“That’s very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think that, as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?”
He fought to stay seated. It was like coming out of the effects of the poison: he clawed to reach the surface—the place where his world was intact. Those two words—Anton Rawls—spoken by Claire, ripped away the veil separating his past from his present. With a semblance of calm, he asked, “Where could you possibly have come up with such a story?”
“Why, Anton, it was in your box of confessions.”
What the hell was she talking about? His voice gained strength with each syllable. “I assure you, I have no idea what you’re saying.”
“The information you sent me in prison.”
Before they could continue, a waiter appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in front of them, he asked if they were interested in hearing about the specials. Concurrently, they answered, “No.” The waiter apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the table. Tony worked to process her words. Box. Confession. Prison. He squeezed the menu tighter.
Claire’s voice pulled him from the whirlwind of questions. If she knew that, what else did she know? “Are you saying you didn’t send me a box of information?”
Looking her in the eye, he confirmed, “I can assure you, I did not send you anything while you were in prison, and speaking of prison, congratulations on your early release.” He made no attempt to suppress the sarcasm that saturated his final statement; he was too busy processing.
“Thank you, I promise that I was as surprised as you must have been.”
Tony harrumphed as he took another drink of his wine, wishing it were bourbon. Once, he emptied the glass he poured another. After a hearty drink of the second glass, the calming effects began to settle his nerves and he replied, “That, my dear, is debatable.”
He concentrated on the menu as Claire mentioned entrees that she’d enjoyed. Slowly, the tension began to subside as they superficially chatted about the options. Tony worked to control his thoughts and actions and salvage their reunion dinner. Her information, knowledge, and depth of that knowledge would all need to be assessed. Of course, he hadn’t sent her information in prison. But if not him—who? That wasn’t even the question; Tony knew whom. The question was why?
As he ordered their meals in French, he noticed Claire smile. He’d meant to surprise her with her entrée for it was the one she’d mentioned; however, it was obvious that she understood everything he and the waiter had said. Once they were alone, he tested his theory. Speaking in French, he said, “I see that you’ve broadened your language portfolio.”
Also in French, she replied, “Yes, I decided to capitalize on my gift of time.”
He smiled. How could he not? She was talking casually about prison, as if it had been a vacation. He leaned forward. “Claire, how’s your headache?”
Taking a sip from her glass, she smiled. “I believe the wine is helping.”
“That’s good. Tell me about San Antonio.”
If he expected her to be surprised by his knowledge of her activity, she disappointed him. Then again, he suspected that she knew he was watching her. Claire didn’t miss a beat. She immediately began talking about sunshine, books, and relaxation. They fell into easy conversation. He remembered the Red Wing and talking with her for the first time. Even then, she’d impressed him with her confidence and knowledge. Her strength hadn’t waned over the last year and a half. It emanated from every pore of her being, like an aura that pulled him nearer. She possessed knowledge, of language and of him. It intrigued, as well as frightened him. What would she do with her new power? Could he stop it? Did he want to? As the dinner progressed, her smile became less forced and her tone rang with the occasional laugh or giggle. It was music to his ears, and he didn’t want the evening to end.
Neither one of them mentioned his birth name or the box again. The subject had been closed—temporarily. Tonight was about reconnecting. Maybe it was about something else. Tony wanted her to see that he was still in control; after all, he’d manipulated her plans. However, there was no doubt that her revelation created a shift in their game.
He couldn’t wait to continue the play!
-Author’s Note-
This POV was originally written at the request of my amazing readers and appeared in the Goodreads Group: The Consequences Series Group Reads, Therapy, and Hugs. That version has been tweaked and edited for Behind His Eyes Truth. The “Dream” scene in Truth has been interpreted in various ways. My initial intention was to show that from Tony’s POV it wasn’t what many have claimed it to be; however, like the rest of my story, his intent is still your decision.
Thank you for joining me on this dark and insightful journey.
~Aleatha
Chapter Four
The dream—April 2013
(Truth Chapter 18)
A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is a reality.
—Yoko Ono
The luxury of the upscale condominium escaped Tony’s notice. Nothing mattered, other than making his way to Claire. Since their dinner the night before, he’d been unable to concentrate on anything or anyone else. As the elevator moved upward toward the fourth floor, Tony closed his eyes and envisioned his ex-wife. He remembered the white dress, the way his hand touched the skin of her back, and the slight whiff of perfume as his lips neared her long neck. He recalled the fire in her eyes as she called him Anton. Though he had tried to hide his reaction, Tony knew he’d failed. Claire saw him as others never could. She knew that her declaration affected him, and she knew when a subject was closed.
The woman he’d shared a meal with last night was more like the Claire Nichols he’d watched from afar—the one before his acquisition. Sometime during his refining process, she’d muted qualities that he now longed to explore. She was different. He could see it in the pictures, but more vividly in person. For the first time, he wanted to know the real Claire Nichols—the one who could stare him down, and the one who would attempt to manipulate their dinner plans. Tony didn’t just want to converse with that woman: he wanted to know her intimately. The woman he created knew his wants and needs; did he truly know hers?
As he neared the door of her condominium, he pushed away his carnal thoughts. Tony wouldn’t do what he’d done before. He’d had his reasons, but they were done. She’d paid her price, or rather her family’s price, for their past sins. Now it was time to move on. Tony needed to help Claire see that for herself.
After they’d parted ways last night, Tony started to call Catherine—he almost did—but he decided he needed more information. Perhaps the contents of that box would help him understand why Catherine sent it. Then, during the night, the revelation hit him: Claire’s new knowledge was the stepping-stone he needed. That box would facilitate a path to her understanding. First, he needed to know what Claire knew. He also needed to emphasize that her newly acquired knowledge was private. Their roles may be evolving, but some rules would never change. Private information could not be divulged.