AIR ENTERS MY LUNGS IN A SHARP BLAST, angst dizzying me as I’m taken hostage by Alex Frost’s steely grey eyes.
Her distinct features come into devastating focus: tight, blond, shoulder-length curls cascade around her smooth, tanned face. Under taught skin, her cheekbones are prominent, her strong chin pointed and her slightly crooked nose pronounced. She has bleached eyebrows and is wearing heavy kohl eye make-up with nude lips. When she frowns, the woman looks scary—unattractive almost—but when she smiles, her face is a stunning display of singular, mesmerizing beauty.
Alex’s mouth slowly twists into a delicious, cold-eyed smile as she contemplates my face as I try—and fail miserably—to hide my distress and look as calm and poised as her, one of the powerful, unelected queens of Manhattan. I freeze for a long moment, hearing nothing but the whoosh of blood cursing through my veins.
The eloquent, ball-busting, soul-shaking speech that I’d rehearsed in my head in case I ever bumped into her dissipates into the air like a puff of smoke in a strong wind. Despite the fact that the bitch has slept with my husband repeatedly, I still have to fight the nerves I instinctively feel around such a powerful, self-confident presence—nerves slowly tempered by the rage building inside me as I lose myself in her gleefully studious eyes, my composure faltering with every second we share locked into each other.
“Vodka on the rocks,” she purrs to the barman, studying me as she speaks.
Her voice is rich and smooth, her manner impeccable, her accent expensive. All trace of the former waitress who clawed her way out of one of Ohio’s poorest neighborhoods twenty years ago has been meticulously airbrushed and preened and spent and hidden away, along with all evidence of her once-humble life. The woman is now as rich and powerful and versed in high society as those born into New York’s oldest and wealthiest families.
As if in slow-motion, she gracefully leans her athletic body against the bar and opens her large black clutch studded with masculine accents of silver. She takes out a slim white cigarette which she lights with a flip-top lighter before drawing in a slow, deep cloud of smoke.
Alex moves like a large cat—deliberate, smooth, elegant and dangerous. She’s wearing a draping white long-sleeved dress that stops right at the ankle, with a sharp V-cut to the chest area that reveals the cleavage of her small, pert, braless breasts. No jewelry adorns her other than a golden coil snaked around a tanned wrist. Though she’s over ten years older than me, her flawless golden skin is smooth and beautiful, her body lithe and powerful. Her stare is direct and predatory; flinching is not something Alexandra Frost does when facing her prey.
“Hello, Jessynia. You look stunning,” she purrs, gliding her free hand up to my ear to hold and admire one of my long earrings before letting it go. As if paralyzed, I actually let her. “Those stones are the exact same color as your eyes,” she says while taking a long drag of her cigarette, her eyes riveted to mine for every moment of it. “So, how are you?”
Taken aback, ridiculous words come out, my voice suddenly small, clogged with resentment… and fear. “I’m… fine,” I stammer, just about managing to pick my voice up off the floor.
Fine? What the hell is wrong with me?
Why am I not grabbing the bitch by the throat like I want to and screaming at her for fucking my husband? I want to confront her, insult her, shout so that the whole room knows what she’s done.
But the words don’t come out.
“You and Jack having a nice break from Manhattan?” she asks, a malicious glint leaving her gleaming eyes wide with relish, as if she’s about to finish off some animal who’s trapped and flailing, aware of its demise.
Out of some pool of strength buried within me, the deeply ingrained urge not to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain vanishes and I find myself leaning towards her. “You can cut the shit, Alex,” I growl, fury seeping into my flushed face, betraying my attempt at the sang-froid that she manages so artfully. “I know about you and Jack, and I think you know that as well, so how about we forego the niceties?”
“Well, well…” Her eyes narrow further as she takes another drag of her cigarette, exhaling a wisp of smoke the same cool hue as her icy eyes. “You’re becoming almost as direct as your husband. That will serve you well in life.”
I frown in disbelief, taken aback by her unexpected reaction to being confronted by the wife she’s wronged. No apology, no flustered blushing, no compassion, no shame—the woman is incapable of being embarrassed. What’s more, I know my face is now turning an unhealthy shade of crimson, my hands are clammy and beads of perspiration are pooling around my neck while she remains self-possessed and in total control. Christ, I wish I could keep my cool like her.
“Yeah, thanks for the life lesson,” I spit out. “Maybe one day I can turn into a ruthless, emotionless bitch and my life’s work will be complete. Is that all you have to say to me?”
“I’m not sure what I could say to you, Jessynia,” she sighs, her face softening slightly. “I know that Jack and I have caused you a lot of pain and we’re sorry for that.”
“Don’t you dare say we! You don’t say we in these situations. You and my husband are not we, for fuck’s sake!”
“Jack is responsible for his conduct in his marriage, not me.”
“You’re right. Totally right. It’s his fault. But you’re not just a normal woman, Alex. To you, this is sport—needing to have any man you want, and not giving a shit about the consequences. In fact, the more pain you inflict, the better. Seeing a woman like me have her insides ripped out is a perk for you, isn’t it?”
“It’s not that simple, unfortunately. Jack and I have been friends for a long time. I care about him, very much.”
“Care about him? How would you like your husband to find out how much you care about him?”
Alex bursts out laughing—a cold, deliberate, slow laugh. I grimace, scrutinizing her face, trying to understand a woman whose behavior is so incomprehensible to me that I feel like I’m dealing with an alien being.
“My husband?” She lets out another caustic laugh, her hawkish eyes betraying a hint of some deeply entombed torment as she leans into me. “The day I caught my husband stiffing a third close friend of mine while I was in the same house, I finally stopped caring what he did with his body, and he stopped caring what I did with other men’s. And from that day forward, nothing he did ever hurt me again.”
My blood runs cold. “Sounds like a healthy marriage.”
She shoots me a tepid smile which she buries by taking another drag of her slender cigarette. “It works for us. I’m certainly happy I’m not the paranoid, fearful little woman I was back then. Sometimes not caring where your husband sticks it—especially when it comes to a man as talented as Jack—is the only real way to get through marriage.”
I look down in a last-ditch attempt to prevent the tears I feel welling up from rolling onto my face. “I will never choose to live like that, ever, no matter whom I’m married to.”
She smiles. “Then, I suggest you get in touch with a very good therapist. Preferably one who can prescribe medication.”
A hot tear teetering on the edge of my tear duct falls onto my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, cursing myself for not being able to rein in my emotions better.
Alex leans in to study my face more closely, shaking her head. “You’re sensational, Jessynia—beautiful, passionate, caring, sharp as a tack. You remind me of myself when I was a young girl, though I highly doubt you’d believe that. It’s such a shame that a woman with all the gifts you’ve been given chooses to feel all this pain. Don’t you know that you could have any man in this room? You should enjoy life a little—”
“Stop,” I interrupt weakly.
I realize that I can never win against someone like Alex Frost. It doesn’t matter if I insult her, scream at her, try to reason with her or cry in front of her, she won’t feel anything, certainly not shame nor remorse.
“There are a lot of men in Manhattan. I hope there are enough to occupy you without going for—” I stop. I won’t beg this woman for anything. “This isn’t just about Jack. There are ways to behave around married men, Alex. Ways that don’t pull them down into your sordid world. I manage it. So do most women I know. I’ve seen the way you act around men. I’m not the only married woman that’s terrified of you. Are you proud of that?”
“I’m proud of everything I’ve done in my life,” she smirks. “And every man I’ve experienced.”
“Well, I want you to know that I’m not just another moron wife who’s going to look the other way or keep quiet when soulless vampires like you—”
“This may not suit the narrative you’ve been feeding yourself, Jessynia, but I didn’t have to coerce your husband. Jack knows what he wants and he takes it, over and over again. I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Manhattan who has learned that lesson over the years.”
As another single tear rolls down my other cheek and her eyes glisten in delight, I begin to understand why Alex is sitting in front of me: she sought me out to declare her victory over me, to make sure that I know that the beautiful simplicity of my former life is shattered forever and that my world and her world are now forever intertwined. She couldn’t resist it—this woman wants to see the effects of her work on my face.
She stubs out her cigarette in a glass ashtray and picks up her lighter, opening her clutch to place it inside. As she does so, a shiny object on the inside flap of her bag catches my eye—a small golden broach in the shape of a tree, one that looks just like the broach I saw inside Jack’s gym bag that day back in June when I found his second phone. I contemplate it for a second before it disappears out of sight as she closes the clutch.
Doing my best not to react to the delicious smile of fascination on her face, I study her pale, penetrating eyes earnestly, trying to see if I can catch some glimpse of a soul, to see if I can try to somehow bypass the hard shell she’s put up around herself and communicate with it without speaking. Instead, my eyes mist up as the impact of her words sucks the hope I’ve worked so hard at cultivating out of me.
“Tsk. All those tears… on such a breathtaking face,” she tut tuts. “Such a waste. One day you’ll learn what all women of a certain age come to understand—that no man is ever worth a single one of your tears. Even a man like Jack.”
As bleak, murky energy flows from Alex and into me, a strong, protective arm suddenly grasps me roughly as Jack emerges from out of nowhere and stands beside me with a visceral energy that invades the room. He positions part of his body between us, glancing down into my misty-eyed face before turning to face Alex, his eyes wild with fury.
“Well, well. The handsome couple,” she purrs. “I’ve just been talking to your beautiful—”
“Get the fuck away from my wife,” Jack growls, his voice as dangerous as I’ve ever heard it.
She downs the remains of her vodka and places it on the bar, seemingly impervious to the brutality in his glare. “Your wife is a big girl, Jack. A very clever girl. She’s more than capable of having an honest—”
“Don’t fuck with me!” His face is grim and frightening.
“Jessynia doesn’t need protect—”
“Go near my wife one more time,” he snarls viciously, inclining his face within inches of hers, “and I’ll make it the last fucking thing you ever do on this Earth. Just try me.”
She smiles coolly, the golden skin around her pallid eyes crinkling slightly. “It’s been a pleasure, Jessynia. Enjoy the rest of the evening,” she says softly, glancing at me and then Jack as she turns and makes her way out of the bar and into the living area, an inscrutable model of self-composure.
Jack glowers at her until she’s out of sight, then turns to me, wiping an annoyingly frequent tear from my face. We don’t speak for a moment as he takes up Alex’s spot on the barstool next to me, trying to temper his labored respiration.
“What did she say to you?” he asks.
It takes me a few seconds to find the words. “That woman is… a vampire. You know that, right? How could you even…?” I stop, scanning his face, trying to understand how he could want her so much that he’d risk our marriage for it. “She said that it wasn’t her fault that you came running to her again and again, or to the other women you’re screwing, and that maybe I should do the same.”
Jack stares at the bar for a few long seconds, looking like he’s restraining himself from going back out there to find her, before finding my eyes again. “Don’t listen to that cunt. I promised you that it would never happen again—never. And I meant it.” He grabs the back of my neck and runs his thumb over the milky skin of my jaw. “I will never see her again. You hear me? I love you, more than anything in this life or the next.”
I nod. “Can we leave?”
“Yes.” He leans forward and kisses me on the lips and I recoil slightly as he does so. One step forward, two steps back, I guess…
“I’m going to say goodbye to my parents.”
As we walk into the main living area, I’m taken aback to see Cameron O’Neill standing opposite us on the other side of the room. He looks as though he’s been watching the scene through the open doors that lead to the bar. As his concerned gaze locks with mine, I instantly look down at the floor, afraid that this man who knows me so well will see my flushed face and dewy eyes. When I look back up, I see him glaring at something across the room to his left. I glance in that direction and see Alexandra Frost to my right and realize that it is her, drink in hand and standing with two other people, that he is staring down. What’s more, she is staring right back at him, a subtle, but malicious smirk of defiance adorning her distinctive face. I look back at Cameron who is still eyeballing her, the enmity in his face restrained but unmistakable.
Cameron’s eyes pivot back to meet mine as Jack and I navigate our way through throngs of people into the center of the room and down a few wooden steps into a depressed pit where well-heeled guests converse on in-set sofas. My parents are holding court, entertaining or very possibly annoying the hell out of the people around them.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” I say to my dad who seems more peripheral to the conversation. “We’re going to head off.”
My mother overhears, taking a split second to jump to her feet. “Oh, why, darling? We haven’t seen you enough.” She smoothes my hair back and tucks it behind my ears.
“I know, mom. I’m just feeling really tired for some reason. I’ll call you tomorrow morning. We can meet up—go to the beach or the market or something.”
“What is it with young people these days?” she asks, addressing two people next to her. “In my day, if you went to bed before six in the morning, that was a shitty night.”
“Well, I can go back to doing that if you prefer?” I jest.
The people around us chuckle.
“No, that’s okay, sweetie.”
“Jack, darling,” she sings, kissing him firmly on the cheek and wiping the subsequent lipstick stain away. “Look after our girl, young man.”
“Always. We’ll call you tomorrow, Diana,” he responds with a smile. “We’re looking forward to spending the day with you.”
“Best son-in-law in the entire world,” she gushes to her friends.
I smile half-heartedly at the group and say goodbye, kissing my father on the cheek as I hand Jack the golden token for the cloakroom and ask him to get our jackets before heading outside to the garden to say a brief goodbye to Stella and Kevin.
As I walk back into the house and through the living room, I try not to make eye contact with anyone, but spot both Cameron and Alex out of my peripheral vision on either side of the room. The air is thick with the charged, hostile energy exchanged between them. It feels like walking through an electrical storm.
As I get to the front door, Jack hands me my summer jacket as our host Richard pops up from out of nowhere. We both thank him profusely for inviting us and ask him to say thank you to Shelley. Jack grips my hand tightly as we exit the house and walk to our car and I exhale as I begin to feel the weight of that place lift from my chest.
We sit in silence as Jack drives us the twenty minutes back to the rental house that was supposed to be a place where we could get a fresh start together. The strength I felt earlier in the night has left me and I feel like I could crumble into pieces at any moment if I’m not careful.
Later that night as I lie next to my husband in bed, sleep just beyond my grasp, I realize that moving on from everything may not be as simple as I had hoped.
