by R. R. Banks
“Whose hands would those be?”
“FBI. CIA. NSA. The whole alphabet soup would be interested, probably.”
“Government agencies aside, it seems that he is determined to get his hands on you again, and the men he hired to make sure that he does look like they take their jobs very seriously. We need to get you safe. Once we reach the next port, you are getting off this ship."
I wanted to protest. Being told what to do was something that I had been more than happy to leave behind when I finally got up the nerve to leave Virgil, and I wasn’t about to let a younger man I barely even knew step into the role of doing it again. Even if that younger man was beyond gorgeous and had a restrained nerdiness about him that I wanted to peel away piece by piece. At the same time, however, I knew that he was right. As much as I had been looking forward to this cruise, if Virgil knew that I was on it and was determined that this was going to be the time when he got me under his control again, I needed to get off of the ship.
Hunter leaned forward to look both ways down the hallway again and then stepped out of the alcove. He started down the hallway, but I hesitated. My shoes were still lying in the middle of the carpet where I had dropped them when he grabbed me, all plans of using them as a weapon gone in the moment of terror. I stared at them, questioning my next move. Those stilettos had been a shopping coup for me. The limited-edition pair were impractical for virtually everything and several degrees less than comfortable, but they had been the envy of all of the other trophy wives during the days when that was my station in life. They were absolutely nothing like the plain, red, boring, pumps that Virgil had always insisted I wear, especially around others, which was one of the primary reasons that I had chosen them. He had been furious, but even after I had endured his wrath because of them, they still made me happy when I looked at them. They represented me, and I wasn’t going to lose myself again.
I dipped down and scooped my shoes up before following Hunter down the hallway. We moved at a good clip and I stayed as close as I could without actually pressing against him. Whatever had brought him down into that hallway to find me, his presence made me feel safer, and even though I didn't know what he could possibly do to help me, especially considering I was still reaching into the chip bag and not telling him the complete truth about who I was or really why my ex-husband wanted to find me, I was resigned to the fact that he may be my last hope of getting away. If I had known that this was going to be the way that this would all play out, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have approached him across the dancefloor. Maybe I wouldn’t have even gone to the wedding at all. I could have dressed up in my purple satin dress and perched on my davenport to watch a live stream. That way I still would have been able to show Noah that I love him and was thinking about him, but wouldn’t have put myself, or now Hunter, in this type of danger.
Chapter Two
Eleanor
The weekend before….
“I still don’t think that I feel comfortable with this, Auntie,” Noah said.
I straightened the purple satin shawl that I wore over my shoulders and glanced out of the corner of my eye at the huge gilded mirror hanging on the wall. I cringed slightly at my reflection. The salesperson at the formalwear shop had assured me that this dress was nothing short of elegance in purple satin, but somehow the effect was almost painfully nuptial. I had been going for sophisticated, and dare I say, sexy, aunt-of-the-groom and had somehow ended up looking completely mother-of-the-bride. Considering there was no actual MOB in attendance at the wedding, I had spent the entire ceremony feeling as though the people behind me were trying to figure out why I was on the wrong side of the ceremony. When I had first arrived at the ceremony I was pleased to see that Noah and his new bride hadn’t gone for the tacky “Pick a Seat, Not a Side” signs that had become so popular at weddings and that be-tuxedoed ushers were escorting guests down the aisle to ensure that they were sitting in appropriate places. The moment that the young man whose name I couldn’t recall but who looked at me as though we had some long, deep connection, took my arm and started steering me toward Noah’s side of the ceremony, however, was the moment that I decided that getting mixed up in the guests might not be such a bad thing.
As I looked around the ceremony in the brief moments before the traditional music silenced everyone in attendance like the most skilled elementary school teacher in existence, I realized that I recognized approximately three people, two of whom were Noah and his father, my brother. He had asked me to sit in the front row of the chairs with him, but I had respectfully refused. I loved Noah and had spent more years of his life with him than his mother had, but the reality was I was not his mother. I didn’t want to pretend to be, even if it was only the seat that was chosen for me that made it look as though I was trying to take on that role. No, if there was anything that my privileged upbringing had given me, beyond the memory of my own wedding that was attended primarily by people I didn’t know, it was a sense of propriety and etiquette. I might have spent my childhood barefoot eating hotdogs I roasted myself on sticks that I had plucked right off the ground, but that didn’t change that I knew exactly what material and color my shoes should be for any given outfit and occasion, and which fork I should use no matter what obscure course I was eating.
It was that etiquette that ensured I never flaunted my wealth except for my clothing and the occasional piece of jewelry I wore if I was feeling particularly fancy, and that kept me sitting in the third row at the wedding, wanting to be close enough to the ceremony that I could see every tear and hear every word, but not wanting to take a position that I didn’t belong in.
Sitting in that third row meant that I was intermingling with the non-family guests, and that, for the first time in my life, gave me anonymity. I looked around me and realized that no one seemed to know who I was. They didn’t recognize me. Not as Noah’s aunt. Not as my father’s daughter. Not as my brother’s sister. Not as Virgil’s ex-wife, and that was the big one. It was something that I never really had the opportunity to experience. I was accustomed to being one of those women who acquires a different middle name depending on the circumstances. I might have been born Eleanor Elizabeth, but I became Eleanor Oh-You’re-Josiah’s-Sister, or Eleanor This-Is-Stefan’s-Youngest-Daughter, as if I wasn’t the only one, or Eleanor Our-Gracious-Hostess, or the occasional, painful Eleanor Benjamin’s-Sister-I’m-So-Sorry. Or the one that I dreaded the most: Eleanor Virgil’s-Wife-You-Know-Yeah-That-Virgil.
That all fell away as I sat there amongst the pastel-and-jewel-toned revelers. Suddenly I was just another of them, another person come to wish the couple good luck and congratulate them on taking the ultimate of terrifying, yet potentially exquisite, adventures of their lives together. That’s when I knew that I didn’t want it any other way. I didn’t want anyone there to know who I was. Not Auntie. Not wealthy. Not anything. Just Eleanor. For once, I was going to experience what it was like to not have expectations hanging over me, or to see that look in the eyes of a person who I was meeting. That look that said their perception of me changed completely the instant that they knew about my family’s money. There were a few different variations of that look. They could either look at me with the disgust that seemed inbred in people, making them automatically assume that I was arrogant, entitled, out of touch, or any other of an assortment of less than flattering adjectives that meant I was somehow less of a human being than they were because I was born into a wealthy family. Or they might get a little glint in their eye that told me that they were no longer seeing my face, but one of those giant money symbols that popped up in Scrooge McDuck’s eyes when he looked at his vault.
When I looked back on it, that was the look that I saw in Virgil’s eyes when we first met. In my youthful starry-eyed stupidity, I thought that I was seeing love at first sight. Instead, what I was really experiencing was greed at first what-did-you-say-your-name-was-again. Not that Virgil was completely destitute. If he was, we woul
dn’t have met at the oppressively boring party held by a particularly vacuous daughter of one of my father’s clients. I later found out that he wasn’t there as an invited guest, but by that time, I was already in too deep.
I didn’t want to make that mistake again. I didn’t want to see either one of those looks. I had sunk away into normalcy when I was at the ceremony, and I wanted to keep that rolling. I tried to adjust the shawl again so that I looked a touch less matronly, but gave up when I saw the stream of guests starting around the corner.
“Why?” I asked, turning toward Noah.
“Because you’re my Auntie and I wanted to introduce you to everyone.”
He had the same slightly pouty look that he always got when he was a little boy and I had to withhold a laugh. He was a grown man on his wedding day and I had to remember that. Fishing a butterscotch out of my pocket and hiding in his fort with him until he was over whatever was bothering him wasn’t going to work this time.
“You can still introduce me to whoever you want to, Honey. You just don’t have to tell them who I am.”
“But…”
“You better hurry if you are going to get those pictures before your big introduction,” I said, cutting off his next statement. “I’m going to head on in and browse around a little. Something smells delicious in there and I want to get my hands on it before the other guests.”
I gave him a wink and shuffled off toward the entrance to the reception. A warm, sugary smell was wafting through the air toward me, making my stomach rumble. I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, determined that I was going to fit into the sheath, but the combination of control top pantyhose and sitting through the ceremony had created enough wiggle room in the dress that I knew I was going to be able to sneak in a few of the treats that Noah had told me he created for the wedding as a surprise for his beloved bride. I was one of the few people who knew of his passion for baking and had supported him in it since he was young. In fact, I was proud to say that I had taught him the hummingbird cake recipe that had become his Thanksgiving tradition. My brother wasn’t as thrilled about his only son’s ambitions and had always hoped that he would just put it behind him and go into one of the several industries through which our family had built its wealth and power. Noah had done both, letting his father funnel him into the Royal and Company Advertising Agency while still fostering his love of baking on the side. It was that love that had brought him to Snow, though the agency would have as well.
I sighed as I stepped into the beautifully decorated reception and looked around for a moment. I wished that I had even a hint of what the two of them felt that day. Even in the days when I was swept away by Virgil, the days when I really thought that we were in love and that we were going to have a wonderful life ahead of us, we never looked at each other the way that Snow and Noah did. There was something there, something so powerful and pure it went beyond anything that I had ever experienced. It was easy to feel as though you were in love with a person when you only ever knew their surface or when the love that you gave the was only a show for others who might be looking in. The way that they looked at each other was different. It was as though they were looking into each other, not past the faults and issues that they knew were there, but at them. They stared right into the darkest parts of each other, pulled close to the mistakes and problems of each other’s pasts, and told those parts, without hesitation, without fear, “I love you”.
I continued to pity myself and lament the years that I had spent with Virgil as I made my way around the room, eating whatever I could get my fingers on, as Snow and Noah made their grand entrance and he swept her onto the dancefloor, and even as we dispersed to our tables to sip coffee and wine and eat even more desserts. I had avoided sitting down since my seat was at Noah’s family table and was hovering close enough to the bar that I could confidently say that my decorum and etiquette were at serious risk, when thoughts of fairy tale romance left, quickly to be replaced by something much more fiery – and much more fun to contemplate.
Across the nearly-empty dancefloor I saw a man standing by one of the dessert tables, one hand grasping a drink and the other holding a pick carefully between his fingers, staring at the empty end of it and then the piece of chocolate-dipped fruit on the floor. He looked back and forth between them again as if he was trying to understand what happened and why the fruit would have betrayed him in such a way. There was an awkwardness about him, that sense that he wasn’t fully comfortable in his own skin and wasn’t sure how to properly take up space in the world. But even from the distance and through the glasses that were sliding somewhat precariously down his nose, I could see that this man was gorgeous. Young and gorgeous, and I immediately had the feeling that that was exactly what I needed.
The last time that a man touched me had been so long ago I didn’t even want to think about it.
To be honest, I didn’t really want to think about him touching me, either.
I had spent too much time thinking about Virgil, what he thought of me, and what I was supposed to do to keep harmony between us, even when it became abundantly and excruciatingly obvious that that was completely in vain. Now I had broken free and I wanted to know what it was like to do something just for the sake of my own enjoyment, just so that I could know what it was like to have carefree, unfettered, non-manipulated fun.
I waved away the bartender who was approaching me with the quintessential white towel tucked in the side of his belt, as though it was just waiting for the opportunity to wipe the counter aimlessly while I spilled out my troubles.
Did people do that at weddings? Probably those with the “Pick a Seat” signs.
As I crossed the dancefloor that was starting to fill again, I caught the man’s eyes. I gave him a small smile, but he just looked back at me as if he wasn’t sure what that expression meant. He had gone back to looking between the pick in his hand and the fruit on the floor when I approached. I used the tip of my shoe to ease the strawberry under the edge of the tablecloth, trying to ignore the little voice inside of me that was horrified that I would do such a thing and instead listen to the child I used to be who would have likely scrambled under the table myself just to get away from all of the pomp and circumstance.
When the strawberry disappeared, I leaned forward toward the man.
“It’ll be our little secret,” I said in a whisper loud enough to be heard over the music that had suddenly filled the room, but that I hoped still had a sultry conspiratorial note to it.
“Alright,” he said.
He seemed like he was about to say something else when out of the corner of my eye I saw Noah and Snow approaching. She had bustled her dress and looked like she was gliding along as she held her new husband’s arm tenderly.
“Well, it seems the two of you have met,” Noah said as he stopped by my side.
“Not formally,” I said, flashing another smile.
“Eleanor, this is Hunter. He’s been a dear friend of Snow’s for many years, has become one of mine, and is one of the most valuable people at Royal and Company.”
That explained the glasses and the sense of need for organization and a to-do list that seemed to hover around him.
“Hello, Hunter,” I said, extending a hand to him.
He took it and gave a hearty pump worthy of any chess club president.
That cinched it. He has absolutely no idea who I am.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hunter,” Noah said, the hint of a laugh obvious in his voice. “This is Eleanor, my a—”
“Elementary school teacher,” I said in a rush of words.
“What?” Hunter, Snow, and Noah all said at the same time, looking at me.
“Elementary school teacher,” I repeated, a little slower this time. “Third grade.” It was the first thing that had popped into my head, a lingering thought from the ceremony. I nodded emphatically, hoping that it would convince Noah and Snow to go along with me, and Hunter to believe
what I was telling him. “He was my star student. Best coloring in class.”
I reached out and patted Noah’s back, seeming to break him out of the stunned silence that had fallen over him. His eyes snapped from me back to Hunter and he started nodding as I was.
“Yep,” he said. “Eleanor the Teacher. Taught me everything I know about…coloring.”
“You didn’t know how to color in the third grade?” Hunter asked.
“Oh, he did,” I said. “It was just nuances. You know…outlining…shading…choosing the Macaroni and Cheese Crayola over the generic orange. Details.”
“Of course,” Hunter said, staring at the three of us as if he thought that he had fallen into some sort of alternate reality.
The song changed and Snow turned to Noah.
“I love this song,” she said.
“Then we should be dancing to it,” he said. He looked between me and Hunter. “Why don’t the two of you join us?”
I was surprised when Hunter put down the jewel-topped pick and offered his hand to me. I rested my hand in his, feeling a spark as soon as our skin touched. He guided me out to the dancefloor and turned me gracefully so that I settled into his arms. Our bodies moved together effortlessly, the music itself seeming to transport us away. Hunter wouldn’t make eye contact with me, but occasionally his gaze flickered past mine. His dance moves were measured and precise, but somewhat creaky as though he had been trained in these dances, but it was some time in the past and he hadn’t had much chance to use it.
The music changed and Hunter started to pull away from me, but I tightened my hand over his.
“Another one?” I asked.
He looked at me, for the first time letting our eyes lock together for more than a moment, and nodded. The attraction that I had immediately felt for the man grew the longer we danced and by the time that Snow and Noah cut the cake, I was nearly breathless with need for him. This wasn’t something that I had ever experienced, and I was relishing every second of it.