Revealing Us
Page 27
I frown. “Why would Rey stay with me?”
“I’d just rather know you’re safe.” His avoidance is done with an oh-so-casual tone.
I narrow my eyes. “What don’t I know that I should, Chris?”
“Neuville breeds caution in me.”
“But you said—”
He kisses me. “Humor me. I’ll worry if you’re alone.”
“You’re going to make me paranoid,” I argue. “We talked about this before.”
“I can come stay over, too,” Chantal ofers. “We can have a girls’ night.”
I perk up. “That’s a great idea!” Then I turn to Chris. “That way you’ll know I’m not alone, and I won’t be tortured by Rey’s hovering.”
“Hmmm,” Chantal says. “I wouldn’t mind him hovering.”
I glower at her. “You aren’t helping my cause here.”
“Oh, right.” She eyes Chris. “I’ll protect her. I’m pretty tough.”
That draws a chuckle from both of us. “That I don’t doubt, Chantal,” he says, and I am in full agreement.
When her phone chimes she glances at an incoming text and sighs. “I have to go cover the shop. My mom is with my grandmother again. So am I staying over?”
I give Chris a pleading look. “This is a good compromise, and we have a state-of-the-art security system. And I’ll have you and Rey on auto-dial.”
He sighs and says, “I want Rey to come by and check on you. And before you argue, that’s also a compromise.”
I smile. “I can live with that.”
Chantal grabs her purse. “I’m of.” She points at me. “Try to practice. You’re really not giving your French much efort.
You’re going to force me to only speak French to you.” She rushes of down the stairs.
“Hey,” Chris says, pulling me around to face him. “You okay?”
I touch his face. “I’m always okay when I’m with you.” My brow furrows. “What was all that about with Amber?”
“She has some money issues at the Script.”
“So you gave her money, and Tristan won’t be happy about it?”
“No. The two of them have had a turbulent relationship.
He’s not happy about me being in her life.”
I can understand how he feels. “How much did you give her?” I dare to ask.
“Ten thousand euros.”
I gape. “That’s a lot of money.”
“You should see the check I agreed to write to the museum.”
“So you did agree to a donation?”
“As long as my inancial guy sits on the board. I have too many commitments with my charity this year to do it myself.
I’ll never get time to paint.” He turns the topic back to Amber.
“You know I have to help her, right?”
I nod. “Yes, I do. I don’t fully understand why, but I do.” It’s an opening for more explanation, but he simply kisses me and pulls me to my feet, tugging me toward the stairs.
A few minutes later I’m in his studio with him, watching him paint, and I shove away thoughts of Amber. I simply have to trust that our trip out of town this weekend will deliver answers. Even if I have to push Chris to talk.
Friday afternoon, Chris and I are in the elevator headed to the attorney’s oice to discuss some of my last-minute business questions when he announces, “Amber’s stopping by in about an hour to meet with the attorney, as well.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“About her business struggles.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He wraps me in his arms. “Sara—”
I kiss him. “It’s okay. Really.”
The elevator dings but he doesn’t move. “It doesn’t seem okay.”
“It is.” But I feel uneasy about Amber. I always feel uneasy about Amber. I drag his hand into mine as the door opens.
“Let’s go get my business started.”
A few minutes later, Chris and I settle into a chair inside the attorney’s oice and my excitement washes everything else away. We quickly go through my concerns, and it seems my business is ready to launch.
Once Chris and I inish up, I leave Chris to discuss some details about his donation to the museum and head to the lobby, seeking the “toilette,” only to ind Amber has arrived. My unease is oicially back.
She stands up, looking as professional in her black pin-striped skirt and red blouse as I do in my black, slim-cut dress, with a matching jacket and high-heeled boots. “Is it my turn?”
she asks, actually looking nervous.
“Not yet,” I tell her. “Chris has some things to inish up, but he should be fast. We need to head out.”
“He has that charity event tonight, right?”
“Yes.” How did she know?
“I get the Louvre newsletters,” she replies, clearly reading my expression. She shrugs. “I used to follow the art world pretty closely. It was never really me, but I tried because of Chris.”
I suddenly want to be away from her. “I need to freshen up before we leave.” I start to move on, and she steps in front of me.
“Thanks for letting him do this for me.”
She seems sincere, but there’s something beneath the surface. I still think she hates me, but there’s pain, too. Heartache.
Loneliness. She’s such a confusing person. Or maybe I’m just confused.
I must be, because suddenly I don’t want her to hate me. I don’t want to cause her more pain. “You don’t have to thank me. Chris cares about you.” I hesitate and softly add, “He’s not going to shut you out, Amber. And neither am I.”
Surprise lickers on her face. “Thank you.” She hesitates, and then reaches for her purse. “We should exchange numbers.
I really want to do that lunch.”
I hesitate. “Okay.” She pulls out her phone and I do the same, and in the process her sleeve rises and I see fresh lash marks. When we inish inputting our numbers, I gently touch her shoulder. “If you need to talk, now you know how to reach me.”
She tilts her head and gives me the oddest look before she says, “Thank you, Sara.”
There’s nothing wrong with this reply, and yet something about it is very wrong. Fifteen minutes later, when Chris and I head to the car, I’m still thinking about it.
Near six that evening I sit at my new mahogany desk, which was delivered today along with chairs and a bookshelf. I’m writing out the goals for my business in a red leather journal; it’s my link to Rebecca. It’s hard to let her go. I still can’t believe she’s dead. And really, no body has been found. Maybe . . . no.
It’s a crazy thought. A ridiculous thought. She’s not alive.
“Paperwork has arrived,” Chris announces, sauntering into the room, wearing a Superman shirt he says is to motivate the kids to be their own superheroes. “Your oicial business documents.” He sets a large yellow envelope in front of me and lounges in my new guest chair.
“Already?” I ask, eagerly reaching for the documents. “We just met with the attorney a few hours ago.”
“I made sure he hurried things along.”
My hero. “I don’t suppose you did the same on my passport?”
“Stephen said there’s red tape, but it will be clear soon.”
“That’s the same answer he keeps giving us.”
He lifts his chin toward the envelope. “Open it and make sure everything is in order.”
My excitement overpowers my worry over the passport, and I remove the forms and start scanning. Chris grabs one of the documents and laughs. “I can’t believe you stuck with ‘SM
Consulting’ for a name.”
I glower at him. “Yes, I did. And don’t even start with S&M
jokes again. It stands for my irst and last name, and it’s good luck.”
The M would still be accurate if I marry Chris, but I don’t say that. We both know. It’s in the air every time we talk about this.
“I’ll be your S&M lucky charm any day, baby,” he teases.
“Unfortunately, not tonight.” He runs his hands over his jean-clad legs and stands. “Tonight I’ll be playing with the boys.
When is Chantal getting here?”
“She has to close up the family shop again for her mom.
Her grandmother is having issues again.”
Now Chris glowers. “I knew I should have had Rey come over.”
“You already have him checking in on me later.” I push to my stocking feet and go to him, wrapping my arms around him.
“I don’t need a babysitter. Chantal will be here, and I’m sure you will text me and call me like some crazy stalker man.”
“Crazy stalker man?”
I grin. “You can be my crazy stalker man any day, baby.”
He doesn’t laugh. “Sara—”
I rise up on my toes and kiss him. “Go play with the boys.
Then come home tomorrow and play with me.”
“You do remember there’s a price for making me worry, don’t you?”
“And you do know that Chantal’s conlict isn’t my fault?
Besides, that doesn’t work as a threat anymore, right? I like the price way too much.”
He gives me a scorching three-second look before he picks me up and sets me on the desk, shoving my dress up my legs. “I don’t have to leave yet, and you need a taste of that ‘price’ right now.” He goes down on his knees and spreads my legs. “Or maybe I’m the one who needs a taste.”
And all I can think as he shoves my panties aside and his mouth closes down on me is, Punish me, baby.
Twenty-Three
By ten o’clock I’m curled up on the bed in shorts and a tank, once again on the phone with Chantal. She has called me almost as many times as Chris and Rey combined. “I’m so sorry, Sara,” Chantal says for the second time in two minutes. “My grandmother is not good, and my mother is a mess.”
I toss the TV remote control on the bed, having muted the movie I’ve been watching. Thankfully, Chris has English satel-lite channels on the monstrous television that lowers from the ceiling, and an old movie has been keeping me company. “Stay with your family,” I reassure her. “We can do a girls’ night another time. I’m perfectly ine. Rey dropped by a few minutes ago, and Chris has been calling and texting with me all evening.” Somehow, I’d inally convinced Rey to keep a meeting with his brother who had some ideas to toss around on Ella’s case. I didn’t want to blow a chance to ind Ella over Rey babysitting me.
Chantal sighs heavily. “I really was looking forward to tonight.”
We chat a few more minutes before hanging up, and Chris messages me right as I do. I glance down at a photo of a row of kids in sleeping bags and smile. He doesn’t need to have kids.
He’s adopting them everywhere he goes.
I lip the TV sound back, snuggle under the covers, and ind an old Seinfeld episode. A good laugh will keep my restless mind busy.
Sometime later my phone beeps with a message and I jump, surprised to realize I’ve dozed of. I glance at the time and see that I slept for an hour, but I smile as I scan several pictures of kids sitting in a circle. The message from Chris reads, Scary story time, with me as the storyteller.
A sad memory of Dylan’s face as he begged Chris to tell him a scary story makes my chest tighten. I text Chris, worried about how this might be afecting him, checking his mood.
Did you ind the boogie man?
Yes, he replies. His name is Leonardo. He disguises himself as an artist.
Relieved at this humor, I laugh and type, I love you, Chris.
I love you too, Sara.
I’m going to take a bath and then head to bed.
I wish I was there for both.
I sigh and type, Me too.
A few minutes later I’m sitting on the edge of the tub when my phone rings, and expecting Chris, I answer without looking. “Sara,” a female voice half shouts over loud music, and my stomach knots with dread.
“Amber?”
“Yes. Sara, I need help.” She sounds upset, maybe crying. “I know Chris is . . . he’s at the charity thing. I . . .” She sobs.
I stand up. “What’s wrong?”
“Tristan and I . . . we had a ight. I’ve been drinking, and he won’t let the coat people give me my keys and purse. I need a ride. Please.” She pauses and I can tell she is walking since the music fades a bit. “My head is spinning and I can’t think . . . I just . . . need to get out of here. Tristan found out I borrowed money from Chris. He’s my Master. You must know what that means. I broke our rules. He’s going to punish me. Please, Sara.
Come quickly.”
All kinds of warning bells go of in my head for her, and for myself. This feels like a setup, but what if it isn’t? I’ve seen the marks on her arms. “Text me your address.”
“I will. Thank you, Sara. Thank you so much. I’ll text now.”
I end the call and sink back down on the edge of the tub with my mind ticking through all my options. I can’t call Chris.
He’ll freak out and leave the museum. If I call Rey, he’ll call Chris and Chris will freak out and leave the museum. He’ll also abandon his meeting with his brother over Ella. I’m not jeapar-dizing inding Ella over Amber. Besides, Amber’s in an abusive relationship with a man, and I don’t even know if she likes or trusts Rey. And what if Rey inds something out about Chris that Chris doesn’t want him to ind out? Chris is too private a person to risk that. No. As much as I want Rey to be an option, he isn’t.
“I’d just rather know you’re safe.” His avoidance is done with an oh-so-casual tone.
I narrow my eyes. “What don’t I know that I should, Chris?”
“Neuville breeds caution in me.”
“But you said—”
He kisses me. “Humor me. I’ll worry if you’re alone.”
“You’re going to make me paranoid,” I argue. “We talked about this before.”
“I can come stay over, too,” Chantal ofers. “We can have a girls’ night.”
I perk up. “That’s a great idea!” Then I turn to Chris. “That way you’ll know I’m not alone, and I won’t be tortured by Rey’s hovering.”
“Hmmm,” Chantal says. “I wouldn’t mind him hovering.”
I glower at her. “You aren’t helping my cause here.”
“Oh, right.” She eyes Chris. “I’ll protect her. I’m pretty tough.”
That draws a chuckle from both of us. “That I don’t doubt, Chantal,” he says, and I am in full agreement.
When her phone chimes she glances at an incoming text and sighs. “I have to go cover the shop. My mom is with my grandmother again. So am I staying over?”
I give Chris a pleading look. “This is a good compromise, and we have a state-of-the-art security system. And I’ll have you and Rey on auto-dial.”
He sighs and says, “I want Rey to come by and check on you. And before you argue, that’s also a compromise.”
I smile. “I can live with that.”
Chantal grabs her purse. “I’m of.” She points at me. “Try to practice. You’re really not giving your French much efort.
You’re going to force me to only speak French to you.” She rushes of down the stairs.
“Hey,” Chris says, pulling me around to face him. “You okay?”
I touch his face. “I’m always okay when I’m with you.” My brow furrows. “What was all that about with Amber?”
“She has some money issues at the Script.”
“So you gave her money, and Tristan won’t be happy about it?”
“No. The two of them have had a turbulent relationship.
He’s not happy about me being in her life.”
I can understand how he feels. “How much did you give her?” I dare to ask.
“Ten thousand euros.”
I gape. “That’s a lot of money.”
“You should see the check I agreed to write to the museum.”
“So you did agree to a donation?”
“As long as my inancial guy sits on the board. I have too many commitments with my charity this year to do it myself.
I’ll never get time to paint.” He turns the topic back to Amber.
“You know I have to help her, right?”
I nod. “Yes, I do. I don’t fully understand why, but I do.” It’s an opening for more explanation, but he simply kisses me and pulls me to my feet, tugging me toward the stairs.
A few minutes later I’m in his studio with him, watching him paint, and I shove away thoughts of Amber. I simply have to trust that our trip out of town this weekend will deliver answers. Even if I have to push Chris to talk.
Friday afternoon, Chris and I are in the elevator headed to the attorney’s oice to discuss some of my last-minute business questions when he announces, “Amber’s stopping by in about an hour to meet with the attorney, as well.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“About her business struggles.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He wraps me in his arms. “Sara—”
I kiss him. “It’s okay. Really.”
The elevator dings but he doesn’t move. “It doesn’t seem okay.”
“It is.” But I feel uneasy about Amber. I always feel uneasy about Amber. I drag his hand into mine as the door opens.
“Let’s go get my business started.”
A few minutes later, Chris and I settle into a chair inside the attorney’s oice and my excitement washes everything else away. We quickly go through my concerns, and it seems my business is ready to launch.
Once Chris and I inish up, I leave Chris to discuss some details about his donation to the museum and head to the lobby, seeking the “toilette,” only to ind Amber has arrived. My unease is oicially back.
She stands up, looking as professional in her black pin-striped skirt and red blouse as I do in my black, slim-cut dress, with a matching jacket and high-heeled boots. “Is it my turn?”
she asks, actually looking nervous.
“Not yet,” I tell her. “Chris has some things to inish up, but he should be fast. We need to head out.”
“He has that charity event tonight, right?”
“Yes.” How did she know?
“I get the Louvre newsletters,” she replies, clearly reading my expression. She shrugs. “I used to follow the art world pretty closely. It was never really me, but I tried because of Chris.”
I suddenly want to be away from her. “I need to freshen up before we leave.” I start to move on, and she steps in front of me.
“Thanks for letting him do this for me.”
She seems sincere, but there’s something beneath the surface. I still think she hates me, but there’s pain, too. Heartache.
Loneliness. She’s such a confusing person. Or maybe I’m just confused.
I must be, because suddenly I don’t want her to hate me. I don’t want to cause her more pain. “You don’t have to thank me. Chris cares about you.” I hesitate and softly add, “He’s not going to shut you out, Amber. And neither am I.”
Surprise lickers on her face. “Thank you.” She hesitates, and then reaches for her purse. “We should exchange numbers.
I really want to do that lunch.”
I hesitate. “Okay.” She pulls out her phone and I do the same, and in the process her sleeve rises and I see fresh lash marks. When we inish inputting our numbers, I gently touch her shoulder. “If you need to talk, now you know how to reach me.”
She tilts her head and gives me the oddest look before she says, “Thank you, Sara.”
There’s nothing wrong with this reply, and yet something about it is very wrong. Fifteen minutes later, when Chris and I head to the car, I’m still thinking about it.
Near six that evening I sit at my new mahogany desk, which was delivered today along with chairs and a bookshelf. I’m writing out the goals for my business in a red leather journal; it’s my link to Rebecca. It’s hard to let her go. I still can’t believe she’s dead. And really, no body has been found. Maybe . . . no.
It’s a crazy thought. A ridiculous thought. She’s not alive.
“Paperwork has arrived,” Chris announces, sauntering into the room, wearing a Superman shirt he says is to motivate the kids to be their own superheroes. “Your oicial business documents.” He sets a large yellow envelope in front of me and lounges in my new guest chair.
“Already?” I ask, eagerly reaching for the documents. “We just met with the attorney a few hours ago.”
“I made sure he hurried things along.”
My hero. “I don’t suppose you did the same on my passport?”
“Stephen said there’s red tape, but it will be clear soon.”
“That’s the same answer he keeps giving us.”
He lifts his chin toward the envelope. “Open it and make sure everything is in order.”
My excitement overpowers my worry over the passport, and I remove the forms and start scanning. Chris grabs one of the documents and laughs. “I can’t believe you stuck with ‘SM
Consulting’ for a name.”
I glower at him. “Yes, I did. And don’t even start with S&M
jokes again. It stands for my irst and last name, and it’s good luck.”
The M would still be accurate if I marry Chris, but I don’t say that. We both know. It’s in the air every time we talk about this.
“I’ll be your S&M lucky charm any day, baby,” he teases.
“Unfortunately, not tonight.” He runs his hands over his jean-clad legs and stands. “Tonight I’ll be playing with the boys.
When is Chantal getting here?”
“She has to close up the family shop again for her mom.
Her grandmother is having issues again.”
Now Chris glowers. “I knew I should have had Rey come over.”
“You already have him checking in on me later.” I push to my stocking feet and go to him, wrapping my arms around him.
“I don’t need a babysitter. Chantal will be here, and I’m sure you will text me and call me like some crazy stalker man.”
“Crazy stalker man?”
I grin. “You can be my crazy stalker man any day, baby.”
He doesn’t laugh. “Sara—”
I rise up on my toes and kiss him. “Go play with the boys.
Then come home tomorrow and play with me.”
“You do remember there’s a price for making me worry, don’t you?”
“And you do know that Chantal’s conlict isn’t my fault?
Besides, that doesn’t work as a threat anymore, right? I like the price way too much.”
He gives me a scorching three-second look before he picks me up and sets me on the desk, shoving my dress up my legs. “I don’t have to leave yet, and you need a taste of that ‘price’ right now.” He goes down on his knees and spreads my legs. “Or maybe I’m the one who needs a taste.”
And all I can think as he shoves my panties aside and his mouth closes down on me is, Punish me, baby.
Twenty-Three
By ten o’clock I’m curled up on the bed in shorts and a tank, once again on the phone with Chantal. She has called me almost as many times as Chris and Rey combined. “I’m so sorry, Sara,” Chantal says for the second time in two minutes. “My grandmother is not good, and my mother is a mess.”
I toss the TV remote control on the bed, having muted the movie I’ve been watching. Thankfully, Chris has English satel-lite channels on the monstrous television that lowers from the ceiling, and an old movie has been keeping me company. “Stay with your family,” I reassure her. “We can do a girls’ night another time. I’m perfectly ine. Rey dropped by a few minutes ago, and Chris has been calling and texting with me all evening.” Somehow, I’d inally convinced Rey to keep a meeting with his brother who had some ideas to toss around on Ella’s case. I didn’t want to blow a chance to ind Ella over Rey babysitting me.
Chantal sighs heavily. “I really was looking forward to tonight.”
We chat a few more minutes before hanging up, and Chris messages me right as I do. I glance down at a photo of a row of kids in sleeping bags and smile. He doesn’t need to have kids.
He’s adopting them everywhere he goes.
I lip the TV sound back, snuggle under the covers, and ind an old Seinfeld episode. A good laugh will keep my restless mind busy.
Sometime later my phone beeps with a message and I jump, surprised to realize I’ve dozed of. I glance at the time and see that I slept for an hour, but I smile as I scan several pictures of kids sitting in a circle. The message from Chris reads, Scary story time, with me as the storyteller.
A sad memory of Dylan’s face as he begged Chris to tell him a scary story makes my chest tighten. I text Chris, worried about how this might be afecting him, checking his mood.
Did you ind the boogie man?
Yes, he replies. His name is Leonardo. He disguises himself as an artist.
Relieved at this humor, I laugh and type, I love you, Chris.
I love you too, Sara.
I’m going to take a bath and then head to bed.
I wish I was there for both.
I sigh and type, Me too.
A few minutes later I’m sitting on the edge of the tub when my phone rings, and expecting Chris, I answer without looking. “Sara,” a female voice half shouts over loud music, and my stomach knots with dread.
“Amber?”
“Yes. Sara, I need help.” She sounds upset, maybe crying. “I know Chris is . . . he’s at the charity thing. I . . .” She sobs.
I stand up. “What’s wrong?”
“Tristan and I . . . we had a ight. I’ve been drinking, and he won’t let the coat people give me my keys and purse. I need a ride. Please.” She pauses and I can tell she is walking since the music fades a bit. “My head is spinning and I can’t think . . . I just . . . need to get out of here. Tristan found out I borrowed money from Chris. He’s my Master. You must know what that means. I broke our rules. He’s going to punish me. Please, Sara.
Come quickly.”
All kinds of warning bells go of in my head for her, and for myself. This feels like a setup, but what if it isn’t? I’ve seen the marks on her arms. “Text me your address.”
“I will. Thank you, Sara. Thank you so much. I’ll text now.”
I end the call and sink back down on the edge of the tub with my mind ticking through all my options. I can’t call Chris.
He’ll freak out and leave the museum. If I call Rey, he’ll call Chris and Chris will freak out and leave the museum. He’ll also abandon his meeting with his brother over Ella. I’m not jeapar-dizing inding Ella over Amber. Besides, Amber’s in an abusive relationship with a man, and I don’t even know if she likes or trusts Rey. And what if Rey inds something out about Chris that Chris doesn’t want him to ind out? Chris is too private a person to risk that. No. As much as I want Rey to be an option, he isn’t.
