44. Lavender
Another cab ride,a London evening unseen from the window. My fingers tremble as I pull out my phone and text Primrose.
ME: All good?
PRIM: Full of chicken and sweet potato fries, all on the gallery’s expenses. We’re buying movie tickets now.
ME: Have fun. Text Leo the time the movie ends, and he’ll pick you both up.
PRIM: Who says I have his number?
ME: Because you’re not slow.
ME: Ask Leo to call before he gets to the house.
PRIM: Fine, I’ll make sure Leo doesn’t walk Daisy in on you and your hubby and any kinky stuff.
ME:
I can’t think of anything else to say, so I slot my phone away.
Home. What a joke.
I’ve never driven through these gates without Raif or one of his men. I don’t even know the code, so I pay the cab fare and climb out. I hit the buzzer on the intercom but don’t speak because the gate is already trundling open.
The gravel crunches underfoot as I trudge up the driveway.
Why do things never turn out like you want them to? The world never turns to set things right, just to turn you over, or turn you upside down and inside out.
I’m numb as I find the door open. Queasy as I close it behind me. I make for the stairs without looking for him.
In the closet, I pull my suitcase down from the top shelf and begin to fill it with random bits.
Devastation. It’s such a divisive word. Maybe there should be a sliding scale of what it covers because that’s not what I’m experiencing right now. My emotions feel tied up in neat little knots. Something I suppose I’ll have to unravel later.
“Lavender.”
I’m on my knees when he finds me, his tone telling me all I need to know. Regret. Sorrow. I suppose Brin must’ve called ahead.
Maybe he warned him to hide the appliances.
“Lavender, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I chuck a pair of ballet flats into the case, then hold up a sandal to examine it. “I wonder where the right foot is?”
“Would you look at me? Please?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.” Hoarse, aching words, the numbness receding as emotion creeps up and out via my throat.
“Sweetheart.” On his knees behind me, his arms banding my shoulders, his embrace solid. Strong. But my arms don’t want to participate, falling lifeless by my sides.
Hugs are funny things. They come in all strengths and sizes and combinations. Some offer solace, some seek to fortify. Some are lukewarm and perfunctory, offered as convention only. They can be greetings, filled with affection and warmth. Sometimes they offer support and understanding. They’re also grief, and sadness, apologies for promises not met or kept.
This hug. What does this hug mean?
Regret. And nothing at all. Regret he got caught.
“Tell me what I can do,” he whispers.
“Rewind time to before you caught Brin with your fiancée. Walk into the gallery and just choose me.”
“I know it might be hard to believe right now, but that’s what happened.”
“No. You came in to make a fool of me.”
“That’s not true.” I feel his swallow against my neck. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”
My laugh? A dry sob. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“How could I care? I didn’t know you. You were just a means to an end.”
“A means to revenge. Did you love her?” My question is a desperation I regret immediately. But we like to hurt ourselves, don’t we? Pick at those wounds and those scabs.
“No. There was no love on either side. No white-hot fury when I found them together. I wasn’t a jealous lover spurned. They just ruined my plans.”
“For Daisy.”
“Yes. I couldn’t think of losing her.”
“Was it like this with her—like it is with us?”
My shirt rustles with the shake of his head. “Nothing could be like this. Nothing could’ve prepared me for you, for my feelings.”
“Remember in the beginning when I said you should marry Tod? I was wrong. You should’ve married Celine. She’s the one who should be suffering.”
He bleeds my name as he turns me to face him and pulls me into his lap. Idiot that I am, I let him. Bury my face in his shirt as I whisper, “Tell me.”
His chest expands, then contracts, before his words softly flow. “I couldn’t marry Celine, not because I was hurt, but because of the court process. I needed a relationship that looked stable. Committed. I was so pissed that I’d have to start all over again, worried I wouldn’t have time. But then I learned Brin had sisters, so I thought why not? This is partly his fault. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”
“Is this where I’m supposed to tweet?”
“When I came into the gallery, I didn’t know you. I didn’t care about you—why should I care? But the attraction was instant for me, even if it wasn’t for you.”
That’s not quite true, but I refuse to pay him that compliment.
“So you set Tod up.”
“Tod was stupid enough to do the rest himself. Then you walked into my office and doomed yourself.”
“I feel like such an idiot. You’ve done that to me.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“It’s strange how intent doesn’t make the pain any less. You need to talk to your lawyer. He’s a cockhead. But I think he might also be a cokehead.” I blow out a breath. “I went to see him about Daisy. You’ll have to ask her to explain it all to you. She needs some help at school.” If it was possible to feel any more wretched about not putting her first, I think I would. “Thanks for the money, by the way. You’ll be getting it back.” Pitching forward, I pull away from him, crawling from his arms.
“The money is yours.”
“Because I earned it?” I throw back, still on my knees. I feel drained, wrung out, as I use the drawers to pull myself upright, then dust off my skirt.
“Because it’s yours. I was going to tell you tonight.”
“I can’t do this,” I say, staring at my open suitcase. But because I’m me, and because my anger begins to resurface, I kick it closer to the dresser, then use my arm to clear the top, toppling bottles and compacts, lotions and potions into the case.
Tugging on the first drawer, I pull out handfuls of underwear, throwing them in next. T-shirts. Jeans. Socks. Dresses ripped from hangers and dropped to the floor.
And all the while, Raif just sits, his back straight and pressed against the closet door, his legs outstretched. Maybe he’s watching. I don’t know. I can’t look at him.
Because I’ll only bawl my eyes out.
“Fuck it.” I let out an unsteady breath. “Just… get someone to pack it for me. I’ll get Tod to pick it up.” I step around his legs—out of his reach.
“Don’t leave.”
“How can I not?” I say as I reach the doorway. “I opened my heart to you, peeled back my ribs. Exposed all my secrets, my shame, and my heartache. But you didn’t do the same.”
“Lavender, please.”
“No. There can’t be any love, not real love, not without trust.”
I get as far as the staircase when he strikes like a snake, yanking me back.
“Trust, you say. That’s what the money was meant to be, and that”s why it went into your account today. I didn’t want to be another man holding money over your head. I wanted to give you choices. I wanted you to feel like my equal when the opposite is true.”
“Ha!”
“When you’re worth so much more than I will ever be.”
“Let me go,” I grate out. “This is over. I can’t even look at you.” I pull, and he releases. I get to the door, but I don’t look back. “I’ll transfer the money back to your account tomorrow.”
“You’ll keep the money,” he growls, his movements once more animated.
“Fuck you!” I shout. “I want nothing from you.”
“You will keep the money or so help me—”
“Fine!” I bark, my feet thumping on the stairs. “I’ll go on a massive bender!”
“If you want to behave like a child, you go ahead and do what you want.”
“Great! Thanks for the permission. I’ll remember those words when I’m being railed by a rota of expensive gigolos!”
“Lavender.” My name again, this time delivered through gritted teeth.
“Who knows, maybe being screwed by whores might make me feel a little less like one myself.”
At the bottom of the stairs, I find myself in his arms again. No, not his arms, his hands, as he pins me against the wall.
“You’re not a whore.”
“I fucked you for money. Sounds like the dictionary definition to me.” My anger makes my mouth work faster than my brain.
“Say it again, and you’ll regret it.”
“You made me a whore.” I wince as his fist connects with the wall by my head, his knuckles coming off worse against the solid brick. Not that he pauses to examine them as his hand cups my face.
“Stop.” His thumb and fingers tighten. I jerk my chin higher but no dice.
The cokehead lawyer’s words float into my head. “Makes me wonder what kind of magical pussy five million gets you.”
“I hope you feel like you got your money’s worth.”
His mouth crashes against mine. His hand tightens, holding me in place as his lips steal and his tongue plunders.
“I hate you,” I lie, as his mouth slides across my jaw, my neck, the stubble on his cheek a sweet, sweet abrasion.
“I’ll take your hate.”
He groans as my fingers knot in his hair, holding him to me, encouraging the scrape of his teeth.
“You deserve it. I should’ve stuck with Tod.”
“Don’t,” he groans, his fingers pulling my nipple taut.
“It’s true.”
But then his lips return to mine, cutting me off. Teeth nip and tongues thrust, fear and heartache, pinning me against the wall. He grips the back of my knee, lifting it to his thigh as my fingers scramble between us, desperate to own him one last time.
“You’re mine. You will always be mine.”
But for all the wrong reasons.
“Tod will never break my heart.” I press my head to his chest, inhaling a sob. I want to hurt him. Fuck him. Kiss and strangle him all at the same time.
“Because your heart belongs to me.”
“Not anymore.”
His voice bleeds my name as I press my palms flat to his chest. “Stop. I can’t do this.”
Raif halts, his body retracting from mine—just an inch. “Please don’t do this.”
My chest heaves like I’ve been running, my arms trembling as I push. “I can’t. Not anymore.”
Can’t cope. Can’t breathe. Can’t give in to this misery.
He staggers, his eyes bright and wild, hair such a mess. “Lavender, please.”
“It’s over. I can’t love you anymore.”
He doesn’t stop me this time as I turn for the door.