I calm myself down a little, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it’s still in London, safe and sound in my storage locker.
I won’t worry about it now, but I will send Mum an email tomorrow.
I look at the rest of my outfit in the mirror.
I don’t look half bad.
My hair is in a simple but hopefully stylish up-do. And I’ve done a smokey eye makeup look, which I’m wearing with a burgundy lipstick.
I’m wearing a black Simone Rocha dress. She’s a hot new designer, and I’d managed to pick up this dress before she got really big.
And a simple pair of black heels.
I’ve gone kind of ‘classic’ with my look, and it’s worked. I’m really happy. I just hope Carson’s family will like it …
I’m excited - he sent me a text earlier that he was sending over a car for me.
Just then I hear the beep, and this time on the way out of the apartment, instead of sneaking past, I actually stop in the doorway to the living room.
“Just going out with Carson,” I say.
“Have a great time,” Dad smiles back.
Finally, I think, no more sneaking around. It’s so much better when everything’s finally out in the open.
§
This hotel is amazing. It’s called The 212 and is the location for Esme’s charity fundraiser.
I walk up the red-carpeted steps alone, nervously scanning the crowd. It’s full of really glamorous people - people you can just tell are rich, and people who you know are famous. But I just can’t seem to spot Carson anywhere.
Then I hear a voice behind me.
“You look amazing.”
I turn around — it’s him, of course, and I feel myself finally relax.
He looks amazing, too. I mean, I’ve seen him look smart before, sure, but never quite seen him looking quite this dapper. He’s wearing the most wonderful suit: black and formal, cut beautifully, with a crisp white shirt and even a bow tie. It’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t look out of place on Oscar night, and he looks just perfect in it, handsome as any movie star.
“I’ll introduce you to some people,” he says with a grin, “but first you look like you could use a drink! Here, come with me …”
He walks me over to an elegant waiter, dressed in traditional black and white, holding a silver tray of champagne flutes.
Carson takes a glass and hands it to me, then holds out his own. “Cheers.”
We lock eyes as we take a sip, and I’m not quite prepared for how delicious this champagne is. It’s lovely — the best I’ve ever tasted. Esme has obviously spared no expense on tonight.
An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a friendly-looking face approaches us, one eyebrow raised as he looks at me. “Carson?” he asks. “Nice to see you! Please introduce me to this ravishing creature!”
“Melissa,” Carson says, “this is Julian, he runs the firm alongside my father. Julian, this is Melissa. She’s a writer who’s just made the move from London to New York.”
“New York is delighted to have you, my dear! I do hope Carson is showing you around our fine city?”
“Of course,” I smile back. “He’s been an excellent guide.”
“If anything,” Carson interjects, “I feel like Melissa has been the guide! I’ve seen this city from a completely new angle since I’ve met her.”
“Well, I do hope you can someday convince Carson to follow his old man into the family firm,” he says to me in a friendly, teasing manner. “It’s time he started to really practice law. He’s got an excellent degree going to waste, you know.”
“Actually, I think it’s admirable what Carson does,” I reply.
“Sure,” he nods, gently, still smiling. “It’s good for now, but he’s got a higher calling.”
“Julian,” Carson grumbles, but the older man just smiles and claps him on the shoulder, before bidding us goodbye and wandering off into the crowd.
“He’s a good man,” Carson says to me, once he’s gone. “He’s been friends with my dad since school. I know he can’t quite believe that I’m working where I am, but at the same time, despite what he just said, I know he wouldn’t push me into anything I didn’t want to do.”
Just then I hear a sharp, shrill female voice ring out.
“Carson, darling! I didn’t think you’d come!”
There’s a woman walking towards us. She’s extremely tall, rail thin, and — for her age, which I’d guess at anywhere between forty and fifty although it’s pretty hard to tell — she’s incredibly attractive. Like, ex-model attractive.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says to Carson once she’s nearby. “There’s some people I really want you to meet.”
“Esme,” he cuts her off. “There’s somebody I’d like you to meet first. Esme, Melissa. Melissa, Esme.”
“How delightful!” she says, smiling at me, but at the same time I feel this icy chill run through me as I realise she’s openly looking me up and down, assessing me coldly.
And it feels like in that one glance, in that one split-second, she’s decided I’m not good enough for her precious stepson.
“Melissa’s from London, Esme,” Carson says, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, I simply love London,” she says with a thin-lipped smile. “It’s just so … quaint. I always stay in the Dorchester when I’m there. But I do find overall that London hotels simply aren’t up to the standards of New York …”
She turns back to Carson.
“You are coming for dinner next week, aren’t you?” she says. “If you don’t, I’m worried your father will disinherit you! He’s been saying he barely knows his own son anymore!”
“Oh?” says Carson a little puzzled, “I thought he’d be here tonight.”
“He’s still working,” she replies bluntly. “So obviously he can’t make it. Anyway, speaking of work, I have to work the room.”
And with that, we both watch Esme sashay off into the crowd.
“It’s true, she does love London,” Carson says in a whisper, leaning in to me. “Or at least, she loves the discreet Harley Street plastic surgeon she goes to!”
I laugh, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m watching Esme walk up to somebody, look back in my direction, then whisper something in his ear.
And I can’t help but suspect that she’s whispering about me, too.
“Don’t worry,” Carson says, placing his hand reassuringly around my waist, “that was her playing nice. I get the feeling she might actually like you!”
§
“Do you trust me?” Carson whispers.
“Of course,” I reply. “Why?”
“Close your eyes.”
So I close my eyes, and a moment later I feel a cool wisp of silk wrap around my face as he ties a blindfold around my head.
I don’t know what’s going on, nobody’s ever done anything like this to me before, and I can feel all my remaining senses accentuated. I can hear him running back and forth, doing … something, and I wonder what in the world it could all be for. And it feels like I’ve been standing here forever in the middle of Carson’s apartment, when I finally ask him, impatiently, “Can I take this off yet?”
“Not yet,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suppressing a smile of my own.
He answers not with words but with his hands. I gasp as I feel my dress being unzipped, peeling away from my shoulder blades, my bare exposed skin tingling.
Next, I feel his lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss. I push back against him but he pulls away, obviously enjoying teasing me.
I wait, wondering what’s coming next, when I feel something touch against my collarbone. It’s cold. Too cold to be his lips. And soon this strange coldness is wrapping all around my neck.
What in the world?
Finally I feel the blindfold becoming gently untied. And when I open my eyes, I’m looking into a mirror. And
I realize the thing he’s placed around my neck is …
“My locket!” I gasp. “How did you? Where did you? I don’t understand!”
A moment later I see that his apartment is lit by hundreds of candles. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket on the coffee table in the living room, too.
He looks intensely into my eyes.
“That first night in the hotel,” he explains. “You left your locket behind. I felt sure it was a sign. I knew you’d come back to me. I wanted to wait until I was sure you had. And then, when I did, I’ve had this made …”
With this, he touches the chain. I look into the mirror realizing that next to the regular locket is a brand new charm — a beautiful golden key, a perfect miniature antique design, intricate and lovely.
“When I knew you were mine, I had this made for you. I want you to know that you always have the key to my heart. I entrust it to you.”
“Carson,” I whisper, “it’s perfect.”
And when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, it’s as if the whole world comes to a standstill for a moment.
§
Next morning I wake up in his bed. I’m alone, and for a moment I panic thinking he’s left for work already, but then he appears in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He pads to the edge of the bed, places the cup on the little night table, then leans in to kiss me on the forehead.
“You know the drill,” he says, “stay as long as you want. But I’m gonna have to scoot, I’m afraid.”
“Can’t you call in sick just this once?” I reply, knowing I’m being selfish but wanting him all to myself. “Please?”
“I wish, but today’s case is really important.”
“I understand,” I say with a smile. I do, I really do.
And as he turns to head off to work, I feel a swell of pride — once again marvelling at the fact that this guy, this total catch, is actually mine!
Once I’m alone in the bedroom, I pick up my phone, an automatic reflex. I’m not really expecting to find anything new, but … Wow. I’ve got loads of new comments on my last blog post (the made up one about the stranger in the park):
DragonGrrl: Ohmigod! Ive always wanted to do something like that!! So hot!
Lucy_Ladyluck: I know right? That’s a major fantasy of mine too. GAD is my spirit animal.
On and on the comments go, but instead of feeling happy, this morning I just feel guilty. I know I’ve got to stop this. It’s not fair, on Carson or my readers.
He’s so trusting with me. I mean, here I am in his apartment, and yet I’m making up stories about other guys?
No, it needs to stop, I tell myself.
Maybe I should start writing a novel — something where I can use my full imagination.
But the blog has to stop.
Next I check my emails, and that’s when I see it.
I feel the dizziness hit me, like when I’ve had too much coffee, as I start to read:
Melissa,
This is Esme, Carson’s stepmother. I understand that things are getting serious between you two and it’s important that we talk.
I would like you to meet me this afternoon for coffee - I will be at Sarabeth’s on 92nd and Madison at 2pm. I expect to see you there.
Esme
This doesn’t sound good, I think. This doesn’t sound good at all …
I’m so nervous about meeting Esme, I turn up a whole hour early. It’s been playing on my mind all day. I just know this isn’t gonna be good. After all, I’ve not told Carson about her email, have I? And I suspect that she knows I’m not going to tell him, either.
Life seemed so perfect last night. I finger the locket and the brand new key charm that Carson had made specially for me, and I feel a sense of dread, like I’ve messed everything up. I was already feeling guilty about keeping my most recent blog posts from him, but now this too? It’s just all getting too much.
I’m already on my third coffee of the day and feeling genuinely jittery from all the caffeine, too, so when the waiter comes over and asks if I’d like anything else, I tell him I’ll just take a peppermint tea, thanks.
There’s no mistaking the tall, thin woman who stalks in like a lioness at dead on 2pm. Today she’s dressed in a white suit — and the effect is kind of scary, like Dynasty-era Joan Collins, out for the kill. And in the cold light of day, she looks even more icy-cool and beautiful than she did at the fundraiser.
Again I feel a sharp lurch of nerves.
“Let’s make this quick,” Esme says, taking her seat and narrowing her eyes at me.
“Hiii,” I reply. “Nice to see you too.”
She shoots me a tight little smile. “I’m sure you’re a very nice girl,” she begins, “and you’re obviously attractive, so I can see why Carson may have had his head turned by you. However, I feel obliged to let you know, before this gets any further out of hand, that he’s practically engaged to Maria Vanderbilt.”
“Engaged?!” I splutter, my head spinning. “I don’t understand! He said he was single …”
Of course, I think, I knew this was good to be true. Carson hasn’t been ‘too busy’ to see me at all. He’s been with his fiancé, this Maria whoever-she-is.
But the more Esme talks, the more I realise that this ‘engagement’ is more likely wishful thinking on her part than anything else.
“It’s been arranged since they were babies,” she explains. “Of course, they’re both playing the field for now, but everyone understands what the situation is. Maria is away at finishing school at the moment, but she’s back this summer and we expect an announcement to follow.”
This sounds like a total fantasy of Esme’s to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the first Carson had heard of it, too. Esme’s gone out of her way to bring me her, to get me out of the picture. She must think I’m a real threat to her plans. And scary as she is right now, I’m not about to back down.
I take a deep breath.
“I haven’t know Carson very long,” I reply, “but I do know him well enough to know that he’s a real gentleman. He wouldn’t waste my time if he truly belonged to someone else the way you’re suggesting. And more than that, Carson knows his own mind. He wouldn’t want something like that. He’d want to make his own decision — and I’m sure he’d choose love over any familial obligation, if it even exists.”
“Listen Missy,” she hisses, her eyes narrowing even further and her thin lips forming into a snarl. “Carson may well be playing Mr Pro-Bono Human Rights Activist at the moment, but we all know that his true destiny is with the family firm. And he will need a wife to match.”
Her snarl turns into a knowing smile and her eyes flicker with a strange delight.
“And from what I’ve heard about you? Well, I’m not sure your social profile is quite up to scratch.”
“I appreciate your concern for your stepson,” I say. “I know he’s very important to you. But Carson’s romantic life and mine for that matter, are no business of yours. Thank you very much for inviting me here, but I have to leave now.”
And as I gather my things to leave, outraged, Esme says, “Well, I was hoping it wasn’t going to come to this, but I’ve had my people look into you and I know who you really are … Honey. If you don’t finish things with Carson, right away, then I will. I’ll tell him everything — in fact I’ll do better than that. I’ll show him the videos! You’re not the only one who knows Carson. I know for one minute that he isn’t going to want to stay with a cheap little tramp like you.”
§
I walk through the streets, dazed, Esme’s words ringing in my ears, my heart feeling like it’s about to break.
I feel so stupid.
For a moment back there, I actually thought I’d beaten her. But now I can see that I should never have underestimated her.
At first I don’t even realize where I’m going, but after a while I realize that I’m walking in the direction of Carson’s office. After all, I really need to talk to
him — and preferably before Esme does.
I reach the office quicker than expected. It’s in the East Village. It’s busy but certainly not glitzy. Everywhere I look there’s people milling around the large, open plan office. It’s a kind of organised chaos, I guess, with stacks of paper and mismatched desks scattered all around. And it’s pretty down to Earth, compared to all the fancy things I’ve associated with Carson so far. This is just real life.
And best of all, the people working there seem really happy. There seems to be a lot of talking and laughing, debating and joking going on.
Then I see him. He’s in a corner office, his head down, working away.
He looks up after a moment and our eyes meet. His face breaks out in a smile but he seems confused and surprised to see me here. He gets up from his desk, walks towards me and I head towards him. We meet in the middle of the busy office.
“Listen,” I say. “I need to talk to you. It’s kind of serious. Can we go somewhere quiet?”
“Sure,” he says. “I know just the place.”
§
He takes me out to a quiet bench in Tompkins Square Park.
“So what’s the matter?” he says.
“I haven’t told you properly about why I left London,” I begin hesitantly. “But I really need to. I know I can trust you.”
So I just come out with it — I tell him everything, absolutely everything. I tell him about Will cheating on me, about him leaking the video, about how I lost my job, about how pretty much the whole internet thought I was a slut afterwards, and how I’ll never be able to take down all the videos, how absolutely anyone, in just a few clicks, will be able to see me strip naked and touch myself, for as long as the internet exists.
To my relief, Carson reacts not with anger or disgust. Instead, he’s just thoughtful and quiet. He leans in and kisses me. Then says, “You’ve been really worrying about this, haven’t you?”
I nod.
Girl After Dark Page 18
