“And about fucking myself”—he stepped out of his slacks, smiling—“sorry, Tess, not a chance. Why do you think I buy you all that expensive jewelry?”
“Look,” Tess said, wrapping herself into the sheet. “Let’s not today. Let’s just talk….”
“We can talk,” he said with a shrug, folding his shirt neatly on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shorts. “That’s okay with me. Let’s talk about how I treat you like some kind of society princess, how I bought the rings on your fingers, bracelets on your wrist, that diamond lariat around your neck. Hell, I know the girls at Tiffany’s by their first names—Carla, Janet, Katy.”
“Look…” Tess stared at him, nervously. “It just happened. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure he is.” He smiled. “It’s you I can’t figure out. The jewelry and the Mercedes. Then you’re like some horny little cotillion bitch, doing it in the parking lot with the guy who parks the cars.”
She was starting to get scared. She knew what he was like when he got this way. He moved over to the edge of the bed and sat down. His erection almost made her sick. She pulled away, but he grabbed and squeezed her arm. Then he sort of cradled her diamond lariat. For a second she thought he was going to rip it off her neck. “My turn, cupcake….”
He yanked away the sheet and threw her down on the bed. Then he grabbed her by the ankles and spread her wide. He rolled her back and thrust himself inside. She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. Feeling him inside her made her gag. He thought he owned her, and maybe he did. He moved hard against her, the way he always did, something crude and foreign inside her. All she felt was shame. “I’m sorry, Ned,” she whispered to herself. She watched him grunt and sweat like some disgusting animal.
He made her do everything he liked—all the things she hated. When he was finished, Tess lay there, feeling so dirty, shivering, as if the room had grown cold. She wanted to cry. She had to end this. Now.
“I need to talk to you,” Tess said. He was up and looping his belt through his fancy Italian golf pants.
“Sorry, darling, no time for cuddle talk now. I have to get back.”
“Then I’ll see you later? At the benefit?”
“Well, that depends.” He smoothed his hair in the mirror.
“On what?” She didn’t understand.
He smiled, almost pathetically. “Things have gotten very cozy, haven’t they, Tess? It must feel just like home, right, since you seem to make a habit of shitting where you sleep. You’re very pretty, my love, but you know what I think? The jewelry and the fancy car… I’m beginning to think they’ve made you feel like you really belong.” He smiled one more time. “Hope that was as good for you as it was for me.”
He turned, tossing the room key in the palm of his hand. “And by the way, you know you really ought to lock the door. You can never tell who might pop in for a quickie.”
IT’S OVER! she screamed to herself.
Tess kicked at the covers in rage. She felt ashamed, angry, weak. This wasn’t going to happen anymore.
Some stuff that must’ve fallen out of his pocket jangled on the sheets. Loose change, a golf tee. Tess hurled them with all her might against the wall. It wasn’t worth it anymore. Not for anything.
She threw on a robe and ran herself a bath, anything to remove the touch of him. That was the last time she would ever feel his hands on her. It would mean giving this up, but he was more than she could take. Like Ned said, they could go anywhere. Go walkabout. He didn’t know just how prophetic he was. A fresh start. Yeah, she’d earned that.
Tess went into the bedroom closet and laid out a long backless Dolce & Gabbana evening gown. She picked a pair of brown Manolo Blahniks. She would look gorgeous tonight. Give him something to miss for the rest of his life.
Tess knotted up her hair and sank naked into the large tub. The scent of the lavender bath oil made her feel good, clean. She lay back and rested her head on the smooth porcelain rim. The water lapped up over her shoulders. She shut her eyes.
Ned’s face and his laugh crept into her mind. Whatever shame she felt, it wasn’t enough to erase what had been a very good day. Ned Kelly. Like the outlaw. She smiled again. More like the pussycat. It was about time she had a go with someone who treated her well—make that great. He actually looked up to her.
She heard the bathroom fan go on. For a second Tess just lay back with her eyes closed. Then she heard humming.
Her eyes bolted open. Someone huge was standing over her. Tess’s heart leaped into her throat. “What’re you doing here?”
He had a sullen, cold look in his eye, dark hair tied in a ponytail. She thought she’d seen him somewhere before.
“A shame,” he said with a shrug.
Suddenly he had Tess by the throat with his thick hands. He forced her head underwater. What’re you doing?
Tess held her breath as long as possible, but as she opened her mouth, water rushed into her lungs, making her cough and gag, letting more water in. She was thrashing and kicking against the porcelain tub. She tried to force herself up, but Ponytail had her by the shoulders and head. He was incredibly strong, probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds.
Panic took hold, more water pouring into her lungs. She was clawing for the man’s face, trying to scratch him, anything. Through the soapy water she could see his thick arms holding her down. Too much time going by. She stopped kicking. Stopped flailing. She wasn’t coughing anymore. This can’t be happening, a voice said inside her.
Then another voice, afraid—far more accepting than Tess ever imagined. Yes, yes, it can. This is what it’s like to die.
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What would you do if you faced your wife’s killer? Forgive… or get your revenge?
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Ethan Breslow couldn’t stop smiling as he reached for the bottle of Perrier-Jouët Champagne chilling in the ice bucket next to the bed. He’d never been happier in his whole life. He’d never believed it was possible to be this happy.
“What’s the world record for not wearing clothes on your honeymoon?” he said jokingly, his chiseled six-foot-two frame barely covered by a sheet.
“I don’t know for sure. It’s my first honeymoon and all,” said his bride, Abigail, propping herself up on the pillow next to him. She was still catching her breath from their most daring lovemaking yet. “But at the rate we’re going,” she added, “I definitely overpacked.”
The two laughed as Ethan poured more Champagne. Handing Abigail her glass, he stared deep into her soft blue eyes. She was so beautiful and—damn the cliché—was even more so on the inside. He’d never met anyone as kind and compassionate. With two simple words she’d made him the luckiest guy on the planet. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?
I do.
Ethan raised his Champagne for a toast, the bubbles catching a ray of Caribbean sunshine through the curtains. “Here’s to Abby, the greatest girl in the world,” he said.
“You’re not so terrible yourself. Even though you call me a girl.”
They clinked glasses, sipping in silence while soaking everything in from their beachfront bungalow at the Governor’s Club in Turks and Caicos. It was all so perfect—the fragrant aroma of wild cotton flowers that lingered under their king-size canopy bed, the gentle island breeze drifting through open French doors on the patio.