Ruin: Slay Two

by Laurelin Paige

  I’d never had a relationship like that with a man. I’d never had that sort of relationship with anyone. I yearned for it to be real and not just one-sided, but like everything with Edward, I knew there was nothing I could do to influence what happened between us. He would feel what he felt, and if I was ever to be privy to what that was or what went on his head, it would only be when he determined to share it.

  Of course, I also couldn’t forget that I was his prisoner, that he’d told me he’d kill me if I didn’t comply to his whims and fancies. Even though he hadn’t done anything particularly terrible to me, hadn’t hurt me physically or starved me, he had still taken power over me, and I battled with myself over how to feel about that. Could I ever forgive him? Why should I?

  And the biggest question, the one that consumed me, made me toss and turn, made me sigh with longing—did he even want my forgiveness?

  That answer alone might change everything between us, if I could just figure it out.

  The next few days repeated in the same way—the looks from Edward, the writing in my journal, the massage from Marge, the evening gathering. His stare was always on me, always heated, but there was a dark undercurrent of hesitation that I couldn’t understand. At times I’d find him near me, reaching out to brush a hair off my face, then dropping his hand, stepping away. Something was holding him back, and the more he pulled away, the more he drew me in. I had to force my own restraint, knowing I was to take my cues from him.

  I hated having to give him that, having to hand over my power so completely.

  But maybe I didn’t hate it that much. Instead of having to stay ahead of the game, constantly scheming and planning, I got to sit back and relax. There was freedom in his control that I never knew could exist. Never knew I could like. Love, even, maybe?

  Maybe.

  Monday, I was surprised to find he was still around. I was half afraid to ask, sure he’d leave as soon as I voiced any interest in how long he’d stay. The other half of me tried to embrace the anxiety of not knowing. I meditated on it during yoga, opening myself to his whims, letting his power soothe me instead of rattle me. He’d taken care of me so far, hadn’t he? Giving me massages and space and yoga and chess games. He’d tell me when he needed me to know, not a minute sooner.

  That night was Joette’s birthday. Dinner was moved out to the beach. Tents were set up, and tables brought out. The entire family had joined us, even the children and Azariah, and that might have been an excuse for Edward to act more husbandly, to put on the happily married show, but I’d seen that show before and it was different. He’d stand next to me then, touch me a lot to prove his ownership of me.

  This wasn’t that at all. He sat away from me all night, rarely getting closer than a foot or two, but always, always, his eyes were on me. Every time I glanced at him, there was his gaze. It was so hot and fierce, I could feel it, even when I wasn’t looking in his direction. It made me squirm. Made my thighs tense and my pussy clench. Made my dress feel too hot in the cool night air.

  After dinner, champagne was opened and a bonfire was lit. Tom made a Bahamian rum cake that was a family favorite, and Joette wore a paper crown that one of her grandkids had made. Louvens lit fireworks, which dazzled the night sky, but scared Marge’s nine-month-old baby, Liam. Erris was too busy with their older son who was delighted by the noise and lights, and Marge had spent the entire evening with the baby, so, somehow, I found him snuggled up in my arms.

  It was strange holding a child, and such a young child as that. I’d never been around children. I’d never babysat, never had friends with kids. The closest I’d been to a baby was feeling the tiny feather movements of my own before it had bled out of me.

  Now, here I was, days after opening myself up to that loss, and a tiny creature was clutching onto the strap of my dress, trying to snuggle in tighter at each loud boom. He was heavy in my arms, heavier than his twenty pounds should have felt. But the smell of him was sweet and precious, and the brush of his tiny fingers against my skin sent warmth down my limbs.

  “See how pretty,” I cooed to him, turning my body so he could see the spray of colors in the sky. “It’s okay to be scared. Just don’t be so scared you miss out on the good stuff.”

  When Marge came a little while later to retrieve her son, my body missed the weight of him, oppressive as it had been only minutes before. I was empty now. Too empty. And alone.

  Except, not alone.

  As soon as I turned to scan the crowd, Edward’s gaze caught mine. The way he looked at me, I could tell he’d been looking for some time. He held me like that, several feet across the sand, just with his eyes.

  He broke the connection first. At my husband’s bidding, Mateo had brought out a box of cigars. Nice cigars. The kind people spent real money on. I watched as Edward lit one for the birthday girl then stowed two more in his pocket along with a lighter. Next, he grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne, and he walked over to me.

  For the first time all night, he touched me, lacing his fingers through mine.

  “My wife and I are going to call it a night,” he announced. “Please, everyone, continue celebrating as long as you’d like.”

  My pulse sped up as he led me toward the house. As emotionally draining as sessions were with him, I was curiously keen to have another. I hoped that was where we were headed.

  “Do I need to change?” I asked, eagerly, when he took the path around the house instead of going into it.

  “No.” Reading my surprise, he added, “Just keeping you on your toes, little bird.”

  At the cabana, he surprised me again, leading me out to the deck overlooking the ocean rather than having us take our usual seats in the main room. He gestured for me to sit on one of the lounge chairs then turned on the gas firepit before sitting on the chair next to me.

  “Want one?” he asked, holding up a cigar.

  I hesitated. “I’ve never had one before. But sure.”

  He bit off the end, puffed on it until it was lit, and handed it over. “Have you ever smoked a cigarette?” he asked as he watched me delicately put it between my lips.

  “No. I’ve smoked a joint, though.”

  “You don’t need to inhale this. Draw it in like you’re sucking a straw. Puff every minute or so.”

  I did as he instructed, coughing a bit until I got the hang of it. When I realized he’d frozen in place, his own cigar hanging loosely from his lips, I became self-conscious. “What?”

  “That’s extraordinarily sexy.” His voice was deep, vibrating in his chest.

  My skin felt hot, everywhere. “That’s...surprising.”

  “Please. I’ve told you on several occasions how attracted I am to you.”

  He had. I had memorized every mention. While many men had told me I was beautiful, the few times that Edward had said it seemed to hold greater meaning. He was too honest to not mean it and too rich and spoiled for good-looking women to inspire his notice.

  Not that his notice had meant much. “You have said it. But actions speak louder than words.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, they do. I’d never intended to fuck you at all. Remember?”

  My breath shuddered as I inhaled. “I think you’ve shown an admirable amount of restraint. Not that I’m one who admires it.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you haven’t. But perhaps you have yet to learn the joy of delayed satisfaction.”

  “Says the man who has a plethora of women at his fingertips back in London.” I couldn’t just be happy with the confirmation of his attraction, could I? I had to mention his possible trysts.

  “Jealousy only makes you look sexier.”

  “Whatever, I’m not jealous.” I was insanely jealous.

  “We’re supposed to be honest here, Celia.” The stern reproval didn’t help my withering self-confidence.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s easier to have restraint with me if you’re getting it somewhere else. Perhaps I need to jump Louvens the next time he’s wor
king in the house without his shirt on.”

  “Every man—and woman, for that matter—on this island knows the entire family will be fired and banished from Amelie if they touch you. Just remember what you’ll be destroying if you go that route.”

  Before we’d married, he’d encouraged lovers for me, said he’d help me find one if need be. That had obviously changed. So I still didn’t know if he’d wandered into other beds, but now at least I knew that jealousy looked good on him too.

  He stood and disappeared into the house, coming back a moment later with two champagne flutes. In my periphery, I saw his eyes rake over my body once more. Then he shook his head and sat down.

  I stretched my legs out in front of me, reveling in the attention. I didn’t know how to get back to the sexy banter, though, not without dwelling too much on the information that he refused to give me about his fidelity, so I dropped the subject and let my mind wander elsewhere.

  “My grandfather used to smoke cigars,” I said, savoring the taste of cedar and nutmeg. “They always make me think of him.”

  “The grandfather who died when you were six? You were close to him?” He spoke around his own cigar as he wrestled with the cork of the champagne.

  I remembered the way he’d dismissed me the last time I’d tried to talk about my grandpa Werner. I could sense now that he expected me to tell him how much I’d loved him and how it had been my first brush with death and how I’d cried for weeks.

  But the profound effect his death had had on me wasn’t in the way I’d missed him, but in how my life had changed with his passing. And, as much as I was intrigued by this process of breaking down, I wasn’t ready to talk about that.

  I threw the ball back at him. “I’m sure it’s nothing like having your parents die when you were only thirteen.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” he said, offering nothing more.

  So much for getting him to share anything.

  The cork popped and champagne bubbled out all over the sand, barely missing Edward’s sleeve. Looking smug, he filled both glasses, and handed one to me then sank back in his chair, looking out over the ocean as he puffed and sipped.

  I relaxed too, following his lead when the ash grew too long at the end of my cigar and knocking it off in the sand. It was nice—the crash of waves on the shore, the nostalgic scent of the cigar. The company.

  But after a stretch of silence, I grew antsy. “Should I figure out another woe-is-me story to feed you, Edward?”

  He shook his head. “Not this time. Tonight, I’m going to probe one out for myself.”

  I raised a brow.

  “Keeping you on your toes.”

  “Keeping me on my toes,” I repeated, my breath quickening. I wasn’t sure if I liked the surprise element of dealing with him. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure that the surprises weren’t my favorite part. “Just let me know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “All you have to do is answer my questions. Answer them honestly.” He considered momentarily. “What was your first period like?”

  “Oh my God!” I couldn’t help laughing.

  “After everything else between us, that is the last thing I would expect for you to find embarrassing.”

  “It’s not. I don’t. But if you’re looking for past trauma, that’s not where you’re going to find it.”

  He gave a one-shoulder shrug, an uncharacteristically casual gesture for him. “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “I was fourteen. It started when I was at a friend’s house, and that was the best place it could ever have started because Felina had already had hers and she had an older sister who was much more supportive and helpful about it than my mother would have been. She even taught me how to use a tampon.”

  A glint appeared in Edward’s eyes. “Did she demonstrate?”

  “No, you pervert.” I took a sip of bubbly and remembered the details of that milestone moment, knowing he’d want more. “I hadn’t been looking forward to it, honestly. I was one of the last in my friend group to get it, and it seemed like a bunch of fuss and pain and humiliation.”

  “Hm.” He puffed on his cigar. “I was around for both Camilla and Genevieve’s first period. Except for the fact that I had to be involved in the purchasing of necessities, both of them seemed rather ecstatic about it.”

  My skin tingled with his words. There were very few times he shared with me, and these details, tiny as they may be, left me elated. I wanted more, wanted to know everything about him.

  I also knew not to push.

  So I gave him more of what got me what he’d given. “Yeah. Most of the girls I knew had been excited, too. I guess…” I’d never really examined why I’d felt the way I had, and as I realized the reasons now, I struggled to articulate it in a way that was honest but didn’t give too much away. “I wasn’t ready to be a woman, I think. There was a burden that came with that. I’d already gotten a lot of attention over my body from leering older men, and I was caught between despising that and how it made me feel and wanting more of it from the boys I liked. If I’d been given a choice, most days I would have wanted to stay a little girl. Having my period meant the decision was made for me.”

  Edward’s head tilted one way then another as he processed this.

  “But it wasn’t traumatic or unusual to feel that way, I’m sure. Lots of women struggle with not wanting to grow up and wanting to be an adult at the same time.”

  “Men, too,” he remarked, with an empathetic tone.

  I studied his profile. He’d been so young when he’d been orphaned. Then he’d lived for years in foster care before he was old enough to care for his sister. He had to know more about becoming an adult too fast than I could even imagine, and I ached for him without even knowing the story behind his simple words.

  A beat passed.

  “Your first breakup,” he said as the moon came out from behind the clouds. “How did that go? That wasn’t Dirk, was it?”

  I shook my head. “But Dirk was the first bad one. I had a few boyfriends before but none that were really serious. Each time we either drifted apart amicably or—”

  “Or you broke their heart before they could break yours?” There was a hint of accusation, that made my gut drop. Isn’t that why I’d played people for so long? So their pain would eclipse mine?

  “Something like that,” I said, hugging my arms around myself.

  “How about when you lost your virginity?”

  I almost stopped breathing.

  “What exactly does that mean these days?” I asked when I found my voice. “The first time I was penetrated? The first time I sucked a dick? The first time I had an orgasm?” Two of those stories were not ones I was prepared to tell.

  His eyes were glued on me, as always, and I was halfway sure he knew exactly what I didn’t want him to ask, but then he said, “Let’s go with the traditional sense.”

  “That was fine,” I answered, relieved. I hadn’t thought about it in a long time, but it hadn’t been a big deal when it happened. “Over and done quickly. Nothing to tell Dr. Edward about.”

  “Uh-uh. That’s not adequate. Tell me what happened.”

  “You’re a little horny bugger tonight, aren’t you?”

  “You wish. Stop stalling. Tell.”

  A breeze blew a strand of hair across my face. I set my flute down in the sand, making sure it was balanced before I gathered my hair in one hand and pulled it over one shoulder, and angled my body to face him. “It’s not a grand tale of erotica, so don’t get excited or worry about memorizing it for the spank bank. Okay.” I took a deep breath, trying to remember just how it had begun. “I was almost seventeen. It was October. In the fall we spent a lot of weekends at the country club upstate. Dad called it father/daughter time, but, really, he’d play golf, and I’d hang out at the stables. Which was fine. I didn’t have much interest in spending time with him anyway. I mean, I was a teenager.”

  I was twice that age now and still didn’t wan
t to spend time with him.

  “Anyway, John was a security guard, and when I came back from riding, he’d often be—”

  “Pause a second. He worked at the club? How old was this John?” Edward had the tone I’d seen him get with his daughter, protective and possessive. It wasn’t a tone I’d heard often from my own father.

  “He was twenty-seven,” I admitted.

  “Celia.” Edward looked at me sharply. “He was ten years older than you?”

  “You’re ten years older than me.”

  “You’re thirty-two now, not seventeen. Not almost seventeen. That’s rape.”

  I waved at him dismissively. “It wasn’t rape. It was consen—”

  He cut me off again. “It doesn’t matter if it was consensual. He knew how old you were, I’m guessing. If you weren’t yet seventeen and he was an adult—”

  It was my turn to cut him off. “Fine, it was illegal. But I was two weeks away from my birthday. It wasn’t ideal, and he knew my age, and, yes, that was bad, and I am not at all minimizing the impact of rape on a woman’s life, but this did not have that effect on me. He was just a guy, and he’d noticed me, and I wanted to get it over with, and I didn’t want it to be stupid and juvenile, so John seemed like a good choice. Dad.”

  Edward was quiet, his jaw clenched.

  I waited to see if he was going to say anything more, if I was going to have to defend the situation further.

  Then, in the silence, I wondered why I was trying to defend the situation at all. “Maybe it was a big deal. I don’t know. The whole thing was just so anticlimactic. Literally. There was a utility shed that he took me to with cement floors. He took his jacket off and laid it on the ground for me. Then he helped me pull down my riding pants and told me to lie down. He unzipped his slacks and put on a condom that he’d had stashed in his wallet. Then he laid down over me and pushed himself in. It didn’t really hurt, and I didn’t bleed. I’m pretty sure my hymen had been broken a long time before that. It wasn’t comfortable, though. I wasn’t wet. He didn’t kiss me. He held my hands over my head, which, nowadays I think is pretty hot, but with John I felt...restrained. And then…”