Chapter 14
LILA
He didn’t lie about the door.
After taking a shower, patting myself dry, putting on my dress and my shoes, and then collecting my things, including my ripped panties, I put in the number and the door slides open.
I’ve never been more relieved in my life.
Damnit. I need to learn to trust this man.
For a second there, I thought he’d set me up and pull me into that room so he could end me.
Anything’s possible in this house.
I crane my neck out and look down the corridor.
Things seem fine.
It only takes a moment before I hear Henrietta walking upstairs, and my first reaction is to pull back.
No way. I’m not getting back in that room.
What if the access code changes daily like that stupid gate’s access code and I stay locked in there for days?
She’s upstairs anyway, so she can’t see me.
She’s walking and talking to her husband.
I stealthily move away, take the stairs up, check the corridor––there’s no one in there––and then walk into my room.
Sighing with relief, I close the door, turn around, and kick off my shoes.
The room has never looked nicer. Everything is clean and neat. Fresh flowers fill a vase.
I don’t remember them being here.
I walk to the bouquet of roses and examine them. Underneath the vase, a folded piece of paper peeks out.
I slide it out and unfold it with a shaky hand.
‘I know what you’re doing with my husband.’
I step back as if bitten by a snake.
“What the…?”
My voice is shot, my knees shaking.
Is that her? Of course it’s her. Who else can it be?
Has she been in my room?
The idea that Henrietta has walked into my room without my permission makes my skin crawl.
Does she really know what I’m doing with her husband?
Something doesn’t add up.
She wasn’t in the house when we walked in. No one was in the house. She arrived just before he dragged me into that room.
Damon has the place under surveillance.
He’d know if Henrietta snooped on us.
She’s either bluffing––I think she is––or he is part of some creepy game that they’re both playing.
Again?
Please, I don’t want to go back to that scenario.
Disheartened and still holding the piece of paper, I slide into a chair.
What does my intuition tell me?
If he’s part of some game, he surely lost it when we were in that room.
I can’t imagine someone can do what he did to me as part of a plot to compel me to do what exactly?
Everything he said rang true.
Even what he said in the end had the zing of truth.
She’s bluffing then?
She must be.
Isn’t she afraid that he might find out that she came into my room and left this note? There’s only one way to find out what he thinks about it.
I need to ask him.
I rise and move to the door.
A moment later, the door is slightly open, and the faint echo of a dialogue reaches my ears.
They’re having a conversation. It’s nothing passionate. Not an argument.
They’re talking about his business.
His voice becomes clearer as he walks out of his bedroom. She follows him. Neither of them looks my way. They walk toward the stairs.
Maybe they’re leaving.
How could I slip this note to him?
An idea pops into my head.
I spin around, enter my walk-in closet, and try to find my pajamas.
Then I change my mind and storm out. I need to catch up with them and hand him this message.
Wearing my club dress and heels, I rush down the corridor.
Luckily, they’re still in the house.
Their voices float in the air, coming from the kitchen.
“It won’t happen,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I stop by the kitchen door and listen.
“You just have to be careful,” she says.
It’s interesting how mellow her voice is.
If I didn’t know anything about their relationship, I’d think they were just another normal couple.
Realizing it’d look weird to pop in after a few moments of prolonged silence, I clear my throat and click my heels against the marble floor before walking in.
“Oh. You two are home,” I say with a fake smile, and turn left to the big refrigerator graced by the sharp edge of their stares.
I miss the chance of making eye contact with him, and I can’t glance at her for fear of giving myself away.
“It’s a warm night, isn’t it?” I murmur, opening the door and fishing out a bottle of water.
I twist the cap and take a sip before turning to them.
She checks something on her phone, ignoring me.
He looks straight at me.
There’s no way I can move closer to him and secretly give him the note.
He needs to know about this. And I need to witness his reaction.
“Where were you?” he asks in a voice filled with icicles.
I flash a counterfeit smile.
“Keira and I went to a bar downtown. Had a lot of fun,” I say. “We met some friends.”
He purses his lips as if he’s genuinely still mad at me for going out and talking to Frankie.
He surely fools me, so I go on, trying to get a reaction from him, and her, perhaps.
“I met this new guy,” I say, and the woman flicks her eyes away from her phone and studies me.
Standing in front of them, I take another sip of water.
“What guy?” she asks.
“A friend of Keira’s,” I say, purposefully leaving Frankie’s name out.
I may be new to this, but I’m not a fool.
I remember her questions about him the last time I dropped Frankie’s name. ‘Which Frankie? Blah, blah, blah…’ She seemed so curious about something that was not her business.
How many Frankies are in this town that have Frankie’s reputation?
Damon was there too, and she didn’t bat an eyelash when she asked me about him, as if she had no idea who he was.
She knew of him, his relationship with Damon, and her husband’s dislike for him.
I don’t want to clue her in on what happened tonight.
“He’s really nice,” I say, genuinely excited, earning a stern look from Damon.
He lifts an eyebrow at me and rests his elbows on the kitchen island. He sits in his favorite chair with a drink in front of him.
He’s probably not going out again. Although it’s hard to tell with them. They’re always dressed up as if they’re going out.
“I’ll be seeing more of him,” I announce, eager to gauge her reaction.
Wouldn’t that put a pang of doubt into her mind about leaving me a note?
“In fact, we’ll meet again tonight. At his place,” I say.
Henrietta tosses a blank stare at me as if she doesn’t care or doesn’t believe me, so there’s not much opportunity for me to clarify things for her.
“All right. I’m going upstairs,” she says to her husband before picking up her bag and sashaying away. “Don’t be late,” she tosses at him over her shoulder.
She sounds like any other loving wife who plans to spend the night with her husband.
As much as I find it hard to believe that she is playing a game––it crosses my mind, though–-is she?
Is she fucking with me? Does she really know about what happened between Damon and me?
Or is she fucking with him?
Or is she saving the appearances?
Who knows what’s going through this woman’s mind?
I watch her vanish out the door, and I listen to her heels clicking their way up the stairs to the second floor before I shift my focus to him.
His eyes are there, waiting for mine.
He’s gauging my reaction as much as I’m gauging his.
His eyes don’t leave mine as I move closer to him. My back is turned to the door.
If anyone looked from outside––including her––there would be nothing to see. I’m standing next to the kitchen island, drinking my water, when I quietly say to him.
“Don’t be late? What was that all about?”
He searches my eyes, not smiling, not giving much away. And then he listens to her footsteps as they ring upstairs.
“Damon?”
He moves his focus back to me. One hand is wrapped around his drink, while the other slides down.
“What was that all about?” I ask again, not mad, yet not relaxed and casual about it either.
His fingers trail up the front of my skirt, drawing a line to the apex of my thighs.
He stops just as he reaches his destination, presses the soft fabric against my pussy, and swiftly notices I’m not wearing underwear.
“Damon?” I silently call again.
Looking straight at me, he runs his hand up my skirt, riding up my hemline.
I grab his forearm firmly.
“She knows about us,” I say.
He lifts his eyes to mine.
“She’s fucking with you,” he murmurs.
“She left me a note.”
“What note?” he asks, tenderly touching me between my legs.
I open my hand and slide the note across the counter.
“Look for yourself.”
I point to the piece of paper.
It’s unfolded, the written words visible.
He glances at them.
“She’s playing you,” he says, unfazed.
“She was in my room.”
“So did Livia, and the maids.”
“There are fresh flowers in my room. Did you ask them to put them in there?”
“No.”
“So she put them there. She wanted to make sure I saw the note.”
“She might do stuff like that from time to time.”
“She’s creepy.”
He touches me a little harder, and I lose my train of thought.
“She might do something worse than that to me,” I say.
He shakes his head with confidence.
“She has no reason to. If she did that, she’d get killed,” he says dryly. I tense up. “She’s not dumb,” he goes on.
“I don’t like her to walk into my room when I’m not there. What if she’s watching us right now?”
He laughs as he strokes my pussy.
“How come you didn’t know about this?” I ask.
“I’m not checking the footage every single day.”
“Is there a camera in my room?”
“No. The hallways are under surveillance, though. I’ll look.”
“How can you be so sure that she’s not running surveillance in the house?”
My hands are on his shoulders, which is hardly casual if anyone cared to look in our direction.
“She can’t do it. It’s my place. I have it swept for bugs every day.”
I start to relax.
“You do believe in doing things every day?”
“I like doing things every day,” he says with a lustful look on his face. “I love doing things to you.”
He lowers his eyelids, a playful smile arching his lips.
“Leave the door open for me tonight,” he murmurs, almost inaudible. “I might visit you.”
Smiling, I pull back a little and lower my lips to his ear.
“Don’t be late,” I whisper, and then his hand peels off from between my legs, and I collect my water and move out of the kitchen, with no clear answers, only stirred-up desires.
LILA
I get to my room, slide on my pajamas, and tuck myself under the covers.
They talk for a long time.
It’s mostly her. A monotonous voice that must drone on about his business.
What else can it be?
It’s nothing like what she inferred in the kitchen. She sounded flirtatious when she had asked him not to be late.
I’m not so sure that Damon has a good grasp of what is going on.
Their non-relationship relationship is strange.
It’s like one of those empty-shell marriages when people live together but share no physical or emotional connection.
Although she does get jealous.
And Frankie described quite a passionate relationship between Damon and her.
What happened to that?
The more time I spend with him, the less I understand what’s going on between them. We’re actually three people caught in this empty-shell marriage.
Once the summer is over, I won’t have to spend time with them.
That moment can’t come soon enough.
That thought also gives me pause.
With a folded arm under my head, my stare pinned on the ceiling, and the covers up to my waist, I mull over this scenario.
What will happen then?
Will there be anything left of Damon and me?
Will we be exploring sexual stuff?
Will we be together?
How can that happen? What about Henrietta?
The way I see things now, Damon and I will have a fling, and then he’ll go back to his life.
Perhaps he’ll find someone new to replace me.
Funny thing, I don’t like this scenario.
What else could happen to us?
Worse things could happen to us, I suppose.
He could kill someone if I keep seeing other people.
Sighing, I roll to my side and look out the window.
The water moves in the pool, the lights shimmering across the patio doors.
Maybe he forgot about his visiting me.
I can’t sleep, anyway, so why not go for a swim?
I roll off the covers and climb out of bed.
Minutes later, I take the stairs down, wearing only my short robe on top of my two-piece swimsuit.
Swimming at night has become one of my favorite activities in this house. I love it even better when I’m alone.
I truly wish they could go away.
Both of them, yet not necessarily together.
I wish she could go away while he stayed, but all her travel plans have been put on hold.
If she suspects that something’s going on between Damon and me, she won’t leave anytime soon.
It’s maybe for the better.
I move my arms underwater slowly so I don’t wet my hair. It’s all gathered up into a bun.
After a while, the house turns completely quiet.
I climb out, lift a towel from a lounge chair, and run it over my body.
My eyes go up. I should be careful, though.
Although her room doesn’t face the pool, she could be in a different room, spying on me.
My worries shatter when I spot the man standing behind the patio doors on the second floor.
He looks at me, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes boldly finding mine.
I love when he stares at me like that.
It’s like he ponders our future.
Our future? Isn’t that a little presumptuous?
It surely is.
I’ve never imagined someone like him in my life.
It’s not safe to have a man like Damon in my life.
Slowly, I tilt my head in a greeting before some noise makes him turn around, and our silent exchange stops.
It could only be her. What’s she doing, this woman?
These people never sleep?
There’s not much time to think about it as I snatch up my robe and toss it over my swimsuit before I make myself scarce. I don’t need another threatening note from her.
He won’t come ‘visit’ me tonight. And he shouldn’t. He has important things to discuss with his wife.
A pang of irritation sweeps through my body.
I can’t believe myself.
I’m jealous now?
Shaking my head in disbelief, I move behind a thick wall of vegetation and slip back into the house.
Later, I tuck myself under the covers, naked, convinced that he won’t show up tonight.
The irony of it all.