by Penelope Sky
Miranda unzipped the covering and then pulled out the two dresses. “I’ve got two. Pick the one you want, and I’ll make the alterations.” She turned to Raven. “Raven, right?”
Raven stepped forward and extended her hand. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. So, what do you think?”
“About what?” Raven glanced back at me, like she had no idea what was going on.
I stepped forward, holding my mug in my hand. “You need something to wear on Saturday, so Miranda picked out these gowns.”
“Oh…” She looked at the two gowns spread over the back of the couch. “Sorry, I just… It’s been a long time since I tried on clothes.”
Miranda held up the first one, classic black, which hung down to the floor with a slit that went all the way up the thigh and had an interesting array of straps at the top. “You can’t go wrong with black, and while it’s a simple dress, the unique array of straps the designer created for this piece really makes it stand out.” She laid the dress down again and grabbed the other. “This is the total opposite. The purple color is perfect for a summer event, and the subtle texture in the fabric will give it a slight sheen under the light of a chandelier. Either one will look great on you, so there’s no wrong choice.”
Raven continued to stand there and stare, like she didn’t know what to do. “Uh…” It seemed to be overwhelming to her.
I made the decision for her. “Black.”
“Alright.” Miranda returned the purple dress to the protective cover then held the black dress out to Raven. “Try this on for me with these heels so I can put the pins in.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of black high heels with satin bows at the backs.
Raven took everything then walked into her old bedroom and shut the door.
Miranda turned to me. She hesitated, like she wanted to ask about Raven’s peculiar behavior, but she didn’t. “Is there anything you need me to do while I’m here?”
“No.” I drank from my coffee. “Raven doesn’t get out much, so she’s not used to this sort of thing.”
She nodded. “You don’t try on designer gowns every day.”
Raven returned minutes later in the tall heels and the tight dress. She was petite, so it was a little long on her and it could be taken in around her waist, but it already looked stunning on her, especially that slit up her thigh.
Miranda got to work and put the pins in place so she could alter it and sew it back into place. On her knees, she worked, clipping it in all the right places.
Raven stood there, balancing in the high heels, looking out of place in a dress that cost me €5,000. She was confident in the uniform she had to wear at the camp, but in a Paris apartment in a designer gown, she was uncomfortable.
Miranda stood up when she was finished. “Great. Now, just take it off, and I’ll be on my way.”
Raven went back into the bedroom, changed, and then returned with the dress.
Miranda gathered everything, said a few final words to me, and let herself out.
When she was gone and Raven was back in the dress she’d put on that morning, she returned to her usual self. “I’ve never worn anything like that in my life. This is going to be a fancy party, isn’t it?”
“Very.” I stood at the counter and continued to drink my coffee.
She stood across from me, just the way we did in her apartment. “You think I’ll have a chance to talk to Melanie in private?”
“Not sure.” Whenever I saw Fender with Melanie in public, she was always right at his side. “But I’m sure if Melanie asked, he would give her whatever she wanted. And it’s a big place…easy to duck into another room.”
She gave a slow nod. “I haven’t seen her in so long… How is she?”
“She’s treated very well—from what I’ve gathered.”
“That’s good.” Her gaze shifted to look out the window, the natural light coming in and lighting up her face. Her hands rested on the edge of the counter, and she got lost in her thoughts.
I drank my coffee and studied her. “What are you thinking?”
She shook her head slightly, her gaze still out the window. “That I want to see Melanie, but I don’t want to spend my evening with a bunch of rich people when I can be here…with you.”
Being stripped down naked and dragged into the open by a madman hadn’t changed her desire for me. Her nails sliced into my skin, she breathed into my mouth, and she whispered my name like it would live on the tip of her tongue for the rest of her life. I preferred to be on top because I liked feeling those nails carve my back, liked pressing her into the mattress underneath me as I claimed her as mine, liked feeling those sexy legs around my waist. But every time she got on top of me, I couldn’t believe how good it was.
She fucked me good.
That night, she moved off me then turned around, on all fours, her back arched, her ass up.
The moonlight outlined her sexy curves, the deep curve in her lower back, the perkiness of her cheeks. Her long hair stretched down the center of her back, the curls falling out as the day progressed.
But all I could see were the scars.
Even in the darkness, I could see them…because I knew exactly what to look for.
I’d held that whip in my hand and beat her with it. I’d sliced open her skin, made her lose enough blood that she almost slipped under. I’d hit her again and again and watched her body grow weak then hang from the branch. It was one of the worst moments of my life. The pain and the shame made me sick to my stomach.
I couldn’t handle the sight, so I looked away.
When I didn’t move behind her, she looked over her shoulder. “Magnus.”
I wouldn’t look at her. “I told you I don’t want to look at it.” My gaze was turned to the window, partially obstructed by the curtains. When we were in bed together and I opened my eyes to her bare back, I always turned the other way. I did whatever I could to pretend the scars never happened, and the only way I could do that was by not looking at them.
“Magnus…” She turned her body so she was back on the bed, lying down with her body propped up, looking at me.
Now that I couldn’t see her scars, I shifted my gaze back to her.
“You have to accept me as I am.”
I clenched my jaw and shook my head. “You know that’s not the problem.”
She crawled toward me, moving on top of me so her hair dragged across my chest as she moved. “We’ve both done things for and to each other that change the way we look, but we’re still the same.” Her hand moved over my chest, over my heart. “You did what you had to do to keep me alive.”
“It still…” It still killed me.
“I forgive you.” She moved her forehead to mine and rested it there, her hand over my heart, her hair on my chest. “Now, be with me.” She pressed her lips to mine and gave me a deep and purposeful kiss, her mouth taking mine before she kissed me again and again, her tongue greeting mine and bringing me back to the moment. Then she pulled away, moved back to where she was, and looked at me over her shoulder.
I tried not to let the past come into that room and infect me with misery. I tried not to think about the way the whip felt in my grasp, tried not to think about the crack it made once it hit her skin. When it was just her and me, we forgot about our unfortunate existence and everything that had been done to both of us.
I leaned over her and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, my lips feeling the bumps over her scarred skin, the welts that had never really gone away. I listened to her breathe harder as she savored my kiss like she enjoyed it. I moved farther down her spine and to her ass, my face moving between her legs to kiss the area that was plenty wet.
She breathed harder, loud in the silence.
I straightened and placed myself inside her with a deep thrust.
She jerked forward and moaned loudly.
My hands gathered her in my arms, and I pulled her against me, my chest against her
back, my arms across her tits and her stomach. I held her as I thrust, both of us on our knees on the bed, grinding together as the passion rose like heat to the ceiling.
Her hand moved to the back of my head, and she angled her body so she could kiss me as we moved together, her pants entering my mouth and filling my lungs with new warmth. Her fingers gripped the hair at the back of my neck, and she moaned as I thrust into her. “Magnus…”
One of my hands squeezed her tit, while the other slid between her legs and rubbed her clit.
She moaned louder and louder.
I could feel the scars against my chest as we moved together, feel the bumps that would never fade as long as she lived. But instead of carrying the grief on my shoulders, I saw them as a testament to her survival, of what we’d both done to get here…to have this.
Twenty-Two
The Count of Monte Cristo
When I opened my eyes and looked at the nightstand, I realized it was almost noon.
It’d been a long night.
I wiped the sleep from my eyes before my arm slid toward Raven on the bed. All I felt were cold sheets. She was always up earlier than I was, probably because she was excited to be in Paris. I got out of bed, used the bathroom, and then headed downstairs to make some coffee.
She wasn’t sitting on the couch.
And the coffeepot hadn’t been turned on.
I went to her old bedroom to see if she was sitting in the armchair so she could see the Eiffel Tower past the park.
She wasn’t there.
My heart started to pound. “Raven?” I raised my voice so she could hear me if she was in the apartment.
Nothing.
I checked the bathrooms—nothing.
I stood in the living room and dragged my hand down my face, feeling my jaw clench, feeling the terror grip me by the chest.
Did she run?
The alarm wasn’t set because it didn’t cross my mind anymore.
Maybe that was what she wanted.
Did she lie to me? Was this all…a stunt?
Was any of it real?
I moved to the window in her old bedroom to look down at the gate and the sidewalk, as if she would be standing there. Did she spend all that time earning my affection for protection in the camp, building up my trust, just so she could have this moment? When we were up late so she knew I’d be asleep for hours?
Was I that stupid?
Why did I actually believe this was real?
My heart pounded harder, and the pulse was vibrating in my temples. The blood was like a drumbeat in my ears. So many emotions ran through me at once. But then my eyes noticed the woman in a dress across the street. She checked both ways before she crossed, carrying two coffees, a bag hanging off her wrist with the bakery logo on the front. She moved through the open gate and approached the apartment.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.
It was real.
The elevator hummed down the hallway until the doors opened. Her footsteps came a moment later, passing the bedroom and entering the kitchen, without noticing me standing in front of the window.
With my hands on my hips, I stood in front of the window and let the anger circulate out of my blood.
She must have taken a bite of a pastry because she said, “Oh man…that’s so fucking good.”
I left the bedroom and approached the kitchen.
She stilled when she spotted me, half a muffin stuffed into her mouth, crumbs and blueberry juice in the corners of her mouth, eating like a pig because she assumed I was still asleep upstairs. The food was already in her mouth at that point, so she chewed it quickly and tried to get it down. “I…” Chew chew chew. “Didn’t know…” Chew chew chew. Mumble mumble. “Awake…” She grabbed a napkin from the bag and tried to wipe all the shit off her face as she chewed the last of it and got it down her throat.
I stepped closer to her, my arms resting by my sides, still angry about the heart attack she’d just given me.
She balled up the napkin and left it on the counter. “I got you a muffin too, but you don’t have to eat it. I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.” When she looked at me, she realized that something was wrong, that the intense stare I gave her was a hostile one. “What is it?”
I stepped closer to her, exploding in fury. “Did I say you could come and go as you please?”
She stilled at my outburst, not anticipating this at all.
“I wake up and you’re gone, and I have no idea where the fuck you went. What the fuck, Raven?”
She stepped back slightly, recovering from the surprise and turning cold. “I just went to get coffee, Magnus. What is the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal?” I asked incredulously. “You didn’t tell me. That’s the big deal.”
“Where else would I have…” Her voice trailed away when she figured out why I was so angry. Understanding entered her gaze, and that softness was quickly replaced by anger. “I told you I wouldn’t run.”
She’d had the perfect opportunity to wave down a cab and go in any direction, but she chose to come back, her intentions completely innocent, so innocent that if I woke up and didn’t see her, the idea of her escaping wouldn’t even cross my mind. I rubbed my fingers across my jawline, letting the angry high dissipate.
“You need to trust me.”
I dropped my hand and looked at her again.
“I’m gonna come and go as I damn well please because I’m not going to run—and you know I’m not going to run. At least, you do now…because I’ve been awake for four hours now, and that’s plenty of time to disappear if that’s what I wanted. So, when I wake up, I’m going to walk to my favorite coffee shop and get a sugary, fattening, hot cup of coffee and as many goddamn muffins as I want, and you aren’t going to say a damn thing about it. If you’re gone in the evening and I’m alone, I’m gonna walk down there and get my dinner to go and eat it here because it’s what I want to do. Alright?”
I stared into her angry eyes, seeing the genuine hurt she felt, like my doubt was a slap in the face. She was beautiful all the time, with makeup or without, when she was asleep or wide awake. But when she was emotional like this, there was something particularly magnetic about it. It was when I was most fascinated with her, when she spoke her mind candidly and with confidence. “Alright.”
I parked the car outside her apartment, and we walked up the steps of the stoop and then the staircase inside. Like before, there were envelopes underneath the door, telling her that the rent was late.
She tested the knob, and it was unlocked.
The door creaked open.
She stared inside, saw that it looked exactly the same as before, and then stepped into the room.
I followed behind her and watched her look around at the place that must have stopped feeling like home months ago. I could feel her energy in the room, feel a past I wasn’t a part of. I could picture her making dinner every night for her and her sister. I could picture her working upstairs in her office, while glancing up at the tower every time she took a sip of her coffee.
With her arms crossed over her chest, she looked around.
It seemed cruel to bring her to box up her possessions, never to return, but it was better than leaving it behind so someone would throw it all away. Her favorite books, family photos, keepsakes that meant a lot to her… It would just end up in the dump.
After a long pause, she grabbed a box and set it on the counter. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted to take because she grabbed the things and quickly put them inside.
I stayed by the door and watched.
She went upstairs a couple times, grabbing photo albums, picture frames, and books. She placed them inside and returned up the stairs.
I grabbed one of the picture frames and took a look.
It was a woman with two little girls. Even though the girls had the same eye color, I knew exactly which one was Raven. She looked to be maybe five at the time, sitting on her m
other’s lap with that fiery brightness in her gaze…a shine that was still there to this day. I put it back in the box.
She stuffed the box with everything that meant something to her, and the last thing she placed inside was a purple scarf. “That’s everything.”
“You don’t want to take anything else?” She left behind all her furniture, clothes, and shoes. She didn’t touch anything in the kitchen, except removing a few magnets from the fridge.
She shook her head. “These are the only things that matter.” She pulled the box to the edge to pick it up.
I grabbed the top and slid it toward myself so I could carry it.
“I pick up boxes like that all the time at the camp.”
I picked it up and headed to the door. “I know.”
She placed her things in her old bedroom. It still held her new clothes and accessories, so she showered in that bathroom and set up her picture frames and photo albums. The two of us fell into a routine just the way we did at the camp, albeit it was completely different.
Whenever I was out of the house working, she spent her time walking around Paris, window-shopping with the money I gave her, buying coffees and pastries and books at the bookstore.
I never worried about her running again.
Sometimes, I worked on my laptop upstairs in the parlor, and she knew to leave me alone.
When we were together, we shared meals, went on walks, made love, stuff other couples did. It felt like a relationship, even though I’d never had a relationship like this before. There were a lot of odd things about it, given our circumstances, but the oddest thing about it was the foundation we stood on. She wasn’t just my lover, and she wasn’t just my friend…she was somewhere in between.
I came downstairs and saw her pull her purse over her head and onto the opposite shoulder then tug her hair free from the strap across the back of her neck. She was in a blue dress with her hair curled. When she heard me approach, she lifted her gaze and looked at me. “I’m going to the bookstore. Want to come with me?”