Till Death

by Alessandra Torre

  “It’s my money, Candy. I’m just getting it back. I’m not taking something that I don’t deserve.”

  “You haven’t answered the question,” I hiss. “What was your plan for after you got the money?”

  He releases my hand. “I wasn’t going to leave you. I was going to stay married.”

  “What?” I say, baffled. “Why?”

  “Since we seem to be at the level of complete honesty …” He glances at me for confirmation and I nod. “For Cecile. Drew and I think a wife may provoke her out of hiding.”

  “Wouldn’t a wife make her less likely to show back up? It shows you’ve moved on, forgotten about her.”

  He gives me a wry grin, a casual gesture that makes my heart stop and my knees weaken. It occurs to me, in that moment, that I have never seen him smile. Not a true, isn’t-for-the-cameras, smile. Even that barely-there smile is incredible. “You don’t know Cecile. She is very competitive, very possessive. The thought of me with a young, beautiful woman … it can’t hurt.” He shrugs. “I’ve tried everything else.”

  “So you want to stay married?” I am literally flabbergasted by the thought. The last few hours, everything going through my head—my mind had already gone to work making plans for Life After Nathan. The biggest thought it was chewing on right now? What to do about that beautiful man, Drew, and whether there was any possibility of a future there. Staying married to Nathan … it was a thought that had never crossed my mind.

  “Yes. Assuming, of course, you are willing.”

  I sit, wanting, more than anything, to put some distance between us. I can’t function properly when he is close to me, his scent too sexual for me to ignore.

  I stop myself about four steps down that thought process’s road, reminding myself that I am miserable as Nathan’s wife, the rules too constrictive, the control unbearably tight. I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do that. At least not with how things are now.”

  He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

  “The rules … how you are with me. I understand it now; you were keeping things from me and trying to keep me from having feelings for you … but I am miserable.”

  He frowns. “Is it the sex or everything else?”

  I hesitate. “Both, really. The sex …” I blush, despite myself. My face should be immune to blushing, especially in the area of sexual conversation. And Nathan certainly didn’t seem uncomfortable. He had become downright chatty, a transition I couldn’t be happier about. I swallow. “The sex is great, at least for me. I don’t mind exhibitionism so much, but not in front of Drew—that bothers me.” I try to say the words casually, try to not give away anything more than what I intend. "And … that night." I shudder. "With that guy." I look up at him, my face resolute. "I will never do something like that again."

  He nods, his eyes on mine, our gazes locked in a stare that I can't pull away from. "I'm sorry for that. I thought …" He shrugs.

  "I'd love to know the rest of that sentence."

  His eyes harden, my tone one I have never used with him. But things need to change. I am helping him, the playing field leveling.

  "There were two reasons for that. One was because it turns me on seeing your mouth wrapped around another man’s cock." His blunt words make me blink, the heat behind them causing a curl of desire in my belly. "Second, I did it to keep distance between us. To remind you that I was in control, and to stop you from harboring any illusions of romance."

  That causes me to laugh, a short bark of disbelief. "Romance? Believe me Nathan, you have made that abundantly clear. I didn't need to suck a stranger's dick to figure that out."

  He swallows, reaches out a hand and pulls me to him, looking down into my face. "Thank you. For helping me. As far as the marriage and our agreement goes, I will think about modifying our marriage, but would like you to think about continuing our agreement, if I make some concessions to improve your happiness."

  I lose my intelligence, his arms around me drugging my senses, his handsome face looking down on me, captivating me. "What kind of concessions?"

  "Make a list of your demands," he says gruffly. "But sex is a nonnegotiable. I can't be around you without having you." With that declaration, he grips my waist, pulls me closer, and lowers his mouth to mine.

  I have learned so much about this man since our last kiss, the roller coaster of my emotions taking me through a year’s worth of emotions in two short days. I respond, feeling the suck of arousal as my legs weaken and mind spins. I cannot say no to this man. His touch, his mouth. I grip the back of his neck as he lifts me by my waist, spinning us around and dropping me softly on the bed, the mattress sinking as he climbs above me.

  As his mouth whispers down my neck, his tongue thumbing over the delicate skin, I wrap my legs tightly around him, pulling him closer, feeling the strength of his arousal against my needy body. I turn my head, opening the other side of my neck to him and see, through glass and space and glass, Drew—standing in the main house, lines of hurt etched in his face.

  CHAPTER 9

  The pad of paper lies blank before me, my pen twitching in my fidgeting hands. This should be easy. Write a list of how I wish my life were different, how I would complete my Cinderella story.

  I had known, going into this, that there would be no romance. That is not what I had struggled with. It had been the coldness from Nathan. The rules—the feeling that I was a second-class guest in someone else’s home. The Nathan of today, the man who spoke to me freely, listened to my words and treated me as an equal—that man I can live with, despite the lack of romance.

  He says he wanted to keep distance between us, and that is why he treated me so poorly. It could be a trap, this transition I am seeing in him, his evolution to a normal person. He could be biding his time until the lost funds find their way back to his account. But why? For what end result? Why use deception when I am agreeing to help?

  I am shocked at the ease in which we spoke, the Nathan of our Napa trip suddenly present, without the lurk of paparazzi, smiling and kissing and carrying on a conversation as easily as breathing, his charm and breeding causing my heart to do a subtle swoon.

  I close my eyes, thinking of Drew, the expression on his face when our eyes met. When I saw him standing in the main house, watching us through the window, I turned my head away, pushed his image out of my head and focused on Nathan’s hands, which were sliding under my shirt, his strong hands on smooth skin, the moan of his mouth against my neck.

  “What’s going on Candace?” My eyes flip open at his voice. Speak of the devil. I turn and watch Drew walk into the room, his hands in his pockets—a casual gesture, but I can see the tension he carries in his shoulders, the dark look on his face.

  I toss down the pad, his eyes following the motion, and I am suddenly appreciative of my writer’s block. Now, it’s a blank page, giving away nothing but whiteness, no hint at the hurricane of emotions rolling through my body. “Nothing. Knocking would be appreciated.”

  “Nathan didn’t knock.” The sharp tone of his words makes my guilt vanish and anger rise.

  He chuckles, a long, mean sound, wandering through the room in a path that is bringing him closer to me. “Why’d you fuck him?”

  I raise my chin, meeting his furious eyes. “I’m not your property, Drew. And, since you seem to be irrational, let me remind you that I am still bound by my agreement to Nathan.”

  He scoffed. “The rules are out the window. You know that, you knew that the minute that I told you about the money; hell, your eyes lit up like a neon sign. You have power now, you could have told him no. Things are different now.”

  I have power. I needed to hear that from Drew. That I can tell Nathan no, and it will be okay. I have told myself that fact, but it is different hearing it from Drew. Solid. Concrete. I have power. I can fix this situation. I come down from my epiphany, aware that Drew has asked me something, his face intense, a question in his dark blue depths. He repeats the question. “Are you goi
ng to continue fucking him?”

  I stare at him wordlessly, with no idea how to respond. I know what he wants me to say. I can see it, written all over his face, his body, and those eyes that yearn for me to respond. I refuse to lie to him, to give him false hope for a relationship that will never happen. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  He leans forward, his hands fisting, making me think, for a brief moment, that he might lose control. “It is, in every way, my business.”

  I have to get away from him. His intensity is too strong, his need too great. He has no one else to consider, no other emotions to fight. For him it is simple, a masculine, caveman need to dominate another man’s property. I see woman. I fuck woman. I own woman.

  I see man. I fuck man. I desire romance.

  The true epitome of romance is Nathan and Cecile. She robbed him blind and disappeared, breaking his heart into a thousand pieces, yet he still loves her—pines for her, will not look at another woman in the same way, his heart completely captivated by a woman who cares nothing about his life. I know. I can see the distance in his eyes, the constant distraction that is she, his inability to see anything other than her absence. He has needs—I’ve felt those needs between my legs, felt the desire sweep through him, taking over his mind, his hands and mouth taking me with hungry desire, his cock fucking me as if I am his last breath, and he is dying without oxygen. But his needs only control his body. She controls his heart.

  I see man. I fuck man. I want man’s love.

  Drew steps forward, pulling something from his back pocket and tossing it onto the bed. A small blue book, a gold seal on the front. “Your passport,” he says shortly. “I got you both a new flight. There is also a card with Jennifer’s social security number and account number, both of which you need to memorize. Your flight departs day after tomorrow, Mrs. Dumont.”

  I pick up the book, flipping it open to stare at my photo, a polished brunette smiling with a look that is warm and professional. I hear Drew’s exhale, see the look he gives me as he turns and walks out. And I wonder, as the door slides shut behind him, if he will try and come to me tonight.

  CHAPTER 10

  To Do:

  1. Make a list of demands for Nathan’s review and consideration.

  2. Pack for our trip.

  3. Decide what to do about Drew.

  My to do list is so short, three simple items. It should be easy, handled in fifteen minutes of my day. Maybe not packing. Packing is generally an all-day project for me. Of course, that was back in the day, when I had to choose between Crappy Outfit #1 and Crappy Outfit #2. Now, I just need to grab the appropriate hangers marked with the correct numbers, to assemble the outfits that I choose from the book.

  I dive into the task, hoping that I can figure out the Drew situation as I pack. In the closet I find a matching luggage set, three red and black Diane Von Furstenberg vintage-style trunks. I flip them open in the center of the room and open the book of outfits.

  My brain is not cooperative, playing somewhere in the corner of La La Land, causing me to daydream while I pack, my mind relishing the feel of expensive fabric. They belong to me, My thoughts flit to walking along the surf with Nathan, lying in a hammock underneath palm trees and stars, soft kisses that will lead to more. I should be thinking about Drew. I should be figuring out this screwed up situation and what my choices are. I shouldn’t be having so much damn fun.

  I flip through the stack of books on my floor, picked from the library this morning. I grab a few paperbacks and toss them in, zipping the third suitcase close, concealing three pairs of shoes and hair and makeup items, enough bottles, sprays, creams and powders to improve half of Florida. I look around the room, the silence mocking me. My stomach conveniently growls, aiding in my brain’s quest to stall any decision-making action. I ignore it, moving past the bed and grab my notepad, settling down on the couch and posing my pen above the page.

  Blank white.

  What do I want to demand?

  I know what I really want. To sleep in bed at night next to Nathan. To have the Nathan who comes out when the cameras are on us—his loving smile, soft hands, mischievous grin and playful stories. I want to spend my evenings with him, side by side on the couch, my head in his lap, his hands in my hair, quiet moments that we both would treasure.

  But I can’t put those demands down on paper. I can’t show my cards, especially not when it’s a losing hand. The worst-case scenario is for him to give me that, all of that, while his heart is still Cecile’s. My heart wouldn’t be able to resist, would fall down a long dark hole that it would never be able to climb out of.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nathan drives us the hour and a half to Tampa International, where we will board a plane that would take us to Nassau. It’s the first time I have ever seen him drive, his profile sleek and confident behind the wheel of my Mercedes.

  “Why didn’t Drew drive us?” I look out the window as I speak.

  “It seemed a waste—him driving us all the way here and back, just to repeat the trip two days later. Plus, it’ll give him some time off; he hasn’t had that in a while. And I wanted the time to speak to you, about our trip.” He speaks so freely now, comfortably, his cold demeanor warmed to an impressive 98.6 degrees. Human.

  “Why are you so comfortable now? Talking with me? Before you were so unfriendly.”

  He frowns slightly, glancing over. “Like I told you, I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I wanted to be sure you were aware what our relationship was about.”

  “Sex.”

  “Yes. Sex, and your new identity. But, as you know, we had planned on keeping that part from you.” He says the words with a hint of an apology—not quite remorseful about his actions, but regretful of the deceit.

  “And now, you feel comfortable with me? With me understanding that relationship?”

  He glances away from the road, his blue eyes studying my face, his shoulders relaxing at my calm demeanor. “Yes. I’m assuming, now that you know about Cecile, that you understand my … inability to give anything more.”

  Cecile. I am really beginning to hate that bitch. I sigh. “So, tell me the plan.”

  It doesn’t take him long to tell me the plan, mostly because it is ridiculously simplistic. Originally, when I was to be kept in the dark, Nathan planned on taking me into the bank, with the pretense of opening a joint account in our names—presenting it as a token of goodwill. The paperwork would be simple, a registration card for the account, showing both of our names. I would sign, never knowing that, instead of adding both of our names to a new account, I was signing off to add Nathan’s name to a pre-existing account, one with a cool fifty million inside.

  Now that I am aware of the con, the new plan is to do a simple funds transfer, from Jennifer’s account to Nathan’s. They will ask for identification, I will present mine, and everything should be done in a matter of minutes.

  “There will be paparazzi?”

  “Only in certain places. Mark is tipping them off to some restaurants and resort locations, so we can manipulate those occasions.” He takes a tight curve on the road, looking over as he drives. “Are you comfortable with that? Being photographed with me?”

  I laugh. “You mean, as a ploy to get Cecile’s attention? Yes, I am fine with that.” I lean back, curling up against the seat and closing my eyes, keeping my face peaceful. I don’t want any part in aiding a reunion between this man and Cecile. But, when he is acting, when he is playing to the cameras and grinning and leaning into me, planting soft kisses and holding my hand—that is my heaven. And even if it is fake, even if it is for another woman, I want it. Badly.

  CHAPTER 12

  “More wine?”

  I look up from my plate with a smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  We are in Seafire, a steakhouse in the Atlantis resort, dining on lobster and steak at a table by the window. I can see cameras when I look outside, the collapsed arm of a photographer draped over a l
arge lens, cigarettes glowing in the night as they chat, waiting for us to leave. They can see us, our table strategically chosen, and every once in a while I find their eyes on me, their lens positioning before taking a quick shot.

  Our flight had arrived at one, setting down on a crowded tarmac, the line at customs crowded with antsy vacationers. It took over an hour to get through the line, a bored Bahamian stamping my crisp new passport with barely a glance. It was the first commercial flight I had been on in almost five years, my strip club years spent without travel, the last seven weeks spent aboard Nathan’s plane. It is amazing how quickly a person can become accustomed to private travel. The ability to stride out of your car and up the stairs of a plane, in the air in minutes—no security, baggage claim, or seat assignments. Nathan hadn’t wanted to take the plane internationally; private plane customs more trouble than it was worth.