Bound to You: Volume 3

by Booke, Vanessa

  “I’m giving her the opportunity to leave. On Monday morning, I want her letter of resignation on my desk by the end of the day,” he commands.

  "Why are you doing this? Why are you making me choose?"

  Nicholas voice fades into the background and the last thing I hear is his father.

  “She's just a gold digger…your marriage to Alison is worth more than her weight in gold."

  The office floor is deserted as I gather my belongings from my cubicle and file them into a white storage box. In a way, I’m thankful for the absence of employees. This situation could be a lot more humiliating if I had to worry about prying eyes watching me sob as I box away my dreams. I text Carol asking if Steven can give me a ride home.

  I check in my ID badge and drop it in HR’s overnight drop box. The thought of walking away from all of this is devastating. I thought Miles cheating on me was about the worst feeling in the world, but it doesn’t compare to this feeling. I’m tempted to find Nicholas and tell him goodbye, but I'm torn at the thought that it might just make things worse. Maybe this is better. Nicholas won’t lose the company his family built and he can honor his brother by making it greater. I know it's selfish but in a way, I wish I were important enough to sacrifice everything for.

  When I arrive home to our apartment, I’m filled with the bittersweet sadness of finding Carol waiting for me in the kitchen. Her bright smile exudes happiness as she holds up two different shots, one tequila and the other vodka. She grins, gesturing for me to take my pick. I muster a sad smile, taking the shot of tequila to numb my pain. It burns all the way down my throat, leaving me with a warm pool in my stomach.

  After several minutes of listening to Carol talk about her day, I muster the strength to tell her that I’m leaving New York. The look of betrayal in her eyes squeezes my heart.

  "You can't be serious?" she asks. Carol circles around the kitchen and grabs ahold of my arm. "You're not leaving. Like ever." I know me leaving probably isn’t what she wants to hear right now, but I can’t stay. By Monday, I won’t have the job I moved 3,000 miles across the country for and the man I’ve fallen for over these past few months will soon be married to another woman.

  “He can’t just make you leave,” Carol says, tapping her fingers against the kitchen counter.

  “He owns the company, of course he can.”

  A bittersweet sadness fills me as I make my way toward the front of the Natural History Museum. The gala has turned out better than I could’ve ever anticipated or even imagined. A flurry of paparazzi crowds the red carpet, trying to capture candid shots of guests walking into the event. Everyone seems to be here. I even spot several of the authors we have contracts with and a slue of celebrities, and city officials lined-up for their photo-ops on the red carpet.

  As I walk into The Cullman Hall of the Universe, the outstanding beauty of the room awes me. The ceiling of the cavernous room is painted a deep, dark blue and speckled with tiny lights that look like clusters of stars. The low-lighting gives off the illusion that we're sitting outside underneath the stars. It reminds me of when I used to drive up to the mountains near my home in California. It was probably the only place you could still see the stars beyond the horrible Los Angeles smog.

  The farther I walk through the hall the more tables I spot decorated in red silk tablecloths, tall centerpieces of golden candelabras, and statues of angels and demons. Somehow the event coordinator has managed to make it feel like something straight out of one of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories. The gothic ambiance is a perfect setting for the string quartet that plays on the main stage just in front of the massive dance floor.

  When I’ve finally taken my fill of the beautiful ambiance, appreciating the way all of my work and planning have helped make this event come together, I direct my gaze to the guests that mix and mingle in cheerful conversations. A strange flutter of excitement washes over me as I realize the anonymity that I feel walking into a room with a mask.

  I enjoy my time watching guests sip champagne and devour the assortment of hors d'oeuvres that waiters carry on antique trays. As I gently pass through the clusters of guests toward the front of the room, I spot him standing in the middle of the dance floor greeting guests and making small talk.

  His red cape hangs only inches from the floor and the top-half of his face is hidden behind a skillfully-crafted skull mask. My heart throbs at the sight of his smile peeking out from beneath it. It’s hard not to notice that behind that grim mask is a beautiful man. I study him from a distance, hoping to capture this vision of him in my memory forever. I smile when I realize his blond hair is styled and combed in one slick wave, much like the first day I met him on the plane. True to his word, his extravagant costume depicts The Red Death: intriguing, alluring and ominous. I didn't actually think he would go through with it.

  Just as the string quartet strikes up another song, Nicholas turns in my direction, and suddenly there’s no room in the air, everything halts in some form of suspended animation. I understand now when people say it's like no one else is in the room. There are over 1,500 people here, but everything else just falls away, leaving us locked in each other’s gaze. His blue eyes pierce through me and I find that I have to remind myself to breathe.

  Remember, you came tonight to say goodbye to Nicholas. He quickly leaves his party and crosses the room, pushing past the flood of guests filing in through the front entrance. His hands touch me before he even opens his mouth, and a warm shiver invades my senses.

  “Please, say you’ll dance with me?” he asks with a faint smile and intense gaze. How could I refuse him? The memory of Nicholas’s conversation with his father threatens to unravel me, but I quickly squash the feeling.

  “Yes,” I reply. If this is the last time we touch, then I want to savor the moment.

  Nicholas takes my hands and wraps them around the collar of his red cape. Despite the thick layers of my red dress, the pressure of his hand warms my skin with an alluring sensation. He pulls me toward the middle of the dance floor and we take off in a whirlwind of turns and spins. His grin warms my heart as he dips me and then pulls me close so that our chests are meshed.

  I don’t want the feeling of his arms around me to stop, but as the song ends, I feel him step back taking the air from me. A pang of guilt fills me as our eyes connect and he smiles.

  “Do you want to step outside?”

  “Okay. I could use the air.”

  The breeze flowing in through the open balcony surrounds us with the faint smell of burning firewood. I lean against the doorway, my eyes lingering on his lips. The slight trail of stubble just beneath his bottom lip has me itching to feel it with my lips, my tongue. The mask might fool most, but I know beneath that haunting facade are lips so sinfully-skilled that the memory of them on me has me rooted where I stand, as Nicholas stares back at me.

  Something inside me wants to reach out and touch him, but I know it would be wrong. There’s nothing left to say but goodbye. I give him a faint smile that doesn’t betray the sorrow stewing inside me, and I turn to leave. A hand wraps around my wrist before I can put any more distance between us. His other arm snakes around my waist and as he pulls on my wrist until I turn to face him again. I look up into his face as he hoists me up to plant a kiss firmly on my lips. My hands instinctively go to his face but the mask is in the way. He releases his grip on me only long enough to remove his mask. My breath leaves me in a whoosh when his face breaks into a dazzling smile. Black paint circles his eyes; a stark contrast to his brilliant, electric blue irises.

  God, I could love this man. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not even Miles.

  "Becca, there's something I need to tell you." It’s too easy to fall back into our familiar reactions to one another, but I have to stop it before that happens. I can’t be with him if it means he loses everything. I have to go. I pull away from him and the smell of his cologne follows me. I love that smell, but it threatens to break me. Tears swell in my eyes as I tur
n to leave. I try to muster up the courage to tell him that I've loved him all this time, but his father interrupts us, calling Nicholas back inside.

  “Nicholas, are you going to welcome our guests?” Stefan asks, letting his piercing gaze slide over me before turning back to his guests. He doesn’t know that I heard every word he said to Nicholas. The ugliness of his words repeats in my mind as I let my gaze drift from him back to his son. She's just a gold digger.

  “I…I’ll be back,” Nicholas says, grabbing my hand and placing a kiss just above my knuckles. My hand trembles beneath his touch as the warmth of his kiss spreads across my skin. He doesn't know that I'm leaving New York and I'm not coming back. Nicholas’s eyes pass over me with concern at my silence. I look past him at the flurry of guests laughing and drinking without a care in the world. Knots forms in my throat as he squeezes my hand.

  "Wait here. I'll be right back, okay?" He waits for me until I acknowledge his request.

  "Sure," I say, forcing a smile.

  Tonight is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. I wait for several moments for Nicholas to return, but the sight of Alison showing up sends my emotions into a panic. Alison approaches Nicholas and she wraps one long, manicured hand through the crook of his elbow. I watch her smile at him with her flirtatious touch. I wanted to stay until the end of the event and say a proper goodbye and a thank-you to Nicholas, but I can’t stay here and watch them together.

  How did I get here, heartbroken, a second time in mere months? I don’t think I can take much more. My soul feels broken. Saying goodbye is going to be impossible. I know he won’t want to let me go, and I don’t want to leave, but there’s no point in putting this off any longer. Come Monday morning I’ll be gone, and he’ll have no idea that I’ve left until he shows up at the office. By then, I’ll be settled back in California, and hopefully I’ll have enough distance from all this to process everything without the temptation to run back. I love New York City, but everywhere I look, I see him. It breaks my heart to know that I’m not just losing Nicholas – I’m losing the promising life that I was building here in the city. I’m leaving behind my best friend, and it feels like I’m losing her, too.

  Carol did not take the news well when I told her I quit my job at StoneHaven Publishing. I hate hurting her, but how can I stay? I love my friend and the life we have here. I know she’s angry because I’m running, and I don’t blame her, but I’m on the verge of shattering. I’m not the strong woman I once thought I was.

  I find Ken and his date in the crowd of partygoers as I make my way back through the hall. I don’t think I would’ve ever spotted him, if it weren’t for the fact that his mask only covered a partial of his face. Ironically, he easily spots my red hair and me as I almost pass by him.

  “Rebecca, you look beautiful,” he says, taking in the sight of me. Ken steps away from the group he’s with, and we walk over to a corner of the hall. He looks at me with a beaming smile that quickly fades as he registers that something is wrong

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Oh, alright. I guess I’ll see you Monday?” he smiles.

  “No, I mean I’m leaving New York.” Ken’s expression falls and a look of concern fills his eyes.

  “Is everything alright?”

  No.

  I explain my plans to him and quickly thank him for his friendship and ongoing support. He’s hesitant to let me go but after a few moments, he gives in and kisses me sweetly on the corner of my mouth. I think he knows that I’m barely holding it together, because he takes pity on me and doesn’t say any more. We say our goodbyes, with promises to keep in touch, but deep inside I know I can’t keep my promise. I need to leave this all behind me.

  I make my way down the marble staircase toward the main entrance, and for a moment I think I hear a voice cry out after me. Nicholas? I turn, hoping to see him standing at the top following after me, but instead I see Tristan Knight. There's a torn look on his face and it tears at me. I’ve got to get out of here. I can't stand to be here any longer. Tristan races down the stairs after me as I turn and hurry across the museum lobby. I can't let anyone change my mind because I know he’ll try.

  "Rebecca, wait!" he calls frantically. “Don’t leave!”

  The edge in Tristan’s voice sends tears to my eyes. Somehow he’s figured out that I’m leaving without Nicholas. I can hear Tristan behind me just as I reach the door. Guests walking through the entrance stare as Tristan calls for me to stop. This is so embarrassing. Tears stream down my face and for once, I’m thankful for my costume because the mask hides my face.

  “Becca, where are you going?” His words slice through me, but I keep moving. I jump into a waiting cab and tell the driver to leave. The night feels colder than ever as the taxicab pulls out of the circle drive to leave. I tell myself not to look back, but I can’t help it. I watch Tristan slowly grow smaller and smaller as we drive away. He doesn't move. He just stands there in the middle of the street, watching me drive away.

  “Where to, miss?” the cab driver asks.

  A breathless Tristan comes scrambling into the hall. There’s a look of utter panic on his face as he walks over to me, still trying to catch his breath. His hair is a mess like he’s been running, and he swipes his mask from his face as he reaches me. What the hell is wrong with him?

  “She’s gone, Nick.”

  “Who’s gone?” I ask, utterly confused.

  “Rebecca.”

  “What do you mean she’s gone? I’m on my way back to see her. She was waiting for me on the balcony.” Panic starts to set in.

  “Nick, listen to me. She’s leaving New York. I overheard her talking with one of your employees. The one I met at Riptide. She told him she was leaving tonight.”

  “Why the fuck would she do that?”

  Tristan squeezes my shoulder as anger rips through my chest. "I'm not sure, but we need to go if you want to catch her.”

  Alison steps into my line of sight as I head toward the exit of the hall. Tristan tries to usher me past her, but she quickly blocks my path. I watch as she pulls back the overly extravagant half mask she’s wearing and looks at me with a questioning gaze. Irritation swarms me as a sickly sweet smile crawls over her lips. She looks from Tristan to me before assaulting my ears with her whiny voice.

  “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

  “To find Rebecca.”

  “She’s not coming back. She already got what she wanted,” she says.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Nick, don’t listen to her,” Tristan says. “We need to go.” He tries to push me toward the door, but Alison’s taunt draws me back.

  “How does it feel being taken for a fool by the woman you love?”

  Anger filters through my senses, and for a moment I’m trapped by the desire to throw Alison on her ass outside. Spoiled brat. She doesn’t even know what the fuck she’s talking about.

  “You know what your problem is, Alison?” I say.

  “No, enlighten me.” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “You’re just a shitty person. I feel sorry for any man who’s willing to throw his life away for you…but if you think that that’s me, you’re wrong.” Damn. If I weren't so panicked about finding Rebecca before it’s too late, that would have felt really good. I pivot on my heel and rush outside the hall entrance. I’m done with Alison. I’ll be happy if I never have to see her again.

  Tristan hails a cab with a wave of his hand and pats me on the back in a silent wish of good luck.

  “Did Rebecca say where she was going?” I ask, stepping inside the cab.

  “She’s going to the airport,” Tristan says, popping his head through the window. “Did she mention which one?”

  Tristan grimaces. “No.”

  “Do you have Carol’s number?” I ask.

  “Yes, I’ll call her.”

  Tristan: She’s flying from JFK via American Airlines. Her plane leaves in a few hours. You should catc
h her in time.

  “Kennedy airport,” I growl, sliding inside the filthy taxicab. My stomach turns at the smell of sweat and stale water that lingers in the backseat. I do my best to avoid having to take a cab, but I didn’t have time to wait for the valet attendant to bring my car. The driver of the dilapidated death box weaves through traffic, narrowly missing a group of tourists trying to cross the street. He rushes over to the on ramp, almost completely missing the freeway.

  My cellphone buzzes and my father’s number flashes across the screen in bright white numbers. I almost don’t pick up, but the temptation of telling him off is far too much to ignore. I’m sure Alison told him that I was leaving.

  “Nicholas, where the hell are you going?”

  “To the airport. Did you really think that I would just let Rebecca go?”

  “It’s better this way,” he says.

  “For who? For me? Or for you?”

  “She’s using you. She’s just like your mother!” he shouts into the phone. “I’m trying to save you from the heartache of finding it out too late.”

  “She's nothing like her. I told you in the conference room that if you're going to make me choose between this company and her…I'm choosing her."

  “Nicholas, don’t do this,” he warns.

  “Goodbye, dad.”

  John F. Kennedy Airport

  “I’m sorry, miss, your bag needs to be checked-in. It’s doesn’t meet the requirements for a carry-on,” the petite flight attendant says as her she scans over my frazzled appearance with curiosity. In my rush to leave, I forgot to clean my face. I must have mascara smeared under my eyes. I can only imagine how bad I must look.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Frustration consumes me as I lean my back against the front of the check-in center.

  “I’m sorry, but we’ll need to check it in.”

  “Fine,” I mutter. “Just take it.”