The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Surprisingly, he answered on the second ring. She heard a combination of amusement and surprise in his voice. “Hello, Claire. I hope you’re not calling to cancel our plans.”

  Her heart momentarily forgot to beat. Damn, if he wouldn’t have used her name—but he did. Feigning strength, she pressed forward, “I wouldn’t do that, Tony.” She could use his name too. “That would be rude, to cancel something at the last minute.”

  “I must admit, I’m surprised to receive your call… on my private cell, no less.”

  “I presume you are. I wanted to contact you about tonight.”

  “Yes?”

  “You see, I’ve been living in this area for a while. There’s a lovely French restaurant that I believe you’ll enjoy.” She didn’t wait for him to respond; she continued, “I realize you made reservations, but so have I. I’d be glad to meet you at Bon Vivant on Bryant, at 7:00 PM.”

  “Well, there is a car coming to pick you up—”

  She interrupted, “I appreciate that. It’s very kind of you; however, I have my own car and am more than willing to drive.” She heard his soft chuckle.

  “If that is what you prefer.”

  She exhaled. “I do.”

  “Very well, I must return to this table of directors and web conference. Until tonight.”

  “Yes, goodbye.”

  Her next decision involved attire. The outfit he sent was exquisite. She tried it on, and expectantly, everything fit perfectly; however, the day before their reunion, she returned it to Neiman Marcus, having the money returned to the purchasing credit card. Claire planned on presenting the receipt to Tony during their meal.

  She decided to wear the white dress and Dior sandals she’d worn during her discussion with Phillip Roach in San Antonio. When considering hairstyle, she purposely styled it in a way she knew her ex-husband liked. She also figured this outing would make at least one or two publications, and most likely be plastered all over the internet before she settled down for bed. Claire Rawlings Nichols intended to look the part.

  Before she walked to the parking garage, Claire exited the elevator on the ground level. It was 6:00 PM, and the restaurant was only minutes away. She was ready to go. Her nerves were stretched to an inflexible tautness which didn’t allow her to linger in the condo any longer. Besides, Amber was out of town on business, and Claire wasn’t ready to face Harry as he returned from SiJo. She’d feel better talking to him after the dinner. Until then, she couldn’t stand to see that look in his soft blue eyes. For some reason, the way they looked at her made her feel like she was cheating—which was ridiculous. Especially, since she and Harry didn’t have anything official going on which she could cheat. Their mutual admiration hadn’t yet progressed to sex. Although, when Claire recalled their encounters, she felt like a school girl, warm and aroused, anticipating the next move.

  Exiting the front doors of the condominium, Claire walked boldly to Phillip Roach’s inconspicuous grey sedan. She watched him shake his head as she knocked on his window. Suspiciously, he lowered the pane. “Yes, Ms. Nichols? I see you’re wearing your trapping clothes.”

  Claire smiled. “I’m not sure if your employer informed you, but we’re meeting for dinner this evening. We’ll be dining at Bon Vivant on Bryant.” She handed him an envelope; slowly, he accepted. “The restaurant is often crowded, and I didn’t want you to miss the fun. There’s a small shadowed table reserved in your name, please accept this gift certificate and enjoy your meal on me.” With her eyes twinkling, she turned and walked toward her building. Claire felt Phillip’s eyes upon her, not an unfamiliar feeling.

  Chapter Sixteen

  What happened in the past that was painful has a great deal to do with what we are today.

  —William Glasser

  Arriving thirty-five minutes early, Claire noticed the parking wasn’t as crowded as normal. She’d only eaten at Bon Vivant once, but she found the service exceptional and the food delicious. It was a popular and highly acclaimed destination in Silicon Valley. Her last visit was on a weekend, and it had been packed with patrons. Claire reassured herself that this was a week night and many people were still at work.

  The maître ď politely greeted her as she entered alone, “Good evening, Mademoiselle, do you have reservations?”

  Claire looked around the nearly empty restaurant. “Oui, deux pour Nichols.” (Yes, two for Nichols.)

  “Oui, Mademoiselle. Your table is not yet ready. Perhaps you would like to wait for your companion in our lounge. I will personally inform you when your table is ready.”

  “Thank you, I left specific instructions for a conspicuous table, near the center of the main dining room.”

  “Oui, we will do everything we can to accommodate you and your companion. The lounge is to the right.”

  “Merci.” Thanking the maître d’, she followed the piano music, making her way to the posh lounge. Years before, when Claire accompanied Tony to a French restaurant, she was at a complete loss as he spoke to the waitress or waiter. While in France, she began to pick up a few words; however, it was while in prison, she had time to study both French and Italian. She wouldn’t be considered fluent in either; however, she could understand what was said around her. Undoubtedly, her speech held a distinguishable American accent.

  The lounge was beautifully contemporary, mostly white with colored lights, creating an awe-inspiring ambience. She noticed a few other couples at nearby tables. Claire checked her watch as the other couples were escorted from the lounge. At two minutes before 7:00 PM, she found herself sitting alone, in the great expanse of the lounge. Maintaining her mask of calm, she watched as the archway filled with the man from her past.

  Memories of their last meeting in the Iowa City jail flooded her consciousness. Tony’s presence filled the otherwise empty room. The Earth no longer rotated on its own axis, but on him. She had compartmentalized away his utter dominance. As much as she tried to appear aloof, the mixture of emotions raging through her, threatened to propel her from the soft, luxurious seat. Unconsciously, she gripped the arms of the chair, hoping for stability. Claire feared, if not for the anchor, she might possibly become airborne.

  Her breathing labored as his gorgeous form advanced. Closer with each step, he narrowed the vast fifteen month divide. He hadn’t changed. His perfect appearance was just as she’d remembered, from his dark thick hair masterly styled in place, to his brown eyes sparkling with electricity. His cheeks were raised, revealing a closed lip grin, and of course, his suit was silk, tailored specifically for him, with cuff links shining from the edge of his jacket sleeves. If anyone else had been in the room, they would have disappeared into his all-encompassing aura, but alas, no one else was present, except for the piano player. Momentarily, even the music dissipated.

  From the archway to Claire’s table could be traveled in a few seconds; however, it seemed as though Tony’s casual stride fought an unseen tide. The seconds seemed to last for minutes, hours, or perhaps days. During the elapsed expanse of time and space, Claire remembered every moment of their time together. Three years of memories compressed into a fraction of time. Finally, accomplishing his journey—because Claire knew Anthony Rawlings rarely failed at any endeavor—he stood before her table. She diligently fought to remain calm and serene as he politely nodded in her direction.

  His voice filled the cavernous room, engulfing the otherwise empty molecules and stirring the cauldron of emotions within her chest. “Good evening, Claire.”

  She’d fought this fight before. Admittedly, she’d rarely won, but nonetheless, the battle was familiar. Claire pressed on, “Good evening, Tony. Won’t you please have a seat?”

  “Thank you.” He pulled the chair from the table and lowered his tall, lean body into the cushioned seat directly across the table. His dark eyes remained fixed on hers. Perhaps the rest of the world was gone; it was the most plausible answer. Heaven knows she couldn’t see or think of anyone else. That must be the answer; they were the
only two people left as the Earth spun into a timeless abyss.

  Claire once read that time doesn’t pass at normal speeds within a black hole. If one were to travel into a black hole for only moments and return again, centuries would have passed. That explained the sensation she felt, once again peering into his dark gaze. She wouldn’t look away; she’d trained herself better than that. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t divert her gaze if she wanted. The hold upon her stare was stronger than any ropes or chains made by man. Claire knew from experience that submitting to the hold was her best chance at survival. Fighting was a futile waste of energy.

  As she felt herself slipping into her old station, she remembered her cause. Claire remembered her friends and their support. She recalled the advice of a good friend; she needed to ask herself, am I in fear of upsetting him? Does he make me smile? She thought about her cell phones in her purse and her car outside the restaurant.

  No, and No! She could fight and survive. She’d done it before! Within the milliseconds that transpired, she clawed her way out of the abyss, and time had not elapsed. She continued their dialogue, “It was nice of you to accommodate my change in plans.” Taking a sip of her water, she fought the dryness threatening her mouth and gestured toward a bottle of wine. “I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of wine.”

  Tony smiled a devilish grin, and Claire’s insides tightened in response. His eyes lightened as he lifted the bottle and assessed the label. “Excellent choice.”

  Before their conversation could continue, the waiter appeared at their side. “Monsieur and Mademoiselle, your table is not yet ready. May I open your wine?”

  Claire spoke before Tony could answer, “Oui, Merci.” She noticed Tony’s smile broaden. In the past, she learned that amusement wasn’t always a good thing. A small voice in the back of her head warned her to proceed with caution.

  After the waiter poured the wine, he left them alone—literally. Claire couldn’t help notice the absence of others. She diligently tried to keep her increased unease hidden.

  “My, Claire, you continue to amaze me. I see you’re trying to show me the new, independent Claire Nichols.” She didn’t speak, so he continued, “You don’t need to work so hard. I’ve been observing you from a far and am already impressed.”

  “Tony, my goal isn’t to impress. My goal is to show that I don’t need your observation. I’m doing quite well on my own.”

  “I believe you have surpassed my expectations, once again.”

  “And for the record, I was independent before our encounter.”

  “Yes.” Pause. “I can see how you would think that.” He sipped his wine. “Now tell me, what the point was with the change in venue?”

  “There was no point to make. I’ve eaten here before, and I thought you’d enjoy the cuisine.”

  “I see.” He continued to sip the wine. “That’s good. I was afraid you were trying to manipulate our visibility…”

  Before he could continue, the maître d’ approached their table. “Excusez-moi, but your table, it is ready.”

  “Merci,” Tony replied as he stood. While Claire gathered her handbag, Tony politely helped her with her chair.

  As she stood, she continued to fight the old pull. It was as if she were slipping into Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, perhaps not slipping, but pulled by an irresistible force. She needed to remain diligent to be the independent woman she longed to be.

  Walking across the empty lounge, Tony placed his hand in the small of her exposed back. She didn’t fight the contact. Actually, she fought the sudden desire to melt toward it. Memories came rushing so fast that she barely had time to blink, the feel of his caress, his ability to elicit emotions and desires, the warmth and security of his embrace. Although her resolve diligently fought, her heartbeat quickened, and fantasies interlaced her recollections. Not only did she remember his large, strong hands; she also remembered his tender mouth, firm, steady chest, and tight abdomen. The slight touch evoked memories of ecstasies they’d shared. Highs, which before him didn’t exist, and elations she feared were forever extinct.

  When his tall body inclined, allowing his lips to hover near her ear, her body tingled. Then, without warning, he whispered, and her fantasy evaporated. Reality struck with a slap that only real life can elicit. “I’m glad visibility was not your goal for this evening. I would hate to disappoint you.”

  Before Claire could respond, they stepped from the lounge into the dining area. She gasped. Her neck stiffened as she took in the empty restaurant. No longer was her subconscious filled with memories of love and pleasure, but memories of control and manipulation. The harshness deflated her lungs. Claire fought to breathe, battling the sensation of suffocation she’d suffered during the years of his domination.

  With new found determination, she turned toward the sly smirk of her ex-husband and asked, “What have you done?”

  “I wanted to spend time with you, without the diversion of others.”

  “Where are the other people?”

  “I believe they accepted an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant. After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the food and your company.”

  Claire stared incredulously. “You bought-out the entire place?”

  “Yes, Claire. Shall we sit? I believe you requested this central table.”

  Her blood boiled. Looking around she wondered about Phil, where was he? She’d become accustom to seeing him periodically throughout her day. Feeling incredibly vulnerable, she sat, allowing Tony to push her chair under the table.

  Fighting her instinct to run, Claire straightened her neck and met her ex-husband’s smug expression and sparkling, darkening eyes head-on. The waiter delivered their wine, including glasses to their new location. After he left, Tony lifted his glass and proposed a toast, “To you, the only person in this world, who can keep me on my toes.”

  Claire held her glass. Tony moved the goblet to his lips. Slowly, she raised the rim to her mouth. Just before she took a drink, he laughed. Placing the glass back onto the linen tablecloth, Claire said, “I hope you’re amused. I believe I’m getting a headache. We’ll need to postpone this dinner for another time.” She placed her hands on the table to push back her chair.

  Tony reached across the table and covered her hand. The touch ignited her skin. She wanted to hate the man with her entire being, yet his touch, the sound of his voice, smell of his cologne, and sight of his incredibly handsome face turned her insides to jelly. The two contrasting memories of love and domination played simultaneously within her head. Unwillingly, she looked into his soft chocolate eyes and sighed.

  In a much gentler tone, he implored, “Claire, I’d like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you are stunning. Now, if we’re done with this ridiculous posturing, I’d like to talk with you for a while.”

  “This wasn’t meant as posturing! I assure you, my head does hurt.”

  “I have missed you terribly.”

  She stared. What did he just say? It didn’t make sense. She was gone from him, from his life by his doing—his alone.

  He continued, “I have missed your voice, your strength, your smile, and mostly, your eyes. My God, Claire, you have the most amazing eyes!”

  “Stop it.”

  Abashed, he asked, “Excuse me?”

  “I said, stop it!” Her voice was harsh, yet hushed. “The last time we spoke, in person, I begged to go with you back to your home, our home in Iowa City. As I recall, you offered me a psychiatric institution, so why would I be interested in listening to your drivel today?”

  “Well, first, because you accepted my invitation.”

  “I accepted your invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We are done!”

  “My dear, it isn’t that simple.”

  His expression revived a suppressed fear in the pit of Claire’s stomach. She fought to
steady herself as the room wobbled off center. It was the finality with which he spoke, as if his comment were beyond reproach. “It is.” Her voice less convincing than she’d hoped. She inhaled to emphasize her next word, “Anton.”

  His back straightened, and his eyes intensified. “My name is Anthony, but you may still address me as Tony.”

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think that, as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?” Claire watched an internal battle launch and rage within her ex-husband. She knew him and could read his nonverbal clues. Others may not recognize the scene before her, but she did.

  Externally, Tony remained stoic as he fought for control. After a few moments had passed, he spoke, his voice deceivingly calm, “Where could you possibly come up with such a story?”

  “Why, Anton, it was in your box of confessions.”

  Tony stared in utter shock and disbelief. Claire wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen his facade shatter as quickly. Though he remained still, she imagined him scurrying to pick up the pieces of his usually intact veneer. His voice gained strength with each syllable. “I assure you, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “The information you sent me in prison.”

  Before they could continue, a waiter appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in front of them, he asked if they were interested in hearing about the specials. Concurrently, they answered, “No.” The waiter apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the table. Tony reached for the leather folder; his fingertips blanched as he squeezed the helpless menu.

  It didn’t make sense. The writing on the note was his, as was the writing on the photos. Although Claire was reasonably certain he’d ended this conversation, she decided to go ahead and ask the question screaming in her head, “Are you saying you didn’t send me a box of information?”