His voice registered deep, “I don’t have a key, but I’d be glad to get one. Just tell me where to sign-up.” After so much time of evaluating his looks, eyes, movements, and voice, she immediately assessed: he sounds restrained, yet amused.
She wanted to say, “Go to hell, and let me know when it turns cold – because, that’s when you can expect to receive a key!” However instead, she squared her shoulders and tried to display a small amount of decorum, “How did you get up here. You can’t be on this floor without a key.”
He was still standing in the hallway. Claire held the edge of the door, ready to slam it, if necessary. “Perhaps you could invite me in, and we can discuss it?”
“Tony, why are you here?”
He smirked, “If we’re playing one hundred questions, I admit defeat. May I come in?”
Momentarily, Claire stared. Her stomach twisted with the realization, he’d asked the same question twice. It was another of his old pet-peeves. As much as she didn’t want to allow him entry, she didn’t want risk him asking her a third time. She stood back and nodded. He walked in and surveyed his surroundings with an air of approval.
“My, Claire, you are living much better than I expected. When I first learned of your release, I pictured you destitute.”
“I’m sure you enjoyed that scenario. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He snickered, “Disappoint? On the contrary, your ingenuity is to be praised.”
Still standing on the marbled floored entry, Claire asked her question, again. “Tony, I will repeat myself, at the risk of being redundant.” She could sense the increased intensity in his stare. “Why are you here and how did you access my floor.”
“I gained access by the security guard on the first floor. He tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Claire thought about that unknown number. She needed to program Security into her phone. “I explained, we are old friends, I’m leaving town, and since I had recently talked with you, I knew you were home and expecting me.”
As he spoke her iPhone rang. It was the unknown number again. “This is security. I’ll tell them I don’t want you here, unless you quickly tell me why you’re here.” The phone rang again.
Rarely, if ever, did Anthony Rawlings receive an ultimatum. Now faced with one, he didn’t anger or hesitate, he answered, “I want to know more about your prison delivery.”
She eyed him, more assessment: honesty. Apparently the conversation wasn’t closed the night before, only tabled until today. After the fourth ring, she brushed the screen and answered. “Hello.” “Yes, this is Ms. Nichols.” “Yes, he did.” “Thank you.” “Yes. I will. Good-bye.” Tony watched intently as she spoke. She had the sensation of a bird, being evaluated by a cat. Should she fly away, had she just thrown away her only chance of ejecting him from her home, or would she be consumed by a power greater than she could manage?
After her conversation with security ended, she turned back to her guest, “I have plans today. Please make this quick.”
His eyes scanned up and down her petite form. “Yes, I see you are dressed for business. What do they call that, business casual?” The vulnerability of her light weight pants and top made her uneasy. Refusing to take his snide bait, Claire remained silent. His tone turned sultry, “I’m not complaining. I always found the casual Claire as sexy as the one who rocked designer dresses.”
Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us.
- Jane Roberts
Chapter 18
Claire looked up into the sparkling velvety brown eyes. Damn, she’d been seeing those same eyes and that Cheshire expression all night long. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she exhaled, “Please, I have lunch plans, and I’d like to change. Question what you want and go.”
“Do you only entertain in the entry, or may we sit?”
His gentlemanly tone was difficult to resist. “We may sit.” She led him to the living room. As they sat, him on the sofa and her in a chair, she added, “I know you enjoy coffee, I’d offer you some. But, the last time I got you coffee, it didn’t work out so well for me.”
Tony smirked, “God, Claire you’re something else. I can’t imagine anyone else joking about that.”
“Well, see, you misinterpreted. I wasn’t joking. I’m actually still pissed as hell.” This wasn’t something she could have said while they were married. And definitely not something she would have said in a restaurant, even a restaurant devoid of other patrons. Some details of their life could only be discussed in private. His rules regarding privacy and appearance were as ingrained as punctuality.
“Good for you.” He leaned toward her, his eyes devouring her entirely, until she questioned her own presence. “Your ability to admit your displeasure is refreshing. It encourages me to be honest, too.”
Claire did her best to glare, “Honesty. That would be a refreshing change.”
His expression remained soft and so were his words, “You should know ...I am sorry.”
The world as Claire knew it, shifted. Perhaps it was an earthquake, they do happen in California. Why couldn’t he be domineering or abrasive? That she could resist. But, apologetic, in the depths of her soul, she never expected to hear those three words.
“What?” She tried unsuccessfully to subdue the overpowering trembling. The volume of her voice rose exponentially with each phrase, “You’re sorry?” The years of submission, incarceration, and domination bubbled out. No, not bubbled -- gushed. This was not his house. She was not sequestered away from the love and support of others. She’d say whatever she wanted, and then tell him to leave. If he didn’t – she’d call security. They were after all, on her call log. “Well, Tony, I believe I need a little clarification. Tell me what exactly you’re sorry about. I’ll gladly give you a few options.”
The fury surging through her veins wouldn’t allow her to remain seated. She stood and paced, around the coffee table, in front of the large windows, back to the chair and again to the coffee table. She felt his eyes on her, as she made multiple slow and methodical loops. Her mind was a whirlwind, a tornado, of words. Each syllable vehemently rushed to get out. Instead of opening the flood gate, Claire took a few deep breaths. She wanted to proceed slowly, clearing away the debris cluttering her mind, and choose the right words. Finally, she began, “First, you’re sorry for invading my privacy for years, years before I even knew you existed. Second, you’re sorry for kidnapping me, isolating, controlling me, and manipulating me. Third, you’re sorry for lying to me, pretending you cared and oh yeah, marrying me. Fourth, listen carefully Tony, this is a big one... you’re sorry for framing me for attempted murder, resulting in incarceration in a federal penitentiary.” She sat back down, arms once again crossed over her breasts. It was the most direct she’d ever spoken to him, and it felt liberating. Unfortunately, the resentment coursing through her veins wouldn’t allow her to relish her new found independence.
She expected her words to incite anger; after all, she’d experienced his anger before. Nevertheless, carelessly and unapologetically Claire forged ahead, “I would prefer the words, but you are welcome to say, one through four, if that’s easier for you.”