by Lynn Cooper
“Tell me what it is you want, Aviana.”
“I want you to marry me. To save me like the men in your romance novels save their women.”
What she doesn’t know and can never know is, I am nothing like the heroes I write about. Even though I know she won’t see it, I shake my head at her presumptuous naiveté. “Save you from what? Paradise?”
She attempts to pull her hand away. I tighten my grip. Not hard enough to hurt her but plenty firm enough to show her I don’t want our physical contact to be broken.
She sighs. “I hoped you would be different. That you wouldn’t be so easily fooled by my father’s fortune. You of all people should understand that things are rarely what they seem.”
My stomach tightens with paranoia. Quickly, I remind myself her spot-on insight is merely a vague generality which applies to anyone who writes fiction. There’s absolutely no way she can know what an impotent coward I truly am. Yet her words make me think she has shoveled past all the bullshit and somehow seen the real me. Like she has had me pegged since the second we met at All Booked Up. Fighting back panic, I say, “Tell me how things are. Help me understand why you would even think about leaving this mansion or turning your back on your father. Sure, he seems to be a bit controlling and a little overbearing, but I’m sure it’s because he loves you and wants you to be safe. I mean, let’s face it, you’ve given him quite a scare.”
“If you believe that, you’re even blinder than I am. This mansion is not my idea of a home. It’s more like a multi-faceted maze of containment. I live here with servants who are paid to do things for me. My parents love only themselves, not me.”
I run my thumb soothingly across the back of her dainty hand. “All parents love their children, Aviana. Perhaps they don’t show it in the way you’d like, but—”
“No buts! My mother has no use for me simply because I’m too fat to suit her. When she has her lips pressed against the rim of a wine glass and her fingers curled around a bottle of pills, she couldn’t care less if I disappeared from the face of the earth. And my father, well, he wants me safe because it’s in his best interest. He’s afraid of losing his precious money. That’s right. He keeps me locked away here so all the opportunistic criminals—as he calls them—won’t kidnap me and demand some gigantic ransom he would feel obligated to pay.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea. From the outside looking in, all this seems like a dreamland for a teen.”
“Who are you calling a teenager? I’m a grown-ass woman.”
My mouth twists with skepticism before I remember she can’t see me. She doesn’t look like a blind person. Her eyes appear to be as beautifully bright and alert as they did the night we met. I’m not a doctor, but there seems to be no physical damage at all to her perfect peepers.
“Exactly how old are you?”
She folds her arms across her breasts, and I instantly resent the blocking of her cleavage. Huffing, she says, “I turned eighteen exactly six days ago.”
I knew it. I have got to get out of here. My being ten years her senior wouldn’t matter so much if she was thirty-two and I was forty-two. But something about me being twenty-eight to her eighteen sounds wrong. My lusting after her, wanting to take her in my arms and kiss her until her pretty, pink lips are swollen with the ardor of desire feels wrong.
Gently dropping her hand from my grasp, I stand. “I should go. I’ll see myself out.”
“You’re going to leave me now?”
“I’m going to find your father, then I’m leaving.”
“You’d really abandon a blind girl in her time of need?”
Oh, God. She’s already playing the visually-impaired card, and I haven’t even been dealt a hand yet.
“I’ll give your father some contact information for the Helen Keller Worldwide Organization. He can find all the help you need there.”
“Well, that’s apropos because even Helen Keller could see you’re full of shit, spouting a pile of bologna in order to make yourself feel better about ditching me.”
I ignore her jab as well as her irreverence to one of the greatest women to have ever lived.
“In time, you’ll find this is the best thing for you. The people who work at this phenomenal organization will be happy to put him in touch with an excellent mobility instructor. They offer distance education as well as one-on-one training you can receive here in the mansion. You’ll be navigating your home like a pro in no time.”
“I guess you don’t hear so good, Mr. Winslow. I told you this isn’t home to me. My only chance to be in a place where I can truly belong and be loved is with you. I know you feel it, too. You’re just scared. That’s why you’re running away.”
“I wish you all the best, Aviana. I truly do,” I say, walking out of her bedroom and her life.
Chapter Five
Aviana Leif
HE ISN’T REALLY RUNNING. My ears tell me there is a definite hesitation in his footsteps as he leaves. With all my heart, I’m wishing he would turn around and rush back to my bedside. But he won’t. No, Mr. Gavin Winslow is far too stubborn to admit he wants me. Given my current condition, I can no longer see the lust burning in his gorgeous, emerald-green eyes, but I saw his passion clearly enough at the bookstore.
I’m positive the attraction he felt toward me then is stronger than ever now. It was evident in the husky tone of his voice and more than apparent in his touch. The sparking heat from his huge hand engulfing mine was like flames of fire licking my skin. His desire for me is still there. It just needs to be unleashed.
Suddenly feeling exhausted, I start to turn onto my side for a nap when my nose involuntarily begins to twitch. The aroma of barbeque chicken, macaroni and cheese, sautéed green beans with garlic butter and freshly-baked yeast rolls fills the room. I’ve always had a keen olfactory, but now it’s like my sense of smell has been turbo-charged.
I can hear the swooshing of Laura’s skirt as she enters the doorway. The soft rustling tells me the fabric is taffeta. My nanny has always had the most impeccable taste in clothing. Even when I was a baby, spitting up on her at every turn, she still dressed to the nines.
“I hope you’re hungry, child. I had Cook prepare some of your favorites.”
Her voice has a cheerful lilt, but I sense it’s forced. I can only imagine how upsetting my current condition is to her. She has been more like a mother to me than my own flesh and blood. My blindness has hit her hard.
My stomach growls, silencing the protest on my lips. I was going to lie and say I wasn’t hungry because I don’t want to eat in front of anyone. I know it sounds silly, but we eat with our eyes every bit as much as we do with our mouths. I would be mortified if I spilled my drink or made a mess by dropping food on myself or the floor.
Laura places a tray across my outstretched legs. I trace the smooth, cool metal edges with my fingertips. Memory tells me there’s a pretty princess dancing with a prince across the bottom of the tray. Recalling bright splashes of pinks, yellows and blues brings a tear to my eye. In this pivotal moment, the darkness is more prevalent than ever. I think some of the shock that was keeping me calm is beginning to wear off. The icy fingers of reality are painfully sinking into my flesh. The full force of my situation hits me head-on. I am blind.
Swallowing nervously, I say, “I’d like to be alone, Laura. I’ll let the maid know when I’m ready for the tray to be picked up.”
“Nonsense. I’ll stay with you while you eat. In fact, I was thinking how nice it would be if I fed you like I did when you were a wee tyke.”
Normally, I find Laura’s Scottish accent endearing, but now it’s grating on my nerves.
“Thank you, but I can manage on my own.”
The truth is, I’m not sure I can. I have no idea if any of this food will make it into my mouth. I don’t know if I can get to the bathroom without tripping and falling. I can’t even do the simplest of things like pick out an outfit to wear or apply my own makeup. I no longer have the luxury of tak
ing my mind off my woes by watching TV or reading. What I wouldn’t give to be able to lose myself between the pages of a romance novel.
I loathe this feeling of complete helplessness. I’m used to being lonely but not frightened. Gone is the bravado I proudly displayed in front of Gavin.
The confident belief in my blindness being temporary has disappeared. Of course I am still hoping I will see again. But right now my lack of sight is all too real. So is my need to speak to Gavin again.
I hear Laura sigh heavily. “Okay, child. I’ll leave you be, but know I’m only a shout away. You call, and I’ll come swiftly.”
I nod and ask with a ray of hope in my voice, “Is Mr. Winslow still downstairs talking to my father?”
“Why no, child. When I passed him on the stairs, he was on his way out the front door.”
“But he was supposed to be giving Father some important information about my mobility training.”
“I’m sure he intended to do just that. I heard him asking Butler of your father’s whereabouts.”
“What did Butler say?” I ask, feeling more irritated by the moment.
“He said your father had left on urgent business. He told Mr. Winslow he should call tomorrow.”
I’m shaking with a combination of fear and fury. I’m afraid now that he’s gone, Gavin won’t ever call here again, much less come back. And I’m furious with my father for not being able to forget about business for even a few moments. I shouldn’t be surprised. Based on his track record, I should have known he couldn’t be bothered to hang around and spare a single second for my well-being.
My voice is full of untamed rage. “What was so damn urgent, Laura?”
“Your father went to fetch your mother.”
“Oh, God! Can things get any worse?”
“The answer to that question is, yes. The longer you live, child, the more you will realize it. Things can always get worse.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I was getting to that part,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Things can also get better, Aviana. That’s the thought you should be holding onto.”
“Having my mother here will not make anything better.”
Laura gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. It’s a gesture she has made often over the years. “Perhaps this time will different. She’s sober now. The moment she heard about the mugging and your blindness, she began making preparations to return to the mansion. Give your mother another chance, Aviana. Rosaline has had her share of woes, too, you know?”
“I know she is self-absorbed. I know she is mean and narcissistic. I know she is judgmental and petty.”
“She is all of those things and more. But she is also your mother. She gave birth to you, creating a bond that can never be broken.”
I clench my fists in the bedcovers to keep from saying something hurtful to Laura. She or no one else can truly understand how lowdown and shitty my mother is. There’s no use in trying to explain it.
Smiling tightly, I say, “I’ll try to meet Mother halfway when she arrives.”
“That would be lovely, dear. I’ll leave you to your meal. If you need me, ring this bell,” she says, placing it beside my leg on the bed before she leaves the room.
Slowly, I pick up the fork, sliding it beneath what I believe is the macaroni and cheese. With my elbow bent, I raise the bite of aromatic food to my mouth. Slightly turning my wrist, I carefully bring the utensil to my lips, miss my mark and stab myself in the chin. Cursing, I fling the fork across the room. In my fit of anger, the tray crashes to the floor, and I crumple into a heap of tears on the bed.
Chapter Six
Gavin Winslow
Lying on Dr. Becky Lawson’s well-worn but truly comfortable couch, I count to ten in an effort to control my emotions. As I sink deeper into the soft, buttery leather, my eyes take in the soothing, cream-colored walls adorned with floral paintings depicting lilies, roses and tulips. My mind quiets itself to the hypnotically-whirling hum of white ceiling-fan blades.
My eyelids grow heavy, and my pupils are no longer able to fully focus on the bright-green potted plant in the corner. The office décor goes a long way toward calming me. I’m sure that was the interior designer’s intention.
This morning Dr. Lawson is wearing a simple A-line skirt. It’s a deep crimson-red, and she’s paired it with a black, silky, slightly-off-the-shoulder blouse and matching high heels. She looks professional yet approachable.
I drove to her office straight from the Leif mansion for the purpose of trying to work through or at least make some sort of sense out of all these tumultuous and confusing feelings.
My shrink clears her throat, and I wonder if I picked up my annoying habit from her.
“Gavin, I don’t see the problem here. We talked about you taking a hiatus from your writing. It sounds to me like Mr. Leif has given you a really good reason to do so. Helping his daughter is a perfect opportunity for you to take your mind off yourself.”
“Don’t hand me any Psychology 101 crap about how helping others will make me feel good about myself. You know damn good and well I’m every bit as much a philanthropist as I am a writer.”
She taps her pen against the yellow legal pad in her lap. “Yes, I am fully aware of your many generous financial contributions to a wide array of charities. And I’ve been proud to work alongside you as a volunteer at the soup kitchen during the holidays. But what you need is something more long-term, more hands-on.”
I bolt upright to a sitting position, swing my legs off the couch and plant my feet flat on the wide-planked, hardwood floor. “The last thing Aviana Leif needs is my hands on her, no matter how utterly-enticing, sensuously-captivating and voluptuously-beautiful her body is.”
“Aviana makes you hard. Doesn’t she, Gavin?”
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Becky.”
As with the other female psychiatrists I’ve seen over the years, this one has made no attempt to hide her attraction to me. I should switch to a male therapist, but my pride won’t allow it. I’m not about to admit to another man I can’t keep it up long enough to fuck a woman.
Metaphorically, I’m screwed either way. I’m too embarrassed to confide in a man, but I’m equally embarrassed when female psychiatrists make blatant passes at me, going so far as to suggest I engage in physical intimacies with them as a form of therapy.
By the way, I always decline.
It’s true their behavior is nothing short of unethical, but I can’t blame them for trying. After all, women are emotional creatures. It’s difficult, if not impossible, for them to separate sex acts from love.
Given the fact that all of them have read my romance novels, the propensity to project the plots onto me and themselves is natural. They believe the things they read. Even knowing I can’t sustain an erection for intercourse, their urge to copulate with me is still real.
“I’m not jealous and, even if I were, my feelings are irrelevant here. I’m not only a highly-trained psychiatrist, I’m also a sex therapist—the main reason you selected my services. The question is a valid one, Gavin.”
I chose her because the last three therapists were pretty much morons. At least Dr. Lawson has some semblance of rationality and common sense.
“Answer me, or this session is over. Does Aviana Leif make you hard?”
“Yes, damn it!”
“Hard enough for you to reach orgasm through masturbation?”
Even though self-pleasuring is perfectly natural, I guiltily hang my head. “Yes.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Her response surprises me, making me lift my head.
Smiling broadly, she says, “When you entered my office today, I thought your walk was a little more relaxed. You’ve finally gotten some relief from the blue balls.”
I can’t help but feel a flood of shame. I was so turned on after meeting Aviana at All Booked Up, I jacked off in the car on the drive home. It was stupid and
dangerous, but I couldn’t help it. She was the first woman ever to affect me so strongly. The first one I’ve been able to get off to. That sinfully-curvy vixen unknowingly gave me my first self-manipulated orgasm.
You see, men are very visual. This leads to vivid fantasies. Until Aviana, I wasn’t able to find completion. The moment I reached the precipice of self-pleasure, I’d go limp. But yesterday, when I stepped up to that elusive edge in my mind, I jumped. All the angst and trepidation vanished. It was scary as hell but more exhilarating than I ever imagined possible.
“Okay,” I say, blowing out a deep breath. “You got me. My balls are finally empty. Now what?”
“Now you go tell Mr. Leif you’ll be happy to help his daughter navigate her unfortunate disability. Once you’ve gained Aviana’s trust, you take her to bed.”
Jumping to my feet, I shove my hands deep into my pants pockets to keep from throttling the therapist. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. You’ve had a breakthrough. The one you’ve been waiting on and straining toward for years.”
“True. But taking myself in hand is one thing. Taking a woman—taking Aviana—is another. It’s far too dangerous. I can’t risk it.”
Dr. Lawson sighs. “Every relationship, every sexual encounter involves risks. You took a leap on your own; now it’s time to take one with her. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“I could kill her.”
“You won’t, Gavin. You are not your father.”
“His blood runs through my veins. We’re the same.”
“How so?”
“I have the same degree of desire, the same passionate aggression he had. I want and need the same things I saw him doing when I walked in on him and my mother. If I lose control like he did—if Aviana doesn’t stop me like my mother didn’t stop him—I’ll end up a killer, too.”
“Your mother’s death was an accident.”
“My father still went to prison, rotted and died in a cell for it.”
