As Axe’s date, she should have been providing support…or at least making an effort to enjoy herself. Instead she was drunk, ornery and obsessing about her relationship with Mark.
As a prominent artist in the showcase, Axe had to attend to several aspects: the promoters, his publicist, the paying customers.
Saturday had isolated herself from everyone… even Axe, who was too busy networking with others to notice. She wandered out into the broad hallways outside of the main showrooms.
The Art Center in which the show was held was majestic; there was no other way to describe it. It was five floors of winding hallways with a large concentric square of open space extending from the very bottom all the way to the roof. On each floor, the space was surrounded by a silver walkway.
Every single guest of the exhibit was in a room, engaged in discussion, drinking or dancing. Saturday stood alone on that walkway, contemplating things she had tried to squelch, memories she had tried to chase away.
She took another gulp of the Red Bull and Grey Goose vodka in her hand, growing more frustrated by the minute.
Mark had spied on her, preyed on her. In the foggy haze of nighttime, she had been terrified by what she had seen, never expecting to find what she had discovered.
At best, he was a curious photographer. At worst? A crazed stalker.
And he had purposely hidden his photography from her. How was she supposed to make the distinction?
And yet… all of this just didn’t make any sense. He had never done anything to harm her, never forced himself or their relationship on her. They seemed to fall together naturally, their love a product of organic chemical attraction.
She spent time in his home, met and stayed with his family. He had made himself as vulnerable to her as she had to him.
The signals just didn’t mesh. She knew there was a darker side to Mark, an intense, mysterious part of him… but this?
A pair of laughing girls stumbled onto the walkway, interrupting her thoughts. Saturday pushed off of the rail, casting a cutting glance in the oblivious girls’ direction.
She was feeling territorial tonight (can’t they find their own flipping hideaway?), and she wanted nothing more than the space and peace to brood.
She meandered her way up to the fifth and final floor, deciding to hide out in the designated sitting rooms that ran adjacent to the washrooms.
He was wearing a tuxedo when she saw him.
Saturday recognized Mark immediately. She had dreamed of him so often since his absence that she had memorized the lines of his body, the curves of his face.
He was leaning against the far right wall, flipping a coin absentmindedly. His head was bowed, his tousled dark hair falling forward. He looked every bit as good as she remembered… better than in her dreams, even.
When Saturday caught sight of him, she froze, unable to move, speak or even blink. Mark tossed the coin once more before looking up and noticing Saturday standing there.
He palmed the coin in his hand, placing it in his pocket before stalking his way over towards her. The tuxedo was immaculate on his frame, the jacket and pants a devastatingly deep black that contrasted the white crispness of the shirt beneath.
His hands still in his pants pockets, Mark continued to move toward Saturday slowly but purposefully, stopping just a few feet short of where she was frozen. His expression was blank, his newly shaven face unreadable.
Saturday simply stood there, gawking at him. She was eerily calm, her breathing unjustifiably even and steady.
She waited for it… and waited… and waited…
Nearly thirty seconds skipped by without either of them saying a single word to each other.
Suddenly… a break in the silence.
“Why?” Saturday asked, shaking her head, her face wrought with gloom and confusion.
Mark took a deep breath, bewilderment marring his features.
“Why what?” he responded.
“Why…” she hesitated, “…can’t I hate you?”
The tension thick enough to cut, they simultaneously hung their heads, looking everywhere but at each other. There was so much that needed to be said that it seemed they couldn’t figure out where to begin.
Mark took the first shot at it, raising his head to look at Saturday.
“I can’t imagine what you must think of me. I know what you’ve seen…”
He shook his head deliberately.
“Whatever it is that you think, you have to know that it isn’t what it seems. I need you to believe me. I need you to trust me.”
Saturday finally found her voice. Her head and eyes snapped upward to face his.
“Trust you?” she questioned. “Since the day I’ve met you, it’s been nothing but secrecy and omissions. I woke up eating a breakfast of lies; I went to sleep on a bed of deceit! You’ve violated me in one of the worst ways. You’ve invaded my privacy. Trust?!... Do you even know the meaning?” she hurled at him.
Mark balked at the intensity of Saturday’s outburst, but he stood firm.
“Saturday, I promise… I will tell you everything. Anything. Soon… I just need time. Just a little bit more. I know what I’ve put you through… but in a very short amount of time, I can put all of this behind us. I just need you to not throw this away.”
He raised a hand towards her.
“Just… don’t be afraid, Daisy.”
Saturday clasped her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding her.
“But I am,” she responded softly. “I’m afraid of this. I’m afraid of you. And I’m so mad at you,” she said, her voice rising. “What are you keeping from me? Who are you?”
Mark’s face dropped, his expression turning pensive and…hurt.
“I can’t tell you right now. Things aren’t… ready yet… settled. All I can let you know is… that I love you. And if you let me, I want to spend every waking moment making sure that you never hurt again.”
Saturday inhaled sharply at his words, her resolve against him crumbling.
NO. Don’t get weepy now. Keep it together. He still hasn’t revealed anything…
She dropped her hands, clenching her fists at her side with restored control.
Mark glanced down at her hands. Suddenly, he started removing his black jacket, sliding the garment off of his shoulders and down his toned arms.
He unconcernedly tossed it on the floor.
“Ok, Daisy. Let it out.”
He opened his arms in acquiescence.
“Let me have it.”
Saturday breathed heavily as she stood, her expression angry but confused.
“Have what?” she demanded.
“It. No need to pound this out in the gym. I know you, Saturday.” Mark gave a harsh exhale.
“Hit me.”
Her eyes widened but she remained immobile. He took a step closer when she didn’t move. He waited… took another step.
“Hit me.”
Saturday stayed fixed, her fists tightening further.
He took a stride this time, practically leaping right in front of her body. His breathing was erratic now, his chest heaving even harder than hers, their bodies nearly touching as they stared each other down.
“Just fucking do it, Daisy!”
She drew her hand back and slapped the living hell out of him, striking him directly across his cleanly-shaven cheek.
Saturday hadn’t meant to; she didn’t intend to really hit Mark.
But every single centimeter of her body was tense and when he actually yelled at her, her body instantly reacted, snapping like a spring stretched beyond its limits.
The blow jerked his head sideways, knocking his perfectly mussed hair out of place.
He raised a hand, wiping at the corner of his mouth. He straightened his stance, staring steadily back at her.
“Good,” he said. “Now, do it again.”
Saturday looked unwaveringly at him, stunned. She held the stinging hand that had slapped him. Onc
e was enough. She couldn’t do it again, and from the sympathetic look in his eyes, he knew it, too.
Mark reached out to hold her, and she pushed him weakly away. He stopped briefly, but then continued to wrap his arms around her. She placed a hand on his chest to shove him again, but it was no use.
Her strength was running on nil. It was as if lashing out at him had sapped what little desire she had left to hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him.
The thing was… Saturday wasn’t sure what she wanted at all… so, frustrated and spent, she beat her palms futilely at his chest and torso while Mark stood there, arms open, taking it all.
The tears started to fall unabashedly now.
Before she hit him, she could almost taste the saltiness of the suppressed sob on her tongue, but she held it, not letting it escape.
Now, it had gotten away from her and was flooding the space around Saturday and Mark indiscriminately. A final hand fell on Mark’s chest and then they sank to the floor together, Saturday’s muffled cries the only noise emanating from their embrace.
She had clutched his shirtfront out of passion before, but now she held on to it with a need that surpassed even that… a need to purge… for the ache from everything she lost… and everything she never really had in the first place.
More than that, Saturday was bewildered and scared… vulnerable. She needed space; she needed time to process everything that was happening. With meeting Mrs. Rich and seeing Mark like this, she was disoriented and confused about how to feel.
She knew she needed to manage her emotions before making any decisions.
But her heart did not seem to get the memo. Right now, it was telling her that more than anything, she needed Mark’s touch.
Fact was… there was something deep inside her that wasn’t afraid, that trusted Mark when he said he would give her what she needed. It was the same intuition that sparked within Saturday when she spoke to Mrs. Rich: a sense of sincerity, of authenticity.
But was she a fool to believe it? Which was right? Her head…or her heart?
She raised a tear-streaked face to his.
“I can’t… we can’t do this. You have to go. I’m here…with someone. I have a date.” She looked down, suddenly timid, muttering softly, “He’s downstairs.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. He gave a single grim nod.
“Mm… technically, I do, too. I came up here to get some space and quiet…for once, tonight. We just stopped through by way of a black-tie affair.”
Saturday released her grip on Mark’s dress shirt. It had just occurred to her how over-dressed Mark was compared to the rest of the guests.
This event was completely casual; hell… even she was practically over-dressed in just jeans and Converses. But that didn’t stop Mark from falling right into place, as always.
There was this ease with which he moved about, as if he naturally belonged. He had worn jeans and leather to a formal Clairvoyage exhibit: that first time she had ever spoken to him. Now this: a tux.
He had a skill set that went beyond any camouflage, more sophisticated than any chameleon. Mark didn’t conform to his surroundings; they conformed to him.
Saturday contemplated about their respective dates, her thoughts touching on Axe and lingering on Mark’s own mysterious escort.
The question “Who is she?” worked its way to the tip of Saturday’s tongue, but she bit it down ferociously.
Mark spoke up, his evergreen eyes intently focused on Saturday’s.
As always, he answered her unspoken questions.
“It’s only Marie. Look, I don’t care that I have a date. I don’t care that you have a date. The only thing that matters is you.”
Saturday’s lips parted in surprise.
“Give me a chance to explain… just some time to tell you everything.” He kissed the back of her hand, pulling her to her feet as he started to stand. And those green eyes were focused on hers, hypnotizing her, pulling her under his spell.
She felt herself dissolving under his care, softening at her very core… until her subconscious reached up and smacked her in the face.
This isn’t right, Saturday. This is WRONG. You shouldn’t care… not about him, not about any of this. He’s not the man you thought he was.
Retaining her steely reserve, she shrugged violently from his embrace, shocking herself with the force of her upcoming words.
“No,” she shook her head rapidly. “Get away from me, Mark. If you come near me again, I will call the cops.
“And fuck you and your goddamn secrets.”
***
Saturday scurried down the steps, hoping that her absence from the main floor wasn’t too obvious. Hanging out, barely out of earshot, was one thing; engaging in domestic violence on a different floor with an ex that you’re not quite over… well, that was another.
She grabbed onto Axe’s arm just in the nick of time.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, surprised. He placed a kiss on her cheek.
“I’m glad you’re here. I was just getting ready to look for you.” He glanced around the room, then back at her. “Where’d you go?”
“Oh… uh… the ladies’ room,” she motioned absently over her shoulder. Axe’s kiss traveled to her mouth, landing there hotly.
Saturday withdrew quickly, flashing a weak smile to mask her inner reservations. She couldn’t even bear to be kissed by her own date.
Two men in one night? She was biting off more than she could chew.
Axe seemed completely oblivious to her plight (thank God). His show must have been going well; he had veritable stars in his eyes. Axe decided to make his parting rounds, engaging the other artists in congratulatory chitchat.
Saturday, feeling unreservedly guilty, clung to his right arm, gripping him like a lifeboat. In that moment, Axe was like an anchor, keeping her grounded in a world of normalcy, of consistency… whereas Mark continued to hold her hostage on an emotional rollercoaster.
Up and down. Round and round.
Inside of her was a screaming insolent child who wanted to stay and play in this twisted park (Mommy, just one more ride, please!). The adult in her was trying to handle the disobedient little kicker, but even that “grown-up” was barely holding on to control.
She had thought that her instincts would fly into action if she ever saw Mark again, that some sort of fight or flight effect would kick in. She wouldn’t exactly call what she had done a fight or flight, really.
In the face of immediate confrontation, she had broken down instead: letting this mystery of a man touch her, even hold her as she did. Secretly, somewhere deep inside of her, she had yearned for his touch.
Dammit. Mrs. Rich really had worn her down. She didn’t know what to think anymore…or even what to make of her actions at Mark’s house.
Was it an overreaction… or rightful reflex?
Saturday leaned in tighter to Axe, trying to ignore the wrestling that was tap-dancing on her psyche. Her fingers clutched his V-neck burgundy t-shirt, the black tribal tattoo on his chest and shoulder peeking out beneath the fabric.
Axe smelled of warm, amber cologne, the scent wafting slowly to Saturday’s nose, which was nestled closely against him. Her nostrils twitched.
It was so unlike Mark’s, which was woodsy, earthy… clean.
Mark smelled outdoorsy and fresh, like he had bathed among the pines; add the aroma of coffee and leather… and you got Mark. It was intoxicating.
Too busy reminiscing, Saturday caught a strange movement out of the corner of her eye. She peeked over to find Cristiano by the makeshift bar in the back, raising a glass to her in salute. He brought the glass back down to his lips and as soon as he did, Saturday lost him in the crowd.
She pulled at Axe’s shirt. “Did you see that?” she pointed, but of course, when Axe looked in the direction of her finger, Cristiano was gone. Not a trace of him in sight. Maybe the fatigue, the drunkenness, or reappearing ex was all going to her head.
Axe en
closed her with his arm, leading her to the exit. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”
***
Saturday shut herself off for a week after the showcase. She did things she never thought to do before; she threw paint haphazardly at a canvas. She drew furiously on a sketchpad. She spilled her emotions into her art, letting her feelings tumble onto the easel.
Frustration. Anger. Fear. Desire.
Frustration. Anger. Fear. Desire.
A splash of paint here, a dash of coal coloring there.
Let’s throw some anxiety on the top. Mmhmm… yeah… and some confusion down the bottom. Yes, yes. That’s right. Perfect.
She slammed the paintbrushes down, cracking one in the process.
What to do? What to do? On the one hand, she had Axe: handsome, artistic, kind… attentive… well, not so much the night before. He damn near forgot about Saturday, basking instead in the adoration of the local wannabe-hippie yuppies that frequent those events.
If that were Mark, he would have never let her out of his sight. She shook her head vehemently, climbing into bed.
Mark. God, Mark. Why? Why are you hiding yourself from me? She drifted off to sleep, murmuring his name.
At 4:07AM, a low noise roused her from her slumber, very similarly to how she had woken up when an “uninvited guest,” her former roommate Kristen, made an appearance in her home late one night.
This was different, however. It wasn’t a moan that had stirred Saturday from sleep this time. It was a soft creak… the creak of a door.
Saturday scrambled to her feet, frustrated and groggy.
That’s IT. I’ve damn HAD it with Kristen. Enough is enough!
She gripped her bedroom doorknob harshly, throwing it aside and stomping out into her small hallway.
She shifted the shoulders on her oversized t-shirt, ready to launch into a tirade against Kristen.
But the person standing at the other end of the hall wasn’t Kristen. The person at the other end was so much larger… and tall. A man.
Fear had knocked the wind out of Saturday. Her mind was screaming, but her body didn’t even have enough breath to gasp.
Before she could escape, he moved into the moonlight that was emanating from her living room window. The blue-grey glow illuminated his profile, underlining the green in his eyes.
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 17
