WAKING UP TO DAYLIGHT on the soft rug, I find the fireplace switched off and two covers laid over me instead of the one I had pulled over my legs.
A note, black ink on a sepia-colored card with the letters C.O. embossed at the top, lies next to me:
Have to take care of a few things. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back before eleven.
C—
My sleepy eyes squint against the bright light flooding in through the floor-to-ceiling balcony doors. Slowly getting to my feet, I slide open one of the doors, stepping out onto the balcony-to-beat-all-balconies overlooking a spectacularly lush Central Park enveloped in silvery morning rays. Cameron’s terrace has to be the biggest I’ve ever seen in Manhattan; the thing makes mine and Jack’s look like a window ledge, and a small one at that. A mild gust of fresh air greets me as I take a few minutes to soak in the stunning, invigorating Manhattan morning.
After a cold shower, I pull on a sleek longer-at-the-back peach summer dress over a magenta bra and panties. I pull my wet hair into a messy high ponytail and slide some super-fine gold bands onto my ring and middle fingers in an attempt to dull the absence of the wedding and engagement rings languishing in my bag.
With a cup of the best Earl Grey I’ve ever tasted in my life in hand, I walk back to the terrace and drink in the hazy blue sky and majestic beauty of Central Park on this ethereal Sunday morning.
Or at least I try to.
The ageless grace of these awe-inspiring tree giants usually leaves me feeling serene and buoyant, but this morning, the sight of them allows malicious thoughts to penetrate my mind. As I take in the sight of the trees below me, imprints of the people I saw last night dance in front of them.
Quercus Velutina.
The Black Oak.
My eyes wander to the bulbous canopy of a huge oak which sends me back to that immense wooden carving at the Society, back to that place, to those people, to the naked gyrating bodies, the masks, the smells, the sweat, the body parts, the unnerving music, the chains, the handcuffs, the pain…
My breathing shallows and I start to pace as I play a mental video of my husband—and then Cameron—in those rooms over and over again until the claustrophobia constrictor tightens its grip again. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. When I do, I see women kneeling down and pleasuring Jack, feel his fingers glide over their bodies, imagine their ecstasy at being dominated by him.
It was my idea! My stupid idea! I wanted to go there. I insisted! And I got what I damn well wanted.
Palpitations of panic permeate my flesh as the images imprint themselves indelibly on my mind until I find myself on the sofa with my head in my hands, trying to talk myself out of this mire I’m in.
The truth is that despite knowing how many times and with how many women Jack has cheated on me, as I think about the lawyer I’ll contact later today, I feel hollowed out by gnawing hopelessness. The crushing weight of despair compresses my chest, preventing me from taking a full breath as I think of Jack’s beautiful face, his breathtaking eyes, his incomparable body, his passion, his strength.
“What am I doing?” I whisper.
In the cold light of day, the reality that I’m in Cameron O’Neill’s apartment hits me like a brick to the face.
I hear that familiar voice again:
You need to leave.
In an instant, I’m in the bedroom where I pack up the few items I’d taken out of my suitcase before rolling it to the front door. I don some sandals, dart over to Cameron’s desk and pull out a sheet of paper and a pen, my hands wavering as I start to write in haste.
Cam,
I have to go. I can never thank you enough for everything. You really saved my life. I want you to know how much I appreciate everything and how sorry I am for all that happened between us.
I’ll be in touch.
With love,
J—
P.S. Please don’t worry about anything.
I place the letter on the coffee table and leave, making sure that the door self-locks behind me. As I hit the lobby, I put my purse on top of my little suitcase and roll it towards the exit, keeping my head down in the hopes of getting out without being spotted.
“Excuse me! Miss!”
Damn…
As the doorman opens the door for me and I exit the building, that same booming voice shouts after me again, much closer this time. With an exhale of irritation, I turn around to see the concierge from last night bounding up to me.
“Hello. It’s Jess, right?” he asks, a little out of breath.
“Yes,” I answer briskly, surprised that Cameron told him my name.
“Mr. O’Neill is expecting to see you when he returns. He’ll be home shortly.” Small beads of perspiration have settled on his chubby cheeks and he’s losing his composure slightly despite his immaculate suit.
“I know. Harold, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I can give him a call—”
“No!” I insist before resuming in a much calmer tone of voice. “Harold, I— Something’s come up. I’ve left Mr. O’Neill a note. I need to take care of some things this morning. I’ll be seeing him later.” I don’t like to lie, but time is a-ticking and I need to get out of here.
“Miss, if you could just wait a couple of—”
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
And with that, I turn and hotfoot it down Fifth Avenue, pulling my suitcase behind me as I scan the street in front of me, searching for a cab to snag, most probably looking quite out of place among some of the poised, put-together multi-millionaires in their designer clothes. Though it’s still early, the weather’s already hot and muggy as hell and droplets of perspiration roll down my neck and onto my back and cleavage as I try in vain to find a cab.
As I turn right onto East 69th Street, some asshole jumps into a taxi right in front of me and I curse loudly over the rumble of the ridiculously heavy Sunday-morning traffic and the accompanying sensory overload. It’s not helping that my mind is playing tricks on me and I keep hallucinating Jack everywhere I look— dressed as a doorman or sitting in the back of cabs or watching me from the other side of the street at newspaper stands. It’s never him of course, but just imagining he’s nearby is making me jittery as hell.
More messy minutes elapse in the sweltering heat before I spot an empty cab and yell out. To my relief, it stops right in front of me and I drag my bags towards the trunk. I’m suddenly hyperaware that I have no idea where I’m actually going. I feel tempted to say “just drive” like they do in bad movies, just to see the expression on the driver’s face.
“Hi,” I shout. “Thanks for stopping. Can you open the trunk? I don’t need help.”
“Sure,” the driver shouts back through an open window.
There’s a click, the trunk pops open and I throw my suitcase inside, placing my hand on the curve of the trunk door, ready to slam it shut. As I pull it down, I’m stopped in my tracks by an immovable force blocking the descent. A male hand pushes the trunk door back up without faltering.
I turn towards the man and gasp sharply as I am met by Cameron O’Neill’s fiery eyes.
“What the hell?” I snap, my breathing quickening.
Without saying a word, he pulls my suitcase out of the trunk in one fluid motion and drops it on the sidewalk with a thud before edging me back with one hand and slamming the trunk closed with the other.
“Hey!” I protest. “What are you doing?”
The cab driver appears next to us. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine,” I answer. “I still need a ride. Just give me a minute, please.”
“It’s not happening, Avery.” Cameron’s rich voice is unwavering, his face hard and angry. He pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his designer suit pants and hands the taxi driver a couple of hundred dollar bills, addressing him firmly. “You’re going to leave. Now.”
“No! Just wait, sir,” I insist, taking a step towards the driver. “I still need a ride. Just give me one minute.”
His eyes dart between me, Cameron and the money and he pauses for a couple of seconds before turning on his heels. As he gets in the car, the irritation I feel at being toyed with by the people around me turns into full-blown indignation.
“Are you serious?! He could be a serial killer or some stalker ex-boyfriend!”
He starts the car engine.
“So that’s how much a woman’s safety costs, huh?” I shout as he starts to pull away. “Un-fucking-believable!”
I stack my bag on my suitcase again just in time for a heavily made-up lady with perfectly coiffed hair wearing a thick chain of pearls draped around her throat to look me up and down with disdain.
“Yeah, just keep walking, princess,” I yell with a flick of the hand.
Her eyes widen in shock and she gives me a wide berth, which, fair enough, frankly.
“You finished?” asks Cameron. “I mean as I much as I enjoy watching you upset the locals—”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I scowl. “What the hell just happened here? Do you think you can just buy everything you want?” I grab my suitcase and start to roll it but am stopped once again by Cameron who positions himself in front of me. “Jesus, Cameron. When did you become one of those macho assholes that order women around? I don’t like being told what to do.”
“It’s a recent thing, apparently.”
“Great.”
“Can I ask where exactly you think you’re planning to go?” he scowls.
“Where? I’m going to a place where I can make my own decisions like a mature adult being and sort out my mess of a life on my own.”
He sighs with barely concealed exasperation. “Not this again.”
“It’s not just about that. I can’t stay with you anymore. It’s not safe. I can’t even believe I dragged you into this situation. I don’t want Jack ever knowing that I was with you. He can be unstable, unpredictable—dangerous even. You know that as well as I—”
“As I recall, I pretty much kidnapped you.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not safe. Not for me, and especially not for you. This is my mess. I got myself into this despite warnings from a dozen people and I won’t inflict this pain on them or on you anymore. I’m going to have to start facing my life like a grown-up woman.”
He shoves a hand through his ample brown hair, the frustration in his deep voice rising. “You finished?”
“No! I’m not! I don’t want to be this weak, pathetic woman depending on everyone else—depending on men to save her sorry ass. Jesus, I’ve taught classes on self-reliance and look at me!” I shove loose strands of hair out of my face clumsily.
“You done?” he asks sharply, but there’s a smile. It’s a tiny shadow of a smile. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t know him well, but it’s there.
I exhale, hoping to hear him say that he gets it.
“Good,” he says taking a step towards me. “Now it’s my turn. Whether you like it or not, there’s a reason some women end up killed or maimed or God knows what when they try to leave relationships. It’s because a woman can never imagine what lengths a man will go to get what he wants, or to keep what he believes is his. Not all men obviously, but enough.”
“Look, Jack isn’t violent. He wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not afraid in that way.”
“Nevertheless… I’m sorry if it pisses you off, but the reality is that sometimes only a man can protect a woman from the dangers of another man. Only a man can understand how another man’s mind works, what he wants and what he’ll do to get it.”
“Look, Cam, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done. There are no words to say how grateful—”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he snaps. The tone of his voice is harsh, but his eyes are soft, imploring almost. “I told you before that your friendship pretty much saved my life. I wasn’t exaggerating. I want to be here now, to help you, protect you, until I can be sure that you’re safe.”
“And you did. You have done, all this time, but now I need to figure this out on my own like an adult woman.”
As I scan his eyes for signs that my arguments will finally stick, the sun comes out from behind a thin wisp of cloud and caresses his sculpted face. He brushes a hand through his glossy chocolate-brown locks as my eyes drift over high, sharp cheekbones and perfect pink lips above a strong chin. I can’t help but drink him in. Standing taller than any man that passes by us in his exquisite grey suit pants and crisp pastel-blue shirt that shows off his lean, long waist and muscular arms, he makes my insides ache. I picture the solid mass of muscle beneath the suit and my core clenches. His energy is impossibly virile, yet self-composed and restrained. As the bright sunlight hits his eyes, dancing pools of copper and gold start to bewitch me as I try to distract myself from this ill-timed arousal at his devastating face and magnetic virility. I hope he can’t see how hard my nipples are under my thin peach dress.
“Where are you planning on going?” he asks, exasperation roughening his voice.
“I’ll stay at a hotel for a couple of nights while I make some plans.”
“Okay, and what will you do when the goons Jack has working to find you see your credit card flash up on their system and you find him banging on your door?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I respond quietly, quite unsure that I believe my own words.
“He already is, Jessynia. I know Jack, maybe better than you in some ways. And I know that what he feels for you is far beyond his control. I also know how he solves the problems in his life.”
“I can stay with Maddie, then.”
“I spoke to Maddie this morning.”
“What?”
“She thought she may have been followed a couple of times.”
“Oh my God!” The blood drains out of my limbs and I clasp my hands over my face. “I can’t let him do this anymore! I have to stop this! I won’t have anyone else suffer because of—”
Cameron grabs my arms with his hands, forcing me to look at him. “And they won’t. I’m taking you back to Redwood. Your parents and Stella will be there. In fact, they’re expecting you this afternoon. Your parents will try to get a lawyer to come tomorrow and I’ve already asked one of our family lawyers to come by as well. He’s one of the best in the business. I have some security guys that have worked with the family for years coming down and I want you to talk to them. Once you file for divorce and get to a safe place with security, Jack will leave all those people alone. This is the quickest and safest way to handle everything. There are too many people that know you and Jack in Manhattan. I don’t want to risk someone seeing you. Plus, I promised your father I’d bring you back safely, today.”
His gaze paralyzes me as he tucks a strand of hair that has come out of my ponytail behind my ears, his fingers pausing on my ear lobe for two long seconds that make me afraid my knees may give in and that I may melt into a puddle on the sidewalk.
“I’ll come back with you,” I respond. “I’ll see my parents, meet the lawyer, file the papers and then I need to sort the rest out on my own. Okay?”
He nods, taking his phone out of his pocket to call someone. “It’s me. I want to change cars. I’m at 69th and Madison. I need something fast, safe, inconspicuous.”
