Behind Her Smile

by Luck, Olivia

  “We have to figure out a way to get out of here,” I say urgently, not caring that I interrupt whatever he was about to say. “This chair isn’t terribly heavy. I can wiggle over to you and maybe you can figure out a way to untie me.”

  “Shut up, Karolina,” David snaps.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up!” I’m loud. Shrill. Remembering that there are two armed robbers in the house, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Why aren’t you doing anything? David, they have guns.”

  “Exactly, you moron. This isn’t an episode of television. I don’t have a pair of cable cutters in my back pocket to save the day. These guys are professionals. They know their way around our house, and they know their way around hostage scenarios. And, as you so brilliantly noted, they have guns. If we want to make it out of here alive, we need to play by their rules. That means shut up and let me do the talking. You’ve already pissed them off and have the black and blue marks to prove it.”

  “You always find a way to talk down to me. Even in a crisis of epic proportions, you treat me like some stupid hick. Fuck you, David.” I spit the words at him. I feel a freedom knowing that he’s tied to a chair. Whatever I say won’t end with a backhand or kick in the ribs. This time, my husband can’t physically hurt me in retaliation.

  “You really are an idiot,” he scowls.

  “And you married me,” I return sweetly. “What does that make you?”

  David chuckles evilly, shaking his head. At that moment, I realize David’s missing something: fear. He exudes no uncertainty. He has a plan, I realize with a mixture of relief and dread. Some married couples know what the other is thinking simply by making eye contact. Our relationship doesn’t operate like that. Some days—no, most days—I barely know the man who sleeps beside me. I have no idea what he could be plotting.

  I open my mouth to interrogate him when the sound of heavy boots draws closer. “When this is all over, I’m leaving you, David. We’re getting a divorce, and I never want to see you again,” I seethe. Apparently, I’m brave in a crisis. On some instinctual level, I wanted to divorce David almost immediately after we got married, but I never had the courage to say the words out loud. I’m still young, only twenty-seven; I can make a new life for myself. Living on the streets would be better than this gilded prison.

  Cox stomps into the office, pausing in the entryway. Pleased that we haven’t moved since he left a few minutes ago, he goes back to the couch to sit. He watches us with hard eyes and his arms crossed over his muscled chest. A few minutes later, light flickers into the room, and I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  If David doesn’t want to share his plan with me, then I need to come up with one of my own. Trying hard not to draw attention to myself, I glance around the room for inspiration. Something to . . . A buzzing at Cox’s hip makes him glance down momentarily at his cell phone. Leaning back with all the power I have, I hoof myself—chair included–toward the ground. My back arches under the strain of the chair.

  “Ouch!” I cry. Brilliant plan, I chastise myself. It takes all about two seconds to make me realize I have no clue what I’m doing.

  “Do you want me to put you out of your misery?” Cox snarls as he crouches down beside the chair. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the back of the seat, pushing me roughly into a seated position. All the while, I fight him, twisting and growling in a feeble attempt to escape.

  “She’s more trouble than she’s worth.” The Latino reappears.

  “If it’s money you want, I can give you access to the safes,” David speaks up suddenly. My stomach twists. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. Somehow, I know what he’s going to say before he says it. Please don’t be this wicked, I silently beg.

  “My friend, that’s exactly what the big bosses want,” The Latino says mockingly.

  My body starts to shake violently. All the way from my chattering teeth to my shivering toes.

  “Let’s make a deal. You get rid of her, and I’ll give you whatever you want. No questions asked, no press, no cops, no nothing. Karolina’s the only loose end.”

  The Latino watches me pensively. “You want me to kill your wife,” he drawls.

  Without hesitation, David answers.

  “Yes.”

  As a young girl, I didn’t dream of getting married. Poring through issues of Vogue, I imagined becoming a world-renowned dress designer. As a Diane von Furstenberg, Elie Saab, or Monique Lhuillier, my gowns would grace runways and elite department stores. The designs would be coveted and produced in small quantities. Stars on the red carpet at Hollywood award ceremonies would wear Karolina. My brilliant designs would propel me into the fashion stratosphere. There would be no limit for my career. Watch out Anna Wintour, Karolina Adamchik is going to wow you beyond belief. No prince on a white horse would rescue me from the trailer park. I would rescue myself by working hard, earning a degree, and paying my own bills. I didn’t need a man because I had the power to make my own dreams come true.

  Any therapist would probably say my tumultuous, impoverished youth shaped my strong desire to be financially secure. The time I spent chasing my fashion dreams didn’t allow me to ponder the emotional side of the coin. As strongly as I yearn to make my name known in the fashion industry, I’ve uncovered another yearning just as strong—the craving for love. That craving probably explains what I’m about to do.

  Today is my wedding day.

  Love surpassed my career plans. It only took a few weeks for my priorities to rearrange. The last time I attended class or went to work was last month, the day before I learned David’s parents and brother died. At first, I missed class because I was busy with planning the memorial. Then David recruited me to organize the sale of his and Chandler’s condos so we could move into his parents’ home. Furniture needed to be sold and donated. Clothing had to go to Goodwill. Immediately after that, David decided to throw a benefit dinner in honor of his parents and to raise money for underprivileged children.

  “As my wife, you should be the face of the fundraiser,” he insisted.

  “But, David, I have no experience putting together this type of event,” I argued.

  “There are plenty of party planners salivating at the chance to associate themselves with the Morgan name. One of them will do all the work,” he responded. Like most everything else, I caved at this reasonable explanation. Somehow, David has the perfect answer to every one of my disputes. Jokingly, I asked him if he went to law school when I wasn’t looking. In the middle of learning to communicate with real estate brokers and interviewing event planners, I was making a lace mini dress for the first wedding.

  Because the ceremony is going to be informal, I’m wearing something short. The guipure lace mini dress has a sheer front panel between the valley of my breasts. There is a cutout in the back to add a playful twist to the silhouette. The dress fits at the bodice and flares out from the waist into an A-line skirt. The shoes are nude, pointy-toe Valentino pumps David surprised me with last night. I swept my hair into a high bun near the crown of my head to reveal the detail in the back of the dress. David has no idea what I’m wearing, and I hope to please him with the flirty dress.

  There are only a few minutes until he expects me downstairs for the tiny ceremony. The justice of the peace is downstairs talking to David, I presume, while I finish the final details of my appearance. I study myself critically in the vanity mirror where I’m applying a shiny coat of nude lip-gloss. This is not what I envisioned my wedding to be like. When I think of a wedding, there are bridesmaids and a long flowing backless gown. I picture the bride and groom writing their own wedding vows with hearts so full they could burst.

  Happiness doesn’t surround this wedding. The commitment was borne out of a tragedy. I can’t help but feel the weight of that sadness crushing down on my shoulders. David promised me a bigger wedding in a few months, one where we can invite our friends and write our own vows. But, for the time, he says it may give the wr
ong appearance to get married this quickly after the plane crash. Then why rush it? I still wonder. But when David sets his mind to something, there’s very little that can sway him.

  Stop being ungrateful, I tell myself furiously. David wants me so badly that he’ll marry me right away. The whole thing is terribly romantic.

  I’m supposed to be downstairs in two minutes, but I want to do something first. Swiftly, I dial the number I know by heart on the smartphone David bought me a couple of weeks ago. The phone rings twice and then a voice raspy from years of cigarette smoke answers.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mom.”

  “What do you want, Lucie?” she snaps, mistaking my voice for my older sister.

  “No, Mom. It’s me. Karolina.”

  Silence. “If you want money, I don’t have any. Told you that fashion shit would never work out.” She sounds smug, as if the idea of my failure pleases her. I’m used to this sort of disdain and let it roll off my shoulders.

  “Actually, that’s not why I’m calling. I have some good news, and I wanted to share it with you.”

  “Make it quick. I have to be at work in twenty minutes,” she snaps. Rolling my eyes heavenward, I hold back a sigh. She cleans houses, and Sunday is the one day of the week she doesn’t work. She’s always said that Sunday was her day. But I refrain from calling her out on the lie.

  “I’m getting married today, Mom.” There’s no way to hide my pleasure.

  She cackles—a hoarse sound that is interrupted my several coughs. “Haven’t you learned that men ain’t worth the trouble? Your father, the father of Lucie’s boy, they’re all fuck ups. You think you’re happy? Good luck.” Then she slams the phone down without saying good-bye.

  The tiny part of me that continues to hold out hope for my mother’s acceptance stumbles on that note. Angrily, I shove away the burst of pain at her indifference. What was I thinking to call her today of all days? Mom didn’t show up for my high school graduation. She mocked my dreams to work in fashion design. There’s no way she would be excited for me today. Gloomily, I stare back at my reflection.

  Accept that she is no longer a part of your life. As much as I know I have to, I don’t want to be without a mom.

  “I’ve come to collect the bride.”

  The sound of a gravelly voice makes me jump and gasp in surprise. With a hand pressed on my chest to steady my racing heart, I glance over my shoulder.

  The devil. The thought pops into my mind immediately. The man’s name is actually Alec Christos. I saw him in passing at the funeral, but we didn’t speak other than a quick exchange of his condolences with David. At the funeral, I overheard some people talking about Alec, and I listened in because, frankly, I was curious about the mysterious Alec. I only learned he has his hands in “lots of businesses” in Miami. Whatever that means.

  Alec is still just as handsome as he was that day at the Hotel Monroe. He wears slate pants and a crisp white shirt. Unruly midnight locks are pushed off his forehead. Dark eyes dancing with mirth, he assesses my appearance. Stubble covers the lower part of his face.

  “And, my, what a stunning bride you make, Karolina Adamchik.” The low timbre of his voice sends a shiver down the length of my spine. I sit up straight, brows furrowing together in confusion.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Christos?”

  “Alec,” he corrects and steps into the bathroom. The room seems to shrink with his presence. Alec Christos is a few inches taller and broader than my fiancé. Even though he doesn’t have the physique of a body builder, it’s clear Alec wields a considerable amount of power. He makes me nervous. Not in the sense that he would harm me, but his masculine prowess practically screams dominance.

  “Alec,” I repeat. “Will you answer my question now?” The nervousness he ignites in me loosens my tongue.

  “Snarky and sweet. You continue to impress, Karolina.” I don’t know why, but my heart seizes in my chest when Alec says that. He’s looking at me as if I’m a fascinating woman, and I can’t begin to imagine why. “All weddings need a witness, and apparently, I’m the only person David knows who can keep a secret.” Alec smirks.

  “I get the feeling you’re making fun of me, but I’m not in on the joke,” I blurt.

  If Alec’s deep black irises could grow any darker, they do at that moment. “No, Karolina, I would never mock you.” The words ring with sincerity, and even though I don’t understand why, I believe him. “It is your wedding day, after all. Love is patient, love is kind, and all that.”

  “‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose,’” I say without thinking. The devil. I almost wince at the reminder of the instantaneous judgment I passed over this dark man when I saw him at Hotel Monroe. Surely, my husband-to-be wouldn’t associate with a nefarious man.

  Still, his smoldering looks make me uneasy. When he turns his dark gaze on me, it’s as if he’s channeled all of his attention on me. Alec’s focus unnerves me because . . . no one looks at me with so much interest. Not even the man I’m about to marry.

  Alec smiles and I nearly gasp again. The man is gorgeous without a smile, but when his lips curl up, his bright white teeth show, and his eyes light, the effect is spellbinding. “You’ve read The Merchant of Venice. Snarky, sweet and smart.”

  “Not so smart. That phrase stuck out in my mind.”

  “You can’t fake intelligence,” he says certainly. The compliments make my stomach flip.

  I turn away from him, eyes falling to my lap. This encounter doesn’t feel right. I know my cheeks are hot with a pleasurable blush. Today, I am marrying David; I’m not meant to be flirting with the mysterious Alec Christos.

  “Let me ask you something, Karolina. Why’s a woman like you getting married in secret?”

  My shoulders tense at the judgment I hear underneath his casual words. “What does that mean, ‘a woman like me?’” Whirling around to face him completely, I force my fidgeting hands to sit still against my skirt. “Furthermore, what’s a man like you doing questioning my decisions?”

  This time, Alec’s eyes flash with pleasure as if he enjoys the challenge of conversing with me. “You’re a talented fashion designer putting off school to take over as the head of the Morgan household. I’m guessing you made the dress you’re wearing, Karolina, and it’s exquisite. It’s a damn shame that someone with so much potential is giving it up to be with David.”

  My pulse roars in my ears and my hands clench into fists at my sides. “First of all, how do you know anything about me? Second of all, who do you think you are, coming in here and talking to me like we’re friends? I don’t know you from any other man on the street, Alec Christos.” I attempt to sound haughty, and from the look of Alec’s raised brows, I succeeded in at least sounding pissed off. Truthfully, I am angry because Alec has a point—one I don’t want to consider too carefully when there’s a man downstairs who wants to love and cherish me.

  “I don’t like to see beautiful things destroyed,” he murmurs.

  A shock of fear jolts me. “Don’t be obtuse,” I whisper.

  Alec shakes his head as if he thinks better of this entire exchange. “I’m talking out of my ass,” he says finally. I want to grab his shoulders and yell at him; I want to beg to know what he means. This is my life! I want to shout.

  But I don’t.

  I’m scared of losing the only constant I’ve ever had. No; scared isn’t a strong enough word. Terrified is more like it. Someone finally, finally wants me. And if I don’t have David, I’m back to being alone. That fills me with such desolation I want to kick Alec Christos right out of this home for suggesting David may ‘destroy’ me.

  “Karolina! What’s taking you so long?” David’s voice breaks the tense moment and Alec turns around, stalking toward the bathroom door.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” my fiancé barks from inside the bedroom connected to the bathroom.

  “You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Alec dra
wls, confidence oozing from each syllable.

  “You know it’s bad luck to cross a groom on his wedding day,” my soon-to-be husband snaps.

  “Please don’t come in. I want you to be surprised when you see me for the first time,” I call, unable to hide the nervous tremors in my voice.

  David mutters something unintelligible. “You’re late, Karolina,” he grumbles. “Let’s go.”

  I hear the sound of two footfalls departing the bedroom. With one more fortifying breath, I exit the bedroom and make my way down the staircase. At the ground floor, I hang a right and move into the great room. The stark space looks exactly the same. Unless you count the tall, angular man in the boxy navy suit standing next to David, nothing about today says a wedding. The first thing I should be looking at is my fiancé, but Alec’s magnetic pull sidetracks my gaze. He stands at the perimeter of the conversation, pinning me with a searing gaze.

  I don’t like to see beautiful things destroyed. What did he mean by that? It sounded like a threat or maybe a premonition. But I have nothing to be worried about because I’m marrying David. Even so, my mouth is dry when I attempt to swallow.

  It’s now or never.

  Thick, dense clouds block the sun today. Dim light illuminates the room from lamps and the recessed lighting. Standing in the center of the room, David’s ever the image of the regal, golden man. His aristocratic hands gesture smoothly as he speaks. The custom fitted Prada suit glides down the lean planes of his body without an unseeing gap and bulge. He is classically beautiful, an exquisite specimen. And he wants me.

  I force the lingering doubts back. What does Alec Christos know anyway? The man has hardly spoken to me, and David never mentions him. All that matters is David treats me like a queen.

  As if hearing my thoughts, David glances toward the mouth of the room where I watch him hesitantly. His lips curl into a predatory smile. Stunning, he mouths. I can’t hide the smile and the rosy blush that hijack my features.

  All my attention zeroes in on David. Crossing the marble floor, I smile at him tentatively. With my eyes on David, I still feel the darker man watching me. I don’t want anything to detract from this moment. Even though this event is a formality, I want to remember every pleasant detail. The nonsense from Alec becomes a distant memory when David’s blue-green gaze captures me.