by Emerson Rose
“Mmhmm.”
Black lowers his newspaper for a moment and regards me. Then I catch Elijah looking up from his laptop, too. What is up with these people? I roll my eyes at no one in particular and sigh. Doctor Lorenzo joins us a few minutes later. He has a cup of coffee with Marcus and they chat quietly.
Maria cleans up the last of the breakfast, and I slowly finish my toast and egg.
“Alright. Are you ready to go home, everyone?” Marcus claps his hands together with enthusiasm and every head swivels in his direction with interest.
“We can go? Really? Now?” I watch as a smile I haven’t seen for ages spreads across his face. It’s the movie star smile that reaches all the way to his eyes followed by the smirk and wink combination that I live for.
“Yes, right now, baby.” I pop up and shove my chair noisily across the floor and almost tip it over but Mr. Black grabs it just in time. I skip across the kitchen and launch myself into Marcus’s arms.
“Oh! Careful now,” he says when a tiny bit of coffee sloshes out of his mug. I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight.
“I will start packing your things,” Maria says. She’s excited, too. I can hear it in her voice.
“Thank you, Maria,” Marcus says. Wow, that’s twice in one day; he’s on a roll.
“I know how to be polite, Imani. Don’t look so shocked.”
“I should get going. I need to grab some things from Dominus before we leave,” Elijah says, and Mr. Black stands up, too, folding the newspaper up neatly and placing it on the table.
“Make sure the jet is ready,” Marcus says to Mr. Black.
“Yes, sir, of course.” I’d like to see those two after a couple drinks. I bet they would be fun if they loosened up. A vision of Marcus and Black slapping each other on the back, smoking cigars and bullshitting flashes through my mind and I smile.
“You’re looking better, a little giddy even,” Marcus says taking my hand and leading me out of the kitchen.
“I’m just so happy to be going home. What changed your mind? Was it something Doctor Lorenzo said?” His eyes shift minutely, and I know I’m spot on, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Yes, just being thorough.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
He slips his arm around my waist and kisses my temple. “Yes, I am.”
When we get back to our room, Maria is already hard at work packing. She folds each piece of clothing like a clerk in a department store before placing it neatly in a suitcase. She moves with purpose and precision. It’s obvious she’s done this a time or two before.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Oh no, you rest. I have a system and Marcus likes his things a particular way.”
“I do,” he says sliding one of the suitcases over to make room for me to lie down and all of a sudden, that sounds like the best idea ever.
“You should rest before we go, Marcus. And it’s time for one of your pills.”
“I can take my own pills now, and I’m fine, I’ll sleep on the plane. Go ahead and lie down for a few minutes.” I can’t resist. I lie down and curl up on my side. I don’t intend on sleeping, but I can’t keep my eyes open.
An hour later, Marcus sits down on the bed next to me and whispers in my ear, “Imani, it’s time to go.”
“Hmm?”
“We are all ready to go. The car is waiting and Elena and Enrique are already at the airport.” I almost forgot they need to go home, too.
“Are they going to Seattle or Maine?” I’ve gotten so used to having Elena around I’m going to miss her when she goes back to Maine.
“We’re stopping in Maine to drop them off.”
“I’m going to miss her.” Tears well in my eyes and he gathers me into his arms.
“Don’t cry, baby. I have a strong feeling she will be coming to visit a lot. Maybe we can convince her to relocate.”
I sniff and nod in agreement. “Alright now, let me get you a tissue and then we really need to get going.”
He returns from the bathroom and hands me a tissue. I blow my nose and he squats down in front of me to slip on my comfy shoes. I bet he hates these shoes. He prefers me in heels, but I’m not hearing any complaints today.
“Up,” he says. I stand, and he helps me on with my coat. Why is he babying me so much? I should be taking care of him, not vice versa. He always liked taking care of me, but since his surgery I’ve gotten so used to being his caretaker that I’ve forgotten it goes both ways in a marriage.
He holds out his hand, and I lace my fingers with his. “Let’s go home, baby.”
Ninety-Five
That damn key is still in my pocket. We’re leaving, and I never found out what it opens. I’m just going to ask him. My time here is run out and my curiosity is peaked.
“Marcus?”
“Mmhmm?”
“How upset would you be if I told you I went through your desk?” I clench my teeth and wince, waiting for his response. His grip tightens so much my pinky finger hurts, and we abruptly stop in the middle of the hall. The house is quiet around us, everyone is gone or in the car waiting to leave for the airport.
“Did you find something interesting, Imani?” The chill in his voice makes me think that this wasn’t the best idea.
I let go of his hand and feel around in the zipper pocket of my purse until I find the key.
“I found a box, with two keys.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, yes, but I only wanted to ask about the keys.”
“What do you want to know?” He’s angry. I can hear it in his voice. Now I really wish I had kept my mouth shut.
“Nothing, I’m sorry I brought it up and I’m sorry I went through your things.” I take his hand, and place the key into it closing his fingers around it.
“You are so damn curious. It’s going to get you into trouble one day. I’m going to show you what this key opens and then we are leaving this house and closing the door on my past for real, understand?”
I nod, he takes my hand and leads me back upstairs toward our bedroom. We pass it and continue down the hall until we are standing in front of the door that leads to a walk-in cedar closet.
I found it when I was exploring one day. Marcus opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. Now I’m not so sure I want to know what he’s going to show me. My sixth sense niggles in my brain, and I know I’m not going to like this. I recently learned the hard way that some things cannot be unseen or forgotten and, God knows, I don't need any more of those.
“I changed my mind.” A rush of adrenaline flows through my veins when I see the different emotions that cross his face. A vein on the side of his face pulses and for the first time since before his surgery I am afraid of my husband.
I let go of his hand and take a small step back and wait.
“Is that OK? Can we just forget it?”
“I don’t know, Imani. Can we?” His words are tinted with sarcasm, but I think he really wants to know if I can control my curiosity and forget there is something inside that closet that I will never see.
“I don’t want to make you angry and clearly you are. I’d like to try to forget…”
“You won’t forget, Imani, it’s not in your nature. We might walk away right now, but it will come up again someday after it’s eaten you alive. And, yes, I am angry. I’m trying to start a new life with you, but every time we start down that fresh path, some stupid fucking part of my past sabotages my efforts. So, go inside, Imani. I want to get this over with and go home with a clean slate.”
He knows me, and he’s right. I would imagine a million insane, bizarre things that could be behind that door. I would let it fester for a long time but I would bring it up again.
I step into the closet and switch on the light. It looks just like it did the last time I was here.
“On your right,” he says, but he doesn’t enter with me. It’s a good-sized closet, but not big enough for the
both of us to move around comfortably.
I turn to my right and face a cedar wall unsure about what to do next. I don’t see a door or anything to unlock. He hands me the key and points to the corner where the walls meet, and I see it. There is a tiny hole in the wood with no hardware or plate surrounding it. If he hadn’t pointed it out I never would have noticed it.
I look back at him, and he gives me a look that says get on with it. I turn the key, and he reaches in to push on the wall. The entire wall is a door. My heart is beating wildly in anticipation and fear about what might be hidden in a former Mafia leader’s house.
“Open it,” he says. I hesitantly push against the big door. There is a light on inside and the wider the door opens, the brighter it becomes. When it’s completely open I’m still not sure what I’m seeing.
It’s a small room with rows and rows of pegs holding what look like torture devices. Dozens of them hang on pegs, aligned neat and ominous. There are several sets of handcuffs, lengths of rope, whips, bars, and other things I have never seen before are all organized waiting to be used.
“What is this?” I whisper.
“It’s where I kept the toys I used with my subs. You’re holding their key; the other one was mine.” I look down at the key and hand it back to him. I don’t want to have any connection with the women of his past and the things they did together.
“These things don’t look like toys. They look like weapons and torture devices.”
“They served many purposes, pleasure, pain, punishment and yes, in my case, torture. I was known as The Beast by many, and I absolutely lived up to that nickname.”
Silence hangs heavily in the air between us as I think about what he just said.
“Have you had enough? Is your curiosity satisfied? Can we finally lay my past to rest?”
“I just don’t understand. I mean why did you do this?”
He heaves a deep sigh. “This is what I was afraid of. I didn’t want to expose you to another disturbing part of my past. Just know it isn’t a lifestyle I want anymore and leave it at that. We need to go.”
Sounds good to me. I push past him, leaving the cedar closet and the nauseating torture storage area behind. I need fresh air or I’m going to be sick again. Cedar will never smell the same. I will always associate it with visions of Marcus brutally punishing phantom women in my mind.
When I arrive at the car, Mr. Black opens the door for me. I slide in across the chilly leather seat, welcoming the dark. I need a moment alone to process.
Now, it’s time to rationalize and convince myself that none of this matters. He’s not like that anymore, he just said so himself. The man I know and love is inside that house getting ready to go home with me, not the one who previously ruled with an iron fist. He is gone. When will I ever accept that? When will the past stop crossing paths with our present?
Marcus and Elijah arrive ready to go and climb into the car. Black is driving and Elijah is sitting up front. Marcus slides into the back with me.
Elena and Enrique are in another car behind us with Maria. I’m shivering from a combination of the cold and thoughts of whips and handcuffs.
Part of me wants to get out on my side of the car and walk away, down the gravel drive to the lake and think letting the cold creep into my bones and numb me from the inside out.
Marcus pulls me in under his arm, reaching across he stretches the seat belt over my lap and clicks it into place. Without a word, he comforts me just by being here. The struggle going on in my head ends and my fears get stuffed wherever I’ve been stuffing them since this crazy man stole my heart.
“It’s all over, baby. We’re going home. I’m selling this house and Elijah will handle the Milan Dominus permanently.” I’m glad to know I never have to come back to this place; it holds bad memories for both of us.
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s cold today.” I don’t know why I try to deceive him. He knows that it’s not the Italian winter air making me tremble, but he orders Black to crank up the heat just the same.
“When we get home I want to plan our wedding.” Now that’s a subject change if I ever heard one. He must be desperate for a new conversation topic. Most men aren’t interested in planning a wedding but Marcus is most certainly not most men. For the next thirty minutes I sit and listen to his grandiose plans for our reception, honeymoon and get-together’s leading up to the ceremony.
He wants to have it at the house in Seattle or home as I am quickly becoming to know it as. He has ideas for colors, tuxedos, bridesmaids’ dresses, photography, and of course food. He is a friend of many of the people we will need to deal with. He’s even made appointments for us to see a few of them already.
“You’re very excited about all of this, aren’t you? I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about weddings.”
“I am excited and happy, aren't you?” That edge of vulnerability in his voice shreds my heart. Will he forever be haunted by his past and the idea that he isn’t worthy of a forever love?
No, he won’t. I’m going to make sure of it. I’ll love him with everything I’ve got and then some after that until he never questions it again. I relax against him and stare out the window at the countryside that I will most likely never see again. It’s beautiful and rich with history; it’s some of that history that will keep us from visiting again.
“What are you thinking?” he interrupts my daydreaming.
“You already know.”
He chuckles softly and guides my head against his chest, tangling his fingers in my hair absently.
“We can come back again someday, but for now I need… we need to let the past die here. I am selling the house, though. If we decide to visit we will stay somewhere else.”
“What about your other house? The one you grew up in?” He shifts in the seat. I can’t fathom why he wouldn’t want to sell it, the place that reminds him of his difficult start in life.
“No. It was my mother's home. I can’t let it go.”
I open my mouth to respond, but think better of it. He loves his mother even after all she put him through. Or maybe he’s keeping it as a kind of punishment; that wouldn’t surprise me. It was the first place he ran to when his old personality returned and hurt me.
I run my hand up and down on his thigh and keep my mouth shut. He is a complicated man and this is another facet of him that I will never understand. He covers my hand, plays with the diamond on my ring.
“I don’t expect you to understand why I need to keep the house. Thank you for being my wife, Imani. Thank you for your eternal patience and commitment, for standing by me when I don’t deserve a single second of your love.”
He brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. He holds it there with his eyes closed for a few moments. When he opens them, he doesn’t look at me. Instead he turns away and looks out the window. A single tear slides down his cheek. He really believes he is unworthy of my love. I imagine he doesn’t think he deserves his success or wealth either. My heart aches in a way that it only does for him. Will there ever be a time when he is content, when his heart is full of love and his soul is at peace, allowing his spirit to soar?
There is a lot of healing ahead of us but I have enough faith for the both of us. Marcus found all the pieces of my shattered heart and fit them back together to make it whole somehow. I will find a way to mend his as well.
Ninety-Six
The flight home is long, and the stop in Maine depressing. I hated saying goodbye to Elena and Enrique. They promised to visit soon, and we made plans to Skype.
Being in the jet again was surreal. I was so excited to go home that I didn’t give flying in Marcus’s private jet a second thought. It never crossed my mind that we would be flying in the same jet that brought us here.
Until I stepped inside, and the memory of waking up in a drug-induced fog after being kidnapped by my ex-boyfriend clobbered me over the head. So much has happened since then, I can’t help but be grateful that Marcu
s was insane enough to bring me here. He isolated me from my friends and family and forced me to see things his way. Sometimes it takes a little crazy to get what you want.
He leads me through the hangar where we have just exited the plane. I’m exhausted and dying to get home. Elijah and Mr. Black are lugging kennels containing very pissed off kitties. Yes and No are awake and ready to play. We had to sedate them for our long flight and now they’re protesting with loud meows.
We made the trip in an impressive sixteen hours, but these two couldn’t care less. Yes lets out a particularly loud cry halting our parade to the car momentarily. Marcus and I look back to see what is going on and Elijah rolls his eyes, “Crazy fur balls.”
“You love ‘em and you know it.” He snorts as we climb into the Escalade parked in the hanger waiting to take us home.
“I’ve never seen this before,” I say caressing the leather seat on either side of me. It’s warm and relaxing inside, a sharp contrast to the bitter February weather of Seattle.
“I have several vehicles you have yet to see.”
“Oh, yeah. I still don’t understand why you have so many cars.”
“Different occasions call for different cars. Where would you put those puff balls if we only had the Lamborghini?” The Lamborghini… I remember driving that thing; it was like being in the space shuttle.
“Yeah, true, driving that car was nerve-racking enough without those two crawling around. But you have to admit, you’re a little overindulgent.”
“I do not.” He picks an imaginary piece of lint from his knee, brushing it off onto the floor. I smile at his boyish stubbornness and cup his cheek in my hand turning his face to mine. “What?”
“You’re cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, cute.”
“Ok, lady, you need sleep. No one in my entire life has ever referred to me as cute.”
“Well, now they have because you are.” I lean in to give him a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he offers his mouth instead, pushing his tongue through my parted lips urgently.
