Chapter 11 #3
They spent the afternoon shopping and had dinner at a fashionable bistro, and flew back to New York the next day.
Dominique went straight from the airport to her office, since the time difference was in her favor.
Her driver dropped Felicity off at home and took the dress to Dominique’s house, where she would hang it up that night.
She wondered how things were going to be with Taylor when Felicity got back.
Dominique was still livid every time she thought of his mother and what Felicity reported she had said.
Dominique disliked her even more now, and his father was just a mindless drunk with a routine bank job.
Neither of them had set a high standard for their son, who puffed himself up and pretended to be more than he was.
Dominique saw through him, but Felicity hadn’t.
She bought into all his pompous airs and nonsense, and he had somehow convinced her that she was lucky he was marrying her, which played perfectly into her meekness and lack of self-confidence.
She was the perfect foil for him, and now she would have his child, which would cement her to him for years, while she struggled to make the marriage work.
It depressed Dominique to think about, and Felicity showed no sign of wanting to give up, even less so now with a baby.
All her instincts and hormones would drive her to protect the baby and the relationship that had spawned it.
The same instincts had kept Dominique blind to Andrew’s serious flaws for the first years of their marriage, but eventually she had seen the light and gotten out.
But Felicity wasn’t as strong as she was.
She was deeply worried for her daughter.
* * *
As the wedding drew closer, the only thing that cheered Felicity was the art show she’d been working on for eight months.
She was proud of the work she’d delivered to the gallery, and they were excited to show it, and to support a young artist with great promise.
They had invited their entire mailing list, and were expecting a big turnout at the handsome gallery on Madison Avenue.
In the final days before the show, Felicity thought of nothing else, and forgot all about the wedding, which Dominique was handling and had in full control.
She had told Felicity not to think about a thing except the show until the opening was over.
Felicity did her hair in a neat French twist, wore very little makeup, and put on a new pale blue silk dress the color of her eyes. She looked fresh and young and beautiful when Taylor got home from work, right before she left. He smiled when he saw her. She looked like a summer sky.
“You look fantastic,” he said, with the look in his eyes and the smile she had fallen in love with.
This was her big night. She reached for her purse to leave and he stopped her.
He was meeting her there later. She wanted to be there early, to speak to the art critics who came to see the show.
“Don’t be so fast,” he said, and kissed her. “What’s your hurry?”
“I have to be there before the party starts in case the press are there.” She had already told him before.
“I have a better idea, to bring you luck,” he said, and reached under her skirt for the prize he was looking for.
“It won’t take long,” he said huskily. He loved her growing breasts and unbuttoned the front of her dress with one hand, and grabbed her breast while he pulled her underwear down with his other hand, backed her against the wall, and blocked her there.
She gently pushed him away. She knew he didn’t like to be rebuffed, but she had to go, and didn’t want to look a mess when she got there.
“Taylor, I can’t…not now….” He crushed her more firmly against the wall, her underwear was down, and he reached under her skirt again, to find what he wanted, freed himself from his pants with a rapid gesture, and was pressing into her before she could stop him.
She used to think he was sexy when he wanted her any time, any place, in inappropriate venues or when they were about to do something or go someplace, but it was demeaning now, and made her feel like a piece of meat and not a woman he loved.
She tried to push him away again and he slammed into her harder, and pinned her arms wide against the wall.
She stopped fighting him so it would be over faster, and she wouldn’t be any later than she was.
He came quickly, as he always did, and he grinned at her when it was over.
There were tears in her eyes, and she hadn’t even noticed how tightly he had held her arms against the wall.
He had hurt her wrists. She wondered if his pounding her with his full force was bad for the baby, but she couldn’t stop him once he got started. He was like a bull driving into her.
“Now you’ll remember who you belong to when you go to your art show,” he said smugly.
He always had to prove something, to control her in some way.
Her breasts were exposed from the dress he’d unbuttoned, and he bent down and bit her nipple and she gave a short scream.
He had left teeth marks when he stopped, and a drop of blood, which she wiped away, buttoning her dress primly, and he let her go to the bathroom to clean up.
She brushed her hair again and sprayed it into place, washed her face, and straightened her dress.
He hadn’t even kissed her while he pounded into her.
He hadn’t raped her, but he was always forceful and aggressive now.
He was in charge, and she was the object he had to possess to prove his manhood.
She left the apartment five minutes later, looking neat again.
“I told you it wouldn’t take long,” he shouted after her and laughed as the door slammed behind her, and she wiped the tears from her eyes.
She couldn’t think about it now. She had waited for this moment for eight months.
Her first important gallery show and even Taylor couldn’t spoil it, no matter how hard he tried.