18. Saar
Chapter 18
Saar
“ S aar.” Livia’s voice penetrates my drifting mind.
Shit, I was finally falling asleep. “Yes,” I croak.
I don’t open my eyes, letting the sun warm my skin for a beat longer. Let me sleep, Livia.
I came out to enjoy an afternoon on this huge stone deck. It’s bathed in sunshine today. I can only imagine how lovely it would be in summer.
I’ll miss this place once I’m gone. Which should be very soon.
It took Cal two days, but tonight I can finally catch Corm in the club, and then I can blackmail him to get me the freaking marriage certificate.
It was childish of me to think I could sway him with my demands. But I learned from him. Blindsiding and playing dirty is his language, so now I’ll speak in a way he relates to.
“Mrs. Quinn is here,” Livia whispers.
Now that gets me to open my eyes. I blink a few times behind my dark sunglasses. “Mrs. Quinn, as in…?” Okay, I’m sleep-deprived and kind of slow.
“Mr. Quinn’s mother,” Livia says with urgency, and I scramble to sit up.
“Did you tell her he’s at work?”
“She came to see you. She’s standing in the foyer.” Livia glances back like she could see her. “I have to bring her out here.”
“Okay…?”
“You want her in the living room?” Livia raises her eyebrows.
“Oh no. Why don’t I go greet her while you make us tea?” I stand and grab a backrest, my head swimming. “Do we have some biscuits?”
Livia shoos me forward with her arms. “Don’t keep her waiting.”
“Okay, okay.” Jesus. Livia said Mrs. Quinn is a lovely woman, so what’s with the anxiety?
I wrap myself in my wide shawl and make my way to the foyer. “What a pleasant surprise.”
A tall, slender woman turns to me with a smile. “Here you are. Nice to finally meet you, Saar. I’m Dorothy Quinn, Corm’s mother.”
“Dorothy.” I extend my hand, but she pulls me in for a kiss on my cheek, wrapping her arms around me.
Okay, she’s a hugger. But her honest embrace isn’t as uncomfortable as I’d imagined.
She lets go, eyeing me with the kindest smile. I swallow and clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious.
People have stared at me all my life, but her scrutiny flusters me. Her gaze is warmer than her son’s, but the intensity is similar.
“Do you mind if we sit on the patio?” I croak.
“It’s such lovely weather, let’s take advantage of it. I see you’re redecorating.” She waves her hand toward the plastic sheets covering my handy redesign.
My cheeks warm up. “It’s a work in progress.”
I sit on the lounge chair, and she takes a seat on the other side of the fire-pit table. Closing her eyes, she turns her face to the sun.
Her silver highlighted hair is shoulder-length and wavy, styled but not overdone like my mom used to wear. The woman is beautiful, with her high cheekbones and Corm’s eyes. She’s wearing a pant suit that is chic but casual.
“Livia will make us tea,” I say when she doesn’t speak.
“That’s lovely. Thank you. I know we don’t know each other, but could I ask you to keep my visit between us?”
And the plot thickens. Can I trust this woman?
Livia appears with a tray and sets it between us. Along with a teapot and two cups, there is a selection of mini-cakes, scones, and clotted cream. What the fuck? How did she…? When?
Livia pours us both a cup. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
“Oh, Livia, you’re wonderful. All my favorites.” Dorothy smiles and Livia shuffles away, beaming.
“I wanted to meet you. I’m so glad Corm has you in his life. I was hoping to meet you before the wedding.” She takes her cup. “But I guess the two of you couldn’t wait anymore.”
“Well…” I don’t know what to do here. But I guess this is one of those moments where Corm wants me to deliver on my side of the bargain.
“I was a bit hurt hearing about the elopement,” she continues. “But Corm has been very impulsive lately, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been so worried about him.” She takes a small plate and sloshes a scone with a thick layer of cream.
My mother would rather die than be caught eating with such abandon.
“Worried?” I avoid her eyes, busying myself with my plate. If she’s assuming I know about her quarrel with Corm, I need to tread carefully.
“He always looked up to his father.” She sighs and takes a huge bite.
Such a hungry move from such an elegant creature is shocking, and kind of human. In fact, very human. Something tells me this woman lives unapologetically.
“He took his death hard,” I parrot the narrative, not that Corm confided in me.
She sighs. “Yes, we all did. And Corm is grappling with the letter his father left him. I was worried when he went off on a bender, but now he has you.”
She talks and eats. Is it her way to deal with stress? She looks so composed.
And what letter?
“Perhaps focusing on his future family, becoming a father himself—sorry I don’t mean to assume... just the elopement. Anyway, I’m sure you, this, will give him better focus.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
She pauses and looks at me, wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “Oh.”
I can’t help but feel bad about disappointing her, which makes no sense. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, silly me, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just, I miss him so much. And he says he’s not angry with me, but I know he is. He’s been avoiding me since he read that stupid letter. I don’t know what Connor was thinking.”
What is she telling me? I sip my tea, hoping she’ll continue.
“You know, Corm grew up not knowing, and what good did it do for him to find out now? It feels like Connor forgave me but needed to punish me again after all those years. And the way Corm deals with it is not healthy. He hates Connor and me now. Oh, Saar, I’m so glad he has you. When I read your engagement announcement where he openly admitted he’s been struggling with Connor’s death… I was so relieved.”
I smile at her, trying to understand what the hell she is saying. And also feeling like shit for deceiving her. I didn’t draft the engagement announcement, or the post about the elopement, but I’m playing a role in Corm’s PR story, and she believes the lie.
She is even happy about the lie. Many times in my life have I felt like a fake. But this moment right here feels real. I might have been selling a pretense in front of the cameras, but this up-close and personal?
My stomach drops, and I put the plate down.
“He’s a complicated man,” I say, in the absence of anything real or substantial to say.
“Men just seem that way because most of them don’t know what they want. Corm has been hiding it well, but he’s been lonely, and I guess that gap in his heart grew bigger after Connor passed. Is he looking for his real father?”
What?
It takes all my D-list acting skills to hide my shock, and I doubt I manage, but she seems busy with the mini cakes.
I swallow and rack my brain for something to say. I can’t digest the revelation. I also know nothing about Corm’s search for his real father. Or that his father wasn’t his father.
“Dorothy, Corm is a very private man.” And he certainly doesn’t open up in front of me.
“He is, very much, but I’d hoped…” She wipes the corners of her mouth. “So what are you planning to do now you’ve retired?”
Whiplash anyone? Let’s talk about Corm’s father or Corm some more. Did she come to find out about Corm, and when she got nothing from me she’s just moving on to the next topic?
And yet, I don’t think my mother has ever spent this much time alone with me, or asked about my plans.
“I-I don’t quite know yet.”
“It doesn’t matter; take your time to figure it out. I always thought that staying home with kids was the way to go. And it was for a while, but something was missing. So I took classes and started playing the markets. It’s rewarding, not only financially, and I can still play housewife.” She laughs.
“Wow, how did you choose the class? Did you want to trade before you got married?”
“No, I went to university to find a husband. What I found was trouble in the form of Connor Quinn. He was a daredevil, and I was so impressionable.” She looks beyond me, her eyes glistening. Her entire countenance softens as she talks about her late husband. So much love. “I miss him.” She sighs.
“He was a great husband and a wonderful father.” She shakes her head. “Where were we? Yes, my classes. I just went to the local college and signed up for several classes, from art to finance. Turns out I’m not artistically gifted.” She winks.
“Maybe I should look at colleges. I feel kind of lost.” What is it with the Quinns and my need for honesty? Goddammit.
My cheeks go aflame. I close my eyes, and this time I turn my face to the sun.
“But of course you do. You started working when you were too young. I don’t know you, Saar, but I can imagine you had to take care of yourself way before it was normal for your peers. I’m sure taking a bit of a time now to figure things out is exactly what you need. Enjoy it. Lean into it.”
We continue chatting for another two hours. The words and laughs flow effortlessly with this woman, and as I walk her to the front door, I regret that she isn’t my real mother-in-law.
“Can I invite you for a proper high tea? I’m organizing one at the end of the month. It’s a blind charity date?”
“A blind charity date?”
“Something I came up with. I host a tea, each lady suggests a charity of her choice, and at the end of the event, we draw the winner and pull out our checkbooks.”
“I’d like that. I’ll be happy to come.” If I’m still faking it with Corm. The thought depresses me.
“Don’t tell Corm I came. He likes to do things on his own timeline. I’m sure he’ll bring you over and introduce you soon.”
I force my lips to stretch into a smile. “It’s going to be our secret. No matter what, I’m so happy I met you, Dorothy.”
“What do you mean no matter what?” She frowns.
Oh, shit. “I meant no matter when he introduces us…” I’m becoming quite proficient at lying.
“Hopefully soon. In the meantime, we stay in touch.” She pulls me into a hug.
God, I only just met her, and I’m going to miss her.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, babe.” Celeste shrugs on the screen of my phone.
I look at the two dresses on my bed. The sequined black one would hug my body like a second skin. It’s a glittery variation on the little black dress, classic with a bit of flare.
The deep red one is more daring, exuding sophistication and sensuality. Its sleek, halter neckline elegantly wraps around the neck, leaving the shoulders bare. The bodice is fitted and the skirt flows to the ground. A thigh-high slit on one side reveals a glimpse of my leg, adding a bold touch to the classic design.
“Did Cal tell you to talk me out of it?” I sigh.
“Maybe.” She sits on the sofa in their penthouse, the light from the windows behind her creating a halo around her. “On the other hand, at least he’s so absorbed by your plans he isn’t on my case all the time.”
“What case?” I prop the phone on my nightstand and sit on the bed.
“You know all his smothering care, like do I eat regularly, do I sleep enough, did I take my prenatal vitamins? His love is overbearing sometimes. But the pregnancy sex is really good.” She takes a bite of a banana.
“Stop it. How many times do I need to tell you I don’t want an image of my brother having sex?”
But I’m far from thinking about their sex life. My mind wanders to the man who makes sure I eat regularly and take my iron supplement. It didn’t feel that overbearing. And it certainly wasn’t out of love. And yet, he cares. He cares?
“You know how your niece or nephew were made, don’t you?” She laughs.
“I’m hanging up.” I reach for the phone.
“No, wait, I’m bored. Let me help you choose your outfit,” she whines.
“I thought you didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“I delivered our concern, so I don’t have to lie to my husband. But I can’t wait to hear all the juicy details. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would be coming with you.” She shimmies her shoulders.
I laugh. “That would have been nice. Maybe after you give birth, we can both go.”
“Do you want Caleb to go to jail?”
“Over our sex club visit?”
“Over killing any man who looked at us while there.”
“Yeah, fair point. Ask him to take you,” I tease, but she doesn’t laugh it off.
“Maybe I will. Or I’ll take him for his birthday. Okay, scout it out for me. What are you wearing?”
God, I love her. Not only does she make my brother ridiculously happy, she has this easy-going flare about her that is contagious.
I pick up the black dress and pose for her. “This one is simple, but not boring.” I switch the dresses and hold the red one in front of me.
“Hm, both are a huge upgrade from your current hobo style.” She takes another bite of her banana.
Celeste is a walking-talking, ultimate classic-elegance personified. The woman missed her time by a few decades, because she would have been a perfect Golden Age movie star.
“Hobo? Again, I went to an animal shelter,” I protest, even though I ended up in the shelter by accident.
“Every day since you returned from Europe?” She raises her eyebrows. “When you were stopping by in between your jobs for a few days here and there, wearing comfy clothes and no makeup seemed like a reasonable choice. But you’re pushing that comfy style a bit too far now.”
“I hate wearing makeup,” I mumble.
“Do you hate plucking your eyebrows?” she deadpans.
“It’s just a phase. I like being comfortable.” Why am I defending myself? I can wear what I want. If I knew what I wanted. “Which dress should I wear?” I snap.
“Babe, all I’m saying is that it feels like you’re getting a bit too comfortable. Challenge yourself a bit.”
“In my closet?” I quip, but I know she’s no longer just talking about my wardrobe.
She sighs. “Wear the red one if you want to draw attention to yourself.”
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
“I think Corm had no right demanding you remove that post and then announcing the elopement. He’s breaking the deal, and I think he deserves to sweat a little. Is catching him in the sex club the best way to deal with the situation?” She shrugs.
“So you think it’s a mistake?”
“Not necessarily. But escalating the war between the two of you might not lead you to your trust fund.”
I sag on to the mattress. “This is such a fucked-up situation.”
“The sooner it’s over, the better. You need to get away from him and finally focus on yourself.”
“Yeah.” I smile sadly. “I better go get ready. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Good luck tonight, and don’t spare any details tomorrow morning.”
You need to get away from him and finally focus on yourself.
The irony is Corm has been encouraging me to focus on myself. He’s been caring for me in his own roundabout way. Plus we had mind-blowing sex.
And yet… we still end up on opposite sides of the barricade. Life was easier when I hated him.
Now?
A part of me wants another glimpse of the man who cares and encourages me—and delivers the best orgasms—but a part of me can’t even look at him because of his games.
The man is utterly infuriating. But more infuriating is that I don’t hate him as much as I used to. Goddammit.
And don’t get me started on the bomb his mom dropped. Yes, there is curiosity cruising through my veins, but there is also a stupid—and quite selfish—sense of dejection. I shared my fears with him, and he never even eluded to the turmoil of his situation.
I take a shower, blow-dry my hair into loose waves, and apply minimal makeup. The whole routine takes less than forty minutes, but the task itself gives me some sense of purpose.
Maybe taking care of myself is the first step in self-discovery. On a whim, I pick the red dress and call an Uber.
As soon as the car pulls up in front of the club, my stomach constricts with both excitement and dread.
I’ve never been to a sex club, and my curiosity is piqued. Corm hasn’t come home for a few nights now, so I assume he’s here.
But there is a part of me that hopes I won’t find him. It makes no sense, because if I don’t find him here, then I have no ammunition to fight for the stupid marriage.
He’d better be here, because I fucking have had enough of this dependency on other men. In any case, I hope his people will report to him where I am. Shit. What if he doesn’t come even then?
I shed the thought and get out of the car in front of an unassuming residential building. It’s a brownstone like so many others in Chelsea. What the hell? Did I get the address wrong?
The soft glow of the streetlamps reflects off the wet pavement while a light drizzle kisses my face. New York is having fun with the April weather.
Okay, showtime, before I look like a wet puppy. I square my shoulders and take the few steps to the front door, half disappointed I’m probably at the wrong address.
The door swings open. “Good evening, ma’am. Isn’t the street quiet today?” a man in a tuxedo greets me.
“I prefer it a bit more crowdy,” I respond with the code Cal gave me.
He steps to the side and lets me in. My heart beats so fast and loud, I wonder if he can hear it as I step into a tiny, dark reception area.
“Welcome to The Velvet Room.” A young hostess dressed in a red corset and dark flared pants smiles from behind a sleek black counter. “May I have your phone?”
“My phone?”
She draws her eyebrows together, still smiling. “No phones are allowed here. Is this your first time?”
How am I going to take pics of him? Goddammit. “Yes, my first time.”
I breathe in and out, calming my nerves. Not that the intake of oxygen does anything. I hand her my phone.
“Would you like a tour?” She puts my phone into a small compartment in a cabinet behind her. She locks the small door and gives me the keys.
“No, I think I’ll just get a feel tonight.”
“Good. Do you need a mask, or do you have your own?”
“A mask?”
She smiles at me. “Everyone wears them in the common areas. We pride ourselves on discretion.” She hands me an intricate black lace mask. “If you need anything, my colleagues inside will help you.” She turns to the black door behind her and swipes a card in the reader. The door clicks open. “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I tie the sash around my head and cover my upper face.
Behind the door, a large lounge opens up. It’s like they gutted all the walls in this place and opened up the floor.
To my side is a bar, and the floor is mostly filled with haphazardly spread comfortable sofas, lounge beds, or armchairs.
The light is dimmed, but the place is inviting. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this place is like a modern version of a high-end speakeasy.
Luckily the bar is just along the back wall near the entrance, so I don’t have to walk through the room to find a seat.
I was prepared to look for Corm; but I didn’t quite appreciate how it feels to be a lonely woman in this environment.
The majority of the patrons are men, most of them having women by their side, but those women are probably working here. The music is demure; the conversations are hushed.
Some people are kissing. I spy a woman on her knees, her partner panting with his head thrown back. He has silver hair, and relief floods me. Okay, I guess I’m not as ready to confront Corm as I thought.
What do I care who he is with? Because if I’m completely honest, I want him to be with me. I don’t have a claim on him. And yet…
I find a stool at the bar and sit, scanning the room. Will I recognize him in his mask? If Cal wasn’t such a pain in my ass, I would have asked him more questions and come better prepared. Well, too late for that.
“What can I offer you?” A young woman dressed in the same outfit as the receptionist leans over the counter.
“I’ll have whiskey.” I always liked the smoky taste and the warm feeling.
Her face stretches in a wide smile. “Great choice. Macallan?”
I nod. I’m paying for this with Corm’s credit card for household expenses, so I may as well indulge.
My eyes dart around the room, but I don’t think I see him anywhere. Two men stand and go up a winding staircase. I should have gotten that tour. But I guess I would have to explore myself.
“Here you go.” The bartender places a crystal tumbler on a velvet coaster beside me.
“Thank you. What’s up there?” I take a sip, reveling in the smooth taste.
“Private rooms of all sorts, for all kinds of kinks. Is this your first time?”
I nod.
“Good for you. I love it when we have female customers. I hope you’ll have fun.”
I don’t think I will, but well, I might enjoy a glass of good whiskey. I sip on my drink, strategizing about my next move.
The music changes, and the room gets darker with spotlights illuminating a stage across the room. I didn’t even notice it was there.
A woman in a satin robe saunters to the middle of the stage, and a swing lowers down from the ceiling. A sex swing. I should look for Cormac, but instead, I’m drawn to what’s happening on the stage.
I’m not the only one. The murmur in the room quiets down as everyone turns their attention to the stage.
My heart hammers in my chest. I should go up and look for him, but if he’s in one of the private rooms, I won’t be able to find him.
That’s what I tell myself as my attention stays glued to the beautiful woman who now sheds her robe. She is wearing a lacy lingerie top that exposes her breasts, and a matching garter with stockings, no panties.
Two men join her and lift her to the swing. It’s almost like a dance performance, just a bit salacious. They tie her wrists and ankles, and before they leave the stage, they give the swing a little push.
“Well, gentlemen, are you ready for the show?” Her voice fills the room. She must have a mic I didn’t notice.
Her voice is melodic, with a tone of jest and a lot of confidence. Like she’s the one ready for the show and enjoying it.
Her presence on the stage is all-consuming. She is exposed, swaying gently, but somehow also powerful. Despite being trapped, she exudes a similar confidence to my brothers, my father, or Corm.
A man in a suit in a mask walks on the stage. He’s well built, his muscles bulging under his clothes. I don’t see his face, but I imagine he’s handsome. Besides that thought, he looks like any other man in the audience.
He approaches the swing and traces his hand between the woman’s breasts down to her pussy. He cups her roughly, and her gasp echoes around.
I hold my breath, a tingling sensation swarming in my core. What is this? Like a live porn performance?
The man on the stage unzips his pants and his cock springs out. It is live porn, only somehow better.
I grab my glass and gulp two long sips. On the stage he pulls at some ropes, and the woman is now tilted with her head facing down, and her core aligned perfectly to his height. Two projections light up on the wall behind them, showing the couple from different angles.
It’s official: this is the first porn that has ever aroused me. Jesus. I’m panting, a hot ache spreading inside me, and they haven’t even started. The man gives himself a tug and pushes inside her aggressively.
The room fills with appreciative sounds, and other sounds that suggest the audience is inspired. I’m so out of place, and yet strangely grounded.
“Is this your first time here?” A thrilling, chilling drawl shatters the world around me.