by Unknown
“I resent that, and FYI; I'm not obligated to answer to you or anyone else. You’re lucky I even invited you into my apartment.” I square my shoulders and head for my bedroom. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out,” I hiss out with a fit of anger.
There is a moment of silence, and then he rips my heart out with his words. Why am I not surprised when he decides to play dirty?
“So . . . my concern for your well-being means nothing to you?” He asks, his tone soft and bitter.
Damn him. I pivot around on my heels, facing him to see his doleful eyes that once sparkled. He sure knows how to cut into my soul. God, I can’t even stay angry with him.
I approach him, placing my fingers on his chest. “Michael, of course, your concern means a great deal to me. I’ve never had anyone be as attentive to me as you are. I’m not used to this. I’m flattered, please forgive me. Let me put you at ease. A minor discomfort is all I experienced today, nothing more.” I embrace him, and he reciprocates with an even bigger and warmer hug then releases me.
He gazes down at me, beaming from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkle back to life again.
“Thank you, Ariana, I’ll wait here for Mrs. O’Connor. Now get to bed before I throw you over my shoulder and bring you there myself,” he orders, towering over me like King Kong and waving his hand toward the bedroom.
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper. He takes several steps forward, and I rush away, laughing.
“Don’t forget our date tomorrow,” he calls out.
I turn to him with a confused expression.
“The polo game, a picnic for two,” he informs me, looking pleased that he remembered, and I didn’t.
“Yes, of course, I can’t wait. See you in the morning, and get that smirk off your face, Mr. Grayson.” I wave goodnight.
“Not as much as me, Ariana,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.
I salute him and walk to my bedroom, smiling to myself, all giddy and gooey inside, spinning in my room with glee. It’s been so long since my soul felt this alive and vibrant. There was a time I flourished with life and glowed as bright as the sun.
I gasp and stop spinning, clutching my arms to my chest as dreadful memories of Danny surface through my mind. Damn it, Will I ever live a normal and healthy life without the past haunting me?
I push myself to change into my nightwear, and crawl into bed. I reach over to turn the lamp off. I squeeze my eyes shut, and tears begin to trickle down my cheeks, saturating the pillow.
It’s been over a year since I’ve been able to suppress the memories, but now, for some unknown reason, the past is emerging. Why now? Has this deranged person triggered them from my subconscious? I try to hold back the tears, but it’s useless. The pain is too unbearable.
I reach for a tissue, and my heart leaps into my throat when someone grabs my hand. I let out a shriek that would have shattered the windows. The lamp illuminates the room, and standing over my bed is Michael.
“What are you doing?” I scream out, clutching the covers over me. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” I scold Michael, my heart pumping with rapid speed.
“Ariana, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to check in on you when I heard you were crying. Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” He stares at me, expressing concern.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “No, Michael,” I say and take a glance around the room. “I’m so sorry; I had no idea you were calling out my name . . . or even aware you were here.” I say with a confused expression on my face.
He sits beside the bed, reaches for a tissue, and with tender strokes, wipes the tears from my face and eyes. I want to slither against his warm chest and into his welcoming arms.
His hand brushes against my cheek, making them tingle.
“Ariana, what’s bothering you? Please talk to me, Ariana, confide in me. You can trust me.”
I burst into tears, like the walls of a dam erupting into tiny particles. He encircles me into his warm, inviting body. I embrace the comfort of his heat against my skin, inhaling and soaking in his masculine scent. I can’t seem to stop crying.
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you,” he murmurs, and his grip tightens as he rocks me in his arms. He loosens his hold to caress my back, and he stiffens. I gasp when I realize what just happened. In one quick move, I pull away and roll over to the other end of the bed.
“Good night, Michael,” I choke out, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.
The look of disbelief and surprise shadows his face. “What’s on your back, Ariana?” He’s shocked and bewildered. His eyes fill with wild rage. Why is he so angry with me?
“Is this a setup, are you wired, recording our conversations? Is this your way to get information out of me, taking my generosity for granted?” He spits his words out like a vicious cobra; his lips pulled back baring his teeth at me.
I’m horrified by his cruel words. My head is spinning in a hundred different directions with all his questions and accusations. Why would he think such a thing? “No,” I snap out.
“I don’t believe you, show me, turn your back to me.” He stands and I jump off the bed, landing on my butt. I scurry back up and face him.
I glare at him, ready to sting him with my own venom. “You take one step closer, and you’ll regret it,” I spit out, my breathing escalating, heart pounding like thunder within my chest. I’m seething with volcanic rage.
“No, Miss DiMarco, it will be you who will be sorry after I get my lawyers after you and your television show,” he says through his clenched jaw. He glares back at me seething with fury.
“What the hell has come over you? Is that what you think, that I would stoop so low to get information out of you?” I yell out, annoyed at his audacity.
“You wouldn’t be the first, Miss DiMarco.” His face is red and his eyes narrow, expressing hate and suspicion.
“Okay, you little shit.” I turn my back to him, push my long black hair to the side, lift my top up, and give him what he’s asked for. This should shock the hell out of him. I can already feel his gaze over the many scars that cover my back. Some are thick, others deep and long; these scars will follow me for the rest of my life all because of Danny, my ex, now dead, husband. Danny loved using his belt on me.
He let out an exasperated breath. I hear him move closer and then stop. “Ariana . . . Jesus. What the hell happened? Mother of God . . . who did this to you?” he hisses out. I hear the soft steps of his shoes shuffling towards me.
I pull my shirt down and spin around to face him. “Come any closer, and I’ll scream. Now get out,” I shout. My adrenaline’s soaring high, and now I’m trembling with rage.
“Ariana, sweetheart, let me explain . . . Please,” he pleads, letting out a frustrated breath. He’s motionless. He threads his fingers through his already disheveled hair. His eyes are shimmering with tears, and his face holds the same horrified look his brother had. He stares at me, bewildered, his eyes vacant.
“Ariana,” he whispers.
I point toward the door. “There is nothing further to discuss. I suggest you tell your brother Trent, I no longer need his services. Now leave.” My voice is cold and heartless.
“Don’t be foolish, Ariana, I’m not telling him any such thing. You can’t be left vulnerable like this. Please let me explain. I’m sorry for accusing you of such an act. Please,” he begs, looking lost, with his guilty puppy dog eyes as if that’s going to break me. I want him out.
“If you don’t leave I’ll have security escort you out. Now get out of my home.”
“This conversation is far from over. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says furiously, hands waving in the air as he heads out the door.
“Don’t bother; I won’t be answering any of your calls.” My voice is hard and cold.
He turns his head, his eyes filled with sadness, his lips part as if he is about to say something, but instead he walks away.
I stare at the desolate doorway; the vibrations of the elevator doors closing only made his exit final. I feel my heart constrict painfully around my chest; it hurts so much I can’t breathe.
“Oh, my God, what the hell just happened?” I choke out, swallowing over the lump enlarged in my throat. This has to be a bad dream; there is no way I would have been stupid enough to reveal my scars.
I pinch myself and flinch from the sting as my heart sinks deeper into my chest and hurt, guilt, humiliation, and anger wash over me. Tears begin to prickle in my eyes blurring my vision. I cringe as Michael’s scent lingers in the air, which only adds to the raw, deep, gaping hole in my gut.
I collapse on my hands and knees, feeling the walls around me crumbling down, leaving behind nothing but dust and my heart ripped in two. Through hiccupping breaths, I crawl my way to the bed and ease my way up, clutching my hands over my aching stomach.
I turn my iPod on and “Always” by Jon Bon Jovi echoes throughout my room adding acid to my already wounded heart. I slide under the covers, curl up in a fetal position and burst into tears crying myself to sleep with heart-wrenching pain slicing through every cell in my body.
Chapter 9
How Did He See Me
I’m startled out of a deep sleep from the blasting sound of my alarm clock. I hit the snooze button, almost knocking it off the nightstand.
I stretch, sensing all the aches and pains, my eyes puffy. The bump over my temple is still tender to the touch, but smaller.
Memories of last night began to surface along with shame, which is coursing through me like bacteria infecting my cells. What possessed me to show him my scars? My thoughts go awry, and I’m once again hit with the anger, resentment, and bitterness that overwhelmed me. How could Michael have thought so low of me?
I so was close to letting him explain, but my stubbornness got in the way. This is for the best, I try to convince myself. He needed to take a step back. He was hovering over me like a hawk. I no longer have to deal with his dominating, overprotective personality. He was such a control freak.
So why does it hurt so much? How come there is a huge hole in my gut, even after he acted like a raving lunatic. I can still hear his loathing and hateful words repeatedly in my mind, stinging me like a swarm of bees deep into my heart and soul. I stare at the ceiling, blinking the tears away, wishing the pain would dissipate.
After all these years of never trusting men, fearing them, never wanting to get close or intimate, I finally meet one who’s brought me back to life, one who makes me at ease and comfortable, and he turns out to be a suspicious, disbelieving, arrogant jackass.
My alarm goes off again. I glance at the time, eight thirty. I can’t believe how long I slept. I needed the sleep anyway. I slink out of bed and take a shower and get dressed.
I walk into the kitchen and find Tina standing at the glass doors, pushing her loose, wavy hair behind her shoulders. She slides her phone into her back pocket of her soft faded jeans that match her navy blue sweater. She turns greeting me with a beautiful smile, and eyes the color of emeralds, resembling Michael’s.
God, I forgot about her. How did she get in? I was out cold last night.
“Good morning, Ariana,” Tina greets me with her lovely smile.
“Good morning, Tina, how did you get into the apartment? I was passed out,” I ask her kindly.
“Mr. Grayson was waiting for me downstairs.” She walks over to the foyer and picks up a set of keys. “Here, my dear, Mr. Grayson asked me to give these to you.” She smiles.
“Thank you,” I mutter, staring at them, gripping them hard in my hand, feeling the sharp edges pierce painfully into the palm of my skin like Michael’s words. He must have taken them with him after he left and waited until Tina arrived. I’m slammed with regret, but then his words slash across my heart like shards of glass. “The hell with him,” I mutter to myself.
“Melinda Candles phoned earlier to speak with you. I told her you were sleeping. She said she has a family emergency and will be away for a few weeks.”
“Of course, I hope everything is all right,” I say with concern.
“Would you like breakfast, dear?” she offers, washing the glass that held my brandy from yesterday.
“No, thank you. I’m going to make muffins. You’re welcome to join me,” I offer.
“Oh, no, thank you, my dear. I’ve already eaten.”
“Tina, you don’t need to stay. You can leave if you’d like. I’m feeling so much better now,” I say, reassuring her.
“Mr. Grayson would not be happy if I left you alone to attend to your breakfast,” she replies.
I sense her uneasiness. Does he intimidate everyone? “You let me worry about him. Trust me, it’s Sunday, and I’m sure your husband would be delighted to have you home.”
“Well, are you sure?” She blushes.
“I insist. Please go spend the day with your sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Ariana,” she says graciously.
***
Tina left about an hour ago. A cold breeze circles around me, making me shiver as I walk out onto the terrace. I rush back in and grab a sweater. I sit on one of the lounge chairs, letting the sun bathe me with its warm rays. I take a slow sip of my hot cocoa and indulge in a sweet-tasting banana nut muffin; I baked just less than an hour ago.
I close my eyes and the box of chocolate flashes before me. I shiver at the thought. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a truffle the same way again. I take another sip from my drink and shake my head in disgust.
My cell phone rings startling me. I read the caller ID, and my heart jumps in excitement; it’s Joanne.
Joanne and I met at the television studio through Blake. We bonded instantly. Joanne hosts all the top restaurants throughout the world. She’s a petite blonde, full of life and feisty as hell. She, too, lives in Manhattan, in downtown Battery Park. We don’t get to see each other often due to the crazy travel schedules. But, when we’re both back home, we paint the town red. We drag Blake and Francis out with us, have dinner and hit a few of the nightclubs to dance all night long, or until we have blisters on our feet.
“Joanne,” I answer.
“Hey, Ariana, sorry I didn’t call sooner. How are you?”
Just hearing her voice makes me want to cry, spill my guts and heart out to her, but I don’t want to worry Joanne. I wish she and Blake were here, but then how do I explain the psychotic lunatic that’s taunting me and Michael’s vicious words and accusations?
“I’m fabulous. I’m sitting out on my terrace drinking hot cocoa and indulging in a homemade banana nut muffin,” I say sounding excited, pretending everything is peaches and cream.
“A little bird told me about your date with Mr. Wonderful. So . . . how is prince charming?” She asks teasingly.
I grunt with disgust. “He is the biggest pompous ass I’ve ever met. I’d rather not discuss him at the moment.”
“I think this is the fastest you sent a man running for the hills.” Joanne laughs.
Joanne and I speak for over an hour catching up on her trips and not once do I mention the stalker. I do, however, give her the details of my lunch date with Michael and tell her that I wasn’t feeling it. He was too bossy.
I disconnect the call and glance at the time. Oh, crap. I need to get to the polo game; I rush up, and the chair screeches across the slates, and I go hunt for my bag and keys. As I reach the elevator, the telephone rings.
I hurry toward the phone, and “unknown number” displays on the caller ID. My stomach begins to turn inside out. Instead of answering, I decide to wait, tapping my fingers nervously against the kitchen counter. After the last ring, the machine kicks on to record.
“Hello, baby doll, why were you sitting outside all by your lonesome when you could be with me?” Click.
My heart stops, causing the blood to drain south. Sweat begins to seep through my skin. How the hell did he see me? I’m on a penthouse balcony. Is he in the apartment?
Is he hiding somewhere? No . . . that’s impossible, but what if it isn’t and he’s been here the whole night watching me sleep. My chest begins to tighten, constraining the airflow to my lungs. I clutch my hands against my rib cage to ease the pain. Stop it, Ariana, you're losing control. You would have sensed it. I scold myself.
I stare at the terrace, wondering if he’s going to appear from thin air. I hear my heart thrusting through my ears, and with a little courage, I bolt toward the French doors, and shut them with urgency. My hands are shaking so furiously I have trouble locking them. After numerous attempts, I finally get them locked. I immediately close the drapes in a hasty rush and lean up against the doors, hands on my knees as my heart pounds hard against my chest, breathing heavy.
I’m startled when the sound of the phone booms through the room. Oh, no, I can’t deal with this. This man is going to give me a mental breakdown.
I push myself off the doors in a heated rush, retrieving my purse and keys, only to have them plunge to the floor, and scatter across the kitchen. The keys slide under one of the stools. I fall to the cold marble floor on my hands and knees; picking everything up and tossing them back in the tote with flustered hands.
The machine answers, and this time its Michael. “Ariana, please answer the phone. I know you just received a call from this asshole. Trent called me. Hello. . . Ariana, pick up, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I want to explain, please. We need to talk.” There is a long pause. “Fine. If you don’t want to answer, I’ll call your cell phone. I’ll stop by your office, your apartment, but I won’t stop until you listen to what I have to say.” He hangs up, anger seeping through his tone.
I shut my damn machine off. I refuse to listen to any calls from this lunatic or Michael. I put my cell phone on vibrate, as well. I’m not ready to speak with Michael or anyone else at the moment. I need to pull myself together and stop the shaking.
The valet retrieves my IS 350 Lexus convertible. I pull out and head for the midtown tunnel. I turn the radio on, and Sade is belting out “No Ordinary Love” in her glorious voice. I breeze through the Long Island Expressway without any traffic, which is a miracle.