by R. R. Banks
As he speaks, I feel my heart sink when I remember the situation with my clothes.
“Eric,” I say, “I – I don't have a change of clothes, so maybe we –”
“Already thought of that,” he says, the smile returning to his face. “Would you step out here with me, please?”
On the top floor, there's a small sitting room with doors that open to a deck that overlooks the ocean. I already know that's going to be my favorite place in this house. The idea of sitting there, letting the breeze and the smell of the ocean wash over me – it's still as amazing as it is unbelievable to me.
And that's where Eric leads me. On the tables and chairs of the sitting room are a large number of boxes and bags, most of them bearing the name Jasmine's of San Diego. I'm confused by what I'm seeing and look up at him with a perplexed expression on my face.
“I know you're out of fresh clothes,” he says, “So, I took the liberty of having my personal shopper pick some things up for you. I hope you don't mind. But Monica has been shopping for me for a few years now and her taste is impeccable.”
“Your – personal shopper?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“What's a personal shopper?”
He smiles and looks a little abashed as he looks away from me. “Sorry,” he says. “Monica does my clothes shopping for me. Gets my suits tailored, picks out new outfits for me – that sort of thing. I had to guess at your size, so if something doesn't fit, we can exchange it.”
It's a concept that leaves me feeling a little dumbfounded. “So, you actually pay somebody to go out and – shop for your clothing?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Saves me a lot of time. Besides, I don't like shopping anyway. If it were left up to me, I'd probably wear jeans and a t-shirt everywhere. But given what I do and the functions I'm expected to attend, jeans and a t-shirt won't cut it. Which is why I gladly pay Monica to shop for my clothing. The less I have to think about it, the better.”
I sit down on the edge of a chair – the only one not burdened with packages. I look at the mountain of bags and boxes around me, not believing that all of this is for me. For so long, I had two shapeless gray dresses – and that's it. That's what I'm used to. I honestly don't even know where to begin with all of this.
“I think she was excited that she got to shop for a woman this time,” Eric laughs. “She may have gone a little overboard. But, I can assure you that everything is tasteful and stylish.”
I look at him and don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed by everything I'm thinking and feeling in that moment. I feel tears welling in my eyes and try to choke them back. There's no reason to be crying right now. But I don't know what to say, so I simply stand up and throw my arms around Eric, embracing him tightly. As we embrace, I feel something pass between us – an energy or an electricity – that makes me tingle. It's surprising, yet not unpleasant, although I don't know what it means.
After a few moments, I step back and give him a smile as I wipe away my tears and there's an awkward air between us. Eric clears his throat and gestures at the stairs.
“Monica is downstairs,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “I thought she might be able to show you your new clothes and help you pick out an outfit for tonight.”
“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you, Eric. Thank you so much.”
He gives me a smile that almost seems shy before he turns and walks back down the stairs. I think back to that energy that passed between our bodies and wonder on it. What did it mean? Had he felt it too?
Or was I simply misinterpreting the overwhelming feelings of gratitude I had for him?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eric
After getting dressed, I'm standing on the back deck, sipping a scotch while staring out at the darkness of the ocean. Monica left about fifteen minutes ago, but Calee is still upstairs. I imagine this all has to be overwhelming for her.
I'd always thought that going from living a life of privilege to going to a life in the military turned my life on its head. And it had. But to go from living a rough, basic existence out on some cult compound in Wyoming to being dropped into the lap of luxury in San Diego – it has to feel like her entire world has been turned upside down. I can't even imagine.
“I – I'm ready,” Calee's voice comes from behind me. “I think.”
I turn around and nearly drop my glass of scotch. I stare in wide-eyed wonder at the woman standing before me. In a dark blue dress that hugs her curves and really flatters her body, she looks utterly amazing. And completely unlike the scared, lost girl in blue jeans I met in that diner. Her hair spills down over her shoulders and there is a light dusting of makeup on her face – just enough so that her dark eyes really sparkle.
“Is this too much?” she asks. “Too provocative? I asked Monica to –”
I hold up my hand and shake my head quickly. “No, you look – you look amazing.” I say.
I see her cheeks flush and a bashful smile creep across her lips. She looks away shuffling her feet, looking like the picture of embarrassment.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm not used to such nice clothing.”
“You wear it well,” I reply. “It looks incredible on you.”
When she looks back up at me, there's a tension in her face that's impossible to miss. Is she still worried about Raymond? Is this all too much for her? I don't know. I can't read her thoughts, although I wish I could. But she has the look on her face of the woman who'd spent a little time preparing a speech and was going to deliver it.
“Eric,” she says. “I don't know much, but I know that you spent a fortune on all those clothes. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But it's too much. I don't feel right with you spending so much money on me when –”
I can't help but laugh, not expecting that her biggest concern is money. She closes her mouth and looks at me, her expression inscrutable. I choke back the laughter and clear my throat, not wanting to offend her. Taking a quick drink, I look up and hold her gaze.
“Money isn't something you need to concern yourself with right now, Calee,” I say. “Eventually, you'll get a job and start making your own money. But right now, don't even give it a second thought.”
“I don't see how I can't though,” she says, sounding downright miserable.
I sigh. Money isn't something I like talking about. It's not something I like dealing with, actually. That's what my accountants and bankers are for. All I want to have to worry about is using my cards and not having them declined when I do. And given the inheritance my parents left me when they died, combined with the money I make as a surgeon on my own, that's not something I have to worry about.
“Because I'm telling you – because I'm asking you not to worry about it,” I say softly. “I know you're not used to having people do things for you or take care of you, but I'm asking you to let me. Let me do something good.”
“Why is it so important to you?” she asks. “Why am I so important to you?”
I still don't have the answer to those questions. I still can't say why I felt so drawn to her that first night. Maybe, in a way, I'm trying to atone for all of those people I couldn't save over in Afghanistan. I feel like I lost a lot more than I saved and it's something that haunts me every day and every night. I'm good at what I do. Damn good. But as good as I am, I wasn't able to save a lot of guys over there.
And maybe in some weird, twisted way, giving a life to this woman – helping somebody who so desperately needs it – maybe that's my way of trying to make up for those I couldn't help over there. Or maybe, in some even weirder and more twisted way, I'm trying to atone for being such a disappointment to my parents. For not being the man they wanted me to be.
I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with me – which is part of the reason I avoid them like the plague.
“Because you are,” is all I can muster though. “Because after everything you've endured, you deserve to h
ave a life of your own. You deserve a chance to be the woman you want to be. Not the woman somebody tells you to be.”
The look she gives me is one of pure gratitude and I'm half-afraid she's going to start crying again. But she maintains her composure and gives me a small smile.
“I don't know how I'm going to repay your kindness,” she says. “I don't know that I can.”
“The only repayment I want is for you to live your life,” I say. “To do something with it. To be who you are and do something that makes you happy.”
She steps forward and embraces me again and just like upstairs, I feel this sense of connection pass between us. With her body pressed to mine, smelling the soft citrusy scent of her shampoo, I somehow feel a little more complete. A little more whole. I feel like that pool of darkness within me is being filled in. I can't explain it, don't really understand it, but there it is all the same.
A moment later we step back and share an awkward smile – and I can't help but wonder if she felt that connection between us too. For me, it felt like a puzzle piece was being snapped into place. And I find myself wondering if she felt it too – and if so, what it felt like to her.
I clear my throat and give her a lopsided smile. “So, would you care to accompany me to dinner?”
Her smile is warm and genuine. “I'd absolutely love to.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Calee
“I've never been in a place this nice before,” I say.
“Well, there's a first time for everything then,” Eric replies.
The waitress gives me a strange look but pours a glass of water. Then, she turns and pours a glass of wine for Eric. She's a gorgeous girl and I can't help but be envious of her amazing body. Next to her, with my hips, curves, and full breasts, I suddenly feel like a pig. It's a terrible, petty thought and I feel my cheeks flush.
“It's nice to see you again, Dr. Galloway,” the waitress says. “I'll have your appetizers out in a moment.”
“Thank you, Lacy.”
“You know the people who work here?” I ask.
He nods. “I've been coming here for quite a while,” I say. “My parents used to bring me here when I was younger, actually. Something of a family tradition.”
I see a look of fond nostalgia cross his face and he points to a table over in the corner that's currently occupied by a man and a woman who are staring into each other's eyes, a look of absolutely rapturous love on their faces. As I watch them, I see him kiss her hand and the smile that crosses her face is one of utter bliss and contentment.
And I find myself wondering if I'm ever going to feel anything remotely like that in my life.
“We sat at that table the night my father and his partner founded their company,” he says. “We had dinner to celebrate them opening the doors.”
“What does your father's company do?”
“Technology,” he replies. “A lot of research and development. They do a lot in both the medical field, and unfortunately, they do a lot in a lot of defense weapons systems.”
I laugh softly. “Defense weapons systems?”
“Missiles,” he says. “Smart bombs. The technology of death, I call it. The company scores huge government contracts to dream up better, more efficient ways of killing people.”
“Medical and weapons,” I say. “Those sound like two opposite ends of the spectrum.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “It was always a bone of contention between us. Anyway, let's toast.”
He raises his glass and I stare at him for a moment before realizing I should raise mine as well. I pick it up and hold it like he is – and can't help but feel clumsy and awkward. I feel like a fish out of water. Eric can navigate the waters of normal people – normal rich people at that – with a practiced ease. Of course, he grew up in this sort of society and I didn't.
And as I look at the faces of the people around me, I suddenly don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable operating in normal society.
“To new beginnings,” he says.
Just from books I've read, I know that I'm expected to repeat his toast then then clink my glass against his, so that's what I do. And of course, I hit his glass a little too hard. It makes a loud ringing sound and the glasses are so delicate, I fear I've broken them. Eric laughs softly, but his smile is sincere and not unkind.
“We'll work on that,” he says.
As I sip my water, I take a quick glance around, I can't help but feel exposed. Like everybody in that restaurant knows I'm an imposter. Just some poor, uneducated girl taken off a cult compound and dropped into a fancy dress. I've never felt so out of place before in my life and I feel like people are staring at me. Judging me. And just for a moment, I find myself wanting to be back in the small cabin I shared with Ruth. I feel a longing for the comfort of those rough, wooden walls, and the feel of that hard, lumpy mattress beneath me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and give him a weak nod. “I'm just feeling like I don't belong in here,” I admit. “Like I'm out of place.”
He holds my gaze and then takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You're not out of place,” he says. “This is your home. You belong here. And you let me know if anybody says otherwise, okay?”
I nod and feel a knot of emotion constricting inside of me. I don't know what it is I'm feeling, so I stuff it down. I'll try to unravel that knot later. My first experience in a fancy restaurant. I want to savor every moment of this night.
The waitress comes back and sets a plate down between us. She gives me a look like a sneer and then turns to Eric, her face brightening immediately. I have no idea why she would have given me such a dirty look and I sit back, my feelings a little hurt, feeling even more out of place than before.
“Shrimp scampi and stuffed mushrooms,” she says. “Enjoy these and I'll put in the order for your main courses, Dr. Galloway.”
“Thank you, Lacy,” he says. “Also, I would appreciate it if you apologized to Calee. I appreciate your outstanding service, as always. But I don't know why you felt the need to give her such a nasty look. She is my guest tonight and I will not tolerate that sort of behavior.”
“Excuse me?” the waitress asks, her mouth hanging open.
He gives her a long, hard look. “Do I need to speak with Dominic about this?”
A look of fear crosses the woman's face as she slowly turns to me and clears her throat.
“I apologize for my behavior,” she says slowly. “It was uncalled for and I was out of line.”
“Thank you, Lacy.” Eric says.
The woman's face is a bright shade of red and she gives Eric another look, her expression one of absolute heartbreak. She lowers her eyes and leaves the table without another word.
“I'm sorry for her behavior,” Eric says and takes a sip of his wine. “You didn't deserve that.”
The emotions swirling around within me are so fast and violent, they feel like a tornado. I can't keep up with them, let alone organize them into any sort of coherent thought. Nobody has ever stood up for me before like that. Nobody has ever defended me. Ever. And even though I knew the woman didn't mean a single word of her apology, the fact that Eric made her say the words means more to me than I can even say.
“Thank –”
Eric holds up his hand again to cut me off. “She was out of line,” he says. “You don't need to thank me for making her do the right thing.”
“I think she has a crush on you,” I say.
“That's unfortunate for her,” he replies. “I'd never date somebody so petty and rude.”
There's a moment of silence between us – mostly because I don't know what to say. Everything is all so new to me and I feel like some primitive cave person stepping out into the world for the first time.
“This smells wonderful,” I say, pointing at the plate. “What is it?”
The mood immediately seems to lighten as Eric puts some of the appetizer onto m
y plate. Setting it down in front of me, he points at the mushrooms.
“Those are stuffed with crab, cheese, and done in a light wine sauce,” he says. “And the other, the shrimp scampi, is amazing. The best in San Diego. You're going to love it.”
I pick up my fork and use it to cut one of the mushrooms in half. Spearing it with the tines, I pop it into my mouth and revel in the explosion of flavor in my mouth. I've never had anything so different and so amazing. I chew slowly, savoring every moment of it.
“Good, right?” Eric says.
“That might be the best thing I've ever eaten,” I say.
He laughs. “Well, pace yourself,” he says. “There's a lot more food to come.”
“If it's half as good as this mushroom, I might just die.”
He picks up his glass and looks at me over the rim, something sparkling in his eyes. There's a curious look on his face and one I can't quite interpret.
“I certainly hope not,” he says. “There's a lot more I want to share with you.”
As I look at him in the soft glow of the candles on the table, I feel my heart swell. And I realize that there is a lot more I want to share with him too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I feel absolutely stuffed, but at the same time, I want to keep eating. Everything I taste is better than what I tasted before it and I just want to keep going until I burst.
“I can honestly say, this is the best meal I've ever had in my life,” I say.
Eric drains the last of his wine. “What was normal fare out there on the Ark?” he asks. “Biscuits and gruel?”
I laugh. “Not exactly,” I reply. “The Shepherds would regularly hunt and bring in meat for the community. We had a garden where we grew a lot of our own fruits and vegetables. And we supplemented that with things from town.”
“Sounds very Little House on the Prairie,” he says.
