Come Undone (The Cityscape 1)

My heart jumbled with mixed emotions as I looked up to see David approaching. He stopped and hung behind Lucy, rubbing his jaw and peering at me as her head moved back and forth between Andrew and Gretchen.

“There’s the bride-to-be.” Ever the hostess, she straightened immediately and turned to him. He dazzled her with a large smile, one that was almost too big for his face; one I had not yet seen. “Congratulations again. And thank you both for having me,” he said.

“Anytime,” Andrew said, putting his arm around Lucy. “We’re glad you could make it. And I’m going to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lucy said, suppressing a smile. “We’re in trouble if he falls in love with your sailboat.”

“Why don’t you come too, Lucy? I’ll take you both out.”

“Oh,” she said, covering Andrew’s hand with hers. “I suppose I could be convinced.”

“Sounds great. I’m off, then.”

“Leaving already? It’s not so late,” Gretchen commented flirtatiously. I looked away, focusing my eyes on anything but the impossible-to-ignore man in front of me.

“It isn’t, but I have somewhere to be.”

“Well that’s a shame,” she cooed, holding out her hand. “I’m Gretchen, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, but I knew his eyes were fixed on me.

CHAPTER 6

THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE to a faint early light coming through the windows. I closed my eyes and automatically slid from the edge to the middle of the bed. After a few moments, the light clicking of metal forced its way into my sleep. I eased myself up, feeling out of sorts. Once I had wiped the sleep from my eyes, I focused on Bill’s figure moving near the closet.

“Morning,” he whispered, leaning over for a kiss.

“New York,” I breathed. “Right.”

“Yeah babe, sorry. Stay in bed,” he commanded gently as he hoisted his brown leather bag over his shoulder. I got out of bed anyway and followed him through the apartment. “I’ll be back late Thursday,” he told me as we stood in the doorway, but I already knew that. With a quick kiss, he exited into the hallway and then unexpectedly turned back and surprised me with a substantial kiss. “You look sexy right now,” he said, slipping his hand into my silk robe.

“I doubt that.”

“Agree to disagree,” he said, pinching my chin. “Bye.”

~

A knot sat heavy in my stomach that day. In my unease, I couldn’t bring myself to eat a thing. A sweet text from Bill at the airport had me feeling especially troubled. I reminded myself that my impending meeting was an end rather than a beginning. I would tell him what he wanted to know and then reiterate that I was married. I tried to find comfort in this thought but could not. It was the ending part that was bothering me.

In an effort to keep busy, I ran routine errands all afternoon. Even though I was alone for the week, and the thought of preparing meals wasn’t exactly appealing, I picked up groceries. Dropped off Bill’s dry cleaning. Took old linens to the animal shelter. Anything to keep me out of the apartment.

After what felt like a never-ending day, I surveyed the contents of my closet. What did one wear to such a thing as this? To ‘a conversation,’ I recalled. I settled on a harmlessly beige silk blouse and tucked it into high-waisted black pants. My lipstick slid on darker than I expected, and I turned it over to check the name: Vamp. I yanked a tissue from the counter and held it to my lips but stopped short. The color was so vivid against my white skin that it almost looked theatrical. I let the tissue fall into the trashcan, deciding that maybe I’d be someone else tonight.

After clasping on a gold necklace and stepping into heels, I gave myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror. I drew my hair away from my face and instantly released it, feeling exposed. My wristwatch – a black leather Movado from Bill on our second anniversary – read eight o’clock. I bundled into my coat, hiked up the collar, and decided a walk would be a welcome way to soothe my nerves.

On the way, my emotions ping-ponged between excitement and fear. I wondered if I could actually go through with this, if I’d actually go in and sit down and wait for him. I rarely backed down from a dare, but this was a different type of risk. What harm can come from talking to him? Putting an end to things?

When I found the bar, I realized why he had chosen it. Stone steps at the entrance led underground; at night, a place where people could spend the late hours as someone else; in the day, a place to hide from the unrelenting sun. I looked down the stairwell that faded into black, and the low swollen notes of a saxophone drifted up, beckoning me inside. The jazz looped through my ears and into my head, creeping into the dark corners of my mind. Like a devil on my shoulder, it willed me to take a step.

My eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t do it. I’d come too far in life to throw it down this stairwell. My watch read ten ‘til nine. I’d been standing there for almost five minutes, entranced by the music. If I went back now it’d be as though I’d never left. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I decided, turning to leave. And, as though he’d written it himself, he was there to catch me in his arms, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat from his mouth on my forehead.

“You’re early,” he stated, the words resting against my skin. My insides twisted at his electric touch. His rough, tanned skin, dark with the shadow of fresh stubble was close enough to kiss . . . .

I jerked away suddenly, but he reached out like lightening and caught my wrist. I went to pull back when I realized why; I was teetering at the edge of the stairs, the darkness ready to break my fall. When I caught my balance and he let go, we descended into the shadows together.

~

I watched him signal toward me from across the room, and the bartender nodded. His stroll was cool and controlled as he traversed the space between us, as if he did this type of thing every night. I twisted my lips and ignored the thought.

Now alone, we were an anonymous couple in the small crowd, cloaked in nothing but candlelight. I looked down at my hands in my lap as I fingered my winking ring. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” I said to the table.

“You look beautiful.” When I didn’t respond, he joked, “The bartender said. He wanted me to tell you.”

I suppressed a smile and tugged on my right earlobe. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “To the bartender,” I added and looked imploringly at the waitress, who was unhurriedly making her way toward us. I caught her double take as she set my wine glass down and fixated on David. Appraising him slowly, she reached over his shoulder to place a tall glass of dark beer on the table. Something about the way she let her long hair graze his shoulder made me squirm. He thanked her, and she idled just a moment before slinking away. I immediately reached for my glass for a soothing gulp.

“Shiraz?” I asked, inhaling. He smiled gently and nodded, appearing to s

ense my discomfort.

“So, Olivia.” There it was again, my name, but not like I’d ever heard it in my twenty-seven years. It sounded as though it was made for his mouth. “Do you work?”

“Yes,” I said, dipping my head in an exaggerated nod. “I work for Chicago M.”

“Writer?” He leaned forward on his elbows.

I shook my head. “Editorial assistant. Editor-in-training. I do contribute sometimes, but it’s not ultimately what I want to do.” It was becoming hard to ignore the fact that he was staring at my mouth as I spoke. “I don’t really like writing,” I continued nervously. “Editing is very methodical - almost like a puzzle, which I like. Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” I asked finally.

“Oh uh, no, sorry. So no to writing. I’ve spoken with Diane at the magazine before. Do you work for her?”

“Well,” I hesitated. “I was her assistant actually, but not anymore. She was let go recently.”

“I see. So will you take her position?” His abrupt and somewhat intrusive tone reminded me of something my father would ask.

“I’m in the running, yes. I am taking over her key features, and if they go well, I may get promoted.”

He sat back and looked at me wistfully, as though he had just remembered something. I liked the way his molten brown eyes watched me, and the way they made me feel like I was the only person in the room. In this setting, between the jazz and the wine, I wondered how pure his intentions were in asking me to meet him. The dimly lit club was sensual and private, ideal for clandestine encounters.

“Two more,” he said suddenly, jarring me from my thoughts.

I glanced up to see the passing waitress nod.