by Amity Cross
Then he rose from the stool and sat next to me on the couch, his arm brushing against my bare leg. Suppressing the urge to shrink away, I felt my cheeks flush pink.
“May I?” he inquired, raising his hand.
I nodded stiffly, tensing as his fingers undid the top button of the shirt and eased it off my shoulder. His breath caught, but I assumed it was from the glimpse of the twin stab wounds that marked my chest and shoulder. They were a confronting sight, their puckered pink lines standing out quite dramatically against my ivory skin.
“Do you wish to capture my pain?” I asked, the question bursting forth from deep within.
“They are part of your iceberg, Jane.” He swallowed hard, his gaze moving from mine to the scars.
“And this painting…” I murmured. “You wish to sell it?”
Rivers smiled, his gaze meeting mine. “At this moment, I’m entirely unsure. Perhaps I will keep it.”
His fingers brushed the elastic strap of my bra, and he eased it off my shoulder. It was quite an erotic movement, but he did not attempt to deepen it.
“There,” he murmured. “Absolute perfection.”
He drew in a deep breath, then rose to his feet and returned to the stool.
I watched him as he picked up a pencil and began scratching a rough outline on a page in his sketchbook. His movements were gentle at first, then became harder and more deliberate, his brow creasing as his gaze darted from me then back to his work. When he’d completed the page, he tore it clean from the book, tossed it aside, and then began anew.
He must have drawn ten more sketches before he seemed satisfied, each differing from the last in amounts of passion he used his pencil with. Watching him so invested in his work conjured up all manner of devilish thoughts, and I understood why he was such a ladies’ man. The air was charged with pure inspiration, and it felt quite intoxicating.
Moving the easel before him, Rivers picked up a clean canvas—which was a monstrous-sized thing—and pinned the last sketch in the top corner, most likely as a reference to his composition. He then rifled through a box of paints and began squeezing various colors onto a much-used palette. Once this step was complete, he retrieved a selection of brushes and returned to his stool.
He glanced at me and smiled but did not say a single word. His mind was fully embroiled in his work, and it seemed there would be no reviving him until he was spent for the evening.
Work commenced immediately as he dabbed a brush into the paint and began to move it across the canvas. I could not see what he was creating, so I would have to be satisfied with the grand reveal when he was done.
We did not speak for the longest time, and I allowed my thoughts to wander, the warmth of the room and the softness of the couch lulling me into a sense of security. Outside, I could hear the swish of traffic passing on the street and the comings and goings of neighbors. I was overtly aware of Rivers watching me as he painted, his eye drinking me in as he brought my likeness to life on his canvas.
The whole evening was reminiscent of an erotic scene in a novel, and it was all too clear why artists were always embroiled in such passionate affairs. My lips began to tremble as my body responded to my carnal thoughts, my thighs tensing and my most intimate areas aching to be touched.
Unconsciously, I thought of Edward and the moment we’d shared under the grand chestnut tree at Thornfield—the same tree he proposed to me under and the same tree that had been split in two by lightning the very same night. We’d returned to one another at that moment, making quick and desperate love under those branches. I could feel the ghost of his lips against mine and his manhood as he thrust inside me, his body under mine.
“Jane?”
I blinked, raising my head, and realized I’d fallen asleep.
“Jane?” the voice asked again as a very male hand cupped my cheek. “You must either be quite relaxed or tired.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, glancing up at Rivers. “Did I ruin your painting?”
“Not at all,” he replied, his gaze studying mine before falling to my lips. “You could never ruin it.”
Before I understood what was happening, he dipped his mouth toward mine. There was a split second of time where I felt a stab of loneliness so profound it tore me in two, and I allowed him to kiss me.
His lips were soft against mine at first, then his tongue teased my flesh, demanding entrance. Our embrace deepened as his hand brushed over my breast, over my waist, and settled on my bare leg.
I wanted to moan his name, Edward, but it did not feel right. My mind was muddied from my dream and the scene leading up to it, my body overriding all sense and reason.
I panicked and pushed my palms against Rivers’s chest, breaking us apart.
Edward! Oh God, I loved him still. I would never be rid of him. Should I go back? Should I forgive him and begin anew? Oh God, how I longed for him!
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, placing my feet on the floor and pulling the shirt around my shoulders. I allowed my hair to fall across my face, hiding it from Rivers’s view.
“Jane, I know you are hurting, but perhaps I can be a comfort to you,” he murmured, edging closer to me. “I long for more, but I see you are unable to give it, but I am willing to take whatever you wish to give. If you want to take pleasure from me to still your sorrowful heart, then take what you will.”
I shook my head vigorously. “I cannot.”
“Jane…”
I rose to my feet, hiding my welling tears, and gathered up my clothes. Knowing Rivers was watching my every move, I fled upstairs, locking myself into the spare bedroom that had been my home for the past month.
Collapsing on the bed, I allowed my tears to flow, stifling my sobs in the pillow. I longed for a man’s touch, but that night, the only relief I would give myself was from my own hand. I could not give myself so wantonly to a man who would tire the moment he won what he was fighting for.
I could not betray my feelings even though the man I felt them for had betrayed his.
8
I snuck out of the apartment the next day, avoiding Rivers entirely.
I was not ready to face him after what had happened, and I was certainly not up for another attempt at swaying my resolve. Instead of lingering, I went to the pub and readied myself for my shift.
The Gossiping Shrew had fast become my escape, the work satisfying my idle hands and calming my chaotic mind. I had no time to ponder my past, present, or future when the night got under way. There were many tasks to attend to, and they came in quick succession, leaving no time to breathe, let alone pine.
Adele had taken it upon herself to become my best friend and spent many hours telling me of her riotous adventures in travel, men, and more men. If she wanted someone, she made it happen without any fuss. She was quite beautiful, and her accent was extremely helpful in her seductions. She seemed to be able to separate the notions of love and lust quite successfully, and I found myself jealous of her modern sense of adventure.
I suppose I was old-fashioned when it came to these things. I wanted love, and nothing less would satisfy me. Perhaps it was too much to ask.
“Rivers isn’t here tonight,” Adele said, nodding toward the empty stool.
I shrugged and focused my attention on the soiled glassware I’d collected, ensuring each pint was stacked correctly before I loaded them into the dishwasher. I was aware she was watching me with fascination, most likely attempting to unravel my quiet demeanor.
“I suppose he’s painting some grand design,” she mused wistfully. “Every so often, he buries himself in his work, and we don’t see him for weeks. When he resurfaces, it is with a monstrous canvas and some gallery showing he wants us all to fawn over.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. It must be a regular occurrence.
I smiled, allowing some of my tenseness to flow away. “Yes, I think he is.”
Turning back to my task, I began placing the last row of glasses into the rack. It would be quite heavy to carry ou
t to the dishwasher, but I had been working on my upper body strength since the attack, and my chest did not bother me at all now. All was normal, and I was strong in the physical sense.
Turning my gaze outward, I watched the comings and goings of the pub and felt a surge of hope. Things were looking up, weren’t they? Slowly but surely, I would find my way again. I just had to keep a tight hold on my resolve.
I watched a group of men shout passionately at the television, which was playing a football game, and laughed softly to myself. That was when my eye was drawn further still, caught by the sight of a tall man wearing a suit and tie, his hair short all over, his jaw coated in unkempt stubble. He turned, and I was overcome with a sense of foreboding so strong it was as if a ghost had passed straight through me.
Edward.
My heart twisted, and my breath hitched, panic overtaking my senses, and the glass I was holding slipped through my fingers and crashed to the floor. It splintered into a thousand pieces, and I jumped, my heart feeling as though it had stopped altogether.
I knew he was searching for me, Mr. Briggs had confirmed my suspicions, but how had he found me here? I’d been so careful… There was no trail…
I stared at the man again but instantly recognized my folly. It was not Edward at all but merely someone who looked similar. My fevered mind was playing tricks, my longing and despair conjuring his ghost before me.
Adele was serving a customer near the scene of my broken glass, and she looked at me with narrowed eyes, then across the room and back before she handed the customer their change. Then she reached under the counter for the dustpan and offered it to me. I plucked it from her fingers, knelt, and began hastily sweeping up the jagged shards.
“Watch your fingers there, Jane,” she said.
Rising to my feet, I smiled thinly, my heart galloping as fast as a thousand purebred racehorses on the home stretch of a race.
Turning, I dropped the whole contents of my shaking hands into the bin—dustpan and all—and pushed into the storeroom before I fell to pieces in front of everyone. If I showed my weakness, then they would begin to suspect my predicament. No one could know.
Leaning against the shelving, my hand resting upon a cardboard box full of serviettes, I wrestled with my heaving emotions, attempting to shove them back into the box I’d locked them in the day I’d left Thornfield. What had I done?
“Jane, what’s wrong?”
I glanced up at Adele, who’d followed me to the storeroom, and began to panic even more.
“Nothing,” I muttered, my head swimming. “Nothing at all.”
“That is a lie, and you know it,” she said, placing her palm against my forehead. “You are having a panic attack. Come.” She forced me to sit on a box and to place my head on my knees. “Take some deep breaths. Take all the time you need.”
I did as she said and focused on my breathing, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. Soon, it began to slow, and my head stopped swimming.
“Better, no?” Adele patted me on the back. “Do you want to explain it to me?”
Straightening up, I stared at her, not knowing what to say or do. I could not tell her anything. It was too twisted a tale, too heartbreaking, and much too melancholy to regale her soaring spirit with. What a wretched creature I’d become!
“I know that look in your eyes,” she said kindly. “You’re hiding from someone.”
I shook my head, attempting to wipe all expression from my features. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen it many times,” she said, sitting beside me. “Can I tell you a little story, Jane?”
I nodded, knowing I would not be leaving here until she’d said her piece. Adele was a very passionate and forthright person, and I’d learned her questions were never suggestions. If she desired to bestow some wisdom upon me, then it would be bestowed, no matter what.
“I used to work in a bar that was frequented by dancers of the exotic kind back in Paris. Very glitzy, dark and seductive. The kind with poles and erotic dances in men’s laps. Many people look down upon those kinds of establishments, but they are run with strict rules and tight security, and they are a far sight safer than working in this dump.” She laughed and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “There were some girls who had admirers who did not know when to stop with the gifts, you see. Some men became besotted with the fantasy they paid for and thought it was real life. It was very easy for the line to blur, and more girls ended up with lovesick stalkers than not. It was a terrible business and frightening, too. We would do what we could to help them avoid these men since the police wanted nothing to do with sex workers. I saw many looks of fear, and I wished to never see a woman cower again.” She nodded toward the door. “I saw it in your eyes just now. I recognized it as plain as day. You thought you saw someone, did you not?”
My hands began to shake, and I rubbed my palms over my jeans. Was I so plain in my thinking that it was written upon my face even when I thought I was hiding my fears away?
Adele placed her hand on my shoulder, drawing my gaze to hers. “I don’t know your circumstances, Jane, but you can trust me. Who am I going to tell? Certainly not Rivers, the pompous twit!”
“I thought you and Rivers used to date?” I asked.
“It was a flirtation.” She winked suggestively. “He loves the challenge but rarely has the follow through.”
I frowned, my mind thinking over this revelation. I wondered if he would cast me out if he became bored with chasing me. Last night had been a slip, one that I instantly regretted, but now I feared I’d given Rivers an inclination his advances were working.
“He’s up to his dirty tricks, isn’t he?” Adele asked, rolling her eyes. “The idiot!”
“Adele, I—”
“No, don’t tell me!” she declared, interrupting what would have been a halting, and quite awkward, excuse. “He’s made you uncomfortable. Are you still staying with him?”
I nodded.
“Then I will help you find a new situation,” she declared. “You need to distance yourself from the man immediately.”
“I know.” I thought of the money I’d hidden in the spare room at the apartment and everything else that was now mine after my uncle’s passing. It was clear I did not know how to handle my problems. How could I when I had not faced such trials before?
“Oh, Adele,” I said with a sigh. “I’m so lost. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do not worry, Jane,” she replied. “I will help you.”
“Just like that? Without knowing why?” I felt like crying, my burden too heavy to bear, and just as an old injury would ache on a cold winter’s morning, my chest began to throb in two precise places.
“There are good people in this world, just as there are bad,” she said, her carefree attitude changing to something a bit more serious. “And I never wish to see a woman live in fear again, no matter the cause.” She smiled and winked before saying, “Unless you are wanted by the police.”
I shook my head. “No. Of course not!”
“Very good! And you did not see the person who has you worried out there?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I replied, feeling foolish. “It was merely someone who looked similar.”
“Good,” she declared. “Then we better go back to work before we are caught hiding here. Mr. Gibbons will throw us both out onto the street!”
Standing, I straightened my clothing and smoothed my hand through my hair. We returned to the pub, and no one was the wiser anything had transpired at all. It was just another broken glass in a long line of broken glasses.
“I have your back, Jane,” Adele whispered into my ear before sauntering off down the bar.
Sighing, I picked up the rack of glasses I’d abandoned earlier and lifted them up gently before seeking out the dishwasher.
Adele had an uncanny ability for distraction, and my mind was at ease the remainder of the evening. I did not see any more apparitions, n
or did I allow another pint glass to shatter, though my mind did not stop its relentless churning.
New beginnings didn’t erase my problems. Deep down, I knew I was only carrying them around with me, ready to install into a new circumstance—the panic attack was a symptom of this. My pattern of uprooting my life and moving had done nothing to help me overcome my issues at all. I’d never truly faced who I was or what had been done to me, and while I may have come to peace with some aspects, I was only running from Edward and the events that had happened at Thornfield. I’d run in the most dramatic and cruel way and disappeared like the coward I was.
Our story was not so cut and dried as good versus evil. My actions had hurt him as his had hurt me. Both of us were at fault.
Had I been the one to abandon him when he needed redemption the most? I’d been so focused on myself that I never once stopped to think about how my leaving would impact him.
If I truly loved him, why had I been so cruel?
9
Spring was almost over. The days had lengthened considerably, warmth enveloped the city, and I hardly saw Rivers since we’d kissed.
He hid away in his studio and worked all hours of the day and night, avoiding me whenever I came and went. It seemed we were on the same page, and for that, I was thankful. I could not handle another loss, not even one as fickle as John Rivers.
One evening, after I’d returned from working at The Gossiping Shrew, he appeared out of the darkness, scaring me half to death. I’d been skulking through the garage, hoping he was too embroiled in his work to notice my arrival, but it seemed he had been waiting this particular night.
“Rivers!” I exclaimed, placing my hand over my bursting heart. “You startled me!”
“My apologies,” he said. “I was hoping I would catch you.”
“Well, you have well and truly caught me.”
He stood awkwardly and thrust his hand through his shock of unruly hair, pushing it away from his eyes. His skin was covered in drops of paint, his shirt askew, and his eyes were hooded, showing how tired he was. I found myself wondering when he last saw a bed.
