Her gray eyes sparkled as she looked up to his loving expression. “Yes, but I like hearing it.”
Stepping into the foyer of their new home, Derek turned from the closed door and traced his finger from Sophia’s ear to the apex of her plunging neckline. The light touch sent chills throughout her body. Suddenly sleep didn’t seem important. She was very glad she’d napped. With his hands caressing the gathered waist of her evening gown, his lips lingered near her ear and her breath quickened.
“I was wondering,” his words contacted her skin in hot bursts of air, “if perhaps – you need – help – getting out – of this – amazing dress?”
Sophia nodded as the silk chiffon gown molded against his black tuxedo. Despite the layers of material she could feel his intention against her hip. “I do,” she whispered.
Once within the confines of their new bedroom, the day’s disappointments and satisfactions melted away. Derek no longer remembered the frustration of sitting alone as everyone else sat in pairs. Sophia forgot the stress of waiting for a mystery buyer who never arrived. Derek’s excitement at speaking to Mr. Rawlings faded. Sophia’s exhilaration at the new amazing offer waned. Their joy came in each other, the ecstasy of pleasing and being pleased.
When they finally settled into the soft satin sheets and gave into sleep, calm contentment relaxed them. They both glowed with the serenity associated with compete trust in the person by your side.
*****
Text message sent: May 25: 01:17 AM – To: Anthony Rawlings
MS NICHOLS JUST EXITED GRAY MERCEDES. SHE SAFELY ENTERED HER BUILDING.
Claire didn’t need to knock on Harry’s door. When she turned the corner in the hall, she saw him leaning against the jam in his open doorway. She sighed in relief at the sight of him; his casual appearance made her cheeks rise. She saw his customary faded jeans and black t-shirt had replaced the tailored tuxedo from earlier. His blonde hair now lay in waves, unrestrained by the earlier gel.
Prior to entering the building Claire gave Harry the opportunity to avoid this meeting. She sent him a text message. After all, it was almost one thirty in the morning. It said: MINUTES AWAY. DO YOU STILL WANT ME TO COME BY?
His short reply appeared almost immediately, YES.
It wasn’t possible to read emotion or attitude in a text message. Nevertheless, as Claire neared and her eyes met Harry’s, his unhappiness loomed omnipresent, surrounding them in a cloud of despondency. His hardened expression cooled her progress, almost stopping Claire in her tracks. Instead of summer skies, Claire saw ice in his light blue eyes. She searched for miniscule signs of acceptance. Instead she found frost. His lips pressed together in tight straight line.
As her glistening high heels propelled toward him, the scent of whisky filled her lungs.
“Well, if it isn’t the belle of the ball?” he asked cynically.
He gestured for Claire to enter. Initially she planned on kissing him hello. Even with his bare feet and her shoes, he stood several inches taller. In order to contact his lips or cheek she’d need to stand on her tip-toes, or he’d need to bend. The furrowing of his brow, as she neared, weakened her resolve. Claire looked pleadingly into his cold eyes, as she passed, entering his foyer.
Throughout the entire car ride, Claire divided her time between reliving the evening’s confrontations with Tony and imagining her reunion with Harry. It was at least thirty minutes into the trip before she realized she and Eric were driving in complete silence. It wasn’t as if they’d ever chatted, but in the past their relationship was cordial. Nevertheless, when Claire recalled his persuasive behavior from earlier, she felt no desire for familiarity. Besides, her mind was too full of thoughts and memories; the outside world seemed temporarily irrelevant. It was when those thoughts incited tears that Claire asked Eric to turn on some music. Truly it was an attempt to conceal her crying from Tony’s informant.
Interestingly, Claire noted Eric never asked her where she lived. Perhaps more thought provokingly, she never questioned his knowledge. Music was their only topic of conversation. Eric’s only words during their entire drive were those in his reply, “Yes, ma’am, do you have a preference?”
She shook her head to the eyes in the rearview mirror and turned again to the side window. The interior of the Mercedes filled with the sounds of Doc Severinsen and Louis Armstrong. Claire doubted the moisture on her cheeks and occasional ragged breath escaped Eric’s observation. Nevertheless, she took comfort in the fact the jazz music muffled her involuntary sounds.
In Claire’s likely scenarios for their reunion, she imagined Harry sad, hurt, or more optimistically relieved that she’d made it back. She imagined his supportive embrace as she explained the events of the night. Not once during her hour long journey did she foresee anger. Why would she? In the three months she’s known Harry, she’d never witnessed him upset.
Stepping into his entry, Claire saw and felt the aura of his fury. After dealing with Tony’s anger, she was now face-to-face with an obviously irate Harrison Baldwin. Her imagined scenarios paled in comparison. This was worse than she’d predicted.
He displayed the source of his discontentment on the table near the sofa. Laid out for her viewing pleasure were pages of information, multiple internet stories complete with photos featuring her.
Shit, she thought, this stupid gala only happened five hours ago. How did all of this get out already?
Claire walked silently to the table and scanned the headlines: Rawlings’ Reunited, Anthony Rawlings Asks for Privacy, Innocent? Anthony Rawlings’ New Claim. There were more but she just couldn’t stomach to read each one. Each article contained pictures. There was one photo of them during the introductions, Tony’s arm behind Claire’s back. They were both smiling. Another picture was during the meal. He appeared to be smiling at something she was saying, a friendly conversation. There was another picture of them standing together talking to another couple. The other couple was not identified. Claire read the caption:
EVERYONE IS TALKING! The big news at this year’s National Center for Learning Disabilities Fundraising Gala, in San Francisco, is not the millions of dollars raised for a worthy charity. It is the reunification of Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols. Their unexpected inseparability during the festivities begs the question: is this merger only personal or will it include Shedis-tics and SiJo Gaming?
She put down the page and another photo caught her eye. It was one of Tony kissing her hand. The look on her own face made Claire uneasy. The woman in the picture was staring into Tony’s eyes with a blushed radiance. Claire remembered; it was right after his speech.
“Yeah, that one caught my attention, too.” Harry’s emotionally ladened voice returned Claire to present. “I’ve never seen that look in your eyes. You’re acting skills are amazing!”
Tentatively she looked up to Harry. His blue eyes cried out with unspoken angst. She laid the papers back on the table and struggled with her own emotions. Claire needed to feel understood. Instead she felt challenged and fought the urge to launch her defenses. When she spoke, her voice came out flat. “Do you want to hear what happened? Or have you already made your own conclusions?”
He stared in silence. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he walked to the kitchen, and returned with a partial bottle of Blue Label and an empty tumbler. Pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, he sat down in his recliner, gestured to the sofa and replied, “By all means, make yourself comfortable and fill me in. I can’t wait to hear how this isn’t how it looks.” She sat; he took a drink of the amber liquor and added, “It never is, is it?”
“I’ve never seen you drink, like this.”