“Voilà,” said Jacques, with a faked French accent, which didn’t tell Hannah much except that he wasn’t French at all.
Not satisfied with what she saw in the mirror as it looked like she had just washed her hair and let it dry in a messy way, Hannah pulled up her hair and suggested, “How about an upswept knot with some flowers?”
“Gauche,” dismissed Jacques. “C’est parfait comme ça.”
Perfect, my ass. She sighed but didn’t voice her opinion as Judith praised the hairdresser and paid an astronomical amount of money for his time.
When Jacques left, Judith turned to Hannah, “You didn’t like it.”
“No,” she answered mulishly, brushing away the sticky spray the hairdresser had aired over her hair. “This is ridiculous. Why would I pay a thousand dollars for messy hair full of sprayed glue?”
“We can try another, but he is the best in Manhattan.”
“I don’t care.” She put the brush on the vanity table with a thud, feeling peeved but not quite sure why. “I want my hair up and some flowers. Tiny white flowers. Something romantic.”
Judith halted in the middle of her enormous dressing room and narrowed her eyes, gazing at Hannah for a long time. Then she sank in the armchair beside Hannah and patted her hand with a smile on her face. “Hmm…I see things are progressing.”
She threw her fingers in her hair and shook it loose before looking back at Judith. “Things? What things?”
“Between you and Markus.”
“Oh, please,” Hannah said. “He is paying me.”
“Yes, I know. And that is why you are so interested in being the romantic bride. Flowers and all,” Judith said slyly. “Come on, Hannah. You are completely infatuated.”
“Yes, I am.” She could not deny it. She was stupidly, impossibly infatuated with every little thing about Markus. Just this morning she had sneaked into his room just to smell his pillow. “Happy to hear it?”
The smile on Judith’s face grew and she nodded. “Yes.”
“What good it will do me?” Hannah blurted out before she could filter the words. “He’s an incredibly desired man, a billionaire, and I am just the daughter of the help and a wife-to-hire!”
Judith watched Hannah bite her thumbnail and slapped her hand. “Don’t do that.”
Hannah looked at the older woman uncomprehendingly. “What? Bite my nail?”
“No, say you’re the daughter of the help.” She picked up the brush and moved behind Hannah to comb her hair. “What are you doing to get in his bed?”
Already been in his bed. Hannah shook her head. “Judith, I don’t want to crush your hopes…but we, Markus and I, have no future together.”
With pins in her mouth, Judith could only tsk and shake her head while she pulled up the strands of Hannah’s hair to form a kind of upswept chignon.
Judith’s brows went down in a scowl and she harrumphed as she pinned Hannah’s hair in place. “There. Is that what you want?”
Hannah’s heart melted as she watched Judith’s efforts. Not that she was having much success but it reminded Hannah of when her mother combed her hair. “Kind of.”
“It’s not gauche, no. Maybe not very contemporary but romantic, yes,” Judith said pensively, admiring her work. “And Markus is a romantic! I know a French hairdresser who will do exactly what you want.”
Won’t she listen! Hannah shook her head as Judith picked up her phone and made a phone call, ordering what seemed to be a very important hairdresser to get on a plane and come to New York just because she wanted something simple as a chignon with flowers. She looked around the dressing room, all paneled in an exclusive damask silk, with antique furniture and expensive clothes hanging perfectly in their places just like the rooms in Markus’s Hollywoodian penthouse.
“There. Helèné will be here on Friday,” said Judith, finishing the call. “You will look splendidly romantic for your wedding with my son.”
Hannah wanted to tear her hair apart but she methodically began to take out pins and put them on the vanity table. Markus and his parents were privileged in so many ways and lucky to have each other, but their own prejudices, reservations, and secrets kept them apart. Alone. And they were putting her in the middle of this heart-wrenching loneliness.
“I don’t want to spoil your plans, Judith, but do you know that your husband tried to bribe me to leave Markus? Even before the wedding? Just a few days ago?”
Judith’s lowered a blonde eyebrow as she sat again by Hannah’s side. “Elijah is a fool where Markus is concerned.”
“Woman, so are you!” Hannah immediately repented of her words when Judith’s face crumpled. “I mean—”
Judith raised her hand. “You’re right.”
“So why don’t you do something worth of motherly love, instead of planning a seduction ruse?” Hannah asked. “You spend hours playing mother hen with me and just combed my hair as my mother used to do.”
“He keeps me at bay. You, on the other hand, accept my meddling and pampering without a word,” Judith murmured as she rose and went to a shelf. Taking five huge leather bounded books from it, she sat back in the armchair and opened one of them. On its first page was a photo of a beautiful baby. “Markus.”
This is miserable. The woman in front of her was so desperate for someone to care for, to love, and for sure Markus wouldn’t have repelled any of it. But there was a gulf between them. She would be the bridge somehow.
“I love him so much,” Judith added, tears falling from her eyes, as she flipped the pages where Markus’s life was catalogued with such tender care. From the day he was born to adulthood, with all the lengthy letters he wrote to her as a kid to the birthday cards with scarce words.
Hannah could see Judith treasured every little thing Markus had given her and she could bet Markus had no idea of that.
“I love him for all my kids and mostly for himself. I had so much love inside me and I had no idea of what to do with this love. I still don’t.” Judith looked up from the album pages to Hannah. “Help me?”
She bent and hugged Judith. “I promise.”
Friday, October 10, 2014
10:30 p.m.
“What have you got?” Elijah asked Jackson as soon as his assistant sat on the sofa of his home office.
“Her past is immaculate, save…”—Jackson paused for dramatics—“that she owes a lot of money to a man called Luciano Aquila, a dangerous loan shark who sells expensive sex and promotes highly sought-after orgy parties in a secluded club here in New York. Plus, it’s said that he is a powerful drug lord, sir.”
Any private investigator could find out credit information or run a check with police records. Also, anybody working for the US government could find out more than what was available for a normal PI, and his assistant knew his way through the bureaucratic archives inside out. But Jackson was meticulous, tenacious even, and he always came back with something more from what was expected. Sometimes he thought that Jackson’s ability to gather information was sheer magic. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“How did you discover that?”
“For instance, CCTV tapes are available for those who have the right contacts in the right places, sir. I spent the last two days going over her every move for the past year and I noticed she went to a certain house every month and stayed there for five minutes or so, at most, but for last month when she was thrown out of said house.”
“That has to violate some kind of privacy law,” Elijah muttered with a dark chuckle. Jackson looked disgruntled for the moment that it took Elijah to add, “Any other proof which might confirm this suspicion?”
Jackson smiled benignly and continued, “This morning I did some…say…interviews with her few acquaintances and there is this woman, Lily, a bartender, who was very informative when I provided her with…say…the right incentive.”
“How much?” Elijah asked after lightning a cigar.
“Pretty cheap: One thousand dollars,�
�� Jackson said dismissively. “She even showed me the payphone from where Ms. Kristensen made her phone calls when she was out of mobile credit which was a common recurrence the last few months. I called some friends in NYTel and AT&T and they ran a quick search for me. I’m sure she is involved in some ways with this Aquila.”
Elijah smiled. “Well done, Jackson.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, with a slight bow of his head. “What now?”
Senator Blackthorn leaned back in his chair and dragged long on his cigar.
By now, after years of dedicated service to the powerful senator, Jackson knew that the thoughtful expression on his face meant trouble to whoever was on the end of his decision.
“Find out exactly how much she owes and arrange a meeting with this Aquila,” Elijah said as he expelled the smoke slowly through his mouth.
“But, sir…he’s a highly dangerous criminal.” Jackson was surprised. He was the one who did all the dirty work for Senator Blackthorn, who never linked his image to anything that could damage it, but in more than ten years of work the senator had never asked him to contact a criminal and that didn’t sit very well with Jackson.
As Elijah considered the implications of meeting such a man he knew he would not walk away from it. Destroying Hannah was no longer just a quest to make sure his son was rid of a woman who was not good enough to enter the Blackthorn family but also a question of honor. He was going to show her she shouldn’t have messed with him. He would have her at his feet. He smiled at his assistant. “I trust you’ll make sure I meet him tomorrow, Jackson.”
The senator’s tone told Jackson he wouldn’t change his mind or accept any excuses not to meet Luciano. He sighed inside before saying, “Consider it done, sir.”
Markus Blackthorn’s penthouse
Saturday, October 11, 2014
5:00 p.m.
Hannah’s first week as Markus’s fiancée was a mix of a few busy hours meeting with Alicia for the wedding preparations and with Judith for the wedding dress fitting, and many, many hours where she had nothing to do.
Markus worked long hours and she only saw him in the mornings when Mrs. Quinn was always around, and evenings, when it was usually only the two of them.
They had gone out on Wednesday night to dine with the sole purpose of being caught by paparazzi—not even the superb food paired with exquisite wines at Le Bernardin could make the event bearable for Hannah, but he hadn’t seemed to mind any of it, taking it in stride in the same way as he did his morning workout.
Aside from that night-out, when he had touched, embraced, whispered in her ear, and kissed her—more than she had deemed necessary—Markus hadn’t made any other overt attempt at trying to seduce her, but time and again he would brush his body against her when passing by, kiss her briefly in front of the employees, or sit shirtless next to her to watch TV. It was a game, she knew, but so far she held firm despite all her raging hormones telling her to give in.
Since the altercation with his father, their conversations were not so full of sexual innuendos and rarely ventured into intimate themes, revolving around politics, ideologies, and worldly subjects, touching fleetingly on lighthearted curiosities of their pasts, Victoria, and then waning to inane topics about the weather, food, and—to Hannah’s absolute distress—their wedding.
Yet, she had learned a lot about him in those days.
He was uncommonly ordered for a man who had been raised with all the comforts of the extremely wealthy. He was exacting to a fault and had no patience for careless mistakes—not even his own. Despite having the inbred arrogant attitude of those born in power, he treated his employees with utmost respect and attention, never demanding more than could be accomplished or looking down at others. He cooked better—and less messy—than she could ever do. Literature and classical music and feminism and ecology were only a few of the subjects he debated with in-depth accuracy, always listening intently if she had a different point of view, as if her opinion mattered to him.
That had not surprised her and only made her admiration for him grow even more.
Yet, what had come as a complete surprise was his lack of friends or close ties. Hannah recalled with ease how many friends had gravitated around him on the weekends at his father’s Connecticut house. But when he handed her the wedding guest list, she saw that only eighty-six people were invited, including his mother’s large family.
With so little to be occupied with, her thoughts stayed busy with the man sitting now at the desk of his Hollywoodian home-office.
Strange that when he was near she’d forget that their relationship was just a sham. Maybe it was because they had developed an easy camaraderie. Or maybe it was because she kept being overwhelmed by the urge to rip that clinging sweater off his body and run her lips over his smooth, bronzed skin.
Hannah looked over the edge of the couch to where Markus sat at his desk, reading the latest reports on his new company, absently caressing his pen over and over between his thumb and forefinger, completely oblivious to all the things going through her head.
He was unusually quiet that evening and it was driving her to distraction. She was bored—really, really, really bored.
“Your mother called,” she said to break his concentration.
It didn’t get as big of a reaction as she’d expected.
Markus knitted his brow, glancing over with only his eyes before turning back to the page. “I know.”
“Oh. Did she call you?” Hannah asked, turning to kneel on the cushions so she could better study him. She laid her arms over the back of the sofa, resting her chin on her hands as she waited for him to answer.
He read a few more lines before speaking, and answered without bothering to look at her again, “Yes.”
He continued to read and Hannah watched him in silence for a several minutes.
“Is she coming over?” she asked. Seeing Judith again and enduring her questions about their romance—however nice her future mother-in-law was to her and no matter how much Hannah’s heart squeezed in her chest when she remembered the older woman’s confession—was not on her list of priorities for a Saturday evening.
He glanced at her. Ignoring Hannah wasn’t a tactic Markus would’ve thought to employ before now. In fact, it wasn’t really a tactic he was using, but it was working beautifully. “I’m trying to get this done, Hannah. Do you mind if we talk about my mother later?”
“Oh, sorry,” Hannah mumbled. With a loud sigh, she sank back into the sofa and absently kicked her feet against the cushions.
Markus looked over at the sofa. Hannah’s dainty foot was hanging over the back, swinging in loud boredom. He tried not to smile. She’d been trying to get his attention ever since he’d walked into his office yesterday afternoon with Haskell & Son’s files under his arm. He sighed, forcing exasperation. “Hannah?”
Her head popped back up from behind the sofa, expectant. “Yes?”
“Can you do that a little quieter?” he asked, with a meaningful nod at her still dangling foot, wondering why he had ordered her to be in his office while he worked. Even without her little noises, her mere presence would’ve been distracting.
Over the days, they had settled into a rhythm even though there was enough sexual tension. Markus was expecting the usual irritants that came from having someone in his space but it quickly felt as if Hannah had always been part of his daily routine. Even more shocking to him, he was enjoying it. He couldn’t have predicted the incredible comfort of having someone there when he got home. Someone who smiled at him, was clearly interested in what he had done during the day, and was very concerned about how his daughter was doing, sequestered in a home where she was heartbroken.
Even though that someone made his nights a medical reference case for blue balls.
He pushed those thoughts aside and studied the woman in front of him with his predator’s gaze, assessing her from head to toe. Her scent, her look, her voice—it all drove him to distraction and she intrigu
ed him like no woman ever had.
“Sorry,” she huffed, scrunching up her face.
As she lay back down, he heard her mumble, “You try spending days locked in this stupid office and see if you don’t get a little stir crazy.”
“Why don’t you read a book?” He had seen her pick up a few books from the shelf just to put them back in their place and he wondered if she was having the same problem he was having: every time he tried to read a line, he’d start imagining her naked body on the page and what he’d do to her if only she’d let him. He’d restarted the same paragraph five times already.
Although she would never tell him, she had already begun to read three books since Friday night, but none caught her attention, which was unusual. Reading was what distracted and relaxed her and helped her cope with her harsh reality. But then again, her mind kept going back to the mystery of Markus Blackthorn. And he was much more interesting than any book.
With another bored sigh, Hannah quietly stood from the sofa and wandered to the huge shelf. He had quite a collection there, from classics to contemporary romances, and she would be happy to be buried in his office at any other time. She ran her fingers over the spines and then let her hand fall down.
Slowly, she circled her way closer to him, before slithering out to stand behind his back. He smells good—too good. Markus smelled as if he had taken a shower under a waterfall in the wild woods and let himself dry lazily under the sun.
“Are you almost finished?” She lifted up on her toes, trying to read over his shoulder.
“Argh, woman,” Markus said, spinning around on his chair to look at her. It was obvious she didn’t know the effect she had on his senses. “What is it you want?”
“I wanted to ask you something,” she said. “Are you still busy?”
Is she pouting about my lack of attention to her? Markus’s eyebrows rose on his forehead. He studied her carefully, wondering at her forlorn expression. Or is she… A smile came to his lips as he stared at her mouth.
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