by Portia Moore
It’s supposed to be a symbol of our love, trust, and commitment to one another. When I made those vows, I knew without a doubt that we both had those things.
I love him, but my trust in him has waned. I sometimes doubt his commitment to me, our commitment to make our marriage work. I’ve taken off this band easily because the things it stands for, I don’t believe in anymore. Still, time after time, I allow it back on.
Why is it that when Cal isn’t with me, I miss him so much it’s worse than physical pain? Why is it when I see his eyes, sometimes I swear I see a side of him he won’t allow me to fully know?
His eyes—I think I fell in love with his eyes. They reveal so little and so much. Sometimes I look into them and they’re vacant, cold, and void. Yet there are moments when there is something kind and warm behind them.
His mystique used to excite me, drawing me in, too intriguing to let go. Now, the fact that my husband is still a mystery to me is frustrating, and it makes me realize his mysteries are just secrets that he won’t trust me with. I grow more resentful of that every day.
I’ve allowed myself to stay because there are times like last night when I’m madly, deeply in love with him all over again. Other times, I feel as though I barely know him at all. I’m afraid I’ve wrapped myself up in him for so long that it would be hard to stand on my own. That realization is sickening, and a part of me blames him for that. I know I let this happen. I’ve allowed this icy exterior to take over and change who I am. It started out as a way to deal with him, to keep from feeling sad, lonely, and insufficient. It started out as a temporary defense mechanism, but now it’s a cornerstone of the woman I’ve become.
It’s morning. I’ve been lying here for a while, not able to sleep, still trying to figure things out. I feel Cal wake up, and the mattress shifts as he sits up. I roll over to look at him. He glances at me, yawns, and begins grabbing his clothing scattered about on the floor.
“Morning,” I say, quietly resting my head on my arm.
He puts on his boxers and shirt, but he doesn’t answer. His brow is furrowed, and he’s moving as if he’s in a hurry for something. He walks to my old closet and shuffles through it impatiently. I sit completely still, trying to figure out what he’s doing in there.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. I don’t want to do this with him today. I’m trying to not be a bitch, but he’s really pushing it.
He finds my suitcase and pulls it out. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“What? No, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.”
“So that’s it? After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”
“You know what, Lauren? I’m tired of this bullshit. I may have really fucked up a business deal for Dex to come after you and hold your fucking hand. I want to go home and at least sleep in my own bed!” he snarls.
I throw my pillow at him. Jumping out of bed, I grab my robe from the floor and put it on.
“Here we go.” He laughs angrily.
“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?” I thrust my hand in his face, showcasing our ring.
“Yeah, I brought it to you. You’re my wife. Why the hell do you keep taking it off?”
I’m taken aback by his question, and it makes me pause. “Because I miss you, but I’m starting to feel like this is just something to pacify me!”
“But I’m here! That’s what I don’t get! How do you miss me?”
I take a deep breath. I know he’s not the only one to blame in this and decide to take on some of it. “I miss us,” I correct, lowering my tone. “What we used to have. How we used to be. What’s happened to us?” I walk toward him, my eyes pleading, and his brow softens, but he turns away from me.
“What are you saying?” His tone becomes defensive.
“I-I’m not—I’m not going back to Chicago with you,” I say sternly, but my head is down; I can’t look at him as I say it.
I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it, but it’s a problem when I’m questioning whether I love him more than myself and if he loves me at all.
“You’re not coming home?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.
“As of now, Cal, we don’t have a home. I don’t think of where we live as a home,” I say angrily.
“Great, now we don’t have a home. I guess the penthouse I’ve worked my ass off to pay for is what, pretend?” he says sarcastically.
“You know what I mean!” I growl at him.
He laughs, shaking his head defensively. “No, I don’t know what you mean. I came here. I spent the night with you. I don’t want to be in fucking Saginaw the next few days I have off. Why are you making this into something it’s not?”
“Because! I don’t want you to think this is just a temper tantrum. I’m serious. If I go back, I’ll be saying what you’re doing—what we’re both doing—is okay. I’ll be saying it’s okay for you to leave me for weeks at a time. It’s okay for me to miss you so much that it’s painful. That I’m fine with not knowing what you’re feeling or thinking ninety percent of the time. I question whether you love me every day.” My voice is starting to crack.
His hardened expression softens, and he walks toward me. “Why? Why do you do that?” He holds the back of his head in both hands and sighs, exasperated. “You know I love you!” He gestures toward me angrily and paces the room. “If you only knew what it took for me to be here with you!” he says, but it seems as if he’s saying it to himself.
“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money. I need the Louboutins, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout through my tears, sitting on the bed. “I-I feel like you’ve grown resentful toward me. You used to be—well, I thought you were happy. You were fun. You made me laugh and feel sexy and wanted.” I smile, remembering happier times. “Now, I feel like you’re distant. You’re slipping away from me. The only time I feel connected to you is when we’re having sex. And recently it’s just been that. You don’t make love to me anymore… maybe marriage turned you into this. I never imagined it being like this for us.”
I close my eyes and let out a much needed breath that I feel as though I’ve been holding in forever. The silence in the room after all of the noise seems odd.
He’s sitting on my desk chair, arms folded across his chest, with a range of emotions passing across his face. None of them look remotely sorry or understanding. “I’ve never wanted anything more than our marriage, Lauren. You’re the one thing that belongs to me. The only pure thing I have is us. I used to have a different reason for being. It came from a dark place. My motivation changed when I fell in love with you. You’re my strength and my weakness. You’re the reason I fight to be here.”
I open my eyes and remember that those were his exact words in his wedding vows. I can’t believe he remembers them. I don’t even remember mine to that extent. My heart warms, thinking of that day on the beach in Rio when we were joined together, when I became Mrs. Scott. I was the happiest woman in the world.
“I meant that then, and nothing has changed since that day.” His voice is low and wavers just a tad.
I approach him slowly and touch his shoulder gently. He seems to be deep in thought.
“I want you to stay with me here.” I look at him, my eyes pleading for him to give me the answer I want—no, that I need to hear.
“I’m not moving to Saginaw!” he says adamantly, arms still crossed as he stares out the window.
“I didn’t say that,” I tell him.
“Do you mean like a week, or a couple of days?” He’s pondering it. That’s a good sign.
“However long it takes,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.
He exhales and runs his hands over his face. “What about my job? I’m just supposed to…”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Oh, come on. You’re Mr. Big Bad Cal. Just tell them you’ll be back whenever.” I smirk at him. I touch his face and turn it toward me so I can look into his eyes, and he can see mine. “If you love me, you’ll do this. I know you say you do. I just need to feel it.”
If he says no, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s thinking, which is always a good sign. I stop looking at him and rest my head back on his chest.
“This isn’t really an option, is it?” He sighs.
“Not really,” I say honestly.
If he leaves, I’m done. I can’t do this with him anymore. I’ll learn to forget about him, as hard as it may be. I can’t keep feeling like this. If he stays…
Chapter 5
May 10th, 2008
“Lauren Brooks is wearing one of the newest dresses from the House of Angela. This stylish ebony gem is perfect for a hot date, business affair, or even a sophisticated gala. The top of the dress with sequined fabric gives this vintage silhouette a modern twist, while still keeping the garment classic. Her dress features a flocked sequined sweetheart neckline, a deep V back with invisible zippered closure, and flattering split to get any red-blooded man’s juices flowing,” Hillary announces in her Joan Rivers voice.
Angela and I die of laughter.
Hillary taps me warningly. “Stop, you’re going to wrinkle,” she scolds me, still in her faux fashion-extraordinaire persona. “Do a spin for us, darling.”
“Work it, girl,” Angela howls, supporting the foolishness.
I begrudgingly oblige, rolling my eyes at their whistles and catcalls.
“Lauren Brooks, you look so fucking hot right now!” Hillary exclaims, returning to her normal self.
“I’m going to the anniversary of an art museum. Hot isn’t exactly what I was going for,” I joke as I keep my focus on the mirror. I must say, the dress is exquisite. Angela came over to work her magic on my hair, giving me deep, romantic curls. And after much scolding, I was able to tone Hillary’s dramatic smoky eye down to a comfortable highlight.
“She means you look absolutely fabulous,” laughs Angela.
I look back and see Hillary going through my purse. “Hillary, what are you doing?”
“Making sure you have all the essentials,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Makeup, gum, wallet, keys… Lauren, do you not know you’re forgetting something muy importante?”
Angela and I look at her with curious expressions.
“Where are the condoms?” she demands.
“Oh… I don’t have any condoms,” I say plainly.
“Exactly!” she states.
I roll my eyes at her. “It’s not like I’m going to need them.”
“Oh, come on, I’ve seen the man. You’ll need them.” She winks.
I playfully snatch my bag from her.
“And you remember what almost happened last time,” says Angela in a sing-song voice as she flops on my bed.
I ignore them both, trying unsuccessfully to make this little black dress a few inches longer.
“Hey, stop that.” Hillary swats my hand.
“So what does he do? Is he in school?” asks Angela.
“She doesn’t know.” Hillary laughs mockingly.
“You don’t know? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asks Angela, confused.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but Hillary jumps in. “That’s what lust will do to you…”
Angela laughs. The phone rings, and my heart skips a beat.
Angela’s closest, so she picks it up. “Hello? She’ll be right down.” She gives me a wide grin. “The limo is heeeeere.”
I take a deep breath and glance at myself in the mirror once more.
“You look fine!” they yell in unison.
I grab my purse, and we all head out the door. Once we get downstairs, there is a beautiful black Town Car with the driver waiting by the door.
“Damn!” says Angela, taking in its appearance.
“Which one of you lovely ladies is Lauren Brooks?” the driver asks in a friendly tone.
“She is.” They both point at me.
“Good evening, Miss Brooks. I’m Byron, and I’ll be your driver for tonight.”
I give them both a hug and head over to the car.
“Have a good time,” calls Angela.
“Too good of a time,” yells Hillary with a wink as I step into the Town Car.
I wave back at them before Byron shuts the door. I look around at the plush leather interior. There’s a TV with a remote and a champagne bottle on ice, nestled in its own station.
“Wow!” is the only thing I can say.
I hear the limo phone ringing next to me. I look around, as if someone else’s in here with me, before I reluctantly pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey, gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Has everything gone okay so far?”
I release a slow breath, relieved it’s him and not someone calling for him. That would have been embarrassing. “Yes, everything is fine…” I drift off, still wowed by my surroundings.
“If you need anything, just tell Byron. He’ll take care of it.”
I want to ask him if this is rented or his, but that would be rude, wouldn’t it? “I will, but I really don’t think I’ll need anything; it all seems to be right here…”
He laughs a little. “Well, I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“I look forward to it.” I smile and hang up. I let the wide grin I’ve been keeping hidden spread across my face. This should be fun.
As we drive, Bryon puts on the radio, and I sing along to my favorite song. I think I feel the car stop, but it’s a little hard to tell since the ride has been so smooth. Butterflies start to play in my stomach. The phone rings again, so I pick it up.
“Miss Brooks, we’ve reached Mr. Scott,” Byron tells me.
“Thank you, Byron,” I say and hang up.
I step out, and the cold air whips around me, making my dress and shawl flow in the wind. I look up to see a huge plane—or jet?—fifty feet away from me. I mean, what was I expecting, really? Not this. Cal steps off with a phone in hand. I survey his appearance as he gets closer. He has on a black suit with a silver button-up underneath it—no tie. What really shocks me is that he’s wearing glasses, something I’ve not seen before, and it’s extremely sexy. When he nears me, he hangs up the phone.
“You look…” he says with a dazzling smile, his eyes trailing from my five-inch heels upward. “You’ve got to do a spin for me.” He licks those lips that I’m really starting to crave. “Actually, hold that thought.”
Biting his lip, he begins to circle around me, his gaze predatory. Once he’s fully made his way behind me, his arms cross over my stomach, and he kisses me softly on my neck. My whole body tingles.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he whispers in my ear, and I hope to regain my composure before he sees my face.
Luckily, he takes my hand, and in an instant, he’s leading me in the opposite direction of the Town Car. I’m confused but try to keep up with him in these five-inch stilettos while mentally scolding my hormones to control themselves.
“Where are we going?” I finally manage to speak.
“I thought we’d arrive in something a little more personal for the night.” He smiles back at me.
He pulls a pair of keys out of his pocket, and when we stop at a car parked right next to the hangar, my jaw drops on the floor. In front of me sits a magnificent all-black Aston Martin.
“This-this can’t be yours,” I say in disbelief. I’ve never been one to fawn over cars and make a big deal about expensive things, but this is an Aston Martin, for crying out loud. I remember what a big deal Steven and Angela made at the car show they dragged me to, and here I am about to get in one.
“It’s not mine. It’s a company perk,” he explains, opening the door f
or me with a playful glint in his eye.
I can’t help but appreciate the car’s warmth contrasting with the cold wind outside and, of course, the pure luxury that I’m smack in the middle of. The Aston reminds me of a plane, it’s so futuristic; I feel as if I stepped out of this year and fell into another decade. Cal is watching me, amused.
“You must be an extremely valuable asset to your company.” I chuckle, still in awe.
“I’m a hard worker. At all things,” he says.
I wonder if that’s an innuendo, or if my brain is just in the gutter. Stop it, brain!
“What is it that you do again?” I say “again,” but he never told me the first time. Now that I’m riding in this car, I’m a lot more curious than I was.
“I work for Crestfield Corporation,” he replies, turning on the radio.
Okay. Not quite what I asked, but I’ll take a where instead of a what.
“How old are you?” I ask, trying to figure out if he’s a lot older than he looks. He must be in an invaluable position to receive a perk like this.
“Two decades and some change,” he retorts playfully.
“Why do you wear glasses?” I ask. He seems like a guy who would wear contacts if he had the choice.
“To make people think I’m smart.” He grins slyly and takes them off. They’re sexy on him, but I’m glad when I can see those mesmerizing eyes of his. “You’re excited about the opening?”
“Very excited, actually. I still can’t believe I’m going.”
“Well, at least one of us is,” he groans.
“You’re not interested in art, I take it?”
“Someone once told me everything is art, so I wouldn’t have to go to a museum to see it.”
I frown a little. It would have been nice to go with someone who shared my interest in art, but I’m too thrilled to be brought down.