Magnus

by Tina Martin

  “There’s no maybe to it. It has. I can tell.”

  She understands me more than I thought she would. And the thing that has me thrown off base – she wants to know me. I didn’t expect this sort of hunger from her. I thought the million would be enough to keep her busy, but she does nothing in the way of spending money. Any other woman would be tearing through the mall right now. Shiloh – she’s here – walking in stride with me as I tell her about my business. Hopefully, my jab about her pants will induce her to at least go buy some clothes when she leaves here.

  We exit the lab and head back down the hallway toward my office. When we step inside, I close the door and ask, “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  She shrugs. “Don’t know yet.”

  “Are you working at the bistro tonight?”

  “Not that I know of. Rico hasn’t called me. What are you doing for the rest of the day? This network stuff?”

  “I’ll be here until 5:30 p.m.”

  “Oh.”

  “I probably won’t see you again until Saturday,” I tell her. It’s a reminder for her that Saturday is our first encounter.

  “Right.”

  “Are you prepared?”

  “Prepared how? How do I prepare for something like that?”

  “Mentally, I mean. I don’t want you to think—I don’t want you to think it’s more than what it is, Shiloh. I just want a baby. That’s it.”

  “I get it,” she says with a slight edge to her voice. My candor about this bothers her. “I understand. You don’t want feelings involved. It won’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll grin and bear it. After getting a million dollars and a kidney, it’s the least I can do, right? See ya.”

  Like Nicoletta, she knows how to get to me although she’ll never know it. Her sly comments aside, I stay focused on my goal as I watch her leave my office. Hilda escorts her to the elevator. I don’t take my eyes off of Shiloh until she’s out of my line of sight.

  Walking back to my desk, I Google St. Claire Architects – something I’ve done in the past when I thought about looking for family members but never followed through. What if Ramsey St. Claire and his brothers were legit relatives of mine?

  Then again, what’s the point of trying to find out? I don’t want new friends. Don’t want to discover new relatives. What would be the relevance in getting to know people when I wouldn’t be around long enough to form a relationship with them?

  But since Shiloh asked me about my family, now I’m curious.

  Everything about her has me questioning everything I thought I wanted and didn’t want. So, I dial the number for St. Claire Architects and leave a message with a woman named Judy. She tells me she’ll pass it along to Ramsey St. Claire.

  And that’s that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Shiloh

  It’s Saturday night. As the clock ticks toward eight, I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be. Magnus is the kind of guy who’d show up at eight on the dot to be perfect like he always is and so two hours ago, round six, I popped a couple of melatonin supplements hoping the sleepy feeling would have me slightly faded. That way, I wouldn’t remember much of what was about to happen.

  For most of the day, I’ve been paralyzed about how this could possibly go down. Him on top of me. Touching me. My legs stretched wide open. Latent, lazy joints popping. I don’t exercise so that wouldn’t be comfortable. And what about the fit? Would I be too tight? Too tense? Would he be callous? Too big? Based on what I saw bobbling around in those jogging pants that was a very strong possibility. Ain’t no need for me to think otherwise. I’m in a world of trouble.

  With a racing heart, I kicked into gear around seven before the melatonin took full effect. I took a shower – a long one. For the first time in like a year, I shaved, removing enough hair from my body to clog a drain. I bet if Magnus knew how unkempt I really was, he’d chosen a woman who was a little more on the prissy side.

  I clipped my toenails – should’ve gone and got it professionally done – but I was too afraid to leave the house. Too nervous to do anything. Plus, the effects of the melatonin was getting the best of me. I should’ve booked a Brazilian wax so my lady part didn’t look like a forest of overgrown shrubbery. Instead, I tried my best to groom and trim things up down there, a rush job but not a bad one. Probably not up to his standards, though.

  I figure there’s no need to look glamorous to impress him. I leave my hair up in a ponytail. I don’t bother wearing anything cute. I throw on a big T-shirt nightgown I bought from Walmart like four years ago – the one with holes under the armpits. After my shower, I don’t bother applying any lotion to my body. I don’t want to smell sweet for him. For all I know, this will take five minutes, maybe less. At least that’s what I’m hoping. That’s probably all I can endure.

  And now, I get into position. The lights are off. I don’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to see me. I’m beneath the white bed covers. Mind foggy. I’m a little out-of-it and groggy thanks to the melatonin.

  Please be over soon. Please be over soon.

  I think about how crazy this is. This is in no way how I pictured I’d lose my virginity. But at least I’m married, right? That’s what mama said. Said don’t give no man your body if he ain’t yours. Is Magnus mine? The paperwork says so. My heart doesn’t. My heart says, don’t do this. My heart tells me to run for the hills. To save the special part of myself for a man who loves me. Unconditionally. One who wouldn’t care that it’s bushy down there or that I don’t get regular self-maintenance. One who wouldn’t bribe me with money and kidneys. For a man who’s selfless. Who doesn’t think the world revolves around him. For a man who would never ask me to do something I was uncomfortable doing. For a man who’ll make love to me. One who wants to be my friend. My best friend and my lover. For one who’ll die for me. Live for me. One who’ll respect me. Is that Magnus St. Claire?

  It’s not, and it never will be.

  I hear a noise downstairs. I know it’s him. I try to rush my mind asleep, but the melatonin is failing me. I’m still groggy, but not enough. I should’ve popped three pills instead of two.

  I hear his footsteps. I count them to know how far he is up the stairs. To know how much longer I have before he takes me. In the darkness of my room, I see the silhouette of him standing next to the bed.

  He doesn’t say a word – just stands there like a tree’s shadow.

  He hikes up the bottom half of the covers. I hear the zipper of his pants. He calls out to me. “Shiloh.”

  I grunt something. I’m not sure what sound I made, but it was enough for him to turn on a lamp. The light blinds me momentarily. I cover my face to hide from the brightness.

  “Shiloh.”

  “Yeah,” I hum, the single word lost in my grogginess. I blink the blindness away and use my hand as a visor like I’m protecting my eyes from the sun when I look at him.

  He moves my hand softly, pats me on the cheek and asks, “Are you drunk?”

  “No…I’m…not…drunk,” I slur, understanding his question and taking offense to it at the same time. His pants are still unzipped. I can see his boxers.

  “What did you do?” he inquires.

  “I took some pills.”

  “Some pills?”

  “Yes—”

  “What kind of pills?” he asks, sounding concerned and equally angry.

  “Melatonin. I wanted to be numb when you came here tonight. I didn’t want to remember any of this. Didn’t want to remember you being on top of me. I’d rather be sleep. I don’t want to feel anything. And this…it wasn’t one of your stupid rules…pills. You never said I couldn’t take something. Maybe I should’ve drunk some wine with them. I’ll probably be knocked out right now instead of talking to you. And why are you even talking? Go ahead and do what you came here to do and leave.”

  I’m not melancholic or sad though, by my voice, you couldn’t tell. I’m very matter-of-fact when I talk to him. Very direct.
r />   “You knew what I was asking of you when you signed up for this, Shiloh.”

  “Yes, I did. Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”

  “You are. You took pills, so you stopped me.” He zips up his pants. “We’ll do this another time when you’re not under the influence of anything.”

  “I’m not under the influence of anything now.”

  “You are—”

  “Just do it and get it over with!” I yell.

  “No,” he says, his voice as calm as a breeze on a summer day. He zips up his pants. “Get some sleep,” he tells me. Then he leaves.

  Chapter Twenty

  Shiloh

  Get some sleep.

  That’s the last thing I remember hearing Magnus say last night and I must’ve obeyed his command because the next thing I know, I’m waking up to morning light.

  The sun is bright, shining through the double-pane windows in the loft. And it’s cold – cold like the heat isn’t working. I bury myself under a cloud of covers. It’s then I remember what happened last night.

  It happened.

  Magnus came over.

  I remember hearing zippers.

  He injected me with his poison.

  I don’t remember much else.

  My goodness. Am I pregnant?

  I touch myself for signs of his presence. I don’t feel different, necessarily. I’m not feeling achy or waking up exhausted like a woman who’d been taken by the likes of Magnus-pendulum-swinging-St. Claire. I’m just lying here – almost like he hasn’t touched me at all. I don’t ache. I don’t feel any signs he’s stretched and invaded my body. Today is just another day for me – the same as all of my days prior.

  Actually, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I thought I would feel used. Embarrassed. Ashamed of myself for stooping so low. For allowing this man to have my body. I instantly grow fretful thinking about what would happen if this got out and people realize what I’ve done. My papa would not have approved of this even if he knew why I was doing it.

  I don’t hear from Magnus at all today. Earlier, I watched him run back toward the house after his many miles. He had on a long-sleeved shirt – a black one that’s contoured to those beefy biceps that are usually hidden beneath suit jackets. Forty degrees must’ve made him change his mind about having his guns out. And he had on sweatpants again. Black ones, this time – ones that were less revealing. He doesn’t come to the guesthouse to check on me. To say, hi. To see how I’m feeling. I don’t hear from him at all.

  Monday, he’s off to work. He drove a black Maserati today. I didn’t know he owned one until I saw him leave the house.

  He doesn’t get home until around eight. I know this because I sit by the window all day watching TV. I have no life. I watch him come. Watch him go. He doesn’t visit me. Doesn’t call or text. He slept with me and now he’s avoiding me.

  Tuesday, I still don’t see or hear a peep from him. I’m sure work has him occupied. Or he’s probably stressing over whether he’s gotten me pregnant. He desperately wants a child. I’ve never seen a man want a child so much.

  Wednesday rolls around and I’m almost certain he’s avoiding me. I try to get answers when Lucille shows up with another pot of goodness around lunch time.

  “Got you some chicken and dumplings this time,” she says. I haven’t seen her since the potato soup she brought over.

  “Come on in,” I tell her, desperate for human interaction.

  She steps inside and shivers. “Why is it so cold in here?”

  “The heat’s not working. It’s been like this for a few days now.”

  “Oh…that’s why you’re walking around with three layers of clothes on. Girl, why didn’t you tell Magnus? He would have this fixed in a jiffy. Call him—no, better yet, send him a text message. He’ll get somebody out here today.”

  “Why can’t you call somebody to come out?” I ask. I don’t want to bother Magnus. “Don’t you usually handle these types of things for him?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes. But Magnus specifically told me not to in your case. He told me if you needed anything, you should go to him directly.”

  I whip out my phone intending to dial his number but I can only imagine how awkward it will be to talk to him since we – you know – so I decide it’s much safer to send a text message instead:

  Shiloh: The heat’s not working at the guesthouse. ~ Lo

  Almost instantly, my phone’s ringing. It’s him.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “The heat isn’t working?”

  “No.”

  “When did it stop working?”

  “Saturday night. Sunday morning. I can’t be sure.”

  “Why are you just telling me now, Shiloh?”

  His voice is stern. Authoritative.

  I shrug and glance over at Lucille. She’s staring at me like she’s trying to follow the conversation. She looks like she’s doing a good job of it. By her facial expressions, I can tell she knows what’s going on. She knows Magnus and his mannerisms, so this is easy for her to figure out.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him.

  “You don’t know.”

  “No. Now, can you get somebody here to fix it or what?”

  He hangs up on me.

  “Rude bastard,” I mumble but it’s loud enough for Lucille to hear.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll have somebody here within the hour.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. He hung up on me.”

  She shakes her head and sets about getting bowls from the cabinet. “That’s typical Magnus, although, he’s been different for the past few days like something’s bothering him. Something must’ve happened.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know his routine. He’ll get home around seven or so whenever he’s not dining out for dinner but Monday and Tuesday—he was home before five. He hasn’t stepped a foot in the library, but he’s certainly been in that gym of his. He goes in for hours at a time. Last night, he went in at six and didn’t come out until it was time for bed. That means he’s stressed about something.”

  “Job-related, I’m sure.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. Not this time. I think it’s you.”

  “Me?” I ask. My head automatically snaps back. “What did I do?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is, he came to see you this past Saturday night and turned right around and came back. What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” she asks, looking at me sideways like I’m lying.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “So you two didn’t make an attempt to…you know…get pregnant?”

  “As far as I know we did.”

  She frowns.

  I go on to explain, “I took some sleep-aid supplements so I’d be drowsy when he got here. I didn’t want to feel anything. I just wanted it to be over.”

  “And you don’t remember anything?”

  “I remember he came over. He said something to me which I—I can’t recall. I woke up the next morning and it was cold in here.”

  “That explains it. I know what happened now.”

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  “Magnus didn’t touch you at all.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know him. He wouldn’t touch you if you were drugged.”

  “Drugged? They were sleep-aid supplements—stuff you can buy over-the-counter. And what difference does it makes that I took a few pills as long as he got what he wanted?”

  “If you knew Magnus like I did, honey, you’d know the answer to that question.”

  “But that’s the thing, Lucille. I don’t know Magnus and he doesn’t want me to know him.”

  “Darling, let me tell you something. That man is so confused, he doesn’t know what he wants.”

  “Oh, yes he does. He’s not confused. He’s very intelligent. He knows everything.” I sit down at the table and Lucille b
rings over two bowls of soup. She joins me.

  “Magnus is an extraordinary man. He is, and I’m not saying that because I’m the housekeeper. I’m saying it because it’s true. He’s truly one of a kind.”

  “And how do I know he hasn’t put you up to this—coming over here tempting me with soup so I can let my guard down and tell you stuff and then you turn around and tell him everything I said?”

  She laughs. “Do you really think I have time to do something like that?”

  She laughs more while I eat soup.

  “Let me tell you summin’…you may not be aware of this, but you’re able to get to him in a way the others were not.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “Don’t know, but I’ve never seen him eat more Twizzlers in my life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a nervous twitch of his. He uses those things like a drug. Whenever he’s anxious about something or has an important decision to make, he tears up some Twizzlers. I’m not sure he’s aware of that. Lately, he’s been eating a lot of ‘em.”

  “And you think it’s because of me?” I ask recalling how he was eating them when I was at his office.

  “I know it’s because of you. Something about you resonates with him. He would’ve never tolerated this from the other two.”

  “Tolerated what? I haven’t done anything.”

  She smiles, her way of saying I have done something. “To be honest with you, Shiloh, I think you’re good for Magnus. Just don’t let his abrasiveness take away your soul. I have a feeling you’ll be okay. You both will. Take it one day at a time. Right now, at this moment, you should probably be thinking of an excuse for why you did what you did—you know—with the sleeping pills. He’ll want to know why. Trust me.”

  “Shouldn’t the answer be obvious?”

  “It should and it is, but Magnus needs to hear it. He’ll want to talk it through.”

  “Then why did he hang up on me?”