by Day, Sylvia
“Underage children,” I shot back. “I’m an adult. My personal time is exactly that.”
“If you were to envision yourself in her place, Monica,” Dr. Petersen interjected, “would it be possible that you might feel as she does? What if you discovered someone was monitoring your movements without your knowledge or permission?”
“Not if the someone was my mother and I knew it gave her peace of mind,” she argued.
“And have you considered how your actions affect Eva’s peace of mind?” he queried gently. “Your need to protect her is understandable, but you should discuss the steps you wish to take openly with her. It’s important to gain her input—and expect cooperation only when she chooses to give it. You have to honor her prerogative to set limits that may not be as broad as you’d like them to be.”
My mother sputtered indignantly.
“Eva needs her boundaries, Monica,” he continued,
“and a sense of control over her own life. Those things were taken from her for a long time and we have to respect her right to establish them now in the manner that best suits her.”
“Oh.” My mother twisted her handkerchief around her fingers. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” I reached out for my mother’s hand when her lower lip trembled violently. “Nothing could’ve stopped me from talking to Gideon about my past. But I could have forewarned you. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”
“You’re much stronger than I ever was,” my mother said, “but I can’t help worrying.”
“My suggestion,” Dr. Petersen said, “would be for you to take some time, Monica, and real y think about what sorts of events and situations cause you anxiety.
Then write them down.”
My mother nodded.
“When you have what wil surely not be an exhaustive list but a strong start,” he went on, “you can sit down with Eva and discuss strategies for addressing those concerns—strategies you can both live with comfortably. For example, if not hearing from Eva for a few days troubles you, perhaps a text message or an e-mail wil al eviate that.”
“Okay.”
“If you like, we can go over the list together.” The back-and-forth between the two made me want to scream. It was insult to injury. I hadn’t expected Dr.
Petersen to smack some sense into my mom, but I’d hoped he would at least take a harder line—God knew someone needed to, someone whose authority she respected.
When the hour ended and we were on our way out, I asked my mom to wait a moment so I could ask Dr.
Petersen one last personal and private question.
“Yes, Eva?” He stood in front of me, looking infinitely patient and wise.
“I just wondered…” I paused, needing to swal ow past a lump in my throat. “Is it possible for two abuse survivors to have a functional romantic relationship?”
“Absolutely.” His immediate, unequivocal answer forced the trapped air from my lungs.
I shook his hand. “Thank you.”
When I got home, I unlocked my door with the keys Gideon had returned to me and I went straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary, who was practicing yoga in the living room to a DVD.
I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the distance from my closed bedroom door to the bed, final y crawling between the cool sheets in just my underwear.
I hugged a pil ow and closed my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left.
The door opened at my back and a moment later Cary sat beside me.
He brushed my hair back from my tear-streaked face. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”
“I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a fucking note card.”
He sighed. “You know the dril , Eva. He’s going to keep pushing you away, because he’s expecting you to fail him like everyone else has.”
“And I keep proving him right.” I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was al going to end badly. The only control I had was to be the one who left, instead of the one who was left behind.
“Because you’re fighting to protect your own recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around me and tucking me tight against him.
I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t realized I needed. “He might’ve dumped me because of my past, not his.”
“If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you two wil find each other eventual y. At least I’m hoping you wil .” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-up crowd. Show me the way, Eva honey. Make me believe.”
Friday found Trey sharing breakfast with Cary and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary and I was genuinely thril ed to see the intimate smiles and covert touches they gave one another.
I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t appreciated them at the time. They had been comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been superficial in a fundamental way, too.
How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul? That was the dilemma I’d faced with Gideon.
Day 2 After Gideon had begun. I found myself wanting to go to him and apologize for leaving him yet again. I wanted to tel him I was there for him, ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I was too emotional y invested. I got wounded too easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing he wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and pieces he decided to share with me.
At least my job was going wel . The celebratory lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency landing the Kingsman account made me genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a positive environment. But when I heard that Gideon had been invited—although no one expected him to show up—I returned quietly to my desk and focused on work the rest of the afternoon.
I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopeful y long into Saturday morning.
Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tel . I snapped out of it when he fel silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stel ar friend.
“When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going up?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You know how it is with male models—we’re tossed around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing since those photos of you and me were plastered everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your relationship with Gideon Cross.
You’ve done wonders for making me a hot commodity.”
I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”
“Wel , it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they cal ed me back for a couple more shoots. I think they might just use me for more than five minutes.”
“We’l have to celebrate,” I teased.
“Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”
We ended up hanging out and watching the original Tron. His smartphone rang twenty minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking to his agency. “Sure.
I’l be there in fifteen, tops. I’l cal you when I get there.”
“Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.
“Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You wanna come?”
I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m good right here.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Al I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhaust
s me.” I’d be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top al weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total
comfort outside seemed like a necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’l get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself.”
After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Gideon had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fel to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them.
I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equal y doomed relationship.
I’d gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love him for that. Maybe I’d always love him, period.
And one day, that might not hurt so badly.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.
“Ugh. Go away.”
“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.” Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips.
As far as wake-up cal s went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”
“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”
“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”
He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”
I buried my face in the pil ow. “No.”
“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a
‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hel do I wear to something like that?”
“Ah, wel . Good point.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.” He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.” Growling a token protest, I rol ed out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Gideon, without picturing his perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds he made when he came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I’d even started hal ucinating black Bentley SUVs al around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.
Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced al over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.
“Told you,” he crowed.
“Told me what?”
“They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Cross.” I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”
He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly cal to my dad.
“You stil happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.
“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.
His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.” I sighed. “Tel them watching those shows is bad for their brain cel s.”
“So you’re not dating one of the richest men in America?”
“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a cal on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”
“Always. Bye.”
I kil ed the cal and went back to my former spot to
wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lul , my mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now? What was he doing?
Would Monday bring me an inbox ful of photos of him with another woman?
Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rol ing meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4
After Gideon. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dul throbbing that felt almost like the flu.
Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.
“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.
I glanced at him. “Not real y. Gideon won’t be there.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For al the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.
He caught me looking at it. “What? You stil don’t like my tie? I think it works wel with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”
“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.” It was true. Cary could pul any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.
I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”
“Trey didn’t cal last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”
I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed cal , Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”
“He could’ve cal ed this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to cal , which means he just doesn’t want to.”
“The rat bastard. I’l be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Cross won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”
“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.
The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style
—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.
The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it al the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. Al in al , I felt pretty and confident.
Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, fol owing the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.
Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by Gideon’s family in
a
receiving
line—his
mother,
stepfather,
Christopher, and their sister.
I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Gideon was lined up with them.
His mother and sister had his coloring, both women boasting the same glossy ob
sidian hair and thickly-lashed blue eyes. They were both beautiful in a finely wrought way.
“Eva!” Gideon’s mother drew me toward her, then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so pleased to final y meet you. What a gorgeous girl you are! And your dress. I love it.”
“Thank you.”
Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it natural y blond?”
“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?
“How fascinating. Wel , welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.” Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.
“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my two boys were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”
Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”
She laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Cal me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.” Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a col ege professor than a music company executive.
“Eva. May I cal you Eva?”
“Please do.”
“Cal me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Gideon is so taken with you. Your eyes are a stormy gray, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”