Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Kaitlyn
Why is the room so hot?
And why does every muscle ache? The way I feel right now? One would think I just got done doing a hard session at the gym, not spending the night tossing and turning in my bed for hours, until sleep finally claimed me.
Not that I even have a current gym membership to begin with.
After the epic fail that's forever known as New Year's Resolution of '23?
Let's just say I'm not in a hurry to renew that card.
Plus, I love ice cream more than I love sweating to the oldies while pushing my body to its limit. Which, admittedly, not very far...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sounds of my alarm going off shatters the silence, and yet, I can't bring myself to move out of bed.
My mind more focused on trying to chase fragments of last nights dream, knowing that something important had happened, and yet unable to remember what or why.
Every time I almost latch onto one fragment it fades away. Teasing me with some unnamed promise.
Beep. BeeP. BEEP.
The sound progressively gets louder as I continue to ignore it, eventually forcing me to give up on the dream and slap the button on the obnoxiously demanding device. Honestly, I don't remember it being this annoy...
"It can't be..." I whisper, disbelieving what is sitting right there, while a chill races down my spine. "I know I left you in my purse..."
Sunlight streams through the blinds, shining upon Sentinel. The glare causing me to squint as I move away, proving that this is all too real. That there's no way I'm dreaming.
"I must have had more wine than I thought..." I continue staring at the statue, trying to remember more than just the dream.
Josh called, yelling and accusing me of stealing the statue. Something I know I didn't do but... somehow Sentinel was in my purse.
Not surprisingly my dinner was cold when I got to it. But that was fine, since I had lost my appetite. At least for food...
Instead I decided to have a dinner made of the more liquid variety. But I swear I only had one glass...
Maybe two...
And after?
Nothing...
The rest of the night is completely, utterly, blank.
I don't remember coming to bed, let alone changing into pajamas. Nor bringing the statue to my room. Why would I? I'm a hundred percent sure I left Sentinel in my purse so I wouldn't forget it, when I go to the party.
A shiver works its way down my spine at just thinking of what Josh will do if I show up without it. No, there's no way I would risk that.
Sighing, I roll over, slowly pushing my body off the bed. A nice hot shower calling my name.
I continue to ignore my phone as it dings again, knowing it'll be another demanding rant from Josh. After reading the first three I decided it was better to ignore the messages than to try and respond.
So, instead I'm standing here, in front of the mirror, begging my hair to dry faster.
Everything needs to be perfect.
I can't afford to make any mistakes.
My hair has to be done up in the latest style, held together with the strongest of sprays because, heaven forbid, a single strand comes loose.
Makeup must be on point. Bold but not too bold. Demure yet alluring.
My entire appearance must be without a single flaw. I must be the perfect date. The very definition of a trophy wife. Seen but not heard while simultaneously drawing jealous men and potential clients alike to Josh's side.
So, here I stand, in nothing but a towel as I scowl at my reflection while my arm is quickly becoming dead weight from holding up the hair dryer. The latest Vogue magazine is propped against the mirror, held in place by a bottle of lotion on one page and a bottle of body spray on the other.
Meanwhile my phone dings with another message.
Doubt starts to creep in, as I begin pinning up my hair. *What if the venue changed and he's just letting me know?*
Surely showing up late, even fashionably late, would be worse than not showing up at all.
Or maybe it's just another message, literally screaming at me in all caps, about how manipulative I am.
How I'm just using him to gain favors and make my way up the corporate ladder.
That I'm nothing more than a whore and will never amount to anything more than a dirty slut who will always be begging for scraps.
I wish they made an app that would read these messages out loud. Then I wouldn't have to waste time reading them.
Surely the worst news possible would sound better when spoken by some hot, random stranger. Maybe in a deep, exotic voice?
As I begin pinning my hair, a deep, masculine voice whispers in my mind. The phantom memory sparking echoes of a night where my body was thoroughly worshiped by a shadowed lover. A night of passion that I know had never happened and yet some part of my soul screams that it had.
The only thing I'm sure of? Two whispered words:
Little dove...
Everything else is a blur, my mind obsessively focusing on those words as I finish getting ready.
Smokey cat eye on point- check.
Hair threatened to an inch of its life- double check.
The cool, silky fabric of my black cocktail dress hugs every curve of my body as it slides into place, awakening every sense as another faint memory stirs.
One of light touches in the dark. Of hot breath against my skin while a tongue does some deliciously wicked things to my body.
An unknown language spoken in tongues, branding every inch of my soul with each whispered caress.
A memory that somehow, I know doesn't include Josh.
Only when I'm as ready as I can be do I leave my room, Sentinel tucked firmly within this evening's purse as I scroll through the email inbox on my phone. Searching for the one I received a few weeks ago with the invite information for the fete.
Another message pings on my phone, thankfully its notification sound is the plain, boring one that comes standard with every phone. The preview banner reassuring me that it's from the rideshare driver, notifying me that they're sitting outside, waiting for me.
Everything will be alright. As soon as I return Sentinel Josh will calm down and allow me to explain that this was all just a mistake.
Soft jazz plays on the radio, a welcoming background sound to distract my mind from Josh, as buildings blur past. Unfortunately leaving me time to think of silk sheets beneath my body, clenched between my fingers and cooling down overheated skin.
A voice without a face.
A body without a name.
Words spoken with reverence as I give myself up to a stranger's mercy. A stranger who feels like something more, even though I don't know why. Someone who is more than a whispered promise, than a made up dream. One whose very essence echoes within the very core of my soul...
Jumping, I realize the vehicle has come to a stop, the driver patiently waiting as I gather my thoughts. How long have we been sitting here?
Mumbling a hasty thanks, I slide out of the car, confirming the payment on the app before the driver makes it around the corner.
Shoulders back, head held high, I make my way up the stone steps, leading to the large glass doors of the Grand Astoria.
Polished brass handles shine a muted bronze in the afternoon sunlight, reminding me of the weight in my purse. A reminder of the cursed albatross that I've somehow unwittingly picked up. I just pray this isn't a sign of other misfortunes to come.
Inside I spy dark wood doors off to the sides, surrounded by gold veined white marble walls, sparking a bit of curiosity for a brief second before my attention is drawn to the twenty steps in front of me, leading up to a second floor of the building.
Another set of wood doors, this time pulled back to allow entrance into the main area, sits at the top.
Even from here, standing at the foot of the stairs, I can hear muted voices and gentle string music filling the air. Accompanied by sounds of laughter, chimes of crystal glassware clinking together, and delicate silverware striking porcelain plates.
Already my feet want to cry in protest but slowly I make my way up the black marble steps. The last thing I want to do is slip and crack my head on my way down. Though maybe an emergency ride to the ER is a good enough reason for why I never make it.
Maybe...
No, probably not.
To the left and right of the massive doors stand two men, each in full black and white attire. A look of indifference on their faces, somehow rivaling those of the Royal Palace Guards. As I approach, the attendant to my right moves forward, withdrawing a small tablet from behind his back.
"Name?" Despite the level of noise coming from the other side of the doorway somehow that single word is louder than any other sound.
"Kaitlyn," my heart beats hard in my chest, my throat constricting for some unknown reason, while my mind blanks out for a second. Licking my lips, I try answering again. "Kaitlyn Jenson."
The attendant gives a slight nod then begins scrolling through a list of names.
Time freezes and yet extends on for eternity as I shift my weight from one foot to the other, already regretting my choice of shoes but they're the ones Josh loves seeing me wear.
The six inch stilettos giving an added look of refinement he insists I present at any social event.
Suddenly the attendant gives a single nod, returning his attention to me.
Hands sliding behind his back, the tablet tucked away, he stands up straighter, as if that was even possible. His tone not cold, but definitely not friendly either, "I'm sorry but your invitation has been revoked."
Revoked? Surely I didn't hear that right. Why would it be revoked?
I must have spoken out loud because the attendant actually answers.
Either that or they hired mind readers for these events.
"I'm afraid I'm not privy to such knowledge, ma'am.
All that matters is you've been put on the flagged list for potential disruptors and are to be turned away at the door.
" Even as he finishes speaking he looks me over from head to toe, as if evaluating just how much of a 'disruptor' I might be.
"Surely there's been some mistake made-"
"There you are." Despite the fact Josh's voice is filled with annoyance, I can't deny how much relief I feel hearing it as he steps through the doorway.
"Josh," my voice is breathless, my nerves flustered as I look up at him, "Please, tell him that there's been some mistake made. That I'm here, with you-"
Josh scowls as he cuts me off, his hand held out in silent demand, "Where is it?"
"Where is..." The sudden change of topic confuses me, but then I remember. Sentinel. The only thing he's been concerned about since last night.
It's not that I'm surprised he's demanding I hand Sentinel over, after all, I had promised to bring the statue with me.
It's that he's demanding I hand it over now, in front of all these strangers, when he's acting so possessive over it.
*Wouldn't it be safer to keep it in my purse until it's time to go home? *
Nodding, I dig down to the bottom of my purse, only to find the inner lining brushing against my fingertips.
No no no. Not again. I know it was here. I even checked again before I left the apartment... So where is it?
A thick lump forms in my throat, making it hard to speak, already knowing he's not going to like my answer, "I must have forgotten it at home..."
"Of course. I should have known better," he mutters. Taking a step back, he waves his hand, dismissing me, "That's fine. You're not needed here anyways. Just make sure you bring it to the office tomorrow or I'll be forced to press charges."
Without another word he walks back into the main room, leaving me standing here, confused as to what the hell just happened.