22. Sadie
22
SADIE
T he answer is grey.
Cale’s bed is covered in grey sheets. They must have an impressively high thread count because sleeping on them is as comfortable as sleeping on a cloud made of cotton balls.
In spite of the cloud comfort, I wish Cale had just let me sleep on the couch. I feel rotten for taking his bed for the past three nights but he insisted.
As for pictures, the walls of Cale’s loft in lower Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood don’t have any pictures hanging at all. There’s lots of exposed brick, wooden beams and high windows that get covered with remote control blinds at night.
This is not the habitat I would have imagined for Cale.
Strangely, he has houseplants. Real ones. The clay pot sitting in a black metal plant stand beside the kitchen window is filled with trailing ivy. A small tree with waxy leaves lives in a ceramic pot parked beside the sofa.
Because it’s a loft, the design is wide open, however there are sliding glass pocket doors separating the bedroom from the living room and the living room from the kitchen. The only completely enclosed space is the bathroom and thank goodness for that because I’ve been spending a lot of time in there.
The drive from the beach house to Manhattan took forever. Cale needed to pull over at least a dozen times to let me puke. Even after my stomach was empty I felt too dreadful to do anything except stay slumped in the passenger seat, occasionally dry heaving in between moans of misery.
After a torturous drive across Long Island and over bridges and through tunnels, Cale decided I was too weak and dizzy to risk walking. He left his car idling outside the building and carried me up to his place. What a lovely moment that would have been if only I hadn’t been flecked with my own vomit.
The next twenty four hours were spent in a nauseous daze. When I wasn’t getting intimately acquainted with Cale’s toilet I was sleeping on the cloud sheets. At one point I woke up to the surprise that my suitcase had magically appeared. Cale had sent someone to go fetch it from the beach house and bring it here. How thoughtful of him.
Cale checked on me every couple of hours and kept trying to coax a few sips of liquid down my throat. When that didn’t work very well he brought in a mobile medical team to give me IV therapy. When I asked him to please burn the peach dress, he bagged it up and assured me I’d never have to see it again.
It’s now the morning after the IV treatment and I feel better. Not well enough to sit down to a loaded omelet breakfast but human enough to get up and take a shower. Cale isn’t here but I suppose he has better things to do than watch me sleep in between running to the bathroom.
Since I don’t feel like making any public appearances today and my pride is already smashed beyond repair, I take my time in the shower, get dressed in blue loungewear pajamas and rub my wet hair with a towel.
My phone has been turned off for the most part. It’s no fun to be reminded of recent current events. The only reason I’m turning it on now is to see if there are any new texts from Gus.
She sent a picture of Tinkerbell. The puppies are growing and will be larger than their mother. Tinkerbell has filled out a lot since we took her in. Her ribs are no longer visible and her skin doesn’t sag. Her coat is much healthier and the constant fear in her eyes has disappeared. She’s still wary of strangers, especially men, but she has made so much progress since she arrived at Bright Hearts. If not for Cale, she’d probably still be in the clutches of James Foster.
Gus only sent the picture of Tinkerbell fifteen minutes ago so I take a chance she’s free and stretch out on Cale’s bed while placing the call.
She picks up immediately. “Hey cupcake, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve just crawled out of the grave but in a good way.”
“That’s an improvement.”
“Thanks to Cale. He hired a medical team to make a house call with an IV infusion.”
“Did he?” she says slowly. “I hope for his sake he really is taking care of you. Unless he wants to confront the fury of a small town veterinarian with free-spirited fashion sense.”
“I doubt he does. And he’s taking excellent care of me.”
“Then I’ll set aside my fury,” she says, then sighs. “Well, I guess you must have seen the news.”
“I’ve been actively avoiding the news. Cale summarized the details and then I made him swear to never mention them again.”
Footage from the Hamptons Horror Wedding quickly went viral. Seventy-two guests, including the bride, most of the wedding party and Asher Wingate, the owner of the New York Dukes hockey team, all ate food contaminated with salmonella. The culprit was found to be the lettuce greens and there’s now a multi-state recall in effect.
Naturally, there are plenty of videos of the chaos in circulation and they’ve been viewed millions of times. For the rest of my life I’m likely to run into people who recognize me as the Barfing Maid of Honor.
Maybe I should don a disguise. On the other hand, I might be doing this all wrong. I could embrace the infamy. Sell t-shirts. Or offer to do paid promos for Pepto Bismol.
I’ll think about it when the sting has worn off a little. Gus is tactful enough to leave the topic alone. Instead she talks about what I’ve missed at Bright Hearts. The longing to be back home where I belong hits hard. This trip has been a nightmare. The only good part has been the time I’ve spent with Cale. And even that becomes a bit tainted when I’m reminded that Cale bore witness to my salmonella-induced vomit fest.
Before long, Gus needs to end the call in order to go neuter a cat. Cale hasn’t returned and I’m trying to stay off the internet in order to avoid running across video clips of my starring role in the Hamptons Horror Wedding.
I should have packed a book for the trip. Cale probably wouldn’t mind if I raid his bookcase for some reading material. The three-shelf bookcase on the wall opposite the couch contains an eclectic collection. There are personal finance books, volumes on the history of New York and a row of worn paperbacks. The paperbacks all have creased spines and look old. There are a lot of Tom Clancy titles, as well as John Grisham. I pick up a Dean Koontz book and note the faded cover. These old paperbacks are clearly important to Cale for some reason. I slide the book back into place with care.
My eyes move to a framed photo on top of the bookcase. The couple in the photo are Cale’s parents. I’m certain of this even though I’ve never seen them before. Cale’s father is tall and striking, with vivid green eyes and a face full of laughter. His mother is lovely, with black hair and a sweet smile. They’re young in the photo, perhaps my age. The boardwalk they’re standing on looks like the one at Jones Beach. And the way he has his arm protectively curled over her shoulders reminds me of the way Cale draws me close to his side at the first hint of any threat.
There’s a second framed picture on top of the bookcase. This one is a studio five-by-seven portrait of Cale and his brother. Luca is only a baby here, probably not even walking yet. He’s being held in the lap of his big brother, who beams with pride. This would have been taken before their parents died, before their world was turned upside down and they were placed in the care of their ruthless uncle.
I wonder where his Elton John record album is. I’ve seen no sign of it. I hope Cale didn’t throw it away. That would be blasphemous. I don’t believe he’d throw it away.
The sound of a key turning in a lock startles me. The apartment door swings open and Cale steps inside. He’s holding a white paper bag and halts at the sight of me standing in the living room and examining his possessions.
“You look better,” he says and closes the door.
“Thanks. So do you.”
Why did I say that?
Cale looks the same as he did yesterday and the day before that. Effortlessly hot. He’s unshaven and dressed casually in black jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, exposing his impressive arms.
He doesn’t seem to notice my dumb comment. He crosses the room and holds out the paper bag. “In case you’re hungry. The scones won’t be up to Peggy’s standards but it’s the best I could do.”
Peeking into the bag, I see a collection of buttery pastries that would be extremely tempting if my stomach wasn’t recovering from a full scale revolt.
Cale nods to the bookcase. “Looking for reading material?”
“Yes. I forgot to pack my own.”
“I don’t have much of a selection but there’s a bookstore down the street. Tell me what romance novels to look for and I’ll go get them.”
“Wow. Romance novels and scones. A window into my heart. Have you been reading my diary?”
“No need. You have a habit of leaving books lying everywhere around your house. I could hardly move without tripping over rakish dukes and wily pirates.”
“I’m not immune to guilty pleasures.” I gesture to the bookcase. “Is Tom Clancy yours?”
“The paperbacks belonged to my dad.” Cale shrugs. “I don’t have too many of his things.”
I look at the photo of Cale’s parents again. His resemblance to his father is particularly strong. The same broad shoulders and the same eyes. But the humor in the man’s face reminds me more of Luca, whereas some indefinable quality in the more reserved woman beside him was passed down to Cale.
We’re all made from bits and pieces of the people who came before us. This means I’m half Asher Wingate. What a disconcerting thought.
I switch my gaze to the photo of the Connelly brothers. “Is Luca still in town?”
“He left yesterday. But he said he hopes you’re feeling better. And he also complimented your aim.”
“My aim?”
“You went all exorcist demon and spewed right in your sister’s face.”
I wince. “Oh yeah. I blocked that part out. I guess no one is a fan of Hadley.”
“You guessed right.”
I must be truly on the mend after the food poisoning ordeal because I can’t stop staring at Cale’s lips and recalling how it felt to be kissed by him.
Cale’s attention is fixed on the picture of him with his brother. The crease in his forehead indicates that some of the thoughts tumbling through his head are troubled.
“You must be very proud of Luca,” I say.
“Of course I’m proud. My parents would have been very proud too.”
“Maybe he’ll move back to New York. I’m sure you miss him a lot.”
Cale is already shaking his head. “He should stay there.”
“Because you don’t want him near your uncle?”
I’m sure I’ve overstepped a boundary. Trash talking the head of Amato crime family isn’t the wisest move. Cale would be justified in telling me to keep my mouth shut.
To my surprise, he doesn’t. He stares at me for a very long, very penetrating moment, then says, “Yes.”
Cale doesn’t command me to keep this a secret. He implicitly trusts that I’ll do so without being told. That level of confidence puts me in a sharing mood.
After setting the bag of scones on the coffee table, I walk over to the couch and sit down, pulling my knees up and hugging them. Cale sees this is a cue to join me on the couch and I wait for him to settle in before speaking.
“I never told you much about Grant,” I say. “But since we’re married, I feel like I owe you the story of why my ex is my ex.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Sadie. But I’m listening.”
I take a deep breath. “First, I need you to promise something.”
He raises an eyebrow and waits.
“I need you to promise that you will engage in no acts of retaliation.”
Cale sits up straighter and a spark of anger lights up his eyes. “If that motherfucker did something to hurt you I’ll-”
“Shush.” I clap my hand over his mouth. “None of that.” I take my hand away and wiggle my pinky. “Swear it.”
He scowls at my finger. “What?”
“Pinky swear. It’s the most binding promise on earth.”
“You want me to pinky swear that I won’t tear Grant Gallant’s throat out?”
“Yes please.”
He sighs. “Mercedes.”
“Carmine. It’s not what you think. Now pinky swear.”
He lets out a cross between a groan and a growl. But he grudgingly extends his hand and lets me hook his pinky finger.
“Glad that’s settled.” I release his hand and get comfortable. “I haven’t even told every detail to Gus. You’re hearing it first.”
He hasn’t completely lost his scowl but I have faith in the power of the pinky swear.
“Okay, I’ve known Grant forever. He’s three years older but whenever his family was around we kind of got thrown together. His mother even used to joke that one day we’d get married. We never dated until my last year of college. We had plenty of fun, at least for a while. And it was a nice change to be the temporary recipient of my father’s approval. I think that’s why I overlooked a lot, like how our plans always centered Grant, even our long term plans. It took time for me to understand that I was losing more of myself every day. I’m sure I would have eventually called the engagement off. He just accelerated the timeline with what he did.”
Cale hasn’t moved a muscle. “What exactly did he do?”
Considering my recent brush with shame and infamy, I shouldn’t feel flustered over confessing my darkest secret to Cale. As secrets go, I’m sure other people, including Cale, keep far more disturbing ones. It’s the humiliation factor that’s bugging me.
I pick at a loose thread on my baggy lounge pants and assemble the words before looking up to meet Cale’s eyes. “He recorded me. Well, recorded us . Being, you know, intimate. Without my knowledge. And then he shared the videos. I only found out because he accidentally sent me a link to a forum where he’d posted them.”
I don’t even realize how emotional I’m getting until I feel a tear slip down my cheek.
“Needless to say, I freaked out. We were already engaged. Grant panicked and was full of apologies. He took the videos down and said he’d destroyed all the footage. But when I promptly dumped him he got nasty. I was too embarrassed to tell everyone what really happened. To make matters worse, Grant has implied that he still has the videos. And that he can post them anytime he decides to.”
Cale stands up and walks away. I’m really confused until he returns seconds later with a box of tissues. Gently, he removes a tissue from the box and dabs at the tears on my cheeks. His mouth is set in a grim line but I have no doubt he’s fuming over this revelation. The gesture is so tender and caring that now I’m just falling for him harder than ever.
Falling for him.
Yes, I can’t help it. I’m crazy about my husband. This was never part of our deal but my hormones don’t care about deals. They just want to jump into Cale’s lap.
Cale hands me the tissue box. I take a deep breath.
“So now you know the sordid truth about why I’m not Mrs. Gallant’s Steakhouse. And I trust that your pinky swear won’t be broken.”
“It won’t be,” Cale says. “The Gallant’s Steakhouse prince will keep his throat intact.”
Perhaps I should have been more specific that the rest of Grant ought to stay intact as well. I loathe violence and no matter what Grant has done, I won’t be the cause of any violence on my behalf. I’m not sure it would do much good to coax Cale into another pinky swear.
Anyway, I don’t feel like talking about Grant anymore.
“I like your apartment,” I tell Cale. “Is it yours or are you renting?”
“Bought the place two years ago.”
“Nice. This neighborhood isn’t cheap.”
“I know.”
I’m hesitating to ask the next question. But if Cale wants to tell me the subject is none of my business, then let him say so.
“What do you do, Cale? I mean, aside from working for your uncle. Clearly, you do extremely well financially.”
“Clearly,” he says. Then he shrugs. “I had a small trust from my parents and I started out with stock investments. Then along came cryptocurrency and when most people balked at the idea I went all in. Turned out to be a good idea.”
I chew the corner of my lip. “So you don’t really need to work for your uncle, do you?”
Cale falls silent. He looks away while I hug the tissue box.
“Yes I do, Sadie,” he says. I know him well enough to detect some sadness. And a lot of finality.
When I’m a split second away from reaching for his hand, Cale leaves the couch. He passes the bookcase and picks up the photo of him and his brother. He holds it in his hands, staring at it for a moment, then puts it back and walks to the nearest window.
He stays there for a while, just looking at the world outside and yet perhaps seeing something else entirely. I stare at him, memorizing the way he stands when he’s lost in thought and admiring the planes of his strong back.
As eager as I am to return to Bright Hearts and leave the appalling wedding memories behind, I wish my flight wasn’t tomorrow. When I leave here I have no clue when I’ll be seeing Cale again. The idea is almost unbearable.
“Make a list,” he says, still facing away.
“Okay. Should I add anything in particular?”
He turns and flashes a quick grin. “Make a list of any books you might want and I’ll go find them.”
“That will be a lot of books. Like, A LOT.”
“I’ve got time and I’ve got money.”
“I’m not sure they’ll all fit inside my suitcase.”
“Then I’ll buy you an extra suitcase.”
“You think of everything. Did you really burn the peach dress?”
“To a crisp,” he says and opens the drawer of a small desk. He pulls out a notepad and pen and sets both down on the wooden coffee table. “Go ahead, be ambitious.”
As I pick up the pen and paper, I’m sure that if I wasn’t falling in love with Cale Connelly before, he just sealed the deal.