* * *
“You don’t have to do much,” he says groggily, his mouth pressing gently against my hair. “You do me in with just a smile.”
* * *
We are lying there, naked and half asleep, when the door opens and the end of my world walks in.
CHAPTER 52
She is beautiful, but I already knew that. The day after Drew told me about Cecile, I went to the library and used one of their computers. My hands felt foreign on the keyboard, the mouse awkward in my hand. Photos of them were all over the Internet—dominating old society articles, charity postings, and Facebook mentions. Our trip to Napa, the paparazzi shots of us at events—it is a drop in the bucket compared to their two years together. And as gorgeous as she looked in those photos, it pales in comparison to the woman standing before me.
* * *
Blonde, with green eyes that match Drew’s, golden skin that highlights a thin frame, statuesque face, and soft lips. Lips that are parted, eyes that are wide, perfect breasts that heave as she gasps, her eyes darting from Nathan to me. Nathan to me. Her eyes grow wet, the dewy effect only making her more fucking beautiful.
* * *
“I’m so … sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t think … I should have knocked …” She lifts a shaky hand to her mouth, and turns, stepping toward the hall before looking back, anguish filling her face, and then she slumps. Eyes closing, knees collapsing, crumples to the floor, in the most graceful faint I have ever seen. Nathan jumps, finally in motion, rushing to her side, kneeling there at the same time that Mark appears in the doorway, his face tight.
* * *
“Did someone …” His voice fails when he takes in the situation, his eyes zeroing in on the limp blonde, sinking to his knees, his hand grabbing hers.
* * *
I leave the three of them in the large master, sneaking past their threesome and to the opposite side of the house. Nathan, with his beautifully nude, hard body, bending over her and uttering soft words of love. Mark, elevating her feet, his figure running to the kitchen for a glass of water. Cecile, in the middle of it all, her beautiful features slack, breathing soft, blonde hair tangled around Nathan’s fingers.
* * *
I enter my new room, walk naked to the bed, and sink onto it. My world zeroes in on that image, her one easy reentry into a life that I had just made my own.
* * *
I don’t think there are enough words to describe how much I hate that bitch.
* * *
It was cruel for my mind to ever convince my heart that I had a chance. Of course she came back. Who wouldn’t? But then again, who would ever leave Nathan to begin with? I tell myself that I didn’t have enough time—that if I had longer, a few years, I might have been able to wrangle his heart, erase her memory, make him my own.
* * *
But it hasn’t been long enough. And with her here … I know what is coming. I know it despite the heated words I hear from my side of the house. I know without looking, without waiting, what Nathan will do. He loves her in a way that I can only dream for. Unconditionally, the hold she has on his heart tight and complete. He lives for her, works for her, breathes for her, loves for her. There is no one else in his world, no room for anyone else in his heart. I should have known, should have stopped my heart from skipping down fairytale lane, planting expectations, hopes and dreams that will never receive any nourishment.
* * *
I open Drew’s old closet, and step in, looking through my racks of clothes and wonder what to take—what I have a right to. She won’t want my clothes, won’t wear the hand-me-downs. But she's a woman. We are possessive, territorial. I can’t see her sitting by and watching me cart a fortune of clothes out the front door.
* * *
I grab a small Vuitton duffel and ignore the designer threads, throwing a few pairs of jeans and five or six of my favorite tops inside, dressing in something similar, lacing up tennis shoes and pulling my hair into a ponytail. I am zipping up my makeup bag, examining a Tag Heuer watch that Nathan gave me, when darkness blankets the room, a large form blocking the sunlight.
* * *
“I like you better naked.” There is a smile in his voice. A fucking smile, at a time when my heart is hanging by threads in my chest.
* * *
I force my own lips to curve, command my voice to be light. “Most men do.”
* * *
He steps inside, walking over to me. I want to tell him to stop. I try and force my legs to back away, my head to turn, but I can't. I just stand there, helpless, and wait for more heartbreak. He sighs, leaning forward and resting his forehead against mine, exhaling a slow, long breath of … what? Frustration? Anguish? A hopeful little voice in my head adds regret to the list of improbable translations.
* * *
He pulls back, lifting his chin and planting a soft kiss on my forehead, holding the contact for a heartbeat longer than necessary, my heart rising and soaring on the pipe dream of what he might say.
* * *
“I don’t know what to say,” he says softly. “I don’t want you to leave.”
* * *
Hope, a thin painful strand of it, glows.
* * *
“It doesn’t seem fair to you.”
* * *
His pity hits in a way that hurts. I step back, out of his embrace, and turn to my bag. I try to laugh, and it comes out strangled. “It’s fair, Nathan.” I stuff my makeup bag into the duffel. “We both knew what this was.”
* * *
I don’t ask him why he is taking her back. I don’t ask him if he struggled with the decision, if I entered his head, if I was ever anything more than a pawn in the Get Cecile Back Game. I don’t ask the questions, because I am afraid of the answers. I am afraid of more pity, afraid of kind words, and afraid of the truth.
* * *
Instead, I pick up my bag, and flash him a smile that would have made Rosit Fucking Fenton beam with pride. I smile, I wave, and I walk out of his life.
CHAPTER 53
Mark pulls up my car, idling it next to a bright white Maserati that must be hers. He steps out, and pops open the trunk. “Where are you headed?”
* * *
I blink at Mark’s questions. Where indeed? I stepped out the front door intending to go home, but where is home? I haven’t missed a single part of the life I deserted.
* * *
“Oh.” Mark dips back into the car, and pulls out my old purse. “This is yours.”
* * *
I unzip the purse and peek inside, pulling out my old cell phone. There is a new charger for it in the purse, a bit of thoughtfulness from Mark. I wonder how long ago he purchased the charger, how long he has been expecting to return my items and send me on my way. I turn on the phone, the battery charged, and scroll through numbers, each one a reminder of how sad and empty my old life was. I don’t want to reconnect with any of them, and I’m pretty sure the emotion goes both ways. I turn it off, and push it back inside.
* * *
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “But thank you for all of your help.”
* * *
We hug, an awkward move between two strangers, and then I am in the Mercedes, watching the gates open, and exiting this life.
* * *
At the first gas station, I pull over, putting the car into park and re-opening the purse. Pulling out the contents, I examine foreign objects from a life I barely recognize. A sequined thong, the color garish, material rough, its cheap fabric causing me to wince in recollection of how far I had fallen in life. A tube of blood red Maybelline lipstick. Mascara. Tic Tacs. The keys to my house, my car.
* * *
There is an envelope, the handwriting on the front neat and tidy. Not Nathan’s. I open it, sliding out a plain white card and a thick wad of bills.
* * *
Candace,
The items from your house are in a storage unit in Destin, the rent is paid through the end of the year, and the a
ddress is below. Doris is the manager; she can provide you with a key. Your car was sold, the cash from the sale added to your departure funds, which are enclosed. You will need to arrange payment for your cell phone; we have covered that bill during your time with Nathan. I will call you once the paperwork is in place for the divorce. Please do not change your phone number; we will need to stay in contact with you until this process is complete. After that, there will be no need for future contact.
Mark
* * *
I read the note twice, surprised at the coldness I feel in its parting. There will be no need for future contact. I don't know what I expected. An invite to their wedding? Baby showers?
* * *
I flip through the cash, counting it—fourteen thousand, five hundred dollars. Generous considering my Accord couldn’t have fetched more than a thousand dollars. Skimpy considering that our marriage earned Nathan so much.
* * *
I return the cash to the envelope and place it, and the cell phone, in the glove box. Rolling down the window, I pull up to a trash can and drop the purse, and all of its contents, into the can.
* * *
Then I pull out, and head to my father.
* * *
Dad is doing well, his improvement holding steady, which only means he is toeing the right side of death’s line. I sit and hold his hand, my heart lifting when he opens his eyes and smiles at me.
* * *
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
* * *
“It’s not Wednesday,” he says in confusion.
* * *
I smile. “No. I’ll be here more often now. I’ll explain it later. Go to sleep.”
* * *
I need his sleep. I need to look over and see him in serenity while I make sense of the fucked up reality that is my new life. I feel Pam at my side and look up.
* * *
“Did something happen?” she asked, taking the seat to my right. “With you and Mr. Dumont? You both looked so happy in the Bahamas.” Her face is tight, and I realize that she has been living my fairytale right along with me, the tabloids her peephole into our world.
* * *
I sigh. “Yes.” I can’t generate much more conversation than that, and she takes her cue and lets me be.
CHAPTER 54
I check into a Residence Inn three blocks from Crestridge, and spend the first few days at my father’s side. He is overjoyed about the constant companionship, but seems worried, his watery eyes often on me, his mouth frowning without him even aware of it. Whenever I catch him watching, he straightens, fixes his mouth into a smile, and reaches out to grip my hand.
* * *
I will tell him soon. I just can’t right now. It’s too soon, and I won’t be able to speak without crying.
* * *
Today, I have a meeting with the billing department at Crestridge, then a realtor. I need to find an apartment, preferably one with room for my father—should he ever improve enough to leave the hospital.
* * *
I pull into Crestridge, following the long, curved drive, my eyes picking up on all of the details that combine to create exorbitant billing. A huge gated estate with acres of gardens and rolling lawns, in an area known for high property values and ridiculous taxes, the security guard who waves me through with a familiar hand. The building, a complex that houses four floors of cutting-edge medical technology, a cafeteria that puts Ruth’s Chris to shame, and a patient-to-staff ratio that defies all financial logic.
* * *
I am reminded, with every glance, at how much this all costs. I am reminded of Nathan’s obligation, and my fear that he will default on our contract. I park in front of the building, and reach for my purse, willing my nerves to still.
* * *
Third floor. The elevator doors open to a place that reeks of obligations. I am cheerfully greeted by a receptionist and ushered to Mr. Hinton’s office.
* * *
The man, one tall and thin enough to be a basketball player, looks up with a smile, taking off his glasses and standing to shake my hand.
* * *
“Mrs. Dumont, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I take it that you are here to confirm the payment?”
* * *
I pause, halfway to my seat. “The payment?” I hadn’t exactly had a clear reason for coming, other than to find out the status, and current balance, on my father’s account.
* * *
He tilts his head, squinting at me slightly. “Yes. I assumed you knew. Your husband called earlier, and made a payment on Mr. Tapers’s account.”
* * *
Your husband. The title stabs me in a way that I thought I was insusceptible to. I settle into the seat and force a smile. “Mr. Hinton, you should know that Mr. Dumont and I are separated, soon to be divorced, though I hope that he continues the payments on this account.”
* * *
He shakes his head slightly. “There shouldn’t be any future payments. Mr. Dumont made a deposit that should cover at least three years’ worth of treatment.”
* * *
My mouth drops open. “Three years?”
* * *
“Yes. It’s a little unorthodox, but should your father’s health improve to a level where he can leave, I assured him we would refund him the credit.”
* * *
I hate him for this. I hate him for keeping his promise, and giving me another reason to love him. My fear had been something to lean on, to hold against him in the lonely night when my heart is weak. I should be happy that he’s kept his promise. But I feel sick, disgusted with the weakness of my heart and the inability to block him from my mind.
* * *
His mouth on mine.
His body over me, hands upon me, the trail of his fingers across my skin.
His eyes when they soften and look at me like I am whole.
His voice when it grows gruff and intimate, when it says words that make me swoon.
* * *
I thank Mr. Hinton for his time, and stand, moving unsteadily down the hall toward the elevators.
NATHAN
She sits at the bathroom counter, sitting forward at the chair, her face close to the mirror, a makeup brush in hand. Her hair is down, in blonde ringlets that lay against her bare back.
* * *
He sits back against the counter and watches her, his arms crossed over his chest. It is so foreign to have her here. To smell her perfume, to watch the familiar curves of her body step from the shower, to hear the gasp of her breath when he pushes inside of her. He straightens, moving off the edge of the counter and toward her, stopping behind her, his hands threading through the strands of her hair. She flinches, moving away from him. “Stop, you’ll mess it up.”
* * *
He doesn’t stop, his fist closing on the bulk of it, giving a strong tug that pulls her chin upright, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. “Stand up.” he says quietly. “Turn around and sit on the counter.”
* * *
“What?” she laughs, pushing to her feet and untangling his hand from her hair. “Nathan, please. We’re going to be late for dinner.”
* * *
A memory, like so many that had attacked him this week, pushes forward. Candy, in this same spot, her back against the mirror, her fingers above her head and gripping at the mirror’s surface, her face filled with need, her voice begging for more. When she had come, her body had gripped him with a fierceness that had made his own release unstoppable.
* * *
“Dinner can wait.” His command, one that would have made Candy all but buck from arousal, only makes Cecile’s eyes narrow.
* * *
She pushes on his chest with the hand that once held his ring. “I’m not doing this with you Nathan. You know I’m not into that dominating shit you like.”
* * *
Ah yes. Another thing conveniently forgotten in her time away. Al
ong with the memories of what a bitch she could be. His nostalgia had painted it as spirit. Two weeks of her had reminded him of why he used to work so much and play so little.
* * *
Two weeks, and she’d only recently explained her actions, saying that she’d run away out of boredom, that she hadn’t felt “emotionally close enough” to him. When he’d asked her if there had been anyone else, she had only laughed. “You can’t exactly play the celibate card,” she’d sneered, her eyes moving to a book of Candy’s that had been left behind. A book that had since disappeared, along with the closetful of clothes that Rosit Fenton had supplied. He hadn’t asked where the items had gone, assuming that Cecile would need to do an emotional cleansing of sorts.