by Rome, Ada
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
He winked devilishly and kissed me hard on the mouth. “Right now, I’d like to take you home.”
“Sounds like an even better plan.” I winked in return. We hopped into his car and drove off into the waiting night.
***
Hours later, we lay entwined in each other’s arms, gazing out over the twinkling lights of the city skyline through the floor-length windows in Trent’s bedroom.
“I feel like a weight has been lifted from my life,” he said as his fingertips stroked the curve of my neck and skated along my shoulder blades. I rolled over onto his chest, resting my chin on his bulging pecs.
“The past doesn’t have to haunt you anymore. You can let go.”
I lifted myself up and straddled his hips. He cupped my naked breasts with both hands, gently caressing them. He was hard beneath me. I took his full length inside of me with a low and sultry groan. I rocked my hips in a smooth rhythm, grinding on top of him while he squeezed my nipples and moaned with delight. I tossed my head back and rocked harder. Waves of pleasure coursed through my body. I panted and groaned, thrusting and grinding with increasing ferocity. My breasts bounced against his rough palms.
“Oh, Kat,” he moaned. “You are amazing.”
We writhed together in a steady rhythm, our bodies locked in a mind-emptying rush of delicious carnal bliss. We came together, emitting long throaty cries that echoed from the walls as electric surges of orgasmic frenzy overtook us and rocketed through every nerve ending. I collapsed onto his chest and felt his strong hands enfold my naked back in a powerful embrace.
“It’s you and me, baby, forever.” He pushed a sweaty tendril from my forehead and kissed the top of my head.
“Forever,” I repeated with a breathy sigh.
Chapter 22
Trent rested on one knee before the square of pink marble. He placed a bouquet of bright wildflowers at its base and brushed a few smudges of dust from its surface. The sky over Leidensburg was a cornflower blue speckled here and there with wispy cotton clouds. The sun warmed the silent headstones. Birds chirped from within the canopy of towering elms.
Trent rose to his feet and took my hand. “The pain will never go away.” He gazed down at Rosie’s name carved into the headstone’s polished surface. He turned his head toward me and squeezed my fingers. “I hope she would be proud, though. She finally got the justice that she deserved after all these years.”
We had driven up here on the day after the fight and delivered the recording of Kill’s confession to the local police. They wasted no time in securing his arrest for murder. The story was suddenly back in the papers, with pictures of a young and smiling Rosie, her entire life seemingly before her, juxtaposed with the grisly details of her untimely and violent death. I read a heartbreaking interview with her parents, an elderly couple shrunken with age and sorrow, who stared blankly into the camera while they sat side-by-side on a couch upholstered in old-fashioned flowered fabric. They still lived only miles from the town where Rosie had lived and died, within walking distance of the woods where her body had been recovered. She was their only child, their whole world. They visited her grave on a monthly basis. They expressed a measured joy at the news that her murderer would face justice after so many years. “It won’t bring my girl back,” her father said with a pained finality.
Now Trent and I had returned a month later to pay our respects on what would have been Rosie’s thirty-third birthday. “I am sure that she would be very proud to see you today, to see all that you have accomplished and all that you have become.”
He nodded. “I hope so.” He kissed the tips of his fingers and tapped them on the top of the headstone. We were both silent a moment longer. “Come on.”
He pulled me across the grass, soft and smooth underfoot, and toward the gazebo centered amid the acres of mute stones and monuments. We climbed into its cool shade. He placed a hand against my cheek and kissed my lightly on the lips.
“Things were a bit different the last time we were here.” He smiled and wound an arm around my waist.
I flushed at the memory of our torrid encounter in this very gazebo, beneath the thunder and lightning of a tumultuous summer storm, when the rain fell in sheets and blocked out the whole world. We had traveled a long road since that moment, but we had traveled it together and remained locked in a special bond of deepening feelings. I lifted my arms around his neck and hugged him tighter, resting my cheek on his sturdy shoulder.
“I spoke to Ezzie today,” he said in a quiet voice.
I raised my head and gently stroked his hair. “How is Oscar?”
Soon after Oscar awoke from his coma, we learned that he had sustained several broken vertebrae. The injury left his legs paralyzed. Doctors doubted that he would ever walk again, but he was determined to prove them wrong. He kept his spirits high despite the dim prognosis and served as an untiring inspiration to his family, friends, and fellow patients.
“He is the star of the rehab center,” Trent laughed. “The nurses adore him. The doctors told Ezzie that they’d never seen anyone work so hard to gain back his strength. I promised him a job at the magazine as soon as he feels up to it. To my surprise, he accepted right away.”
“Have you heard anything more from Peter Haverford?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “He faded back into the shadows as quickly as he appeared. I’m sure I’ll encounter him again someday in the fighting world. But I’m through with those Friday night bouts.”
“Really? I thought you needed those fights to work off aggression and stress.”
Trent smiled down at me. “I guess I don’t have any more aggression and stress left to work off. And I would rather spend my Friday nights with you.” He kissed my forehead and tightened his arms around my waist.
“Any news about Kill?” I asked tentatively.
Trent inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through his nose. His fingers toyed with a bit of loose thread on the waistband of my plaid miniskirt.
“I got in touch with one of my contacts at the prosecutor’s office. He said Kill seems ready to plead guilty in exchange for a deal. He will still be in prison for a very long time, possibly for the rest of his life. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but the plea will spare Rosie’s parents the ordeal of a trial. For that reason, I support it. They have suffered enough. They don’t need to relive that time all over again and dredge up those terrible memories.”
I nodded. “That seems like the best thing at this point.”
“I visited them, you know. A couple of weeks ago.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. We normally were aware of each other’s movements. He had not mentioned an additional visit to Leidensburg until this moment.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he continued. “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. It was a very emotional visit.”
“What happened?”
He cleared his throat. “They thanked me for solving the mystery of her murder. They told me to thank you as well. We reminisced about Rosie, about our best memories of her. They showed me photo albums filled with her childhood photos. Her high school yearbook portrait is still on the mantle, frozen in time.” He shook his head. “Life is so strange. A single decision, a single moment can change everything. I keep wondering if there was anything I could have done to save Rosie. I could have told her sooner how I felt. But I was just a kid. I barely knew how I felt. And maybe if I had been paying more attention all these years, I could have solved her murder a long time ago. The answer was right in front of my face. For all of my supposed street smarts, I refused to believe in the existence of hidden evil. In the end, I was naïve.”
“That doesn’t make you naïve. It makes you good. You thought that Kill was your friend. You had no reason to believe that he was harboring that kind of vicious evil. You’re right that life is strange. A moment can change everything, but we never know when those moments will arise. We can’t live
our lives in hindsight, questioning every action and every decision. We simply have to live.”
A songbird landed on the gazebo railing, trilled a merry gradient of notes, and flitted away into the treetops. Trent watched its ascent with a thoughtful expression. A light breeze flowed through the structure, lifted a few tendrils of hair around my temple, and stirred the surrounding trees with a soft tinkle of rustling leaves.
“Rosie would have liked you, Kat.” Trent gazed down at me with a warm grin and kissed me gently on the lips. “You have a similar spirit, the same feistiness tempered by kindness, and a wisdom beyond your years. You are two of the best people that I’ve ever had the privilege to know. I am so thankful to have met you, Kat. You’ve helped me reach a closure that I didn’t even know I needed. And you have given me reason to hope for the future.”
I stood on my tiptoes and buried my face in the soft cotton of Trent’s shirt collar. When I raised my head and looked out onto the rolling expanse of gravestones, I could have sworn that I saw a figure in the distance. It was only a hint of a shape, perhaps a shadow or a trick of the sunlight bouncing through the trees, but it resembled a young woman with long hair and a smoothly flowing skirt. She hesitated in the act of turning and raised a thin arm in farewell. Then, with another shift of the breeze and the light, she was gone.
I convinced myself in the next instant that I had imagined the whole thing. But a part of me will always believe that was the moment when Rosie finally found peace and said goodbye.
Chapter 23
The winds of a temperate October night played at the hem of my emerald green ball gown, a one-shouldered silk dream that cascaded to my ankles in shimmering folds and gathered at my waist within a circlet of sparkling jewels. My hair swept over my bare shoulder in a shining fall of lustrous auburn waves.
“Ready, my dear?” Trent stood beside me, looking impossibly handsome in a black tuxedo, his hair slicked back from his forehead and a dimple popping into place on his clean-shaven cheek. I wrapped a hand around his arm and lifted the hem of my dress as we ascended the steps. My high-heeled sandals clicked onto the smooth stone.
The art museum blazed above us in a golden glow like a fairytale castle. Huge banners fluttered in the wind, announcing the annual awards gala for excellence in the field of journalism. Trent was to be honored for his work on KTFO. The edition with my cover story had turned out to be the best-selling issue in the magazine’s history and earned praise across the media spectrum, silencing the last few grumbles of disapproval surrounding our relationship and restoring at least a portion of my reputation. I hoped that with time, people would completely forget the incident with the sex tape and simply view me as a promising journalist with a solid career ahead of me.
“Hey, I know that gorgeous couple!”
When we reached the top of the steps, Marcie and Tony waited at the base of an imposing column illuminated with spinning floodlights. She looked stunning in a sheath of red satin. Tony was debonair in a black tux that perfectly matched Trent’s. Other guests in sparkling finery filed in pairs through the massive gilt-framed doors. I grasped Marcie’s arm. The four of us followed the tide into the cathedral-like space of the great entrance hall, bounded on both sides by stately arches and in front by a glistening marble stairway.
“Mister Montaine, right this way.” An usher directed us through one of the archways with an elegant sweeping gesture. We entered a grand ballroom lit with the warm glimmer of crystal chandeliers and the reflected glint of diamonds and jewels around wrists and necks. We were seated around a table near the front, just before a stage lined with lush greenery and a podium draped in red velvet.
“A little fancy pants, if you ask me.” Marcie leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Do you think they serve hot dogs?”
“I hope so. I’m starving. And I could use a nice cold beer too.”
“Excuse me! Waiter!” Marcie raised a hand and snapped her fingers. I plucked her wrist from the air. “What?” she said with mock surprise, her jaw hanging open.
“You’re a real jerk sometimes, Marcie.”
“I know. But you love me anyway.” She puckered her red lips and threw a smacking kiss in my direction.
“So you say.” I winked at her as a waiter swept in from the wings and filled our glasses with chardonnay.
“What are you two lovely ladies discussing?” Trent leaned sideways and placed an arm on the back of my chair. He reminded me of an old time Hollywood actor with his movie star looks and graceful charm. Only the tattoo that peeked out of his shirt collar and curled behind his ear belied the illusion of a modern day Cary Grant or Clark Gable.
“We were just discussing ways to class up this joint,” Marcie chirped. She lifted her wine for a toast. We all clinked glasses.
“To Trent,” I said.
“To Kat,” Trent chimed in.
“To you two lovebirds who are in danger of making me barf,” declared Marcie with a flourish and a long swig of wine.
“To the future,” said Tony with a wink and a grin.
“To the future indeed.” Trent placed a hand on my knee and squeezed gently.
The ballroom settled into a subdued murmur as the awards ceremony began. One heartfelt speech followed another, each thanking supportive family members and championing journalism’s quest to uncover the truth. Eventually, Trent was called to the stage. He rose from his seat, kissed the top of my head, and took his place behind the velvet-covered podium. Our eyes locked for a charge moment. The entire ballroom fell away for several seconds. We saw only each other and existed in a world entirely of our own creation. Then he cleared his throat and faced the assembled guests.
“As many of you know, this has been a difficult year for me.” He paused and bowed his head, wrapping his fingers around the edges of the podium. A titter of recognition swept through the crowd. “But as many of you may not know, it has also been the best year of my life.” He glanced at me, the hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “This is a room full of writers. We all know that writers hate clichés. I racked my brain over the past week for a fresh and creative way to say what I want to say to you tonight. Eventually, I gave up. There is a certain simple wisdom in even the most tired clichés. The one that I offer you is this – love conquers all.”
I scanned the room and spotted a few swift nods. Everyone watched Trent with a rapt attention.
“Six months ago,” he continued, “I thought that I was in complete control of my life and my destiny. But, as a very smart young lady soon informed me, I was an idiot.” A wave of laughter circled the room. Trent caught my eye. “Well, she didn’t use those words exactly. She did say that complete control is an illusion, and she was absolutely right. I have lived my life to avoid pain. I ran from the kind of feelings that sometimes end in great suffering, but also sometimes lead to the greatest joy. In trying to keep myself balanced and secure, I robbed my life of real happiness.” He paused and caught my eye again, this time maintaining a piercing stare. “Thankfully, that smart young lady showed me the error of my ways. I will never be able to repay her completely, but I will try every day of my life to do so.” He smiled warmly and turned back to the room. “So, love conquers all. A simple message with an undeniable truth. Love conquered my fears and showed me a path toward the future. Love for one very special person made my life whole. I dedicate this award to those have proven to me, day in and day out, that love can and does conquer all. To my dear friend, Oscar Calabresis, whose enormous heart and love for his family will someday help him to walk again. To Kat Raney, my missing piece. Thank you.”
The room erupted into vigorous applause that continued for a full minute. Trent stepped away from the podium, descended from the stage, and leaned over the back of my chair.
“Could you come with me?” he whispered in my ear as the applause continued. “There is something I would like to ask you.”
My heart jumped into my throat. I turned, my eyes wide with shock. Trent simply
smiled and extended a hand.
“Sure.” My hand trembled as I reached for his. My voice was weak and raspy. My pulse raced as I rose shakily from my seat. Trent pulled me toward a side exit. I turned back once to our table and saw Marcie and Tony exchange a knowing grin.
Trent pushed open the door. We emerged into a deserted hallway. The last echoes of applause died away as the door swung shut. It felt strange to be in the museum in the quiet hours of the night. Normally, these hallways would be crowded with tourists rushing to the next exhibit, chattering, and snapping photos. Now we were utterly alone in the silence, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights.
“This way,” he said. He held tight to my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine, and tugged me through a series of similarly empty corridors. My heels clicked along the gleaming tile floors. “We’re almost there,” he said with a sideways smirk that melted my heart.
He led me through an archway lined with beautiful mosaics in vivid blues and greens. We emerged into a high-ceilinged room that looked like a scene from the ancient world. In the center of the room stood an Egyptian temple, its sand-colored bricks pitted and chipped with the passage of time and the ravages of the desert, but still stately and magnificent in this transplanted paradise. The temple entrance was flanked by two elegantly carved columns topped with stone replicas of leaves and fruit. Two narrow reflecting pools, their waters perfectly still, lined either side of the temple platform. Torches flickered along the banks of the pools, creating an aura of wavering candlelight that was reflected in the sheen of the smooth water. A bridge of wooden planks led from the polished slate floor to the temple platform. A pair of perfectly matched statues, pharaohs in headdresses carved from midnight black stone, watched like sentinels from their stations beside the bridge.
I paused on the room’s threshold, breathless with anticipation and speechless at the enchanting scene. Trent placed a hand on my lower back and guided me forward. I stepped onto the bridge, the clack of my heels on the thick wood echoing in the still and silent chamber.