Bared to You

by Sylvia Day

  “And I keep proving him right.” I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was all going to end badly. The only control I had was to be the one who left, instead of the one who was left behind.

  “Because you’re fighting to protect your own recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around me and tucking me tight against him.

  I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t realized I needed. “He might’ve dumped me because of my past, not his.”

  “If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you two will find each other eventually. At least I’m hoping you will.” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-up crowd. Show me the way, Eva honey. Make me believe.”

  Friday found Trey sharing breakfast with Cary and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary and I was genuinely thrilled to see the intimate smiles and covert touches they gave one another.

  I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t appreciated them at the time. They had been comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been superficial in a fundamental way, too.

  How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul? That was the dilemma I’d faced with Gideon.

  Day 2 After Gideon had begun. I found myself wanting to go to him and apologize for leaving him yet again. I wanted to tell him I was there for him, ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I was too emotionally invested. I got wounded too easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing he wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and pieces he decided to share with me.

  At least my job was going well. The celebratory lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency landing the Kingsman account made me genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a positive environment. But when I heard that Gideon had been invited—although no one expected him to show up—I returned quietly to my desk and focused on work the rest of the afternoon.

  I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopefully long into Saturday morning.

  Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tell. I snapped out of it when he fell silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stellar friend.

  “When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going up?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You know how it is with male models—we’re tossed around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing since those photos of you and me were plastered everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your relationship with Gideon Cross. You’ve done wonders for making me a hot commodity.”

  I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”

  “Well, it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they called me back for a couple more shoots. I think they might just use me for more than five minutes.”

  “We’ll have to celebrate,” I teased.

  “Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”

  We ended up hanging out and watching the original Tron. His smartphone rang twenty minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking to his agency. “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen, tops. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.

  “Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You wanna come?”

  I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m good right here.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “All I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhausts me.” I’d be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top all weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total comfort outside seemed like a necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’ll get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself.”

  After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Gideon had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fell to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them. I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equally doomed relationship.

  I’d gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love him for that. Maybe I’d always love him, period.

  And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

  “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.

  “Ugh. Go away.”

  “You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.”

  Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips. As far as wake-up calls went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”

  “Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”

  “Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”

  He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”

  I buried my face in the pillow. “No.”

  “Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a ‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hell do I wear to something like that?”

  “Ah, well. Good point.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.”

  He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.”

  Growling a token protest, I rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Gideon, without picturing his perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds he made when he came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I’d even started hallucinating black Bentley SUVs all around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.

  Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced all over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.

  “Told you,” he crowed.

  “Told me what?”

  “They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Cross.”

  I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”

  He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly call to my dad.

  “You still happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.

  “So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.

  His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.”

  I sighed. “Tell them watching those shows is bad for their brain cells.”

  “So you’re not dating one of the richest men in America?”

  “No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing
anyone?”

  “Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a call on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”

  “I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”

  “Always. Bye.”

  I killed the call and went back to my former spot to wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lull, my mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now? What was he doing?

  Would Monday bring me an inbox full of photos of him with another woman?

  Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rolling meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4 After Gideon. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dull throbbing that felt almost like the flu. Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.

  “Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.

  I glanced at him. “Not really. Gideon won’t be there.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For all the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.

  He caught me looking at it. “What? You still don’t like my tie? I think it works well with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”

  “Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.”

  It was true. Cary could pull any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.

  I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”

  “Trey didn’t call last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”

  I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed call, Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”

  “He could’ve called this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to call, which means he just doesn’t want to.”

  “The rat bastard. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”

  His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Cross won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”

  “Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.

  The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.

  The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it all the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. All in all, I felt pretty and confident.

  Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, following the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.

  Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by Gideon’s family in a receiving line—his mother, stepfather, Christopher, and their sister.

  I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Gideon was lined up with them. His mother and sister had his coloring, both women boasting the same glossy obsidian hair and thickly-lashed blue eyes. They were both beautiful in a finely wrought way.

  “Eva!” Gideon’s mother drew me toward her, then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. What a gorgeous girl you are! And your dress. I love it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it naturally blond?”

  “Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?

  “How fascinating. Well, welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.”

  Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.

  “And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my two boys were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”

  Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”

  She laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.”

  Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a college professor than a music company executive.

  “Eva. May I call you Eva?”

  “Please do.”

  “Call me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Gideon is so taken with you. Your eyes are a stormy gray, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”

  I flushed. “Thank you.”

  “Is Gideon coming?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t his parents know the answer to that question?

  “We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting servant. “Please head back to the gardens and make yourself at home.”

  Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Gideon’s sister Ireland sized me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could pull off. “You’re a blonde,” she said.

  Jeez. Was Gideon’s preference for dark-haired women a damn law or something? “And you’re a very lovely brunette.”

  Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it gratefully.

  As we walked away, he asked me quietly, “Were they what you expected?”

  “His mom, maybe. His stepdad, no.” I looked back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew about Gideon’s family. “How does a boy grow up to be a businessman who takes over his stepfather’s family business?”

  “Cross owns shares in Vidal Records?”

  “Controlling interest.”

  “Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A helping hand during a trying time for the music industry?”

  “Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.

  “Because he’s a shrewd businessman?”

  With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question away and cleared my mind. I was attending the party for Cary, not Gideon, and I was going to keep that first and foremost in my thoughts.

  Once we’d moved outside, we found a large, elaborately decorated marquee erected in the rear garden. Although the day was beautiful enough to stay out in the sun, I found a seat at a circular table covered in white damask instead.

  Cary patted my shoulder. “You relax. I’ll network.”

  “Go get ’em.”

  He moved away, intent on his agenda.

  I sipped champagne and chatted with everyone who stopped by to strike
up a conversation. There were a lot of recording artists at the party whose work I listened to, and I watched them covertly, a bit starstruck. For all the elegance of the surroundings and the endless number of servants, the overall vibe was casual and relaxed.

  I was starting to enjoy myself when someone I’d hoped never to see again stepped out of the house onto the terrace: Magdalene Perez, looking phenomenal in a rose-hued chiffon gown that floated around her knees.

  A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed, setting my heart racing because it reminded me of the night Cary and I had gone to Gideon’s club. But the figure that rounded me this time was Christopher.

  “Hey, Eva.” He took the chair next to mine and set his elbows on his knees, leaning toward me. “Are you having fun? You’re not mingling much.”

  “I’m having a great time.” At least I had been. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Thank you for coming. My parents are stoked you’re here. Me, too, of course.” His grin made me smile, as did his tie, which had cartoon vinyl records all over it. “Are you hungry? The crab cakes are great. Grab one when the tray comes by.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Let me know if you need anything. And save a dance for me.” He winked, and then hopped up and away.

  Ireland took his seat, arranging herself with the practiced grace of a finishing school graduate. Her hair fell in a single length to her waist and her beautiful eyes were direct in a way I could appreciate. She looked worldlier than her seventeen years. “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  “Where’s Gideon?”

  I shrugged at the blunt question. “I’m not sure.”

  She nodded sagely. “He’s good at being a loner.”

  “Has he always been that way?”

  “I guess. He moved out when I was little. Do you love him?”

  My breath caught for a second. I released it in a rush and said simply, “Yes.”

  “I thought so when I saw that video of you two in Bryant Park.” She bit her lush lower lip. “Is he fun? You know…to hang around with?”

  “Oh. Well…” God. Did anyone know Gideon? “I wouldn’t say he’s fun, but he’s never boring.”