East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2)

by Rachel Dunning

  He made a raspberry sound. "Please! Not a chance. But I want it to be good. I want it to be perfect. I want it to...last. Three days at least."

  Oh, my God.

  "OK, stop talking. I'll handle work. You book us a place. How's this weekend?" They way I felt now, it couldn't be soon enough.

  "It's a long way away, but I'll manage. Oh, and I don't need to book us a place. I own one, out in the country."

  Of course you do.

  Before putting his hand back on the steering wheel, he just lightly grazed my crotch with the backs of his fingertips, making me yearn desperately for him. I pressed my back to the seat, stretched my legs, inhaled and held it, then exhaled.

  Fucking player.

  -2-

  "Did you mean what you said about my weight?"

  He frowned surprisedly. "What the hell is wrong with your weight? You talk like you think you're fat or something."

  I felt that way. I'd let things slip in the last six months. And it wasn't because of Conall — not directly. Not entirely. I hadn't pigged out on ice-cream in any way (I still didn't like the stuff.) I barely drank (although lately I'd violated that rule quite a bit.) But I'd stopped lifting weights, and I'd stopped counting calories with a built-in abacus in my head. It's not that I didn't want to. It's that other things had become more important. And it's one thing to watch your weight — no, to be completely obsessed about it! — when you have everything taken care of for you. Money, food, a cook, clothes...

  It's quite another to do it when you've taken on other responsibilities in life. Since I'd started working, well, making the rent and saving up for a new dress — from H&M or Forever 21 or, more often, the same thrift stores I bought all my used books from — had become priority. And I liked it. It gave me a pride I'd never experienced while benching sixty.

  So I'd gained a few pounds. Not unsightly. But not ripped like I used to be.

  Not like Alexandra...

  "Well, it's that..." I hesitated. "..It's just that weight-lifting has taken second priority for me."

  He looked me over, first my legs, then my breasts. His lips twitched, a hint of a smile. "Leora, I'm not going to tell you how amazing you look. I hope that, on our weekend away, I can show you. You look...womanly. You look absolutely ravishing. Delicious."

  Well, if you put it that way! Right, so now it was I who twitched my lips! And I blushed. And I looked out the window to hide it!

  "I...see," I said, my mind wandering, thinking of a fire, and groaning, and panting. Sweaty bodies rubbing against each other. Conall's chest-hairs grazing against my moist breasts. And me shouting, Oh, yes...

  "Conall, you're a sick man."

  "Say what?"

  "You are a sick man. Most men would've just pulled my pants down and stuck their..." That sentence was going somewhere I didn't want it to. So I changed it. "I think you get the point."

  "Well, Leora, I certainly hope you don't consider me like 'most men.'"

  Oh hell fucking no. "I don't." I rested my head on the window, felt the car's vibration bump against it, just as it had on the train earlier today. Street lights rushed past me. Reds, yellows, greens. We made it into London, past Trafalgar Square and its fountain.

  "We're almost there," he said.

  I put my hand on his leg, and wondered why Alexandra had called him here.

  -3-

  I didn't see the Eastern-Bloc-Looking dude outside The Ritz when we walked in. Only later, as I played back the events of what was yet to transpire, would I remember him. And? So what? It doesn't mean it had been him. But the mind does that, links related things with other things so that they're all one and the same and all bad things equal each other. Because he might've just been some guy. But I'll never really know. What I do remember now is his dark suit, his pocked face, and the way his eyes were glued to my body as Conall and I walked into The Ritz's lobby...

  At the time, I paid little attention to him.

  Conall's mind was a squall, black clouds apparent behind his eyes. He'd grown quieter as we'd gotten closer to The Ritz. To the room he'd paid for, for the girl who'd suffered greatly at the hands of evil men and who I, jealously and selfishly so, was secretly starting to feel uncomfortably threatened by.

  As I've said before, I'm not sugar-coating this account. It's how I felt. And I know, as I knew then, that it was an emotional, illogical reaction. If I'm totally honest with myself, if I don't try and paint myself in any sort of kind or friendly light, then I will say what I really felt for her at that time: I fucking hated the bitch. At least in the beginning I did. So there.

  When we arrived at her room she was sitting in a corner. Her leathery skin glistened from the tears she'd obviously been crying. Her dirty-blonde hair was soaking, sticking to her face. She wore Conall's shirt, still, and had her knees to her chest.

  She shivered.

  A man in a suit, looking very proper and professional and concerned, sat on a couch, clipboard on his knees. He had round spectacles and a bushy grey mustache. His face showed instant relief at Conall's entrance.

  I suddenly felt superfluous. I shouldn't have come. But, at the same time, I should have. Because I was here, baby. I was with Conall now. We were an item.

  Alexandra shot up to her feet and said, "Oh, Conall!" Her voice was desperate, afraid. She rushed to him, wrapped her hands around his neck, almost knocking him over. Then she sobbed into his shoulder, the same shoulder my own eyes had touched as his hand had massaged my erogenous zones.

  I felt sick. I moved to the couch and sat down next to the suited man.

  Alexandra moved back, kept her arms around Conall like some lover, euphoric at seeing him return from the war or something, like he'd been gone from her side for six months. Only it had only been a little over six hours...

  I was the one who'd lost him for six month. (Oh yeah, I was on a roll with the hate.)

  "Alex, it's OK. Tell me what happened," said Conall.

  "I don't know." She shook her head. Her back was to me. Conall's hands were at her sides. I looked away...

  "I...it just... It all came back, Conall. All of it." She buried her head in his chest. "He was there, above me, and then the needles..." She sobbed.

  Christ. I fucking hated myself so much for being jealous of her... I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave the two of them alone. I mean, what can you do? The girl was clearly hurting and... Urgh! Only I couldn't leave. Because I didn't have a car!

  He said, "Alex — um, Alexandra — "

  Oh great, now she's gonna know I've been all up in there badmouthing her and telling him he shouldn't call her Alex or whatever the fuck he wanted to call her!

  He continued. "We'll stay here tonight, in the suite next door, OK? That's why I booked two. Leora and I."

  At hearing my name I turned to face them again. Conall had turned her to me, and nodded to indicate my presence.

  Her eyes locked on mine. Dark, black-rimmed eyes, covered in tears and another kind of blackness I couldn't quite place. Not a color, an emotion.

  She turned to Conall, whispered something to him which I didn't quite catch... What I did catch was her finger caressing his chest as she'd said it.

  Fucking. Bitch.

  Conall replied. "No, Alex. I told you. Now that Leora's here, things are different. I told you."

  She whispered again. Damn it! I felt my body lean over, trying to hear what was being said. Nothing.

  "Alex. No!" he said. I heard that. Boy, did I hear it. He let her go, firmly. Like he wasn't going to fall for her games.

  Oh, Conall. You are too good for your own sake. She'd clearly hoped for more with him while he'd taken her in and helped her off the drugs. And I knew her circumstances were the reason we'd been kept apart, and all the other shit surrounding it. Whatever. I was sick of it!

  Enough talking of the past. I wanted us to move on. I wanted us to move beyond the blackness which the underworld of crime had painted on our relationship. I wanted to see, finally, if this wo
uld go somewhere. Just me and him. A girl and a guy. No outside interference. Was that too much to ask?

  Conall walked past me to the suited man on my right who hadn't yet said a word to me. He'd merely waited as Alexandra had fawned all over Conall in my presence. Yeah, I'm his girlfriend in case you were wondering.

  The man stood up as Conall reached him. Conall was serious, a constant frown on his brow. Alexandra, on my left, several feet away, glowered at me. I didn't look directly at her.

  This was so uncomfortable...

  "Mr. Villiams," said the suited man. Villiams? He shook Conall's hand. Was that accent German?

  "Doctor Gehrig."

  Gehrig?

  "She vanted tranqvilizers, Mr. Villiams. She begged me for zhem. Zhe room is, vell, it is a mess. Glass on zhe floor. Zhe mirror is broken." Dr. Gehrig shook his head, moved his clipboard to his side. I really struggled to catch what he was saying, until I got that all the W's were V's, and all the TH's were ZH's. I tried to keep up.

  "And?" said Conall.

  "Vell, zhere vere no signs zhat her vital signs vere in trouble, so, no drugs. Zhat is our agreement."

  "Good."

  "Mr. Villiams..." Dr. Gehrig turned Conall away from me, then whispered, but I still heard it. "It might be time to consider what ve spoke about, you know, bringing her to our facility in Svitzerland?"

  "Not yet, Doctor. Not yet. She's made good progress. She's not sick. She just needs to get used to life in the city again."

  "Vell, maybe she just needs to get used to life in a tranquil environment. You know I am against drugging patients unless it is vital to keep zhem alive. I have worked for your family for many years. You know zhat, even in zhe Schweiz, my staff would give her no drugs. Just good, private care in an out-of-zhe-vay place. Peaceful."

  Conall shook his head, rubbed his temple. All this time, Alexandra stood there, arms crossed, scowling. I couldn't tell if she was in earshot of the conversation. I wasn't looking straight at her. Although, still, from the corner of my eye, I could see her glare. Feel it... And it was aimed at me. They could've been talking about cutting her head off and she wouldn't have noticed!

  "I see your point, Doctor," said Conall. "I...I might have to swallow my pride on this one. And it would be best for her in the long run, I suppose."

  "Exactly, Mr. Villiams."

  "Let me think about, Doctor Gehrig. And I will discuss it with Alexandra. I don't want her to be forced into doing anything against her will ever again. She'll have the final say."

  Oh great. The doctor's plans sounded freaking great to me. And, no, that — surprising even myself — had not been a selfish thought on my part! Alexandra was clearly suffering, burdened by nightmares of what had occurred to her. It made sense to put her somewhere on a mountain where she could sniff the morning dew or whatever they have up there in Switzerland. But Conall's ever-goddamn-chivalric attitude meant he'd give her the final say! And was she in a place where she could make a sound decision?

  I felt her stare on my skin like dirty hands. I shifted in my seat.

  She was clinging, holding onto the top of the cliff with two fingers... Conall was her rock. I knew that feeling. And a despicably wrenching feeling came through me as I'd thought that.

  I couldn't take that away from her. I couldn't. Because I knew how stabilizing he could be.

  Damn it! I hated it when my good side came out.

  Conall and the doctor stopped talking.

  "Doctor Gehrig, may I introduce Leora to you."

  "Ah, zhe famous Leora! It is a pleasure to meet you!" He shook my hand.

  "Doctor Gehrig has been with the family many years — "

  "Many decades Mr. Villiams! I knew you vhen you vere just a little — "

  "Yes, yes, Doctor." Conall blushed. "Thank you." He turned to me again. "Anyway, he is part of the family. And so he was one of the few people I told about you."

  A glint sparkled across Doctor Gehrig's old bluey-grey eyes. They tightened up as he gave me a warm smile. "Vell, I should get going. Ms Leora, I vish you all zhe best with zhis animal here!" He poked Conall on the chest like some child on a playground. "Mr. Villiams," he said as he walked out.

  The chat had left me with a fuzzy warm feeling. So fuzzy and warm that I'd forgotten Alexandra behind me. But not for long...

  -4-

  "I need you to stay here tonight," she said to Conall after Doctor Gehrig had left.

  I turned to face her. She was trembling. A dying soul fighting for the last of the things in her life that made living it still worthwhile...

  "No, Alex, I told you things would change. You knew this all along." I was in the middle of the two of them now! (The metaphorical context of this was not lost on me, even as I stood there.) I stepped slightly out the way.

  Alexandra turned her face to the window. "You loved me once..." she said.

  Huh!? Whoa! Awkward!

  I stepped further out the way so I could see both of them.

  Damn it, what a predicament.

  "Alex — " Conall started saying, but I stopped him.

  "Conall, it's fine. Alexandra needs you."

  "No, Leo — "

  "Conall, please, it really is fine. And I want you to stay here. She needs you. It's fine..." Damn, brother! And I really meant that shit!

  I looked over at Alex. In my mind, in that instant, something had changed. And she'd become "Alex" to me, not Alexandra. She looked briefly soothed. My goodness, the raging fires that must be burning behind her eyes... Darn it. Now I really hated myself for what I'd been thinking before.

  Was it Conall she wanted? Or just...company? Loving company... Did she want to be held? Caressed? Told everything would be OK?

  "Th — thank you," she said to me.

  Conall's lips tensed. His eyes flicked between me and Alex. He exhaled, shook his head. What was wrong here? His hands clenched in and out of fists.

  Boy, what a temper. I remembered the last time I'd seen that temper, and the blood on his fists, and him telling me he'd broken his brother's nose. And how he totally annihilated Raphael with those same fists...

  "Baby?" I said. "Everything OK?"

  I could see World War II raging in his mind. He gave a tight nod. "I'll sleep on the couch, Alex. And in the morning I need to take Leo to work in Seaford. You'll have to make it on your own tomorrow. Can you handle that?"

  Leo? Oooh, that was nice...

  Alex turned to the window, said nothing.

  "Alex, can you handle that?"

  She shook her head, shrugged. She went over to the decanter ahead of her. "You know, I wish you'd stop doing that!" he cried out at her.

  "It's all I have left." She poured a drink into a crystal glass, downed it.

  These two sounded like a regular old married couple!

  She put the decanter down.

  Conall stood like a statue, tensed, his hands now permanently clenched. I moved over to him. Alex was looking away, staring out into London. I put my hand on his bicep. It was also tensed. I rubbed his other arm, moved my hand down to his fist, shook it a little until it loosened. His fingers laced into mine. I felt Alex's mind on us, even though she wasn't looking at us directly.

  I whispered into his ear. "Leave us alone for a bit, just me and her."

  He shot back. "No — !"

  I put my finger on his lips. Fury howled in his eyes.

  What had he gone through in the last six months? What had he put up with? How many advances had he resisted?

  And what guilt did he bear, knowing all this was, according to him, "his fault"?

  "I'll call you," I said. "We have a room next door?"

  He nodded.

  He started to walk out. He started talking: "Alex — "

  I stopped him with my hand, shook my head. "I'll take care of it," I whispered, quietly enough so she wouldn't hear me.

  He walked to the door, opened it.

  It was me and her now, showdown positions.

  Conall looked ov
er at me one more time, then at her. The door clicked shut.

  And that's when she collapsed.

  -5-

  Her knees fell to the ground. The glass poured whiskey on the carpet. The side table fell over. And she began to wail — a slow, keening, lamenting moan that dripped of horrors and murder and terror and ugly black pain that festered and congealed, pooling, leaving scars so wide and large that nothing could hide them.

  In a breath, I was at her side. She held onto me, cried into my dress and left it soaking wet. We rocked, there, on the carpet, as she cried away her pains into my breast, clutching at my clothes.

  "I'll stay with you tonight," I suddenly said, understanding, for the first time, what this was about. "I'll stay with you, OK? I'll sleep in your bed if you want. Then we'll spend the day together tomorrow. And the next day if you want. Deal?"

  I felt her nod. "I want," she said. "I want."

  Then she wept more. For an eternity, she wept on my dress. How long had it been since she'd cried? I knew that feeling — of keeping the tears in until they can't stay in anymore and they come out like Niagara Freaking Falls. That had been me earlier. I caressed her hair. Eventually, I wept quietly as well, just a few tears without sobs, in a resonating sympathy of her own tears. But the tears that came out my eyes were not my own. I wept for her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  -1-

  When I crossed the hall to Conall's suite, our suite apparently, the one he'd kept permanently since putting Alex up at The Ritz to "try and get her used to living in the city, on her own," he wasn't there. He'd left a keycard for me outside.

  On the table inside, by the door, was a note:

  I'm out. Please don't wait up. Help yourself to anything from room service. That keycard is yours.

  I wrote on the back:

  I'll stay with Alex tonight. I've arranged with work to take another day off. See you in the morning.

  At the end I wrote I love you and made all the O's into little hearts. Then I covered it, just the part that said I love you, with the vase so that he'd be surprised on picking it up. I also put another note outside her door so that he'd see it and not come in mistakenly.