[english] Consequences

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What? That never crossed her mind. There was no way, she couldn’t take that. She glared at him.

*

Tony watched as Claire stood and met him face to face. God, her strength captivated him. Her voice sounded resilient, “Then I choose number two.”

He didn’t respond. The silence grew. He wanted her—he wanted to tell her he was sorry—he overreacted—but that wasn’t him. He couldn’t.

“Very well, undress.”

She didn’t hesitate, she obeyed his command. She started by unbuttoning her blouse, one button at a time. Then she shimmied out of her slacks; she didn’t argue or complain and maintained eye contact the entire time. Tony’s arousal was becoming difficult to conceal. As her body trembled slightly before him, his demeanor dissolved.

“Come here.” She did. He held her shoulders and looked into her green eyes. “Damn you, Claire.” He pulled her close. “I make snap decisions based on the visible evidence. Appearances are important. I assumed you had something planned with Sue—something I hadn’t approved. I was wrong. Your speech,” he lifted her chin, gently this time, as his tone softened, “was very brave”—He watched her expression—“It helped me see I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.” He put his head down on her hair.

*

Claire exhaled at the unexpected revelation—Anthony Rawlings was apologizing. She stood still while he encircled her with his arms, her trembling ceased and she let her face fall against his chest, inhaling the scent of smoke on his shirt. She felt his erection against her hips and the tension began to build within her depths. Tony’s tone, now mellow, eased her stressed muscles, “Up until the moment Sue handed you that note, I was extremely proud of you. You were amazing. Courtney told me that about ten times.” Claire lifted her eyes to see his expression. It was smiling like his tone. Claire smiled and felt her body relax against his. “There’s something I’d like us to do.”

The relief of his apology overwhelmed her. Her body continued its disregard for reason. She wanted him to take her and didn’t hesitate. “Whatever it is—yes.”

“Your hair, smells like smoke. I’d like us to shower.” Claire took Tony’s hand and led him to her shower. Once there, she helped him undress, and he started undoing her braid. Under the warm spray of the shower he wet her hair, added shampoo, and gently massaged. “Your hair is beautiful, but it really needs trimming, and the weather is getting colder, so maybe some highlights. I believe you’ll enjoy the spa. It has a great reputation.”

She turned to face him. “You didn’t cancel my appointment?”

Smiling tenderly he said, “No, I guess I hoped something would change my mind.” After working the cream rinse into her hair, he took the shower gel and began to lather Claire’s back. Wrapping his arms around her, he lathered her breasts and stomach. With each stroke control became more and more difficult for him to maintain. That’s all right, Claire wanted him too.

His tender touch caused an ache deep inside of her. Turning her around he lifted her body as she wrapped her legs around his torso and his mouth excitedly nibbled her breasts. His tongue created intense sensations as it tantalized her hard round nipples. She gripped his wide shoulders and let her fingers run through his wet hair. His strong arms and body kept her pinned against the wall of the shower. His fingers tantalized until her moans brought him to the edge of explosion. The more he enticed—the more she yearned.

As he filled her completely, thunderous convulsions overtook her body. She expected his actions, but the fulfillment made her back arch and sounds escape her lips. Their bodies moved as one, not because of instructions or demands. Instead, the cause was erotic carnal physical instinct. In time the ardent passion moved from the shower to the bed. He received his desires, but only after assuring Claire did also, many times.

At some point during the night, Tony asked Claire what she overheard. She told him. At first, she didn’t want to say anything about her looking for a sugar daddy, but why hide anything now? Tony laughed.

He was happy to learn about MaryAnn, and that Courtney and Sue were so helpful throughout the day. She told Tony how much she liked seeing him in jeans—definitely sexy—Claire told him. He told her he preferred her without jeans—or anything else. That started them again.

Claire’s spa appointment would be the following Wednesday. Initially, she didn’t want to go, but now she thought about Chicago and Tony’s apartment. “How many apartments do you have?”

“As many as I need. I don’t like hotels much.” They both drifted off to sleep.

*

Tony woke before his alarm. Hearing Claire’s soft and delicate breathing, he saw covered only by a sheet and curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. With the pale light of the lingering moon he noticed her chestnut hair fanned around her head, damp and wavy, her body petite, soft, and supple. He carefully lifted the blankets and covered her. As he watched, the warmth of the blankets allowed her to unconsciously relax and settle into a deeper slumber.

This was not his plan. Things had been in the works for so long and now emotions were wreaking havoc. It was supposed to be easy. Her only purpose was for physical enjoyment, release of energy, and personal pleasure. He’d watched her for so long. He told himself he deserved that, yet somehow, now while at work—in a meeting—on a plane—anywhere—without warning—he would recall something she said or did, and a smile would come to his lips. Tony even noticed strange looks from Brent—a visible sign his thoughts were revealing themselves.

This was wrong. Tony didn’t want to have feelings. The sex was great. It was okay to want her—dominate her—and control her. It was not okay to want to be with her—please her—and love her. Yet, every one of his senses desired Claire. Watching her sleep, he wanted to see her emerald-green eyes that flared when she was upset, her neck that straightened with defiance even when her words accommodated his demands, and her body that filled his every waking thought. He wanted to touch her skin, warm, soft, yet firm, and her long silky hair. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to smell her scent when he first came home—clean and fresh with her chosen perfume and the aroma of her after sex—warm, moist, and exhausted. He wanted to hear her. At this moment, he heard her faint breathing, but he also liked to hear her endless talk. He knew she longed for companionship and camaraderie. He also knew he was currently her only choice. He tried desperately to appear uninterested, but her voice filled him with an intense desire he’d never experienced. That desire had a sexual component, but it also contained a desire to fulfill her yearnings. Anthony Rawlings never previously considered fulfilling someone else’s desires. His entire adult life had been about his wants, goals, ambitions, and needs.

As his mind pondered these dilemmas, he thought about her just a few feet away. He wanted her again. He knew he could wake her, and she would accommodate his demands. Laying his head back on the pillow he remembered the sex they experienced and wondered when did this happen? He no longer wanted to dominate—but to satisfy.

This situation was completely unplanned. His entire life, business, everything was calculated, how could this happen?

He hadn’t realized until he heard himself apologize. When he entered her suite he knew what he was going to say. It wasn’t what he said. Anthony Rawlings could count on one hand the people to whom he’d apologized. Now this woman—a piece of his plan—was on that shortlist.

 

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At the Simmons’, she performed beyond his expectation. Then his overreaction almost ruined everything. Claire’s strength—standing up to him—explaining the situation—and then not complaining, yet complying with his punishment—touched him, but when she was relieved by his realization—instead of upset by his overreaction—she melted him.

In reflection, he berated himself. He should have stayed indifferent, dominant, and in charge. The words from his past echoed in his memory, “Only the weak apologize.” He reconsidered waking her, fulfilling the indifferent domineering qualities that would prove he wasn’t weak. Then he saw her peaceful expression and thought of her giving and surrendering herself over and over. Quietly, he got out of bed, put on his jeans, and left her suite. Stepping into the corridor, he decided to workout.

There is something perverse about more than enough. When we have more, it is never enough. It is always somewhere out there, just out of reach. The more we acquire, the more elusive enough becomes.

—Unknown

Chapter Seventeen

‡

Clawson explained one more time. “It’s very easy. Textiles have made you a fortune, a fortune you can now plant and invest to grow a lot more. This is 1977. The real money isn’t in creating. It’s in owning and selling. See these figures?” He handed Nathaniel the reports. “You have capital not only in profit margins, but also in secured retirement plans. That money’s just sitting there, waiting for those employees to get old. Hell, many of them won’t be eligible for retirement for another twenty years. Use that money, invest it. Grow it. Right now it’s just rotting away in these accounts.”

Samuel stayed quiet as long as he could. His father’s dark eyes were starting to flash dollar signs. “Clawson, the problem with your plan is that our employees own that money—not us. They’ve entrusted us to keep that money for them so it will be available when they retire, and it’s growing interest.”

*

“With all due respect, Mr. Rawls, have you seen the interest rates? Your employees will have their money, because you aren’t going to lose it—you’re growing it. Then when the day’s done, they’ll have their retirement and Rawls Corp. will have additional profits.” Clawson spoke to Samuel, but hoped Nathaniel was the one listening.

He was. Nathaniel said, “Jesus—Samuel, have you looked at these reports? Where are the figures on Hong Kong Industrials?”—Clawson handed Nathaniel the reports—“Since the exchange-trade options change of 1973, it’s a cake-walk to manipulate these options. We set our strike price. If the stock price starts to move out of the option near expiration, we set the cap.”

Clawson smiled. The old man was finally getting it. “You have the capital to do that.”

Samuel threw a report on the table. “It isn’t our capital.”

Looking first to the suddenly disorganized stacks of papers, then to his son, Nathaniel’s brown eyes darkened. “Like hell it isn’t. It’s my Goddamn company. I built it from nothing. Do you think those employees you’re so damned concerned about would have a job if I didn’t work my ass off thirty years ago?”

Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.

—Erich Fromm

Chapter Eighteen

‡

A week after the barbeque, they flew to Chicago. Tony absorbed himself in his work and his laptop as Claire sat quietly and thought about the city. It had been a frequent haunt during her college days, with Valparaiso being only an hour and twenty minutes from the Loop. She and her sorority sisters would spend entire afternoons or evenings enjoying the sights. They’d shop, dine, or go to the theater and knew their way to all the best deals.

Claire recalled the fun as they rode the L or the train around the city. Sometimes they’d go with guys to a baseball game—usually the Cubs. Since she’d never really been a baseball fan, she liked warm evenings with a group of friends, enjoying hot dogs and cold beer and watching people at Wrigley Field. They would all pile into someone’s vehicle and road-trip. It really didn’t get better than that. They were even known to blow off classes for a day at Wrigley. Claire rationalized it as academic research—her major was meteorology and baseball was outdoors—it all made sense.

Friends made Chicago and baseball fun. To Claire, the guys, all from the same fraternity, were more like brothers. After a brief romance her freshman year, she decided to concentrate on school instead of love. Suddenly, Claire realized her reminiscing made her sad. She wondered where those friends were today. She’d become so busy concentrating on her career that she lost touch with most of them. Maybe if they’d stayed connected they would have noticed her missing last March.

As the jet approached the private airport, Claire saw the skyline against the blue of the lake. She told herself to put the sadness away. Compartmentalize. She wondered—when driving there in an old minivan, she knew fun times were ahead—now leaving the private jet and entering the backseat of the leased limousine—what was in store?

Eric chauffeured the limousine as they drove toward the lake at 7:30 AM. Claire could see the buildings, smell the exhaust, and feel the vibration of the road as the car turned north on Lake Shore Drive. She felt more at home than she had in months. She wanted to talk about everything they passed: McCormick Place, Soldier Field, and Grant Park. As they approached Millennium Park, she thought about the concerts which took place all summer long.

Despite her new enthusiasm, she didn’t speak. Tony was occupied on his cell phone. He’d been in a conversation with someone ever since they landed. His voice sounded amicable, but she could see his body language. It told another story. Listening to Claire give a tour of Chicago wouldn’t help his disposition. She also worried he may not approve of her comfort level with Chicago. Originally, she didn’t want to join him on this trip, now she couldn’t wait to enjoy the city.

The limousine pulled up to the Reliance Building and Tony gathered his briefcase, laptop, and cell phone. Eric came around and opened the door. Still talking on his phone, Tony nodded to Claire and got out. She found herself in the familiar situation—being chauffeured to a completely unknown destination.

Before the jet arrived, Tony informed Claire she could rest at his apartment. He hadn’t mentioned the location or when he’d return. She took a deep breath and waited while Eric moved the car through the crowded streets. In a short time, the limousine idled in a line approaching the front entrance to the Trump Tower.

Eric lowered the window separating the two compartments and gave Claire the first information on her destination. “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings’ apartment is the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower. Security has your name and will allow you access. As you enter the main doors, walk to the left. You’ll see a security desk. They’ll help you reach the apartment. I’ll park the car and bring your and Mr. Rawlings’ bags up as soon as I can. The staff of the apartment will be available to assist you once you reach the eighty-ninth floor. Do you have any questions, miss?”

“No, thank you, Eric, I’ll be fine.” Then she waited while he stopped the car and came around to open her door. After only having five hours sleep, Claire felt like a mouse placed in a maze. Would she be able to find the cheese?

 

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The cool lake breeze hit her legs as she stepped from the car and proceeded into the Trump Tower. She thought about her appearance—the blouse, skirt, sophisticated heels, and hair pulled up and back. She didn’t resemble the college girl who used to roam these streets with her friends.

Today, doors opened and the bellman nodded as she passed. She looked like she belonged in a limousine. The guard at the security desk didn’t question her as she spoke with confidence, “Hello, I’m Claire Nichols. Please show me to Mr. Rawlings’ apartment.”

“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we’ve been expecting you. We hope your flight was enjoyable. Please follow me this way.” The guard tried his best to make small talk, but Claire’s mind lingered six years behind.

Once the elevator reached the eighty-ninth floor, Claire tipped the guard, thanked him, and entered the open door to the apartment. Immediately, a charming gentleman greeted her, “Hello, Ms. Claire, my name is Charles. I’m very pleased to meet you.” He showed her to Mr. Rawlings’s room. “Miss, would you be interested in some breakfast, coffee, or anything else?”

Tony’s room reminded her of his apartment in New York, more of the masculine natural colors. The shades were drawn and the room felt dark and dreary. She knew on the other side of the shades the sun shone brightly and asked Charles to open them. The view, as he opened the drapes, took her breath away. The windows faced north toward the lake. Far above most of the city, she stood close to the window and looked down at the buildings. Just a little to the left she saw Navy Pier and out on the lake she saw boats. The beautiful vista hypnotized her. She loved Chicago—and there it was—eighty-nine stories below.

“Ms. Nichols, will you be staying or going out?”

Pulled from her trance, she knew her desire and reality differed. She and Tony hadn’t discussed her activities. “I believe I’ll be staying here—for now—and I’d like some coffee please.”

Charles returned with coffee and their luggage. If she were back in Iowa, she could be on her way to her lake; instead, she was sequestered in Tony’s apartment. She lay down on his big luxurious cold bed, covered herself with blankets, and fell asleep. When she awoke the clock said 12:30 PM. Tony might not be back for at least five hours. If only she could contact him, find out his plans. Instead, she investigated his apartment.

Not surprisingly, it was magnificent and apparently took the entire eighty-ninth floor. Like his New York apartment, there were floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the dwelling. She found an office that contained computers and telephones, no doubt Tony’s home office in Chicago. She opened the office door, looked around, and closed it. Under no circumstance was she permitted in his home office without him. There was no reason to believe the rules would be different here.

It occurred to Claire that perhaps Eric would be able to contact Tony and find out his expectations. Charles informed her that Eric was with Mr. Rawlings. He didn’t know when they planned to return.

Next, Charles served lunch, which bore a striking resemblance to her everyday lunches in Iowa. Knowing there were restaurants with various delicious foods only an elevator ride away, Claire’s appetite disappeared. She settled onto the sofa in the living room with a book; however, the stunning view and the undeniable yearning to be in the city made concentration difficult. Finally, at 4:30 PM, Charles announced Mr. Rawlings called and the two of them had dinner reservations for 6:00 PM and tickets to the 8:30 PM show of “Wicked.”

Preparing for the evening, Claire opened her garment bag to a Nicole Miller taupe strapless dress with sequins. She’d never seen the dress before, but knew it’d fit perfectly. The matching Gucci shoes and handbag completed the ensemble. There was even a small jacket with matching sequins, just right for an autumn evening. She piled her hair on top of her head with large spiral curls dangling down her neck.

As she completed the finishing touches to her make-up, Tony entered the bedroom, greeted Claire, and went to the adjoining bath for a quick shower. She smiled at his chatty tone. It was as if other people were near, and his eyes were milk chocolate. When he emerged from the bathroom, the aroma of aftershave filled the bedroom, and he was clean-shaven, with wet hair, and a towel around his waist.

Watching him, she momentarily thought about an ongoing conversation she’d been having lately with herself. It usually started with thoughts of him—pleasant thoughts. Then she’d think about the way he made her feel or how much she liked to see him happy. Then it would turn to questioning, something like: Are you completely crazy or only unstable. She didn’t know how she could feel this way about him. After all, he kidnapped her and hurt her—but when he was good…Claire tried to remember—there was a song or something that said—when he is good—he is so good—and that summed it up.

She pondered the many puzzling sides of his enigma as she watched him in the mirror. First, looking at him as he removed the towel, her pulse quickened and she forgot about her primping. No one could deny his incredibly handsome physique. Hell, he was gorgeous. Despite the almost twenty-year age difference, she observed his defined muscles, broad shoulders, and firm abdomen. Momentarily, she fantasized about the feel of his skin against hers. Second, he was undoubtedly an extremely successful businessman who desired to keep his personal life private. Third, he utterly and completely believed in appearances. Fourth, he had an insatiable sex drive. In that arena Claire had come to terms with his varying approaches—anywhere from tenderness to domination. The side of Tony that bothered Claire the most was his unpredictability. His temperament could shift without warning—making an Indiana tornado seem docile.

Due to his position, his desire for privacy and appearances were understandable. It was the swiftness with which he could go from serene to furious that concerned her. Nevertheless, as Claire watched him dress, smelled his cologne, and heard him chat, her body tingled in anticipation. She looked forward to being on his arm and enjoying Chicago’s nightlife.

Their dinner reservations were for Sixteen a fine restaurant on the sixteenth floor of the Trump Tower. They were escorted to a premium table with an amazing view of the Wrigley Clock Tower. Tony ordered their wine, appetizers, and meals. The reputation for outstanding cuisine proved true; everything tasted delectable. They chatted throughout the meal, mostly about Chicago and its many possibilities. Claire didn’t complain about spending the day in the apartment, but she mentioned that after the spa she’d like to do some shopping. After all, wasn’t it Tony who kept encouraging her to shop?

After dinner, Tony suggested they walk the short distance from Trump Tower to Cadillac Palace Theater. Having wanted outside all day, Claire thought his idea was fantastic and enthusiastically agreed. Feeling the warm city breeze, walking arm in arm down South Street through the crowds of people, gave her a rush of anonymity. They talked and laughed as the evening faded into night. Claire’s deprived senses filled with sounds of traffic, the feel of a crowd, and visions of buildings transforming into monuments of architecture as darkness descended and lights illuminated.

Claire could have walked forever. Even the sensation of her shoes hitting the hard concrete delighted her, but their journey ended too soon. Upon entering the theater, she saw the show bill high above their heads. She’d long been a fan of the “Wizard of Oz” and immediately became excited about watching the performance of “Wicked.”

 

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Of course, they were seated in prime seats. Claire remembered seeing shows in the same theater, years earlier, sitting somewhere near the top of the balcony. Currently, they had an excellent view of the stage and orchestra. For the next few hours, Claire became lost in the performance: the acting, dancing, and singing. When Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity,” Claire was absolutely mesmerized. Her life disappeared into the performance. Every now and again she would notice Tony watching her—not the show. She chose to ignore his gazes and enjoy the show. She believed her behavior was appropriate and knew—without a doubt—if it weren’t—he would let her know.

After the show they walked back to Trump Tower. Tony talked about Claire’s appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM. She had a massage, facial, and hair services scheduled, but if she wanted more she only needed to let them know. Everything would be billed to Tony’s apartment. Her only concern would be generous tipping, and he would give her all the cash she needed. The spa was actually in the tower and Charles would be available to help her find it. They would provide lunch if her services took that long, and they probably would.

That night Tony’s bed wasn’t cold like it had been earlier in the day. Claire believed his business in Chicago must be going well. That night he was generous, demonstrative, sensual, and erotic. Perhaps he felt apologetic for his quick judgment the week earlier. Whatever the motive, Claire loved the results!

In the past, during the nights Tony stayed in Claire’s bed, it seemed like they slept on polar-opposite sides. Tonight’s finale concluded differently. They fell asleep with Claire’s cheek on his chest, his arm around her bare shoulder, and her arm over his tight abdomen. She felt his warmth as his chest hair tickled her nose. Her head rose and fell with each of his breaths, and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. She inhaled his intoxicating scent and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she awoke alone. Due to the heavy draperies, the dark room made it difficult for Claire to assess time. The clock read 7:10 AM. She hadn’t heard Tony get out of bed, shower or dress, and had no idea how long he’d been gone.

Putting on a robe, she went to find coffee. At home it would have been brought to her immediately upon waking. Then she thought—no, hoped—perhaps this room didn’t have the quality surveillance of her room in Iowa. In the dining room Charles poured coffee and informed her that Mr. Rawlings left thirty minutes earlier for his Chicago office.

Sipping the rich bold liquid, Claire’s mind recalled the pleasures of last night. Not just the sex—which was great—it was the memories of his voice and expressions. Blissfully walking back to the bedroom, Claire told Charles she would wait until after she dressed for breakfast.

Back in Tony’s room she found his note:

I am sure you remember that your appointment is at 9:00 AM, don’t be late. I plan to be back to the apartment by 6:00 PM You mentioned shopping last night at dinner. I have left you your credit card and ID. There’s also ample cash for tipping and incidentals. After your spa day, Charles will help you with transportation to shopping.

Do not forget my rules—I trust you know better than that.

He never began his notes with a salutation or signed them. Claire looked in the envelope under the note. It contained her ID and credit card, as well as over a thousand dollars in different denominations.

Claire thought it was unnecessary that Tony kept her ID and credit card. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to use it whenever she wanted, and the amount of cash seemed excessive, until she saw the small sticky note on one of the bills:

$100 per stylist that assists you

Claire decided maybe some instruction was helpful, she wouldn’t have considered tipping that much.

She arrived at the Day Spa ten minutes early. They greeted her and ushered her to one of the treatment rooms. Instead of music, the air permeated with sounds of nature and the aroma of scented candles. Indirect lighting helped to complete the relaxing atmosphere. To begin her day of pampering they directed her to a large whirlpool tub. Once submerged, the assistant added a special mixture of oils and powders based on Claire’s answers to some preference questions. After the tub, Claire was led to the massage table, where they asked her to lie with her face submerged in a hole.

Suddenly, besieged by a rush of unpleasant memories, she did her best to control her emotions and lie down. The masseuse began with Claire’s shoulders and commented on the tightness of her muscles. It didn’t take long for the combination of the bath oils, ambiance, and magic of the masseuse’s hands to ease the tension. At the conclusion of the massage, every muscle in Claire’s body felt loose and relaxed.

Next, they proceeded to the hair salon. Apparently, when making Claire’s reservations a highlight procedure was requested. Never in all of her life had she colored her hair. The apprehension brought back some tension to her shoulders; however, she knew Tony was the one to plan her treatment, so the idea of changing it was more unsettling. While the color sat on her hair, they treated her to a facial which claimed skin rejuvenation. After they washed and conditioned her hair, the stylist began trimming and styling.

When Claire’s chair spun around, she gazed at her auburn tresses which now contained generous caramel and light blonde highlights. It all blended beautifully, and the length hadn’t really changed. The result looked healthy, shaped, stunning, and different.

Next, they offered Claire a menu. She enthusiastically ordered her own lunch, deciding on a sushi variety plate with a side salad. Claire decided Tony must not like sushi. She hadn’t eaten any in months. It tasted wonderful. Following lunch she chose to receive a manicure and pedicure while the cosmetic specialist completed her make-up. Claire yearned to walk around outside, yet she was truly enjoying the pampering. Smiling, she recalled Tony’s enthusiasm about her spa experience.

It was nearing 2:00 PM when the receptionist brought Claire the telephone. “Ms. Nichols, you have a call.” At first, she just stared. Other than Emily over a week ago, Claire hadn’t spoken on a phone for almost six months. She immediately believed this was a test.

Looking at her nails under the dryer, she said, “Thank you, could you please ask who it is?”

The receptionist inquired and continued, “Mr. Rawlings would like to speak with you.”

Claire carefully took the phone. “Hello, Tony?”

“Very good, Claire”—she smiled—“I’m on my way to the airport. I need to make an emergency trip to New York.” Tony’s voice sounded informative but preoccupied.

“All right. Will I be going too?”

“No, Eric will be back in Chicago this evening and accompany you home. Just continue your plans and be back at the apartment by 6:00 PM. Charles will see that you get to the airport for your flight.”

Claire wanted to ask about the shopping. She felt pretty and didn’t want to spend the afternoon in the apartment. However, he did say to continue her plans. She chose to believe that included shopping. If she didn’t ask, she could plead ignorance when questioned.

“Okay, I will.” She didn’t want to say anything inappropriate with people listening. “Do you know when you will be back?”

“Not for sure. I believe Saturday. I need to go, we’re at the airport.”

“I will see you then. Have a safe trip.”

 

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“Claire”—he paused—“don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t Tony. I’ll see you Saturday.” The telephone disconnected from his end. Claire handed the telephone back to one of the clinicians and inspected her nails, holding the phone hadn’t caused any damage. Her fingers and toes glistened shiny red, and her make-up had been expertly applied. Claire stepped in front of the mirror. She wished with all her might that Tony could see her now—she felt stunning.

There were a total of six assistants that worked directly with Claire. She went to the front desk, signed the charge slip, and gave the tip money to the receptionist, with an additional fifty for her. Claire smiled and thanked her for bringing her the telephone.

Back at the apartment Claire changed clothes, wanting to get outside and enjoy the shops before she needed to return at 6:00 PM. Looking out of the windows, she could tell the day was warm. The waves on the lake also told her that the breeze was strong. But of course, that was why they call it the windy city!

She had a little over three hours to shop and she wanted to make every minute count! All of a sudden, time slipped back six years. She needed to shop fast in order to get back to class. The biggest difference between then and now was her goal—instead of bargains—she looked for the buys that would please Tony.

Charles offered Claire a driver, but she wanted to walk. The busy city and warm weather created an exhilarating atmosphere. She longed to be outside and on her own short schedule. Cartier was her first stop. She found another pair of sunglasses. They were like the ones from New York, except black, which would be better for winter.

Although that was her thought, she wondered if she would really be with Tony all winter. Compartmentalize. Right now, her plan was to enjoy this afternoon and some shopping, the rest would work itself out.

Her familiarity with the magnificent mile proved advantageous to her goal. She didn’t have Eric to pick up packages, so she didn’t buy anything too bulky; however, she managed some smaller bags from Saks, Anne Fontaine, Armani, and Louis Vuitton.

Claire approached the Trump Tower and her watch said she had thirty minutes to spare. She stopped in the coffee shop for a quick café mocha. In Iowa, she mostly drank plain coffee with cream—very high quality and amazingly delicious. This afternoon she was living and decided a little chocolate would hit the spot.

Sitting at the table surrounded by her packages, sipping her café mocha, Claire’s mind wandered. Her life seemed to have taken a turn. The last few weeks were much better than months earlier, so much better than she could have predicted. She talked with Emily—if only for a few minutes. She thought about the rules: speaker phone, limitations, and the briefness of the call. It took a magnitude of compartmentalization to concentrate on the affirmative aspect of the conversation. Nonetheless, she spoke with her sister and that made her happy. Then there was the barbeque—minus the unfortunate misunderstanding—which was a success. Tony introduced her to his friends, and they were nice to her. The date with Tony the night before was romantic: dinner, walking, the play, and the activities until they fell asleep. Now, she was sitting in Chicago—a destination she loved.

Smiling, she sipped her café mocha and thought about him. She hated him one day and then allowed her hair to change colors because he requested it. The more she thought about it, maybe allow wasn’t the appropriate word. Really, did she have an option? How could he hurt her one day and then make her feel so fulfilled the next? Her internal debate continued.

As she thought of Tony, feelings of lust pushed away the old feelings of fear. Remembering the sensation of his touch, sound of his voice, and taste of his skin, she wanted to believe this was a significant improvement. She wondered how she could be having these feelings, how she could enjoy his presence, and even look forward to being with him. She’d read about Stockholm syndrome—maybe that was it. She knew it didn’t make sense—but she couldn’t deny the way she was beginning to feel.

Preoccupied in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the woman approaching until she stood directly above her. “Claire? Claire Nichols is that really you?”

Claire looked up in disbelief, realizing that someone actually addressed her. She recognized Meredith Banks immediately. She was a sorority sister from Valparaiso. It made sense—Valparaiso was nearby.

“Hello, Meredith, how are you?” Her voice reflected her genuine excitement and surprise at seeing someone from her past. They’d roamed these streets together, in another life.

“Gosh, I’m great. How are you? You look amazing. I haven’t heard from you in ages!” Meredith looked at the other chair. “Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

Apprehensively, Claire looked at her watch. She needed to be upstairs by 6:00 PM—it was 5:40 PM. She considered appearances—it would be rude to not allow her to sit.

Claire motioned with her hand. “Yes, please do.”

The two ladies talked about what brought them to Chicago. Meredith noted, looking at the booty surrounding Claire’s chair, she was obviously doing some shopping. She even noted it was higher-end shopping than they did in college. Claire laughed it off, saying even these stores had great deals. She couldn’t help think about Bonnie who’d gauged the value of her clothing and wondered if Meredith were doing the same thing.

Meredith asked if Claire saw any shows while in town. Claire told her she saw Wicked and enjoyed it very much. Did Claire remember the fun shows they used to watch and the concerts? Meredith mentioned she was in town for work. Where was Claire working? She seemed to know Claire had been in Atlanta. Claire wondered if they had spoken while she was there, they must have. Meredith lived out west these days—in California. Did Claire ever make it out that way? Where was she living?

Claire did her best to be evasive, yet friendly. This was her sorority sister being friendly—not some paparazzi. Finally, Meredith started talking about her husband. She married Jerry from the fraternity and their group. Did Claire know that? No, she didn’t. How long had they been married? And Anne and Shaun were engaged! If Claire would give Meredith her address, she was sure that Anne would want to invite her. Meredith wondered if Claire was married. Was she seeing anyone? Hadn’t she heard rumors?

That word sounded an alarm—Rumor. Wasn’t that the word Tony used to describe her—a rumor? Claire laughed again. “Oh, Meredith, didn’t we learn years ago you should never trust rumors.”

Checking her watch again, it was 5:55 PM. “It was great seeing you, but I really do need to go. We should catch up sometime.” Claire tried to not be rude, but she didn’t want to talk any longer. She went directly to the security counter, where the guard recognized her and helped her with her bags as they went to the residential elevators.

By 8:00 PM, Claire sat in Tony’s jet by herself, flying back to Iowa. Eric copiloted. She tried not to think about her conversation with Meredith. She decided compartmentalization was best—she would think about it another time. Instead, she decided to think about Thursday and Friday with Tony out of town. Smiling, she told herself, I’m going to my lake!

Experience is the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, do you learn.

—C. S. Lewis

Chapter Nineteen

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Thursday morning, Claire woke to the unfamiliar sound of rain. With the dryness of the summer, at first she questioned the pitter-patter, but as her mind cleared, the noise made sense. Going directly to the window, she saw droplets of water on the window, gray clouds, and puddles on the ground. She had been so excited about the lake, but she didn’t want to walk five miles—each direction—in the rain and mud. Disappointment overwhelmed her. How could it rain on the one day she wanted sun? With Tony gone—the day dragged on endlessly.

The next morning, she lay in bed and listened for the sound of rain. Straining her ears, she only heard silence. Tentatively, looking out the window, Claire beheld the crystal clear blue sky. The rain had washed the dust and dryness of the summer away leaving everything looking fresh and clean. The bright sunshine glistened on the moist leaves.

Wearing her robe, she went out onto the balcony and immediately realized the drop in temperature. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out over the polychromatic woods. The crisp autumn fragrance penetrated deep into her lungs. She knew it would be muddy, but she didn’t care. She’d wear an old pair of shoes and make her way to her lake.

Getting ready that morning, her reflection caught her by surprise. The new blonder hair made her skin tone lighter and eyes deeper green. It wasn’t as if she suddenly looked like Marilyn Monroe, but her reflection looked more blonde than ever before. Claire wasn’t sure what she thought of her new look, but she did know, Tony wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; so, she pulled the lighter hair back into a ponytail.

As she got ready for her adventure, Claire realized she didn’t own anything old—as in old shoes. Everything was new or looked new. The clothes which were in her closet almost six months ago were gone—now too large. Whether she shopped or not, her wardrobe never waned. Currently, sweaters and jackets multiplied while she slept.

Luckily, her feet hadn’t changed size, so the hiking boots she requested months ago were waiting and ready. Claire decided she’d just clean them when she got home. Catherine didn’t approve of Claire’s plan, saying the ground would be muddy and slippery. What if she fell and twisted something? Claire promised she would be safe. She explained that it had been so long since she hiked in the woods; she wanted to stay out as long as possible. She would return—she simply didn’t know when.

Catherine promised dinner upon her arrival—no matter how late. She also provided Claire with a packed lunch complete with water bottles and a thermos of warm coffee. A little past 10:00 AM, she left the backyard.

Although it had been almost a month, Claire knew each turn to find her lake. At almost noon she reached her destination. The shore looked exactly like she remembered, except the trees surrounding the lake were now multicolored with rich vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. Green had definitely become the minority. Certain varieties of deciduous trees were completely bare. Claire suddenly wondered what made some trees lose their leaves earlier than others; she had some research to do.

The scent of autumn filled the air, thick, poignant, fresh, and spicy. After yesterday’s wind and rain, the morning air was still and the lake was calm, the surface resembling a giant mirror. The colorful trees on the shoreline reflected off the water. The simplistic beauty made Claire wish she had a camera.

The sounds of nature were everywhere: bees or yellow jackets buzzed in the autumn sunshine, birds sang, and forest rodents scurried through the fallen leaves. Claire watched as ducks swam on the beautiful smooth lake, leaving wakes as their trail. Some floated near the shore, occasionally dipping their heads under the water, filling their stomachs for their flight south. September was almost half done; she would head south too, if she could. Pensively, she thought about Atlanta.

When Claire dressed, she put on jeans, a workout t-shirt, and a jacket. Now that the sun glowed strongly from high above, the warmth allowed her to remove the jacket. By late afternoon, she even took off her boots, rolled up her jeans, and waded into the water.

Part of her recognized the possibility she may not be back to the lake before winter, and she wanted to experience as much as she could. Of course, she hoped her debt would soon be considered paid. More realistically, she realized her duties now included travel. If she were expected to accompany Tony out of town, she wouldn’t be home to explore.

The cold water made her feet tingle. She watched as her polished toes stepped on pebbles and squished the underwater terra. When she stood still, the minnows swarmed, investigating the bright red toenails. Some even nibbled at her toes; it tickled.

Claire had eaten her lunch midafternoon, but her stomach told her she needed dinner soon. Finding some coffee in the thermos—no longer warm—she pretended it was a Frappuccino—without the crushed ice. It helped to fill the void until she reached the promise of Catherine’s dinner. The daylight hours were decreasing, and before she knew it the sky began to redden.

Glancing at her watch, it was after 7:00 PM. She wondered where the day had gone, as the most beautiful scene unfolded before her eyes. Sitting on the shore she watched the sky as the sun settled over the lake. She couldn’t make herself get up and go back to the house as the lovely postcard picture transformed into a stunning explosion of crimson.

The setting sun caused the few cumuliform clouds to change from white—to gray—to pink—and then to a vibrant red. The radiance beamed onto the leaves, altering their color. The scene continued to improve in brilliance and the beauty continued to grow. Claire sat patiently and watched with a new sense of contentment.

Once the sun reached the line of trees at the far end of the lake, the darkness quickly extended over the land. Claire remembered Catherine, and knew she’d be worried. The idea of walking back to the house in the dark woods should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She knew her way.

When she stepped into the clearing, the illumination from the moon allowed her to see her watch, 8:30 PM. She wasn’t making bad time, but it would be almost 9:30 PM before she reached home. The air had cooled but still tasted fresh and clean, she inhaled and set off as fast as she could. Direction wasn’t the issue—it was safety. The ground not only had limbs and roots as obstacles, but the rain left muddy areas which made her slip. One time her left foot slid, making her right knee muddy. When she stepped into the backyard, her eyes focused on her watch, it was 9:35 PM. The last leg of her trip took longer than normal. Although, her stomach growled for dinner, her first priority was removing the muddy boots, jeans, and taking a shower or a nice bath.

Leaving her boots on the back stoop, the carpeted floor of the southeast corridor felt soft under her feet and quieted her steps. As she opened the door to her suite, her thoughts ran between removing her muddy jeans and a warm shower. Navigation through the dark room was easy, and she even considered leaving the light off. Then she remembered Catherine. Turning on the light would let her know she’d returned. As she reached for the light switch, she sensed his presence. Before she could speak an arm came down over her neck and her head turned sharply upward as her ponytail was pulled back.

It all happened so fast, she gasped.

His fierce voice through the darkness was unmistakable, “Where the fuck have you been?”

She tried to respond, but the arm around her neck restricted her air intake. She couldn’t breathe, much less speak. He let go of her, momentarily, while he spun her around. She faced him as he gripped her shoulders with a force she’d never experienced. His warm breath hit her face with each word. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck have you been?”

 

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Coughing at the sudden intake of oxygen, she tried to respond, “Tony, I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”

That wasn’t an answer to his question. Although the lights were still off, with the bright moonlight streaming through the unblocked windows, her eyes quickly adjusted. With diminished light, distinguishing color was difficult; Claire didn’t need to see color to know his eyes contained none. He released the grip on her shoulder with his right hand and struck her. His left hand stopped her from falling. He supported her, only to confront her again. “I’ve asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.” Once again, his hand contacted her cheek—harder this time.

“Tony, please stop”—she gasped for breath as her temple and cheek stung—“I was hiking in the woods.”

He let go of her shoulders, and shoved her onto the sofa. He followed and loomed over her body as she lay against the cushions. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

She tried to explain, “I was in the woods.” “The sun was setting.” “It was so beautiful.” Her words came in gasps.

Finally, he yelled, “Shut the fuck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home and you didn’t want to face me after what you did.”

Claire’s mind spun. “I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home Saturday, this is still Friday”—tears infiltrated her words—“I haven’t done anything.”

Tony slapped her again. “Liar!”

Claire fought the sobs and fear, as she watched him methodically walk to the light switch illuminate the suite. Immediately, she noticed that his suit coat was missing, and his shirt and slacks were wrinkled. His chest visibly expanded and contracted with each labored breath, and his eyes were not only black—but violent. In the past he’d been upset—but in control. Tonight rage replaced self-control. Instinctively, Claire knew he’d crossed some invisible threshold. She just didn’t know why. She did know—the reason scared the hell out of her.

The room echoed with silence as he walked to her dining table and picked up papers. That quiet shattered as his booming voice demanded, “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding”—he shook the pages in his hand while his words came too close together—“I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”

Claire feared talking, but she did, “Tony, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

He threw the pages at her and they scattered on the floor near her feet. When he didn’t move, she bent down to pick them up. Although, her vision was now blurry from tears, she tried desperately to blink and focus on the pages. They were typed, and appeared to be from the Internet. The last two pages contained pictures: pictures of the two of them at the symphony—at some event she couldn’t distinguish—in New York—and walking down the street in Chicago, arm in arm. Then there were pictures of Claire in college—with friends—and one of her and Meredith sitting at a table talking.

The breath in her chest suddenly dissipated. Her eyes focused on the words:

Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’s Life

Agrees to a One on One Interview.

Claire’s eyes grew wide and immediately overflowed with a flood of tears. She couldn’t believe what she’d read. Oh my God! “Tony! Oh my God—I did not agree to an interview.”

“So, you’re telling me that this picture of you talking to this woman”—he pointed to the picture as he stood over Claire—“is a print shop fabrication and just like at the barbeque, this is a colossal misunderstanding?”

His closeness filled her with dread. It was her talking to Meredith…She tried to explain, “It is me, but—” His hands picked her off the sofa and pinned her against a wall. Claire attempted reason, “Tony, I wasn’t giving an interview.” She hit the wall with enough force for a picture to fall. His grip hurt her arms; she tasted the salt of her tears as her ears reverberated with his booming voice and rang from his repeated slaps.

His face descended. “Then what the hell are you doing?”—he shook her again—“Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you and I believed you! I sent you to a spa day! This is how you show your gratitude—by breaking all my rules—by public failure?” He released his grip; Claire fell to the floor like a rag doll.

Scurrying to pick up the papers, Claire asked, “What is this?”

“It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy”—he hovered over her before turning abruptly away. Trying to regain control of his anger and of himself, Tony went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. His words came slower—“It’s scheduled to run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone”—his eyes penetrated her soul—“I flew home as soon immediately.”

Claire wondered how long he’d been waiting and brewing in her suite. She desperately tried to read:

Byline: Meredith Banks

Well, you believe you know Anthony Rawlings, forty-five-years-old and self-made billionaire? Or, maybe you would like to know him? You may be too late. Since May of 2010 Anthony has been seen out on the town with the same mystery woman. Up until now we haven’t known much about Anthony’s special woman. That is until she agreed to sit down with old friend and freelance writer Meredith Banks. The woman in Anthony Rawlings’s life is Claire Nichols, twenty-six-years-old and originally from Fishers, Indiana, just outside of Indianapolis.

Claire graduated from Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana in 2006 with a bachelor’s degree in meteorology. Ms. Nichols and Meredith were in the same sorority from 2003 through 2006. It’s believed that this long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Claire looked up and saw Tony on the sofa—watching. Her entire body trembled as nausea erupted in her empty stomach. “Tony, I went to school with Meredith; she came up to me the other day and started talking—I didn’t know she was a reporter—I wasn’t giving an interview—I didn’t say anything about you.” In desperation she added, “Your name was never mentioned!”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he nodded toward the pages—she continued reading:

Anthony Rawlings has long been considered a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. In the past, he’s dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens; however, his previous relationships didn’t last long. That is until now—now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. Since that time, they’ve been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well two of the nation’s largest cities—New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).

The question all eligible bachelorettes are asking—why Claire? What makes her the woman for a man like Anthony Rawlings? Perhaps it’s her youth, her beauty, or her style.

 

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While Claire would neither confirm nor deny that she and Anthony Rawlings were involved. She didn’t deny living in the Iowa City area. Could that address perhaps be the same as Mr. Rawlings’?

Social Security records indicate that Ms. Nichols’ only employment has been as a bartender, since losing her job in 2009 at WKPZ in Atlanta, Georgia. WKPZ was purchased by TTT-TV, resulting in the layoff of many employees, yet despite this loss of employment, Ms. Nichols was seen shopping in Chicago at such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue, Anne Fontaine, Cartier, Giorgio Armani, and Louis Vuitton. It’s also rumored that Ms. Nichols spent the better part of the day enjoying all the comforts money could buy at one of Chicago’s most exclusive day spas.

Claire used to spend her days in Chicago (see picture) with many different men from Valparaiso University. Now it seems she is enjoying the better life with only one man. (see picture). The performers will be happy to know that Claire and Anthony enjoyed the performance of “Wicked.”

The final bit of evidence confirming their involvement came when Ms. Claire Nichols was ushered to the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower—the private city dwelling belonging to none other than Mr. Anthony Rawlings.

Emily Vandersol, twenty-nine-years-old, sister and only living relative of Ms. Nichols, was asked about her knowledge of Claire and Anthony’s relationship. Mrs. Vandersol stated that she’d recently spoke to Claire and she sounded well. Anthony Rawlings was not mentioned during their conversation, and Mrs. Vandersol had no further comments.

Sorry, ladies, it seems that Ms. Claire Nichols is holding on to Anthony Rawlings. What will she tell us about this private man? We are anxiously waiting to learn.

Claire’s hands trembled. Although she’d finished reading, she continued to look down as she searched desperately for something to say—some explanation. Finally, she set the pages on the floor and kept her eyes down. There was nothing to say. The article didn’t reveal any information, although the sensational title alluded it would. Tony knew that, he flew all the way home. He’d obviously read the article multiple times. It was her in the picture—she was talking to Meredith—it wasn’t what it seemed—but in her head she could hear his voice.

Now, she heard him stand as he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire—how many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture of you sitting with her—the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate; it’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”

He wasn’t yelling, he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire felt his penetrating stare and didn’t want to look into his black eyes.

“Get up.”

Claire knew she should—but she didn’t move—she couldn’t—her body was paralyzed with fear. She had no defense—she’d disobeyed his rules.

His volume increased, “Claire, get up!”

The tears dripped off her nose. “Please, Tony”—she sobbed—“I’m so sorry.”

Defenseless to stop his actions—her body rose as he lifted her by her arm. His voice exuded wrath, “The entire way home I prayed that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this after I put my trust in you—but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding—if you’d truly disobeyed—there had to be consequences. There had to be a punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules!”

She saw his hand move and instinctively veered to avoid another blow. The miss of her cheek infuriated him—his control vanished—he swung again. This time, his hand caught her pearl necklace. The fine chain proved no contest for Tony’s anger and power. The pearl charm flew as the broken chain slid from around Claire’s neck. The next impact put her back on the floor, and she tasted blood. Claire started to reach for her face, to learn the source of the blood, when his booming voice proclaimed, “I believe some time away from people—some time alone—will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

She pleaded for him to stop—she was sorry. She tried to turn and to twist, yet he continued to hurt her. She tried to yell—but sobs replaced pleas. Claire tried to protect her face and her body, yet she couldn’t get away. Time had stopped moving. She wondered how long this had been happening—it could have been only seconds—or maybe hours—Claire didn’t know.

Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice drifted far away. Though her entire body cried out in agony from the abuse—this was different—more—a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up—to speak—but she couldn’t.

Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony—her suite—her tears—her fear—and the pain—all faded away into darkness.

Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

—Author anonymous

Chapter Twenty

‡

She couldn’t remember why she was afraid—only that she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her being began to dissipate. She heard music and felt warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the darkness continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang Wind Beneath My Wings. Claire remembered that her mom loved that song. She’d turn up the radio and sing every word. Mom used to say, “It isn’t about the sound of your voice, but the happiness that makes you sing.”

“Shirley, do you know where my wallet is?” Jordan called from down the hall.

“Mom, Claire, took my Pop-Tart.” Emily’s voice sounded different, so young.

Claire opened her eyes and saw a scene, like a movie, except she was there and not there. She also saw her mom, dad, and sister. Claire watched herself, but the Claire she saw was young—maybe five or six-years-old. Their small house was chaotic and full of affection.

She watched as her mom made Emily another Pop-Tart, scolded Claire, and gave her a loving kiss on top of her head. Dad walked into the kitchen wearing his police uniform. Claire couldn’t believe how young everyone looked, how warm and full of love she felt watching this scene from her childhood. Dad walked behind Mom and put his arms tenderly around her. She noticed Emily and Claire playing with one another and their breakfast. They weren’t seeing the devotion and adoration Claire now saw between her parents. Mom giggled as Dad kissed her neck, and she handed him his wallet from the kitchen counter. He whispered in her ear, Claire strained to hear. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Well, you aren’t going to get the chance to find out. I plan on sticking around forever.”

As they looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the spilling of a glass of orange juice. Little Emily and little Claire both became silent, neither one would tell on the other. Claire heard her dad’s voice, “Girls, see what happens when you mess around.” His voice wasn’t angry. He cleaned the juice with a paper towel and Mom helped with a wet cloth. “Try to be careful, you sillies.” He kissed their foreheads as he turned to leave, taking the time to hug their mom.

The scene began to fade. Claire didn’t want to leave the warm feeling. She took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. The darkness returned—coolness—

 

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“Ms. Claire—Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” Although the familiar voice teemed with concern, the warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. Claire didn’t want to go to the voice—she wanted to go back—she wanted more sleep, more tranquility…

“Come on, Claire, the movie starts in half an hour,” Grandma’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

Claire opened her eyes and wondered where she was. It was her grandparent’s house. She must be staying over. Now she wondered if Emily was there too. She could see herself, no longer a child but an awkward teenager. Grandma called up the stairs again, “Claire, your sister said she’ll pick you and your friend up—hurry down.” Grandma’s expression reflected concern for Claire’s movie. The real Claire wondered if the teenage Claire would see Grandma’s distress.

Young Claire stomped down the stairs. “Fine, I’m ready, but I called Amy, and now she can’t go. I don’t want to see A Bug’s Life with Emily. John will be there. He’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Let’s call Emily, and we’ll tell her Grandpa, you, and I are going to the movies.” As Claire watched she prayed her counterpart would accept Grandma’s offer. She also wondered her age, probably fourteen or fifteen-years-old. Then she remembered Grandpa died when she was fourteen-years-old, so if he was going to the movies she had to be younger. Teenage Claire made a face at her grandmother’s suggestion.

“Where are we going?” Grandpa’s green eyes shone and his voice boomed jovially as he joined them from the other room. Claire’s heart ached to see her grandparents, yet at the same time it swelled with affection.

“To the movies,” Grandma said, smiling at Grandpa. Her grandparents were having an entire conversation through their sparkling eyes and facial expressions. Young Claire didn’t notice—too self-absorbed.

Grandpa put his arm around Claire. “Great, I’ve been trying to get Grandma to go to the new Lethal Weapon. You know I love me some police drama.”

Grandma smiled at him. “Oh no, that’s rated R. Claire would rather see Ever After.”

They were doing it—pulling Claire out of her funk. She wasn’t budging willingly—but they were doing it.

“Oh, no, Grandma, I don’t want to see Ever After—it’s a Cinderella story—that’s stupid.” Grudgingly, smiling at Grandpa, she said, “I want to see Mel Gibson’s butt!”

Her grandparents smiled at one another and continued the amorous charade. “I don’t think Shirley and Jordan will approve”—Grandma said as she grabbed the newspaper—“Let me look at the movie times for Ever After.”

Teenage Claire looked over her grandma’s shoulder. “Grandpa, Lethal Weapon starts in twenty minutes. If we hurry we can make it.” Her sulking forgotten, she believed she’d just gotten her way.

Claire filled with warmth as she watched herself be lovingly manipulated.

Grandma next words surprised Claire. “Hey, I’m going too. I don’t want to miss Mel’s butt.”

Just before the scene began to fade, Claire saw Grandma winked at Grandpa. The last thing she saw was the three of them going out the door to the movie.

Claire wondered why she hadn’t remembered this before. Then she realized, it wasn’t unusual. She was raised by an amazing family with unconditional love and consideration. Somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten how that felt—a warmth which surrounded everyone within a happy aura. The darkness returned as Claire clung to the sense of serenity and warmth.

Gradually, the darkness intensified, and the warmth melted away. In the cool darkness she heard voices again. She waited.

“Claire, talk to us. Open your eyes.” It wasn’t a command. Tony’s desperate voice was requesting.

She didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted to feel the warmth—to sleep.

“Ms. Nichols, Ms. Nichols.” The deep unfamiliar voice no longer spoke to her, but to someone else. “We’ll need to begin intravenous feeding if she doesn’t regain consciousness soon. The medicine to keep her unconscious should be out of her system. She’s responding to some commands, but we can’t be sure of her condition until she fully wakes. Sometimes the body will do this on its own—shut itself down to heal and to avoid the pain.” There were voices and then she heard the unfamiliar one speaking again. “Her pain seems to have subsided with the medication. It should help her wake.”

Claire didn’t want to listen to them anymore or know who they are talking about. She just wanted to sleep, to feel warm, and go back to her memories.

“Get up, sleepyhead. You have a room of your own.” Claire heard her own voice. It sounded happy and playful; however, she couldn’t see herself or to whom she spoke.

“But, I like this room better. I like this bed better,” the other voice teased and laughed.

“Really, a twin bunk bed? That’s what you like?” They both giggled.

“As long as you’re here.” Claire saw the two of them, a big mound under the covers, laughing and playing. As the covers moved she recognized herself and Simon—Simon Johnson. She hadn’t thought of him in years. She’d made herself compartmentalize him away.

Their hair disheveled, they looked too young for such activities. This was her freshman dorm room.

“Claire, I want to marry you.”

“Yeah, right.” She didn’t believe him. Her plans didn’t include marriage. Young Simon, however, meant every word he said. Now as Claire watched she wondered—what if?

“No, really. We can wait until we’re through school or we can run away today. I’m not busy—how about you?” He pretended to be playful, but his tone held more than a hint of sincerity.

“Give me a rain-check, okay?” Claire nibbled his ear. “I think my dad might be upset if I decide to throw away a year of school to get married during spring semester.”

“I want to marry you—not stop your dreams—we can still finish school and you can be a famous meteorologist.” Simon didn’t get upset. He smiled tenderly and continued, “A famous meteorologist named—Claire Johnson.” He playfully nibbled her ear and let her take a turn on his. They lay in that little twin bunk bed and talked for hours.

As Claire watched memories flooded her consciousness. The two of them had shared so much of themselves, their dreams, ambitions, troubles, failures, hopes, and accomplishments. Nothing could stop the mutual admiration and affection of their first love. She watched as they finally got out of bed and dressed—wearing sweatpants and Valparaiso University sweatshirts. Claire put her hair in a ponytail.

Looking at her now, Claire chastised herself. She needed a shower—some make-up—and definitely a brush. Simon didn’t notice—compliments came between hugs and kisses. He told her he thought she looked beautiful and doted on each word. They were both completely in love. They discussed the finer dining establishments near campus—Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, or Wendy’s.

With a warm loving kiss they mutually decided it would be Taco Bell—No pretense—no rules—only warmth and an undying need to be together. As they left the dorm room, Claire looked at the mess—clothes on the floor, bed unmade, a pizza box next to the trash can—and she saw the comforts of home.

 

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The scene vanished, fading to black—the feeling of love remained.

After watching, all she thought—please don’t fade. I want to keep this going. However, it did—it faded.

Slowly, the scene evaporated—slipped away into cool darkness. Claire felt so cold. She wanted a blanket, something, anything with heat—please! She’d beg if necessary. The cold was so—cold! Her body trembled uncontrollably.

“Claire, the doctor said you may be able to hear us when we talk. Catherine and I’ve been talking to you for days—for over a week. He said you’ll wake up when your pain decreases and you’re ready. Please be ready soon. This liquid crap they’re putting in your arm may have nutrients, but you’re wasting away. Catherine has had the cook prepare all the foods you like—every day—just in case you wake and want something.” Tony’s voice sounded close. She sensed his distress and concern.

Claire had to wonder, if I open my eyes will he be right there. Did he say over a week? I have been asleep for over a week? How did that happen? Why was a doctor here? Claire couldn’t remember the whys or how, all she could remember were her parents, her grandparents, her sister, and Simon. Those memories filled her with hope and promise, and yet Tony sounded like he needed her.

She knew she needed to go to Tony. She didn’t want to make him wait, but she was so tired and weak. Maybe a little more rest before she opened her eyes. Someone must have put blankets on her because she felt warmer. Along with the warmth Claire felt the stiffness of her dress—it was sea foam green. She was seeing herself in a full length mirror as Emily watched. They were in a big dressing room.

“I love it!” Emily observed Claire from all sides. “It’s perfect for my wedding.”

“Seriously, Em, you want me to wear green?” Claire’s tone sounded joking—it wasn’t. She remembered not liking the dress, but of course she would wear it, if that was what Emily wanted.

“Yes. With your eyes, it’s stunning.” Claire watched the two sisters and again became self-critical, the Claire she saw looked too heavy and her hair was too thick and bushy. Emily was seeing someone different as she played with Claire’s hair, twisting it and talking, “With your hair up and some dangly earrings—I know you can wear Grandma’s necklace—it has a pearl, and I’ll wear Mom’s strand of pearls. They’ll look great! That will be my something old. You’ll almost be as pretty as me.”

The mention of Grandma’s necklace triggered something sad, yet Claire couldn’t remember why the sadness came. She couldn’t seem to remember—

Emily, being three years older than Claire, was the bride, and yet she also had the responsibilities of the mother-of-the-bride. Their mother should have been there, but she wasn’t. The girls only had each other. It was Emily’s wedding, yet she encouraged Claire.

Claire smiled at her sister and her green eyes sparkled. “Yeah, you wish. I just want you to know John secretly loves me! We wanted to tell you—but you know?”

“Honey, he isn’t secretive about that. He loves you—you’re his little sister.”

“Yeah, I know. I have to beat the men off with sticks. Okay, I’ll wear green, but for my wedding I’m finding you the gaudiest bubblegum, pink dress you’ve ever seen!” The two sisters laughed. Emily helped Claire out of the dress and they continued their shopping. They had so many things to do before the wedding. Together they’d do it all.

Just like the little girls with the juice, they were there for one another. After their parents died it was the two of them against the world. John understood and never tried to come between them. Even when Claire moved in with them as newlyweds, they welcomed her.

Briefly Claire saw their home in Troy, New York. Not large—it could be better described as crowded. Seeing it again, from afar, filled Claire with affection and warmth. John worked long hours, and Emily had her teaching responsibilities, but they still managed to make Claire feel welcome. She suddenly wondered if she’d ever thanked them. She couldn’t remember…

The scenes faded faster now. The warmth and strength evaporated. The blackness returned and pulled her in. Claire instinctively wanted to get away from the blackness.

The serenity transformed into coldness. She opened her eyes and saw it—the cold blackness staring back at her. She gasped and closed her eyes, but then she heard the voices coming from different directions. “Claire, are you awake?”

“Ms. Claire, please come back to us.”

Tony spoke fast, “She opened her eyes. I saw it—just a second ago”—she felt his hand on hers—so warm compared to the cold—“Can you hear me?” He continued speaking to Catherine, “Go get the doctor. He’s getting something to eat in the kitchen. Let him know she’s finally waking.” With a different tone, one of desperation and affection, he pleaded, “Claire, please open your eyes.”

Do you know what happens to scar tissue? It’s the strongest part of the skin

—Michael R. Mantell

Chapter Twenty-One

‡

Claire inhaled—her chest felt tight—and there was a deep ache on her right side. She tried to remember. How did she get this way? She felt so weak. She tried to move her hand to touch Tony’s, even the attempt exhausted her. There was an odd feeling on her left arm. She turned her head to see what was making her arm feel strange. Everything blurred out of focus. The light in the room was so intense—she couldn’t see. Tony noticed her eyes squint, immediately got up from the side of her bed, and closed the drapes.

He returned and picked up her hand. His voice was soft, “It was too bright in here. I closed the drapes for you. Is that better?”

Claire tried to respond; she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was too dry. She moved her head ever so slightly, indicating Yes, it is better. The movement of her head made her dizzy, while the inability to speak frightened her causing her eyes to moisten. When her lids closed a tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to talk”—Tony’s tone was kind and loving—“Please open your eyes again. It’s so good to see your beautiful emerald eyes.” He held gently to her hand.

Claire opened her eyes and looked at the needle taped to the bend of her left arm. As if reading her mind, he explained, “That’s how you’ve been eating for almost two weeks, and it has some pain medicine too—to make you more comfortable.”

Claire started to remember…she was in the woods…she came home and Tony—oh, God! Tony!—The memory made her eyes open wide with panic.

She remembered.

Tony’s voice continued, gentle and comforting, “Can you remember what happened? You had an accident.”

Claire tried to say, “No, you did this,” but she couldn’t.

It may have been the dryness of her tongue—or the horror of the images—but she just stared as he continued speaking, “You had an accident in the woods. When we found you, your jeans and boots were all muddy, and you had multiple injuries. Did you fall? Did you slip? Did someone or something out there hurt you? We’ve had the woods searched. Nothing was found.”—he leaned toward her—“Claire, we’ve been so worried about you.”

 

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The stiffness in her neck made turning painful, and the dizziness made focusing difficult. She heard Catherine. Someone was with her. Was it the doctor?

Whoever he was, suddenly, he was right in front of her; an older man with a very pleasant, encouraging, deep voice. “Ms. Nichols, I’m Dr. Leonard. I’ve been taking care of you since Mr. Rawlings found you in the woods. Can you talk to me?”

Claire lifted her right hand to her throat. The slightest movement tired her.

“Catherine, could you please get Ms. Nichols some water?” Catherine hurried for the liquid. Claire watched Catherine return with a glass and a straw. She handed it to the doctor, who put the straw to Claire’s lips. “Drink slowly; your stomach has been empty for a while.” Claire began to sip as the water cooled and refreshed her parched throat. While she continued to drink, the doctor spoke to Tony. Each sip soothed, while at the same time creating a buzzing sound which filled her head. She could see the doctor’s lips moving, as well as Tony’s, but she only heard the buzz. When he removed the straw from her lips, the buzzing ceased.

“Please, that was so good,” Claire spoke. The room went silent. Everyone turned to her.

Tony spoke first, “Claire, thank God. How do you feel?” As he leaned over her, she realized she wasn’t in her bed—it was a hospital bed. That made sense. She wondered how she’d sat up, but, she wasn’t in a hospital room—it was her suite.

“I feel…I feel…tired…and kind of dizzy,” her voice quivered with uncertainty and pain.

Dr. Leonard asked Tony and Catherine to allow him to examine Claire alone. Catherine agreed and began to leave, but Tony stayed, saying Claire wouldn’t mind him being there. Claire started to agree that Tony could stay, when Dr. Leonard continued, “Mr. Rawlings, I realize you hired me; however, as a medical doctor, I need to see and talk to Ms. Nichols alone. You’ll be welcomed back as soon as we’re done.” Tony stared at Dr. Leonard. The doctor continued, “Mr. Rawlings, she is not related to you. We must allow her some privacy.”

Claire watched and thought Tony can handle this—it’s his battle. However, surprisingly, he didn’t battle. Instead, he replied, “I’m sorry; you’re right. It’s just that it’s been so long since she’s been awake. I don’t want to leave her.” Standing, he continued, “I will; I’ll be right outside the door. Please call me when you’re finished.” He then leaned over, kissed Claire on her forehead, and left the room.

The doctor spoke soothingly as he helped Claire remove her nightgown and removed tubes. Claire mindlessly thought the doctor’s breath smelled like coffee—she liked coffee. He pushed on her side and asked, “Does this hurt?” Next, he touched her face, her cheek, her temple, and asked if any of it hurt? He examined her head, touching her skull, front and back, and near the neck. Then, he focused on her arms and legs. Lastly, he touched her back, pushing harder in some spots. Claire saw the remnants of bruises on her arms, legs, and midsection and felt them elsewhere. Her back and midsection hurt the most from the doctor’s pressure, and her face felt tender. Looking at her legs covered in brown and yellow marks, she wondered if her face looked as bad as her legs. After he finished with his examination, and yes—no questions, he helped her put her nightgown back on.

“Ms. Nichols, I need you to be completely honest with me, do you understand?”

“Yes, but I’m getting very tired.”

“Please tell me what you remember from the night of your accident.”

“Dr. Leonard, I’m very tired and my memories are fuzzy.” As she spoke her head continued to buzz. Her throat once again felt raw. The combination made talking difficult.

“It’s all right. Let me put your bed back.” He pushed the button to recline the bed and continued to inquire, “Now, please, what do you remember?”

The fatigue overwhelmed Claire. Abruptly her stomach revolted against the water. Initially queasy, she instantly knew she would be sick. “Doctor, I’m going to get sick”—she sat up. He grabbed a basin, and the water she drank came back up.

“Miss Nichols, it’s okay. It’s normal—your stomach has been empty for too long.”

The vomiting made her shake, and suddenly her head and ribs throbbed. The fierce pain caused her to cry.

“Ms. Nichols, your pain medicine has started to wear off. I’ll get you some more, but I want you to be thinking straight. Please tell me what happened.” He was persistent.

Claire felt faint and her body felt limp. She wanted food, but her stomach wouldn’t even hold water. The doctor wanted to know what happened—and she knew. When she closed her eyes and felt the pain she saw Tony. She saw his rage, his fury, his unwillingness to listen. She remembered every terrifying minute until she blacked out. It happened two weeks ago, yet she still felt the agony.

The weakness, combined with the unsettled stomach, told her it wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Claire wanted to go back to her visions. Nevertheless, the doctor waited for the answer to his question. He gave her some more water but instructed her to only rinse and spit into the basin. It helped the terrible taste go away.

Once her mouth again felt moist, she spoke, “I went for a walk in the woods—I like the woods—It rained the day before—and the ground was slippery in some spots—I made it into the woods fine—but I let it get dark—I watched the sun set—I remember it being crimson and beautiful”—She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Softly tears trickled down her cheeks. Dr. Leonard was determined; he asked her to continue. She did, but with closed eyes—“So it was dark by the time I headed back to the house—I remember getting to the clearing—which is about forty-five minutes from here—the sun—I mean the moon was bright—I tried to get back—Catherine had dinner waiting for me”—Her eyelids were heavy and her words slowed and slurred. She never remembered feeling so incredibly tired—all she wanted to do was sleep. Please God, she prayed, let me sleep.

“Ms. Nichols, did you make it back to the house?” Dr. Leonard spoke softly.

“I don’t remember.” Her decision was made. Telling the truth wouldn’t do any good. Actually, it would be a direct violation of Tony’s rules. She wasn’t allowed to discuss private matters. She’d learned her lesson well. As her ribs, head, and stomach ached, the lesson was reinforced. “I remember slipping in the mud. There were roots and limbs. It was very dark under the trees. After that, I just don’t know.”

“Please know, Ms. Nichols, anything you disclose to me is said in confidence. I’m bound by complete patient—doctor confidentiality,” he spoke quietly. Despite her physical exhaustion, Claire’s mind was astute. She knew every word they uttered was recorded and possibly overheard as they spoke.

“Doctor, I’m not sure what you’re asking me or what you’re implying, but I can’t remember what happened that night. Perhaps I hit my head?” Her eyes were open and brimming with tears. The exhaustion was debilitating. “Please, may I rest?” Her eyes closed and she slipped away.

Hours later, Claire opened her eyes to see Catherine holding a glass of her famous banana strawberry yogurt smoothie. She told the caring woman she was afraid it would make her sick—like the water. Catherine explained the doctor had put some medicine in her IV. It would help with the pain and nausea. Claire reached for the button to sit herself up, but before she could get to it, Tony did. His presence caused her to involuntarily tremble. His eyes weren’t dark; instead, they were soft like brown suede. He gently touched her face. “You need to listen to Catherine. Please try to drink the smoothie. You need to get better, and to do that you need to eat.” She looked at him and wondered if he knew about her recent confidential conversation. He continued to plead, “Please, Claire.”

 

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She drank some of the smoothie, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

The next time she woke, her suite burst with flowers. They looked beautiful and their aroma permeated her dreams. Over the next few weeks, they were constantly replaced. It seemed as if they never wilted. They were meant to make her feel better, but mostly they reminded her of the funeral home after her parents’ death.

She even received get well cards and flowers from the Simmons’, Millers, and Bronsons. Apparently, Tony’s secretary, Patricia, called Sue to apologize; Claire had been so busy recently, and with her accident she hadn’t been able to call, but, she would when she felt better and got the chance.

It made Claire feel so much better knowing that even though she’d almost died, appearances were maintained.

Claire recovered slowly and gradually. Dr. Leonard continued to treat her, coming to the estate every day during the first week after she woke. After that, the length between visits steadily increased. He never questioned her memory again. He did push her to recover. He pushed her to eat, walk, and go outside. He wasn’t the only one pushing. Catherine pushed. She pushed Claire to eat, shower, and do her hair and make-up.

The prompting seemed necessary. Claire would have lain in bed all day if they would let her. The only motivation she possessed was to return to the visions she’d experienced during her unconsciousness. Unfortunately, they didn’t reappear in any of her dreams.

It wasn’t that she felt sad—she didn’t. She didn’t feel scared, and with enough medication she didn’t feel pain. Accurately, she felt nothing. Consciously or unconsciously, she’d compartmentalized everything away. Nothing remained. With each prompt she obeyed. She ate. She walked—with difficulty at first. Her muscles lost tone in just two weeks, and her weight dropped below anything she ever remembered. She showered, at first with assistance and then on her own. She conceded to Catherine’s pleas for hair and make-up; however, every activity tired her. Therefore, sleep became a natural and accepted escape.

The one person who didn’t pressure Claire was Tony; however, he was omnipresent—every day. Catherine told Claire he hadn’t left her side while she was unconscious. Now, he went to work but returned every evening. He spent most of his time in Claire’s suite, sometimes with his laptop, reading a book, talking, always willing to listen, and every night sleeping. While Claire stayed in the hospital bed, he slept in a recliner that was brought to her room. Once she made the transition to her big bed, he asked if he could sleep with her.

Claire said, “Yes, but…”

“I just want to sleep near you, if that’s all right with you?”

Dr. Leonard hadn’t given her the go-ahead on all normal activities. She’d suffered a concussion—which attributed to her unconsciousness and headaches; however, it was her broken ribs that caused the problem. Claire couldn’t lay in certain positions. Her own weight caused intense pain. She knew Tony’s weight would be agony. She didn’t assume she had a choice in his sleeping location and truly didn’t care—as long as she could sleep. He didn’t complain.

Each milestone—getting out of bed alone—walking to the bathroom alone—walking to the dining room—or going into the backyard—received a gift. Some were simple tokens: a book, a journal, or a scarf—apparently very in style this season—but others, like for her first dinner in the dining room—were extravagant. The dining room warranted a new journey necklace, with three diamonds in increasing sizes to represent past, present, and future. The entire carat weight was easily over three. It was remarkable, but Claire missed her grandmother’s necklace. Although she didn’t mention it, she remembered it too had been a casualty of the accident.

It appeared the giving of gifts gave Tony pleasure, so Claire accepted them. The journey necklace representing past, present, and future didn’t bode well. She knew even in her fragile state—she didn’t want any of the represented time periods. The jewelry was so excessive Claire began to think of it as costume—it made accepting it easier. She tried to act happy about the gifts and the attention; however, she felt like his eyes had been—devoid of emotion. There was nothing inside of her.

Catherine knew Claire liked being outside and encouraged Tony to take her out into the yard. The scene didn’t help her state of mind. The blue skies rarely shone, and the green of spring and summer had disappeared—like brown withered leaves blown away in the cool autumn wind. With the foliage gone, the outside was gray. All that remained was the black and white photo of landscape Claire saw when she was first brought to the estate.

One day, while walking the perimeter of the backyard, wearing warm coats and soft gloves, she asked Tony, “Do you have any idea when my debt will be paid?” The question obviously caught him off guard. She witnessed the fluctuation of his eyes—the intensity changing until it finally settled on light brown.

“My dear Claire, the last time you were on your own—which was for only a day—look what happened. I think you need me. I don’t want you to have more accidents.” And then he added, “Do you?”

Remembering to answer audibly, Claire shook her head, looked down and whispered, “No.”

They didn’t discuss her accident. They discussed travel. The idea of leaving the estate frightened Claire. She felt confident she could avoid accidents if she stayed put. Tony said that when she was better he’d like to have her join him while he traveled. He talked about Chicago, New York, Phoenix, San Francisco, and overseas destinations. Claire asked if she needed a passport if they flew on a private jet. Tony said he would have Brent work on getting her one.

On a Saturday, in mid-November, two months after her accident, Claire was technically pronounced physically well. She’d become stronger with time. Her bruises had disappeared, ribs totally healed, headaches less frequent, and she could eat—although she had no appetite. Dr. Leonard visited the estate the day before and released her from his care.

Tony decided they should go on a drive. Claire hadn’t left the property, or even the immediate house, since early September. Faced with the reality of getting into the car caused an explosive and unexpected trauma.

That morning, she obediently dressed in the clothes she found laid out for her, which had happened every day since she was well enough to dress. The sun shone and the temperature felt unseasonably warm. She anticipated going outside, but when Tony announced he had the Lexus out front—Claire panicked. Her reaction was quick and unpredicted. Not wanting to go, she started to cry and shake. For the first time since the accident, Tony pushed. He didn’t ask, he declared—they were going for a drive.

It was the best thing he could do. She needed to get out, but Claire couldn’t think straight. She sat on the front steps and refused to get up. Finally, Tony reached for her arm. She reacted in a way she hadn’t since the first days of her arrival. Her entire body filled with anguish. Violently trembling, she started to scream, “I remember everything! I know the truth! Please do not touch me!”—her torment erupted as her volume increased—“I hate you! Leave me alone!”

He looked at her with disbelief and she stared at him with vengeance.

Her screaming caused Catherine and Cindy to come running. By the time they arrived, Claire’s words were unintelligible, overlapped by sobs and whimpers. She sat on the steps, shaking, holding her knees, and rocking back and forth. Eventually her sobs subsided into freely flowing tears. She didn’t speak as Catherine gently helped her to her feet and calmly walked her to the car.

 

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They began the drive in silence. Tony didn’t do or say anything. He drove and let Claire cry. It had been two months since her accident. She hadn’t cried or said a word—suddenly it all exploded.

Dr. Leonard had given his clearance. Tony had been patient. Claire knew what he wanted, and she was petrified to be with him again. He drove them to a meadow. She’d never been there before or even seen it. It was very secluded. Claire’s crying subsided. Tony tenderly helped her out of the car, and while holding her hand he offered his overdue apology. “Claire, I’m sorry.”

She looked up at his eyes, they glistened light brown. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry?”

His tone was remorseful and sincere, “I’m sorry for your accident.” She didn’t respond and looked away from his eyes. He continued, “Yes, I admit what happened that night was me. I admit I lost control—something which doesn’t usually happen. I admit I feel terrible—and Catherine has made me feel worse. I admit I was beyond furious with you and the article by Meredith Banks. I wasn’t thinking straight.” His eyes were getting darker. “I trusted you. I believed you wouldn’t betray my confidence and then—” His shoulders stiffened and then relaxed. “Claire, I would do anything to have that night to do over.”

They stood by the car, no longer touching. The breeze gently rustled the tall grass, blew wisps of hair around her face, and filled her lungs with the smell of impending winter. Claire watched his expression as he spoke. It had been so long since she’d felt anything. Suddenly, she fought the rapid mixture of emotions stirring inside of her.

*

Tony watched as her eyes, which had been dull and dead. They now contained a small spark.

“Tony, I remember. I remember what you were doing and saying. I remember you saying I would need to be alone for a while—to think about who to talk to and who not to talk to.” Tony nodded his head. He’d said that. Claire’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Is that still coming?”

He reached for her shoulders. He intended to be gentle, but Claire backed away—tripped—and fell onto the ground.

*

His eyes said tender but she remembered anger. She didn’t know what to think or feel. Not feeling was so much easier. Confusion, apprehension, anger, and dread all bubbled up inside of her. From Tony’s expression, they also showed in her eyes.

He followed her to the ground. “Claire, please stop.” He knelt beside her. “No—that isn’t coming. I don’t think you need any more reminders on how to behave, do you?”

Barely audible, she replied, “No—no I don’t.”

“Claire, may I please touch you?”

Her trembling resumed. Sobs again resonated from her chest.

His voice, still gentle was also firm, “You know I don’t need your permission to touch you. I don’t need your permission to do anything.”

Claire’s eyes closed as she tried to swallow her sobs. She nodded her head knowing too well her permission wasn’t necessary.

“But, I’d like to have it. Please, may I have your consent?”

She braced herself and opened her eyes. She looked at him, his expression, and his eyes. She closed her eyes again and meekly replied, “Okay.”

He scooted next to her, sitting on the cold hard ground, and softly placed his arm around her back. She tried to hide the tension, but she couldn’t control her anxiety at his touch. He gently bent down and tenderly kissed her lips, very lightly brushing his lips against hers. She didn’t back away. His mellow tone whispered near her ear, “Have I told you how much I like the highlights in your hair?” She shook her head. He lightly stroked her hair. “I think you’re amazing. You’re so strong and resilient. I don’t deserve your forgiveness for what I did, but you deserve to hear me ask for it.”

She didn’t want to look at him. Her emotions were too raw—she wanted to forgive him.

He didn’t touch her, instead he moved himself in front of her so they were eye to eye. “Claire, I’m sorry I hurt you.” She felt the tears as she tried to maintain eye contact. He gently took her hands. “I ask that one day you’ll consider forgiving me.”

He kissed her hands.

When she looked into his eyes she saw sadness and remorse. The swirl of emotions that had so violently erupted at the estate now settled into her chest. She wanted the sadness to go away. He’d been so patient. He was being so tender. She didn’t forgive him, but she began to respond to his advances. It started with kissing, he kissed her and she began to kiss him. Then she felt his warmth as her hands caressed his arms and shoulders.

Tony bulged with excitement, yet he didn’t rush or push. He stayed compassionate and tender.

“Tony, I’m scared,” Claire confessed.

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” Although she had every reason to not believe him—she did.

“Can we please go home—to a nice soft bed?” He quietly stood and helped Claire to her feet. She took the hand he offered and walked back to the car. This time, she got in willingly.

When they pulled up to the house, Claire leaned over. “I really want this, but please be gentle.”

He parked, walked around to her door, and helped her out of the car. They walked up the front steps hand in hand where only a few hours ago, had been the scene of her hysterics. When he opened the door, he scooped Claire into his arms. Instead of going up to her suite, he carried her to his room. While he held her, she closed her eyes and nuzzled his neck. The aroma of his skin and cologne intoxicated her.

She had never—in all the time she’d been there—been in his bedroom. It was grand—almost royal. The walls were covered with cherry paneling and ornate carpentry. One wall was covered with a large screen framed like a picture—like the one in his office. His bed was massive—tall and larger than a normal king-sized. There were even steps to reach the height of the mattress. He gently placed her on his bed.

She watched as he slowly removed her shoes. Then, he unbuttoned and tenderly removed her jacket, her blouse, and her jeans. He removed his own clothes while she observed his every move. He was gorgeous, and his moves were slow and sensual. He softly kissed her, causing her to lie back. She looked up at the beautiful ornate ceiling. She felt his lips move down her body. They lingered at her neck, at her breast, stopping to lick and suckle her nipples. Claire’s back arched, and she pressed her breasts toward Tony.

He continued to touch her warm body, taste her skin, and inhale her scent.

She hadn’t realized it before that moment, but after experiencing satisfaction routinely, the void of the past two months left her wanting. Her body was now alive—on full alert—with every nerve electrified. He fondled her breasts and gently twisted her nipples. When she moaned in ecstasy, he stopped. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”

She pleaded, “No, God no. Please don’t stop.”

He allowed his lips to move from her breasts to her flat stomach and over her protruding hipbones. As he tenderly spread her legs and kissed her inner thighs, she feared she would explode before he reached his destination. Next, his mouth affectionately awakened her desires. He satisfied every need she’d ever had and ones she’d forgotten. He moved slowly and deliberately, sensual and romantic, compassionately and lovingly.

 

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He was patient and remorseful. His pleasure came by pleasing her. Now, it was his turn to experience a favorable consequence. His actions had taken everything away—and now his actions brought everything back.

Nothing is more common on earth than to deceive and be deceived.

—Johann G. Seume

Chapter Twenty-Two

‡

The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. Samuel Rawls and Jared Clawson sat while Nathaniel Rawls paced. The large polished conference table was barely visible beneath the magnitude of papers. The players no longer worked from the New Jersey office above the textile factory, as they had five years ago. Instead, the view from the conference table or large mahogany desk was now that of Cedar Street in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district.

“Rawls stock is up another five-eighths after heavy trading. The rumors that circulated today about the quarterly report helped with that increase,” Clawson said as he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair, adjusting his suit jacket.

Nathaniel’s track around the large office included peering out toward the NYSE and circling the desk to see the large computer screens which relayed up-to-the-minute stock information. Exhaling a large gray cloud, he asked the question that sat heavily on his and Samuel’s minds, “But what happens when it’s discovered the rumors and reality are different?”

“Shit hits the fan”—Clawson smiled—“So—we don’t tell anyone.”

Samuel rubbed his throbbing head. “What do you mean we don’t tell anyone? The quarterly earnings report will be released tomorrow. The investors will find out that our capital is down. That last string of investments wiped out millions.”

“Numbers are funny things. I have a copy here of an alternative report. The numbers are all legitimate, but the information is written with a positive slant.” Clawson distributed the report. The room filled with uncomfortable silence as the two Rawls men read the new report.

“Where’s the original report?” Nathaniel bellowed. Immediately, Clawson pulled the requested pages from the cluttered table. The elder Rawls took the two reports and sat heavily at his desk. Page by page he compared the figures. Samuel and Clawson watched as the tips of Nathaniel’s lips moved from south to north. The telephone rang, breaking the silence. Instead of answering, Nathaniel hit the button on the intercom. “Connie, I said no calls!”

The voice from the box spoke apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rawls. It’s your personal line. I’ll take care of it.” Immediately, the ringing stopped.

The sight of Nathaniel’s smile had differing effects. Clawson resumed his leaned back position and lit another cigarette. Samuel leaned forward and held his head in his hands. Confronting his father in front of Clawson wasn’t a good idea, but it had to be done.

This whole damn thing was getting out of hand.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know it has begun

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chapter Twenty-Three

‡

His head rested on his arm as he listened to her breathing and watched her sleep. The discussion in his head had raged for hours. Sensing her warmth, inhaling her scent, and wanting to taste her lips…the voice of love prevailed.

*

Claire floated in that place before consciousness, having difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasy—unsure of what she was feeling. The epiphany came with the realization—she was feeling. It’d been so long since she felt anything. She felt warm—safe—and secure. Her mind tried to convince her it was a dream, but she remembered feeling the same way before she fell asleep. She questioned herself, is this real? Her soft skin rolled on the silky sheets and felt radiating warmth. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes. Right in front of her—close enough to touch—was Tony’s firm broad chest. Again—questions, is he really here—he usually left her bed before she woke—Why is he still here?—Now as Claire rolled onto her back and saw the beautiful ornate ceiling she wondered, Where is here? This isn’t my room.

With a rich raspy tone, he greeted her, “Good morning, Claire.” His smile revealed the winner of his internal monologue; adoration and love showed through. He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Good morning, what are you doing still in bed?” The room was quite dark. “Or is it morning? It’s so dark.” The eyes watching her weren’t.

“I’ve been watching you sleep.” He slid his arm under her back, placing her head upon his shoulder. His hard strong shoulder made the perfect pillow as his arm gently surrounded her warm body.

“Why would you do that? I need a shower and probably look awful.” She buried her face into his chest, allowing his hairs to tickle her cheeks and inhaled deeply. His aroma was exhilarating.

He took her chin, turned her face toward his, and gently kissing her lips. “I’ve been watching you because you’re so beautiful. Your face is flawless”—Claire tried to look away from his eyes. They were light, honest, and real—the candidness made her uneasy—“Please don’t look away. I see you now and think about what your face looked like—what I did to you. I’m not going to keep bringing this up, but I want you to know how much I regret what happened, and to let you know how amazing I think you are. You went through so much. I don’t want anything like that to ever happen again.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks. She wanted to hide her face, but he held her chin firmly. “Tony, I’m glad to know you’re sorry. I’m sorry too.” He let go of her chin, but she continued their gaze as she spoke. “I’m sorry about Meredith; I really didn’t say anything to her. She walked up and recognized me. Like the article said; we were sorority sisters. I never suspected she was a reporter. She asked if she could join me. I didn’t want her to; then I thought about your rules—about appearances—and I decided telling her no would be rude. I’m sorry I made the wrong decision.”

He rolled her over onto her back. The skin of his chest pressed against her bare breasts. Looking up into his face she saw only a slight darkening of his eyes. His features reminded her of those of a model—prominent cheek bones and strong jaw line. His gaze went on for an eternity before he finally spoke, “I can’t promise I’ll never get upset. I can probably promise I will; however, I promise I’ll do my best to never hurt you like that again, but, I need something from you.”

She assumed it involved gratification, and she didn’t mind. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to make me a promise”—Claire raised her eyebrows—“A promise, that you’ll do your best to follow my rules. That you’ll do your best—to never give me cause to hurt you again.”

“Tony, I promise I’ll do my best to make you proud, and I accept your apology. You don’t need to keep apologizing.” Looking at his expression she read a mixture of emotions: gratitude, adoration, and relief.

“Have I told you how amazing you were? I’ve watched you with Dr. Leonard fifty times. You were in such pain. God, even water made you sick, yet you were perfect and made me so proud. I have listened to your answers over and over. I understand his concern. Our story didn’t hold water. I was just so worried about you, lying on the floor, and I couldn’t get you to wake. I had to get you some medical help. I was upset about what I thought you’d done. The longer I waited for you to get home that night, the more betrayed I felt, and I lost control”—Claire saw such honesty in his eyes. It was like a window exposing his soul, one she didn’t think he allowed many people to see—“When you quit moving I realized what happened, and I became more upset about what I’d done. Suddenly, getting you help was more important than appearances”—He gently smoothed her hair—“You had the chance to tell someone about me, and what I did. I deserved that and more, but no, even in your condition you were perfect.” He lowered his face to her collar bone. His rough beard growth prickled her skin. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but…”—looking again into her emerald eyes, he continued—“Thank you for giving it to me.”

 

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When he started to kiss her, her body obediently responded; however, her mind thought about the cameras and surveillance. She knew they were there. Compartmentalize. She had a lot to put away—she needed bigger compartments.

Claire felt his hardness on her leg as his lips moved down her neck to her collar bone. Her breasts pressed upward in anticipation of his mouth, and her nipples hardened as his lips lightly brushed their tips. Trying to suppress her heated desires, Claire asked for a favor, “Tony, while we’re asking for things, may I have something from you?”

“I have something for you right now,” he said between kisses—inching his way down her body, gently spreading her legs.

“And, I want that.” Claire smiled as she lifted her head to catch his eyes. “But first, can I have a promise?” Tony moved up, kissed her lips, and asked what she wanted him to promise. “You’re right, there was pain, but what haunted me for two months was the threat of you locking me in my suite. Please don’t use my honesty against me. I don’t want to be locked up alone again. It was unbearable. I know you don’t have to, but I’m asking you—please promise you’ll never threaten me with that or do that to me again.”

“Claire, I promise I’ll not lock you in your suite again, and if we each keep our promises, maintaining them all will be easier.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. His promise removed a tremendous weight and allowed her body’s yearning desires to come to the forefront. “Now what did you say about having something for me?”

He gaze held her captive. She felt her cheeks rise and her eyes glow. Despite everything, she knew the smile she exposed was real, and it was exclusively for the man above her. When Tony grinned back, she couldn’t help but notice that his expression was a little more mischievous than it had been. Her entire body trembled in anticipation.

Breakfast was served in Tony’s suite. They ate with wet hair while wrapped in thick soft white robes. Claire’s appetite had returned with a vengeance. She ate eggs, turkey bacon, toast, and fruit. She even thought about hash browns and decided maybe she should tell Catherine she liked hash browns. Tony’s voice took Claire’s attention away from her food. “I have a confession. I think I’m an example of my own rule.” Claire told him she didn’t know what he meant. He explained that although he’s thrilled with the outcome of yesterday’s drive, it wasn’t his goal.

Claire smiled and responded, “Well appearances”—looking at their wet hair and robes—“would say differently.” She used her toe to rub up and down his leg. “I’m happy with the outcome too, but what was your goal?” He told her it was simply to get her to leave the estate to go somewhere. He wanted to get her away before they needed to go somewhere. Claire reflected on the past twenty-four hours. Okay, he did that too. “Why? When do we need to go somewhere? And where do we need to go?” Her toe still wandered.

“If you keep that up, we’ll be late”—Tony’s voice didn’t sound concerned. He glanced at the clock by his bed: 11:17 AM—“Well, we’re supposed to be at Brent and Courtney’s for dinner at 3:30 PM.”

Claire thought a moment, they had four hours. “I really would rather stay here, but I suspect I don’t have a choice. How many people will be there?”

Tony confirmed she was correct—they were going and it would just be the four of them. Courtney had been asking Tony to bring Claire over since the beginning of October. They sent her flowers and cards, they must have known about her accident. Claire liked Courtney, and Tony obviously trusted them. She could do it.

While she thought about the Simmons’ and refocused on her breakfast, her toe was stopped in its exploration and lifted. She gazed toward the sensation and found Tony on the ground—holding her foot.

He slowly put her toe in his mouth and began to suckle. He watched for her reaction as her brain forgot the breakfast and impending dinner. The slight gasp that escaped her lips brought a devilish grin to his.

She immediately felt the sensation from her toe ignite pulsations elsewhere. His lips moved from her toe—to her foot—to her ankle—and slowly up her leg. When he opened her robe and pulled her toward him, Claire’s body tingled in anticipation. Too soon he gave her unimaginable thrills.

Finding their way back to his bed, Tony supported himself above her lean, blossoming body and with a raspy voice he inquired, “Claire, what do you want?” She looked in his eyes again—still so light and real. He’d never asked her what she wanted. As he kissed her neck, her body responded; her back arched—pressing toward him—silently begging for his touch. He continued, “I want to hear you—no forcing—and no directions. I want to hear what you want?” His desires were clear and rubbing across her thighs.

“I want you,” Claire whispered.

That wasn’t enough; Tony wanted to hear more. “Tell me what you want. I need to know you want it as much as I do.”

“Oh, God, Tony, I want you”—her desires gave strength to her voice—“I want you inside of me”—with her body on the brink of explosion, she implored—“Please—please, Tony, take me.”

As she held tightly to his broad shoulders, her eyes closed, and he fulfilled her desires. Claire wanted every bit of him—every inch—and now that he was there—it was her turn to lose control. Without effort, her body responded to his every touch. There were no thoughts—only carnal desires as he—more than once—elicited earthshaking convulsions. There was no question—this was consensual—and Claire was getting exactly what she wanted—what she’d asked for—and still wanted more.

Tony drove to and from the Simmons’ in one of his Mercedes. It was a great ride from the back when Eric drove, but it was even better from the passenger’s seat—smooth and quiet. Tony tuned the satellite radio to a classical station. The warm car, soft music, and smooth ride almost had Claire napping. Her energy wasn’t at its pre-accident level, and her eyes began to close. Catherine told her one time not to act tired, but she wasn’t acting.

Tony glanced her way and said, “It’s all right. Why don’t you lay the seat back, and I’ll wake you when we arrive.” She did.

They had a good time with Brent and Courtney. Courtney told Claire a thousand times she needed to gain some weight—the unfortunate accident in the woods left her too thin—but she quickly added, “You’re still beautiful.” After the delicious dinner they retired to the lower level; the Vikings and the Packers were playing. Apparently, Brent and Tony were Vikings fans. Claire wondered how she didn’t know that.

While they watched the game and argued with the television, Claire and Courtney chatted. It was nice to talk to someone else. Courtney made Claire feel warm and secure. She didn’t pry, but wanted to know about Claire’s accident and recovery. Apparently, Brent told her how upset Tony had been. He couldn’t believe something like that could happen on his land. Did they ever find out if someone had been out in the woods?

The football game didn’t turn out like the men wanted. Undaunted, they all sipped red wine and played cards. Claire hadn’t played a game in so long. It was truly enjoyable. When they left the Simmons’ home, after 11:00 PM, Courtney hugged Claire, and said, “Now you promise to eat”—Claire nodded—“We’re so happy you’re feeling better.”

 

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On the way home Tony praised Claire for all she did and said. He also informed her he needed to be in New York the following week. It was up to her if she joined him; however, she may not realize Thursday, of next week, would be Thanksgiving. He couldn’t promise he would be back. He may have to stay until Friday. He’d like her to join him—if she was up to it.

Claire knew the intense therapy of the last two days had helped revitalize her. “I may need naps, but I want to go.”

During the week between the Simmons and New York, Claire made strides in her recovery. It was as if a black veil had been lifted. For weeks—even months—the entire world was gray. The release of suppressed emotions and Tony’s promise removed the veil. The trees were still leafless and the grass still lacked color, but the world was once again alive.

Instead of sleeping to get energy, Claire began moving. First, she walked around the house, then swam in the indoor pool, and enjoyed the hot tub. She even ventured to the theater room, and she made herself watch a movie. It was a musical, Hairspray with John Travolta. She smiled. It was her first trip to the theater room since Tony had taken her there.

Monday evening they flew to New York watching the sky grow dark as they headed east. Eric drove them directly to Tony’s apartment, and Jan waited for their arrival with dinner. From the spectacular view of the seventy-sixth floor, the city vibrantly glistened with lights and activity. They ate in the dining room and watched little cars drive on busy little streets far below.

That night, exhausted from traveling, they settled into Tony’s bed and he handed Claire a black velvet box. Her shoulders slumped. “Tony, please stop. No more black velvet boxes. I have plenty of jewelry. I love it all, but I don’t need it. I feel bad about you spending all this money on me.”

“Well, first, if you haven’t noticed, money isn’t an issue, and what good is money if it doesn’t buy the things I want? Besides, this is a special gift.”

Claire raised her eyebrows.

He continued, “Somehow, with all that’s happened in the past two months, I made an awful mistake”—she feared he was talking about the accident—“I realized it when I was getting your ID and credit card.”

Now she knew what he meant; he’d missed her birthday. “It’s all right. I’ve received plenty of gifts lately.” She tried to give him back the box.

“No!” he declared. “It’s not all right. You had a birthday, your twenty-seventh, on October 17.” He firmly, yet tenderly, held her hands with the box in them, while his tone softened. “The other gifts were because of your accomplishments”—and your guilt—Claire added mentally—“This one is for your birthday.”

She looked helplessly at the box. He continued, “Okay, I’m a cheapskate.” With a frisky grin he added, “I’m regifting—again.”

Looking at the box Claire pondered the possibilities of his regifting. Her eyes opened wide as she lifted the velvet lid to reveal her grandmother’s necklace. It looked perfect—absolutely no evidence of the accident it had endured. She beamed at Tony, closed the box, and put it on the bedside stand. Scooting close to him, she rested her head on his chest as her green eyes gleamed with moisture. “I think you’re doing a great job of enticing me to feeling better. I wonder sometimes how I got here.” The fatigue made her head pound. When she closed her eyes moisture escaped as tears onto Tony’s chest. Her shields were down and mask was gone. “I know I’m here because you own me and my debt. Sometimes I feel that way, but other times you make me feel special”—she nuzzled into his warm embrace. Her words slowed as fatigue prevailed—“I don’t know any more if you’re using me or if you care about me, but I know what I hope.”

*

He listened as her words ran together. “I want you to know it didn’t start this way, but I’m willing to do what you ask—not because of my debt—but because I want you to be happy.” She couldn’t give him gifts in black velvet boxes. She could only give herself.

He kissed her hair and tasted her scent, mixed with hairspray and perfume. Holding her soft body against his, he replied, “Thank you—for making me happy.” Caressing her silky shoulder, he wanted her—all of her.

She mumbled into his chest, “Thank you, for helping my necklace, too.” Within seconds her breathing became rhythmic and she drifted to sleep.

Tony watched as her head rose and fell with each of his breaths. “God help me, I do care about you.” Gently pulling her closer, he tenderly moved her hair away from her angelic face. Seeing her sleep—peaceful and trusting—his thoughts of waking her for his desires were quickly replaced. Instead, he held her close, closed his eyes, and joined her in sleep.

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

—William Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty-Four

‡

Tuesday morning bustled with activity. Tony left early for meetings and Eric chauffeured Claire to the spa for a highlight treatment. During the two months since her last appointment, she’d barely ventured outside. She needed sun and blonde to maintain her hair. The sun wasn’t going to happen, but the blonde could. Claire agreed to a hair appointment and a manicure but declined other services. The idea of having a massage—someone touching her—made her very uncomfortable.

After her appointment, she had Eric bring her back to the apartment where she rested until Tony returned in the evening. He informed her they had plans for the following evening. He also asked if she went shopping. She explained, “I waited for you here. My head ached and I think traveling wore me out. I was just too tired.” The answers didn’t please him, but he didn’t complain or argue.

Wednesday late afternoon Claire prepared for their plans. She didn’t know what he had planned or where they were going—only to be ready by 5:00 PM. The night before, Tony had looked through the closet and inspected the clothes Catherine packed. After only brief scrutiny, Tony announced that nothing she brought would do for their plans. He wanted her to wear something special—something she chose—and everything brand-new.

Her assignment took her the better part of the day. She left the apartment early in the morning and visited Manhattan, Soho, and the Upper East Side. All of her work eventually paid off—she’d done it. Actually, she’d gotten her new outfit and a few more items. Due to her post accident leaner body, she decided some new slacks, jeans, and sweaters were in order. She refused to even calculate the total of her expenditures. Tony would know with a click of his computer, but she wasn’t concerned. He liked her to spend money. With Eric available to get her packages, the shopping was getting easier. Her new outfit consisted of a black one-shouldered silk crepe dress with a long-sleeved overlay from a quaint little boutique in Soho. The Valentino bow pumps were a perfect match from Nordstrom’s. The Kate Spade shoulder bag and stretch wool long coat came from Saks. Due to the cool November temperature the associate recommended hosiery. When Claire was shown the thigh-high sheer hose, she knew she’d be able to cover her legs and follow Tony’s rules at the same time. Of the extra items she found, her favorite was a cashmere hoodie—dusty rose—and amazingly soft. It’d be perfect for snuggling up at home with a book on a cold winter day.

 

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Something about the thought of home meaning Tony’s house perplexed Claire. She decided—it was what it was. As he’d put it, her actions in Chicago resulted in the consequence of needing him to keep her from having more accidents. It wasn’t up for debate. She also knew things could be considerably worse than snuggling with a book, by the fire, in her suite, in her cashmere hoodie, and some comfortable jeans. She did her best to compartmentalize—it made the fire, book, and hoodie all very pleasant.

Tony entered the bedroom as she stood before the mirror wearing a black silk robe and working on her hair. She knew, during her recovery, he’d only visited his district offices via Internet. He’d sent Timothy to do some of his bidding, but his presence had more influence. Some things needed to be dealt with in person. If his mood was any indication, the business dealings were going well.

Her hair was pinned up and she’d been curling the ends when Tony came up behind her and kissed her neck. The contact ignited an immediate fire within her soul. Although her busy day had only allowed a short nap, his kiss sparked her to full alert.

“Good evening, Claire. I trust you were successful today with your shopping endeavors?”

She happily reported that she’d done very well—even finding some extra items.

His grin showed his approval. “I can’t wait to see tonight’s ensemble.”

Claire watched in the mirror as Tony disappeared into the dressing room to prepare for his shower. Seconds later, her insides tightened as he returned to the bedroom completely nude. Momentarily, their eyes met in the reflection. Seemingly distracted from his shower, Tony moved behind Claire, wrapped his arms around her and maneuvered his large hands beneath her flimsy robe. As he caressed her soft skin, he neared his lips to her neck and whispered, “Do you think joining me in the shower would be detrimental to your hair and make-up?” He nuzzled her neck.

She inhaled his intoxicating scent as his chin’s stubble triggered goose bumps on her arms and legs. “I think it would,” she answered, unconvincingly.

“Then perhaps we should plan it for another time?” His hands didn’t obey his words and continued to fondle.

“Or…we could postpone your plans?” Claire closed her eyes, tilted her head against his chest, and massaged his strong arms. As she turned to face him, she smiled at his physical reaction to their proximity. Obviously, he was happy to be near her.

Though his gravelly voice resonated in her ears, it successfully elicited pulsations elsewhere in her body. “Oh, God, I want to, but we have plenty of time for that. Tonight, I have special plans for you.” He slowly stepped back, but before he released his touch, he said, “And, so far you look amazing. I believe I like your outfit now better than the one you bought.”

With her robe now lying in a black silk puddle on the floor, Claire’s cheeks blushed, and she flashed a modest smile. “It’s November. I believe I’d get cold as we walk the streets of New York,” her voice reflected Tony’s playfulness.

“Perhaps—but if I have anything to do with it—cold is not what you would be feeling.”

After a lingering kiss, Claire watched him disappear into the bathroom. Shaking her head, she retrieved her robe and secured the tie. It truly amazed her how he was able to flip a switch and immediately send her entire body into mayhem. Though she tried to concentrate on her breathing and resume her work on her hair, her thoughts continually went to the next room—thinking about Tony’s steamy shower and slippery soap suds.

When Tony re-entered the bedroom, Claire was dressed. His gaze lingered. “I think you look stunning”—his expression didn’t seem to be in full agreement with his words. Lifting the hem of her dress, his fingers traced the top of her new hosiery and his grin broadened—“My! What will they think of next? Very good.” He lightly kissed her lips.

Claire smiled. He was so predictable—well, sometimes.

By the time they reached the front doors of the building Eric had the limousine warm and ready for their adventure. Once in the back of the car, Claire asked Tony about their plans. He would only disclose that their first stop was dinner. The cold crisp night air formed crystals on the windows of the limousine, making the lights of the city shimmer. The crystals seemed to flash rhythmically with intensity mimicking the hum of music coming from the cabin’s speakers.

It didn’t take long, considering the traffic, to reach their destination—the Crown Plaza Hotel on Broadway, in the heart of New York’s theater district. Once inside, Tony directed Claire to Brasserier 1605, a beautiful restaurant bustling with patrons. The hostess immediately ushered them to a romantic table with a stunning view of Times Square. The waiter seemed to know their timetable better than Claire—providing exceptionally efficient service. Tony ordered a bottle of wine—approved a taste—and the waiter poured two glasses. They enjoyed delicious grilled sea diver scallops for their appetizer and seared Atlantic salmon as their main course. Claire thought everything tasted scrumptious. Along with other sensory organs recently reawakened, she had a newfound appreciation for food. She enjoyed the aroma as the plate appeared in front of her, the taste on her tongue, and the texture as she chewed. Tony watched happily as she delighted in each bite of her seafood.

His mood amused Claire. It seemed different—in a positive way. He talked excessively, yet not about anything in particular. She asked when they were going back to Iowa, and he said he did need to have a few meetings on Friday. So, they could leave Friday night or wait until Saturday. Claire felt bad about not being with Catherine on Thanksgiving. She would love to be with John and Emily, but knew better than to ask. Catherine had become her closest family. She hoped Catherine had someone to visit for the holiday.

Tony wouldn’t give hints about their next destination. Being in the Theater District, Claire guessed they were on their way to a show. Smiling, he refused to tell her which one. After dinner Eric appeared to chauffeur them to the Broadhurst Theater. The title on the marquee read The Merchant of Venice with Al Pacino. Claire had heard it was one of the hottest tickets in town. They, of course, had amazing seats. She’d never been a Shakespearean fan, yet in no time at all, she became completely engrossed in the play. By the time it ended she’d laughed and cried. The entire cast’s performances were riveting, taking her to another world for two hours and completely draining her with the range of sweeping emotions. She was ready to go back to the apartment.

Eric waited for them as they left the theater. Tony didn’t ask Claire where she wanted to go next. She assumed they’d be heading to the apartment; therefore, when Eric went another direction she was surprised. They headed north to Fifty-Ninth Street, and Eric stopped at Seventh Avenue, at Central Park.

The cold crisp air awakened her as they moved from the warm limousine to the waiting horse-drawn carriage. The horseman was prepared for the brisk weather with blankets, and Eric supplied mittens and scarves. To keep warm, they snuggled under the blankets, held mittened hands, and observed the beautiful park with lights lining the paths and illuminating some of the trees. The large strong horse pulled the carriage slowly and steadily around the eight hundred plus acres. The methodical trot rhythmically created a cadence for their dialogue. Their noses and cheeks reddened in the cool air as they cuddled, talked, and enjoyed the incredibly romantic setting.

 

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Gently holding Claire’s mittened hand, Tony spoke honestly with love, “Claire, you know I’ve dated many women.” She said she’d read about some. “There have been women who’ve wanted to date me solely for my money, and I admit to taking advantage of that.” His honesty had her full attention. “You know I’m a private person. Truly there are few people who have seen the real me. There are all sorts of psychological reasons for why I am the way I am. They probably stem from childhood and traumas early in life, but the past is that, and the reasons don’t matter. What matters is that unlike many of my business associates or acquaintances, you’ve met the real me.” That thought made her feel slightly uneasy. “There are sides to me that need subduing. Honestly, I’ve never cared to try, but I do now, and I believe it’s possible.”

She continued to listen. His soft brown eyes held her gaze as he continued, “Claire, the other night you asked me if I cared about you. Honestly—with our initial arrangement—I never intended to, but without a doubt, I do”—she saw something new in his expression—something she didn’t recognize. He asked—“Do you care about me? Do you enjoy being with me?”

Claire considered her answer. Honesty was the best policy, no matter the consequence. “Tony, I do care about you. I want you to be happy, and I would do anything to help that happen, and on a night like tonight, or even a quiet night at home, I enjoy being with you”—she smiled—“more than enjoy”—her emerald eyes shimmered in the cold air—“however, honestly, there are times I don’t. There are times I want you away from me, or vice versa.” She maintained eye contact and watched for his reaction.

He smiled and leaned closer. His kiss was forceful, yet passionate. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. The relief overwhelmed her as she kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his tone was sincere, “You are the most amazing woman. I have vice presidents, presidents, and chairmen of boards who have never experienced me as you have. None of them would have the courage to answer that question as honestly as you just did”—she exhaled—“It’s your strength and determination that have infuriated me. That strength and resilience has also made me fall in love with you.”

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock—but it was. He said that he loved her. He had her complete attention, and yet her internal monologue almost drowned out his voice: Love, really? He just said he loves me? Do I love him?

“Claire, I experienced life without you—after your accident. I don’t want to do that again, but I want you to make your own decision. Tonight I would like to present you with two options: your freedom—you may leave tonight and your debt is paid, or”—he removed a diamond solitaire ring from his jacket pocket—“you could agree to marry me and spend the rest of your life with me—not out of obligation or contractual agreement—but because you want to be with me.”

Her heart beat rapidly and her lungs momentarily forgot to breathe. She stared at Tony and at the ring. With only the illumination of the streetlamps she saw the brilliant solitaire diamond. It was surrounded by a delicate diamond border with additional diamonds on the platinum band. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, and Tony was offering it to her. Her mind couldn’t stop spinning. She knew she should answer, speak, say something, but words failed her.

He continued, “You told me yesterday no more black boxes, so I took it out of its box”—he grinned—“could we see if it fits?”

Claire nodded and extended her left hand. Tony smiled as he removed the fuzzy mitten and placed the ring on her fourth finger. She was suddenly glad she agreed to a manicure.

“It seems to fit.” Tony looked into her emerald eyes. “The question still seems to be unanswered. Do you want to keep it on and stay with me? Will you please be Claire Rawlings?”

She weighed her possibilities. He could be the most romantic man in the world. He was incredibly generous with his money, both to her, for whatever she needed, and others—thus much philanthropic recognition. He was the most amazing lover. She’d never in her life experienced sensual highs like she had with him. He was the only person whom she could talk with freely. He knew all about her, because he knew her private information, but—that was the word that haunted her—but he could be dark, mean, cruel, controlling, and sadistic. He was the reason for that private information. “I…I’m so surprised”—she stuttered—“are you seriously asking me to marry you?”

He grinned and bowed his nose to hers. “Yes, my dear, this entire night has been leading to this proposal. I’ve watched you—with me—in private—in public—with my closest friends—and I want you there always. I love you.”

Again, internal debate: Love? He keeps using that word. Love, do I love him? I think I do. When did that happen? Oh my, Claire needed to think about this. The napkin thing happened too quickly, this needed contemplation. “Please”—she implored—“please, let me think. I promise you an answer soon.”

He waited patiently. The carriage steadily moved through the cold crisp air. She saw her breath as she looked at her hand and at Tony. She thought about his patience as she healed from her injuries, about him risking public exposure with Dr. Leonard, about how he made her feel when she saw him walk into a room. Her contemplation took a while. They sat back in the carriage. She rested her head on his shoulder and thought. He didn’t say a word or push. Instead, he waited and tenderly held her hand.

She could decide to leave—and do what? Go back to Atlanta. Did she still have an apartment? He waited. There was a side of him that frightened her, but the idea of living without him—somehow frightened her more. She needed him. He told her that. More importantly, she loved him—she really did. Sometime during the last eight months he’d become her everything. Now when faced with the possibility—Claire couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

Finally, she answered, “God help me, yes—Tony, I’ll marry you”—he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly. When their lips separated, Claire confessed—“I love you too.” She watched his eyes glisten with the reflection of the white lights. It was a gaze she could watch forever. As the carriage continued through the park, Claire scooted closer, laid her head back on his shoulder, and looked again at her left hand.

Tony’s voice broke the momentary stillness, “If you don’t like the ring we can look at others. It’s from Tiffany’s. We can go Friday and exchange it.”

“Oh, no! I love the ring, besides you chose it. It’s exquisite. I’m just so surprised.” She thought of something. “Does Catherine know you were planning this?”

Tony said she suspected, but he hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t know her response. “I never go into a meeting that I don’t know the outcome. I’m always prepared for every situation. Tonight I wasn’t sure. You asked about your debt being paid a few months ago. I thought perhaps you would take that option.” He leaned down to kiss her hair. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you didn’t. I know Catherine will be too.”

 

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When the carriage arrived back at Seventh Avenue, Eric had the limousine warm and waiting. As Tony helped Claire down from the carriage and led her to the car, and he told Eric, “My fiancée and I are ready to go back to the apartment.”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations, Mr. Rawlings, and to you too, Ms. Claire.”

That night after some of the most wonderful lovemaking Claire had ever experienced, she began to consider the reality that she was getting married and that meant a wedding. “I don’t know how to plan a wedding to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean. This won’t be your everyday Indiana or Iowa wedding. You’re Anthony Rawlings. We can’t go to dinner without photographers—a wedding will be a national spectator event.”

He chuckled. “My dear, that’s why there are wedding coordinators and planners—we’ll hire the best. They’ll assist in everything.”

That made Claire feel better. She wondered: if the wedding were a catastrophe; wouldn’t that be a public failure?

“By the way”—Tony added—“how do you feel about a Christmas wedding?”

Her mind went into overdrive. “Christmas? As in four weeks from Saturday?”

“I can’t wait any longer than that to have you be my wife, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.”

She knew from experience his mind was made up. With queasiness deep in the pit of her stomach, she replied, “I feel that you must hire the world’s best wedding coordinator and planner.”

Claire tried to sleep, but the panic of planning a wedding in four weeks made her suffocate. She lay next to her fiancée and attempted to make sense of everything. Maybe she needed to compartmentalize—one thing at a time: wedding—reception—dress—and maid-of-honor. “Tony, I’d like Emily to be my matron-of-honor.”

He was almost asleep, and his voice sounded far away, “We can discuss it tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night.”

This is the finest measure of thanksgiving: a thankfulness that springs from love.

—William C. Skeath

Chapter Twenty-Five

‡

They talked into the early morning about the wedding. Therefore, Thursday morning, Claire slept soundly until after 9:00 AM. Sensing she was alone in the big bed, she focused her gaze on her left hand. On the fourth finger was a spectacular engagement ring. Smiling, she marveled at the reality—it wasn’t a dream. She was really marrying Anthony Rawlings. Until last night, Claire hadn’t allowed herself to think of Tony in terms of emotions or endearments. She knew she was having feelings, but she wouldn’t let herself elaborate; however, when he said he loved her—it opened a floodgate. She thought about her feelings and how she missed him when he was gone. How she enjoyed having him around to talk with. How he could make her feel special, and how she thought about him when they were apart. She realized, to her own amazement, she really did love him! She couldn’t contain her smile; this revelation was so astounding!

Claire wrapped herself in a thick long robe and walked downstairs to the dining room. As she approached, the rich poignant aroma of fresh coffee filled her lungs and brought her senses to life. Jan had coffee warm and ready. Tony wasn’t there. When she enquired, Jan informed her, “Mr. Rawlings is in his office. Ms. Claire, if I may? Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Jan. I’m sorry you have to work on Thanksgiving,” Claire offered, as Jan poured her coffee.

“It’s all right, miss. I’m looking forward to having guests this afternoon for dinner. We rarely entertain here.”

“Guests? I’m sorry. If Mr. Rawlings mentioned guests, with the excitement of our engagement, I’ve forgotten. Do you remember who’s joining us for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe he told me names. I know there’ll be two, and they’re scheduled to arrive at 1:30 PM.” Jan convinced Claire to eat an English muffin and grapefruit. After breakfast, Claire went to Tony’s office door and heard him speaking. She may be his fiancée, but interrupting him uninvited in his office didn’t seem like a good idea. Perhaps some rules would change, but she knew if they did he would choose which rules and when.

Claire went back to their bedroom, showered, and thought about how glad she was she’d bought new clothes. If she needed to be the perfect companion for some business associates, she felt better in well-fitting clothes.

She chose a black pair of wool slacks and a pink knit sweater from Neiman Marcus. The black boots she decided to wear had high heels; Tony wouldn’t seem as tall. Dreamily, she thought about fuzzy socks and her new hoodie—being Mrs. Rawlings would teach her to keep up appearances.

Actually, being Claire Nichols taught her that.

As she straightened her hair, Claire marveled at the new even lighter shade. The auburn showed through enough to be considered low lights, but she was definitely now a caramel blonde. Although Catherine packed many pieces of Claire’s new jewelry, she wanted to wear her grandmother’s necklace and the O earrings Tony brought her from Europe. She shook her head as she remembered the scene in the gardens that seemed so long ago. Once she was completely dressed, she relaxed on the bed and let her mind wander.

I’m going to marry Tony. I’m going to marry Tony in four weeks. I need a wedding dress. I need to call Emily. There are guests coming to dinner. Perhaps after dinner I can approach the Emily subject with Tony. Where will we marry? Who will we invite? Suddenly, a nice destination wedding anywhere, seemed like a good idea.

Her mind went from the wedding to Thanksgiving. She could hardly believe it was truly Thanksgiving. She’d arrived at Tony’s house on March 20. Now she’d be eating Thanksgiving dinner with him and some associates and planning her wedding. She imagined drowning in chocolate sauce, too much of a good thing!

As a means of escape she let her mind float to childhood Thanksgivings. They usually went to her grandparents’ home, where Grandma made all the traditional foods. She remembered helping her grandma and mother bake pies. At Thanksgiving they usually had pumpkin, apple, and sometimes pecan and always too much food. Even when she lived with Emily and John, she baked pies and helped Emily with cooking. Part of her wanted to go down to the kitchen and offer to help; however, she instinctively knew it wouldn’t be appropriate.

Claire was somewhere deep in her memories when Tony entered the bedroom wearing slacks and a burgundy ribbed turtleneck sweater that looked wonderful stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He wore suits so often—Claire liked seeing him in something other than a jacket and tie. He smiled and came closer. “Good morning, my fiancée.” He kissed her lips. “How are you feeling today?”

Claire propped herself up. “Good morning, to my fiancé, I feel well. I was just thinking about Thanksgivings when I was young. Did you eat all the traditional Thanksgiving foods when you were young?”

Sitting next to her on the edge of the bed, his eyes darkened. “Claire, don’t talk about the past. We have a future ahead of us, let’s look ahead.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m reminiscing”—she touched his arm—“Tony—who’s coming to dinner?”

“First, let me tell you…”—suddenly, his voice brimmed with excitement—“I’ve been on the telephone all morning. Patricia is going to contact Shelly, and a public statement regarding our engagement will be released tomorrow. Also, you have an appointment tomorrow at a very exclusive bridal boutique in Manhattan for a wedding gown. They’re expecting you, the future Mrs. Anthony Rawlings. They want to meet your every need.” He kissed her lips and continued to hold her gaze with his chocolate brown eyes. “I want you to have the wedding and the dress of your dreams. Patricia will also choose a wedding planner and coordinator to meet with us when we return to Iowa. Since Christmas is on a Saturday, the wedding will be December 18, which too is a Saturday. I hope you don’t mind, but with the wedding only three weeks away, I decided to have it at the estate. Now we don’t have to worry about booking a place, and security is already set. We just need to decide how many guests and where on the estate to hold the ceremony and reception. I did reach Catherine. She’s thrilled and told me to tell you so.”

 

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Claire felt inundated—information overload! She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Maybe this is all happening too fast.” Tony didn’t say anything, but when she opened her eyes she saw the change in his expression and reached for his arm. “Tony, it isn’t that I don’t want to marry you, I do, but three weeks, that seems very rushed.”

He scooped her into his arms. “I promise you, money can make anything happen. Don’t worry about it. We’ll marry on December 18 and it will be amazing.”

“I just worry about disappointing you.”

“Claire, this is your wedding. I want you to be happy. I also know you’re not back to yourself. I don’t want you to overdo. Just enjoy all the things your money can buy and watch the wedding take shape. It’ll be spectacular.”

“My money can’t buy us a piece of gum.”

He laughed and kissed her. “My dear, in three weeks and two days you’ll be able to buy a gum factory if you want. I want you to share all that I have. You’ll have everything the world has to offer.”

Claire struggled with the meaning of his words. “Tony, I don’t want your money. I haven’t done anything to deserve part of your fortune. I’m happy to share your name—I don’t need any more.”

“My love, you’ve done more than you’ll ever know, and I’m pretty sure you’ll do more.” While he leaned down to kiss her, his hands were busily undoing the buttons on her slacks.

“Don’t we have guests coming?”

“They aren’t due until 1:30 PM. I’m pretty sure we can be successful—multiple times—before then.” He said with a sultry grin, as he removed her slacks. Straddling her legs he removed his sweater and undid his slacks. She watched his seductive smile and his muscular chest as it moved with breaths of anticipation. The scent of his cologne penetrated her senses, and she knew if he bent down she’d be able to taste it on his neck.

“But, Tony—” He put his finger to her lips.

“Shhh…I have better things for those beautiful lips to do than talk.”

They left the bedroom together just before 1:30 PM. As they approached the steps Tony’s stance straightened as he said, “I’m sure you realize, but I’m going to say it for the sake of clarification—just because we’re engaged, divulging private information is still forbidden.”

Claire looked up at his eyes and wondered what he possibly thought she would say to his associates. “I promise, I know that.” They continued to the front stairs, and muffled voices came from the sitting room below. “Now who am I meeting?” As she asked, the voices came into range, her eyes moistened, and she looked to Tony for confirmation. “Is it really them?”

He gently held her shoulders. “Yes, I invited them to surprise you for Thanksgiving, but now you have even bigger news to share.”

“I can tell them about our engagement?”

He smiled. “Of course, didn’t you say you wanted Emily to stand with you?” She wanted to run down the stairs or cry out, but his grip on her hand tightened. “Claire, follow my rules.”

“I will”—she replied, and obediently fell into step with her fiancé.

When the soles of their shoes hit the marble floor, John and Emily turned toward them. They’d been enjoying the view from the sitting room windows. Her family looked just as Claire remembered—John tall with dark blond hair and playful blue eyes, and Emily with the Nichols brown hair, cut short and sassy, and Claire’s sparkling green eyes. Claire ran to Emily and hugged her.

“I didn’t know you were coming. It’s a wonderful surprise. Oh, Emily, it’s so good to see you!”—Then she hugged John—“And, John! Oh, let me introduce you to Anthony.”

Emily told Claire it was good to see her, too; however, she and John made eye contact, sharing an expression of concern—Claire looked so different. Nonetheless, they proceeded politely as Claire made introductions, “Anthony, this is my sister Emily, and, Emily, this is my fiancé, Anthony Rawlings.” Tony emitted charm as he and Emily shook hands.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Rawlings.” Emily’s seemed to slowly make sense of Claire’s words. She looked at her sister quizzically, and asked, “Did you just say fiancé?”

Claire continued with introductions, “And Anthony, this is Emily’s husband—my brother-in-law, John Vandersol. John, please meet my fiancé, Anthony Rawlings.” The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings.

Gracious as ever, Tony said, “Please, we’re about to be family; call me Anthony.”

Claire smiled and they all sat down to chat before dinner. Jan entered the room to offer hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Claire showed Emily her engagement ring and told them about Tony’s romantic proposal in Central Park. John and Emily were speechless—perhaps in shock. Tony was very attentive, holding Claire’s hand, putting his hand on her shoulder or thigh as she rambled on—cautious to not divulge any forbidden or personal information.

During Thanksgiving dinner, Claire learned Emily had attempted to reach Tony around her birthday. Emily didn’t know what else to do. She had no way to reach Claire, and she’d seen pictures of the two of them together in magazines. Apparently, it wasn’t easy to get calls or e-mails through to Anthony Rawlings. Just recently, an e-mail finally reached him, and he called. It was during that telephone conversation—about a week ago—that Anthony invited them to New York City for dinner.

Claire apologized for her inconsiderate behavior. She should have stayed in touch better. Life had been a whirlwind since she started working with Tony. The important thing was that they were together now. Claire asked her family if they were driving home to Troy or staying in the city. John said they decided to spend some time in the city. After all, it was a three hour drive home.

Tony then surprised Claire again. “Well, Emily, Claire has a reservation tomorrow at a bridal boutique in Manhattan. I’m sure she’d love to have you join her to look at wedding dresses.”

Trying not to stare at Tony, Claire looked to Emily. “Yes, I’d love to have you join me, if the two of you don’t have plans.”

Emily looked at John. “Of course, I’d like to help you.”

“Emily” Claire proposed—“I would also like you to be my matron-of-honor. Would you please stand with me at our wedding?”

“You want me? Of course, I will.” Emily sounded cautiously enthusiastic. “But, did you say the wedding will be the eighteenth of December?”

“Yes, it will. That’s all the more reason to find some dresses soon.” Claire smiled at her sister. “Hopefully they’ll have some bright, pink, puffy bridesmaid’s dresses.” Emily laughed.

From her peripheral vision Claire saw Tony’s fleeting expression of disbelief. She turned to her fiancée and smiled. “Tony, it’s a long-standing joke. Emily made me wear a green dress at her wedding. Since pink is my favorite color, I’ve long threatened to have her wear the puffiest, bubblegum pink dress I could find when I married.”

He exhaled and smiled, obviously relieved she wasn’t serious.

Once they finished eating, Tony invited John to the living room for the 4:00 PM football game. He asked the ladies if they’d like to join them, but Emily said she would rather catch up with her sister. Tony kissed Claire before leaving the room. It appeared very sweet, but Claire saw the warning in his eyes.