WE’RE DRIVING FOR THE NEXT TWENTY MINUTES, to the outskirts of the town where the city streets meet the country roads. The largest of Parker’s buildings is there, Errien Hotel pasted across the front of beautiful French architecture, turning it into an eyesore.
I haven’t been anywhere near this hotel since my mom disappeared, determined to stay as far away as possible, because up until recently, any excuse to not run into Parker was one that I’d have taken. We pull right up to the front, the town car slowing to a stop and the door being opened by a valet in a black suit with red trim. His white- gloved hand reaches down to help me exit, and I take it, smiling gently as I step out of the car and twist to look up at the giant building.
Parker grips my waist as he follows and he pushes gently forward, leading me right through the front doors. He ignores the staff around him, and they do their best to stay out of his way.
It’s a beautiful hotel on the inside, and a bit of unease trickles through me knowing Parker lives like this when so many others go without. Technically, I guess I’ll be just as guilty. I’ve already started to get used to the town cars on demand. How long will it be until I’m also ignoring staff and turning up my nose at other people?
There’s a chandelier as large as my living room gleaming in the center of the foyer, gold-lined furniture sprinkled throughout, accented by large vases overflowing with white roses. The floors twinkle from the light’s reflection, and my heels click- clack on the marble as we make our way across the space. The reception is to the left of us, and a small line of people are waiting, but we bypass them all, heading to a hallway on the right that opens to a fleet of elevators.
We step inside, and Parker presses a key card to the pad, waiting until it beeps.
“Penthouse, I’m assuming?” I say.
“Smart girl.” He lifts the key card. “I’ll get you a copy so you can come and go as you please.”
My stomach twists, wondering how Quinten will do in a hotel. There’s a lot of people and there can be a ton of interaction, both of which are beyond what he’s used to.
We’ll adapt. At least we’ll be together.
The elevator dings and the doors open directly into a large marble entryway that leads into a spacious living room. I step inside, following Parker and taking in the surroundings, trying to imagine my life here.
It’s nice, but it’s all clean lines and monochromatic furniture, and I can’t see myself anywhere in this place no matter how hard
I try.
“You can tell you were a bachelor.” I smile, because I don’t know what else to say.
He ignores me, his attention on the cell in his hand, the same way it always is. I wonder if its work or Florence stealing his attention.
“I have a stylist coming to measure you and replace your wardrobe,” he notes without glancing up.
“Okay.”
He makes a face at his screen and then slips it back in his pocket, the heels of his polished black dress shoes tapping on the wood floor as he walks toward me. He tips up my chin and I wait to feel something. A spark or a flash or something that gives me hope that maybe this marriage won’t be as bad as it seems.
But there’s nothing. Nothing except for self- loathing at marrying the man who took my virginity by force and fear for what I know he can do. No matter how grateful I’m trying to be that he’s here now and helping me out of a shitty situation. “You’re mine now, sweet girl. You need to look the part.” I bite my tongue instead of replying the way I want to.
He moves past me. “I have a meeting, so make yourself comfortable here and then use the town car the rest of the day.”
I agree because honestly, I enjoy the town car. It’s nice not having to take the bus and even better to have dependable transportation to get Quinten from school and then to therapy and back.
“Hey, Parker?”
He pauses and looks at me.
“Are there any updates? You know…about the case?” I really don’t want to ask. It’s been kind of nice pretending that it doesn’t exist, but avoidance only works for so long until the intrusive thoughts eat away at the middle of my chest. Not knowing what’s going on is liable to drive me insane.
His lips thin. “Jason’s handling things like I already told you.
If you haven’t heard, then you’re still in the clear.”
My chest loosens a tiny bit, and I blow out a relieved breath.
His eyes soften and he moves back toward me, leaning down and pressing his chapped lips to mine. “Sweet girl, I’ve got you.
No one’s going to do anything as long as you have me.” My stomach rolls but I push back the disgust.
“You’re just a person of interest. They probably dragged in a dozen other people along with you.” He brushes the hair from my face, and I nod, choosing to believe him.
Three hours later and I’ve picked Quinten up from school and have him to his therapy, his peals of laughter floating through the door while I sit in the waiting room, my thumb spinning the diamond ring around my finger.
It hasn’t been that long since my world went topsy- turvy, but when I think of where I was a few weeks ago, it seems like a different life.
“Amaya, hi.”
I twist in my seat, coming face-to- face with Abby, the director of Quinten’s therapy.
“Hey, Abby.” I smile.
“Have you had a chance to call and talk to your insurance?”
Her words make my stomach dip, out of habit mostly. There shouldn’t be any issue now, but I feel like a piece of shit for not even thinking about taking care of it until right this second when I’m reminded.
Parker will handle it if I ask. I think. It’s habit to throw myself into a tailspin whenever things like this come up, and it will take some time to get used to it being any other way.
“I haven’t,” I say.
Abby frowns.
“But,” I rush out. “Anything the insurance won’t cover, I’ll just pay out of pocket.”
I’m not sure if that’s actually the case, but it will get her off my back until I can get Parker in here to help smooth things out. Either he’ll pay, or maybe when we’re married, I’ll get put on his insurance, which would allow a whole new world to open up for Quinten therapy- wise.
I spin the ring on my finger again. “I’m going through some life changes.”
Abby glances down to the diamond, her eyes widening before she smiles up at me. “Wow! Congratulations.”
Her obvious approval makes me feel sick. I want to reach out and shake her, screaming that it isn’t something to celebrate. But when Quinten opens the door and bounces out of the room, all of it falls away, and I beam, remembering why I’m doing what I am.
Quinten deserves the best, and I want to be here to share it with him.
“I don’t mean to be a pain,” Abby continues, drawing my attention away. “They’re just breathing down my neck, and whenever I try to solve things with them, I don’t get anywhere.” Her eyes flick to Quinten, who’s wrapping his arms around Gabby’s legs. “I’d hate to have to interrupt his sessions.”
I nod, even though it feels like she’s chastising me. Like it’s somehow my fault that insurance is a fucking scam and I can’t afford to pay for things he needs. “I’ll take care of it.”
Pulling out my phone, I bring up Parker’s name.
Me: Hey, can I talk to you later about Quin’s therapy? There’s a problem with his insurance and I could use your help.
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over Send, nausea rising through my esophagus and burning the back of my throat.
How quickly I went from wanting nothing to do with Parker to leaning on him for almost everything. Just the way he’s always wanted.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I’ve been holding on to the tiny sliver of power I felt when I was with Cade, but now it slips away entirely, my life at the mercy of the in-between, straddling two worlds. What life was and what it’s about to be.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down, hope rising in my chest that it’s Parker calling to take care of the insurance issue immediately. I’m disappointed when I see my old boss’s name, Phillip, flashing across the screen.
I cringe, knowing I should answer. Technically, I still haven’t quit the Chapel, and while I can go in whenever I want, since there was never a set schedule, I know I should still tell him that I’m done working there entirely.
Only, I don’t want to. One, I like dancing there, and I guess holding on to the possibility gives me a sense of control, like maybe there’ll be some way for me to keep the connection as long as possible. Just in case. And two, the second I tell Phillip, he’ll revoke access to his studio. And now more than ever, my body craves the mental and physical release of pole.
If I lose that, what else do I have that’s just for me?
Quinten hops over to me, snapping me out of my thoughts, and he’s followed by his therapist, Gabby.
“Did you have fun with Miss Gabby?” Quinten says to me, bouncing on his toes.
“I had fun with Miss Gabby. Did you?” I nod.
“Did you?” he parrots. “I had fun.”
I glance around for Abby to reassure her one more time, but she’s gone. She must have slipped away when I was staring at my phone, lost in thought.
As Gabby tells me what she and Quinten worked on, Quinten walks away, going to stand in front of a young boy who’s sitting in the chairs against the wall, his legs pulled up underneath him and his gaze wide and wary as it tracks Quinten’s every move.
I hop up, saying bye to Gabby and grabbing Quinten’s hat, hoodie, and headphones before making my way over to where he is.
“You ready to go, dude?” I ask, coming to stand next to him. I look over to the boy and his mother. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Quinten repeats to them, then looks to me.
“Do you want to say hi, baby?” the mother prods.
Her son blinks, curling in on himself more. I put my hand in front of Quinten’s face so he sees it coming and then grab his arm, gently pulling him back.
“He’s shy,” the mother is quick to explain.
I gulp down the sudden emotion clogging my throat. It’s always the little things like this that catch me off guard. Things that before Quinten, I never would have thought twice about, but now…my heart aches over what that mom must be feeling, phantom wounds from all the times I’ve felt it pinging against my chest.
The mismatched emotions tearing her in two over feeling the need to explain her son’s behavior and feeling guilt over thinking she has to explain it in the first place.
I’ve been there a thousand times with Quinten.
It’s a shitty feeling, and it’s only been in the past couple of years I’ve recognized that it literally doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, as long as Quinten is happy and healthy.
Fuck them.
“He’s perfect,” I reply, smiling. “Quin here took years before he’d come within five feet of anybody. Your boy must have great vibes.”
The mother’s shoulders visibly relax and she smiles. “This is Stefan’s first session here.”
I bob my head in understanding. “He’s in good hands, Mama.”
“Good hands, Mama.” Quinten jumps, his little fingers reaching out and gripping my palm. I grin down at him and pull him toward the door, stopping before we leave and doing the same routine we do every time we go outside. Hoodie first, then coat. Beanie on his head and finally covering his ears with light- up, noise- canceling headphones.
We walk out to the town car where Parker’s driver, who I’m pretty sure has been put under strict instruction to not even look at me, waits with an open door and a stern chin.
Quinten slides in, side- eyeing the man, and then looks at me with a grin. My stomach twists, knowing I need to explain to him that we’re moving. I thought I had time, but now that Parker wants us to move in before the wedding, I don’t. A few days at the most.
Soon, I decide, watching him scroll through his app, his headphones lighting up the interior of the car with a burst of rainbows.
I’ll tell him soon.
