Vessel (Cutting Cords Series Book 2)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. “You’ll make a kick-ass Scotsman.”

  Trent’s smile widened. “My father’s Scottish.”

  “Is that why Max picked you for the part?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Do you know much about them?”

  “Who?”

  “The Scots,” I prompted. “Aren’t you paying attention?”

  “I’m more interested in finding out why you left in such a hurry.”

  “Let it go, okay?”

  “For now.” He nodded. “We have time for a light snack. Do you want to try the strawberries my way?”

  “Sure.”

  Putting a few of the plump strawberries in a bowl, I watched as he sprinkled them with brown sugar and plopped some sour cream over the lot. “Here you go.”

  I took a bite and was pleasantly surprised. “This is really good.”

  He smiled. “I would never steer you wrong.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shortly after, we joined the rest of the group on the big red bus Max had rented to cart us back and forth each day. Everyone seemed in high spirits, infecting me with the enthusiasm of being in a new and exciting locale. Traveling was part and parcel of the job, and it had not lost its appeal. Discovering new cities and partaking of local cuisine were some of the perks I enjoyed. I was determined to shake off my dark mood, but preventing a downward spiral into the familiar trap of feeling ugly, inconsequential, and generally unlovable was going to take some doing. Nonetheless, I was resolute in my quest to remain mentally stable.

  Tin sat beside me on the bus and chattered away while Max and Trent argued over something toward the rear of the vehicle. I glanced at them briefly, wondering what it was about. Max had a scowl on his face, and Trent appeared a little agitated as well. They kept looking my way, and it occurred to me that I might be the topic of their heated discussion. Great. I liked maintaining a low profile around my fellow models, always trying to keep my personal life separate. I didn’t want to be the latest catastrophe in an industry that routinely saw models crash and burn. As far as I knew, no one was aware of my breakup with Cole, unless Max had made an announcement while reading Trent the riot act. I wished he’d mind his own damn business for a change and leave me alone. Trent and I had enough issues without adding him to the mix.

  Tin held my hand and gave me a slight squeeze. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”

  It was. London was a city in full bloom, shaking off the cold winter chill and slowly coming back to life. The streets were bustling with activity. We were going to stop at Harrods briefly, to pick up our wardrobe, and then proceed to the Kensington Roof Gardens to spend the entire day. Max had rented the place for eight hours, wanting to take advantage of the good weather, knowing it could change on a dime. We’d been warned to expect rain in May, but today, the sun was shining, and we’d spend it outdoors.

  The Roof Gardens were located at 99 Kensington High Street in a department store one hundred feet above street level. It included a Spanish, Tudor, and English woodland garden complete with resident flamingos. It was the perfect solution to Max’s dilemma of wanting variety in locales without having to travel all over the English and Scottish countryside. The convenience of having everything in one location worked for me. The last thing I wanted was to spend hours in a bus thinking about Cole and wondering what he was doing.

  It had been almost nine days since we parted ways, if you counted the three days I’d spent in Montauk, and the pangs of separation continued to pull at me. Noriko was probably ripe for harvesting, what with the hormone shots she’d been receiving, which meant the impending marriage would soon be a reality. If Cole stuck to his original plan. The way things had been going, I doubted he’d take things slow. He seemed intent on moving forward quickly.

  Once again, I rehashed the entire chain of events since this nightmare began. The only piece to the puzzle I had yet to figure out was Hiro Fujiwara and the emergence of the geisha world. Cole had never mentioned a connection to anyone by that name. If he had, I certainly would have remembered. And why had Ken omitted this option in the past? Was it because Cole was already engaged to Juliana and the idea of abortion never crossed Ken’s mind? After their surprising breakup and Cole’s shocking announcement that he and I were partners, Ken had ranted and raved for several months but eventually retreated, maintaining a mystifying silence for a long time. Had the new techniques in genetic testing spurred Ken into action again, weaving his guilt trip on a son who already thought he’d let his father down by going blind. Had he the right to demand a grandchild? What the fuck was I missing?

  I wasn’t buying into Cole’s ridiculous excuses. Breaking up with me on the pretext of a betrayal in the future was the dumbest reason in the world. It was like having my balls removed on the off chance I’d get testicular cancer. I’d been shocked into leaving the apartment. My initial reaction of unworthiness had overshadowed my good sense, and instead of standing my ground and fighting, I’d fled. If I could prove that Ken and Noriko were in cahoots, we’d weather this storm and could probably go back to the way we were. Of course, I’d have to tell him about Trent, but considering everything else going on, Cole would probably give me a pass. One session of spontaneous frottage shouldn’t take precedence over five years of blissful harmony. After all, we hadn’t fucked or even dispensed blowjobs. I didn’t need to mention what was foremost on my mind lately. Being the object of Trent’s interest was exhilarating. I was torn between lust, guilt, and the inexplicable draw of his dominant personality.

  We were shooting for the fall line, although it was spring, and we’d just put winter behind us. Fashion magazines were always two seasons ahead, and modeling swimsuits in the dead of winter or fur coats in blistering heat was not uncommon. Since we were featuring British designers, Aquascutum, Burberry, Paul Smith, Alexander McQueen, and Jaeger were the names bandied about this morning as the models put on and removed item after item until choices were made. It was tedious but part of the process. When everyone had their proper attire, we piled back into the bus and headed off to the gardens. By now, it was closer to noon and I was starving.

  Fortunately, there was a restaurant in the building below the rooftop garden. It was called Babylon and served standard British fare. Trent approached as soon as he saw me.

  “Are you up for some lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sit with me?”

  “Sure.” We gravitated toward a small table for two, thus avoiding the chance of anyone honing in on our impromptu date, especially Max.

  “I’ll have a steak and Guinness,” Trent said, handing the menu back to the waiter. “What will you have, Sloan?”

  “I’ll try the bangers.”

  “Good,” Trent said, reaching for my hand. “You’ll need something substantial to hold you. We probably won’t get another chance to eat until late tonight if Max has his way with us.”

  “He’s such a slave driver, isn’t he?”

  “The main reason he’s one of the highest-paid photographers in the world.”

  “I suppose so. What were you two arguing about in the bus?”

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  “He told me to back off and leave you alone.”

  “He’s jealous.”

  “I know, but you’ve been in a relationship with someone else. Why is he getting so possessive?”

  I shrugged. “He’d like more, and now that I’m not with Cole, he thinks he has a chance.”

  “Does he?” Trent asked, pinning me down for an honest answer.

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Why is it unfortunate?”

  “It would be so much simpler if I were in love with him. He cares for me and knows all my deep and dark secrets.”

  “And yet?”

  “My interest in him is purely familial. He deserves more.”

  “Were you ever an item?”

  “Not
really.”

  “That’s a relief.” Trent smiled. “I’m going to have enough problems getting you to forget Cole. I don’t need to add another challenge.”

  “You think you can get me to forget five years of my life?”

  “I’m certainly going to try.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Why are you so negative?”

  He caught me by surprise, and I opened my mouth to deny the charge, but his intense expression made me stop and rethink my response. He looked concerned, not derisive. “My entire focus for the last five years has been Cole. I can’t dismiss him from my mind because I find you attractive,” I admitted. “I’m not a player.”

  “You could be though. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  I felt an embarrassing blush blooming on my cheeks. “I don’t buy into the hype.”

  Trent’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You’re way too humble for a supermodel, but maybe that’s part of your appeal. When I look at you, I see the most beautiful combination of strength and vulnerability. You bring out every dominant urge to drag you off to a dark room and have my way with you. Imagining your ultimate surrender is enough to keep me hard for hours.”

  “Here we go again with the whole submission thing. Why do you feel the need to overpower me?”

  “Overpowering is the wrong word choice, Sloan. What I’m looking for is your trust. The day you can hand it over unquestioningly is what keeps me interested in this cat-and-mouse game.”

  “Trust is earned, Trent, and I’m not into games. When I give my heart, it’s complete and unconditional.”

  “Yet one more reason I’m intrigued. What happened this morning? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You did everything right and I wanted more.”

  “Then why did you run off?”

  “Guilt.”

  “I thought it was over between you and Cole?”

  “Technically it is.”

  “But?”

  “I’m not convinced it’s final. I keep expecting him to admit it was a huge misunderstanding and our lives will go back to normal.”

  “Do you want me to back off?”

  His stare was riveting, and I couldn’t help but give him an honest reply. “The truth is I want you as much as you want me. The only thing preventing this is my own conscience.”

  “They say guilt is the most useless and counterproductive emotion.”

  “Probably true, but how do you expunge it without undergoing a lobotomy?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer,” Trent said, smiling. Conscious of meddling troublemakers, he looked around before reaching for my hand. His touch was comfortable, and I felt safe, for some reason. I couldn’t explain the whys or the wherefores, considering he was a man with a sadistic quirk, but it was present nonetheless. His next words put the nail in the coffin. “I’d be more than happy to help you through the process.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” I said, chuckling nervously.

  “I’m a very patient man, Sloan, and when I see something I want, I’m willing to wait for it. ‘Haste makes waste,’ my mother always used to say.”

  “Your mother was a wise woman.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter 22

  Trent and I separated after lunch, each of us assigned to a different garden. I drew the Spanish, and he, the Tudor. It would be hours until we saw each other again. By the time we dragged our tired selves onto the bus, we were beat. If I had known modeling wasn’t a question of standing around while others did all the work, I might have reconsidered my career choice back when it was first offered. The easygoing and glamorous life of a model was a myth. It was backbreaking hard work, fiercely competitive, and there was no such thing as an eight-hour day. Trying to maintain a pose for as long as necessary to achieve the perfect shot—without turning into a raving diva—took a particular work ethic. And contrary to popular opinion, we weren’t born to smile vacuously into a lens for hours on end. I was always happier when Max asked me to ditch the happy face and step into broodingly mysterious.

  Since we were modeling coats, they had the foggers going, simulating a common London winter scene. I was hot and sweaty from being overdressed and would have killed for a cool shower.

  Apparently everyone else felt the same as it was pretty quiet on the way back to the hotel. Some were even snoozing.

  “I want everyone ready by eight tomorrow morning,” Max said when we got to the hotel lobby. “I don’t care what fuck-all you do tonight, so long as you’re nice and chipper at eight bells. Anyone with a hangover is docked, got it?”

  There was a general murmuring of yeses, and soon we all dispersed.

  “Bloody slave driver,” I mumbled, swiping my key card and pushing into my room. Tin was already in the shower. I could hear him singing his favorite love song in his high-pitched and oftentimes annoying voice. I toed off my shoes and slumped down on the bed, exhaling in relief. My back was killing me, and I had the beginnings of a hunger headache. I hadn’t eaten in at least six hours. It was eight in the evening, and I calculated the time difference between London and New York. Cole might be home from school, it being three in the afternoon, so I took a chance and rang his number. He answered almost immediately.

  “Sloan, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Hearing his voice made me wish I were there. I missed him terribly and couldn’t believe we’d let this conflict tear us apart. “How are you doing? Does Freddie miss me?”

  “We’re both okay,” Cole said. “Why are you calling?”

  “I wanted to hear your voice.”

  There was an awkward pause until Cole said, “That’s nice.”

  “How’s it going with the baby maker?”

  “She goes in for harvesting tomorrow.”

  “When will you have any answers?”

  “They’ll be removing cells from the developing embryos on the third day, and testing for the RP gene abnormality will proceed immediately after.”

  “And then?”

  “If they can get a pair of viable candidates, they’ll be implanted into Noriko’s uterus. Then we wait to see if she gets pregnant.”

  “Cole, who is Hiro Fujiwara?”

  “My grandfather.”

  “How come we’ve never talked about him?”

  “He died when I was a kid. Why the interest?”

  “Did you know he had a geisha?”

  “I… didn’t for a long time.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “Why?” Cole asked impatiently.

  “I want to know.”

  “It’s no longer relevant.”

  “It is to me.”

  “Forget about it, Sloan. The wheels are already in motion, and there’s no turning back.”

  “It would help to give me some closure, Cole.”

  “My father shared my grandfather’s history shortly after we learned about PGD.”

  “How did it come about?”

  “He was bemoaning the fact that finding a likely candidate to surrogate for me would be almost impossible.”

  “When was this?”

  Cole didn’t reply. The miles separating us were nothing compared to the unbreakable wall of secrecy he’d erected around this issue. He was hiding something vital and my need-to-know personality had to hear it before I could move on. “Answer me, Cole.”

  “Last year.”

  “You conniving piece of shit.”

  “Sloan….”

  “You and Ken talked about surrogates months before you presented me with the idea?” Silence―complete and devastating. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “You would have tried to prevent this from happening. This is Noriko’s chance to fulfill her obligation.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Nothing you would understand.”

  “Try me, Cole. I’m really more than a pretty face.”

  �
�Noriko is repaying her mother’s debt by helping me create a family.”

  “Who’s getting the money?”

  “Her grandmother.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Mieko, her biological grandmother, was a geisha in the same okiya as Reiko, my grandfather’s special friend.”

  “You mean his whore.”

  “Geishas are not whores, Sloan. They don’t sleep with all their clients.”

  “Oh, right. They’re entertainers,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “They only sleep with their patrons―the ones who’ve paid for their fucking mizuage!”

  “What do you know about a mizuage?”

  “I googled it!”

  “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

  “Isn’t the term used for the bidding rights to deflower the geisha-in-training?”

  “Maybe a long time ago, but not in modern-day Japan. It’s simply a celebration marking the passing of a maiko, or geisha-in-training, to a full-fledged geisha. Her virginity is not for sale.”

  “But Noriko herself said she was a virgin.”

  “What of it? It has nothing to do with being a surrogate.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Cole said, hissing angrily into the phone. “How could you? You’re not Japanese, and you know nothing about our tradition, honor, and commitment.”

  “Whoa! Back the fuck up, Shogun. You’re the one who bailed on me, not the other way around. The Japanese did not invent the word honor. I was in our relationship for the long haul. Now, finish your goddamn explanation.”

  “Mieko got pregnant during the war.”

  “Noriko’s grandmother?”

  Cole let out a loud sigh, seemingly exasperated with all my questions. I could picture him scowling. “Yes,” he said finally. “The man was an unknown American soldier who disappeared as quickly as he arrived on the scene. Reiko took over Mieko’s support once she could no longer work as a geisha. She did everything she could to keep her best friend in the okiya. When Hana was born, Reiko assumed responsibility for her as well.”