by Sylvia Day
“No one knows I’m your wife.”
“I know it.” He came up behind me and secured my zipper. “And soon—really soon—the world will know it.”
I leaned back into him, admiring our joint reflection. We took great pictures together.
Which made me think of other pictures …
“Promise me,” I said, “that you’ll never watch the video.”
When he didn’t answer me, I turned to look at him directly. When I saw the closed-off look on his face, I started freaking out. “Gideon. Did you watch it already?”
His jaw tightened. “A minute or two. Nothing explicit. Just enough to prove validity.”
“Oh my God. Promise me you won’t watch it.” My voice rose and grew sharp as panic spread through me. “Promise me!”
His hands encircled my wrists and squeezed hard enough to make my breath catch. I stared at him, wide-eyed, confused by the sudden aggression.
“Calm down,” he said quietly.
The oddest rush of warmth spread outward from where he touched me. My heart beat faster, but also steadier. I stared at our hands, my attention catching on his ruby ring. Red. Like the cuffs he’d bought for me. I felt similarly captured and bound now. And it soothed me in a way I didn’t understand.
But Gideon obviously did.
That was why I’d been afraid to marry him so quickly, I realized. He was taking me on a journey that had an unknown destination and I had agreed to follow him blindfolded. It wasn’t about where we’d end up as a couple, because that was never in question. We were obsessed, dependent on each other in the unrelenting way of addicts. Where I would end up, who I’d be at the end, was what I didn’t know.
Gideon’s transformation had been almost violent, happening in a moment of sharp clarity when he’d comprehended that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—live without me. My change was more gradual, so painstakingly measured that I’d believed I wouldn’t have to change at all.
I was wrong.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I spoke more steadily. “Gideon, listen. Whatever’s on that video, it’s nothing compared to what you and I have. The only memories I want in your head are ones we make. What we’ve got together … that’s the only thing that’s real. The only thing that matters. So please … promise me.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. “All right. I promise.”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Lifting my hands to his mouth, he kissed them. “You’re mine, Eva.”
BY silent, mutual agreement, we refrained from mussing each other up in the limo before our first public appearance as a married couple. I was nervous, and while an orgasm or two would help alleviate that, looking less than perfect would only make it worse. And people would notice. Not only was my silver gown eye-catching, with its brilliant sheen and short train, but my arm-candy husband was an impossible-to-miss accessory.
Attention would be on us, and Gideon seemed determined to keep it that way. He helped me out of the limo when we arrived at Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, taking a moment to slide his lips across my temple. “That dress is going to look amazing on my bedroom floor.”
I laughed at the cheesy line, which I knew he’d intended, and camera flashes went off in a storm of blinding light. Once he turned away from me, all warmth left his face, the beautiful planes settling into a closed expression that gave nothing away. He set his hand at the small of my back and led me across the red carpet and into Cipriani’s.
Once inside, he found a spot he approved of and we stayed there for an hour as business associates and acquaintances circled around us. He wanted me at his side and he wanted to be at mine as well, something he proved a short while later when we were headed to the dance floor.
“Introduce me,” he said simply and I followed his gaze to where Christine Field and Walter Leaman, of Waters Field & Leaman, were laughing along with the group of people they were standing with. Christine looked restrained and elegant in a black beaded dress that covered her from throat to wrists to ankles except for the plunging back, and Walter, who was a large man, looked successful and confident in a nicely cut tuxedo and bow tie.
“They know who you are,” I pointed out.
“Do they know who I am to you?”
I wrinkled my nose a little, knowing my world was going to change drastically once my single-girl self was subsumed by my identity as Eva Cross. “Come on, ace.”
We headed over there, weaving through round tables covered in white linens and decorated with candelabras wrapped in floral garlands that lent a wonderful fragrance to the room.
My bosses spotted Gideon first, of course. I don’t think they even recognized me until Gideon quite obviously deferred to me by letting me speak first.
“Good evening,” I said, shaking Christine’s and Walter’s hands. “I know you’re both familiar with Gideon Cross, my …”
I paused, my brain grinding to a halt.
“Fiancé,” Gideon finished, shaking hands.
Congratulations were exchanged; smiles got bigger, eyes brighter.
“This doesn’t mean we’re losing you, does it?” Christine asked, diamond drop earrings glinting in the soft light of the chandeliers.
“No. I’m not going anywhere.”
That earned me a sharp pinch on my butt from Gideon.
We were going to have to deal with the work issue at some point, but I figured I could hold him off at least until our next wedding.
We talked a bit about the Kingsman Vodka campaign, which was mostly a way to emphasize what a good job Waters Field & Leaman had done so the agency could hook more Cross Industries business. Gideon knew the game, of course, and played it well. He was polite, charming, and clearly not a man who could be easily influenced.
After that, we ran out of things to talk about. Gideon made our excuses.
“Let’s dance,” he murmured in my ear. “I want to hold you.”
We moved onto the dance floor, where Cary was drawing attention with a stunning redhead. Flashes of a pale, shapely leg could be seen through the risqué slit in her emerald green dress. He moved her into a spin, then a dip. Undeniably suave.
Trey hadn’t been able to come because of an evening class, and I was sorry about that. I was sorry, too, that I was glad Cary hadn’t brought Tatiana instead. Thinking that way made me feel bitchy, and I seriously disliked catty bitches.
“Look at me.”
I tilted my head at Gideon’s command and found his eyes on me. “Hi, ace.”
With his hand at my back and my hand in his, we swept casually around the dance floor.
“Crossfire,” he whispered, his gaze hot on my face.
I touched his cheek with my fingertips. “We’re learning from our mistakes.”
“You read my mind.”
“It feels good.”
He smiled, his eyes so blue and his hair so damn sexy I wanted to run my fingers through it right then and there. He pulled me closer. “Not as good as you feel.”
We stayed on the dance floor through two songs. Then the music ended when the bandleader turned to the mic and made an announcement: Dinner was about to be served. Seated at our table were my mother and Richard, Cary, a plastic surgeon and his wife, and a guy who said he’d just wrapped up shooting the pilot episode to a new television show he hoped would be picked up for a full-season run.
The meal was some sort of Asian fusion and I ate everything, because it was good and the portions weren’t that big. Gideon had his hand on my thigh beneath the table, his thumb rubbing lightly in small circles that made me squirm.
He leaned over. “Sit still.”
“Stop it,” I whispered back.
“Keep wiggling and I’ll put my fingers inside you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He smirked. “Try me and see.”
Because I wouldn’t put it past him, I sat still, even though it killed me.
“Excuse me,” Cary said abruptly, pushing bac
k from the table.
I watched him walk away and caught his gaze lingering on a nearby table. When the redhead in green followed him out of the room a few moments later, I wasn’t too surprised, but I was very disappointed. I knew the situation with Tatiana was stressing him out and I knew mindless sex was Cary’s cure-all, but it also fucked with his self-esteem and led to more problems than it fixed.
It was good that we were only a couple days away from seeing Dr. Travis.
Leaning into Gideon, I whispered, “Cary and I are going to San Diego this weekend.”
His head swiveled toward me. “You’re telling me this now?”
“Well, between your exes and my ex, my parents, Cary, and everything else, it keeps slipping my mind! I figured I’d better tell you before I forgot again.”
“Angel …” He shook his head.
“Hang on.” I pushed to my feet. I needed to remind him that Brett had a tour stop in San Diego at the same time, but I had to catch Cary first.
He looked at me quizzically as he stood.
“Be right back,” I told him, adding very quietly, “Got some cockblocking to do.”
“Eva—”
I heard the warning in his tone and ignored it, lifting my skirt and hurrying after Cary. I’d just made it past the ballroom entrance, when I ran into a familiar face.
“Magdalene,” I said in surprise, stopping. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Gage was wrapped up in a project, so we ran a little late. Missed dinner entirely, but at least I got my hands on one of those chocolate mousse things they served for dessert.”
“Kick-ass,” I agreed.
“Totally.” Magdalene smiled.
I thought to myself that she looked really good. Softer, sweeter. Still stunning and sultry in a one-shouldered red lace dress, her dark hair framing a delicate face and crimson lips. Getting away from Christopher Vidal had done her a lot of good. And having a new man in her life surely helped. I remembered her mentioning a guy named Gage when she’d visited me at work a couple weeks before.
“I saw you with Gideon,” she said. “And I noticed your ring.”
“You should’ve come over and said hi.”
“I was eating that dessert.”
I laughed. “A girl’s got to have her priorities.”
Magdalene reached out and touched my arm briefly. “I’m happy for you, Eva. Happy for Gideon.”
“Thank you. You should stop by our table and tell him that.”
“I will. Catch you later.”
She walked off and I stared after her for a minute, still wary but thinking she might not be so bad after all.
The one negative about running into Magdalene was losing Cary. By the time I resumed chasing after him, he’d already ducked out of sight somewhere.
I headed back to Gideon, mentally preparing the ass-chewing I was going to give Cary. Elizabeth Vidal halted me in my tracks.
“Excuse me,” I said, when I nearly bumped into her.
She grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me over to a dark corner. Then she caught my hand and looked at my gorgeous Asscher diamond. “That’s my ring.”
I tugged free. “It was your ring. It’s mine now. Your son gave it to me around the time he asked me to marry him.”
She looked at me with those blue eyes that were so like her son’s. So like Ireland’s. She was a beautiful woman, glamorous and elegant. As much a head-turner as my mother, really, but she had Gideon’s iciness.
“I won’t let you take him away from me,” she bit out between brilliantly white teeth.
“You’ve got it all wrong.” I crossed my arms. “I want to get you two together, so we can put everything out in the open.”
“You’re filling his head with lies.”
“Oh my God. Seriously? The next time he tells you what happened—and I’ll make sure he does—you’re going to believe him. And you’re going to apologize, and find some fucking way to make it easier for him to bear. Because I want him healed and healthy and whole.”
Elizabeth stared at me, clearly fuming. She obviously wasn’t on board with that plan.
“Are we done?” I asked, disgusted with her deliberate blindness.
“Not even close,” she hissed, leaning into me. “I know about you and that lead singer. I’m on to you.”
I shook my head. Had Christopher talked to her? What would he have said? Knowing what he’d done to Magdalene, I believed him capable of pretty much anything. “Unbelievable. You believe the lies and ignore the truth.”
I started walking away but stopped. “What I think is really interesting is that after I confronted you last time, you didn’t ask Gideon about what happened. ‘Hey, son, your crazy girlfriend told me this crazy story.’ I can’t figure out why you didn’t ask him. I don’t suppose you’d want to explain?”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you would.”
I left her behind before she opened her mouth again and ruined my night.
Unfortunately, when I started heading toward my table, I saw Deanna Johnson sitting in my seat, talking to Gideon.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, my gaze narrowing at the way the reporter kept putting her hand on his forearm as she talked. Cary was off doing what he shouldn’t be doing; my mom and Stanton were on the dance floor. And Deanna had slid in like a snake.
Whatever Gideon thought, it was obvious to me that her interest in him was as hot as ever. And while he offered no encouragement aside from listening to whatever she was saying, just the fact that he was giving her attention was watering that weed.
“She must be great in bed. He fucks her a lot.”
I stiffened and turned toward the woman talking to me. It was Cary’s redhead, who had the flushed, bright-eyed look of a woman who’d just had a very nice orgasm. Still, she was older than I’d first thought from a distance.
“You should watch out for him,” she said, looking at Gideon. “He uses women. I’ve seen it happen. More than it should.”
“I can handle myself.”
“They all say that.” Her sympathetic smile rubbed me the wrong way. “I know of two women who’ve experienced severe depression over him. Certainly, they won’t be the last.”
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip,” I snapped.
She walked away with an irritatingly serene smile, reaching up to pat her hair as she skirted tables on the way to her own.
It wasn’t until she was halfway across the room that I placed her face.
“Crap.”
I hurried back to Gideon. He stood when I reached him.
“I need you real quick,” I said briskly, before shooting a look at the brunette in my chair. “Deanna, always a pleasure.”
She ignored the dig. “Hi, Eva. I was just leaving—”
But I’d already tuned her out. I caught Gideon’s hand and tugged. “Come on.”
“All right, hang on.” He said something to Deanna, but I didn’t catch it, pulling him along instead. “Christ, Eva. What the hell is the rush?”
I stopped by the wall and looked out over the room, searching for green and red. Seemed to me he would have noticed his former lover—unless she’d been deliberately avoiding him. Of course she looked so different without her former pixie haircut, and I hadn’t seen her white-haired husband, which would have made it easier to identify her sooner. “Do you know if Anne Lucas is here?”
His hand tightened on mine. “I haven’t seen her. Why?”
“Emerald green dress, long red hair. Seen that woman?”
“No.”
“She was dancing with Cary earlier.”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
I looked at him, getting aggravated. “Jesus, Gideon. It was hard to miss her.”
“Forgive me for having eyes only for my wife,” he said dryly.
I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I just need to know if it was her.”
“Explain why. Did she come up to you?”
>
“Yeah, she did. Shoveled some shit my way, then wandered off. I think Cary sneaked off with her, too. You know, for a quickie.”
Gideon’s face turned hard. He turned his attention to the room, sweeping it from one side to the other, with a slow searching glance. “I don’t see her. Or anyone like you described.”
“Isn’t Anne a therapist?”
“Psychiatrist.”
A sense of foreboding made me restless. “Can we go now?”
He studied me. “Tell me what she said to you.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“That’s reassuring,” he muttered. “Yes, let’s go.”
We went back to our table for my clutch and to say good-bye to everyone.
“Can I hitch a ride with you?” Cary asked, after I hugged my mom good-bye.
Gideon nodded. “Come on.”
ANGUS shut the door of the limo.
Cary, Gideon, and I settled back into the bench seats, and just a couple of minutes later we pulled away from Cipriani’s and into traffic.
My best friend shot me a look. “Don’t start.”
He hated when I laid into him about his behavior, and I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t his mother. But I was someone who loved him and wanted good things for him. I knew how self-destructive he could be when left unchecked.
But that wasn’t my biggest concern at that moment.
“What was her name?” I asked, praying he knew so I could identify the redhead once and for all.
“Who cares?”
“Jesus.” My hands flexed restlessly around my clutch. “Do you know it or not?”
“I didn’t ask,” he retorted. “Drop it.”
“Watch the tone, Cary,” Gideon admonished quietly. “You’ve got a problem, fine. Don’t take it out on Eva for giving a shit about you.”
Cary’s jaw tightened and he looked out the window.
I sat back and Gideon drew me into the curve of his shoulder, his hand running up and down my bare arm.
No one said another word on the ride home.
WHEN we reached my apartment, Gideon headed into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and ended up on the phone, his gaze meeting mine across the breakfast bar and the several feet separating us.
Cary stalked off to his bedroom, then turned abruptly at the hallway and came back to hug me. Hard.