by M. Malone
“Where are we?”
“In West Haven. There’s an artisan furniture store here that my lawyer recommended. One of the things I like to do is buy local. If at all possible, I use local craftsmen and workers for anything I do.”
The scary guy who has been driving us opens my door and I scramble out. There are large oak trees bordering the drive and the air is soft and cool as a kiss beneath their shade. I follow Finn up the drive. A soft bell tinkles overhead as we open the front door.
As soon as I step over the threshold, I feel like I've been transported back in time.
"Wow. This looks like the set of some historical film about the antebellum south."
Heavy drapes, currently tied back with rope tiebacks, adorn the windows. The hardwood floor shines beneath faded rugs that look like they cost as much as the Bentley sitting in the driveway.
The proprietor, a friendly older man who introduces himself as Franklin, takes me on a tour of the main showroom, explaining the significance behind some of the pieces. They deal in antique restoration and they also carry originals crafted by local artists. I wander around lost in fantasy. When I look up, Finn is standing in the same spot by the door. He's not looking at the furniture.
His eyes are all for me.
Finally he makes his way over to where I'm standing. “What do you think?"
I answer honestly. "I think this place is fantastic."
"Now that you've had a chance to look around, has anything caught your eye?"
"Just the entire store!"
He laughs at my exaggerated sigh of pleasure. "If you could have anything in this store you wanted, what would you choose?”
I look around the store, all the choices suddenly three times as tempting now. “What’s my budget?”
“There is no budget. Whatever you want. Just pick out what you think would look good in my place.”
A bright turquoise chaise lounge catches my eye from across the room. I walk in that direction with Finn right on my heels. When we stop, I gesture at it dramatically. “This looks like a showstopper, huh? I’m thinking we might need more than one of these.”
His expression is so shocked that I can’t stop the giggles rising up. “Maybe we should even get one for your room!”
“Bright colors have never been my thing but I agree, this is really … something.” When he sees me laughing, his expression changes and he looks like he’s about to laugh too. “But seriously, I want you to choose things that you really like. Pick everything you’d choose if you were decorating your own place.” He runs a fingertip over the curved back. Inexplicably, my back arches and moves as his finger moves, like the action is directly connected to my nerve endings.
“But it’s not my house. You’re the one who has to live there.”
“True but if I decorate it’ll look like a cross between an army barracks and a frat house. That’s what you’re here for.”
“I'm here so you can torture me. That's the reality, Finn.” Suddenly I’m tired of the back and forth, the wondering and the disappointment of not being able to just enjoy this time with him at face value. Every moment I have to be aware that I’m here only as long as he finds his revenge game amusing.
“That's not all of it." Suddenly he looks uncomfortable. "It's not just about revenge. It's about promises unfulfilled. You promised me once that you would help me make a home. I’m holding you to that. Even though nothing else we promised seemed to matter.”
“It wasn’t like that. Loving you was a risk I wasn’t mature enough to handle back then. You’re the guy who loves to flirt and always has a compliment for every woman he meets. How was I supposed to compete with that? I grew up seeing what men like that leave behind. Kids and moms who have to work three jobs. That was our life and I wanted something more. I wanted stability. I wanted something real. So I chose the man who I thought could give me that.”
“Let’s not split hairs. You left me for the guy who could give you the big house and the fancy car and the rock on your finger. You chose the guy who could take care of you.”
“I take care of myself! I always have. But everyone needs someone to fall back on. Someone they can trust to be there. That was why I left you. You aren’t the guy who sticks around, Finn.”
“I would have for you. I would have stuck for you.”
"All of this is in the past, Finn. What's the point of arguing about it now? It doesn't matter. Andrew is part of my past. And so are you."
"Your past?"
"We're not together anymore," I admit. "I'm sure you already know that."
Finn stares. "I didn't. I just assumed you were still together. You're living in his house."
"Because he gave it to me. As an incentive not to talk to the press. We can't have anything tarnishing the Carrington name, now can we?"
He opens his mouth to say something else but I hold up a hand to stop him. I'm so tired of talking about Andrew. He’s out of my life and I refuse to allow him to take up any more of my time.
"It doesn't matter. We're here to pick out some furniture. So let's do that. You hired me to do a job so let me do it. No more talking about the past. Okay?"
He nods, looking like he's in a daze. But when I turn to walk away, he follows.
CHAPTER FIVE
FINN
I've gotten used to the soft sounds Rissa makes when she's working. But this time when I open my eyes it's to the sound of screaming. Not sure whether what I heard was part of a dream or nightmare, I sit up slowly, my senses on alert. I was up all night thinking about Rissa's stunning declaration yesterday that she's not with Andrew anymore. She's single.
She's mine.
It's impossible to stop my mind from leaping to the most ridiculous end of the spectrum, imagining that because she's free it means that I can have her. Then I hear it again. A scream coming from the living room.
I roll to the side and stumble out of bed, hissing in a harsh breath as all of my weight lands on my right leg. I breathe in and out in shallow pants as the pain slices through me. Then I make my way down the hallway, holding on to the wall for leverage.
Another high-pitched shriek cuts through the early morning silence and I power on, my muscles screaming every step of the way. It hurts but I have to get to her. I have to protect her.
I barge into the living room, ready to charge, attack and dismember whoever the hell has hurt her. But the sight that greets my eyes is so unexpected that instead I stop suddenly.
"Tank? What the hell are you doing?"
The question halts my brother in the act of spinning Rissa around on his shoulder. Like two children caught in the act, they both freeze and look over at me. Rissa looks up from her perch on Tank's shoulder, her hair hanging over her face and down Tank's back. The big smile on her face slowly fades.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask again since neither of them seems interested in giving me an answer.
Tank puts her down and once she's steady on her feet, Rissa yanks her shirt down and glares at him. “Your brother hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re adults now. He thinks he can still lift me up and spin me around to try to make me puke!”
Completely unrepentant, Tank grins back at her. “Old habits die hard.”
Rissa tries to maintain her stern expression but finally a smile spreads across her lips. “I thought your brain would have finally caught up with that big body by now but it seems you’re still thirteen years old inside.”
It kills to see her smiling at him, giving my older brother everything she’s been denying to me for the past few days. Every smile she sends my way is forced and tinged with sadness but the first time she sees Tank she lights up like a goddamned Christmas tree?
I grit my teeth resisting the urge to throw them both out. “Some people are still sleeping at seven am.”
Tank snorts. “If you’re sleeping when a woman this fine is in your place then you’re doing it wrong, bro.”
Rissa flushes as red as her hair. “Tank, it�
�s not like that. Your brother hired my company to clean this building.”
“Oh you have a cleaning business? That's awesome.”
“Yeah, I do.” Her pride comes through in every word. She rushes over to the couch where she's left her things and reaches into one of her bags. “Here’s my card in case you ever need cleaning services or you know anyone who does.”
Tank takes the card and slips it into his pants pocket. “I'll definitely do that. I work for Alexander Security and my boss is in the process of building a satellite office down here. I'm sure he'll need a cleaning company then."
"Really? That would be great. I'm really glad I ran into you again!" Rissa is practically dancing where she's standing. And she's looking up at Tank like he's just promised to personally bankroll her entire operation. All he's done is promise to pass on some information.
"Why are you here, Tank?" Not that it's unusual for my brother to visit but it's rarely this early in the morning.
The faintly guilty look on his face tells me that he was hoping to catch me home so he could force me to talk. I've been dodging him for weeks now, only seeing him in passing at Mom's bedside. But I'm not ready to have some kind of heart to heart with my brother where he asks a bunch of questions that I'm not ready to answer.
"I just wanted to check on you." He glances over at Rissa and then his smile is back. "But it looks like you're in good hands. So I'll get out of here and back home to my lady. If I'm lucky, she hasn't woken up yet and I can get in a cuddle."
I scowl when Rissa practically melts at his feet. She beams that bright smile up at him again.
"Aww, that is so sweet. What a lucky girl."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here. And next time, call first." I'm not sure why I add that last part but Tank seems to take it as some sort of confirmation that Rissa and I are dating again.
He gives me a knowing grin before looking over my shoulder. "It was great seeing you again, Marissa."
"You too –" Her reply cuts off abruptly when I shove Tank out into the hallway and slam the door. "Finn! That was rude."
"What's rude is him coming over here at the crack of damn dawn and waking me up by flirting with my cleaning lady."
She just rolls her eyes and moves across the room to where she left her supplies. As she rummages through bags and pulls out gloves and a spray bottle, I move to the kitchen. It's awkward just to stand here and stare at her, so I pretend that eating breakfast this early in the morning while I'm still in my boxers is totally normal.
I take down a box of cereal and pull a bowl from the cabinets. She only glances my way briefly before she moves over to the living room and starts spraying the surfaces with whatever's in her spray bottle.
Even though I want to punish her, I also have this driving need to talk to her. To see if what I remember was ever real. Because she can’t be as open and real as she seems, as the girl I remember. She has to be something else because the girl I fell for wouldn’t have done what she did to me.
Finally I remember that I had some paint samples delivered for her to look through. They're on the counter next to yesterday's mail. I grab the envelope and shake out the contents. Rissa looks up when I approach.
"What do you think of these colors?"
"For …" She gives me a strange look.
I gesture around us. "For this room. It's kind of boring in here now. I thought a coat of paint might liven things up a bit." I hold up one of the chips. It's a soft tan color. It's labeled Afternoon Espresso. Why are paint colors always reminiscent of food?
"What about this tan color?"
She moves closer and her scent washes over me. Rissa was never fond of perfumes, choosing instead to just use scented soaps and shampoos. She smells just the way she did back then, fresh with a soft hint of something fruity. It brings back memories of the cherry-flavored lip-gloss she used to wear and that I used to have smeared all over me.
"If you paint it that color, it'll likely still look very monotone in here. Most of your furniture is dark so I'm thinking you need some color."
I agree so I shift to the bolder tones in the bunch. I pull out one of the more outlandish ones.
“What about this blue?”
“I’m not so sure about that shade. It’s a little Disney for my tastes.”
Although I can see what she means, I persist, mainly because I enjoy how her chest bounces up and down when she gets worked up like this.
“Maybe I like that whimsical sort of look. I could go for an Aladdin theme in here. Maybe turn it into a harem.” I smirk at her resultant sigh.
"Okay, let's do the blue. I'll even stencil a genie on the wall if you want me to, free of charge."
"Generous of you. But I'm actually going to just stick with the tan color. If you can handle sorting out a local painting crew, that would be great."
She snatches the paint chip from my hand. “Why did you bother to ask my opinion if you already knew what you wanted?"
“Isn’t that what husbands do?”
The question seems to take her off guard. But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I know what I need to get over her. For a time I was so sure that she’d be with me through anything. I deployed knowing that she was safe at home waiting for me and that knowledge carried me through. It made it a little bit easier to leave knowing that she was what I was fighting to protect. Then to come home and find every dream that sustained me was a lie … Well, I think over time my mind turned that dream into an obsession. I need to prove to myself that it doesn’t have any power over me. That being with her, being her husband isn’t what I always thought it would be.
I have to know what it’s like to have her at my side, just for a little while. Maybe then I can finally purge this obsession.
“Husband?” she squeaks.
“Well, that’s sort of what we’re doing. Playing house. Just the way we always dreamed. I can finally give you everything I couldn’t then. All the things you obviously needed.”
Her mouth drops open. “That’s not what it was about. It wasn’t about things.”
“Of course it was. I’m not angry anymore Rissa. I understand now. You were just searching for a better life and you took the sure thing. I wasn’t a good bet. But now I am and I want to experience all the things that were denied to me when you left. You were engaged and you two lived together so I'm assuming you'll know better than I will. So I’m asking you, isn’t this what husbands do?”
“No. Not in my experience. They usually let you think you have a choice and then…”
“And then … what? Don’t tell me you didn’t have old Andy boy wrapped firmly around your little finger?”
She glances at me in alarm but it was suddenly the most important thing in the world that she answer this question. I have to know what kind of lover Andrew Carrington was. Because if the golden boy with his fancy suits and Ivy League education hadn’t been enough to keep her happy then what chance would I have had?
"No, definitely not. He never had any problem saying no to me." Rissa suddenly looks like she's on the verge of tears.
"What does that mean?"
She whirls around, her eyes bright with tears. "I was never happy with him, okay? He was an asshole and he had me completely fooled. Is that what you want to hear?"
My stomach clenches. I wait to feel some sense of vindication. This is what I wanted at the start of this after all. I wanted to make her see that she chose wrong and that I was the better bet all along. But seeing tears in her beautiful blue eyes isn't any kind of victory.
And the sense of shame I feel for deliberately hurting her makes me feel lower than that shit you find in the crevices of your shoe.
"Rissa–"
“So we're going with the tan color? I’ll coordinate for painters to come in. Unless you already have a company in mind?”
She holds up the paint chip. Her eyes warn me that she's done talking about anything personal. Every time she shares a part of her life with me and then pulls bac
k, it's like losing her all over again. But even though it hurts, I know not to push any more.
“No. I don’t have any company in mind. You can choose whoever you like.”
For the rest of the morning, she cleans around me and dodges every attempt to coax her back into conversation. When I go to my room to dress, she's gone when I come back.
* * * * *
Later that day, I’m sitting in my usual booth with Luke glaring daggers at me. Then he suddenly narrows his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me. I’m here just like I am every other damn day, aren’t I?”
My tone should have put him off but it seems to amuse him. “You’re crabby. You didn’t even flirt with the waitress when she dropped off your pie and then there’s the absolute proof that something is up.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that Sherlock?”
He points at my plate. “You still have pie left. In the entire time you’ve been harassing me, a piece of pie has never survived this long on your plate.”
“I’m starting to understand why most people think little brothers are annoying.”
Suddenly he sits back. “Don’t tell me a girl has you like this?”
His statement hits a little too close to home. “You’re just a kid so I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-two.” He says this with the kind of pride you can only have when you’re that young. Not that I’m so much older at twenty-five but next to Luke, I feel like a bitter, washed up old man.
“Yeah yeah. You’ll be on Depends before long.”
“This girl must be something to have you looking like that. I mean, if even the pie hasn’t cheered you up.”
It makes me think. Why is Rissa affecting me this way? The whole purpose of this is to get her out of my system. To show her how wrong she was and make her regret her decision. It was supposed to make me feel better and give me closure. But there’s nothing final about how I feel for her.