Boom.
Just like that, it’s over. Ryder will never look at me the same. He made me say it, and while getting it off my chest should give me some sort of relief, it only makes my anger more potent. Natalie was right. Mission failed.
Ryder blinks, and his entire body goes still. “You and Nate? While you were with me.”
“Yes. I mean, before we ever—not since we’ve been sleeping together, no.”
A veil of hurt lowers over him, his gaze glassy. He doesn’t move. If the look on his face doesn’t kill me, the silence surrounding us will. “I know,” he finally says. His voice is quiet, the pounding in my chest drowning out the sound.
My limbs are deadweight. “What?”
“I know about Nate. I’ve known.”
“What are you…you what?”
“I just needed to hear it from you.”
A trickle of wetness teases the tops of my cheeks, and I can’t hold it back anymore. I cave right there, right in front of him. I can’t even bring myself to care that he’s witnessing it, because the weight’s too heavy and it feels too good to let it drop. “How long? How long have you known?”
“A while.”
“Did he tell you? Did someone tell you?”
“No one needed to tell me.”
“Why would you…” I press my hand to my throat, feeling it constrict beneath my fingers. “Keep seeing me…all this time.”
His face is still full of hurt but it reveals an edge of determination. He steps forward. “It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you. I want you.” He reaches out to smooth his thumb over my tears and I flinch, unsure if I’m more horrified by the fact that he’s known about Nate or that he’s still standing here instead of running out the door. “You never promised me exclusivity. But I’m telling you tonight. I don’t want to share you. If you’re going to see Nate—or anyone else while you’re seeing me, then this is the end of the road for me.”
My voice quivers and my knees shake. He can’t be serious. “You…you still want me?”
“Elise,” he breathes, moving with no hesitation. His arms swoop around me and enfold me against him. I’m numb. I’m safe, encased in his cocoon, but I can’t feel the warmth. He swallows hard, the pressure pressing against my forehead as he tucks my head into the crook of his neck. “I’m in love with you. Does that answer your question?”
I stiffen in his arms. Pressing back against his chest, I remove myself from his protective cage. Raising my gaze to his, I level him with lifeless eyes. “Please leave.”
“Elise—”
“I said leave.”
“What? No, wait. Listen—”
“Leave!” I shout, the sound barreling out of me like a siren. My body is stone, rooted to the floor, but my voice…my voice is an ocean of uproar. Ryder might want to give me this—this love I don’t deserve—but I refuse to accept the gift. To accept it would be the ultimate act of hurt, and I’ve already doled out more than I can live with. “Please,” I say softer, closing my eyes, “save those words for someone else. Leave and don’t ever come back, Ryder. I mean it.”
When I feel like I can look at him, I open my eyes.
“Just because I haven’t been with other guys while I’ve been seeing you doesn’t mean that I’ll be faithful. I’ve already hurt you. I will hurt you again. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I don’t accept that; I won’t buy it, do you hear me? You’re afraid.”
Damn right, I’m afraid.
I fix cold eyes on his and muster as much strength as I can to keep my tone stern. I have to deliver another hard blow. It’s the only way I’ll protect him. “I’m not a bird with a broken wing you can fix, do you understand? I’m not a dishwasher or a fucking garbage disposal. I’m Elise Duchamp, and I destroy relationships. I destroy people. Wives, girlfriends, good people. People like you. I fuck their husbands, their boyfriends, eat their food, sleep in their beds. Is that clear enough for you? And don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me, because you know where I’ll head the second you walk out this door?” I steel myself, preparing for the final drop of the axe and the look on his face that will surely haunt me the minute it’s done its damage.
“Don’t do this.” He shakes his head, wiping a hand over his jaw. His eyes are pleading, like he knows what I’m about to say. “Goddamn it, don’t do it—”
“I’ll head to a man named Christian Walker, Ryder. One of the many married men I’ve had affairs with. I’ll sleep with him, and I won’t think twice about getting into his bed. Because that’s what I’m destined to be.”
“Stop it,” he seethes, his jaw working and nostrils flaring.
Lifting my chin, I step closer and bring us nose to nose. My tone drops, flat and hard as ice. “I will always be the other woman. Don’t ever forget that.”
“No.” He grips the side of my face, his lids filling with unshed, angry tears.
“There is no saving me, there is no future for us, and leaving is the smartest thing you will ever do.” I don’t know how I’ve mustered up the strength to say the words, and I know they’re striking where it hurts. But the pain they’re delivering will be nothing compared to what might happen if he sticks around.
“This won’t work,” he chokes out. “Go ahead. Give me all you’ve got. Rip my fucking heart out if that’s what you need to do. But it won’t change this. I love you and I know you love me.” He presses his nose against mine, his head cocking slightly as he sears me with sharp daggers. “And you can’t run from it, Elise Duchamp.”
With that, he releases me and walks out, and a part of me leaves with him. I may never get that part back. But he’s wrong. I can run from it. And I will.
CHAPTER 14
My long white gown sparkles as I descend the wide, luxurious staircase. It’s embedded with tiny rhinestones—possibly real diamonds, for all I know, I didn’t buy it—and scoops low at the small of my back. A matching fur shawl drapes over my shoulders and I’m gripping my clutch at my side, scanning the ballroom for him. My pressed blonde waves sit softly at my shoulders, caressing my skin like silk, and my black and silver masquerade mask shimmers beneath the dim, romantic lighting. It’s just wide enough to conceal the tops of my cheekbones, providing a glimpse of my gaze through the eye cut-out slits.
Couples are dancing below while champagne and Christmas themed hors d’oeuvres are served on ornate silver platters. I descend slowly, watching the event unfold in slow motion. A sea of evening gowns and tuxes rolls before me, casting me in a hypnotic spell. Everything about tonight holds me in a daze, but it’s a much needed distraction from the hellish work week I’ve had.
Natalie and I resumed shifts together as if nothing ever happened. It should have been a relief, to be able to go to work and carry on with my job in peace, but the fact that she was acting so indifferent rattled me to the core. We kept our distance from one another and barely spoke unless it was work related, but it was her eyes that said so much. They were empty and cold, as if I were a complete stranger. That made me more uncomfortable than any dirty look or angry remark ever could. She’s made her position clear. I am dead to her.
When I reach the bottom of the staircase, a set of flawless, shiny teeth flashes at me surrounded by sharp black and white—an equally flawless tuxedo. It’s tailored for a king, and Christian wears it like one.
“There you are,” he smiles brightly, offering me his arm. His face is concealed by a black masquerade mask, but I can see his eyes travel down my body as he devours every inch of me. “I can’t get over how stunning you are tonight. Where have you been, Beautiful? You keep slipping away from me.”
“Just needed to make a few phone calls,” I lie, plastering on a small smile. I’ve been sneaking out to smoke, a nasty new habit I’ve recently picked up. I’ve made it a point to bring a bottle of body mist along to dilute the smell because Christian hates cigarette smoke, and I’m hoping that at the rate I’m downing glasses of champagne, the smell of the booze will drown
out any remaining nicotine on my breath.
Christian’s eyes rake up and down and he licks his lips before leaning in to speak in my ear. “You must be hungry. I know I am. Come with me.” He sidles up to my side and my arm wraps around his, allowing him to lead the way. Gotan Project’s “Época” croons in the background and I notice the chandelier lighting is beginning to look a little fuzzy. I stumble slightly, wobbling in my heels, and Christian’s arm tightens, providing me a steady weight to lean on to. “Easy there,” he chuckles softly, in that smooth, sensual tone I know so well.
He watches me collect myself and then guides me through the sea of guests, to the edge of the ballroom. He directs us around a corner and down a hall, leading me further down a narrower hallway that leads to a private office space of some sort. Before I can ask where he’s taking me, I’m thrust up against the wall and my thigh is lifted around his hip. One of his hands glides up the daring slit of my gown, grasping at the top of my thigh, while the other goes for his bow tie, frantically working to loosen it. “I can’t wait a second longer,” he breathes, smothering me in the heat of a kiss. “I need to feel you.”
I gasp as his fingers breach my panty line, turning my head to the side to breathe. He attacks my neck with his tongue and teeth, and I bite back a groan. Not because I don’t want any passerby to hear me, but because I don’t want him to hear me. I don’t want him to know he’s affecting me. I don’t want to give him any more encouragement than I already have, but it’s too late and there’s no undoing what I’ve done.
Sadly, my body has always been a slave to him, and my consumption of champagne is only aiding my traitorous flesh. I let him nibble at my neck, let him stroke me until I’m wet against his hand, but that feeling comes over me again and I have to beg him to stop.
“What is it, baby?” He pulls back a hair, dazed but full of determination to make sure I’m okay. “Have I hurt you?”
“God no,” I pant, straightening myself against the wall, bringing my palms flat against the cool wallpaper. “It’s just strange. Tonight I feel like…”
“Feel like what?”
“As if someone’s watching us.”
Christian grins, all wicked and dashing, his eyes flicking up to scan the hallway ceiling. “Well, I don’t doubt there are security cameras around. You’ve never had a problem with exhibitionism before. Is my girl suddenly afraid of giving someone a little show?” He snickers, and his eyes glint with delight. “I still have that video, you know. The one Chad and his friends filmed of us—”
“No,” I stop him, bringing my hand up to kill that memory. The way he calls me his girl makes my stomach churn. I struggle to bury the endearment. “I’m serious, Christian. Like we’re being followed or something.” I haven’t been able to shake the feeling since we arrived at the ball—another reason I’ve been sneaking out for cigarette breaks. The persistent inkling has been following me around all evening, and I’m not sure what to make of it other than perhaps I want to be seen. Perhaps I want to be sought out.
But I only want to be found by one person, and even if he truly is seeking me out, I wouldn’t know what to say to him. I’ve made my choice. This is final.
“Okay, I think someone’s had enough champagne for the evening,” Christian says, bending to kiss me on the forehead. “I say we take this back to my place.”
I don’t think that’s the source of my intuition, but I agree, anyway. I have had a lot to drink tonight, and it’s probably wise to head home for the evening. “Okay,” I sigh, combing my fingers through my hair as Christian leads me down the hallway, back out to the main corridor. We round the same corner we passed before, and a chill crawls down my spine, pricking lightly as it slithers along each ridge.
“Elise?” Christian’s voice makes me jump. “Are you coming?”
I realize I’ve stopped cold, like a rabbit honing in on the sound of a predator. Christian’s arm is still snugly around my waist, his eyes searching mine curiously. “Yes, sorry.” He tightens his hold on me and gently guides me forward. We disappear through the lobby doors and wait for the valet to bring Christian’s car around. The feeling slips away as we wait, and some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. Maybe the champagne really has been going to my head.
***
Christian’s house is cool and dark when we step through the front door. A single porch light illuminates the front hall, creating a bare glow on the dark wood floors.
“Head upstairs, baby. I’ll bring us some water.” He gives me his million dollar smile and slips out of his tux jacket, loosening his tie. He strolls away toward the kitchen and the downstairs glows brighter when he flicks on the kitchen lights. I start up the stairs, stretching my neck and back, my feet aching from my heels. I go to reach for them as I reach the top of the stairwell but stop myself. Christian will want me to leave them on.
A pool of cool moonlight bathes the master bedroom as I enter, pouring in through the opened curtains. My shoulders tense at the doorway, my gaze landing on the plush armchair in the corner of the room near the dresser. It’s nestled to the left of the window, where a sliver of moonlight casts a faint spotlight over its silhouette. A shadow covers the chair, the pale blue light illuminating only half of its form.
My hand slowly extends to the wall, searching for the light switch.
“Don’t,” a voice says, sharp and short.
I freeze. Icy daggers scrape down my back.
“Not yet,” the woman’s voice warns. Fear sinks its fangs into me and my lungs seize up, my hand hovering just below the light switch. “Wait for him.”
I swallow and the sound is audible in the quiet room, making the silence even more razor sharp. A soft rustling sounds from behind me in the hall. Christian is approaching, humming to himself.
“Elise? Are you up here, baby? I brought you some water. I don’t want you to have a headache in the morning from all that champagne.” He strolls up behind me, nearly bumping into my back. “Hey,” he laughs, resting his hand on my hip. “What are you doing up here in the dark?” His arm extends behind me, flipping on the light switch, and my eyes are glued to the armchair, unblinking and filled with dread.
“Hello honey,” the woman says, her voice dripping with disdain. It’s not just any woman. It’s the woman in all of Christian’s picture frames. The woman he told me he was leaving—who he swore was no longer in his life. I’ve worn her silk pink bathrobe and tried on her Jimmy Choos. Kylie, his wife.
The fact that she’s sitting there elegantly, with her legs crossed and arms draped naturally on the armrests, is not nearly as alarming as what is gripped tightly in her right hand.
A gun.
A shiny revolver that looks much too large to be held with her dainty fingers.
“Kylie,” Christian chokes, his body stringing tightly against my back, “my God, what are you doing?”
Kylie’s bobbed blonde do skims her shoulders, her sleek pencil skirt hugging her lean, shapely legs. She smiles like a serpent, her eyes rife with a million conflicting emotions. I notice a slight tremble in her grip, where her fingers brush lightly against the cylinder of the gun. Her eyes might be welling with tears, hardened from anger and hurt, but one thing is clear and cannot be mistaken.
They are unstable.
My head is lead on my neck but my gaze darts around the room, searching for signs of booze or pills—anything that might explain her alarming behavior. I see nothing, only a woman scorned and a weapon in hand, aimed right at Christian and me.
“All evening you’ve been so attentive,” Kylie says. “So careful with her. My God,” she chokes, her voice cracking, “you can’t keep your hands off of her.”
“Kylie, let’s talk about this. We can talk about this. Elise, give us a minute, will you?”
“Don’t you dare move,” Kylie snaps, suddenly sitting up to bring her posture straighter. Her hand rises with the movement, bringing the gun higher. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your lovely evening. Do carry
on.” She juts her head to the side, gesturing to the bed. The gun sways in her hand, following the movement. “I’m sure it will be quite the show.”
“Kylie,” Christian speaks up, gently raising one hand to plead with her. “Please, put that down and come speak with me. You don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary.”
“Not necessary?” She laughs, a dry, biting laugh, and it grates straight down to my toes. “Oh, you mean like flaunting her around at that ball of yours tonight? Or nearly fucking her like a cheap hooker in an alleyway down a secluded hall? Or how about bringing her to our home—like you have so many times before—to tell her more lies? To tell me more lies? Is any of that necessary?”
My heart constricts, my lungs nearly imploding. The haunted look in her eyes isn’t just anger. It’s more than hurt, more than betrayal. It’s 100 percent vengeful.
“I haven’t lied to you, Kylie,” Christian speaks cautiously, his hand still raised in defense. He holds my glass of water in the other, and there’s no masking the tremor in his fingers. “You know that things have been over. It was mutual. You agreed. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand this—” he carefully gestures to the gun, “whatever you’re doing. But I want to help you. Let me help you. We can put this behind us. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”
“Oh, we’re way past that, honey. Help? Hurt? Are you kidding? The damage is done, Christian.” She rises from the chair fluidly, remaining if front of it, raising her arm to aim the gun at my chest. Christian carefully shifts to the side, stepping next to me to place himself in the line of fire.
“How noble of you,” Kylie hisses. “And water, too? To make sure she doesn’t get a headache? So kind and considerate of you, darling.”
Beads of sweat tickle my forehead and I can’t swallow. The tears burn my throat, spilling slowly from my ducts like quiet raindrops.
“Why are you doing this?” Christian asks. “Why now? Help me understand, Kylie. It’s never too late for help. We can repair this, we can find a way.”
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