Present
We didn’t kiss again.
That, I couldn’t let happen. Not if I wanted to survive Christian Miller. And already, I knew my days would be grayer, bleaker, once he was gone.
He walked me home in dignified silence. We both blew wispy condensation against the crisp air, like children.
I knew I should be terrified of opening up, giving him an exclusive glimpse into my brand of crazy. After all, newly thirty-two-year-olds weren’t supposed to celebrate their birthdays at a cemetery with men they hardly knew. Especially not men like Christian—who was hell bent on destroying what remained of my dysfunctional family.
When we reached my door, Christian ran his hand over my cheek. It was warm and rough. I hadn’t been with a man for over a year. Not since a Tinder date that had started with awkward sex and ended with the guy weeping on my shoulder about his ex, who wouldn’t take him back. Goose bumps prickled the back of my neck. I breathed Christian in. Exhaled my inhibitions out.
“Thanks for letting me be there for you today,” Christian said.
“Thanks for not running for the hills, screaming.” I brushed my shoulder over his, the way he had after our dinner date. Honestly, I forgot the last time someone other than Jillian had done something so sweet for me.
“You’re not as broken as you want me to think, Arya.” Christian smiled, and boy, could I get used to that smile.
“Am too.”
“Well, I’m worse,” he offered.
“Prove it,” I challenged. “Tell me what’s your brand of messed up.”
“Maybe. Later.” But it sounded so much like never I didn’t want to press him for more.
“Changed your mind about us yet?” His voice had a way of moving over my skin, like fingertips.
“Not in the least.”
“You will.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Why not? I’m a great swimmer.”
And thus, Christian kissed the tip of my nose and strolled off into the night, taking a small chunk of my heart with him.
The next day, at work, the missing piece of my heart made my chest feel empty. I wanted to see Christian again, to ask for it back. Maybe it was because he’d come to the cemetery with me. Or maybe it was our kiss the night before. Perhaps Christian was just a distraction from the real disaster encroaching into my life. My father’s case was spiraling out of control. I’d given up on social media, newspapers, and news websites and declined all social invitations. I’d even gone so far as only communicating with my mother via text. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t a bulletproof plan.
“Hullo.” Whitley plopped on the edge of my desk, swishing her magnificent ash-blonde hair with a smile. “You have a visitor downstairs.”
“I do?” I perked up instantly, ashamed of how excited I was, then cleared my throat, rearranging myself in my seat.
Whitley’s smile broadened, coated with enough lip gloss to fill a bowl of slime. “Oh, honey, I think it’s wonderful that you’re reconnecting with her. Even if the reason for your new relationship is what happened with your father. Should I buzz her up?”
I blinked rapidly before the penny dropped. It took everything in me not to groan.
“No, I’ll go down to see her, thanks.”
“Arya! I’m so glad I got the address right. I thought your father mentioned something about you working on this street.” My mother tugged her white leather glove from each of her fingers before removing it completely. She was clad in one of her more iconic dresses from my childhood.
“Yes, Mother. I’ve been working here for four years, give or take. We have biannual parties for our clients on the roof. Conrad used to come.”
He used to help me clean up afterward too. My mother, however, tossed my invitations into the trash unfailingly.
She had the good sense to look embarrassed, smiling apologetically. “Arya, can we talk?”
With a head jerk toward the nearest coffee shop, I led the way. I allowed my mother to pay for our coffees, knowing she was going to make a fuss about it if I didn’t. When she sat down, she produced something from her Chanel bag.
“I got you a present for your birthday.”
“That’s a first,” I couldn’t help muttering, but I opened the thing anyway. The box was lovely. Blue velvet. I thought it’d be a bracelet or a diamond choker. My mother had a soft spot for fine jewelry. But when I swiped away the fine tissue paper, I found something completely unexpected. It was a framed picture of me and Aaron when we were babies. We were both on our bellies, staring at the camera, wide eyed.
I coughed to cover my emotions. “We looked so different from one another.”
My eyes were green, his dark brown. My hair was brown, his blond.
“Yes.” My mother wrapped her delicate fingers over her coffee cup. “I went through IVF treatments. When I fell pregnant, it was with triplets. But your father only wanted two children, and it was a high-risk pregnancy, so the doctors sided with him. You were supposed to have another sibling.”
My head flew up from my present, my eyes widening. “You never told me that.”
She shrugged. “You never asked.”
“What were you expecting? Hi, Mom, what’s for breakfast today? Oh, and by the way, did you ever have a selective reduction when you were pregnant with us? Yes, pancakes are fine.” But before she could answer, I frowned. “Wait, Conrad didn’t want any more kids?”
I had always thought it to be weird that my mother hadn’t fallen pregnant again in the years after losing Aaron.
“No. I could barely get him to agree to have you two. Of course, it worked out well, as you are his pride and joy now.”
Was, I was tempted to correct. Surprisingly, I didn’t have any trouble believing my mother about Conrad controlling the number of kids they’d had. It was just another horrific revelation to be added to the chain of evidence mounting against him.
So I guessed we were having this conversation now.
“Forgive my bluntness, Mother, but you didn’t exactly act like you were eager to raise the one child you had left.” I took a sip of my coffee. Noticed my hand was shaking.
My mother put her cup down, snatching my hands across the table. “Look at me, Arya.” I did. Not because I wanted to but because I had to give her the chance to explain herself after all these years. “It was a defense mechanism, okay? Your father would often threaten to take you away. In fact, whenever he and I fought, whenever I wanted to walk away, he would use that card against me. He said he’d have full custody over you, because I was such a bad parent, before I even had the chance to become a bad parent. Then I realized it wasn’t going to matter. He’d have done as he wished with or without my efforts. It was a catch-22. I was conditioned not to become too close to you, because I never knew if he’d let me keep you. And he is a very persuasive and manipulative man, as I’m sure you’re starting to see. I didn’t want to get attached to you. Didn’t want my heart to break even more after Aaron.”
My chest was hurting so bad I was surprised I could still breathe. I felt like my walls were crumbling down brick by brick, and I had no way to stop it. I’d always carefully constructed my reality into a digestible picture. Dad was the saint, Mom the sinner. She was the villain in my story, not the victim, and my reality, the one thing I’d thought I had that was stable and true, no longer made sense.
“I thought you didn’t love me,” I said, my hands limp between her fingers.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I wanted to hug you every day. Sometimes I physically stopped myself from reaching out and embracing you, because I knew it would make him mad. He’d say that I was trying to manipulate you. That I was making a point. I wanted us to run away together. But there was always a threat hanging over my head. I didn’t want to lose you entirely.”
“You did anyway.”
“I did,” she agreed. “But at least I got to see you every day. And then when you left for college, and after that, I tried convincing myself that I didn’t care.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I pulled my hands from her grasp. “Out of the blue. What’s changed?”
She shifted in her seat, smoothing her dress over her knees demurely.
“Yesterday,” she started, fumbling with her pearl necklace, “I tried reaching you all day to wish you a happy birthday. You didn’t answer. I wanted to go to your apartment to surprise you and realized I don’t even know where you live. I found out your office address because your father had one of your business cards in his study. I called your office and asked for your address, but Jillian said you weren’t there. That you had . . . a date. It struck me then how little I know about your life. About your hobbies, likes, and dislikes. The things that make your heart sing and your soul weep. I went back home, sick with shame. Your father was in one of his never-ending meetings with Louie and Terrance. I made myself a cup of tea, contemplating how I no longer had a Ruslana to do it for me, because ever since she left, I was too afraid to bring someone else into our house from fear he would sleep with her too. I took my tea to the balcony, overlooking Mount Hebron Memorial, and saw you visiting Aaron. You weren’t alone.”
A pensive smile played on her face. “There was a man with you. You looked . . . close. I saw the way you leaned your head against his shoulder. How you talked. And I thought . . . how I wanted to be that person for you. This rock. Someone you could count on, speak to. Someone to spend your birthday with. Then I thought back to all your birthdays over the years. At five, with nanny number eight. Or your fourteenth one, where we forgot about it until three days later, because Dad was in Geneva. I missed so much. I know that. A simple apology wouldn’t do . . .” She inhaled. “But I think, maybe, seeing as our world is shattering and everything around us is collapsing, we should at least try? What do you say, Arya? Please?”
There were so many things I wanted to say. To ask. But I started with the obvious one, and it had nothing to do with me.
“Why are you letting him stay with you, still?” I frowned. “Conrad. Why not divorce him? It’s a bad look. You standing by him after everything he did.”
“I don’t even go to court with him. He’s asked plenty of times. Apparently, his lawyers think it is good optics.”
When she saw I was waiting for her to elaborate, she moved her hand from her necklace to play with her earring. “Well, I suppose I’m scared of what’s next. You have to understand, I spent the last thirtysomething years in a form of isolation. A prison. He managed to mess with everything in my life—even my medication. A few years ago, I found out he was in close contact with my psychiatrist and told him what to prescribe me. I cut the psychiatrist off immediately, but the damage had been done, and these days, I can’t even take a Xanax without wondering if the people who prescribed it to me have ulterior motives. Whenever we went to social events, he would get deliberately chummy with my female friends—normally the ones whose company I enjoyed the most—and disappear with them for long periods of time. Making me wonder if he slept with them. He conducted very short, very efficient, very strategic affairs with anyone he thought could help me break free from the golden cage he’d set for me. I don’t have any real friends, associates, lawyers, or family. Conrad is my only family, albeit a very bad one.”
“You have me,” I ground out, not exactly sure why these words were leaving my mouth.
My mother’s eyes lit up. “I do?”
“Yeah. We’re not close, but I’ll still be there for you when you need me.” Although I could see why she didn’t know that, seeing as I had been ghosting her for a couple of weeks. Since news had broken about Conrad and she’d started calling me.
“Life is so short.” She shook her head. “I think about all the kisses I didn’t give you. All the hugs we didn’t share. All the movie nights and shopping sprees and fights that made us want to throttle each other and yet love each other more. I think about all the what-ifs. The almosts. How they pile up in the empty room of my memory bank. And it kills me, Arya. It hurts so much more than what’s happening with your dad.”
My pulse thrummed against my inner wrists. I thought about all the moments I’d shared with Dad. Precious and small, like individually wrapped chocolates. I wouldn’t exchange them for the world, even after everything that had happened. And maybe especially because of it.
And Christian. I thought about Christian too.
How much I wanted him. Craved him. Every fiber in my body knew he was going to break my heart. No easy feat, considering no man had accomplished that since Nicholai Ivanov.
“We can create new memories, maybe.” A soft smile touched my lips.
“Oh.” Her voice shook. “I would like that so very much.”
I stumbled out of the coffee shop, fumbling for my phone. It took me a second to find his number and another two to pull myself together and call him. He answered on the first ring, his voice clipped. “Yes?”
The background noise was telling. Documents shifting; hushed voices discussing the EEOC, mischaracterization, and burden of proof. He was obviously at a meeting. Why had he picked up the phone?
“Christian?” I asked.
“Evidently.”
“It’s Arya.”
“Is there anything I can help you with, Arya?” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as I’d thought he’d be.
Had I expected him to fall to his knees and beg to see me? Maybe not, but I hadn’t thought he’d sound so . . . unsurprised.
“You sound busy.”
There was a lull. Maybe it finally clicked that I’d called.
“What’s it about, Ari?”
Ari. The nickname made my heart stutter.
“Never mind.”
“I do mind.”
“You’re obviously doing something important.”
“I’d rather do someone important,” he stressed, just as I heard the soft click of a door closing. At least he hadn’t said that in public. I wheezed. There was not enough fresh air in Manhattan to make me breathe properly. But Mom had said it perfectly—life was too short. If tomorrow never came, I wanted to spend today with him.
“Arya.” Christian’s voice was much warmer now. I realized he’d sounded terse before because he’d been among people and had a certain air to uphold. “Are you contemplating what I think you’re contemplating?”
That was the trouble with good lawyers. They sniffed the truth out of you from miles away.
“Maybe.”
“What’s changed?”
“My perspective.” I closed my eyes, swaying from heel to heel in the middle of the street, feeling completely ridiculous. “My entire life, I’ve avoided messy. Yet messy still found me. I’m starting to see that maybe it’s time I take what I want, seeing as some consequences are inevitable.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You mean right now?” This gave me pause. Things were moving too fast. “It’s midday. My schedule is jam-packed. I’m sure yours is too.”
“I’ll shift things around.” The line got cut. “. . . on my way.” Another cut. “. . . over. Hello? Can you hear me?”
“You’re losing service,” I mumbled, wandering toward the subway in a stupor. Was I really skipping work? That was a first. I hadn’t even skipped a class in high school. The last time I’d taken a sick day was six years ago. I didn’t do spontaneous.
The bustling life of Manhattan seeped through the line. Ambulances wailing, cars honking, people shouting. “Sorry. I was in the elevator. Just hailed a cab. I’m on my way.”
“You’re crazy. This could wait.”
“No, it can’t. Oh, and Ari?”
“Yes?”
“Your checkbook better be open, because all those meals you’ve stood me up on weren’t cheap.”
When I arrived at my doorstep, Christian was already there, pacing back and forth by the front stairs. The air around him crackled with dark energy.
He turned to face me, surprising me by grabbing my hand and pressing it against his heart. “Feel it, Ari.”
The look on his face said more than words ever could. There was expectation there, mixed with hope, longing, and something else. An odd fragility that hadn’t been there before. It reminded me of that time, decades ago, when Nicky and I had almost gotten caught by Ruslana.
I sank my blood-red fingernails into the fabric of his shirt. “Happy to see me?”
“I’ll be happier when I see all of you.”
We took the three flights of stairs two at a time. My adrenaline was through the roof. When I opened my door, I told him I was getting a glass of water and asked if he wanted one.
“Sure?” He gave me a funny, is-this-how-we’re-going-to-play-this look. I pointed toward my room and told him to make himself comfortable. When I was certain he was gone, I chugged two pints of water, then stuck my head in the freezer to try and bring my temperature down.
When I went to my room, I caught him studying my bookshelf, his back turned to me. I’d hired a carpenter years before to convert one of my bedroom walls into a library. It was extravagant and entirely unjustified, what with this apartment being a rental and all, but it made me feel more at home than any other piece of furniture I owned. Christian ran a finger along the spines of the books in a manner I found strangely erotic.
“The prized Atonement,” he drawled, knowing I was there even though I hadn’t made a sound. “First edition, hardcover.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I pushed off the doorframe, ambling toward him. I pried the book from his hands, caressing it lovingly.
He turned to look at me, a smirk playing on his face. “Think about what?”
“Borrowing it.”
“Why not?” he whispered. “It’s just words on paper.”
“What a preposterous thing to say. And death is just a long nap in a drawer.” I pressed the book deeper between the two books engulfing it. “If you’re so desperate to read it, get a library card.”
He leaned his shoulder against my shelves, scrutinizing me for a reaction. “Why this book specifically?”
“Because.”
“I’ll rephrase. What event do you associate with this specific book that makes it impossible to let go of? I find it hard to believe a different copy of Atonement, one I could order from Amazon right now, would have the same emotional impact.”
I thought of Nicky’s arctic blues, twinkling as he told me he would do this for me. Defy our parents. Reenact that scene.
Of Nicky pressing me against my shelves, kissing me.
Lying beneath the pounding sun, counting the constellation of freckles on my nose and shoulders.
Nicky. Nicky. Nicky.
A sweet ache spread inside my belly.
Christian shook his head. “Never mind. Too personal. I get it.”
“It’s not—”
He took the glass of water I’d forgotten I was holding and placed it carefully on one of the shelves behind my head. He laced his fingers through mine and pinned my arms on either side of me, above my head, just like in Atonement. His fingers tightened their grip, his mouth coming down to the base of my throat, his lips brushing softly against the sensitive skin.
For a second, I actually wondered if Christian was Nicky. Why else would he choose to do that? But no. It couldn’t be. Nicky was dead. Besides, maybe Christian had watched the movie and thought it would be hot to reenact it.
I mewed, dropping my head back and closing my eyes.
“Arya, you lovely, lying creature, you. How long I’ve waited to do this to you.”
His mouth dragged up my neck, his white teeth grazing my chin, before he dipped his tongue into my mouth, prying my lips open. My mouth fell open in an O shape, and I writhed, my back arching, my body pressed against him, as I relished the dull ache of desire.
“Beautiful . . . sweet . . . lovely Arya.” Each word was a kiss. His fingers let go of mine, and he scooped me up by the backs of my thighs, lacing my legs around his waist, our kisses deep, sweltering, filling the bottom of my belly with silky warmth. Most of my weight was supported by the bookshelves.
“How unbearably perfect you are,” he murmured into my mouth. Tendrils of my hair, wild as weeds, fell over our eyes. The compliments were not said with sarcasm or contempt. They were soft whispers, curling around my neck, my wrists, like fine jewels.
There was an urgency to his movements as he devoured my mouth, plastering me against the book-laden shelves. A sense of unfinished business. A continuation of something we’d previously started. But of course, that couldn’t be.
Christian’s erection pressed against my center, and something inside me ignited. I rolled my ass, my legs knotted at the ankles around his waist, meeting his erection with purposeful thrusts. The state of my panties told me a long foreplay session wasn’t in the cards for me.
“Christian.” I raked my fingernails over his sharp jaw, my tongue dancing with his. He froze, drawing away, like I’d slapped him.
“What?” I asked, panting, as he took a full step back, leaving me to level myself on my stilettos. “What happened?”
It couldn’t be anything I’d said. All I’d done was say his name. Men liked that, especially behind closed doors. And yet he stared me down as if I’d committed a great sin. Like a betrayed lover.
Confusion flooded me.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked completely different. He ate up the space between us with one swift movement, picked me up by my ass, and hurled me onto my bed. My legs flung in the air, and a loud rip pierced the silence. My pencil skirt was torn, half my ass hanging out there for him to see.
“What the . . .” I was a mixture of turned on, pissed off, and taken by surprise. “That was a brand-new Balmain!”
“Send me the bill.” He propped one knee between my legs on my bed, grabbed the hem of my skirt, and ripped it all the way until it fell beneath me in one perfect square. “Better yet, let’s call it even on all those dinners. I have a feeling your family won’t be able to afford unexpected expenses after the legal bill you’ll be slapped with.”
That was low, and Christian didn’t usually aim low. In fact, he’d been pretty good about not rubbing our situation in my face thus far. Which made me even more confused as to how my saying his name had changed things between us.
“What’s gotten into you?” I demanded, but I quickly forgot to press him for an answer when he leaned between my legs, plastering his strong body against mine. He kissed me roughly, deliberately rubbing his five-o’clock shadow against my skin, making it bloom pink.
He used his teeth to unbutton my white dress shirt. Not with expertise and finesse. Rather, he yanked and spit them out, one by one, as more of my skin was revealed in front of him. When he saw my crème lace bra, he covered one of my breasts with his mouth completely and sucked hard. The damp heat of his mouth sent violent shivers down my spine. My fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him southward shamelessly.
“Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled against my navel, dipping his tongue into it before breathing cold air inside. My skin prickled with goose bumps.
“You’re quite the expert, aren’t you . . .” I was going to say his name again but then stopped myself. Something told me he didn’t want to hear it, even though I had no idea why. Christian didn’t notice my sentence was incomplete.
“This is not a conversation I’d like to conduct at this moment.”
And then he was there. His teeth scraped the hem of my panties—unfortunately a pair of seamless, black, boyfriend-cut underwear—removing them urgently, his hands busy spreading my thighs wide. I didn’t know what was sexier—watching his tan, strong hands and muscular forearms against my pale skin, or looking down at his crown of jet-black hair, knowing what was to come. Or rather who was to come—me, namely.
He tossed my underwear behind his shoulder, still fully clothed.
He paused to take inventory of my naked body for the first time. Like he was studying a map, calculating where to start, where to attack first.
“God, Arya.”
He brushed his thumb from my clit to the base of my center, before dipping a long finger inside me. I closed my eyes and moaned.
“Soaked.” I heard the pop of his mouth and opened my eyes just in time to see he was tasting the finger he’d put inside me. “Tell me what you want, Arya.”
Not giving him the pleasure of hearing me beg, I sank my fingernails into his shoulders and brought him back down, his face level with my sex. He ran his tongue along my opening, and I shuddered, closing my eyes. Clearly, he wanted to have control over the situation. And clearly, he was failing.
“Fuck,” he growled, his tongue lapping at me again, deeper now. He was thirsty for it. “Here I go again.”
Here I go again? What did that mean?
His hands circled my hip bones, pressing me down to the mattress as he devoured me, stroking me with his tongue, occasionally stopping to suck my clit into his mouth, nibbling on it softly. He knew what he was doing. Normally, I’d find it commendable. Experience didn’t always equal good performance. This time, though, my heart squeezed. Like Past Christian was supposed to know Present Christian would meet me, somehow, and had to wait it out. Which was absolutely, atrociously stupid.
There was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was doing it all wrong. This was New York, and we were in our thirties. Usually, I went through a routine. I needed to see a clean medical bill. To have the Talk. To ensure he’d come with a pack of condoms. With Christian, I breezed past the technicalities like they didn’t exist.
“Condoms,” I panted, feeling my first orgasm slithering its way up my skin. From my toes, up my legs, climbing higher. “Tell me you have condoms.”
He shook his head, which was still buried between my thighs, just when my eyes dropped shut and my body began to quiver with my climax. I shook all over, and when I opened my eyes again, I saw him propped on his elbows, staring at me, absorbed in thought.
“I’m clean.”
I don’t want to get pregnant.
For a second, I imagined how that’d go. If I accidentally got pregnant with Christian’s child. What would Conrad think. Beatrice too. A panicked giggle bubbled up my throat, but I managed to swallow it down.
“I’m not on the pill,” I said. He began kissing his way up my abdomen, his mouth hot and damp, his breath carrying the earthy, feminine scent of me.
“I’ll pull out.”
“Are we in high school now?”
“What we are is in complete lust with each other. I can’t wait. I’ll pull out, then go downstairs and buy condoms for the next round. And there will be a next round.”
He ascended up my body until our faces were aligned. His eyes were mesmerizing. Clear, icy blues. Calm water over gleam-tipped icebergs. My resolve collapsed, just like it always did where this man was concerned. I closed my eyes and nodded once.
Christian was inside me.
He was still wearing his suit when he entered me. He was big—bigger than average—and he closed his eyes, not moving, just relishing the moment. I stared at him in awe. Everything about what we were doing felt monumental.
He began to move inside me, flinging one of my legs over his shoulder as he stared deep into my eyes. It surprised me. The intensity of it. After all, we hadn’t known each other for that long. I circled my arms around his neck while he filled me to the brim. I rolled my hips forward each time he pushed into me, meeting him in the middle. Another climax tickled inside me.
“Arya.” Christian’s forehead dropped to my chest as he picked up the pace. “Please tell me you’re close, because I am.”
“Yes.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m very close.”
Christian groaned, pulling out of me and squeezing himself hard, staving off his climax. He tore his gaze away and looked to the floor, concentrating on a spot before pushing back into me. Already aroused and sensitive from the friction, that was all I needed to fall apart in his arms and come again. The minute he felt me clenching around him, he mumbled, “Thank you,” pulled out of me, and came. Ribbons of his release coated my belly. It took me a few moments to descend down to earth and realize what we’d done. Christian rolled next to me on the bed. We both stared at the ceiling. There was the distinct feeling that we were like teenagers who’d just done something bad.
“You didn’t even take your clothes off.” I stared at my ceiling in a daze, wondering if he’d call tomorrow.
“No,” he said in wonder, turning his face to look at me. “Let’s rectify that. Shower?”
“First door to the left.”
He grabbed my hand. Squeezed. “Come with me.”
“I just did.” I grinned.
He laughed, tugging me gently from my bed. “Here we are. One step. Then another. Not so bad, is it?”
Our mutual shower was scorching. A slow-burn make-out session. We embraced, making out under the hot water. There, I could appreciate all of him, in his entirety. His defined six-pack, the coarse dark hair on his chest, his broad shoulders. Our kisses were hot and lingering, openmouthed, and I tried to remember the last time I’d felt so happy and content. Not in this decade, I suspected.
When we got out, Christian got dressed. “I’ll go downstairs to get some johnnies. Should I bring back takeout? How about Chinese?” He buttoned his shirt, perched on the side of my bed, not bothering with the tie.
“What time is it?” I checked my watch, frowning. It was eight o’clock. Jilly was supposed to be back by now. The fact that she wasn’t meant she was giving us time alone. I’d texted her on my way home but hadn’t thought she’d make herself quite so scarce. I looked back up at him, powering up my laptop as I settled over my pillows in my bed. No point in sitting here and pining for him while he was out and about. I could squeeze in a few emails and maybe even a contract proposal if I was lucky.
“In that case, could you fetch something from the Filipino restaurant? It’s right down the street. I’ll have the fried calamari and crispy pata. Oh, and their coconut boba, please. Extra tapioca balls. Here’s my card.” I unzipped my purse and tossed my card across the bed for him.
He stopped lacing his shoes, simply staring at me for a few moments.
I smiled tightly. “Sorry, I can be bossy. We can just DoorDash. Of course you don’t have to go there.”
“No, that’s fine.” He stood up, shaking his head. “I could use the time to answer emails.” His eyes ran over my laptop. Oops. I should’ve waited until he was gone. “You really are something, you know that, Arya Roth?”
“How so?”
“You’re just the most self-reliant, independent, driven—”
“Better stop before you catch feelings.” I winked, cutting into his words, because they were cutting into my skin, and it was too much. He closed his mouth, shaking his head and walking away, leaving me, my credit card, and my extremely dangerous thoughts behind.
Forty minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on my bed, pigging out on fried calamari, french fries, roasted meat, and assorted veggies. We shared stories about our college days and were surprised to find out our paths had nearly crossed several times during those years at parties and festivals. Christian said he hadn’t been into the whole partying scene, that Arsène and Riggs were the hellions in their trio, and that he’d focused on finishing at the top of his class, because he’d known competition was going to be tight out there once he graduated. I told him I was much the same, actually. That I’d disappointed many people by being so straitlaced and not channeling the inner Paris Hilton everyone had predicted they’d see in me.
“And Jillian has always been your best friend?” Christian bit into a piece of calamari and sucked his fingers clean. I had an inkling fried food wasn’t a part of his usual diet, with a body like that.
“Pretty much.” I popped a piece of cucumber into my mouth. “I’ve always been kind of an ambivert—definitely for someone in my field—and people often mistake my assertiveness for bitchiness. I’m not in the business of cooing and playing nice. Some people appreciate it. Few, but some. She’s one of them, so we keep each other close.”
“Men must be intimidated.” Christian popped a devilish eyebrow up.
“Not the ones worth dating.”
“And yet you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who goes on a lot of dates.”
I shrugged. “Not everyone’s worth my time.” But even as I said that, I knew it was my shaky self-esteem speaking.
“Who’s the one who got away?” Christian leaned on my headboard, using his chopsticks to pluck a piece of carrot from his paper plate. His shirt was unbuttoned, and there was a lazy, predatory air about him that kept me on my toes and yet made me want to bask in his attention. “There’s always that one person who got away.”
“Hmm.” I scrunched my nose. I didn’t have to give it any genuine thought, though. The answer was clear. It just sounded bad. Fortunately, I wasn’t supposed to care what he thought of me. This was temporary at best and already over at worst. “Don’t laugh, but this goes way back.”
“High school sweetheart.” He made an adorable, albeit mocking, face. “Where’d he first kiss you? Under the bleachers or against your locker?”
“Actually, before high school.” I felt my cheeks pinkening, dropping my gaze to my food, moving it about with the chopsticks. “We were both fourteen. He was . . . well, he was a badass kid and my best friend. I was low-key obsessed with him. We had a little thing over the summer. His mom worked for my family. He’s the one who got away for me.”
When I looked back up, the expression on Christian’s face made my pulse stutter. He looked like a semitrailer full of feelings had slammed into him all at once. He dropped his food on my bed—by accident—and didn’t even realize as he did.
“Shit, don’t worry about it. I hated those sheets anyway.” I made a half attempt to scrape the oily french fries from my linen. Lies. These were brand-new Belgian flax from West Elm.
He was still looking at me weird.
I sat a little straighter, feeling my cheeks heating despite myself.
“I told you it was weird.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I mean, it’s not like I’m still pining for this teenager or something. Anyway . . .”
“No, this is interesting. So he was your boyfriend?” Christian swung his gaze back to me, all business.
I eyed him. “Um, are you sure you didn’t just have a stroke? You looked . . . off.”
“Sorry. Thought about an email I need to write someone tomorrow. I’m completely on now.” He smiled.
Nice. So he thought about work when I poured my heart out. Duly noted.
I got back to the subject at hand, feeling self-conscious. “No. We shared a kiss. That was all. But we were close.”
“And why did it end?” Christian’s eyes bored into mine with intensity that could light up a carnival.
“He moved away.”
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I licked my lips, feeling my nose burning with tears all of a sudden. What in the ever-loving hell was happening to me? It had been years. “He went to live with his father in Belarus.”
“I see.” He nodded tersely, taking a bite of another calamari. “Did he tell you that?”
“Um. No.” I rubbed at my face, struggling to understand why I was so upset and, even more importantly, why Christian was looking at me like I’d just told him I’d murdered his dog. “My dad told me. It was all very . . .” Abusive and insane. “Sudden.”
“Did you ever try contacting him?”
His interest in this story seemed peculiar. So many years had passed. Besides, like he’d said, we weren’t in it for the long haul. Why did he care about my past?
“I did, in fact.” I started picking calamari and fries from my linen and putting them back in Christian’s bowl. “But then when he didn’t answer, I figured I dodged a bullet. A guy who walks out of your life without even leaving you a note is not worthy of your time, thoughts, and efforts.”
That was a flat-out lie. I knew exactly why Nicky hadn’t contacted me—because I didn’t deserve anything from him after what my own father had done to him.
“What about you?” I asked. “Any special someone over the years?”
Christian smiled, somewhat recovered from the topic, reaching over toward me to grab the bottle of water we shared and taking a sip. “None at all, in fact.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me.”
Three more times, we tumbled atop each other, sheets tangled, fighting for dominance, for skin, for contact. We learned each other’s shapes, likes, and dislikes. How to move like a current. We used condoms, and I made a mental note to stop by the pharmacy the next day for some Plan B. Christian was a generous lover. He seemed to know exactly what I wanted, when I wanted it, how deep, and how fast.
Finally, when we collapsed at around one in the morning, sweaty and spent, it was sort of understood—maybe even expected—that he’d stay the night. We both wanted to put off the inevitable.
“But won’t you be late for court? Between going back to your apartment, getting all showered and dressed?” I asked.
Christian pointed out that any rookie lawyer knew to keep a fresh and ironed spare suit at their office, and that was that.
Which was why I didn’t expect to wake up the next day to an empty bed.
The side where Christian had slept was cold, the linen pressed like he’d never been there. The only evidence he had actually been here the night before was his lingering scent of expensive aftershave and decadent sex. Oh, and the pulse between my thighs, a light, persistent heartbeat, and the bite marks that covered me.
I peeked at the time on my nightstand clock. Eight thirty. Groaning, I closed my eyes and pressed my face to my pillow. When I pried my eyelids open again, I rolled over to my stomach and reached for my phone. There were four messages and seven emails. All of them from clients. There was also one missed call from my mother.
He told you it wasn’t serious. Were you expecting a romantic breakfast with a side of cuddling?
For a second, I marveled at the irony. My father had insinuated I should sleep with Christian to help him, and I’d ended up sleeping with him indeed but had no plans to help the old man.
I blinked, adjusting to the light streaming from the window. Cocking my head, I noticed something peculiar about my bookshelves. An empty space that hadn’t been there before. I shuffled out of my bed, still stark naked, and padded barefoot to my shelf. My hand ran over the spines, arranged in alphabetical order. My fingers stopped at the empty space. I knew what was missing. It was a book imprinted into my DNA. My most precious possession.
Atonement.
This was why he hadn’t left a note or a message. Why he hadn’t stuck around. He knew I’d be the one to make the first move. After all, he held something of mine hostage.
Bastard had stolen my favorite book.
I held myself together.
I didn’t call or text him.
At the office, Jillian examined me from behind her cup of coffee, arching a knowing eyebrow and leaning against the printer while I waited for it to spew a contract for a new client.
“Long night?” She hmmed.
I felt myself burning scarlet, realizing I wasn’t even sure whether she had come back home or not. At least I knew I was on top of work these days, so this wasn’t a dig.
“This space is a nonjudgment zone.” I picked up the warm papers, motioning to the space between us while holding them.
Jilly put one hand up in surrender, taking another sip. “I’m not judging; I’m curious. And a little jealous, obviously. Is it serious?”
“Nope. The relationship’s doomed from the start.” I stapled the pages together, making my way to my seat. She followed me like a piranha, smelling blood.
Just because Christian and I hadn’t addressed the elephant (or rather, lawsuit) in the room didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of it. The only thing that had changed was I no longer craved to hang his indiscretions over his head.
“Why bother, then?”
“Life’s too short.” I shrugged, taking a seat in front of my laptop, uncapping my Sharpie to go through the contract one more time.
“How very un-Arya of you,” she laughed. “Fine. I’ll revisit this again when we get back home. But Ari?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful if you see Christian. Charming as he may be, you know nothing about one of the most eligible bachelors in NYC.”
