by Hannah Ford
Callum pushed the button on the phone, ending the call, then started to get dressed.
“I have to make some calls, Adriana,” he said shortly.
“Oh. Okay.” I stood up and pulled my dress back over my head. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he picked up the bottle of whiskey that was on his desk, then disappeared into the bathroom that was off his office. I watched through the open door as he uncapped the bottle and poured the liquid down the drain.
He returned to the office and put the empty bottle into the garbage can.
Then he crossed the room to me and helped me zip my dress back up.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said. “So we can go look at the new apartment.”
Right. The apartment we were looking at tonight, the one that Callum was considering buying so that I could have a place to stay instead of staying at his apartment, which he wouldn’t allow. I nodded, but he was already picking up the phone to call the funeral home back, and I wondered if it was always going to be like this, two steps forward and three steps back.
* * *
I went back to my apartment to shower and change, wincing when I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. My breasts were criss-crossed with bright red lashes from Callum’s belt, my hair was a tangled mess, my ass was sore and raw, and there were bruises on my thighs where Callum had grabbed me while he fucked me.
I shivered as I remembered the way he took me, the way his cock had felt in my ass. It was messed up, but I liked seeing the marks on my body, liked seeing the power he had over me.
I got into the shower, the warm water stinging my raw skin.
Nessa came home while I was drying my hair, and she came rushing into the bathroom.
“Guess what, guess what, guess what?” she exclaimed happily.
“What?” I asked, figuring she must have gotten good news about her mom.
“I’m going on a trip!” she said, twirling around giddily. “A weekend away with Isaac!”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. I moved the hair dryer to my other hand. That was strange. After what had happened last night, when I’d run into Isaac and he’d kind of acted like he couldn’t have cared less about Nessa or about her mom being sick, I wouldn’t have expected him to invite Nessa away for a weekend. But maybe I’d been wrong about him. Maybe he’d been giving Nessa her space to be with her family.
“Oh?” Nessa said. “That’s all you have to say is ‘oh.’”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just… I was throw off for a second. Last night you were so upset about your mom, I just.. I wasn’t sure if your family would still be here this weekend.”
“My mom’s fine,” Nessa said. She reached over and picked one of my lip glosses up off the counter and lined her lips with it. I tried not to be annoyed, but she could have at least asked first. She pushed the wand hard against her lips, mashing the brush and pretty much ruining it.
“What do you mean she’s fine?”
“I mean she went to the doctor and her tests came back okay.”
“Already?” That was strange. How could her mom have gotten tests done today and already gotten the results? Especially for something that had sounded so serious.
“Yeah.” Nessa set the lip gloss back down on the counter and I picked it up and put it back into my make up bag. “She went back home this afternoon. Everyone is so relieved.”
“So what was wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. I think it was something she ate.”
“Something she ate?” I picked up the hairbrush that was sitting on the counter and ran it through my hair, trying to smooth it. It wasn’t working, so I pulled my straightener out from underneath the counter and plugged it in. “Is that what the doctor said?”
“Yeah,” Nessa said. She obviously hadn’t gotten the hint when I’d put my lip gloss into my make up bag, because she started rummaging through it, pulled out an eye shadow and poked her finger into the pot and swiped the makeup over her eyelid.
“That doesn’t sound right, Nessa,” I said. “What hospital was this?”
“I don’t remember,” she said. “It was NYU, I think.”
“Maybe you should – ”
“God, she’s fine, Adriana.” Nessa threw the pot of eye shadow back into my bag. “Can’t you just be happy for me for once?”
“For once? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just… I felt like you weren’t that happy for me when I told you me and Isaac were going away.” “I am happy for you, Ness,” I said. I was happy for her. If she was happy. And yet part of me had that niggling little fear, the fear that Isaac wasn’t everything he seemed. “Are you happy?”
“See?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s what I mean. You have to qualify it.”
“I’m not qualifying it!”
“Maybe you should ask yourself if you’re happy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She looked pointedly at my wrists and raised her eyebrows. I looked to where she was looking, and felt my cheeks flame as I blushed bright red. My wrists were rubbed raw where Callum’s tie had been, and there were marks from where he’d held me down.
“It’s not… we were just …”
“I don’t get on you for your choice in men,” she said. “So maybe you should stop being so judgmental.”
She turned and left the bathroom, and a second later, I heard her in the kitchen. I was just about to go out there and apologize to her, to let her know that I didn’t want to fight with her, that of course I was happy for her and Isaac, that I hadn’t meant to act like a brat.
But a moment later, I heard the front door open and shut.
Nessa had left the apartment.
I sighed and finished getting ready, then wrote her a note letting her know I was sorry, telling her I was going out for a while, that I was glad her mom was okay and that her and Isaac were good, and asking her to text me.
I signed my name then drew a little stick figure of a girl that was supposed to look like me with a quote bubble coming out of her mouth that said, “I’m sorry.”
I had enough complications in my life – Kiersten, Dean Bellingham, Peter Kelly, Callum – I didn’t need Nessa being mad at me, too.
* * *
Callum hadn’t told me what to wear, so I dressed in some of my “normal” clothes -- a black V-neck sweater and jeans. I felt like I could divide my wardrobe into two sections – the stuff I wore before Callum, (which was Old Navy -- or if I was feeling especially fancy, Banana Republic or GAP) and the things he’d gotten me after we got together (which were from places like Macy’s and Barney’s and Sak’s and made from rich fabrics and imprinted with designer labels.)
He picked me up in the same car he’d picked me up in that first day when he’d taken me to lunch. He’d changed since I’d seen him, out of his suit and into jeans and a leather jacket. His dark hair was damp from the shower, stubble still darkening his cheeks and chiseled jawline.
“Are you mad?” I asked once I was settled into the passenger seat. I was trying to get a read on his mood, but it was impossible.
“About?”
“About me wearing this?” I gestured to my clothes. “I wasn’t sure, and my dress...”
“Was ruined because of what we did?”
I blushed. “Yes.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “You look stunning.” His eyes snaked up my body, and I blushed under his gaze.
I watched him as he drove, the way he looked so in control as he downshifted, driving the car expertly through the New York City traffic. Something about it was very sexy.
When we got to the address of the apartment we were to look at it, I tried not to let myself get too excited. The neighborhood was perfect, cute and quaint with bistros and cafes lining the street, and people walking their dogs and pushing strollers.
The doorman tipped his hat and nodde
d to us as we walked through the lobby. We didn’t have to give our names or anything, and as we slid into the elevator and Callum pushed the button for the sixth floor, I asked Callum why we were allowed to just walk in.
“Is the realtor already here? Did she let them know we were coming?’
“There’s no realtor, Adriana.”
“Then who’s going to show us the apartment?”
“We’ll show ourselves.” He said it like it was nothing, like it was normal to be allowed into multi-million dollar apartments unsupervised. But I guessed if you were Callum Wilder, it was.
The elevator doors opened right into the apartment.
“Wait,” I said. “This is.. it has its own private elevator?”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay.” I felt breathless, giddy with excitement. We were standing in the middle of an open space. The apartment was big, but not huge. It was the perfect amount of space, enough so that you had a lot of space but not so much that the apartment would see empty with just one person living there.
It was fully furnished in shades of chocolate and light blue, every detail meticulous from the cream-colored furniture to the chocolate and beige striped curtains, to the crystal lamps and the stacks of books on the glass coffee table.
The kitchen was granite and stainless steel, all the appliances shiny and new. I ran my hand over the breakfast bar, then looked at Callum, my eyes wide.
“I love it,” I said. “I want to live here.”
The side of his mouth twitched into a grin. “You haven’t even seen the rest of it.”
“I don’t need to see the rest of it.”
He laughed and then reached for my hand, let me down a hallway to the other side of the apartment, where huge floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the bedroom. There was a platform bed covered in a white-and-blue wildflower comforter and a huge master bath with a Jacuzzi bath the size of my whole entire bathroom at Nessa’s.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed. “I love it.”
“You still want it?”
I bit my lip. I did want it. But it also felt weird somehow. I hadn’t earned this apartment, hadn’t done anything to deserve it. And as much as I loved it, as much as I wanted to live here, I wasn’t sure it was right. “It would be wrong to take it.”
“How so?”
“It would be…it would be strange.”
He took my hand in his. “Adriana,” he said. “This is one of the advantages to being with me. God knows there are many drawbacks.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It feels very extravagant.”
“What’s extravagant about it?”
“It costs 2.4 million dollars!”
He shrugged. “So?”
“So, that’s a crazy amount of money, Callum. It seems excessive.”
“Does it?” he asked, and then he was pulling me toward him. He lowered his head to my neck, kissed it softly. “Does that feel excessive?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“This?” His fingers slipped into the top of my jeans, his knuckles rubbing softly against my stomach.
I shook my head.
“I want to do this for you,” he said. “I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you’re always safe, you’re always happy. No matter what.”
“It’s not just the money,” I said.
“It’s the whole situation.”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “The apartment is beautiful, but it would only be mine because you won’t let me come to your place.”
“I’ve never let anyone come to my place.”
“I know, but…”
“You know what else I’ve never done?” he asked. His hand was moving across my skin still, under the fabric of my shirt, over my stomach, his fingers brushing softly against me, making me melt.
“What?”
“I’ve never slept with someone more than once. Not in years.” He was whispering in my ear now, his breath tickling the sensitive spot under my ear and I closed my eyes and took in a breath.
“I’ve never thought about someone as much as I think of you.” His lips brushed against the side of my neck.
“I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want you.” Now he was kissing right under my chin, in the hollow of my throat. “I’ve never been so consumed by someone that I had to run through the city to try and forget her.” He was on the other side of my neck now, and his fingers were still brushing my stomach.
I let out a soft sigh.
He pulled back and when I opened my eyes, he was gazing into them, and the electricity crackled bright and intense between us. “I’ve never told a woman I loved her,” he said finally, and his voice was gruff, and I could see the internal struggle inside of him, how hard it had been for him to say those words to me.
I nodded.
“Take the apartment, Adriana,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay, I’ll take it.”
* * *
Callum made a call to the realtor, informing her that he’d be taking the apartment. I sat on the couch in the living room, looking around, marveling that I actually lived here. I had never lived somewhere so nice before.
As Callum made the arrangements, my own phone buzzed with a text, and I looked down, hoping it was Nessa, hoping she had gotten my note and wanted to make up.
But it wasn’t Nessa.
It was Kiersten.
“Your presence has been requested at the Archway Publishing Celebration of Writing tomorrow night. It is black tie. Please wear something appropriate.”
I stared at my screen incredulously. The Celebration of Writing was a big deal in publishing circles. It was thrown by Archway, but all the top authors and editors from every publishing house were invited.
Who was requesting my presence? I wondered. Definite not Kiersten. Crap. Had it been Peter Kelly? Or Dean Bellingham? A sick feeling rolled through my stomach.
“Everything okay?” Callum asked as he hung up the phone.
“Yes,” I said. “I just… I got invited to the Celebration of Writing tomorrow night.”
“Oh, good. I’ll be there, too.”
Of course he would. The thought made my anxiety even worse. Callum and I in the same room with a bunch of people from work. Should I tell him about Dean? About what happened with Peter Kelly?
“Everything’s taking care of with the apartment,” Callum announced, apparently not concerned that he was going to be at a work function with me tomorrow night when I had been expressly forbidden from seeing him. “The apartment’s ours. You’ll stay here tonight.”
“What?” I shook my head. “Tonight? But isn’t there… I mean, don’t real estate closings take months?”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “My lawyer is on retainer. The owner had already vacated the premises, I purchased all the furniture and it’s a cash sale, so they’re willing to lease it to us until we close in a week.”
“Wow.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll have to get all my stuff.” And tell Nessa I was moving out. I would keep paying my half of the rent until she could find another roommate. I knew she wouldn’t care about the money, but it just seemed like the right thing to do.
I got an uneasy feeling every time I thought about Nessa. Something about the way she was acting about Isaac, about her mom… something just felt really off.
“We’ll get you new stuff,” Callum said absent-mindedly as he finished scrolling through the emails on his phone.
“What new stuff?”
“Anything you want.”
He sat next to me on the couch.
I wanted to ask him about Rose, about the arrangements for her funeral, wanted to tell him about Dean and Peter Kelly, about the flowers that had arrived for me this morning. “Callum – ” I started, but it was almost as if he sensed where the conversation was about to go, because he cut me off.
“Go into the bedroom, Adriana, and put on the
outfit that’s in the middle drawer in the closet island.”
“What outfit?” I asked, confused.
“Don’t ask questions.”
“But I thought you said I look stunning!” I protested.
“You do.” He trailed a finger over my collarbone and my breath caught. “But I don’t like you all covered up.”
“You said I needed to stay covered up, remember? You said I needed to keep my body from being on display.”
“You will stay covered up when you’re out in public,” he said, and I could feel his dominant side starting to come out, his need to control me intensifying. “But while you are here, in the apartment, you will wear what I say, you will put your body on display for me whenever I wish.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Eyes on the floor.”
I averted my eyes.
“Now go change.”
I walked slowly to the bedroom and opened the walk-in closet, shaking my head in disbelief. It was beautiful, lined on each side with floor-to-ceiling shelves.
In the middle of the closet was a raised island.
I opened the second drawer, my breath catching in my chest as I pulled out the outfit Callum expected me to wear.
High heels.
A tiny black dress that dipped down in the front, the skirt so short I was sure it would barely cover my ass.
No bra, just a thong.
I dressed quickly, then returned to the living room, embarrassed to be wearing such a tiny outfit, wondering, again, how he could want me so badly when his own body was so perfect, every muscle tight, his stomach chiseled and flat.
“Jesus,” Callum breathed when he looked up from his phone and saw me standing there. “Fuck, baby. Come here.”
I came over and he pulled me onto his lap, so that I was sitting with my back pressed to his chest.
A felt him shift behind me and reach into his pocket, and then a second later, he pressed something into my hand. My breath caught, wondering if it was some kind of new sexual torture device, a new vibrator, perhaps.
I looked.
It was a tiny black box.
A jewelry box.
I opened it.
Inside was a solitary diamond pendant on a delicate chain.
