by R. R. Banks
Calee
I've been standing in this room – my room – for the last ten minutes and still can't believe my eyes. It's not only gorgeous, it's enormous. There's a huge bed that looks like the softest, most comfortable thing I've ever seen. A desk, tall dresser, a table with a mirror mounted on it, and a few large, deep, plush chairs.
The bathroom is simply luxurious and decadent. When I finally tear my eyes away from the bedroom, I step into the bathroom and marvel. There's a walk-in shower that has a bench inside of it. There's no doors and the shower head flows like a gentle waterfall.
After stripping down, I let myself soak in the warm water, letting it flow down over me, feeling more like a massage than a shower, really. It's amazing and for a moment, as I think back on the last few crazy days, I don't feel like who I am – I feel like a fairy tale princess.
This whole thing with Eric seems like a dream – one I'm bound to wake up from at any moment. I cling to it though. I cling hard and don't want to let it go. For the first time in my life, I have hope for a better future for myself. I don't know what that is going to include or anything right now, but Eric said he'd help me get on my feet and do whatever I want to do with my life.
There's a small part of my mind that whispers to me though. It whispers dark and hateful words. It reminds me that nobody is this good. This kind. That everybody will take advantage of me given the opportunity. It tells me that Eric is going to be expecting something for everything he's doing for me. And it asks me if I'm willing to pay the price when that bill comes due.
I do my best to shut that voice out of my head. I tell it that it has no place anymore. Those are Raymond's words. Raymond's thoughts. That's all part of his programming. His way of making sure I was reliant on him and him alone. He tried to make me believe that he was the only man I could ever count on. The only man who would never take advantage of me or expect something in return for his kindness and favors. He tried to convince me that I can't trust any other man but him.
And for a while, I believed him.
But Danny and now Eric are showing me how wrong that thinking was and is. Danny helped me because he cared about me. Eric is helping me because he feels compelled to and thinks it's the right thing to do. Neither expected anything from me in return. They certainly never tried to take advantage of me. The only man to ever do that was Raymond.
But, now I'm free of him. Forever. I'm free to be who I want to be. To build the kind of life I want to build.
Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and find some shorts and a t-shirt right were Eric said I'd find them. They're a little big on me, but since I'm only going to be taking a nap in them, it doesn't really matter.
But then I look at the pile of clothes on the edge of the bed and start to worry. Eric said he wanted to take me to dinner, but those are the only clothes I have. He obviously comes from money and I know that people with money tend to go to nice places. The clothes I have won't blend into a nice place.
Walking over, I pick them up and give the shirt a sniff. Having been in these clothes the last few days, I'm not surprised to find it smelling pretty ripe. I sigh and drop the shirt back down onto the pile with my jeans and socks. I look at the shower and wonder if I can give them a quick wash to at least, get the musty smell out. But if I wash them, they definitely won't have time to dry – it's not as hot here as it gets in Wyoming. And besides, I see no clothesline to hang them on anyway.
I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. I guess I'll just have to deal with it when it comes up later. Maybe we can just go to a McDonald's or something – some place he might not be so embarrassed to be seen with me.
I lay back on the bed and feel myself almost swallowed up by the softness of the mattress. I giggle to myself as I roll around a little bit, relishing the feel of it. It's so soft and luxurious, I almost feel like I'm floating on a cloud.
Resting my head on pillows as soft and comfortable as the mattress, I think back and feel an overpowering sense of awe that I'm here. And an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Eric is my savior and I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay him.
I gently lay my hand on my belly – a belly that is going to look quite different, quite soon – and feel the tears well in my eyes. But this time, they're not tears of fear or sadness. They're tears of pure, unadulterated joy.
Eric saved not just my life, but the life of the child within me.
~ooo000ooo~
I wake up to the sound of gentle knocking on the bedroom door and immediately, my pulse quickens and adrenaline floods my body. My first thought is that Raymond's found me. That he's standing on the other side of that door, waiting to drag me back to the Ark where he's going to kill me.
“Calee, you awake?”
I let out a long breath of relief when I hear Eric's voice from the other side of the door.
“I – I'm awake.”
I look to the window and see that darkness has fallen outside. Without a watch on, I have no idea what time it is. I stifle a yawn and stretch as I stand up and turn a light on before I walk to the door. I open it and find Eric standing there, smiling at me. He looks me up and down before quickly averting his eyes and clearing his throat.
“You hungry?” he asks.
As if on cue, my stomach growls like it hasn't eaten in days – which isn't true, since we'd had breakfast at a roadside diner this morning.
“Actually,” I say. “I am.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Because I have reservations for us at my favorite little Italian place. I thought we should start your culinary education with something that's already tried and true.”
As he speaks, I feel my heart sink when I remember the situation with my clothes.
“Eric,” I say, “I – I don't have a change of clothes, so maybe we –”
“Already thought of that,” he says, the smile returning to his face. “Would you step out here with me, please?”
On the top floor, there's a small sitting room with doors that open to a deck that overlooks the ocean. I already know that's going to be my favorite place in this house. The idea of sitting there, letting the breeze and the smell of the ocean wash over me – it's still as amazing as it is unbelievable to me.
And that's where Eric leads me. On the tables and chairs of the sitting room are a large number of boxes and bags, most of them bearing the name Jasmine's of San Diego. I'm confused by what I'm seeing and look up at him with a perplexed expression on my face.
“I know you're out of fresh clothes,” he says, “So, I took the liberty of having my personal shopper pick some things up for you. I hope you don't mind. But Monica has been shopping for me for a few years now and her taste is impeccable.”
“Your – personal shopper?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“What's a personal shopper?”
He smiles and looks a little abashed as he looks away from me. “Sorry,” he says. “Monica does my clothes shopping for me. Gets my suits tailored, picks out new outfits for me – that sort of thing. I had to guess at your size, so if something doesn't fit, we can exchange it.”
It's a concept that leaves me feeling a little dumbfounded. “So, you actually pay somebody to go out and – shop for your clothing?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Saves me a lot of time. Besides, I don't like shopping anyway. If it were left up to me, I'd probably wear jeans and a t-shirt everywhere. But given what I do and the functions I'm expected to attend, jeans and a t-shirt won't cut it. Which is why I gladly pay Monica to shop for my clothing. The less I have to think about it, the better.”
I sit down on the edge of a chair – the only one not burdened with packages. I look at the mountain of bags and boxes around me, not believing that all of this is for me. For so long, I had two shapeless gray dresses – and that's it. That's what I'm used to. I honestly don't even know where to begin with all of this.
“I think she was excited that she got to shop for a woman this tim
e,” Eric laughs. “She may have gone a little overboard. But, I can assure you that everything is tasteful and stylish.”
I look at him and don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed by everything I'm thinking and feeling in that moment. I feel tears welling in my eyes and try to choke them back. There's no reason to be crying right now. But I don't know what to say, so I simply stand up and throw my arms around Eric, embracing him tightly. As we embrace, I feel something pass between us – an energy or an electricity – that makes me tingle. It's surprising, yet not unpleasant, although I don't know what it means.
After a few moments, I step back and give him a smile as I wipe away my tears and there's an awkward air between us. Eric clears his throat and gestures at the stairs.
“Monica is downstairs,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “I thought she might be able to show you your new clothes and help you pick out an outfit for tonight.”
“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you, Eric. Thank you so much.”
He gives me a smile that almost seems shy before he turns and walks back down the stairs. I think back to that energy that passed between our bodies and wonder on it. What did it mean? Had he felt it too?
Or was I simply misinterpreting the overwhelming feelings of gratitude I had for him?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eric
After getting dressed, I'm standing on the back deck, sipping a scotch while staring out at the darkness of the ocean. Monica left about fifteen minutes ago, but Calee is still upstairs. I imagine this all has to be overwhelming for her.
I'd always thought that going from living a life of privilege to going to a life in the military turned my life on its head. And it had. But to go from living a rough, basic existence out on some cult compound in Wyoming to being dropped into the lap of luxury in San Diego – it has to feel like her entire world has been turned upside down. I can't even imagine.
“I – I'm ready,” Calee's voice comes from behind me. “I think.”
I turn around and nearly drop my glass of scotch. I stare in wide-eyed wonder at the woman standing before me. In a dark blue dress that hugs her curves and really flatters her body, she looks utterly amazing. And completely unlike the scared, lost girl in blue jeans I met in that diner. Her hair spills down over her shoulders and there is a light dusting of makeup on her face – just enough so that her dark eyes really sparkle.
“Is this too much?” she asks. “Too provocative? I asked Monica to –”
I hold up my hand and shake my head quickly. “No, you look – you look amazing.” I say.
I see her cheeks flush and a bashful smile creep across her lips. She looks away shuffling her feet, looking like the picture of embarrassment.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm not used to such nice clothing.”
“You wear it well,” I reply. “It looks incredible on you.”
When she looks back up at me, there's a tension in her face that's impossible to miss. Is she still worried about Raymond? Is this all too much for her? I don't know. I can't read her thoughts, although I wish I could. But she has the look on her face of the woman who'd spent a little time preparing a speech and was going to deliver it.
“Eric,” she says. “I don't know much, but I know that you spent a fortune on all those clothes. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But it's too much. I don't feel right with you spending so much money on me when –”
I can't help but laugh, not expecting that her biggest concern is money. She closes her mouth and looks at me, her expression inscrutable. I choke back the laughter and clear my throat, not wanting to offend her. Taking a quick drink, I look up and hold her gaze.
“Money isn't something you need to concern yourself with right now, Calee,” I say. “Eventually, you'll get a job and start making your own money. But right now, don't even give it a second thought.”
“I don't see how I can't though,” she says, sounding downright miserable.
I sigh. Money isn't something I like talking about. It's not something I like dealing with, actually. That's what my accountants and bankers are for. All I want to have to worry about is using my cards and not having them declined when I do. And given the inheritance my parents left me when they died, combined with the money I make as a surgeon on my own, that's not something I have to worry about.
“Because I'm telling you – because I'm asking you not to worry about it,” I say softly. “I know you're not used to having people do things for you or take care of you, but I'm asking you to let me. Let me do something good.”
“Why is it so important to you?” she asks. “Why am I so important to you?”
I still don't have the answer to those questions. I still can't say why I felt so drawn to her that first night. Maybe, in a way, I'm trying to atone for all of those people I couldn't save over in Afghanistan. I feel like I lost a lot more than I saved and it's something that haunts me every day and every night. I'm good at what I do. Damn good. But as good as I am, I wasn't able to save a lot of guys over there.
And maybe in some weird, twisted way, giving a life to this woman – helping somebody who so desperately needs it – maybe that's my way of trying to make up for those I couldn't help over there. Or maybe, in some even weirder and more twisted way, I'm trying to atone for being such a disappointment to my parents. For not being the man they wanted me to be.
I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with me – which is part of the reason I avoid them like the plague.
“Because you are,” is all I can muster though. “Because after everything you've endured, you deserve to have a life of your own. You deserve a chance to be the woman you want to be. Not the woman somebody tells you to be.”
The look she gives me is one of pure gratitude and I'm half-afraid she's going to start crying again. But she maintains her composure and gives me a small smile.
“I don't know how I'm going to repay your kindness,” she says. “I don't know that I can.”
“The only repayment I want is for you to live your life,” I say. “To do something with it. To be who you are and do something that makes you happy.”
She steps forward and embraces me again and just like upstairs, I feel this sense of connection pass between us. With her body pressed to mine, smelling the soft citrusy scent of her shampoo, I somehow feel a little more complete. A little more whole. I feel like that pool of darkness within me is being filled in. I can't explain it, don't really understand it, but there it is all the same.
A moment later we step back and share an awkward smile – and I can't help but wonder if she felt that connection between us too. For me, it felt like a puzzle piece was being snapped into place. And I find myself wondering if she felt it too – and if so, what it felt like to her.
I clear my throat and give her a lopsided smile. “So, would you care to accompany me to dinner?”
Her smile is warm and genuine. “I'd absolutely love to.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Calee
“I've never had wine before,” I say.
“Well, there's a first time for everything then,” Eric replies. “Just – take it easy. If you've never had alcohol before, it can hit you kind of hard.”
“I promise.”
The waitress gives me a strange look but pours a small amount of wine into my glass. Then, she turns and pours for Eric. She's a gorgeous girl and I can't help but be envious of her amazing body. Next to her, with my hips, curves, and full breasts, I suddenly feel like a pig. It's a terrible, petty thought and I feel my cheeks flush.
“It's nice to see you again, Dr. Galloway,” the waitress says. “I'll have your appetizers out in a moment.”
“Thank you, Lacy.”
“You know the people who work here?” I ask.
He nods. “I've been coming here for quite a while,” I say. “My parents used to bring me here when I was younger, actually. Something of a family tradition.”
I see a
look of fond nostalgia cross his face and he points to a table over in the corner that's currently occupied by a man and a woman who are staring into each other's eyes, a look of absolutely rapturous love on their faces. As I watch them, I see him kiss her hand and the smile that crosses her face is one of utter bliss and contentment.
And I find myself wondering if I'm ever going to feel anything remotely like that in my life.
“We sat at that table the night my father and his partner founded their company,” he says. “We had dinner to celebrate them opening the doors.”
“What does your father's company do?”
“Technology,” he replies. “A lot of research and development. They do a lot in both the medical field, and unfortunately, they do a lot in a lot of defense weapons systems.”
I laugh softly. “Defense weapons systems?”
“Missiles,” he says. “Smart bombs. The technology of death, I call it. The company scores huge government contracts to dream up better, more efficient ways of killing people.”
“Medical and weapons,” I say. “Those sound like two opposite ends of the spectrum.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “It was always a bone of contention between us. Anyway, let's drink.”
He raises his glass and I stare at him for a moment before realizing I should raise mine as well. I pick it up and hold it like he is – and can't help but feel clumsy and awkward. I feel like a fish out of water. Eric can navigate the waters of normal people – normal rich people at that – with a practiced ease. Of course, he grew up in this sort of society and I didn't.
And as I look at the faces of the people around me, I suddenly don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable operating in normal society.
“To new beginnings,” he says.
Just from books I've read, I know that I'm expected to repeat his toast then then clink my glass against his, so that's what I do. And of course, I hit his glass a little too hard. It makes a loud ringing sound and the glasses are so delicate, I fear I've broken them. Eric laughs softly, but his smile is sincere and not unkind.