by May, Linnea
It was sweet. He took a day off today and surprised her at work, all arranged with her boss and her coworkers. He kidnapped her from her desk to take her to the little park where they have had one of their first official dates years ago. There, he had prepared a little picnic for her. And - dull or not, but very classic-he went down on his knees and proposed.
Of course, there are more details to the story, and Lesley is very good at remembering them. Every little hint, every little smile, and gesture.
I am so happy for her. But at the same time, I feel my own heart get heavier and heavier with every sentence I hear about her perfectly romantic proposal.
I hate jealousy and envy. I hate that these emotions are forcing themselves on me while my best friend is sharing this happy news with me.
We finished the first bottle of champagne by the time she finished her story. But Lesley wouldn’t be Lesley if she didn’t ask to open the second one right away.
Both of us are already beyond the point of tipsy, but while Lesley is understandably a cheerful drunk tonight, I am having more and more trouble keeping my emotions in check.
I haven’t cried once since that dreadful day in Cedric’s penthouse. Not once. There has been sorrow and a heart so heavy that I felt like it was literally dragging me down to the floor. But not a single tear.
Until tonight.
After I got back from the kitchen and refilled our glasses with help of the second bottle, we clink glasses anew.
Lesley turns around to look at me and asks, “Okay. Enough about me for now. How have you been? I feel like it has been forever since we really talked!”
Instead of coming up with a new round of bad lies and evasiveness, I stare back at her for a moment with a dumbfounded face - and then I start bawling.
I try to stop myself, but the urge is too strong. That damn alcohol!
Now Lesley is the one staring at me with surprised eyes.
“Oh my god, Renee,” she gasps, leaning forward to pet me. “What is wrong?”
We have been friends for a long time, but in all those years, she has never seen me cry like this. Witnessing this sudden, teary outburst on my part must come as a shock to her. I cannot blame her.
I cannot keep this all bottled up inside any longer.
Just like the tears, the words start pouring out of me.
I tell her everything.
From the beginning. Starting from the very first day Cedric crossed my path. I tell her about the things he said in that office before she was asked to join us. I tell her about our incredible first weekend together, about his home, about our secret dates and his - and my - reluctance to go public with whatever it was that we were doing. I even tell her about Craig.
I tell her about my guilty conscience with regards to her. How much I hated lying to her and not being able to share any of it with her, my best and closest friend.
I tell her about the notes, about his secretive behavior, his lies, and odd ways of dealing with my discovery by trying to blame me for spying on him.
I don’t tell her every little detail, especially about the things we did in bed together, but everything that I am willing to share and everything she needs to know to understand what exactly is going on with me.
It has been a very long time I talked this much about myself. I certainly never cried as much while giving a heartbroken monolog in which I talk about feelings that until recently I couldn’t even relate to.
Lesley gasps with disbelief and reassures herself plenty of times that I am not kidding. That I have been dating her favorite author behind her back.
As soon as she is willing to accept that all of it is true, she tries her best to comfort me and just listens to what I need to share.
“Wow,” she breathes as I close my narration. “I… I’m… I mean, just wow. You and Cedric Crow?”
I look at her through teary eyes, unsure what to reply. Of course, to me he is just Cedric. Cedric, the man who freed me from that bubble of indifference that I had been living in before we met. Who introduced me to a world of delicious pain, pleasure, and passion. The man who finally made me feel at home while still keeping me on my toes.
The man I fell in love with.
To her, he is still Cedric Crow. The aloof and mysterious thriller and suspense writer, a star with millions of fans and billions in his bank account. A person that she would have never dreamed of to come this close to. Or to even be in the same room with him.
“So, basically what you’re saying is that…,” she concludes reflectively. “That you were his muse?”
I furl my eyebrows.
“That is what he calls it, yes,” I reply. “But I would call it test subject. Or laboratory rat.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” she interjects.
“It was invasive and inconsiderate of my privacy,” I insist. “And he lied. He never told me about his notes and the way he was using me. He betrayed me. Who knows where this would have ended-”
“Yes, exactly,” Lesley interrupts. “Who knows! Now that you broke off things with him, you will never know if his intentions really were as bad as you think they were.”
I frown at her. Is she seriously defending him?
“What are you trying to say?”
“Well,” Lesley utters. “I think you are overreacting a little. Especially this whole ignoring him and not replying to his messages. I bet the rose is from him, too?”
I nod silently.
“That’s so typical,” she says. “You’re afraid. You feel vulnerable and are scared of him because he makes you feel weak and exposed. It’s your silly way of protecting yourself.”
“It’s not silly,” I defend myself. “It’s smart. How can you be so sure that he is not playing some sick little game with me? That he lures me back in just to drop me as soon as his book is finished?”
“I cannot be sure,” Lesley admits. “But how can you be sure that he does not have real feelings for you? You didn’t even give him a chance to explain or to prove himself, did you?”
I snort.
“You said he always locked himself away when he worked,” she adds. “And he never had has notes lying around like that. You would have had to enter his office if you wanted to stalk him, right?”
“Yes, so?”
“Well, maybe he is just as gauche as you are,” she says, raising her hand in defense when I make a move to object.
“Maybe he wanted you to find them,” she continues. “Why would he suddenly be so careless to let his stuff lie around like that? Open for you to see? I highly doubt that he actually forgot about it.”
I don’t know what to reply to that. For some reason, that thought never occurred to me. If that has been his plan, I most likely failed the test that came along with it.
“It could have been his weird way of opening the conversation,” Lesley goes on. “In any case, I really think you should talk to him again. I agree with you. He has some explaining to do. But how can he do that if you don’t even want to listen?”
“You just want me to date him because he is Cedric Crow!” I accuse her.
Lesley shakes her head.
“No, I want you to date him because I have never seen you like this before.”
“Like what?”
She looks at me, cautiously raising her eyebrows.
“In love,” she says.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lesley may have a point, but she underestimates how stubborn I am. The shock is still deep-seated, and I am not ready to face Cedric, even though I really miss him.
My weekends are back to the usual boredom, and at one point I even consider visiting my family, which I haven’t done since Christmas. I talk to them just as irregularly as I always have because, from my point of view, there is not much to talk about.
But even my mother noticed that something is up. I think I could even hear a hint of hope in her voice when she asked, “Is it about a guy?”
Again, I had to
disappoint her by assuring that the only wedding that will take place within the next year is that of my best friend, Lesley. She sighed but let it go and switched over to telling me the latest non-news from home and the quiet little neighborhood that I grew up in and couldn’t escape soon enough.
The days go by, and the roses keep coming one by one. Each day upon my return from work, I find a new one waiting for me on the doorstep. I was irritated by them at first, but now I knew that I would be disappointed if there would come a day without a new rose.
But his messages cease. The last few already have been shorter than the ones he sent during the first two weeks. In the end, he mainly resorted to telling me how much he misses me and that my silent treatment is the worst punishment he could ever think of. Coming from someone like him, a self-declared sadist, I almost see that as a compliment.
I still miss him, and I miss the person I used to be with him. I miss the excitement. I even miss the emotional rollercoaster that he put me on.
But there is a certain sense of security in being alone and unharmed by feelings. There is no vulnerability, nothing to lose, and no one who can harm me as long as I am just by myself.
I am more productive at work than I have ever been before, and I am close to being able to run a half-marathon because I have increased the intensity and the frequency of my training.
Lesley pointed out more than once that I am overdoing it and that I have been losing weight. She may be right about that, but I cannot help it right now. It isn���t helping my appearance because I am beginning to look a little scrawny and have ugly bags beneath my eyes due to the lack of sleep. But at least I don’t have a completely destructive way of coping with this. On the contrary, I feel like I am stabilizing with every day that passes.
I am rebuilding the walls that kept me safe for so long.
Until that day when I come home, and there is more than a rose waiting for me at my apartment’s door.
On a Tuesday evening, more than a month after I last saw Cedric, the rose is not lying on the ground but is placed on a package, with a little note attached to its stem.
I hesitate for a moment and look down at it. For a millisecond, I ponder whether there could be an online order that I forgot about.
But it is quite obvious that the package and the rose belong together and thus have the same sender.
I slowly get down on my knees and pick it up. It is a lot heavier than expected, and I almost let it drop right back on the ground.
I heft it on my left arm while I use the right to unlock my door and get inside. The weight of the package is surprising, considering its size. I hurry to get inside and get rid of my purse and shoes as quickly as possible, so I can retreat to the kitchen and open it before doing anything else.
Just like every day during the past few weeks, the first thing I do is exchange the old rose to the new one. Except, today there is a note to be removed from it first.
I recognize his handwriting right away.
Renee,
As a writer, some things are easier for me to say on paper.
I miss you. I want you at my side.
I want you to be the first person to read this.
Not even my editor was allowed to have a look at it, yet. I have put everything on hold until I hear back from you.
This book will not be published unless you approve it.
Because,
I love you, too.
I read it again. And again.
So, he did hear me after all. He heard me whisper the words while he pretended to be sleeping. Another lie, albeit a sweet one.
He has got to be kidding me.
He cannot possibly send me the manuscript of the book that everyone is waiting for? I know his editor has been getting on his case for weeks now because he had missed several deadlines. It’s not like he has any time to spare when it comes to this release. Instead of finally submitting the piece where it belongs, he is sending it to me.
This is crazy! He cannot be serious about this.
I put the note aside and carefully open the package. Indeed, just as the weight suggested, it contains a large stack of paper, about 300 pieces of paper stitched together.
The flyleaf says nothing but the title and his name. I open the manuscript to the first page and find another surprise.
A dedication. To me.
To Renee.
That is all it says. I furl my eyebrows. Is he really planning to submit the book in this form?
Because Cedric has a talent for eerie timing, I receive a text message from him just at that moment. I reach for my beeping phone.
“Did you get it?” He wants to know.
I pause for a moment. He hasn’t heard a single word from me for the past few weeks. This would be the first vital sign from my side since we parted on that dreadful day.
He deserves at least a quick reply, though.
“Yes, I did.”
I hit send and let out a sigh. My heart races. As sweet as the gesture may be, it also puts a lot of pressure on me.
What if I don’t like it? How could I ever say no to him publishing this book? Should I even read it?
It seems like he is aware of my struggle.
“Will you read it?” he asks.
Again, I let a few moments pass before I deign him a reply.
“Yes, I will.”
After all, who am I kidding? Of course, I will read it. I am too curious.
“Thank you,” he writes. “You just made my day. I really hope I can return the favor.”
I don’t know what to reply to that. I instinctively want to come up with a cold and distant response. But does he really deserve that? Despite everything that has happened, his note left a deep impression.
But I cannot get myself to write him something sweet just yet. If Lesley was here, she would probably beat me for being so stubborn and dismissive. A part of me knows that she is right.
At least I am ditching my plans for him. Instead of going for another one of my slightly exaggerated runs, I open a bottle of white wine and retreat to my living room to curl up on the couch and start reading his book.
That is what I do for the rest of the night until I cannot keep my eyes open any longer. I have finished about two-thirds of the story by the time I decide to go to bed. That is a lot more than I had planned to read. I wish I could continue with it right away.
It is that good.
Just as he had mentioned at that reading months ago, the story does have similarities to his bestselling novel ‘Silent Daughter’, but mainly in the regard that it is also a love story. This story, though, is not about a psychopath kidnapping a helpless woman who falls victim to what Cedric called the Stockholm syndrome. Instead, it is the story of a man who can read people’s minds. Well, he cannot really read minds, but he is so good at seeing and understanding how people tick that it comes pretty close to that.
That man encounters a young woman he cannot read. She mesmerizes him because she is the first person he ever encounters who does not let him look inside her head as easily as others have.
He is intrigued by her and tries every trick that is known to him, to be able to get closer to her, and especially her mind. At first, it is nothing but a challenge to him. He wants to conquer her just like he conquered everyone else. Because they meet in a professional setting, there is also a need for him to be able to read her, so he does not jeopardize his dubious business that is built upon lies and manipulations. He is afraid that she might see right through him and expose his foul play.
But soon his interest in her turns romantic.
The story is told from his perspective, and the way he describes the woman who has him so unraveled is a clear declaration of love.
I can pinpoint the passages in the next where he drew his inspiration from me and our joint experiences. Sometimes, it is in the way the protagonist speaks to her and the way she replies, and sometimes it is just the way he describes the woman. Every sentence he writes about
her screams affection. Even I, in my state of emotional withdrawal, cannot deny that.
I know the wait is killing him. He must be waiting for a message from me more than ever by now.
I think about leaving him a quick text before going to bed but decide against it. It seems smarter to wait until I have finished the book. I am all about acting ‘smart’ these days, it seems.
The next day at work is gruesomely long, and I finish as early as possible, much to the surprise of my coworkers who have gotten so used to me being around for overtime.
I gulp down a quick dinner and get back to reading as quickly as possible. It is an exciting read, even when I cast aside the fact that Cedric wrote this book and that I served as a muse for it.
It is almost midnight by the time I finish it, but I am wide awake. The story ends with a happy ending. Of course. That fact didn’t surprise me, but I still found myself unable to put the book aside because I wanted to see how they would get there.
Being the thriller writer he is, Cedric did add some dark and criminal elements to the story that also involved a murder the protagonist was wrongfully accused of. But for a long time, even I as a reader wasn’t completely sure if he really was innocent until the end.
He is a marvelous writer. There is no denying that.
But how do I feel about the references? They were quite obvious to me, but just as Cedric promised, it was close impossible for anyone else to link them to him and me, especially since very few of the interactions between the protagonists were sexual. It turns out that the notes about the spanking I had discovered were not even used in the way I expected.
My heart is racing, and I don’t know why exactly.
Happiness? Relief? Hope?
Do I have reason to conceive these emotions?
For now, I decide that it is time to put him out of his misery.
“I finished it.” I write.
I sigh and get ready to put the phone away. But it starts ringing just a few seconds after I hit the send button.
Cedric is calling me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I pick up but do not say anything to greet him.
“Renee?” he asks.