“When’s the service?”
“Monday.”
“Okay, I’ll see if I can get a few hours off.”
“I don’t mind going alone if you can’t.”
“Babe, of course I want to be there. We can talk about that later, though.” He sighed heavily into the phone. “Stay in tonight. Ask one of the girls to come over.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head. “Go get lunch. Or dinner, whatever.”
“I’m sorry for your shitty week. But maybe this time it’ll stick with Mark. And then it’s done.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said with a sidelong look at David. “Call me later, okay?”
I hung up and sat in silence, waiting for David to speak, but he didn’t. I thought about Bill’s words: shitty week. It was a shitty week, exhausting both physically and emotionally. But shitty wasn’t the right word. It felt . . . something unidentifiable. We pulled up to my complex, and he turned off the car.
“He’s not coming back?”
“He’ll be back tomorrow.” I sighed. “He’s got so much on his plate. He was happy to hear about Mark being in custody. Sounds like he won’t be free anytime soon.”
I watched David’s jaw muscles tense just as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What about after the event? Will you be okay tonight?” he asked.
“Yep. Will you?”
He smirked at me.
“No really, will you be? I’m worried. Do you have someone who can stay with you?” I asked sardonically. He looked away . . . Is he blushing? “Wait, do you?” I asked when he didn’t respond.
“I’m having dinner with someone,” he said, looking through the windshield. “And I may bring her to the party.”
I forced a smile and swallowed. “That’s good,” I said slowly. My surroundings focused sharply as I tried to respond. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through? I mean, she probably won’t like the theme of the party . . . Although, it is rather convenient that you’re right upstairs.”
He gave me a reproachful look.
“Also,” I continued, “don’t forget to tidy up my guest room.” I palmed my forehead exaggeratedly. “Shit, what am I thinking? You won’t be needing it.”
His chest heaved with a deep sigh. His expression reminded me of the face Gretchen’s brother would make when we pestered him as kids. “I’m serious, Olivia. What about tonight? Can you stay with Gretchen or someone?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, crossing my arms over my seatbelt.
“Does he really accept that ‘fine’ bullshit?”
“What?”
“You’re always saying everything is fine, even though it’s not. It’s fine that you were attacked last night? It’s fine that somebody you obviously care a great deal about passed away? Does anyone care enough to question whether or not you are fine?”
“What?” I cried, astonished. “What are you saying? That Bill doesn’t care about me?”
“No, I’m not saying that, I’m just saying . . . I don’t think he, or your friends for that matter, know you as well as they think.”
“And what, you do? I’ve known you all of a month,” I retorted.
“I didn’t need seconds to know you better than them,” he struck back. “And it’s two months. I saw everything I needed to in that moment at the theater.”
It was the first time either of us had ever mentioned it and tension noticeably thickened between us.
“You are impossible to read if you’re not paying attention, but I am, Olivia. And I may not know the details yet but I know you.”
I was completely taken aback. “Ha!” I blurted. “Does that seriously work for you?”
“That’s fine,” he sat back, unruffled. “If you want a satisfactory marriage with someone who is incapable of loving you the way you deserve, then that’s up to you. What can I do about it?” He shrugged his shoulders as I felt my jaw harden. Nobody had ever spoken to me that way and certainly not about Bill, who, everyone knew, adored me.
“Satisfactory,” I cried. “Bill adores me!” was all I could think to say in his defense. “I don’t know what you’re,” I faltered, completely flustered, “what you’re trying to pull, but he’s an amazing husband who treats me - ”
He leaned in and looked me full in the face. “How? How does he treat you?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine. His voice lowered into an almost whisper. “You have no idea what I’d do with you.” My legs began to sweat against the gummy leather, and I shifted in discomfort. I was transported back to the theater, when the red velvet seats had pricked my thighs and his lingering presence had clung to me. He was too close and too comfortable. Could he possibly know me that well? I asked myself. No. He knows women that well.
“I - I . . . ,” I stammered, looking for the words. The way he looked at me was too much to take, and I fumbled to escape from the seatbelt.
“Here, let me,” he said coolly, and slipped his hand down between my thigh and those sticky leather seats. His fingers lingered for a moment against my bare skin, and I could feel my pulse rising and my panties moistening. He bent closer so that I could almost touch my lips to his neck, and his faint earthy scent left me dizzy and pining for more.
He grazed along my outer thigh as he searched for the release, and it was all I could do not to shudder. My breath caught in my throat. Do not squirm, do not squirm. That’s exactly what he wants. He pushed the button and the seatbelt jumped into my shaking hands. David leaned back into his seat and stuck his chin into his hand, looking back through the driver’s side window. I huffed as I pushed the door open and hastened out.
After a deep inhale, I leaned over into the car. “Maybe you were right yesterday. Maybe any type of relationship is impossible,” I said softly.
He looked over at me with an unreadable expression. “And maybe I’ll skip tonight,” he said.
I nodded. “I think that’s best.” That’s it, I thought. It’s done. Shut the door and walk away. And I did.
CHAPTER 20
I WOKE UP STILL SHEATHED in my bath towel and with my head on a damp pillow. For once I was glad for Lisa’s help, since it had given me the opportunity to nap. The clock on the nightstand told me that I needed to get up immediately if I was going to make it on time. Five more minutes, I thought, closing my eyes. I remembered the afternoon. It was an apt ending for a turbulent relationship.
His accusations ran through my head, angering me. How dare he? He’s willing to destroy a marriage, and for what? It pained me to wonder if he’d done this with other women. And where were they now? I couldn’t shake the image of David asking another woman out to dinner, flirting with her and flashing her that seductive grin.
My stomach flipped when I thought about the upcoming event. I needed it to go well, since it was my idea. I wished then that Bill could have made it. But he would have hated it anyway, I told myself. My phone revealed several missed texts from Gretchen and Lucy confirming our plans for the evening. At least I would have them for support.
~
“What happened?” Ava squealed when she opened the door to their apartment. Her eyes shone with excitement as she questioned me about the bruise. I attempted to give her the shortest version possible. “Then what?” she asked. And then asked it again.
“I’m going to let Gretchen know I’m here,” I said finally, desperate to escape. I followed the sound of her blow dryer and found her bent over, a mass of blonde hair.
“Gretch!” I yelled as I stood in the doorway.
She flipped her head back and looked at me, startled. “Hey,” she screamed over the noise. She held up her hand. “Five minutes.”
I dropped on her bed and glanced around the familiar room. It was surprisingly unremarkable for Gretchen, with just a bed, a dresser and a hamper in the corner. I picked up US Weekly from the bedside table to scan the first few pages.
“Shoes!” Gretchen exclaimed suddenly, motioning to my feet.
“Brian Atwood. A little gift from me to
me for all the stress,” I said. “Do not tell Bill.”
She dropped her towel. Without her heels and make-up, she seemed smaller than I ever remembered, but trim too, like she’d been working out more. I watched her wrap herself in her robe and tried to see her as a lover might. My nagging suspicion hadn’t gone away. Did David find her attractive?
She started toward her vanity and paused. “What is that?” she asked, staring at my face.
I frowned. Apparently I’d done a poor job of covering it up. I resolved to invest in better concealer. She was looking at me expectantly.
“Mark Alvarez again, the guy from Bill’s case.”
“The guy who confronted you last month? Shit! Are you okay? What happened?”
“Can I explain when Lucy gets here? It’s a long story.”
“No.”
“I’m okay, don’t worry. All intact.”