by Portia Moore
I give her my most charming smile, doing everything I can to look like a man enamored, just as she expects. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send a driver.” She smiles, turning away from me, then stops to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and take the rest of the day off, Chase. You’ve earned it.”
9
Rain
I’m expected to accompany Vincent to a business dinner tonight.
A choice of dresses arrives late in the afternoon, as usual, and I hate to admit that it’s starting to feel like something I’m used to, but it is. The sight of the black garment bags used to thrill me, wondering what beautiful clothing Vincent had selected for me to pick from, what he was imagining me wearing for him that night. Now I know it’s not Vincent who chooses them, it’s some assistant whose job it is to dress Vincent’s fiancée appropriately. He doesn’t think about me in gorgeous clothing all day. He simply expects that I’ll show up dressed the way I’m meant to. A pretty doll for him to show off and look at approvingly. I don’t feel like Cinderella going to the ball anymore. I’m Cinderella, locked in the dungeon.
Neither do I feel like I can pick what I like anymore. A red Alexander McQueen sheath dress with a cascade of ruffles on the hips is what catches my eye—it’s bright, exciting, and a little dangerously sexy. The color would look gorgeous with my blonde hair. It would make me stand out anywhere.
But now I know Vincent doesn’t want me to stand out. He wants me at his side, in the shadows, there for when he wants me, quiet and blending in when he doesn’t. I can hear him now: Are you trying to embarrass me, Poppy? Do you think I want my wife dressed like a flamenco dancer? You look like a slut. Do you want other men looking at you?
So instead of the gorgeous, slightly daring dress that I want to choose, I pick a simple, long dark blue dress with a neckline that doesn’t plunge too deeply, just enough to be fashionable, with a U-shaped curve at the bottom of it outlined with jeweled “diamonds” and a jeweled brooch on one hip above the slit that runs up one leg. It’s fashionable and sexy, but still elegant, and I can’t think of anything Vincent could complain about.
Although these days, who knows?
That’s the thing that keeps running through my mind as we arrive at the elegant French restaurant where the dinner is being held. As Vincent greets his associates, I keep my pleasant smile fixed firmly on my face, murmuring pleasantries and doing my best to make sure that no one can read the tangle of thoughts in my head. I look like the perfect fiancée—the dress is as beautiful on me as I expected it would be, enough to get a smile from Vincent when he saw me in the car. I accessorized with the sapphire and diamond necklace and earrings that he gave me for our first Christmas together. My makeup is elegant and understated, my hair up in a perfect chignon, and I’ve made very sure that no one could guess from my appearance or expression or tone that I’m anything but the doting future Mrs. Jamison.
I’ve never felt so trapped. I’m not even sure now that Indiana is far enough away from Vincent after what he did this morning. But it’s the best I’ve got. And I don’t even know if I’ll be able to go.
As we sit down at the table and the first course is served, I take small sips of my wine and look around at the rest of the dinner guests. All of the men are obviously wealthy and powerful, like Vincent, though he’s even more so. They all have young and beautiful women at their sides, dressed to the nines just like I am. They all seem happy, smiling, and doting on their dates, attentive and sweet and quiet unless they’re spoken to or talking to each other. Most of them are girlfriends or mistresses, not wives, and I can’t help but feel jealous of them. They’re freer than I am. They can leave anytime they want, scoop the dresses and jewelry into a bag and disappear into the night. The ring on my finger feels like a shackle, binding me more tightly to Vincent every day.
Or maybe I’m wrong, I think as I look at them. Maybe they’re all wearing a mask just like me, pretending to be happy and carefree while feeling just as trapped. Maybe these men all have something on them, too…burdens of their own they’re carrying that tie them to these powerful men. There’s no way to know because I sure as hell can’t ask. All I can do is sit here and wonder if I’m alone in this or if there is anyone else who understands.
After another hour or so of picking at my food and ignoring dessert entirely, I take one last sip of my wine as Vincent says his goodbyes to his associates and takes my elbow, guiding me out towards the lobby.
“Why so quiet, Poppy?” he asks as he opens the door to the car for me to slide in and follows. “What is my little flower thinking so hard about?” I’ve barely said a word all night because I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts, and Vincent has evidently taken notice of it. Just that thought is enough to tie my stomach in knots now, what little food I ate turning into nausea.
I smile lovingly at him as he takes a seat next to me, and the driver starts to pull out into traffic. “Just our future,” I tell him sweetly, putting a hand on his thigh. It’s the truth, of course. I am thinking about our future. Just the one where I hope like hell that we won’t be together—that I’ll be alone, trying to put the pieces of my life back together.
Vincent’s phone rings before he can answer me, and he picks it up without so much as a glance in my direction, answering it brusquely. It’s clear he’s not thrilled with whoever is on the other line, and as the voice grows louder, I can’t help but perk up a little when I realize that it’s a woman’s voice. Vincent is too engrossed in the conversation to notice me trying to listen in. I think at first that it must be one of his flowers, but realize quickly it can’t be. The voice doesn’t sound flirty or cutesy the way I would have expected; whoever is on the other end isn’t concerned with charming Vincent or making him happy. If anything, the caller sounds curt and annoyed, and Vincent’s expression darkens as he listens.
They start arguing, and the moment that happens, they both switch over to speaking what sounds like Italian. I’ve never been privy to anything like this with Vincent before, and I don’t know whether I should be concerned or not, if I should just sit back and pretend like I don’t hear anything.
He hangs up the phone abruptly, and the energy in the car is tense as he looks out of his window. I can see his jaw is set, teeth grinding slightly with his lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s no question that he’s pissed off. The only question is whether or not my speaking will make it worse. I decide to chance it, to see if I can soothe him. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood with me, at least.
I gently touch his thigh. “Is everything okay?” I ask softly, the way I might have months ago when I still thought everything was wonderful and when I was still madly in love with him. When I thought our future would be us side by side instead of me being dragged behind him.
He lets out a short, frustrated sigh, and for a second, I think he’s going to snap at me.
“Family business,” he says tightly, still not looking at me as he runs a hand through his hair. Then, to my surprise, he turns to me and gives me the charming smile I know so well, the one the old Vincent would have given me. He reaches for my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles before raising it to his lips and kissing it gently.
“You make me happy, Poppy,” he says softly. “Despite all of the bullshit of life, you really do.”
His eyes meet mine as he says it, and his voice and expression are so sincere that it takes my breath away for a moment. It’s as if everything else has fallen away—all of the fighting and anger and missteps between us—and Vincent is raw and vulnerable, letting me see his true emotions.
But then my phone rings, shattering the moment between us, and I can see Vincent withdrawing from me already, his expression shuttering and becoming annoyed. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says curtly, but as soon as I see the name on the screen, I want to more than anything in the world. It’s Erin-- I haven’t talked to her since we left for New York. I tell Vin
cent that, and I see his jaw tighten, but he just shrugs.
“Fine,” he says, picking up his phone. “Go ahead and answer it.”
“Hey, Erin,” I say brightly when I pick it up. “Did you make it back to Indiana okay?”
“Um, yeah. Rain, I was calling because, well…I didn’t want to call Mom and scare her, but um…I thought I heard someone trying to get into the house just now. And I don’t want to worry Mom if nothing is going on. She’s got enough on her plate, but I’m kind of nervous….”
My heart leaps into my throat as I immediately go on full alert, my pulse racing with anxiety. “Did you call the cops?”
“No…I mean, what if it’s nothing? I don’t want to overreact and waste anyone’s time—”
“Just do it!” I shout, my voice rising in pitch, and Vincent looks over at me with alarm. Without a word, he takes the phone out of my hand and puts it up to his ear. “Erin, what’s going on?” he asks calmly, glancing back at my frantic expression. “Erin, listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I say. You’re to go to your room and lock the door. Call the police once you’ve done that, and then call back to let us know that it’s done.”
I’m in tears by the time he hangs up the phone. “She shouldn’t be there alone,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. My mother said Erin was old enough to be home alone, that she’d get herself to school and be fine. I know it’s better for her to be somewhere familiar. But still, I can’t help but think that this is somehow my fault, or my mother’s—that I should have already asked Vincent to let me stay with Erin, or my mom should have insisted Erin remain in Seattle. She’s seventeen, but she still shouldn’t be on her own like this.
“It’s alright, Poppy.” Vincent tries to soothe me, rubbing my back with one hand, but I can’t stop crying. The tears are turning into full-on sobs, and I’m worried that I might have a panic attack here in the car. I have no idea how Vincent will react to that.
The phone rings and Vincent answers it without giving me a chance to. “Alright, Erin, good. Stay in your room until they come. Yes, of course, I’ll stay on the phone with you until they get there.” After another second, he puts the phone down briefly, pressing the intercom button that lets him communicate with his driver. “Take us to the hangar where my jet is, please.”
That stops my tears briefly, and I look up at him, startled. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to Indiana,” Vincent says, picking up the phone again, and I stare at him in shock. I feel relief wash over me.
We’re going to see Erin!
I’ll be able to know for sure that she’s alright. I feel genuine gratitude. This is the Vincent I love, the one who cares about my family, who steps in and helps with a crisis. This is the man I wanted to marry. Why can’t he be like this all the time?
Vincent puts the phone on speaker. “The police checked everything out,” Erin says, her voice still shaky. “I’m going over to a friend’s house now.”
“We’re on our way to come see you,” I tell her, wiping away tears. “We’ll be there in just a few hours, okay? Text me the address where you’re staying.”
“You don’t have to—”
“We’re on our way, Erin,” Vincent says calmly. “Just do as your sister asks, alright?”
His face is pensive as he hangs up the phone and puts it back into his pocket. “Your family lives in a shitty neighborhood,” he says casually as if he’s telling me about the weather. “Your father should be grateful for all I’m doing for him. This is his fault. What kind of man drinks himself to death and can’t hold down a job, letting his family live in a place like that? He should have provided a better life for all three of you.”
I stare at him. It’s not as if I’ve never thought those things about my father, or resented him for how much pressure was put on my mother, but it’s different hearing someone else say it. And how can Vincent understand? He’s been wealthy all his life. He doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle, to fall into an addiction you can’t control.
“Alcoholism is an illness,” I say defensively, but even I know it’s a weak defense. If my father weren’t like this, I wouldn’t even be with Vincent, I can’t help but think. I wouldn’t have to put up with his moods and cruelty and cheating because I’d have a different life, one where Vincent would never have caught me shoplifting and felt the need to rescue me.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vincent says coldly. “He’s too weak to defeat his demons and man up for the sake of his family. And it’s your mother’s fault too, for staying with him. She should have left him if he couldn’t get his shit together, not raised two children in that kind of environment, driving them into poverty too. Your parents are both weak, Poppy..”
Everything he’s saying is true, and somehow that makes it hurt more. It stings because it’s all things I’ve thought too…how I would never have a marriage like my mother’s, how she should have taken us away, how she should never have put up with the way my father treated her. How many times have I been resentful and angry at both of them? But hearing Vincent say it makes it more real somehow, and I can’t help it as I start to cry again, burying my face in my hands.
Vincent reaches for me, pulling me into his arms and against his chest. “Poppy, it’s alright,” he soothes me. “You have me now, and I’m going to fix everything. You’re so much better than them. You’re a beautiful flower who grew despite being surrounded by weeds, and I’ll make sure you never wind up in a place like that again.”
The words should make me feel better, but they don’t. They just make me angrier—so angry that I’m shaking from it, even though Vincent thinks I’m crying because I’m embarrassed, not because I’m filled with rage. I’m angry at everyone and everything suddenly, in a rush of emotion that makes me want to scream—I’m angry at myself for having to do this, for getting into this in the first place; angry at my parents for making the choices they did that put me in the position of having to save them by sacrificing myself; angry at Vincent for being a lying asshole, for cheating and hurting me and pretending to be someone he wasn’t until he had me trapped.
The flight to Indiana is silent. I pretend to be asleep, worn out by crying and emotion, and whether or not Vincent is fooled, he leaves me alone.
There’s a car waiting for us when we land in Indiana. It feels wrong to be home and in the back seat of a car with someone else driving me. Thank God there’s always clothing on the jet. I was able to take my hair down and change out of my dinner dress and extravagant jewelry into jeans and a more casual top. However, my makeup still looks as if I’ve been somewhere fancy.
It’s enough to make Erin’s friend give me a strange look when Vincent knocks on the door, and she sees us standing there, but I don’t have long to think about it because Erin is right behind her. She almost knocks us both over as she throws herself into my arms, shrieking that she’s so happy to see me.
“I can’t believe you came all this way just for me!” she says, squeezing me tightly in another hug.
“I’d go across the world for you,” I tell her gently, and return the hug, suddenly happier than I have been in weeks now that I’m back home with my sister. “You’re my sister, Erin, and I love you.”
Erin has changed since I last saw her. She’s gotten taller, and her hair is longer, brushing past her shoulders now, looking healthier than it has in a long time. The longer look makes her look more grown-up, less like a kid, and more like a young woman. She’s wearing a cropped t-shirt and very short shorts. I’m torn between telling her how good she looks and suggesting that maybe she put on some jeans, which makes me feel like my mother. It’s weird seeing my little sister like this, more grown-up and starting to get some curves—it’s like seeing myself at sixteen; we look so much alike.
It makes me wish I had more time with her because I remember what it was like to be sixteen, just starting to grow into a different body, feeling all kinds of things that I didn’t have anyone to talk to abou
t. My family didn’t have any idea what I was dealing with back then—trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do with my life, aching to be anywhere but in this stupid small town, and falling in love for the first time…
A rush of nostalgia washes over me as he pops into my head, a memory of the boy I swore I’d forget and leave behind. He’s wrapped up in this town, this place, all of our memories. For a brief second, I can almost smell the scent of engine grease and sweat on his skin, that unique smell of him that I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried. I remember his arms around me and the way it felt when he kissed me for the first time. The ache of remembering that first love, combined with my fear for Erin’s safety, makes tears come to my eyes all over again.
“Thanks for coming,” I hear Erin saying to Vincent, and it snaps me out of my daze and back to reality.
“Of course. Whose house is this?” Vincent asks abruptly, looking around. I can see the disdain for his surroundings in his eyes, and I know what he’s thinking. I pray to God he isn’t a prick and says the things out loud that he’d say to me for sure if Erin weren’t around.
“Our neighbor. I’m friends with her daughter,” Erin says quickly. “They’ve lived here for like ten years now, I think. We know them really well.”
Almost as if on cue, a slightly older woman, about my mom’s age, comes out, and I recognize her immediately. It’s Brenda, whose daughter used to come over and play with Erin all of the time when I still lived here. I almost didn’t recognize Alice, because like Erin, she’s so much older now.
“I’m Brenda,” she introduces herself to Vincent, holding out her hand. “You must be Rain’s husband?”
“Fiancé, but we’ll be married soon enough,” he says with a charming smile as he takes her hand. “Thank you for looking out for Erin.”
“Not a problem.” She blushes a little, clearly under the same influence that every woman seems to be when they meet Vincent. “The police looked around the house. They think it was just some neighborhood kids starting trouble. But still…” She bites her lip and looks at me, Erin, and then back at Vincent. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Erin to be staying there alone right now.”
