he became infatuated with her, she was this inconsequential mortal who, while beautiful, was completely ordinary. Poseidon made her extraordinary.”
“One could argue that was Athena.”
“But had it not been for Poseidon taking her in the virgin goddess’ sacred temple, Athena wouldn’t have had cause to punish Medusa. So yes, while Athena turned her into a monster, it was because of Poseidon’s actions. Do you think we’d be reading about an ordinary mortal who lived a wholesome, albeit sheltered life? There’s no drama,” he declares excitedly. “No passion. That’s what I gave you. I gave you passion.”