“You’re not leaving yet.” This time it’s CJ giving the command.
I look at him while pulling Becca toward me by her arm. “Sorry, handsome, but we’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us, and my friend here has hit her limit. In more ways than one.”
After one more failed attempt to talk us out of leaving, they give in and walk us to Becca’s car, with Becca and Eric leading the way. I’m walking side-by-side with CJ, both my hands in the back pockets of my denim skirt, and I’m not even sure why. It’s certainly not a habit of mine. But as I feel him reach over, grab my wrist, and slowly pull a hand free, I figure it out. Nerves. I can’t remember the last time a guy made me feel nervous. Made me feel anything actually. And this guy? He makes me want to go and feel it all over again.
When he winds his fingers around my own, my eyes are drawn down to our joined hands. There’s that warmth again, rushing up my arm and filling every cavity in my chest. It’s calming and addictive and scary as hell all at once. But I have to remind myself this is a fast and fleeting moment. One night out of my life spent with a gorgeous stranger I will never have the pleasure of seeing again.
My eyes run the path from our hands up to his firm arms and strong shoulders. When I finally lock eyes with his, he’s looking back with the most dazzling smile. A smile that eases my anxiety and calms my fears. A smile that silently tells me it’s all good. I match his smile because what do I possibly have to be scared of? I’ll never see him again. I can do anything right now, be anyone, because in a few minutes we’ll say our final goodbyes and go back to our own realities.
When we get to the driver’s side of the car, I let myself enjoy the fact that this has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a really long time, and I’m going to end it the way I would in my dreams, with lots of kissing and touching, outside in the warm summer air, pressed up against the side of a car. Because if I miss out on discovering what those lips feel like or getting a hint at what those hands can do, I will never forgive myself.
“Nice Rover.” His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I was so lost in the idea of kissing him that I hadn’t thought about him seeing us get into a hundred-thousand-dollar car.
“It’s Candy’s.” I look down and try to pull my hand from his, but he only grips me tighter. “Her dad got it for her for her last birthday. But it’s just a car. It doesn’t make her better than anybody else.” That came out bitchy, but he doesn’t come from money so he should understand, right? Or, maybe he doesn’t? Maybe he’s impressed by fancy cars and designer clothes? Either way, this ends tonight, so his thoughts on wealth and excess are irrelevant.
With his opposite hand, he gently takes my chin and brings my eyes to his. His voice is slow and measured. “I didn’t mean anything by it. No need to get defensive. It’s a nice car. That’s all.” There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, dampening the mood. I tense, in embarrassment. God, I’m an idiot. He rubs his thumb over the top of my hand, reassuring me that the night’s not ruined. Tilting his head towards the car, he says, “I’m sure it can’t be easy working your ass off at two jobs while your friend tools around in one of these.”
Remembering my earlier lie, I only shrug in agreement. I think his thumb may have magic powers because I immediately feel my shields come down, and for the first time, it actually hurts to lie to a guy. If he can do that with one finger, I can only imagine what he can do with all ten.
The need to change the subject makes me bold. I lean against the side of the car, grab his shirt tightly with both hands at the waist, and pull him toward me. Standing with his legs outside my own, he lowers his head like he’s about to kiss me, but stops short. I’m holding my breath and impatiently staring at his lips, waiting for the moment I’ve been thinking about since the second he offered to buy me a drink. But when I don’t feel his lips on mine, I look up and wrinkle my brows in confusion. He gives the sexiest little lip quirk because he knows he just got me, and finally, finally, touches his lips to mine. He kisses me softly, once, twice then pulls back ever so slightly to look me in the eyes. “Beauty,” is all he whispers. And I melt. Because that’s all I need. That one word is the sexiest, sweetest, most divine thing anyone has ever said to me. And I know it shows on my face because I have suddenly lost the ability to speak. To blink. To breathe.
I’m about to lose my mind and pull him to me, but he beats me to it, giving me the kiss I’ve been waiting for. This kiss. There is no other kiss like it. It lifts me up and warms me from the inside out. It reaches every finger and every toe, fills every crack and crevice while it swirls around my middle and travels up my spine. It is firm lips and a warm tongue that seem to dance with my own.
My hand goes to the back of his head while the other is flat up against the car, grounding me as if this kiss, this man, could throw me off my axis at any moment. The kiss deepens, and I know tomorrow I’ll have bruised lips. The thought only serves to spur me on, silently asking him for even more. He wraps his hands around my jaw with his fingers threaded tightly in my hair and it’s … perfection. It’s the perfect kiss to end a perfect night. We both let out a soft moan, and I have to smile for a quick second at our perfect timing.
The hand against the car gives up and goes to his waist. I feel the bottom of his T-shirt and can’t help but take that as an invitation to explore further. I dig my fingers roughly into his side and up his back, scratching lightly as I go. I want to leave a mark on him. My mark. Anything to remind him of this moment. And I swear he’s doing the same because his fingers in my hair are pulling harder, meeting in the back and pushing the kiss further than any before it. Neither of us can get enough. We couldn’t stop now if we wanted to. He’s so warm and hard, and I can’t help but imagine what he looks like with his shirt off and where we could go so I can find out.
He makes me forget that I’m in a parking lot surrounded by cars and motorcycles. It feels like we’re at the top of a skyscraper, with nothing more than the blurred sounds of the city beneath us. I feel light and free, like we’re the only two people for miles and miles. Like nothing can touch us.
Just as I’m about to reach for the handle and pull him to the backseat of the car, everything comes to a crashing halt.
“What the fuck!” Eric shouts from the opposite side of the car. “Jesus Christ!” CJ and I stop what we’re doing and run around the car in a panic.
Becca has just thrown up, mid-make out, all over Eric’s feet.
Today William and I have been together for two years, and I can’t wait to celebrate with a romantic, homemade dinner. Fatima has helped me prepare an amazing beef Wellington that I’ll pair with some asparagus I picked up from the farmer’s market, along with our favorite Cabernet. For dessert, I made his weakness, Ghirardelli brownies from a boxed mix. With all that this life of opulence has to offer us, it’s the simple things, liked boxed brownies, that we both appreciate the most. Just one of the many reasons why I love this man.
We talk a lot about making it on our own now that we’re about to graduate college. We want a simple two-bedroom apartment right in the heart of the city. Definitely with a balcony, so we can come home from our jobs, pour a drink, and talk about our days. At least until it’s time for kids. Then we can look for something bigger.
When I arrive home from the market, I park at the side entrance and come in through the kitchen. With the asparagus in hand, I ask Fatima, in Spanish, if she wouldn’t mind preparing it for me while I take a quick shower. Since losing my own mom at the age of seven, Fatima has become a surrogate mother of sorts. Besides teaching me fluent Spanish, she has shown me kindness and affection I’m not shown elsewhere in this house. I don’t know what would happen to me if she went away. She is the only thing here that keeps me sane.
The beef Wellington won’t need much more time in the oven, so I’ve got to get moving. I saw William’s car parked out front and figure he must be cornered by Father somewhere, listening to him drone on about the market or politics or something equally
painful I’ll owe him for later. That’s okay. I like owing him.
I’m running up the stairs with a smile on my face thinking of all the ways I can “repay” him, when I hear a faint noise coming from the west hall. Considering there are only five people who live in this house of forty thousand square feet, I’m not really sure who it could be. Probably Jessie or one of the staff, cleaning or taking care of laundry. I hope it is Jessie, actually. She’s a few years older than me and has been working for the family for a couple of years now. We talked the other day about my anniversary dinner with William, and she seems convinced that he’s going to propose soon, now that it’s so close to graduation. I’m secretly hoping the same thing.
As I get closer to the sound, I realize it’s coming from the laundry room. Each wing has its own laundry facility and, since I didn’t see her in the kitchen, I’m sure that it’s Jessie. I’ll just pop in and say hi before I jump in the shower. If William does propose tonight, I could use some last minute pointers on how to give a memorable answer. “Yes, nothing would make me happier!” Or, “You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world!” I know it’s cliché, but they’re both the truth. William is it for me. I can’t wait to leave here and spend the rest of my life with him.
On that thought, I turn the knob with the hugest smile on my face, take a few steps in … and freeze. Because all I see is a man’s naked back and jeans down below his ass, with a pair of female legs being held up in the air on either side of him. The back and ass I recognize all too well. An involuntary gasp escapes while I cover my mouth with both hands, my eyes bulging in disbelief. Just then, a pair of well-manicured hands wrap around his neck and grasp on for dear life. I’m so shocked by what I see that it takes me a moment to realize what I can also hear. A couple of the dryers are running, muffling my own sounds but not that of the live porn show playing out in front of me. They don’t know I’m here. I’m standing five feet from the man I expected to spend the rest of my life with, watching him fuck another woman, and they don’t even know I’m here. Then comes the worst sound of them all. The sound I’ve heard a hundred times before, if not more. The sound of him finishing. I can feel the bile rising in my throat but I just can’t turn away. My feet may as well be in concrete to go along with the fixed look of agony on my face. He takes a few deep breaths and bows his head a moment, as if in disgrace, then releases her legs and reaches for his pants. And that’s when this horror show becomes a full-blown nightmare. Because as he turns to put himself back in place, pull on his shirt, and act like none of this ever happened, he not only sees me, but I see her. My cousin, Nicole.
I wake up with a wet face and a heaving chest. I haven’t let myself relive that scene for a while now, and with the pain I’m feeling at this moment, I remember why. When William turned and saw me that day, he immediately started to panic and cry. He actually had the audacity to look at me and cry. He started babbling on about it being a mistake and how he didn’t know how it happened. How he told himself it needed to stop. I almost wanted to laugh and ask him if his dick accidentally fell into her. Repeatedly. But I hadn’t yet regained the ability to speak.
He had grabbed me hard by the shoulders, digging his fingers in and hurting me more, shaking his head, saying, “Please! Please!” over and over again. When it got too difficult to look at him, when I just wanted to get as far away from both of them as possible, that’s when I saw Nicole. Really saw her. She wasn’t bothering to put on her underwear and hide the evidence. She made sure I saw it all. The triumph. The success. The victory.
William tried for four months to explain, apologize, and win me back. Four months of phone calls, letters, flowers, texts, and gifts, but it was too late. The damage was beyond repair, and I swore to myself to never again let another man hold a piece of my heart.
He claimed that Nicole had been after him for close to a year. A year of her touching him, tempting him, luring him in. But never once in that time did he mention it to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done—what I could’ve done, but I like to think I would have protected what was mine. I would’ve at least liked the opportunity to fight for us.
Finally, after four months, he played to my ultimate weakness. My desire to one day be a mother. That’s when the switch flipped from feeling sorry for myself, to wanting to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I always imagined a Noah’s Ark themed room, so when all of our talks of the future turned to starting a family of our own, I’d tell him I would let him know he’s going to be a daddy by having a giant stuffed giraffe greet him at the door. The day he sent one to the main house was the day I called the family attorney and got a restraining order. I never heard from William again.
Now that some time has passed, I can see how it happened. I almost don’t blame him. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. He was manipulated and used, and wasn’t strong enough to fight it. That’s because Nicole has a confidence and an arrogance about her that I’ve never witnessed in another human being. Not even Grandmother. When I went crying to Father, he simply shrugged me off and told me he, “didn’t have time for all the blubbering.” Grandmother was worse. She told me that had I been enough for William, he wouldn’t have been tempted to do what he did. That it wasn’t Nicole’s fault but my own for being so desperate and pathetic. And that I needed to face the fact that I will never be deserving of a good, honest man.
As far as Nicole goes, I considered contacting her parents, Father’s brother and his wife, who live overseas and manage the family’s international businesses. But remembering the joy the downfall of my relationship brought her, that it was all a game intended to hurt me, I knew wholeheartedly that I could never win. Even though we live in the same house, I don’t speak to her or even make eye contact. I’m done with her. Family or not.
There have been times since I hatched my plan to escape this gilded hell-hole that my drive wavered some, mostly because of my loyalty to Fatima, but after losing William and our future together, thoughts of leaving here consumed me.
I know meeting CJ last night, and the feelings it stirred up in me, brought these memories to the forefront. I haven’t felt anything similar to what I felt last night with CJ since William, and thinking of that moment in the laundry room only helps to remind me that I don’t ever intend to go down that road again.
After finishing up an early workout, I head out of the home gym and up to my suite to take a quick shower. I’ve decided to run by the hospital today, even though I don’t normally go in on a Sunday, but I’d like to send a few emails and say hello to some of my favorite patients. Father doesn’t allow me to have a paying job, but I am allowed, however, to participate in philanthropic activities that only serve to add to the family’s resume. Whatever, I’ll take it. Grandmother also happens to be on the board, so they were happy to not only have my help, but give me an office to work from.
I’m on the cancer floor of one of the finest pediatric hospitals in the country. My focus is not only on raising funds, but granting wishes for the kids. I’m currently working on getting one patient a surprise visit from his favorite NFL player.
Thomas is a twelve-year-old boy with stage four alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma cancer, a rare cancer of the soft tissue, and is in the midst of his third round of chemo in as many years, with each round involving sixteen treatments. It breaks my heart to say that he is not long for this world. And with that knowledge, I will move mountains to bring whatever happiness I can to Thomas while he is still with us, red tape be damned. That’s because these kids, as ironic as it sounds, give me life. They couldn’t care less what my last name is or how much my family is worth. They are simply pure, and sweet, and authentic, and they give me a reason to get up every day and make this world a better place than it was the day before. And for that, I love them all.
Becca doesn’t understand why I spend my days here, why I put myself through the heavy emotions. It’s not that I don’t think she feels compassion for these kids and their families. I truly believe she’s jus
t not wired to think of others in such an all-consuming way. I wish she would give it a chance and see how gratifying it could be.
Speaking of Becca, I practically run into her as I cut through the kitchen. “Hey Bec, what are you doing here? And so early?” It’s odd how comfortable Becca has become with coming and going at my house. She appears at sporadic times and gave up ringing the doorbell long ago. Even having the code to the gate, you think a person would knock before entering someone else’s home. If I did that at her house, Grandmother would be lose her mind. Yet she doesn’t seem to have a problem with it when Becca does it here.
“Yeah, well I just wanted to come by and apologize for breaking up whatever you had going on with CJ last night. Definitely not how I saw the night ending.” She says that last part with her head buried in the fridge. Right then, Father walks in with an empty coffee cup in his hand. He took the plane home late last night while the rest of the family is spending some time in North Carolina.
“Good morning, Father,” I stiffen, like a member of the Von Trapp family.
“Christina,” is all he says in return as he walks to the coffee station in the corner of the kitchen. I can’t remember the last time Father actually looked me in the eyes and we had a conversation. But when he sees who has just come from behind the fridge door, he stops, and his lips turn down. “Rebecca.” And he stares at her for one … two … three whole seconds. That’s more than I’ve gotten in the last six months. She shuts the door and casually responds, “Good morning, Mr. Harcourt. I was hoping to have breakfast with Christina, unless, of course, she has plans with her family?”
He turns his back and answers. “No, no plans. She’s all yours.” With that, he pours his coffee and leaves the room. Becca watches Father as he exits, and I’m left feeling like an outsider in my own home.
Beautiful Lies Page 3