12. Wendy
I stared at my phone for five minutes after hanging up on Vincent. The shock raging through my body from making the call refused to wane. I never fathomed dialing his number again, but it happened. Vincent said he held all the answers for his disappearance three years ago. After three hours of shitty sleep, two bitter cups of grainy coffee, and a decent talk with Marissa, I decided I owed it to myself to capture an inch of closure.
My feet thudded against the stainless steel counter in the back of the cafe, more often used as a bench than a prep table. The clanging of dishes in the kitchen and chirping of the customers up front would typically drown out my thoughts, but today, they served as a dull soundtrack to the screaming thoughts swirling in my head.
I was going to see Vincent again. Maybe I had really lost my mind this time. Or maybe I was finally finding it. Either way, I made my choice.
“You okay, boss?” Marissa asked, sucking me back into reality.
“Huh?” My head snapped up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just preparing myself, I guess.” A weak chuckle escaped my parched mouth as Marissa handed me a sweaty glass of iced water.
Marissa gave me one of her knowing looks, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“What?” I asked, downing half the glass.
“You've got this, Wendy.” Marissa’s hand rested on my shoulder reassuringly. “Just remember, you don't owe him anything. You're doing this for yourself.”
I nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as I closed my fingers around the icy glass. The cold seeped into my skin and penetrated my arm, chilling the chaos within. “Am I? Is that what tonight’s going to be?”
“Well, you’re going to find out a lot.” Marissa leaned against the table, our shoulders bumping. “Why don’t you go home and rest. You might need it.” She raised a wicked eyebrow, sending a shiver down my spine.
“We’re just going to talk. Plus, the idea of being home right now sounds awful. I need to keep myself busy.” My clammy fingers twisted, threatening to cut the circulation from the red digits.
“Right. Just talk.” Marissa popped her brow.
“Yes. Just talk.” I dropped my chin, glaring at her. “Don’t do that, Marissa. My mind has never felt this fucked up before.” I pressed my fingertips into my closed lids as if trying to push Marissa’s hint from my mind.
“I don’t know. You showed me a picture of Vincent; a man like that isn’t just made to talk to.” Marissa crossed her arms, gnawing on her bottom lip to fight off a teasing smile.
“Yeah, well, the last time I fell for his looks, he disappeared, remember?” I retorted. My voice turned bitter at the memory; the days following his departure were undoubtedly the worst of my life.
“You didn’t just fall for his looks, Wendy. You were in love with him. It’s okay to say it out loud.”
“Yeah, well. Look where love got me?” I scooted off the table, ready to cook something, anything if it meant abandoning this all too raw conversation.
“Hear him out, Wendy.” Marissa’s voice echoed from behind.
“Isn’t that why I’m doing this?” I threw my arms up before they came crashing down to my side.
“Whatever you decide to do after you hear him out, I fully support you.”
I spun around, facing Marissa, who sat nonchalantly on my prep table.
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
Marissa hopped off the table, scooting past me. “You’ll soon find out.”
The Pelican House was Newport's most expensive, glamorous, and exclusive hotel, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun sparkles like millions of gold coins across the vast sea. I stepped out of my car, lost in the magnificence of the building. Vincent was going to be inside there, waiting. My heart pounded like a wild drum against my ribs as I looked up at the towering structure.
I walked past the massive bronze doors and into the grand lobby, all marble and crystal. Everywhere I looked, there was opulence dripping down from high ceilings and gilded furniture; money literally studded every corner of this establishment. A queen would have felt comfortable here, but I felt like the interloper as I moved deeper into the grandeur.
“May I help you, miss?” A young, well-groomed man stood behind a gleaming counter.
“Yes,” I answered, resting my fingertips on the cool marble desk. “I was told a key for room 201 would be here?”
The concierge clicked away on the keyboard, his eyes glued to the razor-thin computer monitor. “What name is the room under? And your I.D., please?”
About an hour before I arrived, Vincent sent me the details of his room, and here I was, retrieving a copy of the key. “The room is under the last name, Press.” I slid my driver’s license to the man.
The concierge picked up my license, eyeing the details carefully before looking back at his screen. He paused before he nodded and disappeared into a back room. When he reemerged, he held out a small plastic key card, grinning. “Room 201.”
I took the card, nodded my thanks, and turned away from the desk. My heels echoed ominously on the marble floor as I approached the intimidating double staircase. Making my way up, my heart thudded in my throat. The plush red carpeting muffled my footsteps as I climbed, each step taking me closer to Vincent. The hallway echoed the grandeur of the hotel lobby, with tall chandeliers casting their soft light down onto the marbled floor and ornate paintings adorning the walls. The scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air, mingling with a faint aroma of polished wood and expensive perfume. Room 201 was at the end of the long corridor, its rich mahogany door standing tall and imposing.
My mind raced with doubts and questions—was this really what I wanted? Was facing Vincent again worth risking my heart? But somewhere in the depths of my soul, a desire to have closure, to finally move forward from that painful chapter of my life, spurred me on.
I slid the card into the slot; there was a soft click, and then slowly pushed open the heavy door. The room was bathed in soft golden light from the outdoor lights. A massive bed dominated one side of the room, its opulence only rivaled by the stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean from a wide window. But what caught my breath was him—Vincent stood by that window, his back to me.
Seeing him caused a rush of emotions—anger, love, confusion—all at once. He turned toward me then; his face was slightly older now, lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Yet there was a softness there, too—an undeniable vulnerability that drew me in despite all my reservations.
“Wendy,” he breathed, his voice filled with surprise and relief. His eyes held mine in an intense gaze, years of unspoken words and emotions swirling between us.
The door slid shut behind me, leaving us standing there, the echoes of the past and the uncertainty of the future surrounding us in the quiet room. It was then I realized that whatever happened next could change everything.
“Is it okay if I sit down?” I cleared my throat. “My feet are killing me.”
“Of course.” Vincent took one step closer but stopped just as quickly. “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to a chair.
I sighed deeply and took slow, measured steps toward a plush velvet armchair perched near a fireplace, its flames dancing wildly. Shaking off my coat, I sank into its comfort, allowing one leg to cross over the other.
“Okay,” I murmured as I tried to steady my breathing. “Talk.”
A nervous smile and stuttered laugh escaped through Vincent’s mouth as he smoothed the front of his black shirt tucked into matching pants. He was the devil, stalking toward me as his body hovered over mine, and I held my breath when Vincent reached over and behind me, retrieved a thick manila envelope, and placed it onto my lap like a fine china plate, petrified to break it…break me again. My eyes landed on the closed, dirtied folder as my pulse thundered in my ears, and a ringing penetrated through the thumping in my head.
“What’s this?” My gaze stayed glued to the closed folder I dared not touch.
“It’s the reason I had to leave three years ago.”
“What do you want me to do?” I forced out the words, already knowing.
“Open it. And I’ll explain.” Vincent nodded to the folder.
My fingers danced along the folder's edge. I knew if I pressed down hard enough, I could cut myself and watch the red drip from my flesh, splashing onto the cream folder.
Instead, I coaxed the envelope open, revealing a cluster of faded black and white photographs of Vincent fucking a woman who wasn’t me. I grew rigid at the sight, the images burning into my mind. My heart pounded erratically against my chest; the taste of betrayal was a bitter pill that attempted to choke me. I threw the pictures onto the carpet with more force than I intended. The black and white figures stared back at me from their positions on the floor, mocking my pain.
“Explain,” I spat, my voice tight as a coiled spring. “Now.”
Vincent stuffed his hands into his pockets and kneeled at my feet, almost in a begging pose. He frowned, staring at the images of him impaling a woman, his veined cock sinking into her pussy. Her silent moans jumped from the pictures, burning my eyes. “These pictures. The ones that you see weren’t the reason why I left.” His large hand motioned to the sordid collage on the floor. He pushed the literal fucking pictures away, revealing a new layer of black and white images, but these were of a different class. They were tame by nature, innocent in appearance, and more haunting than seeing Vincent fucking some stranger. This new set of pictures was of me.
“I don’t understand?” I stammered, my clammy hand instinctively reaching for the candid shots on the floor. There I was, in a dozen different frames and several places. Shopping at the local farmer’s market, reading at Central Park on our favorite bench, and even quietly sipping coffee at our kitchen table with sunlight pouring in from the window behind me. “How the hell?” My face twisted, grabbing the kitchen picture and bringing it closer to my face. It was all so mundane, yet there was something deeply unsettling about seeing myself through another's lens. “Vincent, what the fuck?”
Vincent swallowed hard, his fingers running through his hair as he paced the room. “First off, those pictures of me and that woman…” His hand flicked to the sex images inches from me. “Those were taken five or six years before I met you.”
As crazy as it sounded, I believed the timeline, but seeing Vincent between another woman’s legs didn’t lessen the sting of who came first.
“But I…” he began, pausing and shaking his head as if to clear it. His eyes darted back to the images of me, then returned to my face. “Wendy, I had to leave because you were in danger from something I did in the past. There are notes too that go with the pictures of you.” He swallowed. “Do you want to see them?”
“No,” I blurted, recoiling in my seat and tucking my feet under my thighs. “Why was I in danger? What happened? And who is that woman in the pictures?”
Vincent sucked in a sharp breath, but nothing left his mouth, only adding to my simmering anxiety of finally learning the truth.
“Use your words, Vincent.” His steely eyes shot to mine, clenching his jaw. Was he upset I just gave him an order…or did it turn him on?
Vincent sighed and relaxed his shoulders. “Her name was Cindy. She was the wife of a former player…” Vincent trailed off, clicking his jaw.
“Player?” I crossed my arms, shifting. “Vincent, can you just fucking speak?”
“Cindy’s husband, Lawrence, was a former poker player at our games. He owed us a lot of money. Gave us a lot of trouble getting it, too.” Vincent sighed again, leaning back against the couch and rubbing his face with both hands. His eyes were filled with heavy sorrow when he looked back at me. “I was younger and reckless. And stupid. Well, he finally paid us. It took a while and a lot of pestering and following up. That was my role always. To figure out how Zachary got his money. I wasted a lot of time on Lawrence, so when he finally settled his debt, left with no business or anything really, I wasn’t satisfied. Zachary was happy because he got his money. But, I was the shark attorney, going in for the kill. And I felt like I wasn’t finished with Lawrence. To really make him pay for how hard he made me work to settle his debt.”
“The only thing he had left was his wife,” I whispered, dropping my eyes to the floor, a strange flutter stuttering across my chest.
“That’s right.” Vincent nodded, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
“And that’s why you slept with her.” It wasn’t even a question.
“To taint what he had with her, yes.”
“How did Lawrence find out?” I averted my gaze from Vincent’s, unable to look at him. It was odd because I wasn’t disgusted but rather disappointed. I knew Vincent’s sordid past was just that….dirty. But I never imagined he would go after people after the deal settled.
“He walked in on us during one of the times I was there.”
“How many times did you sleep with her?” My eyes popped, but then I shut my mouth, shaking my head. I didn’t want to know, and from Vincent’s silence, my impulse question was answered. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I fought a chill rippling across my skin, rubbing my hands along my arms. “Did Zachary know you did this?”
“Not at the time, no. But, when the threats started to roll in, I told him. I had to. I was going crazy.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry you were so tortured by this.” I glared at Vincent, the sarcasm dripping from my tone.
Vincent grimaced. “So, first, those pictures of me and Cindy started to pour in. And I knew I’d have to come clean to you about it, and I wasn’t scared to. I knew I’d be able to explain to you the situation, and together, we’d be able to work through it. At the time, my biggest fear was you thinking that I was cheating on you.” Vincent pointed to one picture of him impaling Cindy while she was on all fours, clawing at the crumpled bedsheets beneath their sweaty bodies.
Seeing Vincent fuck another woman didn’t flip my stomach, increase my pulse, or affect me at all, really. When my eyes shifted to a photo of me walking into a department store buying a dress for Blair’s wedding, that was when my blood ran cold.
“The pictures of you sent me over the edge. And the notes saying how I took everything from him and how it would be my turn to lose everything.” Vincent’s tone darkened. “And the thought of anything happening to you made me lose it, I guess.”
“You guess?” I leaned forward, our lips inches apart, but I had no intention of kissing him.
“I did.” Vincent rocked back on his heels. “I absolutely did, and when I realized you were in danger and I was the reason, I just knew I couldn’t stay.”
“Why couldn’t you have stayed? We could have worked through all of this together.” The center of my forehead throbbed, and while I should have been furious with Vincent, a part of me wanted to grab him, touch his skin, and breathe in his scent. I wanted that last night back again and for it to end the correct way. The burning shame went straight to my face, fire flooding my cheeks and chest. Red blotches peppered my bare skin above the neckline, exposing my inner turmoil. Vincent’s eyes fell to my skin, noticing my vulnerability, but he didn’t expose me further.
“Because I couldn’t risk it. I tried everything, and I couldn’t find Lawrence. The more I searched, the threats only grew worse. One even said how he was going to torture you,” Vincent said quietly, his gaze meeting mine again, a pool of emotions swirling within their depths. “I couldn't risk losing you.”
“But I lost you anyway...” I whispered, the words caught in my throat. It was heartbreaking to think that he had left, not because he wanted to but because he felt he had to protect me.
“Yeah, you did.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, dropping his head to face the floor.
“Why did you choose to leave me the way you did that night?” My heart lurched, and a lump formed in my throat. Just remembering how broken and wrecked my body was after. My legs buckling when I tried to pull myself up from the cold mattress, nearly sending my heart bursting through the bones in my body. “You could have at least taken the blindfold off. You didn’t have to be so cruel.” As harsh as the words spilled from my soul, it was also freeing. For years, I imprisoned the details from the night in a cell I only held the keys for, but who was I waiting to tell them to? And then it hit me. The answer was right in front of me.
“I had to.” Vincent lifted his eyes, revealing the layer of glass sheathing his orbs. “I needed you to hate me. To think I’m a monster in such a way that you would never want to face me again. And then I would have the time and space to find this fucking asshole who was threatening to kill you. And I did. I did find him. I got this random, wacko clue that led me to him. I mean, I didn’t personally kill him. You know what I mean?” Vincent reached for me, his fingertips brushing my leg, and a jolt ran through my bones, straight to my heart.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this?” I asked, pulling my leg away from his touch. “How can you think that's fair?”
Vincent looked at me with sad eyes. “I didn’t want to drag you into my darkness anymore. In my mind, I was protecting you.”
“Is that why you're here now? Just to explain yourself?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
Vincent nodded. “Yes. But also, I’m here because… because I’ve missed you, Wendy.” His voice broke on the last word. Hearing him say my name again after all these years stirred something in me, a whirl of emotions and memories that crashed against the walls of my heart.
“Is that supposed to excuse everything? The threats on my life and then abandoning me, the silence for years afterward?” My words came out sharper than intended.
Vincent's face hardened, then softened. “No, Wendy,” he whispered. “Nothing can excuse what happened. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I want to earn that part. I want to earn your trust back.” He sighed, tipping his back. “The only thing I’m asking from you right now is to find a piece of you that understands why I did what I did three years ago.”
I just stared at Vincent, the silence cracking between us. My eyes darted everywhere, trying to make sense of everything he confessed to me. Was he an evil person? Yes, he did terrible things to people in his past, but that was his past. My heart screamed he was a different person now. But how could I excuse his choices? His behavior? And if I did, was it coming from a place of strength or weakness?
Vincent squeezed his eyes shut as I watched a rogue tear escape from the corner of his left eye. The sight caught my breath because I had never imagined, or even believed, I would see Vincent cry. Suddenly, the walls of my heart crumbled.
I didn’t know how to react. How to respond. How to do anything really as my brain struggled to absorb the reason I had been waiting for all this time, and my heart urging me to believe him. My pulse thundered in my ears, and a cold sweat broke across the back of my neck. I was slowly losing it while trying to stay composed. Fuck myself and my life for sensing this pull in my body to go closer to him. To come one step closer to granting him a second chance. Even if it was for a second. Was I this weak?
“Wendy, I am so sorry.” His powerful hands landed on my trembling knees. “I just want you back so badly, but I know I don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve someone like me. You are so much better, always have been and always will be. I am so, so sorry.”
“Stop saying that,” my gravelly voiced begged. I stared at Vincent through the blurred tears. “Please stop saying that.” I couldn’t hear it, but I needed to. My heart deserved to be healed, and my mind hated the choice it wanted to make. My hands covered my eyes, and soon, the tears fell, painting my cheek and soaking my hands. At some point, Vincent lifted his hands from my knees and wrapped his fingers around my wrists.
“Please, Wendy. Let me see your eyes. Just one last time?”
Slowly, I lowered my hands and revealed my bloodshot eyes, the tears still streaming. His own eyes matched mine, glistening with a mixture of sincerity and self-loathing. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed away the damp streaks from my cheeks. His touch was feather-light, a stark contrast to the forceful grip he once commanded.
“I hate this. I fucking hate this,” I declared with my wrists still trapped by Vincent’s vice grip. “I hate my life, Vincent. And you know why?”
“Because of me. And I’m so sorry, Wendy. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.” Vincent pulled me closer, our mouths impossibly close. Close enough for his breath to coat my lips.
“No, Vincent, no.” I bit my lower lip, tasting metal. “I hate my life because you’re not in it.”