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by J. A. Huss

  But then I forget where I am and the memories take over. I feel the guilt of living. I feel the pain of knowing I am alone. That my family is dead. That my brother never got a chance to be there for me when I needed him. For my parents, who were as nonexistent at my own wedding as I was. For all the family members who turned their backs on me.

  I feel the shame. Shame for allowing that monster to take me and keep me and make me into someone I didn’t even recognize.

  It’s not the pain or the fear that undoes me.

  It’s the shame.

  I cry hard. I gasp for air and sob uncontrollably. And I have no idea how long I do this before I realize Vaughn has stopped spanking me and he’s holding me to his chest. His hands sweeping down my back as he whispers in my ear. “It’s OK, Grace. It’s OK.”

  Aside from that small breakdown in the hospital when I told Vaughn I was sad about the baby, this is the first time I’ve really felt anything in over ten years. “It’s not OK.” I tell him back. “It’s not OK. He took everything from me. I have nothing left. Not even myself.” For a second I fear that Vaughn will be offended at that statement, but he holds me tighter.

  “I know,” he says. So unpredictable, this man. “I know. He killed your parents. He killed your brother. He took you away from your life and twisted your mind. He fucked up your whole life, Grace. You’re allowed to be pissed off and sad.”

  My crying becomes ugly as the feelings flood in. But my gratitude is so overwhelming. Vaughn gets it. Of all the people who have tried to help me, this man—this self-centered, egotistical asshole—gets it.

  None of this has anything to do with him.

  It’s about me.

  Chapter Eleven

  #DayOneDoOver

  “SWEETS,” Vaughn says in my ear. “It’s morning, babe. I have to go to work, will you be OK?”

  I stir in his arms and realize I’m still naked and we are still in the movie room. “Yes,” I say automatically. I know he has to work. I want to throw a tantrum and tell him to call in sick, but I can’t. Not after he held me all night long and let me get it out of my system. Not after he was so patient with me.

  “I’ll be home at eight. We only have three days of filming this week. I can’t wait for the long weekend.” And then he kisses me and he’s off.

  What long weekend?

  I lie on the movie couch, snuggling up with the soft blankets, and ponder this. What day is it?

  I sit upright and gasp. “It’s Thanksgiving week!”

  Oh my God. How does a person not know the holidays are upon them? It feels like I was just getting off that plane from Saint Thomas over Labor Day and now it’s Thanksgiving week.

  I count up the weeks in my mind and realize I’ve been in this funk for almost three months. “Grace,” I begin to chastise. “This is not good. You are not allowed to wallow.”

  I crawl to the edge of the couch, drop the blanket, and make my way to the living room. In the bright California sunshine, the filth we are living in is painfully obvious. There’s dishes and trash everywhere. Clothes, shoes, mud on the tiles near the doorway. Even outside, our movie-star backyard is littered with palm fronds and leaves from a storm last week and the various flotation rafts I’ve used in the pool since moving in here with Vaughn.

  And then a sour smell reaches out and taps me on the shoulder. I look over at the dishes on the island countertop and wrinkle my nose. Spoiled milk in numerous cereal bowls.

  I’m a terrible wife.

  How has Vaughn put up with me?

  A ringing startles me out of my introspection and I look around for the source. “We have a phone?” I ask myself out loud. I had no idea we had a home phone. I thought everyone just used cells these days. I follow the source just as the message machine—who has a message machine?—clicks on.

  “Vaughn, baby. It’s me. I just wanted to double-check and make sure we’re still on for this Friday for the Black Bash. Call me.”

  “What the hell is a Black Bash?” I ask out loud again.

  I have no idea, but I’m sure it’s some sort of Hollywood party and Vaughn just didn’t want me to worry about it, or was going to decline. So I drop it and go back out to the living room.

  This will not do.

  I really need to start making an effort. I open the folding wall of glass doors and let the sunshine and cool air in. It’s not cold. I mean, it’s like sixty-five. But that’s nothing like Colorado is in November. The fresh air feels good. And it will make the smell of spoiled milk disappear.

  I walk around the living room picking up dishes and take them all to the sink to rinse them out before loading up the dishwasher. Then I go to work picking up trash and clothes. I start a load of laundry. There’s still a load in both the washer and the dryer and since I have not done laundry once since I’ve moved in, I can only suspect that this was Vaughn’s attempt to keep the house running while I was in my funk.

  Funk, Grace?

  Fine. It was a depression. But I feel like a new person today. I feel like I got it all out last night. He was so perfect. He listened to me cry and held me close. I have never felt such love and support in all my life.

  But now I need to move on. I need to put all that bad stuff behind me and look to the future. And even though I’ve lived here for almost three months, I feel like this is the first day of my new life as Mrs. Asher.

  Now if only I could remember my wedding.

  I just don’t understand why it’s such a problem. I mean, either Vaughn is lying about how aware I was of what was going on, or I’m just… blocking it out for some reason. But why? Why would I do that?

  I continue to clean as I ponder this. I make a list in my head.

  I’m psycho.

  The idea of being married was just too much for me after all that brainwashing

  I really don’t want to be married to Vaughn Asher.

  But none of those seem right. I’m not psycho. I might be damaged, but I’m not crazy. And yes, the whole kidnapper-trying-to-convince-me-I’m-his-wife thing did put a damper on all my future thoughts of getting married. But it’s fucking Vaughn Asher. And that makes number three ridiculous. I really do love him. Maybe it’s leftover infatuation kinda love from my Twitter stalking days. But it’s still authentic.

  So why can’t I remember?

  I almost wish I could go to Vegas and retrace my steps. But after my day jaunt to Colorado, I think it’s probably a bad idea to take off again. Besides, it’s almost Thanksgiving.

  So instead of calling the flight coordinator and booking a flight to Sin City, I call my parents. My mom answers on the first ring and her unexpected happiness at my call makes me warm.

  “Mom,” I say, after she’s got her hellos out of the way. “I don’t think we’re coming for Thanksgiving. Is that OK?” I’m nervous about this call. I’ve never spent a holiday away from home since they adopted me.

  “Oh, Grace, of course. You have a new family now. We were just talking about this last night. Don’t worry about us. We’re going out of town this year, anyway.”

  “Oh.” Well, shit. “Where’re you going?”

  “San Francisco. Your father has decided to take us to San Francisco.”

  “Well, that sounds fantastic.” Weird, I don’t add. “Fantastic!” We chat a little more and then say goodbye with promises to call on Thursday.

  When I end the call I realize I’ve been cleaning the kitchen the entire time. I think this is the first time I’ve seen it void of dishes. Vaughn is not the best housekeeper. He and Felicity lived like bachelors.

  I laugh at that and hang up the dish towel after wiping things down, and then I go get started on the laundry.

  After the laundry is in progress, I find some sort of wood-floor cleaning contraption in the utility closet and get to work on those too. Layla the cat’s litter box is tidy, so obviously Vaughn has been taking care of that. But the fish tank is a mess of algae. There’s a sticker on the side of it with a number to call for cleaning
. The man on the other end of the phone says he’s in the neighborhood and can stop by in a couple hours.

  Now the pool and river are something else. I know we have a pool person. That guy has been coming regularly. But the storm the other day has left the outside looking unkempt. So I spend the rest of the day putting the outside back in order. And by five o’clock the place is spotless.

  “Maybe I’ll cook?”

  I surprise myself with that notion. I hardly ever cook for Vaughn. I’ve thrown meat on the gril a few times, but that’s about it. But it will be good. Very domestic.

  I wrangle up enough ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs, find some frozen garlic bread in the garage freezer, and by the time eight o’clock rolls around, I don’t even recognize this place.

  I sit on the edge of the pool next to the small waterfall, with my feet dangling into the water, sipping wine as I wait for my movie star to come home.

  A flash hits me. A memory.

  Vaughn and I are standing outside the Bellagio near the fountain. The heat is suffocating, but the water is shooting upward, dancing as they do, night after night, and the spray is bathing us with a refreshing rain.

  Did we get married at the fountain?

  God, I wish I knew.

  I hear the door alarm and then the familiar punching of keypad numbers and my heart beats faster.

  “Grace?” he calls out.

  “Out here,” I call back.

  He walks through the dimly lit living room, looking around like he might be in the wrong house. And then he appears in the opening where the glass walls would be if they were not folded away. “What’s going on here?” he asks with a smile. “I don’t think this is my house. Am I dreaming or is that real food I smell?”

  I pat the cement next to me. “Come sit here. Put your feet in and have a beer.” I reach over the champagne bucket and pull out his favorite micro-brew. “It’s cold,” I tempt him.

  He steps forward, loosening his tie as he walks, and a few moments later, the shirt is coming off. “Mrs. Asher,” he says with a mischievous grin.

  “Mr. Asher,” I say back, trying very hard to stifle my smile. Everything about him makes me want to smile.

  He drops the shirt on the concrete, his pace never slowing as he kicks off his black Versace oxfords. I have to tilt my head up when he stops in front of me. It’s hard not to notice that my mouth is in the perfect position to make him relax after a long day’s work. I feel the wetness between my legs just thinking about it.

  But instead of guiding my hands to his zipper, he slips off his socks and bends down to look me in the eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m back now.”

  “Are you ready?”

  I’m confused for a moment, but then he unleashes that hidden dimple on me and places both hands on my shoulders.

  “Ready for—”

  And then he pushes me into the pool.

  Chapter Twelve

  #WhatPills

  I ALMOST feel bad as she tumbles over the side. But not quite. She goes under, her slip of a dress clinging to her body for a moment before it balloons out, exposing her legs.

  God, I fucking love this woman.

  She comes up sputtering and thrashing, but also laughing.

  It’s been a long time since my Grace has been here. A long time. She’s just about to yell when I cannonball in next to her, making waves that spill gallons of water over the turquoise tiled edge.

  When I open my eyes underwater, she’s right there. Her long blonde hair flows out behind her like some siren’s. Her pretty summer dress looks like it’s caught in the midst of a breeze. Before I can surface, she grabs me by the shoulders and wraps her legs around my waist. My hands automatically cup her ass and we kiss underwater like teenagers. Her fingers weave through my hair, mine slipping up her dress, my thumb caressing her stomach as my fingers grip her back.

  She’s buckling from that move when we spring out of the water, the tickle too much for her.

  “Ahh!” she squeals as I hug her tight. “What are you doing, Mr. Asher?”

  “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Her smile drops a little. “I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and moody. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Just tell me you’re back to stay. Because, Grace, I can’t watch you be so unhappy. It’s killing me. I need you. I love you. And if I made you sad last night, I’m sorry.”

  Her pout grows, but she keeps eye contact. “I needed to hear that stuff, Vaughn. I think you’re a saint for putting up with me. Not many men would stick by a girl they hardly know as she works through problems that are more than a decade old.”

  I take a deep breath and touch my forehead to hers. The water drips down her face in small streams. I watch as they curve around her lips and her tongue darts out to swipe them away. “You’re not a girl, Grace. You’re my wife. I meant every word I said when I married you.”

  She looks away and I know it’s because she can’t remember our vows. But I’m not going to tell her. I want her to remember on her own. And when she’s ready, she will.

  “I love you, Vaughn.” She meets my gaze again and nods a little. “I’m sorry I was so out of it and I’m sorry I left you out of my decisions yesterday. You had every right to be angry last night. I was only thinking of myself, the place was a mess, and you work so hard. Thank you for taking care of things. I know it must’ve been difficult to take care of me, work, and keep up with the household chores.”

  I kiss her on the nose. “It was my pleasure, princess. I can do laundry and dishes. Believe me, Felicity was the worst housekeeper ever. And you’re not the maid, so don’t think this house is your job. It’s not.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “I don’t have a job, so taking care of things here at home might as well be it.”

  “Grace, please. We can hire a cleaning service. Go get a job if you want one.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “Mrs. Asher, say the word and I will have you gainfully employed as an event planner next week.”

  “No.” She balks. “I don’t want something handed to me. I want to be part of something real. And big.”

  I grab her small hand and force it down to feel my bulging cock underneath my pants. “I’ll show you something big.” I walk us towards the small waterfall. “Close your eyes and hold tight.” She grips my cock as I dip us under the falling water and step into the secret grotto hot tub. “I haven’t been in here in… well, since the builder showed it to me a few years ago.”

  She looks around with wide eyes. “You have a secret hot tub?” And then she kisses me sweetly on the cheek. “And you’ve never even been in here to”—she squeezes my dick and I close my eyes for a second to enjoy it—“christen it?”

  “Mmm,” I reply as my hands lift up her dress. “Now is as good a time as any.” She lets go of my shoulders and lifts up her arms. I sweep the dress up and over her head, ball it up, and throw it through the waterfall and into the pool. “Mrs. Asher. You’re commando again.” I twist her perky nipples and she squirms and unlatches her legs from my hips.

  “Yes,” she purrs next to my ear. “I wanted to keep you focused.”

  “You’ve got my attention.”

  “Oh, not yet, Mr. Asher.” And then her hands are unbuttoning my suit pants.

  My dick is so hard I’m ready to bend her over. Once the zipper comes down, her hands are greedily searching under the water. I help her out by climbing up onto a step. Her mouth comes dangerously close to my cock, her warm breath sweeping across it as her fingers deftly pull down my suit trousers.

  She unpacks my throbbing thickness and licks the tip. My hands go to the back of her neck and I encourage her to take more of me as I sit on the edge of the hot tub.

  “Mmmm,” she hums, making the tip of my dick vibrate. I lean back a little, one hand on the concrete behind me, propping me up, the other fisting handfuls of hair and urging her on.<
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  “I want to come down your throat, Grace. I want to bury my whole dick in your throat.”

  She responds with her hands on my shaft. Not quite up and down, not quite twisting, but a combination of both.

  I almost fucking lose it right there. But instead, I pull her hair, forcing her head back so I can lean down and kiss her on the lips. “I want to fucking devour you. I want to lick your pussy until you scream. I want to fuck your ass until you beg me to stop.”

  “I’ll never beg you to stop. Ever.”

  I shoot her a coy grin. “Never say never, princess. I’ll take that as a challenge.”

  And with that I grip her hair once more and thrust deep into her throat. She gags, tries to pull back, then looks up at me with trust in her eyes, and takes a breath from her nose as her tongue flattens along my shaft. “Mrs. Asher, you are perfect.”

  She sucks in response to my praise. I hold steady at the depth I’m at and let her do her thing.

  Her petite hands reach under to cup my balls and that’s when I know it’s over. She sweeps a finger back, touches my ass, applies some pressure, and I’m gone. I come down her throat, her muscles tightening, her mouth open so wide she’s sucking air in around my pulsating shaft.

  “Holy fuck, Grace. Holy fuck.” That’s the extent of my vocabulary. I pull back and saliva drips down her chin. I fist her hair to tip her face up to me and then I lean down and kiss her. “I fucking love you. I love you so much. Switch places with me and lie back, baby.” My breath is coming out in long draws and she’s panting so hard she looks lightheaded. “Lie back so I can lick your pussy and make you come.”

  She moans just from my words and sits on the side of the hot tub while I climb into the water.

  “Open your legs, princess.”

  She opens her legs and closes her eyes at the same time, but when my tongue teases the tip of her little bundle of nerves, her eyes shoot open and she moans. Her hands reach for my head now, but I grab a wrist and guide her fingers to her pussy. “Play,” I command.