Lost in her thoughts, Claire watched as the lights of the city passed the windows. Her mind was back at college. The memories of the messy dorm room, the clutter, and now the game brought a warm feeling. She was happy for Simon. He succeeded in accomplishing his goals. She remembered his aspirations, not of wealth but happiness and family. She recalled that he wanted to be able to help his parents. She hadn’t asked if he was married. She hadn’t even looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring. But with all her soul, she hoped he was.
“Mrs. Rawlings,” Tony was addressing Claire. She turned to face him, he was uncomfortably close. “What is your name?”
Bewildered she just looked at him. He reached for her chin and held it so that they were looking at one another. “Your name, what is your name?”
Annoyed and alarmed, “Tony, what are you doing?”
He didn’t loosen his grip. “I am asking you a question, one that you seem to be unable to answer.”
Mystified by his behavior, she answered his question, “My name is Claire. Claire Rawlings.”
Slow and deliberate, “Explain to me, Mrs. Rawlings, how you can be sitting with me, your husband, wearing the rings I purchased, in the limousine paid for by my hard work, and thinking about another man.”
He still held her chin. “Tony, please let go of my face. You are hurting me.”
He let go of her chin. His hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head and the hair that hung down. He continued, “Do I need to repeat every question or do you think you may be able to answer at least one the first time?”
Flashing, her green eyes spoke alarm and the stiffening of her neck spoke resolve, “Seeing Simon caught me off guard. I have not thought of or heard from him in eight years. Do you not think that deserves some reflection?”
His grip tightened. “No. I believe the past is just that. It is done and now it is time to concentrate on the present.” Her neck hurt. He had her head positioned so that their eyes made contact, his shone black. Hers weren’t apologetic, but full of fury. She didn’t respond.
“At present I believe you need to concentrate on showing me that my wife is first and foremost concerned with pleasing her husband.”
He used his other hand to shut the window between them and Eric. Next he unzipped the slacks of his tuxedo. Shocked and repulsed, Claire started to protest. She soon found speaking impossible. Holding her neck, he silently directed her head, resting his head on the seat, his fingers entwined in her hair. Claire tried to push away with her hand. Tony grabbed her hand and twisted it back. He did not release the pressure and movement on her head until he was finished.
As they walked through the lobby of the Trump Tower, Claire did her best to appear composed. Tony placed his arm around her waist and tenderly whispered in her ear, “I have more ways you can demonstrate your devotion, Mrs. Rawlings. We will review when we reach our apartment.”
The last thirteen months dissolved into nothingness. She wasn’t Claire Rawlings, wife. She was Claire Nichols, whatever he wanted her to be.
Any idiot can face a crisis, it is day to day living
thatwearsyouout. —Anton Chekhov
Chapter 43
The silence within the limousine intensified with each mile as Tony and Claire rode from Bettendorf toward home. The silent auction had unofficially raised over a half of a million dollars net. The cost of the event had been less than $10,000, due to Claire’s clever procurement of donated services and goods. The noiselessness of the ride was a stark contrast to the convention center.
Before they left the conference room, Courtney spoke ecstatically about Claire’s ability. “This turned out so well! I just can’t believe the final figures. Honey, together we are going to raise money for every organization west of the Mississippi.”
Although she felt uneasy regarding her future philanthropic activities, Claire hugged her friend and wore her smile. “Oh goodness, we will have to see.”
“Well, enjoy this success for a little while because I have plans!” Courtney’s enthusiasm was contagious. Claire smiled and nodded her head.
Mrs. Rawlings’s more recent hostess duties aided her efforts. She shrewdly mentioned the auction, both for donations and possible attendance, whenever possible. She found it interesting how Tony’s business associates were willing to participate in one or both when personally approached. The fact that they were in her home, eating her food, and receiving her attention didn’t hinder her efforts. The current president of the Red Cross of the Greater Quad Cities thanked Mrs. Rawlings and Mrs. Simmons profusely.
Many of Tony’s associates from out of town attended the event. Claire hadn’t realized when she invited them that this had an additional impact on the Quad Cities. These important people needed places to stay and food to eat while in Bettendorf. According to Courtney, the media estimated that their event reaped over a quarter of a million dollars windfall to the Quad Cities. Claire hadn’t seen the coverage. She didn’t like television, and any other form of communication was still forbidden.
As a matter of fact, since the Chicago Symposium Claire lost many of her newfound freedoms. She still saw e-mails, but only after responses had been sent. No longer a freedom, they were merely a blatant illustration of what was now prohibited. During the final preparations of the auction, it was undeniable that Claire and Courtney needed to communicate and see each other. However, contact and endeavors with others had dramatically decreased. Tony decided that Claire needed time to decide what was really important to her.
The night in Chicago was reminiscent of her first encounters at the estate. Tony was excessively domineering, controlling, and demanding. Even the sadistic, cruel sexual tendencies from before her accident reappeared. Once back at the apartment, Claire tried to reason with him. “Please think about what you are doing.” It was as if his black eyes couldn’t register her voice. She pleaded, “Tony, remember your promise. I am your wife. Think what you are asking me to do.”
“You are my wife. However, I am not asking.” Unaffected, his demands continued.
When she awoke the next morning, feeling the too familiar aches from a year before, she dreaded his presence. Lying silently, she listened for his breathing. Relieved, she heard the sound of his shower in the adjoining room. Slowly, she sat up and thought about her options. Up until seeing Simon, things had been progressing well. Even in Italy when she broke his rule, he responded with kindness, not cruelty. But as she listened to the running water Claire debated leaving him, the apartment, everything. She didn’t know how. Where could she possibly go that he couldn’t find her?
She fell back against the soft pillows and allowed herself a few tears. Momentarily, she had difficulty filling her lungs with a sufficient amount of air and remembered her nightmares. This wasn’t a dream, it was her reality. She didn’t want to see or talk to him. However, she recognized the helplessness that surged through her veins. Her only way forward was through the man in the next room. Slowly, she eased back the blankets, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the mirror. The steely determination that propelled her feet didn’t come from courage, more from a sense of powerlessness necessity. The reflection before her had been worse, it’d been much worse. Yet seeing the red and blue markings made her stomach twist. She reached for her robe and covered the evidence.
Minutes later he stepped into their bedroom. The man before her seemed completely ignorant of the previous night’s events. He casually kissed her cheek and said, “The shower is all yours.” She just stared. Who is he? He grinned. “I would have stayed longer if I knew you were awake.” Later that morning, he helped her prepare to leave Chicago and kindly discussed daily pleasantries.