by Vivi Paige
“It’s a little different than when we dated in prep school,” he said as he tied his shoelaces.
“Just a little,” I agreed. “But in some ways, it’s a lot better.”
He smiled, but it faded into a sad, wistful expression.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, going to him and putting my hands on his chest.
“It’s just… I really wanted to be the one to take your cherry.”
I patted his chest before stepping back to look him squarely in the eye. “I know. Believe it or not, I wanted to give it to you.”
“Really?” His eyes widened, an incredulous grin gracing his face.
“Yes, really. I had it all planned out. I was going to rent a hotel room the night after the homecoming dance.”
“I spent a long time trying to get you the exact dress you wanted,” Deryk said in a low voice.
I stared into his eyes and sighed. “I know,” I said. “I know you did. Look, Deryk, we can’t change the past. All we can do is…”
Deryk’s phone rang with a tone similar to an alarm klaxon. He stiffened as if slapped and hastily dug the device out of his pocket. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
“Who is it?” I inquired.
“My father,” he said in a cold tone. Deryk put the phone up to his ear and turned away. “Yes? I have. I am. We’re at the cottage as we speak. Yes, Jimmy is here, but he’s staying in the guest house. That’s insulting. I’m not—I haven’t even been—no. I promise you, I’m not on the stuff anymore. Well, ask the Bull. He poked around every nook and…” Deryk’s anger faded, his face relaxing into placidity. “Okay,” he replied. “Yes, I know the place. Are we expecting trouble? I’ll bring Jimmy with me. No, I don’t need Will to back me up. Yes, I know he was in the army and is a total bad ass killing machine, but he’s as subtle as a hand grenade.” Deryk sighed. “All right. I’ll bring him along, too. I—I love you too, Dad.” Deryk’s face purpled, and I giggled at his expense.
“Hey,” he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Oh stop. It’s cute that you love your father.”
“I have to love him,” Deryk said. “He’s my dad. But sometimes, he makes it really, really hard. I’m not like him. I don’t have this, this drive to constantly make money and be on top of things.”
I nodded, slipping my arms around his waist and laying my cheek on his chest. “You were always sensitive, morose. Self-absorbed.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“There’s nothing ostensibly wrong with any of those things, you know. But, I’m glad I could make you smile sometimes.”
He held me close, and I felt warmth spread through my body. But he broke the contact all too soon for my liking. “I have to go,” he said. “Business, you know?”
I nodded, chewing my lower lip nervously. “Be careful,” I said. “Come back to me in one piece.”
“I will,” he said. We kissed, and then he was off, rushing up the stairs and dialing the Bull as he went.
I wound up being alone in the cottage as the sun drifted below the horizon and night fell on the woodland retreat. The night insects chirruped and buzzed as an owl hooted in the distance. I detected the far-away musk of a skunk, which is oddly pleasant when it’s not in your immediate vicinity.
Restless and bored, I gave the television another shot and figured out the remote layout. As it turned out, one was to turn on the monitor, another was for the streaming device plugged into the USB slot, and a third controlled a sound bar mounted beneath the screen.
But even though I got it working, I barely paid any attention to what occurred on the screen. My life had been turned upside down in recent days, and if I needed a reminder, the burning, healing tattoo on my lower back provided it.
I just couldn’t get into any of the shows or movies I skimmed through. Sighing, I turned it off again and trudged up to my room for sleep.
After an hour of tossing and turning, I went to Derek’s room and stole one of his pillows. Then I laid my face in it, basking in his scent, and finally fell off to slumber.
When I awakened, my phone told me it was after one in the morning. My free time, so to speak. I could hear someone—I assumed it was Deryk—playing piano down on the main floor. I had been wondering if he still played. At one time, he’d been pretty decent at tickling the ivories.
I was under no obligation to attend him. The contract stipulated such, but I felt myself compelled, drawn to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. I put my bare feet on the floor, vaulted out of bed, and dressed in the black satin robe I’d worn before.
As I descended the staircase, I looked upon Deryk seated at the piano. He was tapping out a melancholy tune I wasn’t immediately familiar with, his face drawn and somber. Deryk didn’t even notice me until I came up in front of him.
His eyes darted over to me, and the music ceased but for a fading chord, which hummed in the air like a memory fading into ignominy. Deryk arched an eyebrow as he regarded me. “It’s after midnight.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So you don’t have to attend me. Or obey me.”
“You sound disappointed.” I leaned over on the piano’s highly glossed surface.
“You come down here in that robe, shaking what you’ve got, and you wonder why I’m disappointed?” Deryk chuckled. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“No, it’s fine,” I replied. “I always loved hearing you play. You were good.”
“I’ve gotten a bit rusty,” he said, doing a glissando up the scale.
“I wouldn’t know it,” I said gently. “Do you remember when we used to play together?”
His face was crossed by a warm smile. “Of course, I do. You were pretty decent yourself.”
“I don’t have your long ass fingers,” I chuckled. “But I got by.”
Deryk stared at me for a long, intense moment, his eyes lovely in the low, elegant light. He scooted over on the padded piano bench and patted the surface beside him.
I smiled, settling upon the bench next to him. His eyes darted to the expanse of naked thigh thrusting out of the robe, but I didn’t mind. I even pointedly crossed my legs and uncrossed them to give him a show.
“That’s not fair,” he said with a chuckle.
“Life seldom is. So… what should we play?”
Deryk pursed his lips, lost in thought for a moment. Then a fierce and joyful grin sprouted on his face as he started pounding out a jaunty tune. I recognized it instantly, and laughed before joining in at the appropriate measure.
“Anything you can do, I can do better,” I chirped, mostly in key. “I can do anything better than you…”
Deryk ripped into the next line, and we bantered the song, batting it back and forth between us like playful kittens with a ball of string. My voice was a bit rusty, but Deryk didn’t seem to mind. By the time we got to the end of the piece, we were laughing more than singing.
“Oh god, it’s been so long since I sang that hard,” I said, holding my throat. “I think some puke came up into my neck.”
“Gross.” Deryk handed me a bottle of somewhat chilled water, which I gratefully accepted. The plastic crinkled with a vacuum as I drained most of it in one go. I hadn’t realized I was so thirsty. He seemed to grow thoughtful, tilting his head to the side and staring at me. His eyes brimmed with inquiry, but his lips remained silent.
“What is it?” I asked at length. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Deryk’s lips twitched, and I could see he struggled to decide whether to share what was on his mind or not.
“Ella,” he said softly, turning a bit on the bench to face me more fully. “After we broke up, did you…”
His voice trailed off, and his eyes swam with anxiety.
“Go ahead, Deryk,” I said, taking his hand in mine. “You can ask me.”
“Did you—” He licked his lips and struggled again. “Did you ever think of me? Even if it was only once?”
I heaved a heavy sigh, casting my gaze at the
ivory and black keys before us. I brushed my finger through a swath of dust, turning the key shiny black again.
“Yes, Deryk.” I turned to him and smiled sadly. “Yes, I thought about you… a lot.”
He seemed simultaneously relieved and saddened by my response. Deryk cleared his throat before speaking again. “And… what would you have done if I’d called you?”
I frowned, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Deryk,” I said sadly. “I just don’t know.”
“Can’t you even guess?”
“Not really,” I said with a sigh.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice growing with petulance.
“Because I’m not in the same headspace as I was a week ago. Okay?” I snapped. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that question because I honestly don’t know. Is that—is that okay?”
Deryk nodded. “It’s okay.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “So, turnabout is fair play—did you ever think of me in the last few years? Even once?”
Deryk sighed, unable to meet my gaze. “Ella, I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped missing you.” He lifted his gaze to mine, and it was filled with such pain I felt as if an icicle had stabbed me in the gut. “I never stopped loving you.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I swooned with conflicting feelings. Part of me adored that he never stopped loving me, but I was afraid as well. For some reason, anger burbled to the surface and spilled out of my mouth like foam-flecked poison.
“Love?” I sputtered. “You want to talk about love? What’s the point?”
“The point is how we both feel,” he said, trying to take my hand, but I slapped his away.
“No, it’s not,” I said, standing up quickly and glaring down at him. “No, it’s not. Not at all. If love had a damn thing to do with our ‘arrangement,’ we wouldn’t have that fucking contract. Would we? You never even tried to call me, Deryk.”
“I was afraid you would send me away again.”
“Maybe I would have. Love is a risk. Being vulnerable is a risk. You weren’t willing to take that risk for years, and I tried to move on. Maybe you didn’t, but I tried. You never called me. I thought you’d moved on for certain.”
“But I didn’t,” he said. “I couldn’t move on. I wanted you, and only you.”
“Well, now you have me,” I snapped, livid to the point of sounding hoarse. “Because you bought me like a prize thoroughbred horse at auction. You want to talk about love? Buying someone isn’t an act of love. It’s an act of possession.”
“I didn’t even know you were going to be there…”
“I believe you, but it doesn’t change anything,” I added. “You never tried to win me back. And that hurts.”
I turned and fled up the stairs. Deryk called after me several times, coming to the bottom of the staircase. “Ella, get back here.”
“You can’t boss me around until sunup,” I shouted, bitter tears rolling down my cheeks as I fled the man I used to love and perhaps still did.
Chapter Seventeen
I watched with impotent, morose helplessness as Ella fled up the stairs and out of sight. I flinched with the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut. Bowing my head, I stood there with one foot on the bottom step, hand on the polished rail for what seemed a long time.
Ella had been so angry. So bitter. But I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with her in return. After all, she was right. I never had tried to win her back. I had just wallowed in my misery and used her rejection as an excuse to not have to try and feel anything at all any longer.
My father, my brothers and my cousins were all right about me. I’d sunk into a selfish, self-pitying state where I was practically useless on just about every level. No wonder I’d gotten caught up in Kremlin Swamp Gas and sleeping with women whose faces and names I could not even remember in the light of day.
But I’d been content to wallow in misery. I hadn’t done anything proactive to bring her back into my life. My god, I could have done a lot more than I did. I could have left my family. Damn near impossible, but I could have gotten it done. I think my father would have backed off eventually and respected my wishes, not because he agreed with them but because I was his youngest, allegedly the spawn of him and his most beloved mistress.
Perhaps I was his favorite child. I’d been accused of such often enough by my cousins and brothers. All I knew was I hadn’t done everything, absolutely everything, I could have to win Ella back. I’d been bitter, angry, and resentful of her perceived abandonment. Did I like being miserable? No. But did I take the easy way out and remain miserable instead of risking my birthright for true love? Yes. Yes, I did.
Now Ella was back in my life, but I’d mucked it up again somehow. That contract, that damn contract. When I’d bid upon Ella in the auction, it had seemed something out of a dream. I knew there was no chance of her rejecting me, if she was bought and paid for. Lock, stock, and barrel, she belonged to me.
But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want her body, no matter what I’d told her the other day. I wanted her heart and soul. I wanted her to love me as much as I loved her, even if I couldn’t have put my feelings so succinctly or in those exact words at the time. I wanted her to choose to be with me rather than being compelled to do so.
I grew angry with her, sulking on the steps below. What right did she have to throw that sort of thing up in my face? After all, she never tried to contact me again. Of course, she was the dumper. I was the dumped. The onus was on me to seek her out and try to make amends, but I lacked the confidence to do so when I was a teenager.
I almost turned away, intent upon stalking off into the woods with a rifle in search of some hapless woodland creature to vent my frustration upon, but I stopped. I pictured Ella’s face in my mind, remembered the exquisite feel of her soft, curved form curled up next to mine. I relished the image of her on her knees, vigorously using her mouth to please me…
I couldn’t let her go. Not again. If there was a way out of this mess, I was going to find it or die trying. Instead of giving up again, I willed my foot to lift up and plant itself on the next step. It took considerable effort. Most of my life, I’d fled from emotional danger even while not taking physical danger seriously enough. When the going got tough, I got going.
But no longer. I lifted my opposite foot and planted it on the next step. Every stair I took grew easier until I was moving in a normal pace up the steps. I did not know what was waiting for me at the top. Perhaps Ella would be cruel and wound me with her barbed words and invectives. Maybe she would laugh in my face when I tried to express my true feelings. But not going up the steps, not facing those fears and never knowing what her love felt like again… was scarier by far. I’d been down that road once. I was not eager to repeat the experience.
I paced down the hallway several times, moving back and forth while I worked up the nerve to go to her door. Perhaps I should just back off and give her some space, I thought.
But then I recalled how that had worked out the last time. No, there would be no backing off. There would be no giving her space, unless she emphatically and in no uncertain terms demanded it. I had to try. I had to make myself vulnerable. I needed to show my throat to my slave girl.
I headed over to her door and lifted my hand to knock. My fist wavered in the air, drooping to my waist several times, but I stubbornly raised it again on each and every occasion. I took a deep breath, tried to will my heart rate to slow without much success, and rapped on her door.
“Go away,” Ella said, her voice muffled by something, perhaps a pillow she lay face down upon.
“Ella, can we talk?” I asked softly.
“It’s after midnight. The sun’s not up. You can go fuck yourself.”
“Ella…” I sighed and put my back against her door. “I deserve that. I’m not sure why I ever thought that owning your body would be enough.”
“Because you’re an arrogant, pompous ass,” she replied, though her voice wavered
a little. The bedsprings creaked, and tiny footsteps padded over to the door, though it remained closed. Her voice came again, a bit louder now with proximity. “And you think money solves everything.”
“I used to,” I lowered my gaze to the floor. “But not anymore. Money may have bought your body, but it can never bring me your heart. I understand that now. I’m sorry I made you feel like a piece of property.”
Silence and then, “Do you really mean that? Or are you just trying to get me to stop being mad at you?”
“I really mean it.” Even I was surprised at the conviction in my tone. “Ella, the truth is… well…”
My voice grew tight, and it was hard to breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled with my own twisted mind. It was hard, so hard to open up to anyone, even Ella. But I had to do this. I had to, or I was going to lose her in every way that really mattered, contract or no contract.
“I’m listening, Deryk,” Ella said softly. There was no rancor in her voice, no note of impatience or accusation, but overtones of hope. She wanted me to tell her what I felt.
“I—I don’t know if I can live without you,” I said, sliding down the door to my bottom. It was as if the weight of the entire world were pressing me down, grinding me under its heel like a modern-day Atlas. “I know that sounds crazy, like emotional blackmail, but it’s true.”
“You lived just fine without me for years,” Ella said stiffly through the door.
“I survived, but I didn’t live. Can’t you understand?” My voice rose an octave with my roiling emotion. “I didn’t live. I need you to live, like green things need the sun. Otherwise, I’ll wither up into a husk again.”
She was silent for a time and then, “I don’t know how to take that, Deryk. I really don’t. You’re putting a lot of responsibility on my shoulders.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not trying to burden you with a sense of obligation. Or guilt you into pretending you care. I just… I know my family manipulated things. All right? The man who contacted you sounded an awful lot like a guy who works for the firm named Gentleman Starkey. And the auction took place at the Jolly Roger, which is owned by my cousin Peter’s girl, Belle.”