My humiliation became a sport and his source of power, building his ego and giving him a false sense of being a man. I endured it, letting him bring me to tears in the bathroom of a stranger’s home. Later, when we were alone and I’d confide my hurt to him, he’d apologize and promise not to do it again, but I learned to stop believing that meant anything to him.
Eventually, I stopped going to them with him, and he was more than willing to leave me at home alone. It wasn’t until months later that I heard the whispered rumors of Michael bringing other women with him.
I didn’t want to believe it. Michael loved me, I loved him, and there was no way he had betrayed me like that. I vowed to go to the next party, but Michael didn’t even mention them to me anymore. He was dressed and heading out of the door without me. When I offered to get ready and meet him there, he told me not to bother. With a kiss on the forehead, he was gone. Determined not to be one of those wives who just sat around while her marriage fell apart, I got ready for the party anyway.
I showed up an hour later and searched the crowd for my husband. I felt empowered. I was taking back what was rightfully mine. I would show Michael I still cared, I still loved him, and we could make this work. But then I saw the raven-haired twenty-three-year-old rubbing against my husband, and I felt the warrior in me shatter.
And then the whispers, laughter, and sympathy made its way around the room like we were at a sporting event, and everyone was doing a wave of different reactions. I was defeated, feeling like a failure to keep my husband. When his eyes found mine, there wasn’t even a hint of remorse.
It was easier to pretend I was oblivious to the fact that my husband was cheating on me and cry myself to sleep every time Michael left to an event and came home in the early hours of the morning.
My father raised me never to give up. Despite everything that had happened in the last two years, I still loved Michael because the man he used to be was still so strong in my memories. He was all I’d ever known and loved, and I wasn’t ready to give up on what once was.
I wasn’t sure how much more of my situation I could take. Mentally and physically, I had needs that weren’t being fulfilled. I felt like half a woman walking around, waiting for something Michael was obviously not willing to give me. I was so pathetic I couldn’t even get a plastic surgeon to give me surgery.
Instead of going home, I went shopping for something that I thought Michael would find sexy. I hated Michael’s work parties. I hated the way half of the people looked at me like I wasn’t good enough to be there and the other half looked at me with pity-filled eyes. Pity for the wife they thought was too stupid to know what her own husband was doing behind her back.
As I held up the dress against my body, I imagined what I would look like in it tonight. It was something totally out of my comfort zone, but I needed to do something drastic and quick. I was also bound and determined to turn some heads at the party too. Hopefully, one of those heads would be Michael’s. Smiling, I was blissfully happy in my own little world, imagining the look in Michael’s eyes as he took me in tonight. I wanted to be nothing short of blowing his mind, and I was sure my new dress would do the trick.
Michael didn’t show up until almost nine, which meant I sat around the house, sure that I’d gotten all dressed up for nothing, and he was taking one of his bimbos with him instead.
When I heard the door open and the familiar sound of his footsteps on the marble tile, I got excited. I’d taken extra care with my hair and makeup, and the lady who sold me the short, black, Vera Wang dress I was wearing assured me it was made for me. My legs were waxed to perfection and the diamond-encrusted and black-strapped Jimmy Choos that covered my feet made my ass look round and ready when I looked in the mirror.
Standing, I adjusted my dress and waited for him to look at me when he entered the room. Excitement and hope swam through me, making my pulse accelerate. A smile pulled at my ruby-red lips because I just knew I looked great. I felt pretty, and I hadn’t felt that way in so long.
The door opened, and there he was. His eyes dragged from my face, over my cleavage and stomach, before falling and following the bit of thigh that was showing and my legs. Optimism bloomed inside of me. He was actually looking at me, following my curves as if I’d mesmerized him in some way. It felt powerful.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked abruptly, his eyes clashing with mine.
My bubble of happiness popped instantly. His expression changed to one of disgust, and my stomach bottomed out. Reaching down, I ran my fingers across the bottom hem of my dress. “I got it for you. Do you… don’t you like it?”
My voice sounded as weak as my stomach felt.
“Stop fucking around and change. You know you’re too old for a dress like that. Are you trying to embarrass me, Sam? What made you think you could ever pull something like that off?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Not that it would have mattered. I’d failed to do anything more than disgust him further.
Waving a hand in my direction, he dismissed me. “You have ten minutes to change or I’m leaving without you. And wipe off the whore lipstick.
And then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him and breaking away the remaining pieces of my heart.
The hurt part of me wanted to curl up into a ball and lose myself, or what was left of me, in the darkness of the night. But the part of me that desperately wanted to try and salvage the rest of the night slowly peeled the straps of my new black dress down my shoulders.
I WASN’T SURE who put event going in my job description, but apparently, it was a part of my career. Reconstructive, or even cosmetic surgery for that matter, had absolutely nothing to do with the party going on around me except for the fact that more than half of the partygoers had been touched by my partner’s scalpel a time or two.
Downing my second drink, I sat at the bar and contemplated how I was going to escape the dreaded event. I worked a long day, performing Tori’s fourth graph surgery in the last four months. I desperately needed this one to take because I wasn’t sure how much more the eight-year-old could handle.
Her parents were starting to lose faith, and more importantly than that, so was Tori. No little girl wanted to be cooped up in a hospital or hospital bed for four long, painful months. I had a soft spot for all my patients, even more so for the younger ones, and I knew I got overly attached to them. But Tori was different from all the rest because she reminded me so much of her.
I checked my watch, knowing I was going to stop by the hospital on my way home to check on her one more time. Hopefully, she’d be asleep and her pain would be manageable.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my suit pants, I surveyed the guests. My partner, Richard Stein, was sure that going to the party full of rich and powerful people would bring more clientele to the practice. Judging the women there, I was positive he wouldn’t have any problems keeping his schedule full and busy over the next few months. I was convinced he had enough clientele to last him the rest of the year.
A waiter passed with a tray stocked full of champagne glasses, and I was quick to take one off his hands. Champagne wasn’t my thing, but I figured I’d down it as I waited for the bartender to bring me my next drink. The last thing I wanted was to run into someone who was dying to just ask a few questions and be completely sober.
Stein was definitely different from me—he’d perform any procedure on anyone, even if they didn’t need it. It was all about the money for him. He hadn’t always been like that, but he’d changed a lot over the last few years with the success of the practice. Miami had a way about it, with its hot, steamy weather and even hotter beach bodies that made the people so full of themselves. That included Stein. He was a good man, but the Miami life had gotten to him.
When we first started Blake & Stein, we both stood for something. We had a purpose. But now, I wasn’t sure what Richard stood for anymore, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to
just look away while he scheduled surgery after surgery for some uninformed young girl who thought she needed to be perfect.
I’d learned my lesson the hard way, and I wasn’t willing to perform anything on anyone who didn’t need it. I’d been that way since my first year as a plastic surgeon. Mary Sinclair was a name I’d never forget, but seeing Samantha Aldridge, another woman begging for plastic surgery, and hearing her bring up my past, stirred up emotions and memories I hadn’t thought about in a while.
Clearing my throat loudly to get the bartender’s attention, I set down the untouched champagne glass and again ordered myself a real drink.
“Jack Daniels, please,” I said to the bartender.
I turned and watched the room as I continued to wait for my drink. The dance floor was full of couples slow dancing to the soft jazz music the band was playing, but the tables were also full of chatty women and men. The loudest of the men being Michael Aldridge, a powerful attorney I’d had the unfortunate luck of meeting one too many times.
He was rude and full of himself—a different young lady by his side every time I saw him, even though the entire Miami population knew he was married. Although, on this night, he was obviously alone, which meant his wife must have attended the event with him.
I watched from afar as he laughed loudly and slapped the back of a gentleman beside him. He downed his drink, left the table, and headed toward another table. A single woman sat alone, the stark whiteness of the tablecloth sticking out since no one was at the table with her.
Her head was down and her shoulders slumped as she sipped a glass of champagne. There was something familiar about her slender frame, dirty-blonde hair, and the way she held herself, but I had yet to see her face. Michael came up behind her and gripped her shoulders, prompting her to lift her head, and her face shifted with that same weak, but brave smile.
Samantha Aldridge.
I’d been so wrapped up in my own anger over her visit and her insane plea to make her beautiful that her last name hadn’t even registered. I hadn’t even considered that she might be the wife of such a piece of shite.
The entire meeting had thrown me and my mood for a loop and to an unwanted trip into my past. A past that included a young lady like Samantha Aldridge, who had asked for something similar to her request. I’d been unfocused and grouchy the rest of the day.
Samantha Aldridge was the last person who should have been begging to have a scalpel anywhere near her body. When I walked into the room and saw her sitting there, I’d been confused by her appointment with me. And when the real reason for her being there was revealed, it pissed me off beyond measure.
She hadn’t done a very good job of making me understand her reasoning for being there, but now… now I understood all too well. Her husband was a walking douchebag and she was… beautiful. Entirely too good for the likes of that bloody tosser.
Her creamy skin glowed in the chandelier lighting, giving her an ethereal quality. Her long neck stretched elegantly as he whispered something in her ear.
She stood, taking his hand, and allowed him to pull her out on the dance floor. She stood out from the rest of the women around her. Her simple, cream-colored dress clung to her thighs before falling freely around her shoes. The rest of the women around her wore dark dresses and were dripping in diamonds, while Mrs. Aldridge only wore a simple, silver necklace and her silky hair pulled into a lose bun. She was exquisite and entirely too beautiful for a man like Michael Aldridge.
Her back was to me, his hand resting at her waist, and something keen to jealousy of him moved through my veins. He was obviously a git. He had a graceful woman in his arms, one that deserved to be treated as such, and yet he still stuck his knob in anything barely legal.
The music shifted and so did they, allowing me the perfect view of her face. And there she was, the same sad woman who had sat in front of me and begged me to give her something she was probably never going to have with a man like Michael Aldridge.
Her beautiful skin was paler than the last time I’d seen her. Her plump lips were pulled down. As if she were minutes away from tears, and her dark bedroom eyes were closed, holding in those tears, no doubt.
Again, Michael whispered something in her ear, and I saw her body tense. The bloody bastard was probably saying something rude. It made me hate him even more than I already did.
Just as quickly as he pulled her on the dance floor, he pulled away, leaving her standing there, embarrassed and alone. His confident swagger was eyed by envious ladies around him, making it easy for them to miss what was a clear warning to steer clear of the asshole. He made his way to the bar, toward me.
He held up his hand, signaling he was ready for another drink, and then he turned, resting his back against the bar and looking out at the dance floor. I couldn’t help myself.
“That sure is a lovely lady you were dancing with, Michael. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at an event with her before.”
He looked over at me, his expression changing into something dark. “She’s my wife.”
The bartender handed him his drink, and he took a quick swig.
“Lucky man,” I said with a smile.
He chuckled to himself. “Sometimes. Certainly not with that one, but you know what they say—it’s cheaper to keep her.”
And then he was gone, strutting across the room, smiling and flirting with any young woman who would give him the time of day, while his wife sat at a table in the corner and kept her tears at bay. Something happened to me in that moment. Maybe it was because I saw something in her eyes that brought back memories of my past.
A past that included my mother and her own personal heartbreak and hell with my father. So many times as a young boy, I’d watched her glistening tears run down her perfect face while my father belittled her. He was a good man. Good to his patients and really good to my sister and me until the day that changed us all, but my mother was never good enough.
She died when I was twenty and once we laid her to rest, I’d had enough death and I was sick of my father’s disapproval for my choice of career. “Plastic surgery,” he’d say, “is unneeded.” He said I needed to get into a real profession. Of course, what he really meant was that I should be like him.
After my mother’s death, I was on the first plane to America, leaving my father and those bad memories behind me. My father taught me a lot about my profession, but he also taught me that a lady deserved so much more, and Samantha Aldridge was a lady through and through. I could tell by her quiet sadness—her perfect posture and the innocence I wasn’t able to see the day she visited my office.
I finished my drink and started across the room to the table with the woman who had asked for my help. She wanted to be beautiful, but what she didn’t realize was that she already was. Gorgeous in fact, but thanks to her husband, she’d lost sight of her self-worth.
The young girls around her could flaunt their cleavage and thighs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, but Samantha Aldridge was different. She was willowy and graceful, yet full where a grown woman should be.
It had been so long since I’d been with a woman in any way. I worked a lot, and never made time for anything else. So just looking at Samantha made my fingers itch to soothe her.
When I made it to her table, she kept her head down, not realizing I was standing there. When I cleared my throat, she jumped and looked up at me. Realization of who I was filled her eyes before an embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks.
“Dr. Blake…” she started.
“Please, call me Roman.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay… Roman,” she whispered. “You’re the last person I expected to see at this kind of thing.”
“Back at you, Mrs. Aldridge.”
“Call me Samantha, please.”
I nodded. “I’ve met your husband a few times. I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together when we met.”
Her laugh was bitter. “You’re probably the only
one who can say that.”
“If you had mentioned that he was your…”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What? You’d have felt sorry for me? Changed your mind?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a lie.”
Yes, it was, I thought. “Now we’re even.” I smiled. “We can start over.”
A forced smile pushed across her silky, plump lips. “I’d like that.” She lifted her hand and stretched across the table, the top of her dress pulling tightly across her breasts. “I’m Samantha Aldridge. It’s nice to meet you.”
I took her hand, tugging firmly. She made a small sound of surprise, but came to her feet gracefully. Her other hand flattened against the top of the table to steady herself, and she looked up at me, confused.
“Roman Blake, and you have, in fact, changed my mind, Samantha. I’d like to help you.”
ROMAN BLAKE.
Just thinking the man’s name gave me chills and made my thighs flex. And there he was with those intense, dark eyes that were touching parts of me that I’d long forgotten about, and his delicious dimples. His words breezed by me and rushed into the heated air around us, but I wasn’t listening. I was lost in his honeyed eyes, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw when he looked at me.
Then his words registered, cooling the heated air around us.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You asked me for help. I’d like to help you now,” he said, his tongue bouncing around his mouth with his words, making me clench my thighs together tightly.
Help me?
He was agreeing to save my marriage. At the thought, my eyes flew to Michael’s, and I was surprised to find him eyeing Dr. Roman and me from across the room.
The Procedure Page 3