Chapter 23 Unwrap You
Ren
After lunch, I head home to wrap the gifts I bought earlier with Eliana.
Despite there being quite a few boxes under my tree, only one of them contains an actual present.
I wrapped the rest of the empty boxes after learning my parents wouldn’t be coming, knowing that if I didn’t, Christmas would come and go without anything under the tree.
Thinking of my parents brings the usual jumbled bag of mixed emotions.
Especially after Johnathon Willis’s arrest. I want to know how it’s affecting the community, but most importantly, make sure my parents are okay.
Since my mom lost her phone, I’ve tried reaching her by calling Celeste but have only gotten voicemail.
So, I wrote them a letter and sent it with another prepaid cellphone.
You’d think they’d reach out to me given the circumstances, but honestly, the community is so isolated that I wouldn’t be surprised if the news hasn’t reached them yet.
Even if it has, the leaders are all too versed in spinning lies and cover-ups.
Luckily, I get to Roman’s present and wrapping it takes my mind off the cynical thought.
We agreed to no presents because it’s such short notice.
But it’s just something small. It seemed the least I could do after crashing his family Christmas.
If he makes a fuss, I’ll call it a five-day anniversary or a “thank you for saving me from spending Christmas alone” present.
I’ve just finished putting it under the tree when my phone rings. When I don’t recognize the number, I wonder if it’s mother’s intuition calling me right on cue.
“Hello?”
My heart sinks a little when it’s an unknown man’s voice that answers. “Hi, am I speaking with Ms. Serenity Calloway?”
“May I ask who’s calling?” I think for a second it might be Lewis getting someone to call on his behalf, but I keep my tone friendly in case it’s the people from the primate sanctuary letting me know if I’ve been accepted as a volunteer.
“Yes, of course, and apologies for calling on the weekend and so close to the holiday. We are just eager to get the ball rolling as soon as possible. My name is Andrew Doring, I’m an attorney with Hanson and Dwyer, and we are bringing a class action suit against the oil company that unlawfully poisoned your community’s water for the past two decades.
Now, I don’t want to take up too much of your Sunday, so all I need to know now is if you’re interested in learning more, and I can email you all the information.
” Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.
“That does sound interesting, but I don’t actually live there anymore, haven’t for quite a few years.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. It’s your previous exposure that qualifies you.
Really, there isn’t much you even have to do, as it’s a pretty cut and dry situation, unless you’ve been diagnosed with any serious disease because that could make you eligible for a larger settlement.
But even then, we’d just need a letter from your doctor. ”
I haven’t thought about that until now, but it makes sense that it could be a high-risk factor. “I haven’t, thank God. But you can send me more info.”
I give him my email, and he thanks me for my time, apologizing once more for calling on the weekend before hanging up.
A few minutes later, I receive his email. There’s a lot of legalese that I don’t fully understand, but it sounds official. I check out the firm’s website next. Scrolling through their testimonials page, I recognize a face next to a glowing review. I make a call.
“Hey,” Harlow answers with a smile in her voice. “If you’re wondering where Roman is, he’s still tied up with Cash unfortunately. But you can come hang out with Niamh and me until Dada gets home,” she finishes in baby talk, and I hear her daughter’s responding happy babbles through the phone.
“Aw, I appreciate the offer, but I was actually calling with a question for Cash.”
“Of course, what’s up—oh, no pulling Mama’s earrings.” I laugh. From what I’ve been told, Niamh seems like a wonderfully chaotic little whirlwind of a baby. I can’t wait to meet her at Christmas.
“Well, I was contacted about being part of a class action suit and when checking out the firm’s website, I saw Cash is a client of theirs. I was wondering if he’d be willing to tell me a bit more about his experience with them—I mean, I assume it’s mostly good if he’s given them a testimonial.”
“Oh, Hanson and Dwyer? They’re great, always trying to take him golfing. I don’t know why. Cash hates golfing. He turns them down every time. I told him next time he should suggest the bowling alley instead, or the gun range or something. But you didn’t call to hear about Cash’s preferred hobbies.”
I smile, laughing internally because she just epitomized everything I’ve come to learn about the Fox family: members of the criminal underworld to whom the bowling alley and shooting range are equally good options for some good ol’ family fun.
“I’ll have him call you. Is it cool if I give him your number?” she asks.
“Of course, thank you so much.”
Once we hang up, I take the key Roman gave me out of my pocket. Flipping it over in my hands makes butterflies beat in my stomach. Now that gifts are wrapped, there’s nothing left to do but wait like a good girl.
As usual, Roman’s apartment is levels of clean I can only aspire to, except for now his tree is full of color and eclectic ornaments that hold nostalgia made sweeter by the memories of picking them out.1
The tree is such a showstopper that I don’t notice the sleek black gift box on the counter at first. Out of curiosity, I go check it out and spot a card with For my sweet girl . . . written across the front. My stomach flutters as I open it.
You know what to do.
I can’t wait to take this off you.
-R
The fluttering in my stomach turns into full-on cartwheels as I lift the magnetic lid.
The only time I’ve received something in a box this nice was when I bought Chanel perfume to celebrate my last promotion.
I regretted the purchase instantly. But then, it arrived.
Just the experience of unboxing the luxurious packaging was worth the splurge.
I don’t consider myself a very materialistic person, but I’m inexplicably touched by whatever this is. That Roman would think me worthy of something so fine after only a few days.
Opening the box, I delicately peel off the embossed sticker sealing the tissue paper to reveal silk and lace in a beautiful, rich red. I gently lift the garment with only my forefingers and thumbs, feeling like I should be wearing the white cotton gloves for handling fine art.
It unfurls into an absolutely gorgeous babydoll negligee. A lace bodice gives way to a sheer, flowy silhouette. Instead of cups, two thick, silk ribbons tie into a large, romantic bow. All of it is the same vibrant, Christmassy red. Festive and beautiful. A man truly after my own heart.
I go into his bedroom to change. I’ve bought pretty bras and underwear for myself before, but never anything I’d consider actual lingerie, let alone worn something like this for someone else.
I feel salacious and spoiled. I straighten the bow over my cleavage in the mirror. I feel . . . dirty and desired.
My heart skips a beat when Roman’s number lights up my phone on the mattress next to me. “Hi,” I say, a smile immediately spreading across my face.
“Hey, sweet girl, I’ll be home in five minutes. Can I assume you’ve done as you were told?” A delicious shiver runs down my spine at the contrast between the husky, adoring way he answered and the stern, dominant tone of his question.
“Yes.” I bite my inner lip.
“I’d ask for a photo, but it would be awfully rude to ruin the surprise of a gift.”
“But I’ve already opened it.” Shit, shit, that horrible feeling when you realize you’ve made a mistake spikes in my chest. Was I not supposed to open it? Did I somehow misconstrue the card?
“Nah, baby, you are my gift.”
“But we said no gifts,” I tease. My stomach lights up with heat, melting away any fear of having made a mistake.
“It’s not Christmas,” he points out matter-of-factly, then adds, “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me before I get there.”
The warmth in my stomach blooms. “Okay.”
“Under your pillow, there’s something else. Pull it out.” I almost miss the fact that he gave me an instruction because my pillow. Does that make it our bed? I feel like I could jump up and down on the mattress, but instead I force myself to focus and reach under the pillow.
My fingers wrap around something bumpy and metal, and I pull out a pair of black handcuffs encrusted with pale pink gems.
He must know I’ve found them by the small gasp of my breath. “I’m in the elevator. I want you ready for me when I get there.” His words are clipped and dry, but I’d bet my bottom dollar a smirk is tugging on his lips. He hangs up before I can ask any questions.
I look at the cuffs in my hands, confused, my heart racing as I picture him in the elevator getting closer and closer. I glance around for another note, even picking up both pillows to check under them. I can hear the steady ping in my head as it passes each floor.
His headboard is made up of black metal rods. That has to be it. I quickly lock one wrist then loop the other cuff through the headboard before securing it to my other wrist. Seconds later, I hear the front door open.
The sound of Roman’s heavy footsteps beats like a drum in my chest. Anticipation and excitement have me squirm in the restraints. My arms above my head make my chest push out a bit, and the light from the lamp catches on the silky bow, making it shine and shimmer with every inhale and exhale.
When he reaches the room, he doesn’t say anything. At least not with words.
His eyes though . . . The way they soak me in feels like poetry.