I found the ornate, silver buckets stacked up by the ice machine and begin to fill one. I heard someone approaching me from behind and a familiar voice said, "Kayla, I didn't realize you were back at the hotel."
I turned to face none other than Gwyneth. She had an ice bucket of her own in her hands, and we both smiled awkwardly at each other as she began to fill it.
"Yeah, Ethan and I got back a little bit ago, but didn't feel like going back to the noise of the party, so he invited me upstairs for a quiet drink." I felt obligated to explain, even though it was obvious that she knew the truth about what was really about to happen up there.
"I'm happy for you two," she said. I was touched by her sincerity. I felt bad for being jealous of her earlier and wondered if we'd be able to become friends. She seemed to feel the same way as she asked me, "Tell me, is he really doing okay?"
"Yeah, he's doing great."
"Good," she looked visibly relieved. "Those years when he was struggling with his addiction were so awful; I couldn't bear to watch it. He's really doing okay now? No relapses?"
"What addiction?" I asked, feeling taken aback; but Gwyneth mistook my response as being sarcasm and laughed lightly.
"Good, I was worried that a stressful time like the launch of a big new design would set him back. And then, of course, running into people he used to know like he did tonight always carries a risk, too."
"No, I'm serious. What addiction?" I asked more insistently.
Gwyneth looked surprised. "I thought as his girlfriend, surely you would know about it."
"Tell me." I was practically pleading now.
"I don't think it's my place to say anything." She took a step back, widening the distance between us. The bond we had shared just a moment ago already blocked by a brick wall of secrecy.
She looked at me sadly. "Ethan and I had an unspoken pact never to talk about it for his sake. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself."
"Just tell me, is it something dangerous? I want to help him if I can." I was pleading and it was pathetic, but what else could I do? The ploy didn't work. Gwyneth just took her shook her head and walked away, carrying her ice with her.
"He'll tell you when he's ready," was all she would say, then she entered the elevator and she was gone.
Feeling frustrated, I returned to Ethan's suite as slowly as I could, wondering if I was getting in over my head by being his girlfriend.
Already tonight I'd heard so many rumors of secrecy surrounding him, and now this question of addiction. Was Ethan a time bomb capable of blowing up in my face at any minute? Was I getting myself involved in someone who was already in too much trouble to fix? Or was Gwyneth just trying to scare me away so she could have her back for herself? I'd been in Los Angeles long enough to know you couldn't trust every rumor you heard. The only way to learn the truth was to talk to the source: Ethan.
I opened the door, determined to talk to him about it, when instantly everything went dark. It was Ethan. He'd been waiting by the door with a blindfold
in his hands, and the moment I crossed the threshold, he tied it over my eyes.
"What's going on?" I cried out, startled. "I can't see a thing."
"Good," I heard his strong voice say sternly. "You've been a naughty girl tonight, telling everyone you're my girlfriend, ripping your expensive dress, and then sneaking out of the party to go joy riding on a motorcycle. I think you need to be taught a lesson, and I'm the one who's going to do it."
Thrills of excitement coursed through my body at his words. I couldn't wait. I allowed him to guide me across the vast room to the bed, where he helped me lay down upon it. The silk comforter felt luxurious beneath me as I stretched out upon it and waited for whatever was going to happen next.
"What's going on?" I stared into the blackness of my blindfold. I could hear him shuffling around me, but I couldn't figure out what he was doing.
"Silence, naughty girl, or I will have to gag you," he said. "Now give me your hands."
I held out my hands in front of me and felt him tie something tightly around them. I guessed correctly that it was the tie from his tuxedo. Next, he yanked my arms up over my head by my bonds, and I felt him securing them to the headboard of the ornate, brass bed I was laying on.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Is it loose enough to not cut off your circulation?"
I wiggled my arms within the confines of my bonds and answered honestly, "I'm comfortable."
"Good," Ethan said. "If you become uncomfortable, simply say the words ‘yellow light,’ and I'll know I need to slow down or change things. If you want to stop playing all together, say ‘red light’ and I will stop what I'm doing and release you at once. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Are you ready to continue?"