47. Chloe
I wake up alone and immediately face an onslaught of my own guilt with a heavy dose of mortification. Rolling over to the middle of the bed, I stare at the ceiling, giving myself a moment with my shame.
I can’t believe I let him jump me when he got home. And I felt a little palpitation when he came in because I was kind of hoping he’d jump me. So stupid. Why? After everything? Why?
I was thinking about him all evening as I busied myself making dinner, wandering around the house, the yard. Running the vacuum after the movers tracked some dirt in. They came a few hours before Derek got in and I had them load all my things into one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Clothes, my desk and bookshelves. The sofa bed from my office. Boxes marked with the contents of each. Boxes of kitchen stuff. I don’t know what’s in any of them; I’m not about to unpack or have a look. Because what would that say about my opinion on this situation? At least I have access to the rest of my toiletries; I made sure the box I noted said Chloe Steele, bathroom didn’t get buried.
Chloe Steele. I’m sure if Adam was home when those movers packed and marked my belongings, seeing that name in the black Sharpie block letters must have stung. Or maybe it didn’t. There was even a woman as part of the crew, for packing my personal things. And that seemed like something my thoughtful, possessive, swoony psycho stalker would do.
I guess he’s now technically my swoony psycho husband. Argh.
As the movers were coming in with the last box, there was a grocery delivery, so I got to cooking and saved food for Derek, not realizing it would get me a reaction even bigger than when I made him a sandwich.
He looked so warmed by the fact that I did something as simple as consider he might be hungry. And somewhere in his travels yesterday, he went out and bought me books. Books I’d have bought for myself. Because he pays attention. And I’m annoyed by how much I liked that he did that.
Yes, he pays attention. He tries to anticipate what might make me happy. He looks at me like I’m his dream girl. He fucks me like he can’t get enough. And like he wants me to enjoy it even more than he wants to enjoy it. But he also wants to enjoy it. And he does. He makes sure we both get off. And then snuggles my feet on the couch while he watches TV and eats the food I made, as if tacos are the most gourmet and delicious thing ever. I woke up with his strong, warm hand on my foot and then drifted off again.
Then I wake up again being carried to bed with him looking at me while he carries me like I’m precious. Something wonky happens in my belly whenever he carries me somewhere. He’s tall. Has those big muscled arms. And when he carries me he looks at me. Really looks at me.
He stood up for me with his mother yesterday. He had a look of pride on his face when I stood up for myself with that media monster lady.
He tried to make a point with my parents the night before last by gushing about what he feels are some of my qualities.
He bought me the company I work for so that it’s mine.
And he’s insane. Obsessed. Dangerous. He’s put me through all sorts of mental turmoil after spying on almost every aspect of my life. And there’s what he’s done with Adam! And he all but admitted to being responsible for Adam’s uncle’s death, which caused Adam’s grandmother’s death! Having people held at gunpoint? Threats of forcing a cop to turn dirty?
Could I get him to go on medication? Would that help? Would that be a way to justify easing into this life in this dream house with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever been with? With the best sex I’ve ever had? With all those promises that make him sound like a dream husband? Would medication make him less dangerous? Would it also make him less… Derek? Because if he’s just another hot guy that’s not obsessed with me, would he be like most every other hot, rich guy out there that’s instead obsessed with themselves? Maybe he’d let me go live my own life if I got him on medication. Maybe he’d realize just how fucked up all of this is.
I pick my phone up and see a text message from him.
Gone to work early. Sorry, baby. Know it’s our honeymoon but I’ll take the rest of the week off. My turn to take care of dinner so don’t cook. I love you.
His turn to cook? A husband who shares the domestic load? A mythical creature indeed. Not unlike the mythical unicorns I was worried about being sacrificed when I lady-scaped for no good reason. Maybe there was a mythical creature meeting and they sent Derek to me so no more of their babies would dissolve.
Speaking of mythical creatures, I have two more sexy novels to read, and it’s been eons since I gave myself a whole day on a couch reading a book. I decide that’s what I’ll do. After coffee. After an Alannah catch-up.
While I’m showering, I can’t help but wonder what he’s going to do for me for dinner today. And that’s crazy. I can’t be entertaining these sorts of thoughts.
It's mid-afternoon and I’m lying on the couch with a fire going. Leaves are rapidly descending from their trees in the back yard. And this room would look absolutely incredible with a soaring Christmas tree. A real one. Filling the house with the scent of fir. I love that smell.
I’ve been enjoying my book, but I’ve been frequently assaulted with random thoughts or images to do with Derek, with a future. A future here in this house. One that has kids. That giant Christmas tree. Snowman-building. And me making dinner while watching him out back raking leaves into a giant pile and jumping into it with kids. And a dog, maybe. Not a purebred from a breeder, either. A rescue dog who gets his forever home with us.
Yeah, I’ve been crafting pie-in-the-sky fantasies today. And I feel a little stupid for it.
And just like in the first book in the series I read, the main male character morphs into Derek in my mind during the sex scenes. I’ve put the book down three times already when that’s happened, but found myself picking it back up a few minutes later.
My phone rings and I sit up, feeling so absolutely lazy it’s not even funny. Alannah’s calling me. I called her first thing this morning but got her voicemail so texted to say,
All is okay here, just wanted to say Hi. Call when you’ve got time.
I did that so she wouldn’t worry. She’s most likely quite worried about me. And I’m not exactly okay. But I am.
“Hi you,” I answer.
“Hey,” she says.
“Everything good with you?”
“Everything good with you?” She answers my question with the same question. But her voice sounds funny.
“I mean… yeah. I guess. It’s weird. We were gonna go on a honeymoon but with that dirty laundry blog thing, it got canceled. Not that I wanted to go, of course, and I don’t even know where he was planning to take me. We saw my parents that same day and that was beyond weird. Derek took charge and tried to put their minds at ease, telling them he’s handling the gossip and not to let it get to them. Talking about inviting them to the Swiss Alps for a do-over wedding and having them come here for a weekend.”
“God,” she mutters.
“Yeah. It was bizarre. Then yesterday we had to go to his parents’, and I spent the morning being grilled, lambasted, and raked over hot coals by their media monster. A judgy woman who tried her hardest to trip me up in an effort to make sure I’m ready for any media attention. It was bizarre. And a photoshoot for any other media releases that go out. I’m afraid to look at social media. Is there still buzz about me?”
She makes a funny sound.
And the line is dead-quiet for a long minute, so I’m thinking I’ve lost her. I look at the screen to make sure we’re still on a call, then call out, “Hello?”
“I’m here,” she says. “So, you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not but I am. I don’t know. This whole thing is crazy. Like… really crazy.”
“Beyond crazy,” she agrees.
“Are you okay? That was pretty stressful for you on Monday at City Hall, I’m sure. I’m trying to get him to leave Craig alone. He… I don’t know if you know but he was planning to make Craig a dirty cop, force him onto their payroll. God knows how many other cops they’ve got, but I think I’ve talked him out of it.”
She makes that funny sound again. Is that a sarcastic, throaty scoffing noise?
“Is Craig okay? Have you talked to him? I talked to him for a minute later that night, and he was trying to let me off the hook. He’s such a good guy. And I don’t know if I’m even supposed to talk about it. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to keep everything I say about Derek between us.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to remind me of that. Though if I forgot, I’m sure he’d remind me again. In a dark alley, probably.”
She sounds absolutely pissed.
“I’m okay, Alannah.”
“None of this is okay, Chloe. Don’t go getting Stockholm Syndrome here, okay?”
I flinch. “I’m not. Definitely not.” My face is suddenly burning hot. “I just… I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because that was beyond amped the other day.”
“I am. No thanks to the heart attack I nearly had yesterday after work when he made it clear that bad things will happen to me if I intervene again.”
“What?”
“He showed up. Cornered me after work and threatened me. He said, ‘Fuck around and find out.’ And I think he did something to that Jeannie girl. I had lunch with Craig today and he told me they’re related. That he stopped by there this morning to check on her and she’s terrified. Wouldn’t tell him why but I have a feeling she got the same message I got. He said there was a bruise on her face, and she said she ‘fell’. Maybe she got an even stronger message than what I got. And Craig said Adam is so distraught he won’t even leave his house. He’s shutting everyone out. So, who knows what else he’s done to Adam.”
I swallow down what feels like broken glass, then ask, “Tell me what happened after work yesterday. What did he do exactly?”
“He grabbed my wrist and pinned me to the wall and got in my face.”
“He hurt you?”
“Not physically, no. He scared me. That’s what he wanted to do. And mission accomplished.”
I feel sick.
“Chloe, this guy is really fucking cracked. I don’t know what I can even do to help you.”
“You can’t help me. I have to figure this out myself,” I say softly.
“Well, he’s warned me against trying to intervene again, so what am I supposed to do? Just leave you to him? Craig is backing off, too. Craig says his hands are tied. We wound up arguing at lunch about this and that’s when he told me about that Jeannie. He’s frustrated, but he’s stuck. And I’m frustrated so I took it out on him and now I guess I’m taking it out on you, too, because I hate being powerless and I feel like that’s what’s happening here. This guy forced you to marry him by having three of us held by a dirty cop with a gun pointed at us. From what you said, he had some other guy hold you and Adam with a gun to make Adam break up with you. Something has to be done. I might be getting myself in big trouble here because he’s probably listening in on this call, but Chloe, what the fuck? When does the gun actually get used? Do I wind up in that unmarked van he threatened with and then disappear without a trace?”
I’ve been holding my breath, so I let it out in a hard exhale.
“I don’t know how I can sit back and watch this happen to you, Chlo. It’s already like you’ve lost so much of yourself because of Adam’s accident. If we can’t get you away from this guy, you’re going to disappear completely, and I don’t want to lose my best friend.”
Tears are streaming down my face now. And I’m angry, too. He threatened her. Scared her. After everything he’s done already, after me granting his marriage demands while she was held at gunpoint he goes and threatens her some more?
And to think where my mind was going today. And how I didn’t even try to stop him last night. I even kissed him back when he kissed me. He’d come back from terrorizing her and I let him fuck me and fed him dinner!
“Fuck. This is so fucked up.” I reach for the box of Kleenex and pull one out.
“You sounded okay when you called, and I just ruined your mood. It must be so hard being in that situation 24/7. I’m sor-”
“No. Stop.”
She’s right. I needed a reality check. Not that I’m about to say that aloud because I don’t want him to get pissed off with her.
“I don’t have Stockholm Syndrome. Believe me. I’ve just been trying to decompress because all this is so, so stressful. And he was out all day yesterday and he’s not here today, so I’ve had a chance to decompress a little. But the fact that he threatened you after he already made me marry him to keep you safe? Not okay.”
“He doesn’t want me interfering again. If I hadn’t done that, I’d have been there for you for your wedding day. As if you even wanted to be there. He’s completely off his rocker anyway, but if he thinks me being there would’ve made the day somehow more magical for you, I don’t even know what to say about his delusions.”
“He has a whole lot of delusions,” I mumble. “I… I need to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah. Be safe, honey.”
“You, too,” I say.
Fuming, I go upstairs and quickly get dressed, put a jacket and shoes on, pocket my phone, my charger, and grab my purse.
Once I’m at the front door, seeing the security panel says the house alarm is armed, I take my phone out, disarm it, then go outside and press the app button to open the garage door. I see my Jeep sitting there and my keys are in the cup holder.