Chapter Fifteen
Into the Lure of Time
Siena, August 6, 2011, Dallas, TX/North Virginia
The ungodly ruckusof the garbage truck stirred me from my nightmarish vision at 7:40 AM. For a long, confused moment, I lay without movement, struggling to process what I’d just lived through for the second time. Or was I living through it still?
I lumbered out of bed and headed to the bathroom, but I shouldn’t have glanced in the mirror: black streaks of mascara, puffy eyes, blotchy skin. I looked like something from a horror movie.
After showering, I put on my everyday underwear, eyeing the lacy red lingerie I’d tossed on the floor. What if I leave it? What would he do?
But I’d do no such thing, so I tossed the lingerie into my travel bag, made the bed, then went to the kitchen, and took the dinner out of the refrigerator. There was a garbage chute near the staircase, and that was where I deposited the brisket with all its sides, the banana pudding, the candles, and the half-empty bottle of wine. Then, I washed my plate, fork, and glass, dried them on the paper towels, and put everything away.
I returned to the bedroom, threw the pouch with the Cowboy into my handbag, and sat on the bed. The image of Ryan’s clothes and shoes flying down that garbage chute, followed by the bed sheets and anything else I could find raced through my foggy mind in a nauseating flit. I pushed it away and checked the flight status on my phone. It was on time.
The way you flipped out after his visit to the English queen. The revenge! The drama!
I pressed both hands to my ears to shut out the sickening mixture of Worgen’s voice and my chilling vision. It didn’t work.
Your lover boy wasn’t all you’d made him out to be.
Maybe not everything Worgen said was lies.
I buried my head in my trembling hands. Who is he, this man I thought my soulmate? How ridiculously cliché! He was only his enduring self—an egomaniac disguised as a knight in shining armor.
As if of its own accord, my finger tapped on my phone’s “favorites” tab, hovering over Ryan’s number. What if I tell him I waited for him at his place all night?
No, I’d never let him humiliate me again. Never.
My email app chimed—something from my friend, Claude Dumont.
Haven’t heard from you in a while, chérie. Still working on your three-wall mural? When are you moving? I’d like to take you out. My new agent, Grant, booked a show for me in NYC. I think you’ll want to hear about it... You can show with me.
Miss you,
Claude
I closed the email without replying, semi-grateful for this fleeing distraction. I’d been newly single when I lingered at Claude’s flat seven years ago to celebrate our mutual artistic success. After having too much wine, his French accent turned sexier by the minute, and I found myself dating a friend—for all of three underwhelming weeks. I scoffed. Maybe I should have stayed with him. Even if he wasn’t my type, he was painstakingly loyal.
I shook myself and gave the place a final once-over. It didn’t look like anyone had been there.
Four hours later, bright summer day mocked me as I waited for my taxi outside the D.C. terminal.
I stared ahead as the driver hit the gas pedal. What now? On impulse, I called my mom.
“How’s Austin?” I clenched my jaw. Whatever else I may be, I will not be a victim. Never again.
“Just great, honey!” mom crooned. “He woke up once like you said, had his little meal, then fell right asleep. He’s such an easy baby—”
I dug my fingernails into my palms. “Do you think you can watch him until tomorrow?”
Mom fell silent. “I am watching him until tomorrow...what’s wrong, honey? Are you back in D.C.?”
Shit. Shit.
“Yeah...” I forced myself to sound casual. “I just...Ryan has to work, and so do I, actually. My client needs the walls finished.”
“He’s working on his birthday?” Mom’s voice turned incredulous. “And...and you, too?”
“I have to, mom,” I choked out. “It’s a big job.”
“Hmm...” Mom sighed. “How’s Ryan doing there all by himself?”
I stared at my Claddagh ring—his Claddagh ring—with the brown topaz heart. “He’s fine,” I squeezed out through clenched teeth. “Working a lot.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? What happened? Did the two of you have a fight?”
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “No, just tired, you know.”
“Aah—I see! I’ll watch Austin, don’t worry, honey, okay?”
After ending the call, I tugged and twisted at the ring, relishing the image of it flying out the car window and into the open highway. But I was still a little overweight, so it didn’t budge. Infuriated, I yanked at it and gasped at the sight of a small red blob spreading on my finger.
As soon as I got home, I threw myself on the bed and slept the twitchy, restless sleep of the damned. But a plan had formed as I took a long, hot shower.
Wrapped in a towel, I studied my black lacy number in the lingerie drawer—the one I wore on our third wedding anniversary. The same one that inspired Ryan to handcuff my wrists above my head and make the kind of love to me most women only read about. Did he do that with Ms. Perky last night? Handcuffed her muscled little arms and played with her until she begged?
With sick satisfaction, I donned the barely-there getups and marched to the mirror. The lingerie looked even skimpier on my plump form—it looked great. The ultra-thin G-string accentuated my widened hips, and the see-through black triangles hardly covered my large, heavy breasts. In truth, I’d have loved to wear my long red dress, but that would be an odd choice of work clothes. So, I pulled on my new skinny black jeans and a clingy gray top that slipped off one shoulder.
I shrugged, surveying my sexy-without-trying getups. The whole thing was ridiculous. Connor was never home. I hadn’t seen him since our sushi lunch, and it was improbable he’d be there today. But the idea of going there perfectly groomed in sexy lingerie was enough. It was action versus inaction—something I could actively do to get even. Until I’d have to face the next step.
I styled my hair to cascade around my shoulders, then took my time with the smoky eye, long black wings, and two heavy coats of mascara.
After texting Connor’s driver, Joe, to come and get me, I swiped to Ryan’s number. What if I call him and ask where he was all night? I raised my chin with a loud scoff. No, I’d never debase myself again.
Conveniently, my travel bag was already packed, so all I had to do was grab it on my way out.
Connor’s security detail stared a moment too long as I emerged from the SUV and headed to the front door.
I turned to one of them. “Is the senator home today?”
“No, ma’am.”
I dropped the bag off in the guest bedroom, then went to my walls. But I couldn’t work. Not with my trembling hands and burning eyes.
I abandoned the mural and went to the kitchen. The wine storage overwhelmed me. I’d have bet some of those bottles cost more than my entire commission. I closed the heavy glass door and searched the numerous cabinets for something opened. It didn’t take long to find hard liquor.
Since I didn’t know where Connor kept his shot glasses, I grabbed a wine glass from the open shelf, filled one-third with whiskey, and headed to the kids’ playroom. The alcohol took the edge off, but I worked in a daze. I wasn’t ready to be a single mother, and yet I’d been exactly that since Ryan’s move to Dallas. So, what would change now?
I stopped breathing. Just like in the past.
My phone read “5:01 PM” when I pulled it out of my back pocket. Ryan never did call me “later.” I shut it down and went to the guest bedroom to wash my hands. Finished, I headed back to the kitchen for something to chase my whiskey.
The lights were on, and Connor was taking containers out of his refrigerator.
Shit.
He wasn’t surprised to see me. Of course, his security detail had apprised him.
“You look nice today.” He gave me a curious once-over. “What’s the occasion?”
I shrugged. “Just had extra time to get ready.”
“Join me for dinner?” He flashed a semi-guilty smile. “Way too much food here for one person.”
He opened the wine storage and took out a bottle of red. “A vintage Bordeaux. You’ll like this one.”
The dinner consisted of lobster bisque, which came in ceramic bowls that Connor microwaved, and a wild mushroom risotto that emanated a bouquet of earthy scents mixed with fresh herbs. I picked at the mush with my fork. I couldn’t force it down to save my life. But the wine was smooth and light and had a pleasant aftertaste. I was on my second glass before I knew it.
Connor glanced at my untouched food. “Not hungry?”
“You don’t mind if I stay overnight?” I drained my glass in one long draft. “I’ll go straight back to work in the morning.”
He studied me, head tipped to one side, then grinned. “You don’t even have to ask.”
I thought I was placing the glass beside my plate, but it landed smack in the middle of my risotto.
“Oops, sorry.” I smiled, not embarrassed enough.
But it felt good to be drunk, Ryan’s empty bed and my bone-chilling vision drifting farther away.
“Don’t worry.” Connor took the glass and headed to the sink. “You’ll need a new one anyway.”
He produced another bottle from his fancy wine storage. “This one is from Spain. A nice one, too.”
“You’re trying to get me drunk...” I saw myself wag my finger at him.
“Here, just try it.” He brought the glass over. “You don’t have to finish it.”
The Spanish wine tasted even better than the French, or perhaps it didn’t. The room swayed as I drank.
“You like it?”
“Yeah, it’s really good...” My words came out floaty and drawn out.
I laughed, and he laughed too. How funny that I was sitting here, laughing with this man, who could one day become the president of the United States. And yet, he was, without a doubt, the most easy-going, friendly guy I’d ever met.
“They have dessert for us, too.” He winked and headed to the refrigerator as I knocked back my glass.
I closed my eyes, everything spinning around and around.
His voice in my ear was a low, echoing rumble. “Fresh-berry chantilly cake, Siena.”
In front of me was a small plate, a delicate gold dessert spoon beside a tiny red, pink, and white dome.
An identical plate sat in front of Connor.
“Liqueur? Coffee?”
I fingered the spoon and forced my head up. He was smiling, licking his spoon clean.
“I think I’ll pass...” I smiled back. “I’d better go lie down.”
I got up—and grabbed onto the counter, the room swaying up and down like a ship deck.
“Hey, hey.” Connor was beside me, his arm around my shoulders, his hand on my bra strap, peeking from the off-the-shoulder top. “You’re a lightweight, aren’t you? I’ll walk you to the bedroom.”
“I don’t need...help...” I pushed his hand away and almost took a tumble.
“Careful, Siena.” He placed his arm around my waist, steadying me. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The hallway seemed longer as we walked to the bedroom wing, his hand tight on my waist, my feet stepping over each other. Suddenly, the floor looked closer.
His hands landed under my arms, lifting me, standing me up. “What am I going to do with you?” His voice grew hushed as he pinned me against the wall.
He may have been a good kisser. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. Getting even was my plan when I took that long, meticulous shower, when I put on my skimpy lingerie, when I drew the thick, black wings with my kohl pencil. Getting even was my plan before it formed.
My Aedan, my love, my heart... What have you done?
It didn’t matter. The failure not to see it coming was mine. But I wouldn’t be making the same mistake twice.
My hands found their way to Connor’s shoulders as I leaned into him to banish all thought.
“Come on, let’s keep moving.” He drew away, his arm once again circled around my waist.
The room we entered wasn’t a guest bedroom. It was his master, lush and expansive with a giant, lit fireplace, a massive bed, and a high, vaulted ceiling.
Then, we were on the bed, kissing, his hands pulling my clingy gray top over my head.
The inside of my stomach quivered. Was I really doing this?
He reached down to unzip my jeans. “That’s some lingerie.”
That wasn’t what Ryan said when he saw these panties. Close your eyes, love. I have something for you...
“Open your eyes.” Connor’s voice shook me out of my misery.
He removed his tie, then shirt. He was fit, chest hard and smooth, shoulders square and muscled. A strange wave of déjà vu washed over me, cold and clammy, as he cocked his head in his odd, contemplative way.
“Damn, this is so anti-climactic.” He leaned back on his elbows, which accentuated his hard biceps muscles. “Look, with my position and all, I have to get consent. You don’t mind, do you?” He winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Nope, go ahead...” My voice was like it came from elsewhere.
He grabbed his phone, tapped something on it, and brought it to his mouth.
“I’m recording you, Siena. Is that okay?” He stuck the phone in my face.
Was it okay? Did it even matter?
“Yep.”
“I know you had a little to drink, but I’m not out to take advantage of you. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I suppressed a scoff. How very gentlemanly of him.
“I’m not drunk, Connor...” I touched my claddagh ring. “I’m sure.”
He frowned. “Damn, this is so silly, but they insist I ask these questions. Do you mind?”
“Nope, don’t mind.” A shake of my head sent the room spinning like some hellish Ferris wheel.
“Are you here because you think you’ll otherwise compromise your mural commission at my residence?”
I tittered. “Course not.”
“Do you want to have sex with me, Siena?”
“Yep, I do...don’t I?”
I froze when he reached for my bra clasp.
“You understand you can say no and leave any time you want.” He put a heavy emphasis on “any time,” his hand beginning to fondle and squeeze.
What if I start lactating? Shut up. Shut up!
“I don’t want to leave, Connor...”
“Good, I don’t want you to leave either.”
He tossed his phone on the enormous, polished nightstand, which somehow flowed into the bed frame. Then, he removed my tiny G-string and leaned back.
“Well, fuck...” He gave a low whistle, eyeing my triquetra tattoo. “You’re a straight ten.”
Something snapped inside me. What was I doing naked in this man’s bed? How would this fix what Ryan had done—now or in the past?
“My husband is having an affair...”
Did I say that out loud? I was drunk. Drunk and pathetic, and about to have sex with my client, who had me record an embarrassing consent on his phone.
“He is?” Connor shrugged, sliding a hand down my abdomen. “He’s a fool, then. You don’t cheat on a woman like you. You cheat with a woman like you.”
A sob burned at the back of my throat. “He’s cheating on me...” Why was I divulging this to him?
He scooted to the exposed space between my thighs and wiggled his eyebrows. “Here’s your revenge then.”
A weird, cold shiver made me go still. Why did it sound so odd, so out of place?
“My what—?”
“Your revenge, yeah.” He lifted his head. “Pay the bastard back with the same currency.”
“Connor...” I tried to push him away. His hair had some sort of gel in it.
“Yeah...” His breath was hot, so hot on my tattoo. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this pretty little thing from me...” His mouth moved south.
I pressed my hands into the mattress, mortified at having this famous, married politician do what he was doing with me.
“Oh my God, Connor...” I sobbed.
He ignored me, his rhythmic pace smooth and consistent.
My sobs grew louder.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, “come for me.”
He rose with a half-smile, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his black satin boxers.
“Connor.” I bit into the inside of my lip. This was going to be awful, and I had two walls to finish. “This is a mistake... I’m...I’m so sorry.”
He gaped. “What?”
“You’re very cute,” I mumbled. This was not the right word to use with this particular man, but it was too late for everything. “And under different circumstances—” I snatched a sheet to cover myself. “I would, but—”
I scanned the bed for my clothes, but they were scattered all over the floor.
He shot me a tight smile. “Come on.” His hand was firm on my nape, pulling me in for a kiss. “You said you wanted this.”
“I’m sorry.” I drew back. “I made a mistake.”
He scoffed and compressed his lips. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to grow a conscience?”
“Please forgive me.” I got up to pick up my clothes, painfully aware of my nudity.
Without saying a word, he reached for his phone and tapped away while I frantically gathered my things. I couldn’t find my top anywhere.
“Good evening, Mr. Joe,” he said.
I stared at his back. He was calling his driver for me?
“Bring Candace over, would you? And oh, she says she has a friend with her. Do me a favor, bring them both... I mean if the friend is attractive; otherwise, just Candace. She’ll be ready in half an hour.”
I yanked my top from beneath his slacks as he marched into his all-white marble bathroom without a backward glance. The buzz of a sonic toothbrush came on as I pulled on my skinny black jeans.
On the verge of vomiting, I stumbled out of his bedroom. By sheer miracle, I found a bathroom nearby and made it there in time. I spared a glance at myself in the mirror on my way out: clumped mascara, streaked eyeliner, bloated face.
The taxi drive home was filled with my sobs and the driver’s repeated suggestions to call someone.
Swaying, I stammered into my condo and turned on my phone. Should I call Emma?
There was a voicemail from Ryan: “Hey, I can’t get a hold of you. I’m getting worried, Sie. Call me when you get this, okay?”
I turned off my screen and took the Cowboy out of my travel bag.
Fuck you, Ryan. With sick satisfaction, I pressed it to the spot that still carried Connor’s expensive scent. For the first time, I didn’t think of Ryan. I didn’t think of anything. I let the vibration carry me away, bawling as I climaxed. Then, I lay on my back, silent, thought-free. The second time was almost mechanical: press, hold, climax. I could barely move after. What if I keep doing this until I die?
My screen lit up with a text message: I’m really worried. Please call me.
Fuck you.I placed the Cowboy between my thighs again.
The phone rang.
I hurled the toy on the floor, heart thudding like a sledgehammer. Fine, let’s have a little chat, shall we?
“Hello!”
“You okay, love?” Ryan exhaled. “I couldn’t reach you for the last four hours.”
“Love.” I scoffed. The nerve.
“What’s wrong, Sie? Are you drunk?”
Of course, he could tell. But could he tell we were even?
He sighed. “This isn’t right. I should’ve figured something better. We shouldn’t be apart like this.”
I glared at my phone, shaking from head to toe.
Cut the bullshit, Ryan. I know about you and Vivian. But guess what? You don’t know about me and Connor. Not yet, asshole.
“I know! Yep, I do—”
I’m going to tell him. I blew out a shuddering breath. I’m going to tell him right now—
He chuckled. “You’re so damn cute when you’re drunk. I miss you so much—I swear I can smell your perfume on my pillow. This job is insane.” His voice hovered in the palm of my hand, low and distant. “I pulled an all-nighter last night, can you believe it? Like fresh out of college. Worked for thirty-two hours straight, and I’m still buried.” He scoffed. “I wish I could tell you about all the shit we found on Marshal Longworth. What a crook. It’s unbelievable—”
I threw the phone like it had caught on fire. It landed at the foot of the bed. My heart pounded a wild, inexorable drumbeat—in my chest, in my head, in my fingertips—bruising my every corner. It punched my lungs, pumped scorching blood into my skin.
What have I done—
I picked up the phone with a cold, trembling hand, on the verge of puking. “Y-you...worked? All that time?”
“Yeah, all of yesterday, Sie, all night, and most of today. Sorry I couldn’t call back until now. God, I’m so tired—” He made a weighty pause. “But I’m up for that video call if you are.”
“Ryan...” I squeezed the phone between my sweaty fingers, my throat convulsing with an urgent need to be sick.
“Did Emma come over or something? How much did you have to drink, love?”
I swallowed hard, rubbed my face.
“What’s going on there, Sie?”
My gaze landed on our wedding picture in a silver frame: windblown gossamer veil, Ryan’s lips at my temple. I dug my fingernails into my palm to the point of pain. “Ryan, I...I’m sorry—”
His voice grew concerned. “What for?”
I shook my head, ordered myself to get it together. He could never find out. Never. Under any circumstances. No one could. Not even Emma.
“I’m sorry you have to work so much...” I choked out, backing into the headboard. “I’m sorry I’m here, and you’re there...”
He stifled a yawn. “How much longer do you have?”
“I’ll finish in a month if I work nonstop Monday through Friday.” I held my breath. Another moment, and I’d vomit.
“Do that, love. And call the realtor first thing tomorrow. Let’s put the condo on the market asap. I’ll rent us a nice, big house by the end of the month. Enough of this bullshit.”
“Okay, and...and happy birthday.”
I tossed my phone on the bed, then staggered, shivering, to the mirror.
“I didn’t let it go all the way,” I said to the stupid, swollen mug gaping back at me. “I didn’t.”
Then, I bolted to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.
It was when I finally lay down, the room still spinning, that Connor’s words reverberated in my mind, echoing with unfathomable familiarity: Here’s your revenge then.