My phone goes again, and I sigh and pick it up. This conversation between myself and Bohdan isn’t over yet. I need to know what he means when he says I did something worse. I’ve never done anything to him. Except leave. Could that be it? He hates me for leaving? That’s why he’s back messing up my life?
“Hi, darling, we will be there in five minutes,” I say smoothly, focusing on my husband.
“You better be,” Jasper answers.
“I will, darling, and I got a dress and shoes.”
“Good.” He hangs up with nothing else said.
Fucking asshole. God, I hate him. My jaw is tense as I stare out the window at the pretty streets and wonder how the hell I got into such a mess.
We arrive at the house, and I turn to Bohdan as he parks the car. “Listen,” I say to him. “We need to talk at some point. Clear the air, but I can’t right now. I have to go to this damn dinner party and make small talk.”
It’s the last thing I want to do.
“We can talk, baby, but nothing you say can make up for what happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I spit at him, “which you didn’t cause.”
His face hardens, and he climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him hard enough to rock the car. He still comes around to my side, though, and holds my door for me, taking my bags.
“Thank you,” I say automatically. I’m so well trained.
We head into the house in total silence, and Bohdan deposits my bags on the counter. “If you don’t need me right now, I’ll be in my room.” He doesn’t address me but Jasper, who is seated at the table with a just fucked glow.
I grit my teeth.
“Of course, but I’d like you to be around for the party, if you don’t mind? You never know who might be doing this, even the man who is our guest.”
“Of course. Do you want me to sit in the dining room, or out in the hallway?”
I’m taking a long drink of water from a small bottle I’ve just opened when Jasper answers.
“Oh, eat with us. I’m sure you’ve got some fascinating stories.”
The water goes down the wrong way, and I start to choke. Jasper doesn’t move, but Bohdan comes to me and pats my back.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I splutter. “I am.”
“You ought to be careful,” Jasper says, giving me a hard look.
I take my water and leave the room. My heart is pounding, and my head is spinning. What is going on here? Does Jasper know about me and Bohdan? Is this a game? Maybe it is. There’s something going on with him for sure. If he does know, then I’m only safe for so long as Bohdan is here. Jasper is weirdly jealous of me even though he doesn’t want me for himself.
I hit my bedroom and see my hair stylist and makeup artist, Karen, smiling at me. Two-faced bitch. I don’t smile back like I normally would. Normally, I’m so scared of Jasper that I do all I can to have a quiet life. Now, though, with Bohdan in the house, I know Jasper can’t do anything significant to me. Oh, he could send Bohdan away, but firstly, that would put his cash cow in danger. And secondly, I’m honestly not sure Bohdan would go.
I’m stuck with two men who may both mean me harm, and I don’t know who I can trust. I know who I feel safest with, though, and it isn’t my husband. Unless Bohdan has changed drastically in the last few years, he’s not a sadist. Unlike Jasper.
“Jasper told me to go with a full look. Blow dry it out so it looks really voluminous. Then, with the makeup, he said to go for lots of gold and kohl on your eyes, if it would match the dress; if not, he said to change the color scheme up but keep it along those lines. What color is your dress?”
“Green with a gold brooch, so that will work fine,” I say. “Do you need me to wash my hair?”
She runs her hands through it. “No, it’ll actually style better if it’s a day out from being washed.”
I nod once and stick my wireless ear buds in and ignore her as she gets to work. If that bitch thinks I’m making small talk with the woman screwing my husband, she’s crazy, Not that I care per se, but it’s the principal of the thing.
She’s blonde, pretty, curvy, and she smells of something sweet like melon or pineapple. She’s bubble gum, and Daisy Dukes, and fun, and I’m hard edges, focus, and obsession. No wonder he wants her more.
Do I care? I smile to myself because I actually don’t. I’m simply grateful he doesn’t come to my bed. If he did, I don’t think I could have sex with him without throwing up. I wonder if he treats these women he screws the same way he treats me.
I doubt they’d put up with it. He didn’t treat me that way at first. He was clever, and he took a long time before he showed me his true colors. We were married, and he had total control over my career by the time I realized he was overbearing and controlling. That’s when I started to fight back. It’s when he started to fight back too, physically.
When she’s done, I peer in the mirror and admire her handiwork. I must admit, she’s talented with makeup. I look striking. My eyes are huge in my face, the rest of it doll-like, all surrounded by a halo of red hair.
She looks at me and something strange passes over her pretty features. It’s not guilt, I don’t think; more like pity. My stomach sinks. “You know, you’re a seriously stunning woman. You deserve better.”
I want to ask why the hell she’s contributed to my being an object of pity if she feels that way, but she’s packing up and not looking at me, and frankly I don’t have the energy.
“Thank you, Karen.” I leave the room and head to the bathroom while she finishes. Once there I spray some perfume, clean my teeth, taking care not to mess up her lipstick, and then sit on the side of the bath and wait until I hear her go.
Once I have the room to myself again, I hurriedly get dressed, and then dither for ages on whether to add a bag.
I don’t need one, as I’m not leaving my home, but should I take one to the table? Something dressy and fabulous? Or go like this? I open one of the deep drawers that Jasper had put in and rifle through the clutches in there. I choose a metallic Dior and close the drawer.
Clothes don’t interest me much, but bags can be beautiful. I like bags. And they always fit. Clothes can make you look so much worse, but a good bag can only ever make you look better.
I pop the lip gloss of mine that Karen used on my mouth into the bag. I add my inhaler, in case my asthma flares up, and head downstairs.
Normally my breathing is very well controlled, but the stress of the past few days has me feeling that familiar tightness and the strange sensation as if I’m breathing through thick cotton.
When I hit the downstairs, I hear voices already from the dining room. I walk down the hallway, pause outside the door to collect myself, then head on in.
Chapter Twelve
Dasha
The first thing I notice upon entering the room is Bohdan. He’s wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, with the collar open showing his tan throat and a tiny bit of his upper chest. The sleeves are rolled up, and his forearms are so much bigger than they were. Strong. That’s the impression he gives now, one of strength. He’s got some faded bruises on his hands, and he looks like someone took a street fighter and dressed him up for the night. It’s undeniably sexy.