by Ella James
I'm confused. "Is that uncommon?" I think about that song—the one about closing your eyes during a kiss. "I would think leaving them open would be unromantic."
"You don’t get much romance here at Love Incorporated. When he wants our eyes shut, it's because that's the only way he can cum."
I feel like I've been hit in the heart. I nod.
"I think he's using that instead of tying us up or holding us down. He likes to have control. A lot of them do. But he doesn't like us to look at him—ever. And when we sleep he never does." She shrugs. “I'm not saying this is big news around here. I'm just giving you some background.”
I digest this. He's always kept his eyes open with me. "Maybe it's a privacy thing..." They are prostitutes, after all. He doesn't know them.
"No. He doesn't feel safe. It's kind of frenzied, how he acts. Trust me girl. I've been with a lot of men.”
"So that's your story.”
“That's not all of it. But now that I've seen the look on your face, I want to hear about you and him. If you don't mind going into it."
And, strangely, I don't. I haven't been totally open all the time with Suri, and even if I had, she's had so much of her own stuff going on; she hasn't been as interested in my details as she normally would be. Loveless knows Hunter, too, and I can tell she's affected by him. That she cares about him. Even if it's just escort-to-client.
So I spill. The whole dirty affair, from house party to the sauna in the bathroom at the fight.
When I'm done, her eyes are wide. "You and him have got a thing. A real thing. If he's letting you look at him, that's something, honey. And let me tell you something else. Something private that I want you to keep just to yourself."
"What is it?"
"That night. The night it happened with him and Sarabelle. I walked into the room that night because I noticed that the cameras had gone down and I was checking on everybody. Sarabelle wasn't there and he was out of it. Lying on the bed. He had gotten sick. And he was crying. He was holding onto his face, like he'd been bitch-slapped, and he was saying, "Please don't look at me. Please don't look at me like that."
I frown, confused. "What do you think that means?"
“I don't know.” She shakes her head. “I told the cops Sarabelle was gone when I found him, and he was sleeping. It didn't look like he had hurt anybody. He didn't seem in any shape to. I didn’t mention what he said. I guess it kind of struck me as his business. And I don't see Hunter West as any kidnapper. But I've wondered about it since then. And I've thought about it. How he looked. It bothered me. I was just thinking maybe you could figure it out. Someone who knows him in his real life should know. Someone should care."
Chapter Twenty-Four
~ELIZABETH~
I try to tell myself that I'm not obsessed, but it's a lie. Suri calls Friday morning before I go down for breakfast, and I spill all—starting with the rendezvous at Hunter's house party and going all the way through the tryst in the women's sauna at the Joseph Club two nights ago.
I'm eagerly awaiting her response when I hear violent sobbing on the other end of the line.
"Oh my God." My stomach does a back-flip. "Is it something with Cross?"
"New York," she wails. "He's staying in New York—" She sobs some more. "We're not getting married anymore!"
I sit down on my bed, clutching my stomach and feeling shell-shocked. "Suri, oh my God, what happened?"
"And Cross has his eyes open!"
"Whoa. Holy shit! How is he?!"
"He's good!" She's still sobbing; I'm up and pacing the pale pink carpet.
"Suri, do you want to come here? Can you come here for like a day? An hour?" All I want is to be with her, but I know that I can't leave right now.
"No." I hear her cry some more, and then she pulls it together, although she's still speaking in her sobbing voice. "Cross is doing...really good. Nanette is stunned. The doctors are surprised. He's had his eyes open for a long time now, but he's not really responsive." She sniffs. "I just wish he would talk."
And then she's crying again—and so am I.
"They pulled him off some of the medicine yesterday. They think that might be why he's a little more alert. I think he's coming off some more today." Suri still sounds sniffly, and even though we're talking about Cross, I haven't forgotten what she told me about Adam.
"Holy cow, that's incredible. I want to see him so much. I just want to talk to him." My voice cracks a little and she says, "Why don't we call you? He and I? I'll give him my cell this afternoon and you can talk to him.”
"Would you really? I would love that. I'll quit whatever I'm doing—promise."
"Don't worry, Lizzy. I'll take care of him."
"But you..."
She sniffs again. "I'll tell you all about it, but not right now. You're missing breakfast, aren't you?"
"Don't hold back on me because of this. I want all the details."
"I'm not," she pauses, still sounding teary, "I'm just not sure I want to go into it quite yet."
I hesitate before asking my next question, because I don't want to press her if she doesn't want to talk—but I want to know: "Do you think it's something that will last?"
Her voice breaks. "I think so. Yeah."
"Oh, Suri, I'm so sorry."
"I know." She's crying softly again, and I would give anything to zap myself to where she is. "I wish I was there," I say.
"I know." She takes a deep breath and I can practically see her steadying herself. Wiping her eyes. "How are you, Lizzy? Are you doing okay? Cold feet, warm feet?"
"Same as the day before yesterday." Suri and I talk almost every day, so she knows what this means. "I'm nervous, but I can do this. It's for Cross."
"Lizzy, he's going to flip if he ever finds out. You do know that."
"Let him," I say. "He can hunt me down. I hope he does."
"He might. Remember if you back out, I'll come get you."
"I won't, but thank you for the offer." I thumb the tiny framed snapshot of Suri and I that's sitting on my night stand. "I'm going to be thinking of you all day, okay?"
"Okay."
"I want you to promise me you'll call if you want or need to. Pinkie promise?"
"Pinkie promise. Love you, Liz-Liz."
"You too, Sur-Sur."
I spend the next few minutes thinking about everything that Suri told me. Then I call and talk to Nanette about Cross. He's got his eyes open when I call, but still hasn't responded to anyone, which is disappointing, but I'm not complaining. In fact, I'm dancing as I get into my clothes: soft black slacks that make my butt look good, open-toe black heels, and a sea green blouse with wood buttons. I pull my dark hair into barrettes and let it hang down to my shoulders.
By the time I go downstairs, the kitchen is closed; a quick glance at my cell phone reveals that it's time for my exam. I slowly make my way to the medical clinic, where for the next two hours, my virginity is verified through an uncomfortable series of pokes and palpitations. By the time I get out of the stirrups I'm red in the face and feeling distinctly undignified. The moment I push through the door back out into the main hall, I'm greeted by the sound of kids' party bazookas and a single spray of silly-string, project across my face from a can in Loveless’s left hand.
Juniper catches my arm, and Marie V. grins. "It's time for your sex class!"
"Sex class?" I put a hand on my stomach, which feels flip-floppy at the prospect. "Does that mean I—"
"You watch," Loveless says, winking at me. "Now, follow us."
So I do. I follow them around to the right side of the main manor house, into a spacious suite that's outfitted with more cameras than the rest of Love Incorporated.
A hot guy with silky blond-brown hair and pale blue eyes is waiting. When he sees Juniper, he grabs her hand, and I watch with a notch between my brows while the two of them step into another room, and a few of the girls I don't know well move in to give me hugs.
"We're leaving," Bella says. "
Don't want to be a looky loo."
"Have a great day," a girl named Luri tells me.
"Juniper’s the best,” assures a slightly younger girl.
When the room clears out, it's only Loveless, Marie V., and I. On the other side of the window, Juniper and the guy—who I quickly find is named Aspen—are making out. We sit down on a plush couch, and I ask if the window is one-sided.
"Oh, yes. They can't see us," Marie V. tells me.
But I can definitely see Juniper. She's unzipping Aspen's pants, and I'm feeling a little awkward.
"Clients pay to watch this?" I ask them as Aspen pulls off her blouse.
"Some," Loveless says.
"Wow, that's weird."
"But not for you," Marie V. says. "It's good. They're going to show you the ropes. Feel free to walk up to the window. That's why they're doing it. So you can see what it's going to be like."
"Wow." I do end up at the window, only because Loveless prods me to. I'm still reeling an hour later as we eat a picnic lunch on the lawn behind the main manor house. When Juniper finally shows up, drinking a smoothie and wearing a long, pink robe, she grins. "Well, what did you think?"
"You were amazing."
She bats her lashes, and I realize they look longer—and her face looks more made up. "That's what I'm told."
"Well it's true." I gesture to her robe. "Are you working right now?"
"I am. I just came out between clients. I don't have one for another for forty-five minutes, and it's you."
I nearly choke on my diet soda, and she laughs. "I'm going to be your model. It's the web cam preview, remember? I'll model the moves they'll want you to make, and then you'll make them. It won't be so bad."
"You can do it," Loveless assures me.
"Thank you. I'm nervous." Very. I’ve been here for days, but I still don’t feel ready to pose for a camera. How could I?
"You're ready for this," Marie V. told me.
We shoot the shit a while longer, and then Juniper and I go film my web cam preview. It's easier than I think it will be—all the film people are nice. I'm wearing panties and a bra, but my face is shadowed, so on the screen, which I can see out of the corner of my eye, you can see the general shape of my head but not much else.
Afterward, Juniper and I practice some moves, which is funny and not at all sexual. I do dinner in the dining room, where I'm regaled with stories of everyone's day. Loveless is working all night, and so is Juniper. I have the night off, so I head back to my room, where I get a call from Suri and I get a chance to say a few things to Cross.
When Suri gets the phone back in her hand, she says she's leaving Cross, so she'll call me back. When she does, I get the whole story on her and Adam.
"It doesn't seem logical to be with anyone else, because we care about each other, but it's not enough. Neither one of us wants to make the sacrifices you should be making if you're going to get married." Her voice cracks a little, and she says, "It's not just him. It's me, too. I love him, Lizzy, but there's no...passion. Does that sound ridiculous?"
"Not at all."
“Really?"
"It’s what makes the mundane stuff doable.”
“I think so too,” she says.
“You'll find someone else, and you'll move on."
"I know. So will you, girl."
I hang up the phone and spend the rest of the night thinking about that. About whether I really want to find someone. So I can have a marriage like my mom and dad's? In my mind, marriage sucks, but what if both partners are normal? Okay, not normal, but less crazy than my mom. Less avoidant than my dad.
I curl up in my bed and just so happen to find The Notebook on TV. When Juniper calls my landline about thirty minutes in, asking me if I want to go to a poker tournament tonight, I tell her 'no'. Until there's a real reason for me to think that there is hope for Hunter and I—hope that can be taken out into the light, rather than hidden away in a shadowy bedroom or a dark club sauna—I've got to keep my mind off him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
~ELIZABETH~
Four days pass without anything that registers on my Hunter-o-meter, and I fall into a soothing—if not comfortable—routine. Mornings I wake up and work my booty off with Brenda or one of her trainers. I take a quick shower in the gym and put on something comfy, then go up for lunch with all the girls, plus Rod, David, Slash, and a few other guys I don't know. After lunch, someone is usually assigned to teach me something. Yesterday it was Bella, showing me how to move in lingerie. How even the smallest crack between your legs can flash someone your va-jay-jay, and if you walk like a runway model, your teddy will look a lot better on you. Today I'm booked with Sonny for my morning work-out. I'm warmed to hear he thinks I look like “one of us.”
I take a long time in the shower, because Loveless has a lunch session today, and Juniper won't be in the cafe because she has a scheduled phone call with her English boyfriend. I like the other girls, but there are still moments with them when I feel a little like an outsider.
I haven't seen Marchant yet, thank God, I realize as I slide into a muted aquamarine sundress. It hugs my bust, shows off my waist, and makes my legs look long; the fabric gets more sheer as it nears the floor. Under the dress, I'm wearing pink ballet flats. I take my time drying and straightening my hair and pull the top layers up into a barrette. I stick diamond earrings into my ears—they're loaners, and real—before spritzing myself with one of the house-approved perfumes and sliding my leather bag onto my shoulder.
Apparently I was going slower than I thought, because by the time I reach the cafe, it's mostly empty. I grab a muffin and a slice of turkey bacon and check my phone for a text to let me know where I'll be spending the afternoon.
My stomach roils when I see: Dr. Bernard—Love Inc. Psychologist
Immediately I dread it. I run back to my room, call and check on Suri and Cross—both about the same, Suri says—and grab a ginger ale for the trek down to the manor where all the official business gets done.
I put on a calm face but my mind is racing. What does Dr. Bernard want with me? Is the good doctor a woman or a man? How can I talk to them if they don’t even know my real name? Richard must have told them. Damn!
I shouldn't be so nervous about this, but I'm in knots by the time I reach the small office on the third floor of the building. The doctor's nameplate is mounted on the door, so I figure she must be the official Love Inc. shrink.
Elizabeth Bernard.
How much do I dread thee? Let me count the ways.
The door is closed and my phone tells me I'm a little early, so I drop down onto the plush mini recliner in the hallway and try not to bite my long, pretty, red nails. I'm obsessing over whether she will recognize me as the daughter of an addict—as if every shrink in the West has heard about my mom—when the door opens and a nice-looking woman about the age of my estranged grandmother steps out. A quick once-over reveals shoulder-length gray-brown hair, a loose, floor-length brown skirt, and a surprisingly stylish, flowing beige blouse.
Her thin lips curl into a smile that looks more welcoming than anything, and she extends her hand; the nails, I notice, are as bare as her face. “Scarlett. Please, come in.”
I don't take her hand, something I'm sure she notices, but I don't really care. I've seen enough therapists to last a life time and now that it's 'go' time and the belly bats are gone, I don't plan to go out of my way to assure this woman of my sanity. I played those games my whole childhood. I make good grades and have nice friends. So what if my mother slit her wrists last week? If I want to flap my arms and cluck like a chicken, what will she do to me? Tell Richard that the ranch shouldn't host my auction? Um, I think not.
She waves to a cozy, suede-looking blue couch with gray pillows sporting cut-out felt daisies. I take a seat on the end nearest the door, because there's no reason not to. I don't want to be here and I'm not going to be anything but honest.
She sits down in a small, orange leather recliner and
pulls a pillow under her elbow. “Shoulder surgery,” she says with a wince. “I'm still recovering.”
I nod. It's not like I care.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Bernard? What’s the reason I’m here?”
She shrugs. “I'm not sure there is one. I speak to most people who come through the Love Inc. ranch as a matter of policy. You aren't an employee, of course, but you've been here for...”
“Ten days,” I supply. “And in three more, I'll be gone.”
She gives me a gentle, knowing smile. “You don't want to talk to me.”
