29. SIENNA
SIENNA
His grip is not hurting as he pulls me through the crowd
Not tight enough to bruise, not rough enough to make me stumble. Just certain. He is ahead of me, pulling, and I am trying to keep up in the heels, focused on not falling, on not making a scene out of this in front of all these people who would love to have something to talk about tomorrow.
People look at us as we pass. A man in a dark suit glances over, glances away. A woman near the bar tracks us with her eyes. I force my face into something smooth and keep moving. Nothing to see. We are fine. I am not going to be the girl who causes a scene at the Vanta anniversary party.
I don't know where he is taking me.
We exit the main floor through a side door and the party noise drops behind us. A hallway, low light. Then a short flight of stairs going up. I miscalculate the first step and my heel catches and I pitch forward.
William stops. He turns and in one motion he has both hands on my arms, steadying me. The look I see in his eyes is hot and intent.
"William—"
He doesn’t let me finish. He turns back around, takes my wrist and we keep moving.
Up the stairs. A short corridor. A door.
He opens it, pulls me through after him.
The room is small and dark except for the screens. A whole wall of them, security footage cycling through on maybe a dozen monitors. Two men at desks, both looking up when we come in. On the opposite wall, a large window takes up the entire length of it. And through it I can see the party below.
"Get out," William says, not raising his voice.
Both men stand. One of them looks quickly at me on his way past, and then they are gone. The door closes and we are alone.
I pull my wrist free.
William lets go without resistance.
I take two steps back putting some space between us and I can feel myself getting angry. Genuinely angry.
"What is wrong with you?" I retaliate. "Why do you keep dragging me into rooms and telling people to get out?"
He starts pacing. I can see his nostrils flare while he takes deep breaths trying to calm himself down. I just stare at him, bracing for the moment all his coiled energy releases.
He stops.
Looks at me.
"What kind of games do you think you are playing?"
I don't understand the question. "Games?"
He takes a step toward me. Then another. I hold my ground. My pulse kicks up. I don’t feel threatened. What I feel when he gets this close to me is not what I should be feeling right now.
It is want. Direct, inconvenient want, and I am furious at myself for it.
"I saw you." Another step. "I saw you going behind Adrian's back." He gestures toward the window, the party below. "The second he left you alone you were all over Carter."
I open my mouth. I need to say something. I need to defend myself.
Nothing comes out.
Because what do I say to that? That I am with both of them? That no one is being deceived? I look at William's face and I can see that he has already decided. The words die before I find them.
I look through the window. Carter is back at the bar. By the way he is moving through the edge of the crowd I can tell he is looking for me. I raise my hand without thinking, a small wave.
"One way glass," William says. "We can see them. They can't see us."
I drop my hand. I keep my eyes outside that window. Adrian has now joined Carter and they are now talking at the bar.
And all the while William keeps volleying accusations at me. Saying that he will not let me hurt his friends. That they deserve better.
And something inside me snaps. "Why the fuck do you hate me so much?"
I don't swear. Well, I almost never swear. But, it was effective to shock William into silence.
I take a breath. Then another. I push the anger down far enough to speak from underneath it.
"I know my father fired your father. I know your family had to leave. And the thing with Charlie—" I stop. Start again. "I was sixteen. I was a kid and—"
He starts walking toward me. Slowly.
He brings his face down close to mine and I stop talking.
He looks into my eyes. Then my mouth. Then to my eyes again.
When he speaks his voice is deadly quiet. "Want to know why I hate you? Because you are his daughter. You lived a privileged life inside that house while my family lost everything." A pause. "While I lost everything." Another pause, longer. "You want to know what he did to me?"
He takes off his jacket letting it fall to the floor.
I watch it fall.
His hands go to his tie. He pulls it loose. Drops it.
"What are you doing?" but he doesn’t answer
His hands go to his shirt buttons and he starts jerking each one open. The shirt hangs open. He pulls it off his shoulders and drops it.
He is standing in front of me and my brain goes briefly and entirely offline.
He is broad through the chest and shoulders. Muscled built to perfection. Dark hair across his chest, trailing down his abs, the defined lines of muscle at his sides disappearing into his waistband.
I am breathing hard. My heart seems to want to jump out of my chest. What is he doing?
"See what he did to me," he says.
He turns around.
His back is covered in scars. Long parallel lines crossing from one side to the other. Some have flattened with the years, gone pale and smooth. Some are still raised, the skin around them slightly different in texture and tone.
I know how those scars were made.
He turns back around and I know I can’t hide from him the shock that I feel.
"Your father did that," he says.
He closes his eyes for a moment and I sense that he has gone back in time and is reliving the situation
His jaw is set. His hands hang loose at his sides. He breathes in slowly through his nose, opens his eyes and what I see underneath everything, underneath the hatred, the disdain, the controlled fury is pain. Grief. Old, specific and still unfinished.
I have no words that will make his pain go away. I turn around.
The party below carries on through the glass, indifferent. Someone at the bar is laughing, shoulders shaking. The champagne towers catch the light.
I reach behind my neck and find the bow.
My fingers work the knot loose. The velvet falls away from my back. I hold the front of the dress against my chest with both hands. I feel the air of the room cold on my skin.
And I show him.