"Yeah. I'm sure. There's no reason for Theo to be here. He’s … Well. He’s not here. That’s the polite way to say it. Clarence went to school with Elizabeth, though. Small world, isn't it?"
“That’s not Theo,” I said again. Weston probably thought I was crazy. I'd never told him about the assault, and I doubted it was something Donovan had ever brought up.
He looked me in the eyes. “That’s not Theo. Swear on a bible.”
"Oh." I believed him, I really did.
And I was relieved.
But the weight of my panic had been extraordinary, and now that I'd been reassured that fight or flight was unnecessary, I had to deal with all those extra endorphins the panic had produced inside me.
I started to cry.
Not a full-out sobbing, tears-rolling-down-my-cheeks kind of cry. But my eyes leaked and my lips trembled and my shoulders shook.
"No. Oh, no. This is..." Weston patted my arm where he held me, looking around, perhaps for someone to help him. Maybe he gave up, or realized he could handle me on his own, because a second later he pulled me into his embrace. "Don't do that. I mean, weddings are for crying, but not this one. Well, maybe this one. But not for the usual reasons, and that's not really a comforting topic right now. What I mean to say is, what can I do? I'm not really sure why you're upset. I am terrible with women crying. Are you okay?"
With my face buried in his lapel, I worked on pulling myself together. This wasn’t the place to cry everything out of my system. I needed to just get the valve under control, put on a happy face, and get back to the event.
Weston was helpful thankfully, rubbing my back as he rambled. Both were soothing. Both distracting.
When I could finally swallow past the lump in my throat and get out a coherent sentence, I broke away from his chest.
"I'm sorry," I said, accepting the handkerchief he offered. "This is really embarrassing. I just really thought it was Theo. Which I'm sure doesn't explain anything and you just think I must be truly bananas."
Weston continued to rub my arm. "I can actually fill in the blanks, I think. Elizabeth told me Theo is currently serving time for rape. Am I making unreasonable connections?"
“Um. No. Not unreasonable." I turned my face away, feeling another wave of tears threaten.
"Hey, that's not what I wanted." He swiveled on his shiny black shoes, trying to decide what to do with me. We were off to the side and out of the way of most of the crowd, but my display of emotion was definitely not well suited for Weston's wedding.
I was about to apologize again, tell him I wasn't his problem, when he said, "Oh, let's do this. Come join me on the dance floor. They just started a slow song. We can talk—or not—and sway, and no one will be the wiser."
As much as I didn't want to be his burden, I was still shaken up. "Okay."
I let him take my hand in his to lead me to the center of the dance space. It was warm, but nothing magical happened at his touch. It was funny that I once thought I might have a future with him. I’d always belonged to someone else.
And, maybe, so did he. "Aren't you supposed to have the first dance with Elizabeth or something?"
He shook his head. "We aren't doing any of the traditional things like first dance or cutting of the cake. It seemed strange under the circumstances."
Was I wrong or did it seem like there was a note of disappointment in his tone?
"Makes sense." I pressed easily against him, grateful for both the familiarity and the friendship. "While I’m disappointed to not see the two of you have a first dance, I appreciate this."
"That’s what friends are for, right? Want to talk about it?"
"I prefer not to, if that's okay." The tears had stopped, but there was a layer of pure terror just under the surface, like heavy clouds after a rainstorm. There was more inside me waiting to get out. I was barely holding myself up, and it was with Weston doing most of the holding.
"Completely fine. I just have to say, I'm here for you. You have to know that. Things might not have gone the way," he lowered his eyes from mine and cleared his throat, "I once intended for us, but maybe this is better. Whatever this is, I have a feeling it lasts longer."
He sounded forlorn. More so than I expected a man on his wedding day might, even a fake wedding day.
“Uh oh. That sounds like there's trouble in paradise already. Things not going so well between you and the Mrs.?" It was nice to be able to have something to joke about. Not that I wanted Weston to be miserable. I just didn't want to focus on the reasons I felt miserable.
But Weston apparently wanted to play the same avoidance game. He shrugged. "It's a strange situation. I guess, all in all, things are going exactly as they should, and I'll leave it at that."
We shuffled together in silence for a little while, both of us lost deep in our complicated psyches. Then all of a sudden, Weston exclaimed, "Hey! You came to this with Donovan?"
I leaned back to look at him, smiling. "Oh, yeah. You've been preoccupied. I didn't know if you knew."
"Word gets around. Especially when it's juicy."
"I suppose it is pretty juicy," I said, not even caring anymore that I was the center of gossip.
"But is it good? Is he treating you right? Donovan's my guy, but if he doesn't take care of you I won't hesitate to kick his ass." He’d said words like this before, and while I didn't really believe Weston would ever take Donovan down, his intentions were sweet.
"Yes, Weston. He's taking care of me." Donovan Kincaid redefined what it meant to take care of someone.
"Good. You deserve it."
I wasn’t sure I deserved it, but I wanted it. I wanted all that Donovan gave me and every way he gave it.
I also wanted the best for Weston. “You deserve it, too. To be loved. To be taken care of. To take care of someone.”
He looked away as though he wanted to reject what I was saying, but I put my hand on his cheek and pulled his face back front and center. “I’m serious, Weston King. If that means growing up, do it. We aren’t kids anymore. I know Donovan would want you to know the same.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he would.”
The song ended, and we parted.
"Speak of the devil…" He nodded toward sidelines where Donovan was standing watching us.
I headed toward him immediately, still worked up and eager to have his arms around me. Weston followed.
"You're here," I said, pressing into my date.
He paused a second, maybe surprised about my show of affection. Then he wrapped his arms around me. "I was only in the lobby with Cade. I've been here the whole time."
There was a slight hint of tension in his voice that I felt mirrored in his body, and I wondered what had happened between him and Cade to put him in this mood, but my curiosity wasn’t strong enough to make that question a priority.
"I thought I saw Theo,” I told him, desperate to share what had happened—even though it had turned out to be nothing. “I thought he was here, Donovan. I freaked out."
Immediately, his mood shifted. He was on high alert, my protector. "You saw Theo?" He scanned my face, urgently.
"I thought I did. But I was wrong."
"Clarence Sheridan," Weston explained. "He's friends with Melissa."
Donovan nodded, understanding.
"They look so much alike.” My throat tightened again. “I thought it was him, and you weren't here…"
"I'm here now." Donovan drew me in tighter, wrapping an arm around my waist and placing a hand at the base of my neck. He kissed the tip of my head. "Are you okay?"
I nodded against him. "Weston helped calm me down."
"Thanks, King. Much appreciated." He didn’t let me go as he extended his gratitude to his friend.
"It was no trouble, really," Weston said behind me.
I felt something transfer between them. Something that maybe only men understood—only men who were good friends. But because I couldn't see either of their faces from my position, I co
I pulled out of Donovan's arms, uncomfortable with the feeling that I was being left out of the conversation. My eyes darted from one man to the other, but I was unable to read either of them.
"Congratulations are in order, I suppose," Donovan said, changing the subject. He took my hand in his.
Weston nodded his chin at me. "I hear the same should be given to you."
Donovan didn't say thank you, but for that matter neither had Weston.
They held each other's gaze for several seconds that might've been tense or might have just been seconds passing. I didn't really read men very well. I'd never been good at it, and I wasn't suddenly good at it now simply because I was dating Donovan.
Finally, Weston said, "So Cade already left? That motherfucker didn't even wait to see me.”
And the mood shifted.
Donovan shrugged with one shoulder as if to say you know him. "He's staying in the States a while. He might still be here when you get back from your honeymoon. I still can't believe you're actually going on one of those."
“Gotta make it look real." Weston waggled his brows, indicating the real reason he was looking forward to a honeymoon, despite the sham marriage between him and his bride. "Do me a favor and keep him out of my office. Last time he was here my signed copy of Sandman went missing."
I wasn't sure if that was directed to Donovan, or to me since I was the one covering Weston's job for the most part while he was out of the office.
Before either of us could respond, others were gathering around us to wish the newlyweds congratulations. Frank and Roxie, Tom and Daisy. Some of the guys from the marketing team. Soon there was joking and laughter and small talk that didn’t require my full attention.
I was glad to let others handle the conversation. It hadn't been Theodore, and I should have recovered by now, but I still felt topsy-turvy. My stomach was still in knots. It was ridiculous.
Even though it wasn't Theodore, it wasn't just that I'd seen a man who looked like him that had been the reason for my turmoil. I hadn't been thrown into such fright simply because my memory had been jogged. I lived with those memories all the time. They were always in the corners of my mind. They haunted my dreams on a regular basis. It was almost a comfortable companion—the dreadful horror of those memories.
What threw me today—what had me still so worked up—was knowing how few degrees of separation there were between me and Theodore right now. If he were released from jail—when he was released from jail—his little brother would still be friends with a woman who was currently married to one of my bosses. To a man I was close to.
The chances were good that Weston and Elizabeth would be over in a matter of weeks; and that there would never be an occasion when I would even be in a room with Clarence again.
But what if I was? What if Weston and Elizabeth stayed together by some miracle, and a few years down the line, at a holiday party or a charity event or the launch of a new business venture, I turned unexpectedly and that time it wasn't Clarence?
It was a lot of what-if's, and I'd learned not to live on what-if's. But tonight the what-ifs were an infestation taking over the most vulnerable parts of me, wearing me down to just smiles and nods.
I lost track of how long I'd been disengaged from my companions when I felt Donovan's hand settle heavy on my hip.
"Come with me," he said with no further explanation.
Without giving excuses to the others, we slipped away through the open doors of the ballroom, out toward the restrooms in the lounge. I wondered for a moment, if we were leaving altogether, but he passed the coatroom and the stairs, and led me to a room across the lobby.
The door was slightly ajar, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching, he pushed it open and pulled me inside. He shut the door behind us and when he turned on the light I saw we were in what looked like an apartment of some sort, a series of rooms with a kitchen and dining room and living area.
"What is this place?" I asked, pretty sure we weren't supposed to be here, whatever it was.
Donovan unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo. "It's another event space, this one designed to look like a residence. The wedding party rented it as well. They used it earlier for the family breakfast and then later for last-minute prenuptial paperwork and photographs. No one is using it now though, and I for one, could use a break from all that chatter."
In my distress I’d forgotten that he'd been tense since returning from his chat with Cade. I wasn't going to pry. He would tell me if and when he was ready, and hopefully I would have my own shit together by then so I could be there for him when he did.
Meanwhile, a break from the chatter sounded like exactly what I needed.
I made my way to the closest couch and slumped down in the center seat. Donovan wandered around the room, checking out the décor. I watched as he fingered the heavy curtain sash, then as he crossed to the Christmas tree, decorated with large red and gold bows.
I closed my eyes and leaned back, opening them only when I felt the sofa cushion depress next to me a few minutes later.
"Give me your foot," he said, loosening his bowtie.
Without question I put one strappy heel in his lap. He unbuckled the sandal and removed it, then motioned for me to give him the other so he could repeat the gesture with my other foot.
"Do you need anything? A drink? Some water? Something to eat? Need to use the restroom?"
I rubbed at the inside corners of my eyes, thinking I could probably use a mirror but not having the energy to go look. "I'm good. You're being very hospitable." Maybe that hospitality would extend to a foot rub if I played my cards right.
"I am. Because if you don't need anything else, I'm going to make sure you remember your safe word. And then you're going to make me believe you don’t want me to touch you when I do."
For the second time that night, I had a rush of endorphins. My heart sped up double time. My hands began to sweat. This time though, my blood was hot and the catch in my breath was excitement.
We'd played this game before. I liked this game. I was good at this game.
I bolted up to my feet, but Donovan was fast and he pulled me straight back down, hard, drawing me closer to him than I had been. I tensed my shoulders and slammed my thighs together tight. It wasn't hard to pretend I didn't want him. Not only did I have real experience with sexual assault, but I also practiced on a regular basis turning my fears of men into fantasies. How many times had I turned nightmares of Theodore into erotic indulgences, my head filled with thoughts of Donovan as I rubbed myself to climax?
As I said, I was good at this game.
Donovan moved his mouth to my face and licked along my cheek, which was somehow the perfect blend of smarmy and hot. It sent shivers down my back. With one arm keeping me tight against him, he pushed his other hand up the skirt of my dress, demanding access. I clamped my legs even tighter.
"Now don't be like that, pretty girl. You want me to keep things nice. Don't you?"
I turned my head away. He knew the perfect words to use. Substituting my name with misogynistic terms for women. Reducing me to nothing but my looks and my purpose, to nothing but what I did to him, what I did for him.
It made my pussy pulse with desire.
I fought not to moan.
Not earning entry between my legs, he found another way to violate me. My dress was mostly backless and had prevented the wearing of a bra. Now, the hand that gripped me at my waist took advantage of this, reaching under the material at my ribs to palm my breast.
His hold was tight, and it hurt, his trimmed nails digging into my skin. I would have bruises from this.
It was perfect. Such a perfect scenario. I could imagine it. I was a smart young woman trying to get a leg up, working extra hours with her seemingly detached boss, not realizing that his devilish grin was really dangerous. Not realizing that once he was alone with me, he'd want more from me than my reports on supply and demand.
God, I was dizzy, it was so hot.
Except, no.
Liz Stein hadn't had it this easy. Rape was rape—I wasn't saying that one rape was easier than another—but I needed this rougher.
And I was positive that was why Donovan was doing this—for me. Because he knew this was exactly what I needed.
So as he kissed my neck and continued to fondle my breast, I bent down and bit his arm, sinking my teeth through the layer of his white tuxedo shirt until I hit skin, until I hit blood.
He jerked away, shaking his hand. "Fucking bitch."
But in that brief moment that he was distracted, I escaped, crawling across the coffee table to get to the hallway that connected the residence rooms. There wasn't anywhere to run, really. The next room had more seating in a different arrangement but nothing else. Nowhere to hide. I breezed past it to the dining area, where a long banquet table ran the length of the room.
Donovan was right behind me.
I knocked over a chair behind me, stalling him, and running along beside the table. I would have to double back along the other side, I realized quickly, since this room ended in a wall.
The chair was barely an obstacle. I looked over my shoulder in time to see him jump it. Which was terribly sexy and wild. Then, as I rounded the table, he climbed up and across it, getting off on the other side. Before I could switch gears and go back the other way, he'd caught me.
"And now we’re going to have to do it the hard way." Something told me he wasn’t too disappointed.
I was panting like a dog, my panties so wet they were slippery as he pushed me toward the banquet table. But I struggled, kicking him high in the thigh with the back of my foot when he tried to bend me over, barely missing his crotch.
For a second he lost his grip again, but when he regained it, he was pissed. I could feel it in the way he clutched me, the way he slammed me against the wall. I’d have bruises from this too.
"You hurt me and you're going to hurt more." With that venom in his voice, I almost believed him. Or maybe I did believe him, that it came from somewhere so deep inside him that it was absolute honesty. That if I did hurt him, if I broke his heart, then he would, whether purposefully or unintentionally, hurt me more.
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