He zipped up his pants and leaned over, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“Did you just come on my dress?” I asked.
“I told you, Olivia,” he said, snapping upright. “I won’t come in someone who doesn’t belong to me, and you do not.”
I gaped at this man I didn’t know. It wasn’t fair of me to say I was his, but that was clearly nothing more than heat-of-the-moment declarations. They didn’t count. His cold demeanor starkly contrasted our last clandestine meeting. He released a booming curse and turned his back to me.
I stood there in shock, trying to wrap my head around everything that had just happened—the words, the actions . . .
The implications. Someone could’ve seen us. If they hadn’t, my infidelity had to be written all over my disheveled hair, swollen lips, and scratched into my back by the tree bark.
“I have to get back,” I said, my heart pounding.
“Go, then,” he bit out. “Just fucking go.”
My hand flew to my mouth as I stifled a sob. David’s dismissal—even if it was only a product of his pain—hurt more than his daggered words. I’d done that to him. I wanted to run to him, not away—to comfort him, find comfort in him, and let the world fall away in his arms . . .
But David made it clear he didn’t need that right now. And even if he did, I could’ve given it to him. The man I’d vowed to love and cherish didn’t deserve any of this. Fucking another man was one thing, but staying to comfort him now would be worse.
I stumbled backward before turning to run up to the house.
Yet I couldn’t escape the pain of David’s rejection and dismissal. It physically hurt, almost too much to bear.
It only served to remind me why I never let anyone get too close, not even my husband.
19
As I rushed from the woods behind the house and into the mansion’s foyer, I nearly collided with Bill. He pushed his black mask to his forehead. “Hey,” he said. “I was just coming to look for you.”
I fought for a deep breath, suffocating in his proximity. “I—I just have to run to the bathroom,” I said, backing away.
“Didn’t you already go?”
“There was a line.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I was just over there. No line.”
I could feel David, sticky against my thigh, and the memory of his fingers digging into my face. I needed to get far away from Bill. My heart stopped when I noticed he was peering at my dress. He reached out, but I jumped back.
“Is that blood?” he asked.
“No,” I hissed, even though it clearly was and had to be from David’s hand when he’d punched the tree. I blew past Bill toward the staircase. I cursed as I hastened up it to find somewhere private. As soon as I found a guest bathroom far from the party, I locked the door.
“Liv?” Bill asked moments later, jiggling the doorknob. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Fuck. I needed a moment to clean myself. To wrap my head around the fact that I had to face my husband moments after I’d let David screw me against a tree.
I went to whip open the door and yell at him but stopped myself. I loosened my shoulders, eased it ajar, and met Bill’s questioning gaze. “I’m fine,” I said calmly.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“Well, I am. I don’t know what that is,” I said, pointing at the stain, “but I’ll be sure to complain about it to the rental company when I return the dress.”
His expression was accusatory and taunting, except that it wasn’t. He really only looked confused.
“What?” I asked defensively. “Why are looking at me like that?”
“You’re acting weird,” he said.
“I just need to use the restroom.”
“You’re slipping away from me again,” he said. “Treating me like I’m the enemy when we’re supposed to be partners.”
“Can this wait until we get home?” I clipped. I had to be ruthless or I’d break down right there and make everything worse. With a look that told him the discussion was over, I closed the door.
Once alone, I gathered up the dress and splashed water on my naked lower half. With a decorative, perfumed hand towel, I tenderly wiped myself of cum and the blood from David’s hand. I was soiled. Used. Degraded.
With shaky hands, I repaired my hair. Red scratches on my back smarted from the bark and soreness crept into my spine. I gave myself one moment to crouch down and put my head in my hands. I breathed through the urge to break down there on the bathroom floor.
Oh, David. How could you? How could I? What the fuck am I doing? I’ve completely lost control.
Downstairs, I weaved through the ballroom and spotted Bill seated at our table. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” And I was sorry. Terribly, terribly sorry—so sorry, that I was tempted to confess everything right then and there. The lies rotted my insides, and they might very well end up poisoning me.
Bill took my hand, and I sat down next to him. “I thought things would improve after talking to Mack,” he said. “They haven’t.”
I plucked my hand from his and crossed my arms. He sat back in his chair, waiting for an answer.
“Well, that’s because there’s something else going on,” I said.
He shifted in his seat and glanced around the table. “Um, what?”
“It’s—I’ve been . . .” I couldn’t believe this was tumbling out of my mouth now, here, in the middle of a fundraiser. But I needed to get something out, or all of it would burst from me. “I’ve been having doubts. The house, for instance. In Oak Park. All those things you described—birthdays, holidays, kids in the yard—I just can’t see it like you can, and that scares me. I think about it—a lot, and it gets in my head.”
His eyebrows folded. “I’ve told you before, once everything starts to happen, it will all fall into place. You have to trust me, babe.”
“No,” I said, wringing my fingers in my lap. “I really don’t see it. Especially the kids. I don’t know if that’s—that’s what I want. And I’m not doing it until I’m sure.”
A shriek of laughter across the room caused us both to flinch. Bill’s eyes drilled into me, searching for something. “How can you even say that to me? And here . . .?”
“I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say.
He set his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands for a long moment. When he looked up, he seemed calm. “This is why people fall in love and get married. To have a family. That shouldn’t be news to you. I’m not giving up on my dream because you don’t feel like it. You’ve got to get on board. And I don’t want any more sulking, all right? It’s enough, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m not sulking,” I said. “I’m really confused.”
“That’s enough. You had better snap out of this, and soon or—or I’m gone.”
I drew back. “You’d leave me here?”
“I mean I’m done,” he snapped.
A woman took the stage. The sound of her finger tapping the microphone scraped over me.
“You’re done?” I repeated. “With us? With me?”
“Sorry to interrupt your meals, everyone,” the speaker said, “I just have a quick announcement.”
Bill gritted his teeth. “You’re being unfair, and—”
The woman’s voice came through the speakers. “Earlier this evening we received a very generous donation . . .”
“ . . . quite frankly, really selfish,” Bill continued. “You’re not acting like the woman I married, and you haven’t been for a while.”
“. . . fifty thousand dollars . . . ”
I gasped. Fifty . . . thousand? Done? Leaving?
“. . . an anonymous attendee.”
The room erupted into applause, but I sat gaping as Bill plastered a smile on his face and stood. He was threatening to leave me?
I knew without looking where David sat in the room; I couldn’t help that. It was as if I had a s
ixth sense that felt only him. I turned to him without thinking. He sat rigidly still and motionless as he watched the stage. Anonymous? It couldn’t have been more obvious to me. David was the generous donor.
My gaze returned to Bill as the ovation concluded. “What are you saying?” I asked under my breath.
“Never mind.”
My throat dried. Bill wasn’t supposed to leave me. Not ever. That was our silent agreement—we wouldn’t be one of those couples. Yet I knew I was the one who’d driven us this far. I was a different woman than I’d been months ago. I’d been losing control, acting on emotion, rationalizing away my behavior . . . I was descending into the madness that had always lived in me, and Bill knew it.
“Are you threatening to leave me?” I asked.
“No, but I’m frustrated—”
“You’d end our marriage just like that?” I asked. “I—”
“No, damn it!” he yelled, pounding his fist on the table. A roomful of eyes turned to us. Bill stared down and seemingly tried to regulate his breathing. He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “Never mind what I said, but put yourself in my shoes. You’ve been nasty to me for months, and I’ve had it.” His voice raised an octave as he sliced his hand through the air. “I’ve had it up to here with this, and you need to get it under control.”
From under my lashes, I glanced around the room. Everyone had looked away—everyone but David. My eyes darted back to my husband. “Bill—”
“Don’t,” he said. “This is embarrassing. We can discuss it later.”
His never-ending patience had hit its limit. Bill, unperturbed as he was, rarely got riled. But when he did, it was a combustion—an explosion of all the things he tucked away.
In that way, we were similar. I’d learned to shut off my emotions early on, and Bill’s parents had covered his up by keeping him busy. They’d instilled in him that feelings were frivolous, and it was more worthwhile to focus on tangible things like work and having a family.
Bill and I had chosen each other for the same reason. For me, Bill was a practical choice who never tried for more than what I gave. In turn, he never had to dig too deeply. Because maybe he knew that if he did, if I did, we’d each uncover things that would change everything. And for him, things were fine as they were. They had been for me, too. Were they still? I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Eat something,” Bill said, motioning at my plate. I pushed it away. “Eat,” he coaxed gently as if he hadn’t just threatened to leave me and then taken it back. “People are staring.”
I picked up a fork and took a bite of grilled chicken to appease him, my jaw tingling as I chewed.
“Thank you,” he said.
Nobody was staring anymore. Just David. I felt him watching me, and I wanted to scream at him to stop. I couldn’t focus with his gaze glued to me, reminding me relentlessly that he was there—just so there.
Tears sat heavy behind my eyes, but I lifted my chin and smiled through the rest of the evening. I could not go moments without remembering what I had just done behind Bill’s back, but I swallowed it until we were home in bed.
Once Bill was asleep, I climbed from between the sheets and onto the floor. My chest stuttered fiercely as I walked to the bathroom. When I hit the cold tile, I eased the door shut behind me and doubled over my knees, unleashing a violent storm of scalding, shame-laden tears. My hands dragged through my hair, snagging on tangles. I gagged through my sobs, heaving against the hollowness.
I’d never done anything so reprehensible, so hurtful in my life. Bill trusted me, and I’d shit on that. I deserved every one of David’s harsh words. I wanted to wish it all away, turn back time and start over. But I couldn’t bring myself to wish that. As awful as everything had been, there had also been David.
* * *
Bill was already out of bed when I awoke, and a mouth-watering aroma floated into the room. I put on a robe and sleepily padded into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said, plucking bread from the toaster. “Hungry?”
I nodded and sat down cautiously.
He casually buttered the toast before setting it in front of me, then passed me a mug of coffee.
“I know I’ve been a mess,” I rasped. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said without looking at me. “Obviously I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry.”
“You’re not thinking of leaving me?”
He looked up and laughed. “Babe, really? No. Of course not.”
“But you said . . .”
“I’ve been stressed out, too, about the house situation, about work.” He studied me, peering at my face. “I’ve been stressed about you, too, but that doesn’t excuse what I said.”
My swollen eyes were red and puffy, I knew without even having seen myself. I started to explain, but he continued.
“Besides, you know how I feel about that. People who separate or divorce have all sorts of problems. Things that run much deeper than what we’re dealing with. That’s not, and will never be, us. Let’s move on from this.”
I stared at him blankly. Could he not tell that I’d been up all night crying, or did he not care? Anger crept into my heart for the way he ignored it.
I remembered my thoughts from the night before. True, I’d kept Bill at a distance since we’d started dating, but wasn’t he partly to blame? He never tried to break through, never asked questions he didn’t want to hear the answers to.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “About the house and all that—”
“It’s okay,” he cut me off, raising his hand.
“It is?” Overwhelming relief flooded me at the thought that he might agree to slow things down.
“Yes. I know you’re stressed, too. And I think I know what this is really about.”
I inhaled as panic bubbled to the surface. “What?”
“You’re afraid. I know you’ve never had a good relationship with Leanore. But you aren’t your mother. You are going to be a great mom.”
“Bill,” I started, shaking my head sadly. “I really don’t think it’s about that.”
“But it is, sweetie. You’re afraid, and I don’t blame you. Your mom’s been tough on you. Sometimes I worry you try so hard not to be her, that you’re hurting us.”
I heard his veiled threat. My behavior the night before had been out of character for me, but it wouldn’t have been for her. Had I hit rock bottom of my spiral down? Could I go back to the woman I’d been before David? I feared the answer too much to wonder another second.
“You’re not her,” Bill said reassuringly. “You’ve got to let go of that. I have complete confidence in the kind of mom you’ll be.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “You know this is not something I will ever change my mind about, though. I want a child—children. So you’ll have to, I don’t know . . . figure this out. Because I know, deep down, you want this, too. If I believed you didn’t, we’d be having a different conversation.”
My heart fell as he spoke. He was so convinced that this was right for us. Now, he was asking me to trust him because he didn’t have any doubts. I couldn’t deny that when it came to my mother, I didn’t think straight. Bill was right—part of that was fear. And then it hit me. I wondered if maybe, just maybe . . . he was right.
20
Bill and I had given up our respective Sunday plans to spend the day together, silently apologizing to each other outdoors on an autumn day. We explored the neighborhood, drank beer in the afternoon, and took a long, late-afternoon walk to admire the way the leaves were changing.
I’d promised to try harder, and though it took every ounce of my energy, I put my sorrows over David aside for Bill. We planned to visit his sister and her four kids the following weekend so I could see how alive a house full of children was. And finally, at his firm request, I’d agreed to stop taking birth control. My fear of becoming my mom had ruled my life too long.
Bill seemed vastly pleased in turn. It was only once he
fell asleep that anxiety crept in. I barely slept. There was no more time. Bill had hit the end of his patience. It was time to grow up, forget David, and make the right decisions. I owed Bill more than I gave him and now, I would make it up to him by trusting in his version of us.
But there was something else to deal with first. Days after my confrontation with David, I sat in my office staring at an e-mail that knotted my stomach.
From: David Dylan
Sent: Wed, October 03 02:26 PM CDT
To: Olivia Germaine
Subject: Important
We need to talk. This isn’t over, and you know it. Come by my office when you get off today.
DAVID DYLAN
SENIOR ARCHITECT
PIERSON/GREER
On the heels of David’s e-mail came a message from Bill, informing me that he’d be by at five o’clock to pick me up from work. I sighed. I had things to do that would keep me well past five, but they would have to wait.
David’s commanding tone both irked and flustered me, even over e-mail. I began contemplating a response when Serena popped her head in my office. “Hey, boss. Beman wants to see you.”
I ran my hand over my face in frustration. I couldn’t seem to get a moment to myself today.
“Are you okay?” Serena asked.
“Fine,” I chirped. “Just fine.”
When Beman had finished upbraiding me for one of Lisa’s errors, I stormed back to my office and shot off an e-mail to David.
From: Olivia Germaine
Sent: Wed, October 03 02:58 PM CDT
To: David Dylan
Subject: Re: Important
David—
I can’t.
Olivia Germaine
Senior Editor
Chicago Metropolitan Magazine
ChicagoMMag.com
I quickly scanned another e-mail from Bill, which ended by asking what I was making for dinner. I groaned, surrendering to the fact that there would be no peace today.
Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set Page 48
