All of Me

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I blink up at Mark, who’s as tall, blond, and good-looking as usual but unfamiliar nevertheless. “I must be in a Bizarro World where you call people by their first names.”

  He smoothes the sleeve of his perfectly fitted grey suit. “What is Bizarro World?”

  “You haven’t seen that episode of Seinfeld? It’s an alternate universe.”

  “No, I have not seen that episode of Seinfeld, but I agree. Perhaps we are in Bizarro World, since the Sara I know likes to be called by her first name.”

  “Isn’t that exactly why you always call me Ms. McMillan?”

  “Perhaps I can’t stomach the idea of calling you Mrs. Merit.”

  I grin. “Why don’t you wait until Chris walks in to give him a hard time?”

  His lips curve into what is almost a smile, and I know I’ve busted him. “Because he doesn’t take my bait the way you do.”

  “You’re maddening, Mark Compton.”

  “So you tell me.”

  “Finally!” A pretty woman with long blond hair in a knee-length charcoal-gray dress and boots steps to Mark’s side, her hand wrapping the sleeve he’s just straightened. And not only does he let her, he covers her hand with his. “The line for the bathroom was insane,” she adds before her gaze catches on me. “Sara?”

  “Yes. Crystal?”

  “Yes.” She lets go of Mark and throws her arms around me. His eyes are on her, softer than I’ve ever seen them.

  “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she declares. “Thank you for all you’ve done with the gallery and Rebecca and—”

  “We have a problem,” Chris announces, appearing by my side, his hand going to my back. “The press is outside. Jacob’s pulling up out back to get us while Alex distracts them.”

  “Jacob’s here?” I ask.

  “He flew in from New York with us,” Mark explains, “for exactly this reason. The press is stalking us all over again now that Ava, Ryan, and Ricco have all made a deal.”

  “At least it’s almost over,” Chris comments. “Let’s go.”

  “This way,” Crystal says, grabbing Mark’s hand. “I saw the door by the bathroom.” She takes off with Mark on her heels and Chris stares after them, giving his head a little shake as if he has cobwebs in his head.

  I laugh and wrap my arm around his, sliding my hand in his jacket pocket. “Yes, he lets her touch him, and yes, it’s Bizarro World.”

  “That’s an understatement,” he agrees as we start after them, and I love that he gets my Seinfeld reference.

  We push through the crowd at the bar and have to squeeze by a line at the ladies bathroom to reach the exit. Mark pulls Crystal behind him. “Wait here until I’m sure it’s clear.”

  At that moment, Jacob opens the door. “Let’s go. A couple of them rushed Alex at the front.”

  Mark urges Crystal forward, staying close behind her, and Chris settles his hands protectively on my shoulders and walks us forward. In a rush of movement, we pile in the back of a limo-style SUV, Mark and Crystal facing forward and Chris and I sitting with our backs to Jacob.

  Jacob climbs into the front seat, slamming the door shut and hitting the locks. “Hold on, boys and girls, because the press is coming and we’re going.” He hits the accelerator and we launch forward.

  “We missed you, Jacob,” I say. “Please come back.”

  “We’ll pay you more than Blake or Mark,” Chris inserts, as we all lurch sideways with a dramatic right turn.

  “Doubtful,” Mark says dryly, “but you can try.”

  “Why can’t ladies fight over me like this?” Jacob says; cutting another hard right that throws me into Chris’s lap.

  “Chris, it’s so nice to meet you,” Crystal says, offering him her hand. “I’m a fan. Your work is amazing.”

  Mark starts tapping his fingers on his leg and there’s no doubt that Chris notices, a look of pure enjoyment on his face as he accepts her hand. “If you put a leash on Mark, as it seems you have, I’m your fan.”

  “Sadly, I haven’t figured out how to do that,” she concedes. “But much to his chagrin, he hasn’t figured out how to do it to me either.”

  “New territory for you, isn’t it, Mark?” Chris challenges.

  “One could say the same of you and Sara, I believe.”

  “One could say exactly that,” Chris agrees, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

  The SUV cuts left onto an empty side street, where Jacob parks. “You have an hour before we have to leave for the memorial. What would you like to do?”

  Chris releases me, glancing out of the window. “Chinese food to the left.” He grabs my hand and opens the door. “Let’s eat.”

  “What?” Mark demands. “We can’t stop here. We don’t know this neighborhood.”

  “I painted it,” Chris informs him. “I know it, so either come with us or we’ll see you at the memorial.”

  Crystal says, “We’re coming.”

  She slides out of the vehicle and Mark says something to Jacob before he, too, joins us.

  Chris arches a brow and Mark replies, “You aren’t getting out of dinner with us that easily. Nice try.”

  “I’d try harder, but I’m hungry.” Chris wraps his arm around me and we cross the street, Mark and Crystal right behind us, with Jacob pulling the SUV around to park in front of the restaurant before we even enter.

  The four of us step into the tiny dining area that seats ten people at most, and we all shrug out of our coats, taking turns going to the fast-food style counter. In a matter of minutes we’ve settled around the steel table with our food.

  As everyone begins to eat, I notice some bruising on Crystal’s jaw. “Oh God. You’re still healing.”

  Crystal touches her face. “The changing colors are pretty hard to hide.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” she confirms, glancing at Mark. “But it’s going to take me a long time to get him to stop worrying.”

  “That bastard who helped Ava is still out there somewhere,” Mark all but growls. “I want him caught.”

  I wonder if this is what they wanted to see us about. Chris sets his fork down, and seems to feel the same, asking, “What are they doing about it?”

  Mark shoves his plate away. “It’s the FBI’s jurisdiction now, and Royce Walker is ex-FBI, which makes him a valuable resource. But this guy has been on the Most Wanted list for years. I’m not confident.”

  “He doesn’t want me,” Crystal argues.

  “Give it up,” I tell her. “Mark’s going to push this, just like Chris would.”

  “What can we do?” Chris asks.

  “Nothing,” Mark says. “Or believe me, I’d be calling in a few of the favors you owe me.”

  “What favors?”

  “Should I start the list?”

  “Please do.”

  “How’s your mother, Mark?” I ask, changing the subject before we run out of time.

  He reaches over and opens a package of hot mustard Crystal’s struggling with, and then hands it back to her. “Cancer-free and planning the wedding of the century.”

  Chris arches a brow. “Big wedding, then, I guess?”

  “We’d elope if we could,” Crystal says, “but this has made Dana—Mark’s mom—excited to live again.” She goes on to tell us about the wedding in six months, about her father, and about the most recent media frenzy, with Mark interjecting here and there and the two of them often finishing each other’s sentences. She’s no submissive, for sure, and she works magic on Mark. He’s different, more human.

  No. Real. He’s real in ways he had never been before.

  I reach for my drink and Crystal’s eyes go wide. “Your ring. Oh my God, it’s gorgeous. Can I look closer?”

  “Chris designed it.” I hold out my hand and to my shock, Mark grab
s it.

  “A rose? A fucking rose? Does he know what they mean?”

  “No,” I say steadily. “This isn’t about Rebecca. Chris never read the journals. He refused to invade her privacy.”

  “Yet he chose roses?”

  “Yes. They have a special meaning to him and to us.”

  “They were my mother’s favorite flower,” Chris interjects. “We’re getting married under rosebushes that she helped plant.”

  I’m shocked but pleased that Chris, who is inherently private, has shared something so intimate. But it’s clear Mark is struggling with old demons, and if anyone understands such things, it’s Chris.

  Mark’s hands flatten on the table. “Talk about irony.”

  Crystal’s hand covers one of Mark’s, a silent question in the action that I don’t expect him to answer.

  Not for the first time tonight, Mark surprises me. “Rebecca loved roses,” he replies. “She had rose candles, rose bath wash. Roses everywhere.”

  I watch Crystal’s face, afraid this is hurting her, and it is, but what I read in her is his pain. His pain hurts her. She loves him. Deeply. Completely.

  “I gave her a rose painting for her wall from my collection,” he continues, and the memory of that painting makes her loss feel very real right now. “I sent her roses to convince her to be my damned submissive,” he adds, his eyes meeting Chris’s. “You were right. I should have walked away from her, and my regret cuts through me like knives every single day.”

  “If only I could have seen my own errors when I was discovering yours,” Chris replies, his voice thick, gravelly, affected by Mark, but also the rawness of losing Amber.

  I wrap my arm around his, holding onto him, and Crystal and I look at each other, understanding each other in the depth of our glance. Chris and Mark are different, but alike in ways that make me understand how they once were both friends and enemies.

  I hope now the rift will be mended.

  “I heard about Amber,” Mark says softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Oh, yes. This is a much softer Mark—and I believe two women, Rebecca and Crystal, have on some level come together to create this new person I’m seeing.

  “Me, too,” Chris says. “And like you, there are things I’d do differently.”

  Mark inhales as if he’s trying to push down some emotion, then straightens. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you both about. My mother and father are retiring and plan to travel. Crystal and I have taken over Riptide in New York. I sold my house here, and I sold the club to Tiger. But we’ve decided to keep the gallery and reopen it with a new purpose.”

  “What purpose?” Chris asks.

  “All proceeds will be donated to your charity.”

  Chris and I sit up a bit straighter now. “That could be a substantial amount of money,” Chris points out.

  “I hope it will be,” Mark assures him. “Rebecca lost her mother to cancer, and I almost lost mine to it. This is my tribute to a woman I was lucky enough to save, and to one I loved and lost. I can’t bring Rebecca back, but I can make sure she’s never forgotten. I can do something good in her name.”

  “We want to rename the gallery ‘Rebecca’s,’ ” Crystal adds softly.

  I look at her and I know in my heart that she has been a big part of this idea, and of Mark’s path to healing. When she asks, “Will you help us do it right?” I believe she truly wants to honor Rebecca.

  “Yes,” I say, without looking at Chris. I don’t have to. I know he wants to help. “What can we do?”

  Chris shoves his plate aside and leans closer to Mark. “What can we do?” he repeats.

  “We have Ralph lined up to manage it, but we need to get the gallery filled again,” Crystal replies. “All the drama has scared people away.”

  “Consider it done,” Chris says. “I’ll make the calls. I’ll get the support.”

  “Is Amanda coming back to work the front desk?” I ask.

  “She won’t even take my calls,” Mark replies.

  “I can try,” I offer.

  Mark gives me a nod as Crystal asks, “Is ninety days a good timeline?”

  “Make it four months,” Chris says. “We need to get through our wedding to focus on this and do it right.”

  From there we all start talking, and the excitement is clear. Rebecca is gone, but her name will live on; a new friendship is forming between Crystal and me; and the friendship once lost between Chris and Mark is not over.

  In fact, I think it’s just begun.

  • • •

  After dinner, Jacob drives us to the packed parking lot off Muir Beach by the memorial site. The location is, by intent of the event organizers, chillingly near the dock where Rebecca’s DNA was found on the boat that took her out to sea and left her there. “There are a lot of cars,” I murmur.

  “It’s been all over the news,” Crystal says. “The public has really connected with Rebecca.”

  Mark shifts in his seat uncomfortably, scrubbing his jaw, and shifting again. He makes a low, frustrated sound, then swiftly gets out of the car. Chris and I exchange a look of understanding as Crystal pursues him and we follow.

  Chris pulls me close and I watch as Mark does the same with Crystal. We cross the parking lot, Jacob on our heels, then step onto the beach. I shiver with the cold wind coming off the ocean, thankful for my flat boots that handle the sand well. Not sure what to expect, we round a corner—and stop dead in our tracks.

  The glow of hundreds of small lights illuminate the inky black night, held by hundreds of people.

  My heart squeezes and tears come to my eyes. Rebecca was so alone when she was alive, and now all of these people are here for her. She has touched so many lives, especially mine, and she’ll never know. She was brave and strong, and her words made me those things as well. Before her, I’d been hiding, alone and afraid to reach for my dreams.

  Mark goes down on one knee, his head bowing, Crystal immediately kneeling beside him. Pain radiates off of him, crashing around us like the ocean. I know he is bleeding right now, and there’s nothing but time, and Crystal’s love, that will heal him. But Chris and I can make sure that, though Rebecca is gone, she is never forgotten.

  I know now that I’m not the woman who can reveal the man beneath the Master. I’m simply a part of his journey, and he of mine. But there’s a part of me that hopes he will miss me. That maybe we will find each other again someday. I didn’t dare see him again, or touch him again, for fear I’d be weak and change my mind. I left him a note on his desk, and said all there was left to say: Good-bye—Love, Rebecca

  • • •

  When Jacob drops us at our apartment, Crystal and I make plans to stay in touch and she and Mark promise to be at the wedding. Chris and I are exhausted, both from the emotional impact of the night and from the time change, and we’re quick to head to bed. With Chris wrapped around me, I fall asleep quickly, but I startle awake when he begins jerking and suddenly sits up, gasping. I reach for him to find him clammy and he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

  I scoot closer, and on my knees I rest my hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

  “An old nightmare I haven’t had in years. My father. Katie made me start thinking about the past.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he says, standing up, grabbing his pajama bottoms and pulling them on. “I need to paint.” He starts walking and I feel the dismissal like a slice in my heart, but then he stops dead in his tracks.

  I hold my breath as he runs his hand through his hair, and then comes back to me. “I don’t want to talk about it yet—but I will.” He offers me his hand. “Come with me.”

  Goosebumps lift on my skin, and I feel relief. I press my hand to his, and I can almost see the same relief wash over him, as if I have given him some kind of peace. And I am more cert
ain in this moment than I have ever been that we are indeed the two pieces of a puzzle I’d once thought us to be.

  Now, that puzzle is complete.

  Part Eleven

  Making Roses

  out of Wildflowers

  Chris’s studio is surrounded by windows, and he pulls a cozy chair into the room for me where I settle with my laptop, staring out at the twinkling night sky. I stay there for hours, and he eventually curls up beside me to watch the sun rise. We don’t go back to sleep, though, our body clocks off from the time change. Instead, we go sample cakes, and finally choose one strawberry and one chocolate, both with a cream filling that’s decadent and unique in a way that redefines the flavors.

  By mid-morning we’ve checked on Ella, with no news to be had, and Chris is quick to distract me from worry with cake and flowers. Katie is pleased with our choices, but I don’t miss how Chris avoids talking to her, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, either. His godfather, Mike, even calls once and Chris doesn’t answer.

  I don’t ask what is bothering him; he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. I know when to ask questions now, and when to just help him breathe. So I revel in being home, getting unpacked, having a workout in the gym, and enjoying a bottle of champagne with pizza, which ends with us falling asleep on the couch.

  The next morning, we’re both feeling more rested, and Chris suggests we go to the garage to check out my new car. I’m eager to see it, now that I’m past that trigger of guilt I’d felt initially. When I spot the shiny, gorgeous new car, I rush to open the door, quickly climbing inside.

  I can see Chris’s pleasure at my pleasure, and I’m reminded that besides wanting me to fully embrace sharing his life, he needs that connection to put the past behind him, like me.

  I stand up and wrap my arms around his neck. “I love it. Thank you. Can we take it for a ride?”

  Alex, who has been standing in the background, clears his throat. “Not advisable. The press hasn’t left the front of the building. This car will end up on their radar, and you’ll end up with them on your tail.”

  Chris’s hands go to his hips and his expression tightens. “No. We aren’t playing this game on their terms. Let’s give them what they want so they’ll stop haunting us.” He grabs his phone and dials. “Jacob. How soon can you get here? I need to borrow you to assist Alex for an hour. Good. See you in five.” He ends the call. “Let’s go meet the public.”