She brought one foot up to take off her shoe, then the other. With a mocking smile, she tossed them close to Brandon’s shirt. Next, she reached down, and pulled the white blouse over her head. She hesitated only a moment before unbuckling her jeans and sliding them down her legs.
She stood there in her lingerie, not taking her eyes from Brandon. The air wasn’t cold, not exactly, and with no clouds in the way, the sun overhead warmed her skin.
I’ll do more than meet his challenge, she thought stubbornly. I’ll one-up him.
She reached back and unstrapped her bra. The look of surprise on Brandon’s face was absolutely worth it. And, before her rational mind could summon any second thoughts, she ran to the edge and flung herself into the air.
She screamed as she flew, and then she hit the surface. The shock of the cold made her gasp, and she lost all the air in her lungs. Underwater, she tried to turn herself right side up, but got turned around and lost orientation. She opened her mouth without thinking to suck in a breath. Cold water flooded up her nose, down her throat, suffocating her. In a moment of panic, she opened her eyes to see, but the ocean was so dark, and the salt stung so much.
She kicked her feet feebly, trying to right herself, but the cold made her muscles slow and clumsy. She was sinking, she knew, even as she flailed her limbs to reach the surface, sinking like a chunk of iron ore.
Sandra felt fear.
Suddenly a strong hand circled her arm. She found herself being dragged up, toward the surface. When her face reached the blessed air, she sucked it into raw lungs, coughing, sputtering, spitting up water… but she was alright.
When the coughing faded, and she could see again, she found Brandon right there beside her, holding her up with one hand while the other clung to VEGA‘s hull. Concern was painted clear on his face.
“Jesus Christ!” he swore. “Are you alright? I didn’t know you couldn’t swim!”
“I can swim,” Sandra retorted. And then, without warning, she started to laugh. She didn’t know what had possessed her to do it. Brandon stared at her, dumbfounded. She took the chance to push herself away from him, floating on her back, and splashing water at his face. “You know, you were right. The water’s not that bad once you get used to it!”
“You’re the one who’s fucking insane,” Brandon muttered, and pushed off after her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Later that day, Sandra found out what it was like to make love on a secluded beach while sharing the warmth of a man she was steadily falling in love with.
Incredible.
And what it was like to be pressed up against every single surface of that man’s yacht, as his passion overwhelmed her body.
Astounding
By the time VEGA docked back at the mainland, Sandra already knew that this was one of the best days of her life.
When Brandon led her through the doors of the house where he was staying, Sandra had to stop and stare.
“Wow,” she breathed. “This place is amazing.” Enormous oak beams stretched across the ceiling, reflecting gold in the waning sunlight. Lacquered, hardwood floors glistened as if they’d just been shined, and vibrant native carvings and other west coast art decorated the walls.
“I’m glad you think so,” Brandon said. “Of course, you know that every grand tour begins in the master bedroom…”
He trailed off. Sandra yelped as he grabbed her, catching her by the waist before she could jump away. Laughing, teasing, tickling each other, they made their way to the bedroom in a titillating tangle…
Where Sandra was greeted by the sight of Clarisse, lounging in the middle of Brandon’s satin bed, not a care in the world.
“What…?” Sandra began, not understanding. Clarisse wore a rich, red silk robe. Her hair was damp as if she’d just gotten out of the shower, and she had a book perched on her legs. Sandra took a second look, and realized to her horror that Clarisse’s sash was undone.
Sandra was overcome by a sick, sinking feeling. It inched through her like a fungal mold spreading under the skin. Suddenly, she understood. She pushed away from Brandon.
She’s not just his assistant. Of course she’s not! The pearl necklace. The way she acted around him at the ballet. She’s his… lover.
The magnitude of the conviction slammed into her. She could barely stand. Sandra felt dizzy, unsteady, betrayed. The signs had always been there, no matter how much she’d wanted to deny them. Suddenly she felt like hurling. Clarisse was on the bed… waiting for Brandon!
It took all the strength Sandra had left to step away from Brandon without faltering. She turned for the door.
“Sandra. Wait.” Brandon reached out and took her arm.
The weight of his words almost stopped her. Hearing him say her name, feeling his warm touch on her skin almost made her pause. But the guilty look on his face left no doubt in her mind.
“Who is she to you, Brandon?”
“She—”
“No.” Sandra snatched her arm from his grip, determined not to feel vulnerable to him. She had to get away. “Don’t tell me. Goodbye, Brandon.”
“Sandra.” This time, it was Clarisse who spoke. She’d risen from the bed, laid the book down, and used her reading glasses to mark the page. She was all cool, collected composure as she faced Sandra. “I think you and I should talk.”
Sandra looked from Clarisse to Brandon, and then back again. Her mind was still reeling from the revelation. Some small part of her desperately hoped it was just a misunderstanding. Yet her gut told her it wasn’t.
She shook her head. “No.” She felt like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She had to get out before either of them saw it. “No.”
“Sandra. Please.” Brandon looked straight at her, and the guilt she thought she saw before was gone. Now, there was only sincerity in his eyes. Had she made a mistake? “It’s not what you think. I promise.”
Somehow, Sandra found herself nodding. Her dratted vulnerability to Brandon was taking over again. But, she couldn’t just walk away from the best thing to ever happen to her—not unless she was entirely sure he was a cheating bastard.
Clarisse smiled, tying her sash and gesturing at the door. Sandra stepped aside to let her through, then followed.
Clarisse picked up a silver drawstring purse from the floor, and was waiting for Sandra by the sliding doors that led to a spacious balcony. Outside, the final rays of the sun reflected off the magnificent, glassy sea. The tranquility of nature seemed to be out of sync with the nauseating emotions roiling through Sandra’s body.
Clarisse lowered herself onto a deck chair, and motioned for Sandra to join her. Sandra crossed her arms, determined to be steadfast, and sat down beside the woman. She kept her back very straight.
Clarisse took a deep breath, bringing the purse to her lap. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, smooth as silk, she reached into that purse to take out a tiny leather wallet. She opened it, and took out an old, folded piece of paper, the edges crumbling and yellowing. Every single one of her motions was refined, precise, exact. Clarisse handed the paper to Sandra.
“What is this?”
“Open it, and see.”
Sandra did. She sucked in a breath as she saw the photograph. It was a picture of Clarisse with a man. The Clarisse in the picture was much younger and every bit as beautiful as she was today. Sandra looked up at her. The years hadn’t defiled her beauty; if anything, they had made her even more stunning.
The photograph had been taken near the railing of a cliff. Clarisse’s blonde hair was curled, back then, and blowing into the camera. Beside her, laughing at the camera as he held onto her waist… was a man who looked a lot like Brandon.
Except, it couldn’t have been Brandon. The picture must have been twenty, thirty years old. Brandon would have been just a child when it was taken. But, then…
“His father?” Sandra gasped.
Clarisse nodded, and plucked the picture back with delicate fingers. Sandra
scrunched up her face in momentary confusion. It seemed impossible, and yet…
“You’re not… you’re not his mother, are you?”
To her surprise, Clarisse threw her head back and laughed. The sound was as delicate as the rest of her, like the precise chiming of crystal bells. Sandra felt her cheeks warm at asking such a stupid question.
“No,” Clarisse said finally. “No, I am not. But as you can see, I did know his father.”
“Why did you show me that?”
“To help you understand my relationship with Brandon. You were right, of course, it’s not as simple as we’ve made it seem to you. For that, I’m sorry. But it’s not entirely what you may think, either.”
“Then what?”
“The story starts long ago. You see, in my youth… I used to dance.”
“Dance? Like—”
“Like the ballet. I performed on stage, I loved the arts. Dance granted me so many opportunities. And, for an ephemeral moment long ago, for a blink of an eye, I was on top of the world.”
“But, how—”
“How, indeed. How did I end up here? How do I know Brandon? How does someone like me afford the pearls around my neck? How was it you walked in on my lying on Brandon’s bed? Is that what you want to know?”
“Well… yes.”
“It’s a long story, but I will tell you this up front: Whatever you suspected when you found me inside the house was wrong. You have nothing to worry about from me. Not with Brandon. We care for each other, but not in the way you might think. His father…” Clarisse trailed off, and sighed. “His father was the only man I ever loved.”
The frank admission shocked Sandra. But somehow, she knew Clarisse was telling the truth. Nobody could fake the honesty in her voice. “Who was he?” Sandra asked.
“He was a narcotics detective working in Europe. I was a girl not much older than you, enthralled by the lifestyle I’d been gifted. Dance… opened up so many doors from me, though not all led to places you’d want to go. I was young, foolish, and full of passion. The world was at my fingertips. I grew up poor, before I was discovered, and in my new life, I thought I was immune from the hurt and the suffering that I had known in my adolescence. It was easy to give into temptation.”
“Temptation? What do you mean?”
“Oh, silly girl. Poor, naïve, silly girl. This was the eighties, a new era of expression. Drugs, I mean. Drugs, alcohol, and moral corruption. When I danced on stage, I was Clarisse Cresson, darling of the ballet world. But off-stage… I was wild, reckless, and insatiable. Do you know how many men would do anything for a pretty face?” She gave a little laugh. “All of them. My directors loved me; their friends loved me; the critics loved me. All these men were rich. Rich men had access to places a girl who grew up destitute could not even dream of. I nearly lost myself in that world, until Brandon’s father rescued me.”
“What happened?”
“A drug bust. It happened on a beautiful, summer day. Policemen raided the mansion I was visiting. They came out of nowhere, wearing those terrible black bodysuits, their faces hidden by reflective helmets. A firefight ensued. I remember the booming loudspeakers, the sound of bullets raining against the walls, the noises men made as they died around me. Yet somehow, in all that clamor, I managed to get away, helped by a friend who was with me. At least, I thought he was a friend.
“The truth was, the man who had helped me was loyal only to Antonio Russo, the owner of the mansion—and the most powerful drug lord in Italy. For years, Russo had grown fat off his trade. He had politicians in every pocket. But he had become complacent in recent years. I discovered this long after. As a girl, I was enamored by the glitz and glamor of the lifestyle. I had little concern for how that wealth was made.
“So, I got caught in the middle of an international drug bust—one of the largest of its time. It wasn’t just the Italian police that showed up there, but a worldwide force, orchestrated, of course, by the American government. They caught Russo that day, alive, though many other men were killed.
“The man who helped me escape, whom I thought of as my protector—ended up being my worst nightmare. I was the only outsider at the mansion that day, and he thought I was an informant working with the government to take down Russo. He brought me to a tiny shack in a remote village, promising we’d be safe. But once we arrived, he made me his hostage.
“He threw me into a dark room and locked the door. When I tried to escape through the window, he handcuffed my arms around a metal pipe. And that first night, when he came in and had his way with me, leaving me sobbing on the dirty ground floor, I thought I had descended to the worst hell on earth.
“But I was wrong. Things became worse with every passing day. The man—I vowed to myself I would never grace his memory by speaking his name—left me in there for days at a time. I had little water, almost no food. And later, I found out he’d been trying to ransom my life for Russo’s freedom.”
“That’s terrible,” Sandra breathed.
Clarisse sighed. “It was. I’ve never been so afraid. One night, maybe a week into my imprisonment, he came back drunk. I could smell the liquor on his breath. I was weak, and nearly broken, but I knew this was my only chance. I thought if I could outsmart him…
“I presented myself to him willingly, and pleasured him in a way he’d never known. My true purpose was to steal the little key he used to lock the door that held me prisoner.
“I snatched it from his pocket, and when he sloppily put my handcuffs back on, I slipped one hand out without him ever knowing. Later that night, when I was sure he was asleep, I crept to the door, and used the key to spring myself free. I ran. But, I did not get very far.
“He caught me not two miles away from the village. He beat me for running.” Clarisse touched her cheek. “He never struck my face, though. He knew how much Antonio Russo liked my face. When he finally left me, bloodied and broken on the floor, I at least thought the worst was over. How wrong I was.” Clarisse paused… then lifted up her robe to reveal her right leg. Sandra gasped. Dark, angry scars marred the skin around her knee. When she straightened her leg, the joint shifted sideways with a sickening pop. “He did not want me to run again, you see. So, the next morning, while I was asleep, he sneaked into the room and swung a metal rod at my leg. I woke shrieking in pain. The sound of my knee breaking was the worst thing I’d ever heard. Even now, every step I take brings me a little reminder of that treatment.”
“Oh my god,” Sandra whispered. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry. How do you… cope?”
“I take solace in the fact that I still can walk. When I lost the feeling in my leg, I thought I would be crippled forever.” Clarisse brought the robe back down and smoothed the fabric over her knee. “Needless to say, my dancing days were over.”
“You said Brandon’s father saved you?”
“Oh, yes. The very next day, a police force stormed the village. Somebody must have heard my screaming the night before and gotten frightened. Brandon’s father was the one who found me. I was broken, dehydrated, malnourished, and near death. He was young, handsome, and so very brave. He was my savior. I’ve never been happier to see another living human.”
“Did the police get the man who did that to you?”
“He tried to take the coward’s way out when he heard the sirens. He stuck a gun in his mouth and fired, but the bullet didn’t kill him. He paralyzed himself from the neck down. I’ve always thought it was an ironic form of justice.”
“And Brandon’s father?”
“When he found me in that room, he lifted me in his arms and carried me out himself. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. In the hospital, he stayed by my side night and day, nursing me back to health. Without him…” Clarisse trailed off, and Sandra thought she saw a tear glisten in her eye. “Without him, I would not have made it. I was orphaned as a child, so I had no family. My friends… well, the people I thought were my friends turned out to be much like Russo
. Even the girls I danced with were never my friends. They’d been jealous of my success, jealous that some girl from the ghetto could surpass them all. They took secret delight in my downfall.”
“That’s horrible!”
“It was the way of the ballet. Dance… was the most competitive existence I knew. And with my broken knee, I knew I could never return to that world. I was lost. Terrified. Everything had been taken from me. Were it not for Brandon’s father, I would have forgone the will to live.”
Clarisse trailed off and stayed silent for a while. Sandra could not mistake the unshed tears in her eyes.
“What was his name?” Sandra asked, quietly.
“Alessandro. Alessandro Galliani. He was… stubborn. He would not let me give up, not after pulling me from the brink of death. He was stubborn, hardheaded, and very loyal. Brandon’s a lot like him.”
Sandra nodded.
“Now, you have to understand how unfathomable the situation between me and Alessandro was at the time,” Clarisse continued. “He was a young law enforcement agent, smart and sharp. But not somebody destined for greatness. And, before my kidnapping, I had been the national star of the ballet, the darling of the art world. I had the potential to do anything I wanted. My suitors included some of the wealthiest men in Europe. When word leaked that I’d been found, the hospital was overrun by the media, the paparazzi, and by all the men who wished to own a piece of my heart.
“But I didn’t learn of any of that until I was released. Alessandro kept them all from me. He protected me from the politics, the bickering, and all the mayhem while I recovered. In those long, despairing weeks, he was my only constant, my closest companion, and I… I fell deeply in love with him.”
“That’s beautiful,” Sandra said. Her heart went out to Clarisse. She was so much more than she appeared. She’d gone through so much pain, so much obvious suffering. To have your whole life destroyed by a vengeful kidnapper was a horror story. But then to survive, prosper, and keep living… Clarisse’s journey was nothing short of amazing.
Yours to Savor Page 24