“Rainn! I’m so glad you’re awake, I’ve been terribly worried. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you came round.”
Through Rainn’s muddled head, she recognized Stewart’s voice. She felt both happy and strangely shy as she greeted the man who saved her life.
“Stewart, thank you so much for rescuing me, however can I repay you? What must you have thought?” Rainn despaired.
“It sure was a shock seeing you and Mr. Bradley like that” Stewart admitted. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. I should have been there to protect you.” Stewart bit his lip, worried he’d said too much.
Rainn sensed his discomfort, politely ignoring his embarrassment. “Stewart, would you please do one more thing for me? Would you please tell me what happened? I’ll be an old woman before I get the truth out of these two.” Rainn gestured to Margaret and Yvonne, both giggling, thrilled that Rainn had not lost her sense of humor.
“Of course I’ll tell you, Rainn. But before I begin, I don’t want to upset you. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Stewart asked.
Rainn thought for a moment and then nodded. “Hearing it cannot be as bad as experiencing it,” she reasoned “I need to know what happened before I can move on. I will not let these events define me.”
Stewart acquiesced, making himself comfortable in an armchair before beginning. “Well, I came by the house with a walking stick. I knew you were against the idea, but I just wanted to help you. It was my grandmother’s. I hoped you might like to run your fingers over the wooden carvings; it has elephants carved into the handle, my grandmother was a great animal lover. I hoped you could use the stick as I moved furniture with your supervision, to make you more comfortable. It would be easier for you to get your bearing that way. I’d hate for you to get hurt again, like that day with the vase.”
Rainn was touched at the thoughtfulness of this man; Jack had never considered moving the furniture; he was too attached to his expensive antiques and relished having them on display. She also noted the adoring tone with which he spoke of his grandmother; family values were important to Rainn and she found Stewart more intriguing as he continued.
“I walked in and the house was deadly silent. I thought you may have been out for lunch, so I went to the balcony to leave the gift. I know you love to spend time there because you can feel the warmth of the sun and smell the beautiful flowers. I walked into the room and thought I entered a horror scene! You and Mr. Bradley were both unconscious and the room stank of liquor and blood. I ran over to check if you were okay. You were breathing but your pulse was very faint. I called for an ambulance on my cellphone. Then I noticed the phone by your hand. I checked the call history and got in touch with your sister and cousin.”
Yvonne and Margaret blushed at their mention in Stewart’s story and beckoned for him to continue, both inwardly delighted at his obvious adulation for Rainn.
“I went to check Mr. Bradley next. I felt guilty for not checking him first; he is my boss after all, but I was so worried about you. I’ve seen Mr. Bradley like that before; when he drinks and takes drugs, he’s not a good man. I checked his pulse too, his was stronger than yours. I sat next to you to wait. I kept talking to you, hoping you’d know who I was and that I was there for you. I hated the thought of you waking up alone and frightened so I held your hand. The ambulance arrived with the police. Mr. Bradley was taken away in a separate vehicle– ” Stewart broke off, looking uneasy, unsure of how to continue.
Rainn spoke softly, “You looked after me? Thank you so much. Please don’t be afraid to carry on. Jack, he got arrested, didn’t he?
Stewart stared at her, amazed at her perceptiveness and dazzled by her beauty. “Yes, for drug possession and forceful consumption; what he did to you. He confessed to everything when he came round. He had a fantasy you were like Romeo and Juliet; star crossed lovers, destined to live and die together. He is being charged soon. I’m sorry.”
Rainn, to everyone’s shock, smiled. She was glad to be free of Jack. She had not realized, until it was almost too late, how toxic their relationship was. She remembered the heartache he put her through all those months ago. Why had she taken him back? He was clearly mentally unstable. She didn’t need a bad boy to tame; she didn’t want to feel scared or small or intimidated. She wanted a good, honest man. Someone kind, who would want to take care of her and love her. Someone who did not drink or have irrational bursts of anger. She realized with a start, that she wanted someone like Stewart. Stewart had helped her when she fell. Stewart had never been unkind to her in any way. He had wanted to move the furniture to make her comfortable; even though it would have gotten him in trouble with Jack.
“Stewart…” Rainn began nervously. “How long have you been here?”
Stewart thought for a moment “Well, you’ve been here six days. The first two I slept on the floor beside you. But your wonderful family told me to get some rest. With Mr. Bradley in prison, I have no work to do, so I’ve been spending my days here with Yvonne and Margaret, just hoping you’d wake up.”
Rainn felt stirrings of butterflies in her stomach. She was so touched at the sweetness of Stewart. She loved listening to him speak, his deep velvety voice sending shivers down her spine. Rainn blushed as her adoring crowd watched. Thinking deeply about the dependable, gentle man before her, she plucked up the courage to ask:
“Stewart, when I am out of hospital, would you perhaps like to go for a coffee..?”
The End
Part IV
Beautiful Stranger
Romantic Comedy
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There really wasn't a whole lot that Clara had expectations for in life, and yet, she found herself still disappointed; she wanted a loving mother, not one who was obsessed with finding her a suitor of some sort, like this was the fourteenth century or something. She wanted her career to pan out, and yet, here she was, with a degree in Game Design and nothing more than unfinished prototypes to show for it. And, most of all, she wanted to be accepted by someone for who she was, not who she could be or what she could do for them. And yet...she gets one Daryl Marley, a man only a few years older that she, but no less pompous and cocksure in his own abilities and successes, like the world owes him for his greatness. What Clara doesn't realize, however, is that there is so much more to Mr. Marley, so much depth that he hides behind his words, that she might see, if only she would let him show her.
“Oh, darling,” Gerta sighed heavily as she eyed her daughter's jewelry box without touching it, as if she could conjure up some trinket that would attract more men to her daughter. “I just want you to be happy.” Clara had no doubt that, on some level, her mother was telling the truth – it just wasn't the entire truth. Which, really, was the source of all their disagreements these days. With a huff, Clara set her hair brush down, fearful that in her irritation, she might pull out her chestnut hair with the bristles of the brush, before addressing her mother.
“No, Mom,” she snapped, rising and rummaging through her jewelry box to find her favorite necklace; a little London topaz, surrounded by little amber gems and strung on a gold chain, a gift from her father before he left this world. “You want me to be married, not happy.” She clasped the necklace around her pale, thin neck, and walked over to her closet, flicking through her dresses to decide what to wear.
“Clara,” her mother said tiredly. “You know that's not true-”
“Isn't it?” Clara cut her off in a clipped tone. “I pay my bills, I attend your charity balls, I have my own independence, and I don't ask you for any favors,” Finding a lovely black dress, with a low back that draped loosely, like a theatre curtain on the small of her back, a skirt that rested on her thighs in the front, and flowed out in layers in the back. “Is that not enough for you? Is it not enough that I'm content in where I'm at?” She laid out her dress on her bed, and began to rummage around on her shoe racks for a pair of shoes for the evening.
“But you're not,” her mother said in an exasper
ated tone. “I know you're not!”
“Not because I'm single!” She whirred upon her mother, anger flaring in her bright bird-of-prey gold eyes. “I'm unhappy because I haven't advanced in my career like I had hoped I would by now! I'm unhappy because I haven't finished a complete game yet because I've hit a creative block!”
“Clara...” Gerta whispered, eyes as big as dishes as she stared at her daughter incredulously. The thought occurred to Clara that she might not have ever snapped like this at her mother, and maybe it wasn't entirely deserved, but she was tired of it all, tired of having this back and forth with her, and wanted it to end tonight.
“I get it, I get it. You want to see me taken care of when you're gone. That's fine. But I'm self-sufficient, and I ask that you respect that. If I find someone, then I find someone. If not,” she narrowed her eyes at her to drive the point home. “I don't want to hear another word about marriage, or children, or settling down.”
“Clara, I didn't-” she wasn't sure whether her mother was trying to turn it around and blame it on her, or if she was trying to beseech her to forgive her, or to understand where she was coming from, but this conversation wasn't going to go many places, at least, not in the time they had before they were needed at the charity ball. Clara held up her hand to silence her mother, having heard enough, at least for now.
“I think you should go; you have a speech to memorize, and a charity ball to host. I'll meet you there,” Clara kissed her mother's cheek mechanically before turning away from her, clearly finished with the conversation and had no intention of engaging in any further discussion with her mother.
It didn't make it sting any less when her mother stormed out of the room and slammed the front door of her house shut.
Chapter Thirty
With a sigh, Clara pulled out a pair of sapphire pumps and began to tug off her dressing robe to begin donning her attire for the evening's events; her mother, a rather successful businesswoman who contributed regularly to several charities, was hosting one of her many luxurious charity balls – one for a charity pertaining to the local orphanage, if memory served. Clara never failed to make an appearance, and when she had a little extra money to contribute, even donated her own money to the cause. She couldn't deny that her mother was a humanitarian in this particular regard, and had always looked for legitimate ways to improve the city.
It was such a shame that she barely acknowledged her children's wants.
Her older brother was set to inherit the company, and though she worked within the company herself, it was more on an IT level than anything else; might as well put her Computer Science degree to use, and get paid for it while she was at it. Her brother, a very business savvy man who was kind and always looked out for his little sister, allowed himself to be groomed for the family business so that she could pursue her own dreams. It was just fortunate happenstance that he had found his passion, his calling, in business anyway, and to this day, the two have always looked out for each other in any way that they could.
If she were being entirely honest with herself, she admitted as she applied some smoky gray eye shadow, flecked with silver, over her black eyeliner, she was only attending this particular event because her brother was going, and asked her to come keep him company while they smiled and pretended to care about whatever the dusty old aristocrats of the city were droning on about. With a giggle, she had no problem admitting to herself that the two of them had always, since they were dragged to these events as children, giggled about the old geezers that hobbled about, rambling on about how important they were. Evidently, he was bringing some other friends of his to the event, fellow business school alumni that he had particularly strong friendships with, and she found herself excited to meet new people.
Pulling her dress up over her hips, and slipping her arms through the ruffled cap sleeves, she zipped it shut and stepped into her pumps. She opted to let her thick, wavy hair ripple down one side of her head, gathering it there with a few secure pins in the back of her head, rather than something extravagant that would take more time than it was worth. With a quick glance in the mirror and a nod of her head in satisfaction at what she saw there, she plucked her clutch purse with her wallet and phone off of her dresser and walked out of her room to leave.
Stepping out into the cool night air and hopping into her car, she started the engine, and took off down the street, toward one of the many skyscrapers that lined the inner city's skyline. It was a relatively short trip, barring traffic during rush hour, but it was a blessedly short ride tonight, preventing her from dwelling on the argument with her mother for too long before the valet was parking her car in the family's garage level of the building, and she was stepping inside the lobby of the building. Thankfully, the bellhop and the greeter recognized her, and she was swiftly escorted into the grand ballroom on the tenth floor.
Chapter Thirty-One
She had to admit, the ballroom always looked like another, more magical world for these events.
She always felt like anything could happen on these nights, like someone might appear and sweep her away on a grand adventure. It was always these nights, where the staircase dividing the two floors of the ballroom were lit romantically with candles that were cradled in old antique lanterns, and the chandelier was alight and glittering, sending fractals of light shimmering on the dance floor below them, that she got the most creative inspiration for her games. The balconies on the second floor, wrapping around the space and showing off the gorgeous city lights were given their own lanterns, the tall French style doors pulled open to let the summer air in. Everything was awash in golden light, and felt like it was another time, and another place, and she practically felt like royalty as she stepped gracefully down the steps toward where most of the attendees were congregated, around the largely sparse dance floor.
She hummed along with the quartet of strings that played in the corner, and relished in the thrum of the melody reverberating in her chest as she reached the first floor of the ballroom. Sharp amber eyes scanning the crowd for signs of her brother, she eventually saw him chatting amicably with another man their age, no doubt one of the friends he was referring to. The man was tall, almost taller than her brother, and had short, dark curls sat atop his head. His skin was a lovely olive color, and he had the loveliest topaz eyes that were glittering with laughter over something her brother had said. He must have noticed her before her brother did, as he nodded in her direction before her brother finally turned to notice her, and began waving her over. By the time she was beside the two men, Charles already had a delicate flute of champagne held in his hand for her, that she took with a soft, 'thank you,' and began to sip delicately on to delay her need to talk to this other man she didn't know.
“Clara! So glad you could make it!” Charles said with a broad grin. “I was hoping you'd come soon! I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine from university,” he gestured to the man she had seen him conversing with, and felt her heart flutter, just a little, at realizing that she was going to have to talk to this inarguably handsome man. Judging from the way he smirked at her, he knew he was handsome, and something in her flared in anger at his cockiness.
“Daryl Marley, of Marley Medications,” he said, hand outstretched for her to shake. She took it in her own, but couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise when he bent and kissed her knuckles. In spite of his arrogance, she felt a vague fluttering in her chest. Curse this man for his wily ways! The nerve!
“Clara Evans,” she said evenly, in a tone that she hoped harbored no misconceptions of attraction on her part; he was pretty, to be sure, but he already seemed far too arrogant for her liking. “You strike me as familiar – have we met before?”
“A few times, briefly,” she found herself curious as to why the smile he shot at her hadn't quite reached his otherwise bright eyes. What was the story behind that? “But we've not necessarily spoken too much.”
“I see,” was he disappointed that they hadn't talked befor
e? It was so hard to say.
“How has the business been, then? Thames Pharmaceuticals not giving you too much trouble, I hope?” Charles piped up, clearly eager to change the subject, and ensuring that her curiosity would not be sated for the night on the subject. She made a mental note to ask him about that later, after everyone had already left.
“Of course not, no,” Daryl said, smoothly transitioning onto the clearly lighter subject. “They wouldn't dare make any form of medication that isn't name brand, for fear of, 'tainting the waters,' as it were,” he said with an eye roll. “Their loss. Thanks to their lack of competition in the market, our profits are the best they've been in a long time, and we're helping more people this way than if we didn't manufacture off brand medicines.” She sipped at her champagne, glad that at least he's partially interested in helping those in need of medicine over profits, even if the two weren't mutually exclusive. Perhaps she had been too judgmental? If she were honest, that was entirely likely. “So, Clara,” Daryl said, returning his attention to her. “What is it that you do?”
The question was an innocent one, and likely one that he expected the usual answer to – 'oh, I run a portion of my parent's company and am incredibly successful,' or, 'oh, I'm an entrepreneur and I make a lot of money doing it,' not the answer she was going to give. But all the same, she owed it to herself to be honest about her career, to own up to what she was doing, and by God, she was going to be proud of it.
“I, ah,” she said, already not starting off on the most confident foot. “I design video games,” she dove back into her flute of bubbly alcohol, hoping that she could just hide in it until everyone went away that she might not have to face another judgmental stare like the last time she boasted about her career at one of these soirées.
Boxer Next Door Page 44
