by Calia Read
“I’m not ready,” Sinclair all but growled.
“I am.”
Sinclair smirked.
He didn’t force.
He didn’t hurt.
He never dominated.
He let me take control, all the while knowing that just one brush of his hands and I was his. Sinclair lifted me up until I was on my knees and positioned me above him.
There was a single pause where it was just the sound of our heavy breathing.
When he slid into me it was with confidence and power.
He was as deep as he could get. I felt nothing but him, pulsating inside me. He held my body captive. He growled into my ear, causing thousands of goosebumps across my skin. He knew how to move. How to move his hips. When to speed up and slow down.
Every single turn and lift of my body brought more pleasure. Beneath me, Sinclair was barely in control. I loved him naked, bared before me, and all mine. My hands glided up his stomach. His muscles jumped in reaction and I smiled. I watched in fascination as his hips bucked upward, every time I moved.
“Fuck, Victoria,” Sinclair said through clenched teeth.
Sex with him was just like his kisses. The faster he moved the faster my sanity vanished, until all I could think about was him.
My head tilted back. My eyes closed. Every muscle in my body strained. My hands gripped the back of the couch as we moved in unison.
“I love you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
This was the kind of love that I could stretch my arms wide and never feel constricted in. I could take a deep breath and the air would never be stale.
I could live in this love.
Then I let go and screamed so loudly, my throat ached.
Sinclair’s forehead rested against my breast as he surged into me one final time. A groan tore from his throat. I really didn’t think there was anything better than watching a man lose control and knowing that you caused him to reach that point.
Sinclair sucked in a deep breath and opened one eye, then gave me a smirk. Sweat dripped down our bodies, mingling together to create a scent that only we could know.
After a few seconds of nothing but panting he told me I was the only woman who could bring him to his knees, but to me it was the other way around.
Touched.
Burned.
Branded.
This man owned me.
As if he could sense my thoughts, Sinclair lifted his head and looked me straight in the eyes. He cupped my face with his rough hands.
“I’d risk anything for you,” he said.
I believed him.
—
Later on, after we had showered and changed and were lying in bed, Sinclair and I went through baby names. I was only four months along. It was too soon to tell what I was having, but I was almost certain it was a girl. It was a feeling in my gut. Sinclair was convinced it was a boy.
The TV was on, emitting its glow across our faces. Time didn’t exist when we were together. It loomed outside the door, waiting to latch back on to us. But here we were free from it and everything else that haunted us in our real life.
These moments were the only thing keeping me sane. The divorce was moving along at a snail’s pace, so slow that sometimes I wished I had just run away with Sinclair and started over somewhere else. I was convinced it would’ve been easier.
I turned the page of the book and scanned the baby girl names starting with E. “I like Evelyn,” I said.
Sinclair lifted a brow.
“You don’t like it?”
“I gotta think about it.”
I rubbed my belly. “We could call her Evie.”
“You could,” Sinclair said agreeably. He rolled onto his back. With his hands laced behind his head he stared up at the ceiling, looking deep in thought.
For the past few days we’d been going over names. Back and forth we would fire off names, like it was a game. I hadn’t settled on anything yet. Nothing had really stood out to me. I figured I’d know when I heard the right name. Everything would just click.
I had gone back to looking through names when out of nowhere Sinclair shouted, “Evelyn Montgomery!”
My baby book flew in the air and I just about fell out of the bed. “What the hell was that?”
“I was testing out the name.”
“For what?”
“At one point, we’re going to shout out our child’s name. So we need to find one that works that way.”
I blinked and stared at him as if he had grown three heads.
“Do it,” he urged.
“You’re kidding.”
“Completely serious. Try it.”
I lay back and stared up at the ceiling. I pointedly ignored Sinclair but I felt his eyes on me. “Stop smiling,” I said. “You’re making me feel ridiculous.”
He covered his eyes. “Fine. I won’t look at you.”
I smiled and took a deep breath and shouted out her name.
Sinclair dropped his hands. He quirked a brow and gave me a look that said: Well? What do you think?
“I like it. Fits perfectly. But we’ll never yell at her.”
“Something tells me that there are millions of parents before us who have made the same declaration,” he said.
“What makes you so sure it’s a girl?” Sinclair asked a moment later.
“I can just tell. The kicks she gives me are powerful. She’s a female who wants to make her presence known.”
“But if it’s a boy…”
“It’s not.”
“Humor me for a second, V. If it’s a boy, what names do you like?”
Sinclair didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. He said he wanted to be surprised. I, on the other hand, wanted to know. I had to know. During the last sonogram, the doctor had said that they couldn’t get a clear view to see if it was a boy or girl, but she predicted girl.
“Well?” he prodded.
I sat up and closed my baby book. “I like Peter.”
“Peter?”
I nodded. “Please don’t shout out the name.”
“We’ve had enough name shouting for tonight. I’ll wait for another time.”
“Good.” I traced the letters on the front cover. “So…do you like Peter?”
Sinclair was quiet for a moment. “I do. It fits.” He reached out and wrapped a hand around my arm and yanked me to him. He nipped at my finger, making me jump slightly. “I love you. Your name is written on my heart, you know that?” he said into my hair.
“Yeah?”
He nodded.
I reached out and traced a V against his chest. He stayed perfectly still. His hands braced against my head. I slowly wrote my name out. I crossed the t and dotted every i with precision.
I could see my name. It was perfect and it had never looked better. I leaned in and sealed it with a kiss. His eyes became half-masked.
“Sometimes you scare me,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“Too much power. You’re a dangerous woman.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about me.”
“Of course there is. You made me fall deeply in love with you. All the power is yours.”
“I love you,” I whispered.
And I meant it. Every single word.
I kissed him. Not sweetly, but deep. It was so intense that I could feel a piece of myself being given to him. Millions of heartbeats in this world and I knew someone could hear mine. I knew that I was heard.
I had finally found a love that involved no pain and there was nothing in the world that would take this from me.
I settled back against him, my head against his chest so I could hear the steady beat of his heart. In these quiet times came peace, but sometimes I felt a fear. Fear that we came together at the most unexpected time. For all we knew we could be cursed from the beginning and never even know it.
I didn’t want to imagine a life without Sinclair.
“Do you think we’ll survive
this?” I asked.
“Of course we will.” He rubbed my arm. “Never, ever question us.”
How could I explain to Sinclair that it wasn’t him I feared? It was what Wes was capable of.
Minutes later Sinclair turned off the TV and the lights. We settled in for the night. I was close to falling asleep when Sinclair whispered into my ear, “If you ever worry about us you just have to press your palm to your chest and feel your heartbeat. For as long as you still have a beating heart, you have my love.”
I laid my palm against my heart. He placed his hand over mine.
“Heartbeat?” he asked.
“Heartbeat,” I whispered back.
March 2015
“I feel like an elephant compared to these ladies,” I muttered to my mother.
We were attending the Ladies Luncheon of Falls Church. It was an annual brunch that took place at a nearby country club. These “luncheons” were all under the guise of raising money for numerous charities, but it was really just the richest women in Falls Church getting together to gossip.
Even so, I went for one reason: my mother. I had attended the event with her almost every year since I was sixteen. I would sit next to her as everyone sipped their champagne and drink my water. Every so often a friend of my mother would compliment me while my mother sat there beaming.
But this year it was different. Walking toward our table, I saw how the eyes locked on my stomach, drifted up to my face and then back down. Quickly the ladies would look away and talk to the person next to them.
I was branded as this terrible wife to a wonderful husband. I was a whore. In their eyes I was a modern-day Hester Prynne. Give these ladies a few minutes and I was sure they’d try to slap a scarlet A on my dress.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
My mother kept her head held high and smiled to this woman and that. “You’re staying. Let them talk.”
We were escorted to our table. It was beautifully decorated with a pale pink tablecloth. A stunning bouquet of flowers in a glass vase was in the middle. The crystal champagne glasses sparkled. And on top of every plate was a place card. When I found my name card, I grabbed the edges of my seat and sank into the chair with a deep sigh. I rubbed a hand over my baby bump. It seemed like I was pregnant with no visible proof and then POP!
It felt like the baby was using my bladder as a squeeze toy. If this was just six months along, what would I be like at the very end of the pregnancy? Still, deep down I knew I was going to miss these moments. A niggling voice in my head told me to cherish every kick. Every muscle spasm. Every bathroom run. Because I would never have them back.
Ever.
Two tables to my left was Wes’s mother. Every few seconds I could feel her eyes on me. I didn’t look at her once. Unsurprisingly, our relationship had turned sour quickly. Whose side was she going to take in the separation game: that of her daughter-in-law of two and a half years, or her perfect son’s?
I didn’t stand a chance.
But what was shocking is how fast she spread the word. She didn’t live in Falls Church, but that clearly didn’t matter. She was hell-bent on telling the story her way, so that perfect son of hers always had a light shining directly above his head, making his halo sparkle. People ate up her words like vultures, which just goes to show that nothing bands a group of ladies together more than good gossip.
My mother didn’t agree with my decision to get a divorce. Over and over she lamented how I needed to work things out. But she’d be damned if any person outside our family was going to speak ill of her daughter. She told her version to anyone who was willing to listen and she’d always end the conversation with a firm statement: “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Which left most ladies standing there, beet red, embarrassment curling around them.
No, my mother and I would probably never see eye to eye on most things, but this was the closest thing to respect I’d get out of her. Greedily, I took it.
A perfectly polished blond woman stepped up to the podium to speak. We all clapped lightly. She began her speech but I tuned her out. I sipped my water and looked around the room. There was no one there that I really wanted to talk to. Today was a waste. I could leave right then and no one would know I was even gone.
A few minutes later the speech ended. Automatically, I clapped along with everyone else.
Lunch was served directly after. It was nothing but small portions of garden salad, grilled salmon, and asparagus.
The ladies around me cut their salmon in delicate, slow motions. I had to hold myself back from inhaling it all. I finished within minutes and pushed my plate away. Idly, I looked around at the dining room. It was the same old same old.
In the doorway there was a flash of red. I sat up in my seat and craned my neck. It was then that I saw her. We made eye contact. Her eyes widened in shock and then she was gone.
I started in my seat, jarring the table with my knees. My mother said something but I ignored her.
My heart sped up.
It couldn’t be.
Abruptly I stood up.
“Victoria,” my mother said. “What are you—”
“I’ll be right back,” I said distractedly.
As quick as I could, I made my way to the back of the room, my eyes never leaving the brunette. She looked over her shoulder once and when she saw me walking toward her, her eyes widened. She quickened her pace.
I bumped into a woman and then a waiter carrying a tray of champagne, but I never removed my gaze on the woman.
When I exited the dining room, I half-jogged.
“Hey!” I shouted at her retreating figure. “Hey, wait!”
She ran across the front lobby and took a sharp right toward the bathrooms. People turned and stared at the two of us. I didn’t care. I had to speak with her. Before she slipped out the door, I grabbed her arm.
She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. The woman locked eyes with me. And here she was: the woman from the pictures.
All the air escaped my lungs.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t breathe.
Seeing her in the flesh, our likeness was even more apparent. Her dark hair was swept behind her shoulders. Even her eyes were a bright blue like mine.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The woman flinched and fidgeted with the strap of her purse. “Melanie.” She lifted her gaze and stared at me with torment in her eyes. She winced as if the sound of her name brought her physical pain and slowly nodded. “And you’re Victoria,” she said finally.
I nodded and absentmindedly patted my belly. Melanie watched the action with rapt attention. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while,” I confessed.
“How did you know me?” she whispered.
The pictures were the last thing I wanted to mention, yet it was unavoidable. “Pictures of you were…were sent to me.”
Her face fell. She made no effort to hide her guilt. In another time or place, anger would have controlled me. But right then I just felt so much sadness that we had been broken down by the same man.
“Why did you come here?”
She seemed taken aback by my calm tone and words. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” She swallowed loudly and blinked back tears. “At first I didn’t know he was married.”
“How long were you with him?”
Melanie looked a little lost, unsure if she should answer me truthfully or lie. “Almost a year.”
It’s one thing to accept that your marriage is broken and that love has been lost for a while, but it’s a whole other thing to hear it.
“But I broke it off months ago!” she quickly added.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Wes and I aren’t together.” Her eyes widened with guilt. “It wasn’t because of you…although it certainly didn’t help.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes welled up with tears.
I di
dn’t hate Melanie. I didn’t see her as the other woman, or the villain. That title didn’t belong to her. Who knew what Wes said to her? I knew it had to be something big because she looked more devastated than I did.
“Where did you meet him?”
There was a brief silence that made me think she was going to completely ignore my question but she finally spoke up. “That’s quite the loaded question.” Her voice was quiet and I found myself leaning in to hear her better. “I met him on the street. We ran into each other and he more or less swept me off my feet.” She smiled somewhat bitterly. “He was always so confident. I loved that about him.”
That admission knocked the air out of me. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. I nodded. I understood her all too well.
“He said he loved me,” she said as she stared blankly at the floor. “And I believed him.”
“I believed him too.”
There may be a small part of my heart that was wounded by Wes’s betrayal but it was clear that for Melanie this was still a fresh wound. She still loved him.
“Is the child his?” she asked.
I placed a protective hand over my stomach. “No,” I replied quickly. “No, it isn’t.”
“Oh.” She looked relieved.
“You’re going back to him, aren’t you?”
She shifted from foot to foot. “No. Definitely not.” Her words were frail, unable to stand for a second before they collapsed.
“Has he hurt you?” I asked bluntly.
“N-n-no,” she stuttered.
Her answer was all the confirmation to know that he had. “You have to get away from him,” I said urgently. “He’s not a good person.”
“What do you mean?”
“He will kill you here.” Gently, I tapped her chest, right where her heartbeat was. She flinched. “And then when there’s nothing left of you he’ll suffocate you so your last breath is his.”
Somewhere down the hall someone laughed. The sound made Melanie practically jump out of her skin. She glanced around before she took a step back from me. “I have to go,” she whispered.
I grabbed Melanie’s arm so tight she winced. I had so much to ask her. She couldn’t leave now. I was so close to untangling Wes’s past. She pulled out a set of keys and I could see that her hands were shaking. Before she turned and walked away, she gave me one last look. “I’m sorry.” Her throat tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
