 
## Chrysalis

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## Olivia Barrington Leigh

## Smashwords Edition

## Copyright 2015

## All rights reserved by the Author

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## Smashwords Edition License Notes

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## Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy atSmashwords.com where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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## ****

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## WARNING: ADULT READING MATERIL. This book contains strong language and sexual content.

# Prelude

The sharp bite of pain, roughness of scab, and metallic tang of blood catches the breath that started out an attempt to calm my nerves. I refuse to allow the hitching exhale to become a sob. I close my eyes and flinch as the events from the previous night flash behind my close lids in rapid succession. Snatches of time stopped and started. Bullet points of an evening that had started off well enough and ended...well...fucked up. I roll my head in a circle. Tension and stiffness are intimate friends; the stress of what has become my life is married to the pain inflicted on an almost daily basis. I relax every muscle starting with my feet and take note of what hurts. What damage has been done to my body? I don't worry about the rest, what lies deeper than my bruised and broken flesh. The sound of someone knocking on my front door interrupts the inventory of injuries. I pull open my eyes and stare into the face of a woman I don't know.

"Who are you?" I say aloud. I get up before she answers. I don't expect one and I'm not sure I would have liked the one given anyway.

The tiny bedroom is crowded with only a bed, dresser and small vanity. It wouldn't look half bad but this morning we match: beat to hell and back. The bed frame is broken and the box spring and mattress are on the floor. The bedding is rumbled not from the tossing and turning of sleep but from a tangle of bodies that had absolutely nothing to do with sex even if the struggle was passion filled. The top drawer of the dresser hangs crooked, giving a sad cocked-eyed wink and the middle drawer is lying on the floor with a pile of clothes covering most of it. The spill of shirts with their dragging sleeves look too much like intestines. At least all my insides are inside. I laugh at my piece of dark humor, a short sound that I cut off before it becomes the cackle of the insane. I make my way down the narrow, dark hallway headed for the living room. Its nine o'clock in the morning and more than likely bright and sunny outside but the original dark-wood paneling puts the center of my house in perpetual darkness. The knocking turns to pounding and I move faster. I know who it is. I know what he wants. It should have broken something in me when I first realized that I preferred teeth and fist over tears and flesh. It didn't. I'm so fucked up.

"Baby...Open the door...please," he calls from the other side. This is part of the game, part of the calm after the storm, or more like the quiet before the real storm. When the heavy rain and hail stops, the winds die down and maybe even the sun comes out seconds before an F4 tornado wipes out the entire town. The door frame is splintered at the doorknob. The pale yellow of the interior wood is a stark contrast to the darker stained outer surface reminding me once more of the spilling of internal organs. Maybe they're a sign. Subtle hints sent from the universe because obvious, harder ones I seem to ignore. The only thing keeping the door close is the chair I pushed beneath the knob last night. I move it and out of habit my hand closes on the knob. I even twist the damn thing. Bright sunshine, hot humid air, the sound of lawn mowers, weed eaters, and birds greet me in addition to: my tormentor, my warden, the bane of my existence—my boyfriend.

"I'm so sorry," he says. His words are long and drawn out, a loud whisper that is thick with emotion. His head hangs down, his shoulders slumped and each breath is a hiccup. He looks up. There are tears running down his face.

"I'm...so...sorry," he says again.

He looks so devastated, so distraught, so full of pain and anguish that it's a wonder his body doesn't shatter and blow away on the hot August breeze. He pulls himself together, passing his hand over the front of his face, wiping the tears away now that I've seen them and know the depth of his sorrow. He straightens his spine and steps into the house. I take a step back, not running, just giving him access. I know the game. I play it well. I'm a pro at this point. I close the door behind him and lean my forehead on it. I can turn my back on him because this is not about the pain he can administer to my body but the pain he swears is in his heart—nay—his very soul.

"Baby..." he says softly, "baby..."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I more feel than hear him take a step towards me. He's showered and smells like the cologne I bought him for Christmas. He takes another. I hold my breath. I feel his hand on my shoulder. So soft a touch it could be imagined until he presses the length of his body against mine. There was a time I would have flinched. I know better now.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," he whispers against my skin, hot breath that dampens the nape of my neck. A feather light kiss follows. I take another deep breath, which—for him—translates as all is forgiven. He wraps his arms around my waist, the deep pain of something bruised, possibly broken stops my breath as he presses closer to me, pressing kisses on my shoulder and neck. I lean my head to the side to give him better access. Last night was about hard holds, pain, and punishment. Today is about soft caresses, softer kisses and forgiveness.

It all feels the same to me.

# Part One
### Chapter One

Two bodies keep beat with the rhythm of the song blasting from three foot tall speakers in the adjoining room. The smell of cigarette smoke, marijuana, urine and sex (previous and present) fills the traded space that offers little reprieve from the scorching temperatures we left on the dance floor. Of course, I've only exchanged one type of dance for another. My body still sway, my thighs still burn, my heart still beats hectic within its cage. Music moved me on a dance floor packed thick with gyrating bodies, and it still does. The cinderblock walls and steel door might as well be paper. I can't make out the lyrics, but I've never cared about words, it's the music that I love. My calves quiver as I fight to remain on my toes, my sweat dampened hair sticks to my nape and temples, and one hand slips further and further down the watermarked, graffiti-filled mirror with every push and pull while the other grips the edge of the sink. The faucet drips—one drop for every rock of my body. It may seem like I'm not into the sex, but I am. I feel every thick inch invading my body, the hard hold on my hips, the calluses on his hands. I feel the slight scrapping of the sequence from my skirt that has been pushed up over my ass on my back and belly. I feel the sweat on the back of my thighs and bodily fluids racing down the inside of them. My stomach has that roller-coaster fluttering from the orgasm forming in the very center of me. Richard, my lover, is also my friend, and has always been a favored.

"Fuck," he grunts behind me. He slaps my ass hard enough to sting, and when I say sting, I mean hurt. But I like it. I like a little pain with my pleasure. He curls his long, lanky body around me, holds me tight and forces me to fall flat on my feet. He bends his knees, the change in angle hitting new spots, one hand lowers and finds my clit. I don't care about the noise. I yell out. Richard's right behind me. His dick is stone before it begins to pulse, hard throbs as he comes inside me. His rocks back and forth...slow...oh, so slow, his head resting on my shoulder. He slides free, straightens and rubs the globes of my ass.

I rest my forehead on my forearms a second before standing, grabbing a handful of toilet paper. The good thing about having sex with friends is there's little awkwardness afterwards. I'm not embarrassed at all as I clean up, nor is he when I pass him a wad of tissue.

"Want a drink," Richard asks.

He's a tall drink of water: six-five. He's thin...wiry, my grandmother would have called him. His body is hard...defined...beautiful. His nose is wide, it matches is mouth. He has gaps between every tooth, but they're sexy. He's sexy. How he looks at me is sexy. I watch him through the mirror.

"Yes, please," I say, pulling down my skirt. He nods and looks down my body like I'm a dream come true before leaving me alone. I splash water on my face to cool off. No need to worry about makeup, it melted off four songs ago. I raise my hair from the back of my neck and press a damp paper towel to my nape.

There's a line when I open the door and I get ugly looks from the handful of girls waiting to get in the bathroom. I should care, instead, I make note to use the men's next time. And there will be a next time.

There always is.

If it's possible there are more people in the club than it was when Richard and I took our break from the dance floor. The club is nothing more than a bar that brings in a D.J. on the weekends, and rearrange tables to form a small area to dance. It's the hottest spot in town.

I see Ray, my best friends, sitting at our table. I'm very pretty, but Ray is goddamn gorgeous...and she knows it. Her look can be summed up in three words: tall, dark and exotic. Her skin is the color of milk chocolate. All through high school she'd been skinny as a rail. Her metabolism slowed in her twenties and she's really filled out. She has hips and thighs and an ass that won't quit, tiny waist, big breast—she's built up like a wet dream.

"Hey, girl," she greets me as I slide into my chair facing away from the makeshift dance-floor. Richard comes back holding beers for everyone. He sits with his back to the crowd, too. Ray takes hers and drinks almost the entire thing at once. It's that hot. She gives me side eye with a dash of arched eyebrow. She knows what I've been up to. Hell, if her skinny jeans weren't painted on she'd be up to the same.

"Whew," she says loudly, slamming her bottle down on the table. "That hit the spot. Dance with a girl," she tells Richard rising from her seat.

"Of course." He hurries to finish the last of his beer.

I watch them elbow their way through the crowd, and people watch as Ray and Richard tear up the dance floor. My roaming eye doesn't catch anyone of interest. So I sit, quite content, nursing the last inch of beer in the bottle. When the song ends I stand to leave. Richard rode with me but I'm sure Ray will have no problem dropping him off at home. I have to be up early for work tomorrow. Richard's easy enough to find. He's one of the tallest people in the place. It's like some weird kind of telepathy; he looks up as soon as my eyes land on him. I point to the door to signal I'm leaving, he nods his understanding and gives me the devilish smile that I've learn to love. Ray looks over and wave good-bye before looping her arms around Richard's neck. I mumble my apologies to the dozen or so people I bump into on my way to the front door.

Humidity is the word for the day when I emerge from the club. It rained earlier which makes the thick air that much worse. There's no line outside the joint, but the flow of new patrons is steady. I walk the two blocks back to my car passing people out on the town. It's football season. The local high school and college teams both won their games. Everyone's out celebrating. In the South football is a religion.

Now that I'm away from the hustle and bustle of the masses I start to think about the reason I needed a night out with friends. I'd broken up with my latest boyfriend two days prior. Ben and I had only been together six months, but true to form, I was already secretly planning our lives together.

Forever.

Happily.

For as long as I can remember I've been that girl. The one that falls in love with anyone who keeps eye contact longer than three seconds. I've been planning my wedding since sixth grade. He's out there somewhere. I know this. I'm certain of it. No doubt.

I drive slow, talking myself out of making a bigger fool of myself by calling Ben. I'd already driven by his house before picking Richard up while playing, I Will Survive. It sounds funny, but really it's sad and pathetic...and a little stalker-ish. Add in that his house is in the opposite direction and it becomes just plain stalker-ish. I give myself kudos for not driving by on my way home.

The street I've lived on most of my life is dark. I'm the youngest person in the cul-de-sac and every house is filled with people I consider family. I went away for a few years but I came home. My mother remarried and her new husband lives in a neighboring town. My youngest sister moved to California after meeting the man of her dreams in college. He graduated and she followed. They're happy. I'm happy for her.

I let myself in the house and leave a trail of clothes on my way to the bedroom. I don't worry with lights, just climb into bed after switching on the fan attached to the headboard. The house does not have central A/C and I'm too exhausted to open the window. Even with the ungodly heat the sheets are cool on my body. I like the way cotton feels on my naked skin. Just days ago the comforting weight of Ben's arm would have be slung over my waist. Things hadn't been bad; at least I didn't think so. I guess it's hard for me to accept that's its over because Ben really didn't give me a real reason why he ended things. What the hell do people mean when they say: we grew apart? How is that even possible when we spent every waking minute together when we weren't at work? I wasn't clingy, I put out every day, I cook, I clean...what more can a man want for? I blow a breath, frustrated because no matter how many times I play the last few months over in my head, I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I made whatever mistake it was that started the ball rolling to Ben leaving me.

Sad.

Pathetic.

### Chapter Two

I wipe my hands on the front of my jeans and pull out my vibrating phone then roll my eyes as I answer it. "Speak."

"Do you care if I sleep with Richard?" Ray says, as way of a greeting.

I hold the phone in place with my shoulder and go back to wiping down the bathroom countertop. I work full-time at a chain hardware store but clean houses for pocket money. Today's house is a six thousand square foot beast that I've been working on since eight this morning.

"Did he ask you?"

Richard and I have been on-again/off-again fuck buddies for the last three years. He might be "the one" but Richard's not going places. He's always worked but I hardly see my knight in shining armor working at the local fast-food joint or slinging miniscule amounts of dope on the corner. Still...I'm willing to share with my best friend. What are friends for?

"No," she says, dragging the word out a little. "Did I overstep?"

I choke on my spit when I start to laugh. "When have you ever worried about over stepping," I ask, coughing between every other word.

"I don't, but I know you and Richard have history, and you did just break up with Ben."

"Ben broke up with me."

"You say to-ma-to, I say to-mo-to, you know what the fuck I mean," Ray says, and now she sounds put out with me. I love her like a sister, more because she doesn't put up with any of my bullshit.

"I don't care if you sleep with Richard," I say.

"Fuck, Richard, there will be no sleep," she corrects me.

"What brought this on?" I ask moving to the other side of the bathroom to clean the second countertop. I spray down the surface and start the water running in the sink.

"He was still hard when you two came out of the bathroom. One, who has stamina like that, and two, I never knew Richard was so hung."

Richard is well-endowed. His dick is something to be appreciated, and how he works you over, maybe even worshipped.

"Anyway, I'm on a break."

"Again."

Ray has been dating John for about five years, since they were in high school. Their relationship is so open it's damn near non-existent.

"Yeah, he went back to his bitch, baby-mama," Ray says.

"How do you even consider the two of you together? He's been living with that woman over a year."

"Yeah, but he always come home," Ray says. There's no mistaking the ownership in her voice.

"It's up to Richard if he wants to sleep...fuck you," I say.

"Yeah, but Richard's not my girl. Anyhow, I got my answer bitch."

I'm not offended. Bitch to Ray might as well be: my sweetest love.

"You know I don't care," I say, but Ray's right. If it wasn't a big deal I would have co-signed immediately instead of going through this song and dance.

"I know, but you and Richard have been playing your own version of musical chairs for a while now."

"True that," I agree.

"Are you going out tonight?" Ray asks, changing the subject.

"You?"

"Let's not play that game. I'll pick you up at eight." And with that, she hangs up.

I finish with the countertop and move on to the dreaded shower. Maybe it's time for me and Richard to stop playing musical chairs. He's fun to be around, has a sweet personality, and is handsome enough. I call him.

"What's up, Red," he says.

I can hear the smile on his face. I'm powerless not to smile, too. "Want to go out tonight?"

"With you, always."

"You want to get ready at my house?"

"I do." Within the two words I see his smile transform from his usual devil-may-care grin, to the big bad wolf, the better to eat you with one.

"Great, I'll pick you up at four,"

"I'll be waiting."

I hang up the phone with renewed energy. Four hours with Richard. I might not have the energy to dance tonight.

**-**

Daydreaming has been my escape for as long as I remember. If I'm not otherwise engaged in anything that takes much brain matter, I'm daydreaming. I daydream about what my life would have been like if I'd made different choices. I daydream about what my life will be like in the future. I daydream about sitting in a Paris café when the man of my dreams walks up and we begin falling in love. It's what gets me through day after day of a life that is plain and ordinary. I've had a boyfriend almost every day since I was twelve years old. They dump me and within hours I have a new one lined up. Like a lot of women, I become the woman each man wants me to be. If he likes Susie-Q homemaker, I'm your girl. Or someone that hangs out and stay up all night...that's me. But most important, I'm a dynamo in the bed. There is nothing off limits. In the beginning it was my attempt to get the boys and men to like me more, but I'll admit I enjoy it. Oh, I still use sex to become the ideal girlfriend but I love it too. Why shouldn't I?

Today is a phenomenon. I'm off. No regular nine to five and no side gig, just me, cup after cup of coffee, a library book and music playing at near deafening levels in my headphones. It's been a week since the exit of Ben and the entrance of Richard again. He's been staying over most nights. Richard lives with his grandmother. Another reason I'm holding out on making him the one. He's twenty-five years old and lives with his grandmother. It's not promising.

Richard's most recent job is working at the dollar store about a mile away. He walked to work. I appreciate and admire that he didn't ask to borrow my car. He's never asked me for money and always pays for things when we go out. Not that I'm an expensive date, and if we ever go anywhere that requires more than fifty bucks we'll have to go Dutch but money means very little to me. I don't have to work side jobs cleaning houses, I do it to have extra and if the right one comes along I'm sure I won't give two shits about money. If he worships me, if I consume him, that's good enough for me. Besides, I've never been one of those girls who needed or wanted a man to pay their bills. It gives me vapors just thinking about being that dependent on a man. As much as I love them, I can't stand the thought of not taking care of myself. I have enough experience to know I can't depend on anyone but me.

I'm not sure what I'm most lost in: the book or the music. Craig Armstrong's, Piano Works, is the perfect pairing for paranormal romance. I'm two chapters in when the house phone rings. It's the same number that I passed out in junior high. It's damn near the same phone. I pick up the pea-green receiver pulling the base along with it because the spiral cord is tangled.

"Hello."

"Is it alright if I bring some people through," Richard asks.

"Sure thing," I answer. I'm not particularly a people person but I aim to please. I stand up, ready to become the hostess with the mostest. "When will you get here?"

"Around eight."

I pick up my cell to check the time. It's five, plenty of time to straighten the house and make a run to the store for beer and party foods.

"See you then."

"Word," Richard says, and hangs up.

I haven't been to the store in ages and the fridge and cabinets reflect the neglect. We've been living off burgers and chicken when we crawl out of bed. I slip on a pair of jeans, brush my hair, grab my wallet and keys and head for the door. I call Ray when I'm pulling out of my driveway.

"Party at my house tonight," I say before she speaks.

"Cool, what time?"

"Eight."

"I'll be there."

The grocery store is the largest part of a run-down strip of stores that includes a laundry mat so filthy I'm pretty sure your clothes are dirtier when you leave, a small store that sells mainly candy, chips, and sodas and a beauty supply store own by Asians and filled to the brim with not only, every hair necessities known to mankind, but cheap clothes and shoes. The parking lot is filled with pot-holes and the lines that marked the spaces have all faded away. The windows of the stores are covered with bars because directly behind the shopping center is low income housing. The neighborhood is a high crime area. I wouldn't go in it without someone from the neighborhood, and someone tough at that.

The grocery store is cold enough to hang meat in, an attempt to hide a smell that could be moldy meat or old mop water. I wouldn't buy anything not in a can or frozen in the joint. I pull free a shopping cart and head for the chip aisle. Next is the cooler section, where I throw in a couple of cases of beer and a few frozen pizzas and I'm done. The girl at the check-out weave is busted. The tracks are visible, the texture of the synthetic hair is silky straight but the girl's hair is true black-folks hair. It's nappy. And the colors don't match. She's not a bad looking girl, a little older than me. When she smiles she has gold caps on most of her top teeth. I wonder why on earth that would ever seem like a good idea to anyone. It's like setting yourself up for failure. Who in the hell, but the local ghetto ass grocery store hires people with gold teeth? Of course, this may be her dream job. I stop judging and put my items on the conveyer.

After loading my car I head for the liquor store. I pick up a few bottles of cheap vodka and whisky and a couple of bottles of cheap wine. I've spent seventy-five dollars. The extra money I made from cleaning a house this week. When I return home, I unload everything and jump in the shower. I have no idea how many people will show up, or who, but I want to be presentable. I wash the few dishes that are in the sink, throw clothes in the washer and start the dryer. I'm setting up my party supplies when Ray comes in.

Ray is dressed like she's going somewhere way more exciting than just my house: jeans with rhinestones on the pockets, knee-high boots and a stretchy black top with a deep v in it. I feel like the help in my well-loved jeans and halter.

"I spoke to Ted today," she says.

I hand her a beer, "Oh, yeah." Ted is short for Theodora. Ted's my sister.

"She's still begging me to come for a visit," Ray says, pulling bowls from the cabinets.

"Maybe her ass shouldn't have moved so far away," I say, pouring chips a bowl and moving to the fridge for the dip. I pop off the top and place it on the counter next to the chips. Ray is setting out napkins and paper plates while I turn on the stove to pre-heat the oven to bake the pizzas. We talk about my sister and her departure and her overbearing, know-it-all boyfriend that we love...now. It took us a minute, but we finally saw what Ted had seen all along.

Richard comes in just as I pull out the pizza followed by a group of guys that I vaguely place.

All but one.

### Chapter Three

The last man to enter my house is not tall, only about five-ten, but what he lacks in height he makes up in thickness. He's built up like a fucking lineman. Black as the ace of spades, his skin is pore-less. His bottom teeth are crooked, a little crowded in his mouth, like he has an extra one. His shirt is old and a little frayed around the neck. It hugs the expanse of his chest and thick biceps as if a deep breath will pop every seam. His jeans hug equally impressive thighs; they're even snug at the calves.

Richard comes over, smiling as usually. Ray has turned on the music and is floating around the room looking for her next victim. Richard and I have not had _the talk_. Nothing is official, so he doesn't try to hug or kiss me, just stands next to me. I move to fetch him a beer and we're still standing side by side when the short, dark and handsome stranger heads our way. His gait is one of confidence. Why wouldn't it be? He looks like he could bench press everything in the room and most of the cars outside. His eyes are a little small, almost beady, his nose narrower than you'd expect on a man so black. His lips are small and thin too. He looks like no other man I've seen and definitely not my type. I generally gravitate towards tall men, six-three and above. I like them thin, too. But I do love dark skin and newcomer is the color of coal.

"I'm Van," he says, sticking out his hand.

"George," I say. His hands are small, his nails a little long. He cocks his head at my name.

"It's short for Georgiana," I say.

"I call her, Red," Richard pipes in.

Van doesn't reply, just looks at me for a couple of seconds, long enough for me to get caught.

It doesn't take long before I realize caught isn't the right word. Trapped—no—imprisoned—yeah, imprisoned is more like it.

**-**

So much emphasis is put on length. In the last week I've learned to appreciate width.

The room is a menagerie of sound: the bang of the headboard against the wall, the squeaking of the mattress springs, the groan of the box-spring and frame, the sound of bodies slapping together, animalistic grunts from Van, and sounds that can only be described as screaming that have left my throat raw.

Richard, God bless his soul, didn't stand a chance. It took two days. Two days for Van to sweep me off my feet and steal my heart. Of course, I wear my heart on my sleeve and pretty much handed the damn thing to him. It's been good...too, good. I don't think about that old saying. I don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I fall...hard. Van is everything I ever thought of as perfect. We've spent every waking moment we're not at work together. He's absolutely, one hundred percent, all in. He calls me constantly when we're not together, can't keep his hands off me when we are. He's...consumed, as am I.

His strength is an aphrodisiac. His body is a modern marvel. Thick and strong, plains and valleys of muscle, a body cut to perfection. He dominates me, overpowers me, handle my weight as if I were no heavier than a sack of groceries. Throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to my bed or his mattress on the floor at his place. He has the strength and the stamina to take me against the wall, fucking me hard, holding me. What I love...absolutely adore is when he pins me completely, making it impossible to move or get away. I feel safe. I feel...loved.

My childhood was not that horrific. Some pretty bad shit happened to me, but I'm no one's victim. I mean, lots of kids have gone through worse. I wasn't beaten, but in many ways I have been defeated. Nor was it completely stereotypical. My mother _did_ get knocked up as a teenager, but she married my father and for a while she was a stay at home mom. She moved back in with her parents when her marriage ended with two kids in tow. We were poor but my mother was smart and education was important. My sister and I were bussed out of the failing neighborhood schools to better ones. We went without, but what we had was nice, sometimes even expensive. I was raised to take off my good clothes after school to keep them nice. My mother was and is exceptional. No child could ask for a better parent. As far as that part of my life, it was not ideal, but it could have been worse. What we lacked in money we had in love. And love is worth so much more. The horrific part, the part I have learned to live with, was sexual abuse.

I developed early, and for as long as I can remember I've captured the eye of older men. My first encounter was with the old man down the street. When I say old, think grandfather. He lived with the woman two doors down. So thin that he looked frail, I can still feel the stubble from his beard scratching my face as he forced a kiss. I can taste his spit in my mouth and feel the texture of his probing tongue. I can feel his hands on my breasts, tugging and rubbing. I was eleven. Was this act the hill that created the slippery slope? I don't know. A year or so later I saw my first penis. My neighbor exposed himself to me. To my young eyes it looked big, lying there long and thick on his stomach.

Baptized by fire. Do you know that old saying?

I lost my virginity to brothers, good-looking, well-bred, one sixteen, the other was eighteen. They took turns. I'm not saying I was taken advantage of. They asked, I said yes. I was painfully shy, desperate to be liked by all. I can still see them leaving my house on their bikes. By the time I was sixteen I had a reputation. The two boys didn't waste time spreading the word. I didn't help my cause. It was true. I was easy. I didn't want just anyone to like me. I was looking for my knight, that mythical creature who was supposed to save me. Save me from the endless line of boys that wanted to fuck me. Save me from myself.

At last count I'd slept with over hundred people. I stopped counting when I was eighteen. When I graduated from high school and went away to college it was my chance to be a different person, a place to start anew, but old habits die hard and my self-esteem was non-existence. The sex was part of who I was, who I am, no different from eye and hair color. Besides, I hadn't found my knight. But my life has been riddled with bad decisions. From saying yes to those two brothers, to dropping out of college and yet, I am still searching...still hopeful. Van is everything I've been searching for, everything I imagined.

**-**

I hand Van his drink and sit in his lap. I love how he pulls me back so I'm snuggled into his chest. He rubs my thigh lazily as he listen to the story of his friend shooting at a rival.

So in the two months we've been together the list of red-flags has grown but I overlook them all. A, because Van adores me and b, because I'm a little bit stupid when it comes to love. Okay, maybe a lot stupid.

Van moved here from Chicago and lived with his grandmother until he found a job and was able to afford a place of his own. Small world that it is, his grandmother lives down the hill from me, not even a mile. Sometimes we walk down to visit. She's a nice woman and excellent cook. Van's parents were in the service, so he spent his childhood traveling the country moving from base to base. When they retired his parents set up shop in Chicago. Van's mother was born here and they came back to visit regularly. I'd like to say that Van moved here to be closer to family, his mother's entire family lives here, or that he came to help with his aging grandmother, but in truth he'd gotten mixed up with a gang in Chicago. I'd like to say that he was trying to make a fresh start, but what he's done is brought the gang to our small city. There are small groups of kids that go by one name or another, but nothing as organized as what Van is setting up. He already has half a dozen members and they follow his ass around like puppies. They idealize him and because I'm his woman I'm given a level of respect that I've never known. Tonight's gathering is not a party but a meeting. There have been several fights and drive-by shootings, no one has been seriously hurt or killed, thank God. I wasn't raised around this kind of lifestyle. The neighborhood I grew up in is on the wrong side of the tracks, it's make-up is one hundred percent black, but the pocket of houses that make up this neighborhood are occupied by older people who worked hard their entire lives to own something, to provide a better lives for their children. My grandparents are probably rolling in their graves at the collection of wannabe gangbangers currently sitting in their living room. Most of these guys aren't going anywhere fast, or slow: high school drop outs, drug dealers, young men that carry stolen guns with the serial numbers filed off.

I take a hit off the joint making its way around the room. I'd been a recreational marijuana smoker in high school but stopped a few years back. Now I smoke because Van smoke. I'd forgotten how much I love to fuck when I'm high. I turn, pinching the joint and placing the lit end in my mouth. I blow a solid, hard stream of smoke into Van's face. He inhales through his mouth and then his nose, pulls back while holding his breath. The joint is almost gone but I past the remnant to the guy sitting to our left and lean in to kiss Van. The kiss is not one you'd give in the presence of company ordinarily. It's long and wet and makes me ache. The press of Van's dick on the back of my thigh tells me the feeling's mutual. Van grabs my hair and pulls me back from him. My heart's racing, my breathing's fast. He winks at me and pats my ass. I stand up to take my leave and almost skip to the bedroom.

I've barely kicked my shoes off when the door opens and closes behind me. Van pushes me forward, onto my hands and knees. My breath catches, and my heart stops for half a second and then kicks start as the flat of his hand comes down on my ass. It hurts, the sting radiating down the back of my thigh to my already tingling pussy.

"You want this dick," Van says roughly behind me.

I can hear the tinkling of his belt, the unzipping of his pants. I turn my head just in time to see him palming said dick, his thumb rubbing the already weeping slit on the blunted head. I lick my lips. I need it in my mouth. I can already feel the silky texture of it on my tongue. Van has other plans; he pushes me back on the bed, pulls my hips up and yanks my pants and panties down, grab my ass, spreading my cheeks, planting his face between my legs. I reach out, my palm slapping the painted wood paneling as I try to keep myself steady. He's merciless as he sucks, licks and flicks me to a body shattering orgasm. His fingers penetrate me, two then three, he fingers me slow, driving me to the brink of insanity. By the time he positions himself behind me he has to hold my hips steady. I'm greedy. I need him inside me. He enters me in one slow push until seated and starts to fuck me with an intensity that has me clawing at the bedcovers and burying my screams in the pillows...most of the time. There's music playing in the front room and while I'd like to think I cared about a room full of men hearing us have sex, I just don't. One hand goes between my legs, while the other goes around my throat. I open my mouth, sipping the miniscule amount of air that can squeeze down my throat as Van increases the pressure both on my clit and my windpipe. My head feels heavy and the organism is building, my body shakes, vibrates, upon its arrival. I'd scream but Van's hand stops all sound from coming from my throat. My body bucks as I ride pleasure I'd not known before meeting him.

"That's right, girl, get that dick," he grunts behind me before he releases my throat, pushes me back on the bed, grabs my hips and fucks me hard enough that I'm certain he means to climb into my body via the small opening we're now joined at. I'm sometimes bruised when we're finished. I wear them proudly; savor the deep throb of the purplish outline of his hands on my hips and ass like goddamn badges of honor. I've never felt so...owned.

When we emerge the music is pumping. More people have filled the small space of my living room and more are outside standing in the front yard. Van leaves me to speak to a few of his "soldiers". As a grown woman I think gangs are silly. Well, gangs in our small town are silly. I don't see it becoming the problem that bigger cities have and maybe that's the reason I overlook it all. I'm in the kitchen making myself a drink when an old friend walks up. I dated Lester in high-school briefly. I don't remember why we broke up, back then I kind of drifted in and out of relationships. We didn't end on bad terms. I haven't seen him in years, but he was nice and I smile at him when I see him crossing the room headed my way.

"Hey, you," I say, opening my arms as he steps around the table to hug me. Like most of my boyfriends before Van he is over six-feet. He was the first light-skinned black boy I ever dated.

"George," he says, squeezing me tight for a second before straightening. "I haven't seen you in years."

"I know, where have you been?" I ask, really interested. It's not like we live in a metropolis. I would have expected to run into him long before now. He hadn't been born and raised in town, his family moved here from Detroit.

"Around...I heard you went away to college."

I hold up a beer and he takes it. "I did. It didn't take, I've been back for a minute," I say sipping my own drink.

"You look good." He looks up and down my body. Nothing inappropriate, he wasn't ogling me.

"Thanks, so do you." He's gained a little weight, but back in the day he was underweight. His six-five frame weighing in at maybe one-sixty-five.

We're catching up when I see Van reenter the house and make a bee-line to me. I don't think anything of it. I pull another beer from the cooler and have it ready for him by the time he makes it to my side. He pulls me into his side after taking the beer and eye-balls Lester.

"Van this is Lester, an old friend. Lester, this is my boyfriend, Van."

"What's up, man," Lester says, switching his beer to his left hand.

"Not much," Van replies, as they slap palms.

"It was good seeing you George," Lester says raising his beer to me. "And nice meeting you, Van."

Van doesn't reply just keep eyeing Lester as he walks away. When Lester passes over the threshold out the front door Van looks at me. I frown, because he looks angry, pissed.

"What's wrong," I ask. I know he's mad about Lester, but there's no reason for him to be, it's flattering that he is.

"I don't want you talking to old friends," he says

I'm not sure what makes me laugh. I can see he is genuinely angry, which means he's probably very serious, but I can't stop myself. My short laugh is cut off by his hand across my face. The slap is hard enough to turn my head. He puts his beer on the table and backs me against the refrigerator, pressing his lower body against mine, pinning me in place. For the first time all his strength isn't a turn on. One hand is on my arm, crushing it, the other is in my hair pulling hard enough for the tears that have pooled in my eyes from the slap to be joined by those of real pain.

"You think I'm joking," he spits at me.

"No," I answer right away. "No."

"No one touches you but me," he says. He tugs on my hair, pulling my head back. "You understand?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Good."

He releases me and walks off. I remain still, my back against the refrigerator. No one's looking at me, but I know they've seen our exchange. His "boys" are staying out of his business and the rest of the people are probably as embarrassed as I am and don't know where to look, just as long as it's not at me. I wipe my hands across my face, freeing it of the tears and with a shaky hand pick up my beer. I take it to the bedroom and close the door behind me. I think about locking it but don't. I place my hand on my cheek. It feels warm, that's fine, because my face is still on fire. I know that this should be the end of us. We only have a couple of months under our belts but I don't sit thinking about how to get rid of him. I sit thinking how to make sure it will never happen again. I've done something wrong and I'm not going to do it again. Van loves me.

**-**

"A'ight, bitch, what's going on," Ray asks me point blank. She's already giving me the bullshit lip so I know anything but the truth is not going to fly.

Three months have passed since the slap and I'd love to say that was the last time Van hit me but...

No matter what I do, how careful I am, I'm still giving him reason to hit me. Last night was the worst. My ribs hurt and there is a pain in my stomach where he kicked me. His little band of gang members has grown, so has the money he's collected in order to start buying illegal guns. The problem I didn't see becoming a real issue is suddenly very real and very much an issue. The neighborhood I grew up in and love is now filled with grandchildren that need long dead grandparents to come back and kick some serious ass. Van, of course, is the undisputed leader. The initiation is brutal, fights that leave boys and young men bloodied and hurt in the backyard of my or Van's grandmother house. Richard has even joined. I think this is Van's way of keeping him close. Van has started hitting me in front of his friends, but still never anywhere that would leave a visible mark. Beneath my clothes my body is bruised. Richard hasn't said anything to me or tried to stop Van but I can see in his eyes it's just a matter of time. Last night I tried to break up with Van. The beating was brutal and he's finally told me that he'll kill me if I try to leave him. I'm sitting on pins and needles at Ray's. Looking at the door every two seconds, as if Van will appear like an apparition. He's at work, shouldn't be off for at least three more hours but that doesn't always mean anything. Van's been known to leave work. He has a sixth sense about my mood. Last night, while he slept, I ran the different scenarios in my head trying to figure out how to end things in a way that didn't include me in a black plastic bag. I totally believe he'll kill me and the worst part is it's not my death I'm worried about. It's Richard's. I feel like I've dragged him into this mess.

"Speak!" Ray says, dropping down next to me on her sofa.

"He says he'll kill me." There is no reason to get into the small stuff with Ray.

"Shit." She stands up and starts to pace her living room. She's mad, as mad as I should be. But I'm long past mad. I never even got mad, just went from puzzled to scared shitless.

"That, motherfucker," Ray says, stopping long enough to give me a look of disbelief. "I should..."

"No," I say frantic. "You can't say anything to him," I beg.

"Me," she says stabbing herself in the chest with a finger. "I'm sending John over there to kick his ass."

The fact that Ray is considering sending John over to kick Van's ass because he's hit me strikes me as funny. John and Ray fight like heavy weight boxers when they're not fucking like rabbits. I laugh.

"I fail to see the humor in the situation," she says.

"Of course you don't," I say, taking a swig from my beer. "I didn't come to talk to you about my relationship. I need your help." Where the abuse I've been living with has not brought me to tears the next words do and I begin to cry. "I'm pregnant."

I can't imagine bringing a child into a relationship where the father beats the mother, but more importantly, I can't imagine tying myself to Van for the rest of my life. I'd rather die.

### Chapter Four

I squint through smoke and watch the man cross the parking lot of the hotel I checked into thirty minutes ago. I tilt my head as he heads my way instead of the entrance that is to my right. I've seen him before. At a gas station a hundred or so miles back. Pressed khaki pants that held on to their crease despite the long drive and hot weather, white long-sleeve button down rolled over his forearms, brown leather belt that match his loafers exactly. The rental Camry so does not match his clothes. I take a pull of my cigarette and blow out a stream of smoke when he stops directly in front of me, his hands in his pockets, and an inquisitive smile on his lips.

"Hello."

The exhale is more a sigh. I so don't need this. Not with what I've been through. Not with what I am running from. Good home training opens my mouth and I say, "Hi."

"May I," he asks, nodding at the bench I'm sitting on

I wanted to say, not no—but hell no, instead I say, "Sure." I even scoot over to give him room. I'm so far over that the arm of the wrought iron bench digs into my side. I don't look at him; instead my eyes are glued to the parking lot. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away.

"I'm Elijah."

I sigh—again—and turn to his outstretched hand. I look at it. The watch is silver and gold. I can't make out the face, but I'm willing to bet it's a Rolex or something equally expensive. The exposed forearm is tanned and toned and covered in black hair.

"Lu," I say, stowing the cigarette between my lips and shaking his hand.

"Smoking's bad for you Lu," he says.

"I do a lot of things that are bad for me, Elijah." The words are thick with sarcasm and annoyance, but old habits die hard and I want to kick myself at using a string of words that could be misconstrued.

"Well then," –he pauses, the smile is a little too cat that ate the canary— "would you like a drink?"

"No." I wait for him to get the picture and leave. He doesn't; instead he keeps watching me. Except it's more like he's trying to figure me out, so focused that I almost tell him there isn't much to it...to me.

"Dinner?"

I give him what is affectionately known as: the bullshit lip. "I don't think so."

It's his turn to check out all the parked cars. It's dark and beyond the parking lot is pitch-black, further still are the sounds of the interstate that I've traveled on all day and will continue to do so for the next two or three days until I reach California. We sit in silence, the sound of speeding cars, lumbering big rigs and an assortment of night singing insects filling the void left by unspoken words. There is really no reason for me to stay here. I should go to my room. For reasons I don't look too closely at, I stay seated. Besides, I was here first.

"I'm going to get that drink, are you sure you wouldn't like one?"

"No, thank you." I answer.

His clothes weren't the only thing I noticed earlier. He's a pretty good looking man. Okay, he's a damn, good looking man. The kind that's use to women pretty much doing anything he wants. Man, is he barking up the wrong tree. I expected him to get into his car, so I'm not surprise when he does. I am surprise when he doesn't crank that puppy up. I light a second cigarette. The car's interior light dims, then goes out leaving him in the sickly yellow glow of the buzzing fluorescents he parked beneath. The door opens and he steps out with a red cup in his hand. In that moment I can see what he looked like in college. A frat boy, handsome and popular, filthy rich with a blond haired beauty (a Barbie to his Ken) standing beside him, her name may even be Babs.

"Drinking and driving is bad for you. Some might say worse than smoking, and I'm pretty sure it's illegal," I say when he's reached he bench.

He laughs. 'Touché." He nods and add, "I wasn't planning on drinking until after I checked in. Sure you don't want one?" He asks, raising his plastic cup in my direction as he sits back down.

"No, I'm good."

He nods and takes a nice long drink from his cup. The smell of beer waters my mouth. A cold one would be nice, and a fine compliment to my cigarette, instead I drink in the sight of the mystery man. He drinks enough of his beer that his head begins to tilt backwards. His eyes are on the sky and I watch as his Adam's apple bob with each swallow. The fabric of his starched white shirt is pulled tight across a nice bicep. My eyes travels down the front of his shirt. I bet he's a real work of art beneath his clothes. I look away and take a pull off my cigarette when he begins to lower his cup.

"Where you headed?" he ask, after a few beats of silence.

"West."

He laughs. The sound so carefree, so easy, I'm sure it mirrors an equally cheery and untroubled life thus far. He takes another swallow of his beer before saying, "So am I."

I stand, finished with my cigarette, and walk to the ashtray mounted on the wall of the hotel, activating the automatic doors when I pass them. The cool air of the lobby pebbles my hot skin in goose-bumps. "Well, be safe out there."

Elijah is still sitting, legs crossed at the knee, one arm draped across the back of the bench. "You, too."

I head for the elevator with a weight settling between my shoulders. I keep my eyes on the spot right in front of my feet when the bell announces the arrival of the car. I step in and keep them downcast when I press the button for my floor. I look up at the last second, no more than a few inches, a scant opening large enough for me to see him standing in front of that rental Camry—looking right at me.

I'd like to say I forgot about him this morning, but I stopped lying to myself right around the time I realized that broken bones do not equal love and do not warrant forgiveness, no matter how many tears are shed (his, not mine). So, no, I haven't forgotten him, for a matter of fact, he is the first thing that pops to mind when my brain came online after waking. I even peek out the window to see if his car is parked in the same spot. It's empty. The frustrated breath has nothing to do with the missing man, and everything to do with me, my state of mind, and what could've happened. I shower and dress while chastising myself aloud for my stupidity. Will I never get enough? The sun is just breaking the horizon when I check out. The day is shaping up to be a real scorcher, and I cannot wait to get past that magical point where dry heat kicks humidity's ass. I unlock my car and throw the hounds-tooth duffle on the back seat. My purse is my copilot. I drive straight to the gas station at the end of the access road that I missed twice last night while driving in the near perfect darkness that you swear doesn't exist outside of horror movies but evidently hangs out around side streets leading to the only hotel for miles around. I leave the pump running to fetch my first cup of coffee of the day. I must have missed shift change because the attendant behind the counter is bright-eyed and bushy tailed. I add enough sugar to change the contents of my cup from beverage to condiment (i.e. syrup) and then enough half and half to change its color to paper-bag brown. It matches the color of my skin exactly.

I swear, Texas should be declared a country. I drove a complete day yesterday and I'm not even halfway through the damn thing. I hum the state song as I walk towards my car the happiest I've been in a very long time. Well, happy might not be the right word, but the correct one escapes me so I settle. I've settled for worse. The long drive and time alone feels like a Godsend, and probably is. I mean, it is, after all, a fucking miracle I got away at all. To say that I am running from my old life is not an exaggeration. I left like a thief in the night, stealing that last, tiny piece of myself that had not been lost—alright, given freely. The decision to leave made before the first drop of blood breached my busted nose. My departure was efficient and covert, easy to do if you're willing to leave all your shit. My worldly possession consists of my car, the contents in its trunk and backseat. I left the key to my house with my best friend with instructions that she is under no circumstances to go there alone. She can't even go with another woman. She is to take a man—a big, strapping man—one that can hold his own in a fight, or at least take one for the team while she runs for her life, because my ex is going to be a beast when he finds out. If I wasn't so far from where I started I would look behind me, instead I pump my gas while humming, with the occasional whistle. It's as if a boulder has been lifted from my shoulders, a monkey no longer on my back. My ex, like most of the men I ever dated had become an addiction, and then a burden but now I'm free.

I pull over three hours later and it's getting a little too stalker-ish for my taste. The rental Camry pulls in two cars down from me. The smile on Elijah's face has bad news written all over it, but not in a way that will leave me dead on the side of the road. Not serial killer bad. Then again, I have a terrible track record when it comes to reading people, especially members of the opposite sex. The alternative, for me, is just as bad. I almost prefer serial killer bad.

"Are you following me?" I ask, my eyes tightening the tiniest bit.

Today's attire is a repeat of yesterday's, but no doubt fresh. That or the starch used at his cleaners is more like shellac. And he's managed what I've always thought of as impossible since I've yet to accomplish the feat myself: Wear white longer than a nanosecond and not have a stain of some sort on it.

"I am," he answers so quick that I laugh.

It's hot and the humidity has my clothes sticking to my body. I felt like I needed a shower about a minute after stepping out of the hotel this morning. I'm happy that I have on sunglasses so I can eye him freely, all crisp and hard, so fucking handsome even the damn heat seems to have bowed down. I'd thought of him off and on while I drove. Daydreams and fantasies, a lot school girl nonsense that a lot of women never truly outgrow, or maybe it's just this woman.

At a little after nine the rest area that I've stopped at is surprisingly busy. Maybe everyone got up to beat the heat. I stare across the hood of my car at my stalker and say, "Well, stop." I walk to the women's restroom grinning like a damn idiot. The grin fades as I round the brick wall that gives the restroom its privacy instead of doors. It's completely gone by the time I close the door to the stall. I so don't need this. I'd come to pee, but now my stomach is heavy and rumbling and I'm nervous. Not because of the man that seems to be tracking me, but of how I'm going to interact with him.

"Shit," I curse myself, for last night's innuendo filled words and the laughter that he could have taken as an invitation.

"Stupid," I hiss as I wipe.

I wash my hands sending up a silent prayer that he's gone. Twice I've said no. He's clean-cut, surely not short on attention from females. Maybe he'll move on to easier prey. But he's leaning on the wall of the enclosure that house the vending machines directly across from the bathrooms when I exit. He pushes off as soon as he sees me and I stop so sudden the woman behind me runs into my back. My mind is short-circuiting with how to handle the situation.

"Sorry," I say, while moving out of the way of the steady stream of traffic. We meet in the middle of the sidewalk. I don't remove my sunglasses, hiding behind the smoky tint. His dark hair is business short, thick and wavy. He's clean shaven, square of jaw, has a soft cleft in his chin and dimples that I want to lick.

"I'd like a second of your time. I didn't want to wait until you stopped mid-day."

My heart skips a beat at his words. How did he know later in the day I take a longer break? How long has he been following me and more importantly, why? I remember the mace in the center console of my car and the switch blade. We're standing in early morning, bright sunlight surrounded by countless people so I'm pretty sure I'm safe. But still...

"You're freaking me out a little," I say.

This ridiculously handsome—no, beautiful man, wants a second of my time. I'm powerless to stop the fluttering in my gut regardless of the why's that have found me on this stretch of freeway.

"Am I?" he asks, with a smile, one that show a lot of perfectly straight, bright white teeth; one that has probably gotten a lot of girls to drop their panties and their inhibitions. He studies me. "I don't think that I do," he finishes.

I have left my home and the man who had been more warden than boyfriend and ended up being my torturer as well. And still, I look into the show-stopping, good-looking face and stand there waiting on him to...what? Profess his undying love? It's a ridiculous thought, and yet...

"I won't hurt you."

"Says the complete stranger," I say, already enjoying the easy banter between the two of us. This is what couples do.

"I introduced myself last night," he says. When I don't say anything he continues, "Let me take you out to dinner when you stop for the night?"

The words kick my already overactive imagination into overdrive and it runs wild. The flashes slow down and I see everything in real-time, techno-color. Where this simple exchange blossoms into a relationship, turns into true love that ends in wedded bliss. There are some that think me strong (God knows I put on a hell of a show) but I'm weak and nothing makes me weaker than a man. A man's attention is my kryptonite, ironic given the man standing in front of me looks a lot like Superman.

"No." I step past him with a shake of my head, moving in the direction of my car. I really want to run but I refuse. I'm weak but not that weak, damn it. I've made the first step. Hell, I've made leaps and bounds on this road to recovery. After the initial shock and fear that I was really leaving my home eased enough for me to take a full breath, I've mostly enjoyed this alone time.

"Can I have your number?" he calls out.

I stop. "Elijah...right," I say, pretending not to know his name. Of course I remember his name, just like I remember every single inch of him. How could I not? He's Hollywood handsome. His photo could be on the glossy pages of any magazine. I look up and down his body, from his perfectly coifed head to his expensive shoes. "I'm not having drinks with you, or dinner and I'm not giving you my number."

He moves closer, closing the distance that separates us until he's all up in my personal space. I should take a step back. I don't. I like playing with fire. I've spent a lifetime doing it. I have the burns to prove it.

"Then let's just talk," he says.

I don't answer, simply turn and walk to my car. When I reach the door he's still standing in the same spot. Both hands in his pockets and looking like a million dollars, smiling a secret smile. He's playing a game that he feels he's already won, and I just don't know it. He is a catch, that's for sure. I shake my head and try to hide my smile as I drive away.

### Chapter Five

"Fancy meeting you here."

I roll my eyes. I'd pulled off from the rest area and wasn't surprised when I saw the Camry in my rearview mirror. We've played follow-the-leader for the last four hundred miles. I pulled over for gas and a snack. Elijah is parked directly behind pumping gas, too.

"Come here often?" he asks.

I can't help myself. I answer, "It's my first time here."

"Mine, too," he says, "I'm glad I stopped.

It's still day out and I'm still not frightened. It's becoming kind of fun. I head inside the gas station that signage boasts homemade ice cream. Ordinarily I use the upcoming hour long, mid-day break to listen to music or read, today, I'm looking forward to the company. I exit the store with a double scoop vanilla, waffle cone. Elijah is behind the wheel of his car. He tips his head at me as I round the front of my car. I pull on my seatbelt and start my car. I roll down all four of the windows and hit the open road. Eating ice cream in a hundred degree heat, while driving, isn't as easy as you'd think. I'm a sticky mess by the time I get to the rest area. Elijah's laughing as he steps from his car. So am I, as I wipe melted ice cream off my shirt. I've parked at the end of the lot like I did the day before. I grab my blanket from the trunk and head for the grassy area to the side of the bathrooms, snack stations and picnic areas and find a spot under a tree to finish my treat. Elijah strolls over, stands over me, blocking out the sun.

"May I?"

I'm tired of fighting, I'm defiantly more lover. "Yes."

His descent is graceful and he surprises me by taking off his shoes. His feet are bare and like the rest of him, are perfect. He crosses his ankles, leans back on his elbows and looks at me. We've passed the invisible line that turns heat into something that bakes you instead of the kind you wear. I sit cross-legged, mindful not to flash, smoothing the fabric of my dress as far as it'll go over my legs and take a long lick from my sloppy cone.

"You're putting in a lot of work for a piece of ass," I say, after a few minutes of him watching me.

My words shock him. His quick breath and slightly widen eyes say so. He grins, lays completely down, putting his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. He's stretched out on my lime green blanket, his chest rising and falling slowly like he doesn't have a care in the world. The top two buttons of his shirt are open and I can see a dusting of dark hair on his chest. The hair on his head practically begs to be touched. I lick my lips and bite the bottom one as my gaze run the length of his body, his shirt tight around his biceps and forearms. His stomach is flat and in my mind's eye I can all but see the sculptured muscles of his abdomen. I'm damn near panting when I look lower to the outline of an impressive package hidden beneath the fabric of his pants. I quickly move on, down his legs and to his feet that are still crossed at the ankles. I want to see him naked, want to kiss every inch of him including the bottom of his feet. I've never wanted something so bad.

"You like?" he asks.

My eyes run in reverse until our eyes meet. "What do you want from me?" I ask with a sigh that sounds sad even to me.

He shocks me by asking, "Are you clean?"

Most women would be scared, probably even call the police, or the very, least tell him to piss off. I'm flattered. If he only knew—I'm damaged goods. My last relationship was the end of a string of bad ones. A very long string—fuck it—a chain of bad ones. Somewhere between junior high and graduation I broke my happily-ever-after compass and kept picking the frogs, or worse, the fucking evil step-brother. Sitting next to Elijah tightens things in my stomach even as a weight settles in the pit of it.

He sits up and crosses his legs, sitting close enough that our knees almost touch. I don't like casual touch from a person I intend on fucking. It leads to...confusion. I shift, scooting back until there are a couple of inches separating us instead of centimeters. I've never met an interested man that I haven't bedded. Sad, but true. I put one hand behind me and lean back, my dress slid down my legs exposing my thighs. It's almost like I'm offering myself to him.

"I am." It's a miracle. I'd fully expected to have every STD known to man. I'm lucky my whoring ways have not caught up with me. The clean bill of health helped push me off the line I'd been teetering.

He leans forward, slowly, or maybe the world is moving in slow motion. I sit up, prepared to break rule number one, it's the only one I have: no kissing non-love interest. Elijah places his hands on my legs to steady himself, I close my eyes and wait, wanting nothing more than to feel the soft press of his lips on mine. I miss when he makes the course correction and instead of kissing me, his nose is buried in my neck. I've been kissed thousands of times, and had sex with...quite a few, but there is an intimacy that I've never known in his nose pressed firmly on my skin. He exhales through his mouth. His breath is warm but I shiver nevertheless. With his nose still on my neck he whispers, "You stink."

I laugh. I assume he's referring to the cigarette smoke since I bathed this morning.

"You should stop smoking. You're too beautiful a woman for such an ugly habit."

I wish for my brand new pack I left in the car. I'd light up and blow smoke on his ass if I had them. I open my eyes and lean back. Our faces are still so close I could kiss him if I dared. "You don't want to date me, just fuck me; how I smell shouldn't be that important."

His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, but the cocky grin remains. There's always talk about electricity when two people attracted to each other are close. I've never experienced it. My chest is tight, there's a fluttering high in my stomach that spread to my limbs. It's hard for me to breathe and things low in me tightens at the thought of the man in front of me being naked...inside me. I wonder what his mouth taste like, are his lips as soft as they look. I want to know the texture of his tongue, want to know what it would feel like in my mouth.

"But I bet you smell so good under that cloak of smoke." The sound he makes is part hum and part moan, low and deep, a sensual sound if ever one was made "I bet you taste even better." He reaches up and thumbs the corner of my mouth, removing a spot of ice cream. I watch spell-bound as he licks the pad of his finger before sucking it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. The fluttering leaves my stomach and nests in my heart. I've never had a casual fuck talk about going down on me. I stand, probably flashing him, but not giving a damn. I need to get away from him. He follows with way more grace.

"You're going?" he asks.

"I am." I pick up the blanket, throwing it over my arm. He grabs me as I turn.

"Have a drink with me tonight...please." His face is full of apology. Why would he care if he's upset me? We don't' know each other. Talk about sex this early only means one thing and one night stands don't warrant feelings of concern for either party.

"Why?" I ask, easing my arm from his hold.

"Because I've stalked you across half the country and I feel bad for interfering with your break."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or really concerned for my safety."

He repeats his words from earlier today. "I won't hurt you."

_If he only knew_ , I think to myself. He looks at me, eyes pleading for me to agree to a drink. I want to want to say no, but I say, "Yes."

He visibly relaxes, like he was holding, not only his breath, but every muscle in his body. "When do you want to stop for the night?"

I look at my watched. It's four o'clock. "Six."

He smiles. It's a good smile. A great smile. "Follow me."

**-**

He pulls into the only decent hotel close to the interstate. Not that I've been stopping at decent along the way. I slept in a room that I had to strip the comforter from the bed and refused to walk barefoot in. Showering had been interesting. We argue at the counter about him paying for my room and in the end I relent. My assumption about him is right; he's use to having his way. We get adjoining rooms. No surprise there either.

I don't know how I feel about him paying for my room. I could have paid, it would have considerably lessened the tiny nest egg I managed to squirrel away over the years. The silence as we wait on the elevator has me deep in thought and already feeling more like of a slut than I usually do whenever I have sex with a stranger. The soft chime announcing the arrival of the elevator is missed completely and when Elijah puts his palm on the small of my back I almost jump three feet in the air. I step into the elevator very aware of the heat of his hand radiating through the thin material of my dress. The sexual charged is so thick that it closes in the walls of the already tiny space. I can almost see the pheromones in the air. Almost feel them dance along my skin like the heat we've left outside.

"You surprise me," Elijah says.

I turn to look at the man I'm going to have sex with. A man that in paying for my hotel room, had just spent more money on me than any other man ever had, maybe even all combined. I know I'm reading too much into consensual sex between two adults but that's how my mind works.

"How so?"

The doors open and instead of answering me he extends his arm, signaling me to step out of the car first. Our rooms are right there and I don't hesitate to slide me key-card in the slot and push the door open. I look at my neighbor before entering the room.

"How long will you need?" he asks, still not answering my question.

The first words that pop to mind are _, I'll never be ready for the likes of you_ , instead I say, "An hour." The sexy tilt of his lips speaks volumes. I close the door wearing my second goofy grin of the day.

I stand in awe of the room spread out before me. It is worth every penny. I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and feel cheaper than before—no—I feel...poor, and out of my element. It makes me nervous. The king-size bed's comforter looks like a cloud pulled from the heavens. Thick pillows take up almost half of it. There's a T.V. mounted on the wall as long and tall as my car. The sunk-in sitting area has a wrap-around couch, a desk, a round table to eat at, a fully stocked bar and a second, larger television. I kick off my shoes and moan when my feet sink into the very heavens that supplied the comforter. I order room service, which I tell the woman on the phone I'll pay cash for, and decide to shower while I wait for it to be delivered. My mouth drops open when I flick the switch, illuminating a room straight from the pages of Architectural Digest. Marble, glass and gold fixtures take my breath away, and oddly enough, makes me want to call and cancel drinks. I feel so...inadequate. Self-worth is a thing I've struggled with for as long as I can remember. Our modern times, countless T.V. shows and movies that say there's nothing wrong with a highly sexual woman and my adult mind has been trying to agree since I'd turned eighteen, but I don't believe that. I feel like a whore. Not that I haven't had these feelings of self-loathing before, just it always happened after the fact. I've had enough one night stands that I should have built up an immunity, but they have always been wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am and me leaving with the evidence drying on my thighs and dampening my panties.

I have too much time on my hands. I strip quickly and turn on the shower and step in before the water is warm but it doesn't stay that way long and before I can take two full breaths steam is billowing around me. I wash my hair and slather on the conditioner before I start shaving all the nooks-and-crannies. I lather my body in soap that smells of sandalwood and try to rinse all my second guessing and escape plans down the drain with the suds. I turn off the water and wrap myself in terry cloth. I know the joint has a robe and I find it in the closet. I've just tied it when the knock at the door announces my food has arrived. I stick two twenties in the black folder and tip ten dollars. It's a splurge, but I'm eager to be alone and don't have time to wait on change. I sit down with my grossly overpriced club sandwich, steak fries and strawberry milkshake and think I'm going to be sick just looking at it. It's not just that I'd decided not to be the same person; it's the person I'm relapsing with. I go to my suitcase and riffle through my meager wardrobe deciding on a fairly new sundress that doesn't make me look like a total country-pumpkin. I put on eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss and head for the door in need for a little liquid courage. No way am I going to crack the seal on one of the mini-bottles in my suite. I don't want Elijah spending one more dime on me. When the elevator opens on the ground floor he's getting off the one directly across from mine. Have I mentioned his smile? He looks so carefree, so pleased to see me that I can't help but to smile back. We go to one of the many bars that surround the casino floor and get settled in a booth. Our asses have barely warmed the vinyl before a waitress comes over.

"I'd like a Glenfiddich, neat," he says before turning to me.

"Chivas." I say, and then laugh when he looks surprised at my choice. When the waitress leaves with our drink order he turns and the weight of his stare is a physical thing.

"So, how are we going to handle this," he asks.

My entire body is suddenly a rubber band stretched to popping capacity. The bitterness of tears salts my throat. It was one thing for me to be the neighborhood slut, another for this beautiful man to think me a whore. This is what I was leaving behind—this feeling of shame and helplessness.

"This was a mistake," I say. If my throat wasn't closed to a pinprick from a smorgasbord of emotions I think a sob would spill out of my mouth. I'm so out of my league, and it's not only that Elijah is in a different class; there is also a level of maturity that is foreign to me. Everyone I've fucked lives paycheck to paycheck. The man next to me has a career, a 401K, probably a savings with more than I'd earned in my entire life. He isn't an old man, but he is older than me, over thirty if I had to bet. I would guess stock broker or lawyer but what in the hell do I know, he could have any number of professions that would lead to a life I've never seen, nor dreamed of. I'm not selling myself short; it's just a statement of fact.

"Wait," he says, grabbing me before I can slide completely out of the booth. My escape stalls as the weight of his hand settles on my wrist. I'm like Pavlov dogs; the strong grip on me instantly halts all movements. I'm thousands of miles away from my ex but years of abuse has trained me well and strong holds mean submission because the alternative is a fight I can't win. But Elijah's not my ex, he's a stranger that I allowed to pick me up with the intentions of fucking.

"I'm not a whore," I say.

"What?" He actually looks shocked at my words. "I never said you were, nor do I think you are."

How I want to believe him. But who else picks up complete strangers for sex at rest areas. When I think of it that way, it doesn't really shed Elijah in a good light either. Hell, maybe I should ask if he's clean.

"Then what is there to handle?" I ask, trying to pull my hand away because surely to god he's not a hitter, and if he is I'm hoping being in a crowded place will stay his hand, but he holds firm, making me feel like a trapped animal.

"Why were you crying?" he asks. I'm so confused by the words I don't answer. He adds, "Yesterday, at the rest area, you were crying...why?"

I frown, and tilt my head. "You were following me?" I ask, trying to pull from the iron grip he had on me.

"Not exactly," he says.

"Will you please let me go?"

"No."

Surely, I misheard. Maybe my assumptions that he isn't a serial killer are wrong.

"I saw you when you stopped for gas and then again, completely by coincidence, at the rest area. I went to the restroom and when I came out I saw you'd set up shop for a longer stay. I stood and watched you, trying to figure out how to introduce myself without coming off like some kind of serial killer, but I saw you crying. And I was wondering why."

I relax my arm and he relaxes his hold but doesn't release my wrist. Just because he says he's not a serial killer doesn't mean he's not one and I should be uncomfortable that he refuses to let go of my arm but I can't be because he looks as if he's waiting on me to tell him the secrets of the goddamn universe. As if the answer is going to be the single most important piece of information he's ever heard. My life doesn't always make sense, and the last four years has brought more bad then good times, but I escape each time I put my headphones on. The only other comfort I find in a life that has become unbearable is being lost in the pages of a good book, and although this is not an intimate question, it is too personal, too real, for me to be discussing with a virtual stranger. Music it my sanctuary.

When the waitress appears with our drinks he's still holding on to my wrist. Nothing tight, but I don't test it by trying to pull away.

"What's your story," he asks as the waitress sits our drinks in front of us.

"Relocating."

He sips his drink. We don't speak. He stares a lot. It's unsettling. He takes a breath and releases it slowly finally looking away. We sit in silence that isn't all together uncomfortable, but leaves me wondering if he's reconsidering what had been inevitable when we checked in.

"What kind of music do you like?"

I look up a little startled when he speaks, but smile at the question. "All," I say sitting a little straighter. "Country, heavy metal, classical, hip-hop, I love music."

He leans over, oblivious of the concept of personal space. "What else to you love," he whispers.

I close my eyes, and exhaled through my mouth with his words still warm on my skin I answer, "Books, movies, art..."

"Sex."

The single word is so low it's almost a thought, long and drawn out. I open my eyes. He raises his hand, I think to touch my face. I lean away from his touch.

"Don't touch me." It's really more of a plea. I can't stand it. Casual touch always makes me...feel. And I'm feeling too many things at the moment. I need to leave, but it's like he's conjured up some kind of binding spell tethering my ass to him.

He lowers his hand and asks, "Why?"

"Because, I say so." He nods, accepting the rule but doesn't move away from me. Who am I kidding, if things go according to plan, there will be a lot of touching going on. "You're very...intriguing."

I laugh. In the list of things I am, intriguing isn't one of them. "Were you raised in a cave?" I ask, because that's about the only kind of person that would find me fascinating.

"Not quite," he says smiling. "Are you laughing at me?"

"You're funny," I say, downing the last of my drink, already a little tipsy. Light weight—that's me. For the last three years I've had to keep my wits about me. The last thing I needed was slow reflexes.

He finishes his drink and raises his hand to signal for the waitress and orders a second round. "Drinks and entertainment, isn't this nice."

"It's something." I circle the rim of my glass with my finger. "I need a cigarette," I announce, and slide out of the booth and don't look back to see if he follows.

I walk a few feet from the door and light up. Comforted in the first lungful of smoke, I feel a thousand times better. My new life is fucking me up. I can argue that my new life hasn't technically started yet, therefore I can, this one last time, sleep with the gorgeous man. I pace as I weigh the pros and cons. I'm on the run. I'm running from a life that promised to kill me spiritually, mentally—and yes—physically, if I'd stayed with my ex. I'm so fucked up about myself, and sex that I should come with a warning label. I use sex to fake confidence, as a weapon, as an apology. It has been taken and given for the wrong reasons since the first time I laid with a boy, correction, boys. I was a sexual being long before I lost my virginity. Too many sexual suggestions, gropes, forced kisses, flashes of skin. Damn this fucked up superpower that call men to me. Or at least that's what I use to think. I know better now. Truth is, men like to fuck, and it doesn't matter who they fuck, they just need a hole, and I've been that hole for most of my life. I drop my butt on the ground and step on it. My nerves are better but nothing's really settled in the war raging inside me. I'll let the Gods decide my faith. If he's still there I'll fuck him, if not, I'll get up around three in the morning and leave. It's a plan.

### Chapter Six

The clock on the nightstand reads five thirty-four. I'm thankful that our very late dinner (or super early breakfast) has saved me from a hangover. I think of the night and very early morning spent with the near perfect stranger that turned out to be a perfect gentleman. I analyze every second after I returned from the only cigarette break I'd taken all night. The easy conversation, the way he'd sat so close, hanging on to every word out of my mouth as if we were discussing string theory instead of the meaningless bits and pieces strangers allow other strangers to see. He hadn't really spoken much about himself, always guiding the conversation back to me, so we'd spent the entire evening talking about music, movies, books and art. He hadn't even tried to kiss me, just said good-night and left me confused standing behind the closed door of my room.

I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom. After drinking my bodyweight in water I turn on the shower. After a quick rinse, I brush my teeth, pull my wet hair into a bun at my nape and slip on the hotel robe. I pack up my room. I'd left last night up to the Gods and they hadn't let me down, so I'll see if they'll come through one last time. The door that connects the two rooms is a little bit Pandora's Box and a little bit best Christmas present ever. I hold my breath as I turn the knob. I exhale when I find his open.

The light above the bed is on but dimmed. Not so low that I can't see him. I step closer to the bed and just...stare. He's lying on his back with only the top sheet covering his body—very little of his body: one leg, a hip and his naughty bits. Not that the thin piece of material leaves much to the imagination. Elijah is soft but I can see he's very well endowed. The line of hair on his abdomen disappearing beneath the white sheet is hypnotic. I take a calming breath and walk around to the side he's closest too. On the nightstand is a docking station for a MP3 player. I turn on the song I'd been listening to when Elijah first saw me. Not sad—moving, each note consuming me, thrilling the soul. At the first sound he stirs. If it had been me waking up to find a person standing next to my bed I would have jumped up, maybe even screamed. Elijah simply turns his head to looks at me, as if he'd fallen asleep waiting on me.

"Hey," he says in the sexiest just-woke-up voice known to mankind. "I—"

I lean over and put my finger on his lips to stop him from speaking. He surprises me by puckering and kissing the tip. I walk to the end of the bed with his gaze heating my skin. I hike up the robe, putting a knee on the bed and lean over to kiss the inside of the exposed ankle, the top of his foot, then the bottom. I move up his shin, cover the inside of the exposed thigh until I come to where the sheet covers his body. I straddle his legs, ignoring the now very erect hidden treasure and bend over to kiss his neck, taking a long, deep breath and drowning in his scent. My lips travel down his neck and chest. I work my way down the front of body, licking and nipping, kissing and sucking until I run my tongue along the line of hair that disappeared beneath the sheet, rubbing his erection through the covers; feeling him hard and throbbing as I kiss his hip and moving my lips closer to his groin. I savor the taste of his skin; lose myself in the texture of it and that of his rock hard erection. I pull the cover back revealing...perfection. I lick my lips and pull the bottom one between my teeth as I marvel at the sight. Thickly veined, the plum-shaped head looks every bit as delicious as the fruit. I stroke him from root to tip, then lower my head and lick the bead of moisture from the head. Elijah has been so still the entire time. Soft moans, contracting muscles, but no movement, that's no longer the case. He grabs my head.

"Lu," he whispers.

I flick my tongue over the tiny slit before taking him into my mouth and start sucking, rolling my tongue around the bulbous head until Elijah tightens his grip. He neither pushes nor pulls, just hold tight. I slide my mouth further down, working my hands up and down his shaft while I suck. Elijah begins to move his hips. The soft manipulation of my head and loud moans he's making has me wet. So wet, I can feel the slickness of my own arousal on the inside of my thighs. I lower my head, putting as much of him in my mouth as I can. I'm loss in the sound of the music playing and the feel of him in my palms and in my mouth. The slow roll of his hips becomes faster, no longer rhythmic but frenzied. This is when I feel my most powerful. In this moment I am in complete control. There is no awkwardness, no second guessing, no fear, no worries of class, no why's. I don't think about tomorrow or the next, or anything at all. In this moment the only thing that matters is the pleasure I am giving him and his response to said pleasure. I tighten my grip, suck harder, until he's stone in my hands seconds before the first jets of his release fill my mouth. I'm not a swallower by default, but this time I am. I milk him, sucking until he pulls me up by my hair.

"Lu."

My name.

The word spoken so softly it sounds more like a prayer full of reverence. I put my finger on his lips to silence him again. My heart is jack-hammering in my chest and my body is tight with need. He pushed me down, sits back on his heels between my spread legs, his split thighs forcing my legs open wide. He reaches for the tie holding the robe close and peels the two sides open slowly. He runs his hands up my stomach, between my breasts, across my collarbones leaving only my arms covered. He devours me with his eyes, strips me in a way that has nothing to do with nudity.

In all the times I've been with a man it's always been about him. Elijah makes this about me. His thumbs brush my nipples and he palms my breasts, squeezing them gently before pulling on my taunt nipples. One hand goes to the base of my throat; the other leaves a heated trail down my stomach. He teases me with his fingers until I ache. His eyes locked on my face when my back bow. I bite my lip to keep from making a sound when he thrusts two fingers inside me. He has wonderful fingers, running over that spot inside me that makes me pant and spread my legs wider. The look in his face stops my breath. I've never seen anyone look at me with such unadulterated want, need, lust. I breathed through the thorough fingering and cry out when his thumb starts circling my clit. I bite my lip again this time to stop myself from calling out his name. I put my arm over my eyes and turn my head to block out the sight of him, this beautiful man, who is bringing me so much pleasure. The orgasm building inside me is dulled by a sorrow that threatens tears. I feel him settle between my legs, one hand caressing the thigh that he's put over his shoulder while the other holds the opposite leg open. The top of my body comes off the bed when he latches onto my clit. The suction, the flicking, the long hard strokes are too much. When he adds his fingers I cry out as an orgasm that threatens utter and complete annihilation rips through me. He climbs my body as my heart rings in my ears. But he doesn't enter me, he kisses me: long, hard, deep. More brand than kiss. Never, in all my life have I been so...taken. I lose myself in the kiss. We're like two drowning people holding on to driftwood in a raging storm. The slightest slip of grip will send us to our deaths.

His hips are thrusting, pushing and sliding his erection through the lips of my sex, hitting my sensitive clit over and over until I have a second orgasm that I cry into his mouth. I wrap my legs around his thighs, grab his perfect ass and try to pull him into my skin. He breaks away from the kiss and hold my head and stare into my eyes as he keeps grinding into me. I'm a seasoned lover. Had more men than I care to remember, but never have I looked into their eyes during sex. It's a connection that breaks something inside me and the first tear spills free. I tightened my entire body around him, holding him like he's the last, the only, solid thing left on earth, the only thing that can tether me to the planet. He lowered his head until his face is in my neck, puts his hands beneath my ass, tilting my body up, and press his body as hard and tight to mine as he can without actually becoming part of me. I feel his body begin to shake seconds before he comes. It is the best almost sex I've ever had.

"Stay with me," Elijah says, still on top of me, a comforting weight.

I swallow; take shallow breaths, and whisper, "No."

When he rolls off me I scramble from the bed and turn my back to him so he won't see the tears on my face. I grab my MP3 player but before I can escape he grabs me from behind, his arms around my shoulders and waist pulling me close to him.

"When you don't reek of smoke you smell divine. The only thing better is the taste of your pussy," he whispers. "I want to make you come over and over, licking every single drop you offer." I gasp when his fingers enter me and again when he starts circling my clit. I ride his fingers with the press of his erection in my back. "I want to hear you beg me to make you come again."

"No," I moan, but the denial sounds false in my ears, because surely to God, I could never get enough of what he's giving or what his words are suggesting...offering.

"Yes," he counters. "Stay."

The orgasm washes over me like hot water, and I actually scream, gripping his forearm, my body jerking in his arms. Tears wet my cheeks, and I take slow measured breaths. When he releases me I stand in place too afraid to move for fear of my legs giving out, but I find the strength to move. I flee, locking the door that separates our rooms. I wipe at the wetness on my face and finally break when my hand touches the moisture. Shaking, I use the robe to clean his cum from my body and I throw on my clothes, glad that I'd packed before I went to his room. This departure feels a lot like the one I'd made three days earlier, worse, then there had been no crying, just a lightness of soul and spirit that came from a decision made. For four years I'd dated someone who would have undoubtedly become my executioner, but the pain he'd administered never felt as bad as the heartache I suffered after each failed relationship. The door closes behind me and I rush down the hall. I can't chance the elevator; I go straight for the stairs. I can't risk someone getting on and seeing me in this state and I don't want to see Elijah. I'm half expecting him to be waiting in the lobby (almost hope that he is) but he isn't. Before I reach the door, the girl behind the counter comes rushing over.

"I was asked to give this to you."

I snatch the envelope out of her hand and thank her. I have to get out of here. I don't stop until my tank is almost empty, having looked behind me as much as in front of me. It's a wonder I didn't wreck. I open the envelope while I pump gas. In it is his business card—on the back two words: Call me.

Call me.

Four years I've lived in hell. No head shots. Not hits below the knee or lower than my upper arms; strikes given with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel...until they weren't. I waited for my nose to heal, for the black eyes to disappear, the bruising to fade, the swelling to go down. It had taken two weeks. Two weeks of keeping my head down, not going anywhere, not talking to anyone, and praying that I wouldn't do anything that would set Van off. I walked away from everything I've ever known so tired. Weary of the life that I'd lost complete control of. Every false hope I'd clung to about my life, my future had been beaten out of me. I never felt so alone. Between one beating and the next Van had succeeded in that threat of death. He'd killed a part of me. I even felt light. Empty.

Until Elijah.

But I won't go down that rabbit hole again. I can't.

Can I?

### Chapter Seven

I arrive at my sisters a little after sundown. She opens the door as I step from the car and flings herself in my arms.

"George!" she yells.

"Ted!" I yell right back at her.

I hadn't lied; Lu could have been my name. My middle name is Tallulah. God—my mother and her names. My sister is six inches taller than me and stick thin. The messy top-knots on our heads are the only similarity between the two of us. She's smiling so big I wouldn't be surprised if her cheeks hurt.

"Are you tired?" she asks hooking her hand through my arm and leading me to the door.

"Not too bad."

Her house is chaos. She's never been one to pick up. But it feels like home—she feels like home. More so then the house I left behind. It had been a prison for too long. I sit down while Ted fixes drinks. Leave it to my sister to have alcohol readily available. She hands me a vodka cranberry, the cool, tart drink is just what I need.

"Give me a cigarette," she says sitting on the loveseat to my right. "I never smoke until I'm around you."

"Where's Dennis?" I ask pulling my pack from my back pocket. Dennis is Ted's boyfriend. To say he's controlling is an understatement. I never understood it. My sister has always been strong willed. No one tells her what to do, except Dennis apparently.

"Work," she says taking the cigarette. She lights it and takes a deep pull off it like a seasoned pro. I haven't seen her in four years. She takes after my mother and her side of the family; I look more like our father's people. We are polar opposites in looks and personalities but match only as sisters do. Her yoga pants and t-shirt have been a uniform for as long as I can remember. She folds long legs beneath her on the couch and take a long drink from her glass.

"I found a couple of apartments you might be interested in," she says handing me the lighter back.

"Great," I say, lighting my own cigarette. I like Dennis enough, but he wasn't raised like we had been. Family is everything to us. The unconditional love I have from my sister and Ray are the only thing that has kept me sane. Of course they don't know everything. No one does.

My life with Van was something I never discussed with my sister and mother. I suspect my mother knows what was going on, but she stayed out of it. I'm grown, didn't live at home, and as far she knows, a smart girl. I've run from him but it isn't exactly a national secret where my sister lives and anyone with half a brain can put the pieces of the puzzle together. But he doesn't have an address and I'm counting on my mother's years of obvious dislike, open disdain and finally flat out admission that she wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire, to keep him from her doorstep inquiring about my whereabouts. I'd been with him long enough that he would know the city and state, but he doesn't have the money or, God willing, the desire to chase my ass across the country. We're still drinking and catching up when Dennis gets home from work. He's not what you'd expect for a woman like my sister. She's beautiful. Dennis isn't an eyesore but I'm sure when people see them together they wonder what he'd done to snag a catch like Ted. He's the only child of two attorneys.

"Glad you made it safe, George," he says, as I stand for a hug.

"How's it going, Big Den?"

"You know how it is," he says, headed to the kitchen to grab a drink.

Dennis and Ted had moved into his grandmother's house after she died a year ago. Their house is college dorm meets nineteen sixty's art deco. I am feeling the burnt orange boxy sofa, though. We drag our tired bodies to bed when the sun begins to rise. The bedroom I'm to stay in has a bed and nothing else. I take off my clothes and climb between the sheets before texting Ray. She's Ted's best friend, too. It's three A.M. back home but knowing Ray she's up. It's Saturday night. My phone rings seconds later. She never disappoints me.

"Hey, chick," she says wide awake. She always sounds like she's about to laugh. I smile. "You made it."

"Yeah, I've been here for a while."

An hour flies by with Ray telling me about her latest encounter with an old flame. It's explicit. I eventually tell her about Elijah. There's no judging from Ray. She scolds me for not telling her sooner and then wants every detail from the size of his dick, to if he was any good when he went down on me. My body tingles at the memory. I can still feel his touch—his fingers—his tongue. I tell her everything except the part of about me breaking down and crying.

"A white boy," Ray says, her voice is full of disbelief.

I've never had a desire to sleep with anyone outside my race. I'm not racist, I just love dark skin.

"I'm blaming it on the scotch," I answer.

"Well, it sounds like he was worth the wait."

I'd thought of those tears a lot the ten hours I was in the car. I hadn't played any music, hadn't rolled down the windows. I hadn't felt whorish or cheap when I'd gone to Elijah's room. I hadn't felt that way with my lips around his dick or when he came in my mouth. I've been fucked, I've had sex, intercourse, hell, I've had coitus, but even with no penetration, how Elijah made me feel was what I'd been missing these long years of my sexual life. Having it for the first time with someone that was a one-night stand is too much for my heart to take. "I'm not calling him again," I say.

"Why not? He gave you his number."

I don't answer.

"You need this," she says, her voice getting serious. "Don't let him follow you out there. You've wasted too much of your life on Van. You said this is your fresh start. Have fun. God knows you deserve, and need it."

"It was fun, but the last thing I need is a man in my life."

"Not a man, just a good lay. Don't make it something it's not, Georgiana," I can see her frown even though she's twenty-six hundred miles away. "Get some sleep. I'll talk to you later."

I plug my phone into the charger and roll over. I stare at the ceiling and try to push Ray words down deep. I'd had my one night stand, if I went back for seconds I'd fall into old habits. I had been the girl who believed in fairy-tales, a part of me still wants that happily-ever-after. I close my eyes. Tomorrow I'll catch up with my sister and Monday I go to work. Thank goodness for job transfers. At least I have gainful employment. I've made it to California, now let see what it has to offer.

**-**

I throw myself into my work like I have since the first day of my first job. The people are friendly enough, fascinated with my southern drawl. I started lunch alone, but soon my table is full and I speak to people between bites of food. The day fly by and I'm feeling good when I drive downtown to look at an apartment. The complex is small and owned by an elderly couple. I'm surprised when the woman pulls me in for a hug instead of a handshake, how very Southern for a city woman. Her husband stands behind her smiling, he shakes my hand. The apartment is all solid wood doors and hardwood floors. The walls are plaster and the bathroom and kitchen have tile countertops. It's love at first sight.

"I'll take it."

"Oh, good," Mrs. Stephens says, clapping her hands together.

I sign the lease and pay the deposit and prorated first month's rent. I don't even care that I don't have a nickel to buy furniture. I can see how it will look, an overstuff couch with a million pillows on the far wall, bookcases filled to overflowing, a desk next to the couch with a vase of flowers on it. I smile the entire drive to my sister's house.

"Wine's on the counter," she yells from the back of the house when I open the door.

"You may have a little bit of a drinking habit," I yell back, headed for the wine while I yell it. I pour the deep red liquid in a coffee mug when I can't find a wine glass.

"Were you raised in a barn," she says "You can't drink wine out of a mug."

I eye her. "It's in a damn box."

"Hey, don't knock the box, bitch. This is good shit."

"I found an apartment."

"Cool, let's go out to celebrate."

"I have work tomorrow and its Tuesday," I say. "I'm long passed the age of going to work hung over."

"I meant out to eat," she clarifies. "I'll call Dennis and tell him to meet us."

The restaurant is middle of the road. My budget can't handle anything more. Between the two of us, Ted and I eat our weight in the rosemary loaves the waiter keeps sitting on our table.

"You don't have to rush you know," my sister says, leaning back in her chair and pushing her plate away. "You could stay longer, build your stack."

"I have enough money to get started," I lie. Truth be told, I'll be sleeping on an air mattress, eating noodles for the next month. I don't care. I'm too excited about my new place. My new life. Things are looking up. I'm glad I didn't go along with my original plan. I have Elijah to thank for it. He'd been by my side most of the way. I drink the last of my wine thinking about him. Not just the last time I'd seen him, but the time we'd spent crossing the country, the talks at rest areas, at gas pumps.

"Ready," Dennis asks, laying bills down on the table.

We drive back and I lug my suitcase to the car with my sister walking sadly behind me. "I'm just across town," I say, trying not to roll my eyes. She's acting like I was moving back across the country instead of ten miles down the road, maybe fifteen. "I know," she says hugging me. "Let's go out this weekend, a real celebration for you moving and your new place."

"Okay," I agree, excited to get back to my empty apartment—key word being _my_. I pull out her driveway with a final wave goodbye. A quick stop at Wally-World and I am finally home. The word is even thought reverently in my head. I lie on the veneer top of the air mattress and stare at the ceiling smiling. I'm not sure I've stop since I got the keys. Who knew a barren apartment was the root of happiness. I pull my phone out and then the business card. I finger my phone with one hand while tracing the number with my other. It's a bad idea. But I feel like I owe him. If not for his persistence and presence I wouldn't be here.

I dial the number and stare at the display before deleting the entry and plugging my phone up. I close my eyes tight, willing myself not to call. It's just a matter of time before I break down. I'm a glutton for punishment. There's always going to be a part of me that is drawn to the wrong man. He's out of my league. I need time to heal, and probably someone to talk to about the things that have happened to me, before my ex and with him. Being in an abusive relationship takes its toll, even if you do eventually work up the nerve to run. I give myself kudos for escaping his reign of terror but then there's the self-loathing from a life-time of searching for acceptance in the bed of countless, nameless, and often times faceless, men that had become my own brand of fucked-up therapy that I had to deal with. I'm on the road to recovery, and proud of what I've done so far, but I have a long way to go and hooking up with Elijah is going to be a step back. Yet...

I think about him constantly. The words of my best friend come to mind. But can I just have fun? Can I go to his bed and then walk away with my soul and my sanity intact? I've suffered depression bad enough to contemplate suicide. Elijah's presences stayed my hand. What would happen if I latched on to him in typical Georgiana fashion, with piped-dreams of happily-ever-after a fog too thick to see through, only to have him walk away from me weeks, or God forbid, months later. Would my strength of will be strong enough? Deep down I feel like this is all I will ever deserve. To be used. I crawl out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans and walk to the corner store across the street and buy a bottle of wine. Self-medication at its finest.

### Chapter Eight

My heart beats in time with the baseline thumping. The sounds of horns and strings are so loud it's as if the song playing has become a part of me.

Perfect.

I dance until I sweat. My once perfectly coif hair is now sticking to my temples and the nape of my neck. I disappear, loss in the sea of bumping and grinding bodies. My thighs burn, my arms ache, my dress is plastered to my back. The smell of clean sweat hangs in the air like the fragrance of a night blooming flower. My eyes are closed and I don't hear one lyric, the music is what moves me, what takes me to my happy place. A place where there is no ex, no countless bad decisions, no endless string of one night stands. It's just me, inside my head, and when I can forget the real me, my imagined self isn't half bad. Not bad at all. I like her a lot.

The press of a hard body at my back doesn't alarm me. The hand that lands on my swaying hip is big, and so hot it almost burns. I feel the press of a strong thigh on the back of mine, and a chest on my back. My partner wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I raise my arms, lower my head, whipping it from side to side, and roll my hips. I don't mistake the erection for anything nefarious. Music moves me that way, too. Good music stirs something in the soul, or it should. I turn with my eyes still closed. Not wanting to leave my special place. My partner split my thighs with his leg. He grabs my ass, pulls me closer and leans in until I can feel the whisper of his hot breath on my neck and I smile when I get a whiff of his cologne. We've become something of a thing since I started coming to this club. Always searching for each other at least once, dancing a few songs and then going our separate ways. He's like me, and he dances alone most of the time. His body moves in a way that tells you what type of lover he is. I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. We never speak. Just an acknowledging smile when we first meet eyes. By song three we unwrap limbs and he backs away, still dancing, still moving, still watching, like a damn ghost being swallowed into the shadows. I throw my head back and laugh to the heavens when he's gone.

The bar has an opening that I quickly take and I place my order for a scotch and ginger ale and beer. I drink the beer fast, the ice cold liquid doing wonders to my over-heated body. I spot Dennis at the other end. His head is bobbing to the beat of the song playing and he's leaning very close to a guy who is undoubtedly screaming in his ear to be heard over the music. I know this must be a friend because music or no, men just don't stay that close to a man they don't know. Dennis looks up and smiles when he sees me. I smile back. His friend hasn't noticed me, he's still talking. I'm beginning to wonder what the hell he's saying. Who comes to a crowded club to have long conversations? I'm about to down my drink and head back to the dance floor when Dennis waves me over.

"This is Jay," he says, then turns to his friend, "This is Lu."

Dennis and Ted have dated long enough for him to know I don't give my first name to strangers. His friend and I acknowledge each other with an upward jerk of our heads. When he smiles he has dimples so deep I wondered where they go without the smile. He's the first guy I've seen my age whose night-out-on-the-town uniform isn't oversized jeans and a shirt three times too big, in his pullover polo and pressed khaki pants. Dennis's drinks arrive and he disappears into the crowd, going back to my sister, leaving me with Jay. Is he playing match-maker? I'll have to remember to talk to him about that. I wasn't looking to hook up with anyone, but it was kind of sweet he was trying to find me a boyfriend.

"So, you're new in town?" Jay shouts over the music.

How original.

"Yeah," I shout back.

Already I'm not feeling Jay. He has that look in his eyes. I know that look. I've been on the receiving end of it since I was twelve. He's sizing me up, trying to figure out how to get in my pants, how good I'd be in bed. I know it because I've worn the same one too many times. But that was before. I'm about as interested in sex with him as I am in getting a tooth pulled with no Novocain. I bop my head to the music looking around, looking anywhere but at Jay. I finally yell at him, "It was very nice to meet you," and leave before he can yell anything back.

I spot Dennis and my sister on the dance floor and throw a hand up on my way to the table we're sitting at. I can't say I'm all that surprised when I see Jay headed my way. I'm beginning to wonder exactly what Dennis said about me. Jay slides into the booth next to me. The conversation is mostly one sided with me doing a lot of nodding. Jay's a little full of himself and I'm plotting escape when my sister and Dennis arrive. I give my sister wide-eyes, code for: get me the hell out of here. She laughs before leaning over and saying, "Go to the bathroom with me." I move so fast I bump the table with my legs as I scoot out of the circular booth. We tangle our arms and leave the men-folk behind. To my surprise we actually head for the bathroom. The line isn't bad and we're in within minutes.

"So you don't like Jay," my sister says, laughing from her stall. "I told that idiot not to invite him."

"So Dennis _is_ trying to hook me up!" I grab a paper towel, wet it and wipe the last of my makeup off before pressing it to the back of my neck.

"No, not you, Jay." She flushes and comes out of the stall. We talk, looking at each other in the mirror while she washes her hands. "He's in the middle of a pretty messy divorce."

I hand her a wad of paper towels. "Oh, well, that makes it so much better," I say, rolling my eyes.

Teddy wipes the edge of the counter and leans against it. "So when were you going to tell me about your cross-country hook-up."

Fucking, Ray. I should have known she would tell. Her ass can't hold water on a good piece of gossip. "Never," I say, crossing my arms. "You don't know every man I've screwed." She arches her eyebrow. "Well maybe you do," I conceded.

"So..." she says, settling in for the juicy bits.

"So, what?"

Ted gives an exasperated sigh. "Are you going to call him?"

"Not if I can help it."

Every waking moment for the last few days I've thought of little else. Hell, I know his phone number by heart. I can see the card as clearly as if it I was holding it. He doesn't work with money, he creates things. He's an architect.

"You're always so damn difficult," Ted says, turning back to the mirror and pulling her lip gloss from her pocket. My sister never wears anything other than clear lip gloss. Her large, slightly slanted eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones gives her an edge that needs no enhancement. "Ray thinks you need him."

"I need a man like I need a damn hole in my head," I say, getting a little pissed. I cross my arms in front of me and just barely catch the pout before my lip sticks out.

"Listen," she says facing me again and taking a step closer, "You were with him a long time, he wasn't the right one, but don't let him spoil the rest for you."

If she only knew. If my issues were only about who I'd escaped I wouldn't have any damn issues. I've dated someone almost every day of my life since sixth grade. He hadn't spoiled anything. "I just need a break," I finally say. Ted doesn't speak, just looks at me—looks through me, trying to figure out if what I just said is the truth or total bullshit.

"I love you, bitch. Come on, let's get rid of Jay."

**-**

Four weeks

Four weeks since I left Elijah in his hotel room. Four weeks of thinking about him, the two words written on the back of his business card, and the one night stand that has haunted me in ways none of the others do.

It's a slow day at work and management is about to start asking people to leave. I beat them to the punch and ask to leave early. I count out my drawer and drive home a little faster than normal. I unlock my apartment and step into the empty space. The only furniture is a bed with high thread count sheets. The bed is for him. I don't kid myself about it. I shower and lie down and enter his number but lay the phone next to me and stare at it. It's a mistake.

Right?

I grab the phone and press send. While it rings I feel his mouth, his fingers. I squeeze my thighs together and take a deep breath. I listen to the ringing, hoping simultaneously that he will and will not answer.

"This is Elijah."

I close my eyes. The sound of the three words is like the softest of cashmere running across my skin. I take a deep calming breath and swear I can even smell him.

"Hi," I say so low I doubt he hears me.

"Lu?" he says, just as quiet, but I don't miss the excitement in his voice. It makes me smile. "I'm so glad you finally called. Where are you?"

"Home," I say, rolling over, fluffing the pillow beneath my head. "In bed," I add. The sound he makes is low, guttural, and so fucking sexy. "I remember how you taste," I say. "How you felt in my mouth."

"Lu...please."

"I can feel your fingers inside me." My hand slides down my stomach and goes between my legs; I roll over on my back and open them. My breathing is fast and hard. "I can feel your mouth, your tongue licking me, teasing me. It feels so good," I breathe into the phone.

"You're so wet and slick. I love how greedy your cunt is, tightening around my tongue while I fuck you with my mouth," Elijah says.

"Yes," I moan.

Okay, not exactly how I thought the conversation would go, but it's my defense mechanism kicking in on auto. I've long stopped thinking men see me as anything other than a thing to fuck. I've never taken money for sex, but that doesn't make me feel any less like a whore. It only makes my services free. After years of giving my heart to every boy that fucked me, I became the aggressor, the predator instead of the prey. That...control makes me feel slightly better. So instead of calling and asking how is he, or where is he, or even about the fucking the weather, we're having phone sex.

"You're like honey in my mouth. I want to suck and lick you until you fall apart. I want to hold your thighs open and make you come over and over."

"Yes."

"Come for me Lu," Elijah says. He doesn't have to ask me twice. I cry out and squeeze my legs together while I keep playing with myself until I can't take it anymore, the pleasure is almost painful. Moaning and panting, I clutch the phone until my breathing is somewhat normal and my heart rate slows a fraction.

"Sac," I whisper. Short for Sacramento.

"I'm downtown, at the Hyatt. Have dinner with me."

"Okay."

I hang up before he can say anything else.

### Chapter Nine

Elijah is sitting at the end of the bar. I've only seen him in casual attire. There should be laws on looking that fucking good in something as simple as a three piece suit. He sees me and stands. I'm tempted to run. What the hell am I thinking? I'm rooted as he makes his way to me. I'm paralyzed as my emotions run the gamut. He's so...beautiful. Not good-looking, not handsome, just plain beautiful. My heart has come to a halt in my chest and I feel as if the last of the air in my body is being squeezed out.

"Lu," he says stepping within my personal bubble.

"Elijah." I whisper with the last of the breath I can muster. I've dreamed about him, I've seen him in every free-waking moment in my mind's eye, but my memory didn't do him justice. He's gorgeous, and in this moment, looks very rich and very powerful, double taps to my fragile well-being.

He reads my mind and says, "Don't go." It's a low plea. "At least have a drink with me." He takes a step back, giving me much needed breathing room. "Please."

It's a mistake...a big one.

I go.

"How have you been?" he asks, once we've placed our order with the bartender: a martini for him, a scotch for me.

"I shouldn't have come here," I blurt. "I'm sorry," I add.

"Don't," he says, placing a hand on my knee. "Don't tease me."

"I know." I look down at the bar too afraid to look in his eyes. We sit in silence until our drinks arrive. I drink half of mine in one swallow. "I'm sorry," I say again.

"You should be," he says. I'm surrounded by his scent. I can die a happy death drowning in it. "I'm still hard," he whispers, his breath hot and moist on my ear. He shifts and presses his nose in that spot right beneath the lobe and says into my skin, "And I disagree. Here is exactly where you need to be." I shudder. The heat of his words travel down my spine, prickle my skin with goose-bumps. It's like cold electricity. He leans away and we look at each other. God, what have I gotten myself into?

"I came across the country to start a new life. I left a bad relationship and this thing,"—I pause and take a deep breath meant to clear my head—"Is not what I need right now."

"But you're here."

I shake my head. "Yes." It's all I had.

"I was driving home from New York after calling off my wedding and breaking up with my fiancé. I decided to spend the time driving home to clear my head."

"Distance was too much for you?" I ask, waving down the bartender for a much needed second drink.

"No, she actually lives in the city, too. We were friends a long time, actually, she's my best friend. We were in New York looking for her wedding dress."

"Make it a double," I say to the bartender before turning to face Elijah. "Wow...that's...cold."

He orders and waits for the bartender to leave before continuing. "We were engaged for three years. I knew it wasn't right and in the end, so did she. Ashley deserves so much better."

"Better than you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs. "Yes, better than me. Someone who will love her like she deserves. So we're two peas in a pod," Elijah says "Two lonely hearts."

"There's a vast difference between the two of us." He doesn't disagree. "Will you stay for dinner?" he finally asks, then adds, "Besides...you owe me."

"Owe you what?" I ask, puzzled. He leans in. I meet him halfway, turning my head so he can whisper in my ear. "An orgasm, but I want to be inside you when I come."

The illusion of control starts as soon as I cross the threshold of the suite. Years of baggage piled on after each failed relationship has left me in a bad place when it comes to men, sex, how it related to me as a woman, as a person.

"No kissing on the mouth," I say, even as I remember the kiss that pretty much branded me. It's about having the upper hand, about me setting the rules. I need to know that this encounter is on my terms, and that I am in control of it.

I close the distance that separate us and run my hands down the front of his jacket with his eyes boring holes in the top of my head. I slip my hands inside his jacket and run them around his waist until I'm hugging him, loving the warmth of his body, the smooth texture of the lining of his vest and the slightly rougher one of his shirt. I push the jacket and vest off his shoulders. He lets them fall to the ground. The tie comes off next, a nice blue on blue silk one. I pull his shirttail from his pants and unbutton it slowly, my breathing so shallow that I'm damn near holding my breath as each inch of skin is revealed. I run my hands through the hair on his chest. I've never been with a man with chest hair and I like how it feels beneath my palms. I trail a finger down the strip of hair that leads to his waistband and further down until I cup his erection in my palm. He's as hard as stone. He backs me up until my knees hit the edge of the bed and I climbed to the middle with me still fully dressed.

"I've wanted inside you since the first time I saw you," he says, unbuckling his belt, the tinkling is as loud as cathedral bells. He toes off his shoes, unbutton his pants, his erection springs free when he push them down his legs. I don't get a chance to admire it, he climbs into bed with a sense of urgency that makes me think he's afraid that I may change my mind, get up and leave, or simply disappear on his ass. He palms my sex, and becomes still when he realizes I'm naked beneath my dress and moans when he finds me soaking. I haven't been nervous about sex in years, but I can feel my heartbeat on my skin. He shoves all his length inside me in one hard thrust, stealing my breath. I feel it in my marrow. It's all consuming, it's a fucking possession. He hooks a leg over his arm and starts powerful, fast fucking that has me crying out within seconds. He bites me, hard, then kisses and licks the spot before moving to the other shoulder and bringing my leg up higher, tilting his hips and driving deeper inside me. "I'm coming." The words are so thick, so throaty, they're almost animalistic. He releases my leg, sits back on his heels and palms his erection slick with my blood. I'm embarrassed, mortified, hell, horrified, yet fascinated, as I watch him work himself until he comes all over my lower stomach. I expect him to climb from bed to go clean up, instead he falls forward, placing his hands on each side of my head, caging me with his body.

"I forgot to ask about birth control."

Birth control?

Shit.

"Fuck," I say with real feeling. I shift beneath him, trying to escape because the sex is over. He shouldn't be so close to me. He doesn't get the hint. "Get some," he says, landing soft kisses on my shoulder, working his way up my neck where he stops to take a deep inhale. He runs his nose up behind my ear and into my hair. He lowers his body on top of me, gets settled like he could stay like this for the rest of the night. "Please let me up." The words are calm, I'm anything but. He slowly eases off, but grabs me around the waist before I can make it from the bed, pressing the front of his body to the back of mine. "Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started. We're not leaving until we're both exhausted from fucking, baby."

"Someone should have occasionally removed that silver spoon and shoved some soap in your mouth," I say, trying and failing to get away.

I've worn sex like a suit of armor for years. One night stands where I go back to his place, his car, my car, the bathroom, any partially hidden place and had sex and walked away without name or number. I'm trying to make this encounter with Elijah just that, but he's fucking the plan up.

"Don't ever call me baby again; don't call me any pet name, and never try to kiss me on the mouth," I say. I stop fighting his hold, my body becomes lax. Elijah pulls me closer. I can feel his dick on my ass.

"So I can eat you, and you can suck me off, but we can't kiss on the lips. Don't you think that's ridiculous?" he says, moving his hips back and forth.

A hand slides away from my waist. He grabs himself and positions his dick to enter me. Slow. So slow. My breath matches the slow penetration.

"Kissing is for...more. We're just fucking," I say, trying to sound indifferent, cold even.

"What if I want more?" he asks, burying his nose in the side of my neck, running it up and down the side of my throat. He rolls, pinning by body beneath him.

"I can't give you more." My voice is airy, husky.

He grabs my hands, pulls them above my head. His legs are on the outside of mine.

"Why?"

"Because," I whisper.

Fast and frenzied I can handle. It's how you fuck strangers. Elijah's slow fucking is fucking with me.

"Because, why?" he asks.

I will my body to remain still, but the traitorous bitch refuses, and my hips are moving, meeting his every thrust. Long and thick, his dick is made for me. "Because, I say so."

The rules are the only protection I have to ensure I don't dig too deep a hole, although I've pretty much dug a well where Elijah's concerned.

"You feel so good, beautiful."

I'd comment on the name calling if the fucking wasn't all consuming. He releases my wrists, props his upper body away from mine on his elbows and spread my legs with a knee, never leaving my body. I feel good? Elijah sits up, pulling my hips from the bed so I'm on my hands and knees. He pushes me between my shoulders until my head is resting on the bed and my ass is in the air. I put a hand on the headboard to keep my body from sliding forward. I love the deep penetration from this position. I turn my head into the mattress to mute the sounds being ripped from my throat. Elijah pulls out and I feel the warm wash of his cum on my ass and lower back. He falls on the bed beside me. The air is thick with the smell of my period. The quiet is deafening and I wonder what Elijah is thinking, but don't speak. He gets off the bed and goes to the bathroom and still I reaming motionless. Deep in thought, or trying not to think about what I must look like, what mess my period has left behind. I hear water running and before I have a chance to get up Elijah is back in the room. A warm washcloth is on my skin. He cleans my back, my thighs. I turn my head into the pillow when he pushes my legs apart, and stay that way even when he picks up the phone. "I'd like the linens changed in my room, and a box of tampons please."

Why Lord, is he so fucking perfect? I thought I would become loss in him, but if I'm truthful with myself, and I can't afford anything but, I already am. He hangs up the telephone and leans down kissing me quick on my shoulder.

"Why don't you shower," he says. He gets off the bed and leaves the bedroom.

The bathroom shower stall is glass. Not frosted, clear. So clear it gives Wonder Woman's invisible jet a run for its money. Great. I'm not exactly fat, but I grew up with a sister and best friend that were stick thin. My sister actually slept with a jar of peanut butter next to her bed to eat right before going to sleep in hopes of gaining weight. My body is soft. I'm strong from years of working at a home improvement store, but nothing on me is toned. I have hips and thighs, my breasts are large, my ass makes it difficult to find pants that fit in the waist and my belly is certainly not flat without the help of a good piece of Spanx. I open the shower door and turn on the water and pray that Elijah will not join me. He's given me some privacy, here's hoping it'll stay that way. I pull the dress over my head and check it. It has escaped any damage. I step into shower, the warm spray is welcoming. I wash between my legs, watch the pink water go down the drain with images of Elijah covered in my blood flashing in my head. This was a first for me, but obviously not for him. The door opens and Elijah enters wearing a robe and holding a navy blue box in his hand. "Looks like I'm just in time." He throws the box on the counter and disrobes. I've seen him naked, but under bright fluorescence lighting...what a sight. Rock hard and lean, I can almost feel each ridge, each valley, as I ogle him. Suddenly I'm self-conscious. He joins without invitation. The water is just shy of too hot but doesn't hold a candle to the heat coming from my back. He's breaking all the rules. I reach for the soap only to have him take it from me. "You're so beautiful," he says, placing the soap back and picking up the shampoo. I stand a little dumbfounded as he lathers my hair. He doesn't look at me but at my hair as his hands works the shampoo in, like he's mesmerized by it. I bet it's the first time he's touched hair with this kind of texture. I close my eyes; lose myself in the sensation of his hands in my hair. He takes a step, joining our skin and forcing me to take a step back. He tugs on my hair gently and I hold my head back. He rinses the shampoo out and puts conditioner in it. Man, he's thorough. Where the fuck did this gorgeous man come from? What kind of woman allowed him to get away? His hands travel down the length of my arm and he slides the hair tie on my wrist off to secure my hair on the top of my head. He walks backwards, pulling me with him until he reaches the bench and takes a seat. I step between his spread thighs, marveling at his marveling of me. His inspection of my nude body is just as thorough as the hair washing. He cups my breasts, run his thumbs across my nipples until they're stiff and achy, and then pinches them, a slow build of pressure until I take in a breath when it crosses the line to pain. My legs are jelly as he runs his palm down my stomach. His hands slide around my waist and he grabs my ass, squeezing and kneading it. One hand remains on my ass while the other comes back around and heads between my legs. Instinctively I try to close them. I'm not so caught up in the moment that I've forgotten I'm on my period, even if he has.

"Open." It's a command I can't refuse.

His fingers are whisper soft at first. Two fingers enter me and he presses on my clit drawing a ragged bread from me. "I can't wait to eat your pussy again," he says, working his fingers harder and faster. God...his mouth. I hold on to his shoulders as I ride the fingering to an orgasm that makes me dig my nails into his skin and bite back a scream. My body jerks when he continues to circle my clit, his fingers still moving in and out of me. He's hard again and I go to my knees. It's my turn to be mesmerized. He's so different from anyone I've ever been with, pale skin and covered in hair. I work his dick in my hands, marveling at the deep plum coloring of the head. I take him in my mouth and into my throat. He hisses, grabs my head and holds it in place a second. I give head because it's what's expected. I can't remember ever enjoying it so much. With every moan, grunt, and tightening of fist in my hair, I feel more powerful, even beautiful. My tongue circles the head of his dick and I lick the clear drop from the slit before taking him in my mouth again. My head bobs in time with my stroking hand until his hips join in perfect synchronization. He fists my hair, forcing my head faster and faster until his dick is stone and he comes in my mouth. He palms both sides of my head to keep it still as he fucks my mouth. I swallow every slick, salty drop.

We eat dinner in the hotel restaurant. The lights are dimmed and the booth we're escorted to is intimate. The soft music and flickering candle light makes it too much like date-night for me.

"Are we going to get to know each other any, or is this it?" Elijah asks, between bites of Ahi tuna.

"I think we both know as much as we need," I answer.

The waiter brings over our main course: steak and lobster for Elijah, prime rib for me.

"It's easier this way." He takes a sip of wine and focuses on his food. He doesn't comment as he cuts his steak. I watch fascinated, hypnotized by him cutting meat, bringing the fork to his lips and chewing, like everything else about the man, it's sexy.

"I want to see you again," Elijah announces as I lower my fork. "But with you, I feel that something as easy as asking you out could turn into something quite difficult."

"Asking me out..." I say.

"You know—where two people go out and do things they both find enjoyable."

"We already know what we both find enjoyable." I say taking a sip of wine.

"Yes, well, there's that," he says smiling, "But I'd like to do other things as well."

"I wouldn't. I'd like to keep it simple. The sex is good. Drinks and dinner is already pushing it for me."

"So you'll agree to dinner again?" he asks, and damn if he doesn't sound hopeful. "Yes...drinks before and dinner after, I think I can handle that." I'm beginning to sound ridiculous even to me. The man across from me is obviously attracted to me. I'm attracted to him. So what's the big deal? My list of heartache is long. Almost every man that walked away from me has taken a tiny piece of me and what was left Van beat it out. I don't have it in me to suffer another blow. To my body, my mind, but especially my soul.

"And what of me?" he asks.

"Don't pretend you're not getting exactly what you want, and don't make this what it's not. I'm not looking to date and even if I were, you're not my type."

This isn't an all-out lie. I'd never dated anyone outside my race. I'm Southern raised, from Alabama, the goddamn Mecca of the civil rights movement. My small town was still black and white and the line that separated the races, while invisible, is defiantly still there.

"Is that so?" he says. He leans back and folds his arms across his chest. "I think I'm just your type."

I lean back and mirror his pose. "There you go again, thinking you know me."

"Not yet."

We sit and look at each other across the table. The restaurant has gotten loud because the crowd has thickened up, but it could be just the two of us. Elijah befuddles me, or maybe it's my regular super-paranoid mind. The wheels are spinning and I'm thinking Elijah is slummin' it. He's just broken off a long engagement. I don't know for sure, but I bet he'd been faithful all those years, never stepping out on the woman he had given a ring to. It's easier for me to believe that he picked up the first woman he thought he could fuck rather than to believe that he has honest interest in me. Our differences are more than the color of our skin. He's wealthy whereas I am right above the poverty line. He is well educated and while I wouldn't call myself stupid (I secretly feel I am of above average intelligence) I hadn't finished college and have worked at the same hardware store for seven years. I think I'm a pretty good lay, but damn, I'm not that good even if the sex with Elijah has been...oh, hell...it's been the best I've ever had. Elijah going down on me the first time we'd been together had damn near blown my mind, not because you don't ordinarily do that with a one night stand, but because he was so fucking talented. I bet his ex-fiancé is really missing that. Then there's tonight.

"What's Lu short for?" he asks, dropping the subject of more. "Tallulah," I answer.

"Tallulah." The three syllable word rolls off his tongue sounding almost exotic. I wonder if he could repeat the feat with my first name. "I like it, a lovely name for a lovely woman."

I stare at him. I'm fucking him. I've had his dick in my mouth. I've just said we could make this—thing—into a regular occurrence. What else did the man want? I say the only thing I can. "Thank you."

He orders desert, chocolate cake that we share, and then offers me a ride home when he finds out I'd taken the train downtown. I decline, so he walks me to the train stop. He waves from the platform as it pulls off. I waved back. Yeah, this is so not going as planned, but as I sit and think of the evening, a smile stays plastered on my face.

### Chapter Ten

The days since the hotel feel more like years. I haven't called, working on the new me. I obsess on the reasons why he hasn't called, yet is confident I've seen the last of Elijah. Then my phone rings.

"Tallulah," he says. I take a deep breath and flop down on my unmade bad, barely containing a sigh worthy of any teenage girl. "Elijah."

"I'd like to see you this evening. Will you come to the Bay?"

My heart picks up its pace. I'd yet to go to the Bay; all I know is what I've seen on television or movies. I never...ever...thought I'd move from my small town. California is a dream I never dreamed.

"Hello?" Elijah says when I don't answer. "Drinks, sex, dinner," he says.

"Right," I say.

"Will you stay the night?" he asks, the words spoken low, hesitant. "It'll be late and you'll be in no shape to drive back."

"So you plan on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me," I say, rolling over and snuggling into a nice cool spot on the sheets and smiling big.

"I don't need you drunk to get what I want."

He's right.

I have no idea how long it'll take to get there, no idea how long we'll have drinks, how long we'll fuck, how long we'll eat. I come up with a compromise. "I'll get a hotel."

"Really" he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice, but I don't give a damn. "Fine, I'll text you the address," he says and hangs up on me.

I sit up in bed. Nothing has gone according to plan since he first approached me sitting outside that hotel in Texas. For the first time in my life I'm in a quasi-happy place. Yeah, he' a fuck-buddy, but I had been hoping that with a little time he'd become more a friend with benefits. I'm crawling out of bed when my phone dings. It's directions from Elijah. I grab my trusty duffle and go to my closet. So far my apartment's only piece of furniture is the bed. That's because I've been shopping—clothes shopping. I pull out the new silver dress and hold it up. More a slip then anything that should be worn as outerwear, I can't wait for Elijah to see me in it. I throw it on the bed and then pull out the shoes I'd bought to go with it. Next I go to the bathroom and pack up my makeup. I shower and get dressed. GPS on my phone says the drive is about an hour and a half. It's only two but I leave anyway. I like to shower before going out. I have a two hour ritual for getter ready for a night out on the town. After adding a change of clothes for tomorrow I jump in my car and head for San Francisco.

The strobe-lights put everything in slow motion as Elijah pulls me through the throng of people. His hold on my hand is firm, and my heartbeat is almost a quiver, the excitement of what is about to happen almost too much for it. He weaves through the gyrating mob of people on the dance floor with ease. He's moving with purpose. I'm a step away from a jog keeping up with him. We leave the flashing lights and step into a dark hall lit with black-lights. I look at the back of Elijah's body with the fluttering spreading lower in my body. There's no side of him that doesn't look mouthwatering. I'm so enthralled with his ass that I run into him when he stops.

The private bathroom's lights come on automatically when the door is pushed opened and the room matches the rest of the club with its marble and glass. There are real towels on the countertop and a bench next to the sink. He doesn't stop moving until he reaches the far wall where he turns us so that my back is to it. He drops to his knees. My eyes follow his descent, staring down at the top of his head as he runs his hands up my thighs under my dress. When he reaches my hips he looks up.

"No panties Lu?"

I don't answer, just smile and shake my head. I grab the hem of my dress and raise it, taking steps to spread my legs. Elijah presses his nose into my crotch.

"God, you smell so fucking good."

I'm not sure if I believe that since we've been dancing non-stop for the last hour. He splits the lips of my sex open with his fingers and buries his face between my legs. I'm panting within seconds. My arousal runs down my thighs, and I'm already seconds away from an orgasm. Of course, I've been that way since my third drink.

"I love that you're so wet."

I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes as he eats me, one hand holding up my dress, the other in his hair, holding him close to my body as I roll my hips. I put a foot up on the bench and he pushes my leg open wider with the hand that he's not using to finger me into oblivion. The sounds of sucking and slurping drive me wild. He has truly mastered the technique of going down on a woman. My body begins to shake as the wonderful feeling builds inside me. I bite back the scream of pleasure when I come. Elijah stands up and kisses me. I lick his lips, his chin, he growls into the kiss and pulls my hair that I'd styled earlier into a messy topknot, holding my head in position while he plunders my mouth. I can feel the steel of his erection low on my stomach. My body is still experiencing the aftershocks of the orgasm he's given me with his mouth when he releases my hair and turns me, slamming my body, none to gently, into the wall. I hear him fumbling with his belt as if he can't get it open fast enough. The feeling is mutual because I'm squirming with anticipation. Drunk sex is sooo much fun. Cool air hits the overheated skin of my ass as he pushes my dress up further and I cry out as he enters me and then commence to fucking me like his life depends on it. I'm calling on the Lord, he's cussing like a sailor and every stroke is heaven. Elijah bites down on my shoulder and his entire body becomes stone seconds before I feel his dick become bigger, harder, and then erupt, each jerk of his dick mimicked by his hips as he continues to drive into me.

**-**

Where am I? The thought washes me in a cold panic and my body is covered with goose-bumps. I turn my head to look at the other side of the bed to find it empty. God, how much did I have to drink last night? I can't remember the last time I allowed myself to get that drunk. I turn the rest of my body. I ache. Hell, I more than ache...I hurt. My stomach, thighs, calves, arms, nothing escapes. The ache between my legs is testament of what really went down. I breathe shallow breaths in and out of my mouth listening for any sound.

Nothing.

The room seems bigger than the entire house I'd left behind in Alabama. The walls are a soft grey, the floors hardwood, the ceiling...endless. Heavy wood furniture throughout, and the bed I'm lying on is definitely the most comfortable one I've ever been in. Blood red is the color of the sheets and comforter. I ease out of the bed keeping as quiet as possible looking for my dress and not locating it, nor will the sheet I've been clinging to dislodge from the bed. I spot Elijah's shirt at the foot of the bed. I pull it on and head for a door I hope leads to a bathroom.

I remember thinking the bathroom at the resort was nice, Elijah's makes it look like one that comes in a double-wide trailer. Marble and granite, with a walk-in shower big enough for five, maybe six, people that has a floor to ceiling glass door. Built in glass shelving house enough towels to stock a small store, all white, and fluffy. I open a door to the right of the shower to find the toilet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." I chant as I use the bathroom. I've never had to worry about the morning after awkwardness. I wipe, flush and open the door, anxiety a ball in the pit of my stomach. I half expect to find Elijah waiting for me on the other side of the door when I open it. Instead I find a sheet of paper taped to the mirror I missed when I first entered the bathroom.

Work Emergency

Coffee made

Please stay

I smile, despite myself. Below the last line of text is a pretty good drawing of a man with his lip poking out. I take the note down and finger the lettering and then the drawing. The tub takes up the entire wall. I open a door on the adjacent wall to discover his closet. At least he'll never complain about a woman and her clothes...or shoes. The closet is the size of the bedroom in my apartment and actually has a ladder on rails. A hundred pair of shoes are in cubbies, there are built in cabinets holding everything from sweaters to t-shirts. There's a place for everything and everything is in its place. I open a glass front and pull out a drawer...socks. In the second one I hit pay dirt. I slip on a pair of boxers and head for the kitchen. Way more relaxed now that I know he's not here and there's something covering my girly bits. I'm damn near hyperventilating by the time I make it. The apartment is huge, possibly the entire floor of the building. The kitchen is state of the art, and every appliance is restaurant quality. The coffee maker has a cup sitting next to it and a second note that simply says: PLEASE.

I sip the magic elixir grinning as I look at the note that I've not touched, and allow myself a few moments to think of the usual what ifs. What if Elijah is the one? What if he wants a real relationship? What if it turns into true love? What if we get married? I close my eyes and I can see it all in my head. A beautiful gown, custom made, of course. Elijah in a tuxedo hugging his body like all his clothes do, so handsome, smiling at me as I make my way down the aisle. I frown as I release my next breath. More could mean anything. I'm lucky to be alive. The last thing I need is to get mixed up with the first man I come across after running from an abusive one. I have issues. I realize this. I need alone time in the worst way. I've been someone's girlfriend since I was twelve years old. I'm not sure I even know how to live, how to function, without a man in my life. Isn't it time for me to find out? I think about calling Elijah and decide against it. Instead I take a shower, after riffling through the drawers and cabinets in hunt for a razor, a toothbrush and toothpaste. I find my dress stuffed between the headboard and the mattress. I can't put it on. One, its noon, and two, there's no way in hell I'm making the walk of shame through the lobby of his building dressed like a hooker (high priced or no). I turn off the water and wrap my body in terry cloth so soft there's no description for it. I've skipped washing my hair because I couldn't find a comb. I run my fingers through it...kind of, and pull it up into my signature topknot. I go to Elijah's closet and pull on a pair of his jeans, and a baby blue button down. The sight of me in the closet mirror stops my exit. It's Saturday morning, I've slept in his bed, been left alone in his house and am now wearing his clothes. It's as close as perfect as I've ever imagined.

"I like you in my clothes."

I spin around at the sound of his voice. He pushes from the doorframe he's leaning on and I'm like a deer caught in headlights. He's in his signature khaki and pressed shirt, green instead of white. He puts his hands in his pockets and heads my way. My body responds with each step taken, tightening because my first instinct is to run, not because he's dangerous and will hurt me, but because I have no idea how to handle this situation. My breathing quickens, my heartbeat is loud and hard in my chest, the fluttering in my stomach spreads outward until it feels as if my entire body is being caressed, almost tickled. I raise my head to look at him when he stops inches away.

"I was just about to leave." The disappointment that passes across his face lowers my eyes. "I don't know how..." I start, but can't finish. "I can't," I say instead.

"Alright." The word is mostly whisper. "Will you stay in town today?" I shake my head before answering, "I only booked my room for one day. I really need to get back to check out." I raise my face again. "I had a great time. Thank you." He leans down and I turn my face away from him. A frustrated sigh breezes across the side of my face and neck. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me to him, holding me hard and kisses me beneath my ear, and then run a line down my neck. "You're welcome," he says, his lips still against my skin. "Call me." I nod because I have no air to form words and when he releases me I leave him standing in his closet.

"You, ho!" Ray yells.

I barely make it back to the hotel before check out. I didn't bother changing clothes. If Elijah likes me in them, I love being in them. I called Ray after trying my sister and tell her the whole story.

"I can't remember the last time I got drunk enough to not remember sex," Ray says.

"That's because the last time it happened..."

"I will fly to California and fuck you up," she yells over me to stop the completion of the sentence. Ray had gotten drunk at a bar and woke up in a fraternity house with a barely legal student. She'd never gone back to the strip of bars on campus again, afraid she'd run into him or that she'd have a repeat performance. And yet, I was the one being called a ho.

"I feel like I've been beaten with a bag of bricks," I say, taking money out for the toll.

"I'm glad you decided to go out. You need a life, fuck that, you deserve a life that doesn't include..."

"Don't," I say, stopping her before she could utter his name like a bad omen.

Ray sighs, long and loud three thousand miles away. "So what's going on...you know, between the two of you?"

"Nothing," I answer, "friends with benefits?" I make it a question because I honestly don't know. We're not acting like fuck buddies, only calling each other for sex, and there was something more than just casual going on.

"Friends with benefits," Ray repeats, "ummhmm."

"Yeah, really." I say, not believing a damn word of it. My heart is all in even if my mouth refuse to form the words. I've operated this way for time out of mind.

"So all you know about him is that he's an architect and his apartment is big as hell."

"He's rich," I remind her.

"Good," Ray says. "It's about time you find someone other than those broke as bastards you usually fuck."

"Fuck you," I say laughing "I'll call you later." I hang up before she can say anything else.

The phone rings as I hand the man in the booth the five dollars for the toll. I answer without checking to see who it is. Only a handful of people have my new number. All people I'm willing to talk to.

"You didn't call me." I'm momentarily stunned to hear Elijah's voice on the other end. The last time we'd gone our separate ways it took a few days for him to call. "Why?"

"Because I just left you," I say, merging into the regular lanes and trying not to hit anyone.

"I wish you hadn't."

I take a long deep breath and let it out slowly. I'm not sure what to say

"Pull over."

"What." I ask, looking into my rearview mirror—looking for the Camry, which, of course I don't see. I take the next exit without asking questions and pull into a gas station. I turn off my car and get out. A big, black Mercedes pulls in seconds later and Elijah gets out.

"Your stalker-like tendencies are becoming quite disturbing," I say walking towards him.

"Why'd you leave?"

My joking attitude dies a quick death. He's serious. "I thought we went over this." I say. He stares at me silently, waiting for more. I don't have more of an explanation to give him. "I'm sorry," I say.

"When can I see you again?"

I raise an eyebrow hiding the giddiness deep within. "You know, you could have just asked me this over the phone."

"Yes, but then I couldn't do this."

When he takes a step to close the gap that separates us, my body tightens, preparing to push him away. My arm comes up and I lay my hand on his chest. But I don't push him away. Not even when one hand goes to the back of my head. But instead of kissing me, he puts his other hand on my face, runs his fingers across my lips and then his thumb across the bottom one before pushing it inside my mouth. "I love seeing your lips wrapped around my dick. I've become somewhat addicted to your mouth." I swirl my tongue around the tip of his finger, suck it deeper into my mouth. He moves it slowly, in and out before popping it from my mouth and rubbing my lips again.

"When can I see you again?" he asks again.

"Next weekend," I answer.

He nods. The hand on my head drops and he squeezes my ass before he turns and goes to his car. He pulls off without as much as a backwards glance. I get back into my car and head home. I should get out while the gettin's good. But I've always been a glutton for punishment.

**-**

Elijah moans into my skin, as he pushes his pants further down his legs and sits on the bench in the very same bathroom we'd had sex in last weekend pulling me with him, my back to his chest, my legs on the outside of his thighs. His legs are spread wide and I'm completely open.

"Look at that."

I open my eyes. We're directly in front of a mirror. My dress is pushed up over my waist. Elijah's erection is long and thick, running the length of my sex. He's rolling his hips, sliding it easily between my slick folds. He pulls down the strap of my dress, exposing a breast. My nipple is hard and achy and when he pinch and pull it between his fingers I draw in a quick breath.

"Beautiful," he says before planting a kiss on my neck.

I close my eyes and tilt my head to give him better access.

"Open your eyes; I want you to see what we do to each other."

I do as I'm told.

I watch his face, his eyes, his lips. He runs his tongue across them before biting the bottom one. His fingers stop plucking my nipple and his arm wraps around my waist so that he can lift me up a little before he drives into me hard. He holds me around my waist, his arm a vice from which there's no escape, not that I have plans on going anywhere. Each thrust, every push and pull, is met by my on rocking hips.

"God damn," he grunts, moving faster. When he slaps the top of my sex it's my turn to cry out. When he starts the hard, fast circling of my clit the sounds I make I'm not sure are human. "Fuck, Lu, I'm coming."

I can see him playing rugby, maybe cricket, drinking cloudy drinks with sprigs of mint, standing on emerald green grass in incandescence white. But his mouth is the filthiest one I'd ever heard. And—god—is it fucking hot. His whispered sweet nothings lay on my skin hot and moist. "Turn around," he orders, while I'm still in the throes of my orgasm. I stand and straddle his lap, trapping his penis between our bodies. I pull the dress over my head and throw it on the ground. Elijah leans up, pulling me forward, keeping our bodies tight together. The constant stimulation of his erection rubbing over my clit is almost painful. I think I've had one long orgasm since the first. He fists my hair hard enough to make me cry out and kiss me, pulling me forward as he leans back. He's suddenly inside me again, but this time so slow it's closer to torture than sex.

"Elijah," I moan.

"I got you." A hard drive buries him deep inside me, while his finger circles my rear. Every muscle goes bow tight. I've never done any type of ass play. "Easy," he whispers, before licking my neck. "Relax, beautiful, I got you."

I cry out when his finger enters me, the pleasure causing instant orgasm. His slow rocking matches the slow in and out of his finger. This is supposed to be a string of one night stands. Nothing serious. But who am I kidding? I'm a serial lover. We've spent every weekend together for weeks.

I love him.

"I want to come in your mouth."

His finger is still in me and his hips are still rocking slowly, his free hand runs lazily up and down my back. I slide free of him, kissing the hollow of his throat, lifting his shirt up and kissing that line of hair that I love. I'm down to my shoes, he's still dressed completely. I get on my knees and take him in my mouth. The taste of us has become an aphrodisiac.

"God, you give good head," he says. His hips rising to meet my greedy mouth. He runs his hand over my hair, a comforting stroke before the gentle push that puts him deep in throat. The sound of the door opening cause me to pause but he pushes and then pulls my head, keeps me moving despite our visitor. I grip the root of his shaft hard and suck just the head. "Get out," he says after a long moment. I'd forgotten about the door opening. How long has it been? Elijah grabs my head on each side and really starts fucking my mouth. Fast and frenzied until his erection begins to pulse as his release barrels through him. I take one last long pull, licked the tip and kissed his lower stomach before raising my head to look at him. "You're good," he says resting his head on the wall.

"You're not so bad yourself."

I stand to clean up and go for my dress. Elijah comes up behind me, takes the dress from my hand and turns me around. He holds the dress and I step into it. He kisses me along the front of my body, pulling the dress up until he's standing in front of me. He tucks stray hair that's escaped my band behind my ears and tilts my head up by placing a finger under my chin. "You look beautiful tonight."

I smile but turn to assess the damage to my hair and makeup. I'm a hot-mess. I take a towel and pass it under cold water, wiping the back of my neck before rubbing the cool compress on my face. I look at Elijah through the mirror. There's makeup on the shoulder of his shirt. He steps up close to me. Close enough to touch. He lowers his head and kisses my shoulder, makes his way up my neck, nuzzles behind my ear. His breath tickling me, sending chills down my spine. I'm so lost in the moment that I don't hesitate when he turns me to face him or when he kisses me, slow and gentle but still deep and thoroughly. It's the sweetest kiss I've ever had and when it ends the timer on the self-destruct that is me start.

### Chapter Eleven

Since I'm already destined for complete ruination I agree to go home with Elijah without much of a fuss when last call is announced. I've only gone back to his place once when I got too drunk to remember much of the night. I've been careful not to get that drunk again. I'm surprised when we take off walking instead of him hailing a cab. The night is cool, pleasant, but my shoes are not meant for long strolls and I say as much and then give a small yelp of surprise when he picks me up.

"Put me down," I'm serious, but I can't help laughing as I say it. He sits me on my feet and I watched dumbfounded as he takes off the shirt that had started the night nice and crisp but has lost its razor sharp edges and stiffness from hours of dancing. He wraps it around my waist and turns his back on me.

"Get on."

With no idea how far his house is I oblige. "Can we stop for breakfast," I ask. I can't remember having a better time in my life. It is so easy being with Elijah, even with me trying to keep a distance between the two of us.

"There's food at my place," he says.

He walks a few blocks when he slowly lets go of my legs and I'm lowered from his back. The doorman tips his hat and Elijah greets him by name. The lobby is blessedly empty save a man at a desk who tips his head at us. Elijah presses the button for the elevator with his arm proudly around my waist, like I belong there, like I belong to him. A barrage of emotions suddenly steals my breath, closing in on me and becoming a panic with each passing second. Elijah pulls me into his side and kisses the top of my head as if he knows I need reassurances. I'm calm by the time the elevator opens, my arms wrapped around his waist. The ground rules had been set, but I'm beginning to hope this is no passing fling for him. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. And enter his apartment. The floor to ceiling window in the front room shows the lights of the city but I have little time to appreciate the view. Elijah is practically pulling me along. He leads me straight to the bedroom where he peels off my dress, pulls back the covers and start taking off his clothes.

"Don't you want to shower first," I ask. "I'm...messy."

"I like you that way," he says, smiling as he pulls his t-shirt over his head and throwing it on the floor. Next he unbuttons his pants. I climb in and admire the view. It is perfection personified. He's the hairiest man I've ever been with. Thick black hair covers his arms, legs, and chest and then there's that wonderful line down the center of his abdomen. He gets under the covers and spoons. It's surreal. I'm stiff in his arms, afraid to breathe. It's a fairytale, but the original Grimms, one of those where the troll eats the baby, or the evil stepmother throws the stepdaughter in the fireplace and she's burned alive.

"Sleep, Lu," he says kissing my shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow."

I relax one muscle at a time, every tense inch given up is taken by Elijah as he pulls me closer, burrowing in at my back, throwing his leg over mine, caging me, trapping me. Silent tears wet my pillow and I fight to take slow controlled breaths. I'd given up this dream. No, I'd given up hope of ever finding this kind of comfort. His arm relaxes and his breathing slows as he falls asleep. When I try to move, his hold tightens. I stop moving for fear of waking him and lay in his arms thinking—over thinking what we are, what we're becoming. A part of me feels like no relationship that starts with sex is destined for anything great. Our difference in class and status is also a great concern for me. The hard boundaries set in the South in regards to color have been all but erased, but there is still so much he doesn't know and I have to decide just how much I plan on telling, if any. I'm proud of myself for thinking logically about this instead of the usual unrealistic daydreams I would have ordinarily had when it came to relationships. In the short time since I've met him I feel grown up...sophisticated. Maybe this can work.

But what if it doesn't?

I take a shaky breath. I'm healing and some of that healing is because of Elijah. That I'm alive at all is because of Elijah. I hug the arm holding me. I am forever in his debt.

I'm a stomach sleeper and I wake to the press of a knee between my spread legs spreading them further apart. I moan as Elijah enters me from behind. "You're incorrigible," I say, while lifting my ass in the air so he can enter me deeper. Elijah lays down covering the entire length of my body. "I know," he says, but doesn't stop. "I can't help myself. You're like a damn drug." He grabs my hands and places them above our heads, twin our fingers as he slowly rocks back and forth. So slow, so careful, so gentle. I lose myself in the feeling. It isn't right.

"I love being inside you. I need it," he says, his lips against my ear.

"Elijah—"

The line I'd drawn is blurry, one more day and it'll be damn near invisible. Elijah releases my hands and gets on his knees pulling me up with him. His hold on my hips is hard as he controls me, our bodies crashing together as we fight to the finish line. We collapse, both panting, Elijah tries to kiss me. I turn my head and get out of bed before he can.

"Dammit, Lu," Elijah says with real feeling.

I grab his shirt from the floor and slip it on because I need to be covered and I don't spot my dress anywhere. "No," I say, buttoning the shirt and avoiding his eyes like the damn plague. He crawls across the bed looking every bit predatory cat as a fucking lion stalking prey. "No," I say again. "Showers, coffee, talk."

He rises to his knees. He's soft and still impressive. He pulls me close but doesn't try to kiss me on the lips, instead laying his lips on my neck; he squeezes my ass before releasing me and crawls from the bed. I watch him disappear into the bathroom before going to the kitchen. I'm in the pantry hunting for coffee when the door opens.

"Jamie," a woman calls out. She stops in her tracks when she sees me. "Oh."

My first thought is: Who the fuck is Jamie? My second is, she's dressed too nice to be a housekeeper and is definitely not Elijah's sister; she's as fair as he is dark. She's dressed in light colored linen. She looks...clean: skin porcelain white, hair white blond, she looks delicate, like fine china. I suddenly feel very dirty when seconds before I could have walked around all day with the scent of sex clinging to my skin and Elijah's cum drying on my thighs. She slips her purse off her shoulder and sits it on the island separating us. I notice the keys in her hand.

Fuck.

The fiancée.

"Is he here?" she asks. She doesn't look upset, or mad, but a blank face can be just as bad. "Yes, I'll go get him." I leave her standing in the kitchen.

I take off the shirt as I enter the bathroom. "You decided to join me," Elijah says, with way too much glee in his eyes.

"There's a woman in your kitchen. A little taller than me, blonde hair, blue eyes, a size double zero," I say, stepping into the shower.

He steps around me, still soapy.

Her arrival is just what I need. It puts me back in my place. I'm a fuck, a passing fling, she or women like her, are the real deal. I lower my head and step into the stream of hot water, the jets massage my skin, and wash away the semen Elijah's covered me in last night and this morning. Washing away the things we were going to talk about because I'm going to end things. It's the right thing to do. When I finish bathing I wrap my hair in a towel, my body in a second one and go in search for my missing dress. I find it under the bed. I tell myself I'm not hiding out but giving them space. I don't hear raised voices or arguing but an hour passes before Elijah comes back. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. I'm in one of his clean shirts, not quite ready to put back on the dress from the night before.

"Lu."

I can see in his face he wants to explain, to make things better. I almost feel sorry for him. I don't need placating. I don't belong in his life. Not that way.

"Its fine, but I'd like to go back to the hotel," I say, standing up from the bed.

"No."

"Elijah, I can't," I say.

"You mean you won't."

God! I want to scream. I want to hit him. I want to yell and curse and spit, and hit and kick. This is so unfair its cruelty.

"Sure, whatever," I say reaching for the dress. "Will you take me back?"

"So, that's it? I get no say?"

"No." I take the shirt off and slip the dress over my head. Last night I'd felt beautiful, in the light of the new day, not so much. Maybe six feet separates us, it's both very far and too close. I need out of here. For a matter of fact, I don't want to be in a car with him. I put on my shoes, grab my purse and headed for the door. "I'm catching a cab." I'm not running, but almost.

"Lu, this doesn't' have to be hard."

"I know," I say, still walking. "I'll call you when I get home." Elijah pulls out a money clip and hands me bills I don't look at. I don't look at him. "Thanks." I'm glad he doesn't try to stop me, or follow me out the apartment. The walk-of-shame seems so much worse when you're exiting a high-rise where the filthy rich live. The wad of cash clutched in my hand doesn't do much good, either. The look of the doorman is the icing on the cake. At least he hails me a cab.

**-**

I hold myself together in the cab. The sniffles start in the hotel while I change into the clothes I brought with me. I curse them and dare them to turn into tears before I can check out. They retreat. I make it through the toll bridge before great racking sobs shake my entire body. I'm a menace on the road so I pull over at a rest area, which didn't really help because it reminds me of Elijah, and cry the better part of an hour. It isn't about self-doubt, or loathing, it has nothing to do with past trauma. I'm an optimistic realist, and nowhere short of movies do things work out how I want them between Elijah and me. My soul can't take him walking away, it can't even handle being friends with him. The short time I've known him has given me things I've long since given up on having, on even knowing. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to block out the flashes of the time we spent together. I see every one, every second. My body, my skin, remembers each touch, each kiss. I press my fingers against my lips and feel the kisses he's given me. I scream, the sound ripping from my throat until I'm out of breath but my mouth stays open. I pull at my clothes and hair. My love life has been so warped, so savagely deformed. What decent man would want me?

I. Am. Dirty.

"Dirty," I say to the empty car, nodding, because I'd almost forgotten. Saying the words makes me feel better. I drop my chin and cry more, silent tears with occasional hitching breaths. I get myself together, wipe my face with my palms and start my car. I talk to myself the entire way home, the rant of a woman who's finally been broken, not by the faceless masses of casual fucks, or at the hands of an abusive boyfriend, but by kisses that branded and touches that marked me.

I don't remember the drive home and I get out of my car in a daze. I walk the short distance to the courtyard using a body that feels incased in cement. Silent tears still stream down my cheeks. I feel...destroyed. I enter my apartment and lock the door before heading for the kitchen. I pour myself a drink and take the bottle with me to the bathroom. I turn on the water, check the temperature and stop up the tub before stripping and stepping into it. I drink until my glass is empty and don't bother pouring the second. Tipping my head back, I take a long pull from the neck of the bottle, happy that I can feel the burn of the alcohol going down because everything else is so fucking numb. My stomach rolls in protest of too much liquor too fast. I swallow again and again as my mouth fills with saliva, the first sign that I'm about to be sick. I close my eyes and focus solely on not throwing up and when it passes I sip instead of guzzle. My head drops back and I release a shaky breath. But I'm all cried out. I sit in the tub until the water is cold then climb out. I'm pulling a t-shirt over my head when someone knocks at my door. For all of a second my heart soars as I imagine Elijah coming after me, but then I remember he has no idea where I live. But maybe.... maybe he followed me.

"Baby."

The first few seconds are spent in shock. I blink over and over, as if between one blink and the next, the man would disappear or I'd finally wake up from the nightmare that has become my life. When the realization that I'm not stuck in some God awful dream hits, I try to make a run for the bedroom where my cell is on the bed. The apartment is old, the interior doors solid wood. I figure it will give me a second or two to dial 911. But Van stops me before I make more than two steps, slamming the door behind him and moving fast, catching me by my hair. Years of abuse keep me from screaming. He's trained me well. I try to be as quiet as possible. Noise only makes it worse.

"Van, please," I beg. It's been a long time since I've begged him. It worked in the beginning; towards the end it seemed to fuel his rage. But I'm desperate. I need him to beat me, not kill me. The first punch splits my lip. The second scatter stars in my vision.

"I told you," he hisses, dragging me through the apartment by my hair. "I told you I'd find you if you ran and what I'd do." The last beating Van had almost broken my arm. I'd taken him back, but I started planning my escape. He'd become more unstable with each passing year and the beatings had gotten worse. I knew it was only a matter of time. I'd driven over twenty-six hundred miles to escape him and yet here he is.

He slaps me. A thousand pin pricks light the side of my face as he pushes me to the floor and I curl my body in a protective ball, covering my head with my hands, drawing my knees to my chest, while he kicks me. I know it's going to be bad because he isn't talking. I need words to know I'm going to make it out alive.

"Fucking bitch," he says, dragging me up by my hair. He spits on me, pushes me on the bed, falling on top of me. He straddles my body, pinning my arms and starts punching me in the face. I hope I black out, I wish for a quick death. I can taste blood in my mouth, hot and slimy coating my throat. The punches are so fast the pain has no beginning or ending. I think to myself, this is it. He's going to kill me.

Then he stops.

"You thought you were going to just walk out and leave all this behind." He crawls off me. I don't try to run, he'd catch me. He outweighs me and there's not an ounce of fat on the man. He could just as easily snap my neck as beat me. I don't open my eyes ,which are already swelling, and I stifle my crying as much as I can, turning in the direction of the pillows but not quite pulling them to my damaged face. My side hurts where he's kicked me and I bet I have a broken rib, maybe more than one. The sound of a zipper almost drives me insane.

"Please, Van, don't." I say, trying to sit up and back off the bed from the other side. "Please."

"You belong to me," he says, holding his erection in his hand, yielding it like a fucking weapon. My entire body convulses at the thought and I begin to shake. "Don't you fucking run," he says.

I see then in his eyes he means to kill me. I don't know how he found me, but when he leaves this apartment I'll no longer be alive.

"Please...don't do this."

Each word catches on a broken breaths. The tears burn as they fall into the cuts on my face and my vision blur as he grabs my ankle freeing the scream that has been building for the last four years. But he's looking for it, and he slams his palm over the lower half of my face. I thrash my head around until my nose is free and take small sips of air through it because it's more than likely broken.

"Fucking bitch..." he says. Spit dripping from his lips. He's more animal than man. He reaches between our bodies and position himself at my opening and slams into me in a brutal thrust that bows my back and have me screaming into his palm. "Yeah, you like it," he says. Having sex with Van has always been a little painful. That's how big he is. There is usually a lot of prep work done before we had sex. Each hard drive is like fire between my legs and the warmth between them is not arousal. "You like that?" The hand covering my mouth moves, snaking around my neck, cutting my air supply off, holding my body in place as he rapes me.

### Chapter Twelve

I open my eye. The other is swollen shut. My whole body hurts. The look on Elijah's face is the perfect mix of murderous glare and grief stricken. Pain erupts in my side drawing a pained sound from me.

"How?" I ask, and wince. My face feels like it's been sent through a wood chipper.

"Your sister, she answered your phone."

I'll have to talk to her but first..."Van?"

He answers, "In jail." The words are short, clipped, spit out and so heated it raises the temperature several degrees. "Oh, my beautiful girl," he says, rubbing my hair. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips just barely touching my skin. "Sleep, Lu, you're safe. I'm not leaving your side."

His words hurt almost as much as Van's fists.

I wake up with Elijah sleeping in a chair that converts to a twin size bed. I watch the rise and fall of his chest for what seems like hours. I don't let my mind wander or let it remember the things that happened to cause me to be in the hospital. I spend all my energy memorizing every single detail of the man in the room with me. The sound of the door opening wakes him and he jumps up and comes to me the moment he sees I'm awake.

"How are you feeling? Is the pain too bad? Do you need more pain medicine?" he asks.

It's sweet, his worry, and his concern. If he didn't stop it was going to tear me down. I try to turn away from him, towards the person that came into the room and give up pretty quick. Everything hurts. The man comes into view next to Elijah. The doctor.

"I'd like to speak to Georgiana alone please."

I see his entire body go tight. He wants to protest, but without me saying differently he'll have to leave. He's seen what Van has done; I don't need him to be here for the recap. We look at each other, him waiting on me to tell him to stay, and me not saying it. He's angry, maybe hurt, but finally he says, "I'll be right outside the door." He leans over to kiss me on the forehead. "Georgiana," he whispers against my skin and the sound of him saying my name breaks my heart.

The doctor takes a seat next to the bed when the door closes. "You're a very lucky young lady."

"I know."

There was a time when I would have been embarrassed to go over injuries, but I'd grown thick skin. There is no emotion in my voice. No tears for what has been done. The pain will fade. I'll bear with it until it does.

"You have a couple of broken ribs, some stitches inside our mouth, some to close a gash across an eyebrow, and you have a concussion." He pauses. "You were raped."

"Yes."

"Your reaction says you're either in shock or you've been through this before."

"Been there," I said "Can I have some water?"

"Of course." He picks up the cup and holds the bendy-straw to my lip. It hurts to drink but the cool water is heaven. After sitting the cup down and helping me get semi-comfortable in a different position the doctor sits back down. "Georgiana were you aware that you're pregnant?"

"Excuse me." I've clearly not heard correctly. "That's impossible," I say, though clearly it's not. The rest of his words fall on deaf ears, as my mind spirals into chaos.

Pregnant.

"Do you have any questions?" I shake my head. I have no idea what he's talking about. "I'll be back to check on you later today. We're going to keep you one more day for observation.

"Alright."

He nods and leaves the room. Elijah appears. I close my eyes. It's going to hurt to cry. I take a few shallow breaths trying to calm the plethora of emotions. "Tell me what you need," he says sitting down on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. I look at our joined hands, his light one next to my darker one. I shake my head before asking, "Why are you here?" His grip tightens ever so slightly causing me to look at him. He looks as if I'd slapped him, maybe kicked him in the nuts. "I care about you."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. How many times have I apologized to him since we've met? "Everything's just so...fucked up." I finish. "Where's my sister?"

"At work. I told her I'd update her with any new information. Can you tell me what the doctor went over?"

"No," I say, already losing the battle of keeping my shit together. I'm about to break and this time I'm not sure I can be fixed again.

"Lu."

The plea is too much. I swallow the slick and saltiness of tears and say, "I just want to be alone."

The hurt on his face almost guts me. But this is for the best. When I cry I'm not sure where the pain of body ends and the pain of all the other broken parts begin.

**-**

Ray doesn't need me to say anything. When I open the door and she looks at me for more than a few seconds she falls into my arms and we hold each other tight, crying. Friends can become family but there are things that you can't share with blood relations, and Ray knows some of those things that have shaped me as a person. She unwraps from me, placing her hands on my shoulders, her face covered in emotions so raw it makes me feel better. She's my security blanket returned.

"George."

The single word is enough to get me going again. She leads me to bedroom and we sit on the bed with me falling apart—yet again. We end up lying in bed with her strong arms holding me together. She lets me cry until her shirt is plastered to her body with my tears. It took her a week to get to me but she'd come. Maybe I can make it through this shit.

"I'm pregnant," I say.

She gasps at the news. "I'm sorry."

The two words are so Ray. I don't cry, I laugh. "Oh, God, what am I going to do?"

"This is so fucked up," she says with a sigh. I laugh because those are the exact words I've thought over and over for the last week.

"Word on the street is that Van will be home soon."

I stiffen in her arms. I've pressed charges but Van will eventually post bail and be out. There were assault charges, but if he leaves, how hard is the state of California really going to look for him?

"I got a surprise lined up for his ass when he steps foot in town."

"You didn't," I say, sitting up and drying my face by sweeping my hands under my eyes.

"Oh, yes hell I did," Ray says, sitting up. "Richard's still mad that he stole you from him,"

Ray gently nudges me and gets off the bed and start looking around. "Where in the hell is all your furniture?"

Oh, God, how I've missed her.

"I haven't bought any."

"But you've been here almost three months." The confusion in her voice is comical and I laugh again. This time it's the real thing and it feels good.

"Well, my bed cost two grand."

"Shut the fuck up!" She says.

I don't have the heart to tell her my pillows cost seventy dollars apiece. In our world you just don't spend that kind of money on a bed and bedding.

"I know." I run my hand over the high-thread count sheets. They were too nice for me to regret the purchase, a splurge for sure, but it wasn't like I had any responsibility when I bought them.

"I'm keeping it." I say, the words barely a whisper.

Ray sighs and sits back down. I don't chance a look, too afraid to see disappointment in her face. How can I keep this baby? I'm almost thirty, well four years away from it, and I don't see my life with another man. Ever. I can only be hurt so much before I end it all.

"What about—"

I cut her off. "No."

She nods and takes my hand. "I'm here for you. Anything you need. You know that, right?"

I nod because I can't form words pass the lump in my throat.

The announcement of pregnancy unleashes morning sickness, and by morning, I mean morning, afternoon, evening, late night and pre-dawn. I'm sick all the time. I can't keep anything in my stomach longer than a few minutes.

"Here you are," Ted says, handing me a glass of water. I shake my head because by now I know even water is not always a good thing for me. I wipe my mouth with the rag she hands me.

"This sucks." I say taking the water but only swishing it around in my mouth to clear it of the burger that just made a re-appearance and lean forward to spit in the toilet. Ted's phone rings and she looks at the screen, at me, and then puts it face down on the counter.

"What about crackers?" she asks.

I get up using the edge of the tub for help. "Sometimes," I answer, and plant my elbows on my knees. "Where are Ray and Dennis?"

"They went to the store for ginger ale."

I don't have the heart to tell my sister that the smell of ginger ale makes me gag, along with that of any melon and raw meat. We're making our way back to the front of the house when the front door opens and Ray comes busting in. "Come on, we need to talk." She grabs my arm and drags me to the back bedroom she's sleeping in. Ted follows close behind and the look on her face tells me she knows what this is about.

"Did something happen with Van?" I ask panicked. Van had been released two days ago. I'm staying with Ted until we have confirmation he's back home. "No," Ray says closing us in the tiny room. She sighs. "I think you should call Elijah."

The words are so far from what I thought to hear that it takes my mind a second to process. "What?"

"He's worried about you." I look at my sister. She looks guilty. He's been calling her, too. I bet that's who called when I was in the bathroom.

"You haven't told him have you," I ask looking between the two of them. "Of course not," Ray and Ted answer together. My knees weaken and I more fall than sit on the bed. It had only been two weeks but I'm set on a new path. The baby growing in my stomach placed me on solid ground. "No."

"Why not, just tell him you're fine and not to call you anymore—or me," Ray says.

"And me," Ted adds.

I look between them both. "How often does he call?"

"Every damn day," Ray says.

"At least it's only once a day now," Ted chimes in.

"You're shitting me."

Ray sits next to me and rubs my back. "He cares about you."

"No," I say and get up. "And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

I leave them in the room and go outside, a habit left over from smoking. I haven't had a cigarette in weeks. To be honest, I thought it would have been harder, but I'd almost stopped before I found out I was pregnant. Already molding myself to fit Elijah, making changes to please him, half way down the rabbit hole by the time the visit from Van bitch-slapped me back into reality. I start pacing in front of the house, my mind running a mile a minute. "He cares about me," I say aloud. How is that even possible? He hadn't' known me long enough to care about me. He doesn't know enough, and what he does know don't add up to real feelings. Ray and Ted give me two minutes of alone time before they both come out.

"Will you tell him for me? Not about being pregnant, just that I'm fine and I don't want to talk to him. Ever." They don't say anything. My sister has a blank expression on her face, Ray looks likes she wants to slap some sense into me but restrains out of love.

"Fine," she finally says.

"What are we going to do on your last night in town?" I say, changing the subject. We should be at a night club, drinking, dancing and me and Ray looking for our next conquest. Not hiding out from killer ex-boyfriends, over-concerned fuck buddies and pregnant.

"Cheese and crackers and boxed wine," Ray says. Her laugh is loud; it shakes her body. She throws her head back. "Come on, bitches."

We're a tangle of arms the short walk back to the front door. I'm in a new city, knocked up, will probably be eating Top Ramen for the rest of my life, but my future doesn't seem as bleak as it once had. I'm going to be a mother. I don't have time to sweat the bullshit.

Ringing wakes me up and I look at my phone with one eye, my multitasking eye also checks the time. It's Ray, and it's three in the morning. We'd dropped her off at the airport yesterday afternoon and she'd already called to say she made it home safe so I'm almost panicked when I answer the phone with, "What's wrong?"

"Someone wants to talk to you," Ray says, and before I can say anything I hear the phone being passed to someone.

"Hey, Red." I smile, because that's what you do when you talk to Richard. The smile on his face is a constant, it carries into his voice and he sounds genuinely happy to be talking to me even though I'd broken up with him to date Van and hadn't spoken to him in years.

"Hi." I sit up in bed, less panicked but confused as to why this call is being made so late, or early, depending how you look at it. Then it hits me, Richard had been the one Ray had asked to kick Van's ass. "Are you alright?" I ask, because Van's built up like a damn Mack truck. Richard's no light weight at over six feet tall and he's not stupid. If he didn't think he could win in a fight he wouldn't have agreed or he would have taken back-up with him.

"Yeah, I'm good. How are you?" The sound of his voice lose its playfulness and the serious tone sounds wrong. I can almost see Richard's face, all solemn and it saddens me deeply. We'd grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, literally. In our small town a railroad track separated blacks from the rest of our small city. Richard had already been in jail a couple of times for shit like stealing and minor drug dealing but he was a good guy. Life had dealt him a bum hand but he made do and always—always—with a smile. That I've wiped that smile away from his handsome face watered my eyes. "I'm fine, Richard, thanks."

"No need to thank me, Red. Van made it back today. I caught up with him about an hour ago, me and Lester. I wanted you to know we paid him back with interest. We should have stepped in a long time ago."

My throat nearly closes tight enough to restrict breathing. I swallow before saying, "Thank you Richard."

He laughs, a deep throaty sound that had triggered all kinds of wants and desires in the past, a rumbling in his chest that passes his lips in an almost erotic growl. "My pleasure." he says. "I wanted to tell you myself. I also wanted to tell you I'll be watching him, so will a couple of other guys you know. You're good people and we always take care of ours."

The first tear breaks free and slide down my cheek. Not all my sexual conquest had been nameless and faceless, a lot of them had been fuck buddies, more than a few had been, and evidently, still are, friends. "Will you thank Lester for me," I finally say when I know my voice won't waiver.

"Of course. Take care of yourself."

"I will and you too."

The phone is passed back to Ray but she says good-bye to Richard before she puts the phone to her ear, giving me time to get myself together. I close my eyes and take long deep breaths that I breathe in through my mouth and out my nose. I wonder who Richard enlisted to help with surveillance. By the time I open my eyes I feel better. I even smile. It's like I have my very own knights. Not bad for a girl who loved a good fairy-tale.

"Richard doesn't think Van is going to leave this alone," Rays says, ruining my almost feeling of content.

"What does he think he'll do?" I ask. Not panicked because I believe Richard. He'll make sure that someone watches Van. If he leaves town or suddenly goes missing he'll let Ray know. For the life of me I can't figure out why Van would go through so much trouble. It was one thing kicking my ass when I was at home. It's another to travel across the country. I mean, couldn't he just find another girlfriend...victim. I wouldn't wish that kind of life on any woman, but if it will keep me and my baby safe...

"He's been fired from his job so he won't have the resources to come back out there unless he has someone willing to give him the money. In his own fucked up way, I really think Van loves you. You were together for a long time."

I agree. In some strange fucked up way, I don't doubt Van loves me. When he wasn't beating the shit out of me, he was a pretty decent boyfriend. He remembered my birthday, and our anniversary, and was extra attentive if I was sick and extra, extra attentive if I was hurt by his hand. But he has a problem that I don't think counseling or even jail-time can fix. He's a life-long abuser, has a short fuse, and the reasons for him using his fist rarely makes sense and don't necessarily have to be one that you would think warrant punishment.

"Richard will take care of it. He told me there were a lot of guys willing to take it to the mat for you. What in the hell did you do to them?" Ray asks. "Your pussy must be made of gold."

I laugh. How can I not? Ray has a way with words. "Good-night, Ray."

"Good-night, bitch."

I lay down with the phone in my hand. Richard is worried and even though Ray hadn't said it, she is too. I wonder if I'm being told the whole story. Maybe I should move. Yeah, that's a good plan. I can start saving now because breaking my lease means losing my security deposit. At least I don't have a lot of furniture to move.

### Chapter Thirteen

I look at my profile in the mirror and smile down at the small bump riding low on my stomach. "Hey, there," I coo, rubbing the bump. I pull on a pair of stretch pants and a large cable-knit sweater glad the winter weather has allowed me to keep my secret a little longer. I roll my eyes and sigh when the phone rings and I see Ray's number on the screen. She's been a mother hen for the last four months.

"Bitch, your mom's coming for a visit," she says by way of a greeting. I collapse on my new couch, chocolate brown corduroy micro-fiber. "Shut the fuck up," I say with real feeling.

"Why in the fuck have you not told your mother?" I shrug and say, "You know I'm terrified of my mom. I'm an unwed mother; she's going to kill me."

"So you're planning on never seeing her again?"

I flop back on the couch. "No. I just haven't found the right time to tell her."

"The crazy thing about all this—"

"There's only one?" I ask.

Ray ignores me and continues, "Is that you guys love each other, I mean _love_ love. You make the Brandy Bunch look like the Manson family and your ass is grown."

It's my turn to sigh. "I know." I sound like a ten year old being chastised.

"She'll be there for Christmas. It's a surprise, and your ass better act fucking surprised." There's a pause on the phone then she says, "How are you...morning sickness still kicking your butt?"

I can't help it. I smile. "Fine, and yes."

My heart is right behind my tongue at the thought of my mom coming to visit. I hope she doesn't bring my step dad with her but the chances are good. I'm not lying; my mom scares the shit out of me. A teenage mother, she had me in high school and Ted not far behind. She raised us better. But Ray's right, I am grown. But not being married equals letting my mother down.

"Wait? Why would Mama tell you she was coming to visit? She knows your ass can't hold water."

Ray huffs at my stupidity. "She told Kat's mom, Valerie, who hangs out with Rhonda. You remember Rhonda? You dated her brother, Charles...anyway, Rhonda told Sharon, who told my mom, who told me."

She's right I know Rhonda because I remember dating Charles for about a second after graduating high school, but I have no clue who in the hell Kat is, or her mom, Valerie, and Sharon may or may not be the woman who straightened my and Ted's hair when we were little girls.

"What are you going to do?" Ray asks.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I have no idea."

Ray laughs and hangs ups.

Work goes by in the blink of an eye, mainly because I'm distracted by my parents' upcoming surprise visit. I call Ted on my lunch break, and she pretty much just reiterates what Ray has said. After the shock of finding out I was pregnant passed and then the decision to keep the baby was made, I've been pretty happy, even with the morning sickness. Now my gut is churning for an entirely different reason.

I open the door to my apartment and lock the new deadbolt. Since Van's visit my landlord has installed a peephole and fenced the area around the courtyard and installed a key entry gate. It's the reason I stayed after Richard's call. He's keeping his word and calls me periodically with an update, but mostly just to talk. I have to steer him away from phone sex more often than not but I still look forward to his calls.

I rented a two bedroom unit from the start (maybe the cosmos was telling me something) and I walk into the room that will soon be a nursery. I just made up my mind to start buying baby furniture, too excited to wait any longer. I guess now that plan will have to be put on hold until after my parents' visit. Of course, I could stay with the plan and let a baby-bed break the news for me. I laugh and go to the closet to grab the bag of baby clothes. Not a lot, just a few blankets, some onesies and a couple pairs of socks. I take the bag to my room and stuff it in the back of my closet.

"Fucking Christmas," I mutter and then apologize to Santa Clause and Jesus because it's not their fault that I'm too chicken-shit to tell my mother I'm pregnant. The sound of my phone takes me back to the front room and I remember my date with Ted to go tree shopping when I see her name on the display.

"I'm downstairs," she says before I can greet her.

"On my way."

So Christmas is one of my favorite holidays and even when I was a little girl it had never been about the presents, for me, it's all about the decorations. I love color. White lights and color-coordinated trees are for uppity snooty-tooties. I want my tree to look like color threw up on it, one heavy with ornaments of all shapes and sizes and enough lights on it that it might possible catch on fire. And I don't do fake trees, which up the chances on that fire. We walk through the forest of the Christmas tree lot with me barely listening to my sister, because I'm on the lookout for the perfect tree.

"George!"

I turn. Ted's standing in the middle of the aisle with her arms crossed, looking put out because she's finally caught on that she's been basically talking to herself for the last ten minutes.

"Sorry," I say, as I walk back to her. I curl my hand in the crook of her elbow.

"So you're cooking, right?" she asks "When Mama gets here."

"Of course, we all know you like your food like you like your wine—from a box."

"Damn right," Ted says laughing. "How about that one?" She's pointing at a tree about twenty feet tall and ten feet around.

"No, but I like that one," I say, releasing my hold on her arm and going to my tree: a seven foot tall blue spruce.

We pay for the tree and get one of my male neighbors to carry it to my apartment. The smell of Christmas is instant. I'm giddy. Ted ends up calling Dennis to inform him she's spending the night because we'll be up all night decorating, and she needs wine. The corner store from my house doesn't stock her favorite box brand—like there's one better than the other. Dennis obeys, but only stays for a second. We're pretty corny when we're together and he says he can only take us in small doses when we get this way. Ted and I crawl into bed around three in the morning, her smelling like cheap wine and wearing one of my t-shirts, and me in a gown. She folds herself around my side and lays her hand on my stomach. "God, I can't believe you're pregnant," she says. Her hand is a comforting weigh as it circle the bump. My heart pitter-patters in my chest because I can barely believe it either. I'm not scared anymore about what the future has in store for me. What better future than that of a child?

**-**

We're at Ted's pretending that we don't know at any second the doorbell is going to ring and my parents are going to be standing on the other side of the door. I will do as Ray asks and act surprised, but I'm pretty sure my mom will see straight through the lie. I've made lasagna and garlic bread. I've had to threaten Dennis about fifty million times by the time the doorbell rings. I hear Ted squeal delight from the front door. I pull at the bottom of the bulky sweater I have on because while it's my intentions to tell my mom I'm pregnant, I'm not sure tonight is the night. Maybe tomorrow. My face light up when I see my stepfather enter the room. Tall, dark and handsome, he is the best dad ever. If my mom had met him before Ted and I were grown we probably would have called him Daddy.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, giving me a mega-watt smile that makes me feel bad for not telling them I'm pregnant, but not bad enough that I do.

"Hey Bill," I say and go in for my hug, mindful to keep my stomach away from him, which is pretty damn hard when someone bear-hugs you.

"You cooked," he says, with his arm still around my shoulders.

"I did. I even made key-lime pie."

My mom steps into the living room. Small, at five-three, she looks more like our sister than our mother. She's tiny compared to the two of us. Ted has height from our uncles on mom's side, and I have the curves of the women on my father's side. My mom weighs about a hundred pounds. "Hello, Georgiana."

I almost start crying. My mom worked her ass off to give me and Ted everything we wanted growing up, working three jobs at one point. I was so happy when she'd met Bill. He's a pharmacist and they live comfortably. Bill thinks my mom hung the moon and the sun rises only to please her, and he loves us like his very own. I've kept so much from these two people who love me unconditionally, and now I have a secret that isn't of pain, but of love, and I feel pretty shitty.

"Hello, Mama," I say, hugging her.

"Would you like something to drink?" Ted asks, looping her arm in Mama's and leading her to the bar, away from me and my hidden bump. I love her more for it.

"A Cosmo if you have the stuff to make it," she says, climbing onto a bar stool.

I go to the kitchen and cut Bill a slice of pie because he's the guy who orders desert first at a restaurant. "How long are you staying?" I ask, sliding the plate to him.

Ray's intel had been good, but not complete. Mama hadn't mention how long she was staying to Rhonda's cousin, sister's, niece, or whoever Ray got her info from.

"We're just passing through headed to Cabo," he answers before taking a bite of his pie. "We'll be here two days," Mama finishes. I almost collapse the relief is so great. Two days, I can do that easy. "There're presents in the car," she says.

Ted and my eyes light up like five-year-olds. My mom never buys anything you need, only what you want. She has phenomenal taste, shops all year for Christmas and has a sixth-sense when it comes to finding the best shit for next to nothing. A gift she acquired when she had two mouths to feed and no money.

"How are you?" Mama asks.

I almost choke on the water I'm drinking. I cough and answer, "Fine."

"You liking it alright?"

"Yes."

She gives me a little bit of a sideways look and I fight not to fidget, particularly not to pull on my sweater or rub my stomach. God, she knows. I think. I know Ray and Ted haven't ratted me out, but somehow her mommy-senses are tingling. I turn away from her and her x-ray vision.

"Is everyone ready to eat?" I say, deep breathing as I bend to take the food out the oven.

"Starving," Bill says.

So I'm not smoking or drinking, it'd take an idiot not to know something is up since Ted and I are borderline alcoholics' one drink away from needing an intervention or an A.A. meeting. Ted has drunk a whole box of wine already. Mama hasn't said anything but she keeps looking at me and on a few occasions I've caught her staring at my stomach.

"You can see my place tomorrow." I'm sitting next to Bill, his hand is on my knee. We're a touchy-feely family. If he only knew how much his touch grounded me, made me think everything is going to be okay. They may be disappointed when I finally worked up the nerve to tell them, but they'll be supportive and my child will be loved. I swallow tears.

"That'll be great," Bill says.

"You ready to go fishing in the morning," Dennis asks. Dennis is an avid fisherman. We've already had to veto watching a third fishing show. "Of course, it'll give the girls time to spend our money."

The comment is innocent but I'm not anyone's girl. Old demons rear their head and my throat is slick and salty again. I don't need a man, soon I'll have everything I'll ever need.

### Chapter Fourteen

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and I'm pretty stoked about the ultra-sound. The first one showed a blob with a flickering center. This time I'll get a better look. Tomorrow I'll know what I'm having. My mom and Bill left yesterday. I didn't tell them about the baby, but I'm pretty sure I'll break the news after they get back from their trip to Cabo. I'm going to send them a pregnancy announcement. Yeah, I know, but hey, I'm spineless. I'll have to tell them sooner or later, or show up on their doorstep with a baby one day...or at the rate I'm going, a toddler.

The day has been long and I'm so glad to finally be off because I'm not only tired, I'm emotionally whipped from the two days I spent with my parents. I'm deep in thought when I come out of the break room after clocking out. Blue or pink? I can't wait to find out. I'm hoping for a girl but I'll be one hundred percent, a-okay with a boy, too.

"Lu!"

I know who it is before I look up. The sound of his voice keeps my head down. I've thought about him a few times in the last few months but really, I'm proud to say, I haven't thought of him all that much. Now his hands are on my forearms, holding me almost too tight.

Well shit.

I'm bent over the toilet in the ladies bathroom wondering how I've gotten myself in this mess—again. I exit the stall and wash my mouth out.

"How far along are you?" The woman standing at the next sink is a little older than me and attractive. She's smiling.

"Six months," I answer automatically. I don't know why, I haven't told anyone other than Ray and Ted. It feels good to tell this stranger.

"Hopefully you're almost done with the morning sickness." She offers me a kind smile. "Hopefully," I say, smiling back.

She throws the paper towel she'd used to dry her hands in the trash after opening the door with it. I'm left alone and all I can think of is how I can escape. I even look for a window. What had I been thinking coming with Elijah? That he wouldn't take no for an answer, that's what. He'd restrained from hugging me outside the break-room, thank God. I wasn't playing with fire, I'd jumped in the damn flames. I know what I've done is all kinds of fucked up. It'd seemed like the right thing to do...then. What Elijah and I had was new. He didn't love me and the love I thought I had for him was superficial. The kind of love that I attached to every man that kept me in his life for longer than half a second. But it wasn't just me anymore. I was carrying the man's baby. I can't figure out if it's morning sickness, nervousness, fear, or me being sick at the endless strings of bad decisions I've made over the course of my short life that has my stomach in knots, but I know I can't stay in the bathroom forever and there's no window to escape through, so the best I can hope for is that I make a clean break from Elijah today.

Elijah stands as I approach the table. He looks good, better than good, even with a crinkled brow and downcast mouth.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," I say, sitting and taking a sip of water. I'm so done eating. For a matter of fact, I'm considering not eating again until after the baby is born, at least not solid food.

"I want to see you."

I look at him, slack jawed because...really? "No."

"I miss you," he says, reaching for my hand.

How could I have ever thought this was going to end any way but really, really...really bad? "No," I say again. My resolve stronger than I've ever known it to be. "Please, Elijah, don't do this."

Elijah is about to say something when he's interrupted by the woman from the bathroom. I feel faint, my stomach churns, my heart is about to run out of my chest and stop at the same time. It is disaster happening in slow motion.

"Oranges always helped with my morning sickness. Congratulations on your baby."

Elijah's mouth drops open. I smile because I'm being smiled at. My insides are a mess though. The woman walks off none the wiser at what she's just done.

"Lu," Elijah whispers. "My God, is that why you didn't want to see me, because you're pregnant from you're attack."

"God, no!" I say quickly because the thought is too horrific. Destroying my easy out.

"Then—" Realization slowly plays out on his face. "How long," he says. His voice strained with emotion I can't read. "How long have you known, Lu?"

"Four months," I say, so low my mouth may have only moved. I don't have the guts to look at him. I only hear him rise so sudden that his chair falls over and him walk away.

A waiter comes over and rights the chair Elijah knocked over and gives me napkins as I try to pull myself together enough to leave the restaurant. I'm glad I'd insisted on driving separate cars. Elijah has left me. I can't blame him. I've handled this all wrong. I start crying halfway home.

As I sat in that hospital room, beaten and broken, I felt like the tiny life inside me was an extra special miracle. What Elijah and I had was a friendship with benefits, but you don't have babies with your fuck buddies. Breaking it off with him had been hard; the child I carry inside me had made it bearable. I love him or her so much. My hand rests on my bump as I drive. I make it home without wrecking or killing anyone or thing and park before coming completely undone. Elijah had a right to know he was going to be a father. One had covers my face as I cry and the other goes to my belly. What have I done? My door opens and he's there. I cry harder with him whispering everything is going to be alright.

"Why?" He runs his hands through his hair. It's grown out some. I like it longer.

"Because I didn't want to burden you with a black, bastard child," I answer honestly.

Elijah stops and glare at me. "What did you just say to me?"

"What your friends, and possibly your family, will say behind your back when you tell them. You just broke off a long engagement with a woman you've known most of your life. We both know what I am. What you were doing."

I've never seen pissed-off Elijah before. He's pretty ferocious looking. But he doesn't scare me. He's mad, but not that kind of man. The situation is fucked up. I won't deny him his fury.

"That's quite presumptuous since you know neither my friends, nor family," he says through clenched teeth. "And what—pray-tale—exactly was I doing?"

"Slumming it."

He nods, "I see." He paces a minute before stopping in front of me. "I wanted more. I tried to have a relationship with you. It was you who denied us anything else."

"Elijah I have a high school education. What exactly am I going to talk about if you take me around your family, your friends, your peers?"

"I don't give a fuck!" he yells. "You had no right!" I cringe in the face of anger so hot, so electric it fries the air around him. "That's my child," he says pointing to my stomach.

"And what will happen when we go our separate ways, Elijah. When you come to your senses and find Mrs. Right and have children with her. Is she going to be so open minded? I know I love my baby." I say, getting defensive. I would not have my child playing second fiddle to a legitimate, loved, pure-breed baby.

"You think I'd marry someone who doesn't love my child," he asks. "You really think that little of me."

"I don't know you!" I yell. "Just like you don't know me."

"And I'm to blame for that?" He takes a step forward. "You ran from me, refused to see where we could go."

"I didn't need to go on that ride, because I knew where we'd end up. I didn't want to invest that kind of energy in another heart ache, not when I'd just freed myself from Van."

"I'm not Van. I'm the father of the child you're carrying and I damn well plan on being in its life."

The words make me sick to my stomach. "Just walk away." The words were more a plea, a prayer, than instructions. He had everything he needed to take my baby from me. Money, power, and probably connections to make sure I got to visit him or her once a month—supervised.

"The hell I will," he says, reaching for me. He stops before his grabs my arms. His hands falling to his side and instead kneels at my feet. "Lu, you can't expect anything else."

"Why do you keep doing this to me? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Why won't you let me in?" he asks back.

"Because I'm not good enough," I whisper. There, I've said it.

"Oh, beautiful," he says, standing. He sits next to me, pulls me into his side where I sit stiffly. "Lu, what am I going to do with you? You've had your hooks in me since the first day I saw you. You give me pleasure like I've never known in my life."

"A good lay does not a relationship make," I say. I rest my head on his chest and he rubs my hair. The weight that lifts from my shoulders and stomach is placed directly on my heart.

**-**

"Why are you looking at me that way?" I ask. It's dark out but the light from the Christmas tree illuminates the room enough for me to see him.

"Doesn't the mother of my child deserve a little adoration?"

"Elijah—"

He cuts me off. "Shut up, Lu. This is a done deal. You've decided to have this baby. I'm assuming you thought I would ask you to get rid of it, and in truth I don't know if I wouldn't have. I was willing to try for a relationship but I didn't have things figured out passed just getting to know each other. But even if I had asked, and you'd said no, I never would have just walked away from my child. I would have taken care of what's mine."

"It's not you I'm worried about," I say. We'd crawled into bed after he refused to leave. There had been no hanky-panky, he was still too mad and I was still too...whatever I had the right to be.

"Lu, I'd never allow anyone around my child who doesn't do anything but love him as much as I do. You've put my family and friends in a category they just don't fit into. They're not going to care what color he or she is, they're only going to care that it's my child and that I love it." He kisses my cheek. "Move in with me."

"What?" I say. I sit up and move away from the comforting warmth of his arms.

"You heard me. Give us a chance. Move in with me."

"No," I say swinging my legs off the bed.

"Why not?"

"Do you love me?" I ask, when he put a hand on my arm to stop me from leaving the bed. He doesn't answer. "That's why I won't move in with you. It's alright that you don't, but I can't open myself up like that."

"Lu, please, lie back down."

I slowly lower myself back to the bed. Elijah looks at my stomach, covered in thick yarn. I see the longing in his face; see the love for his child already. I take his hand and lay it on my stomach. "I have an ultra sound tomorrow. I find out if it's a boy or girl. Would you like to come?"

"Of course," he says without hesitation, never taking his eyes from my stomach. He raises the sweater and lays a gentle kiss right below my bellybutton.

I tear up pretty quick and want to blame it on hormones, but that would be a lie. Emotions flood me, overwhelming me. I am tied to him for the rest of my life. Women complain about getting knocked up and being left and here I am trying to boot my baby-daddy to the curb and him hanging on for dear life. Elijah's slowly kisses of my lower stomach, goes lower until he kisses a line along the waistband of my pants.

"Elijah..." I warn, but not very sternly, my voice is thick and low.

"I've missed you," he whispers against my skin, pulling on the stretchy fabric, catching the edge of my panties and pulling them down too, lying kisses on my hip and on the move to somewhere much more intimate. "I missed your smell, I missed your taste."

"Elijah," I say again, this time the word is more moan than word. I lift my butt so he can slide my pants down my legs.

"God, Lu," he says and lowers his face, pressing his nose in my crotch and taking a deep breath before licking me long and slow. My back arches and I grab fists full of the sheet and cry out when he latches on to my clit. He's brutal, ruthless...wonderful. Each lick, and flick, sending shock waves into the pit of my stomach until the pressure that's built finally spill over and I scream as my orgasm send electric tingles out from my core to every inch of my body. Elijah releases my thighs and climbs my body, kissing my stomach on his way up. "I'm going to kiss the mother of my child, and I'm going to kiss her whenever and wherever I like."

I nod, because, really, what else is there to say to that. The kiss is slow, tender and sweet, a melding of mouths, a slow dance of tongues, as we suck and nip each other lips. I'm breathless when he breaks away from it. He climbs off the bed and removes his clothes, each breath becoming shorter and shorter with every article that falls to my floor. He's forgiven me but I can still see the anger of what I've done in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his body.

"Take off the sweater."

The words are a command I obey. Pulling the sweater over my head, I take off the bra without being asked. I throw them both on the floor and watch Elijah stalk towards me, his erection long and thick, swaying in front of his body with every step. He climbs in bed, between my legs again, holding his weight off me with his arms next to my shoulders. He bends his elbows and leans down and kisses me again. Just as slow, but not as long, before he breaks the kiss.

When he raises his head he stares long moments before he says, "Put me inside you, Georgiana."

My breath catches. No one calls me by my first name except my mother. Even my teachers called me George. And no man I've ever been with called me it. I grab his erection, a hard hold at the root and slide my hand along the shaft until I rub my thumb across the bead of pre-cum at the slit. I widen my legs and guide him, when the head is at my core I move my hand and place both lightly on his waist. The slow entrance feels so good that I close my eyes.

"Open your eyes and look at me."

Another command.

I breathe through each push and pull, take in each of his exhaled breaths and give my own. I feel every inch, every vein. Elijah lowers and holds his weight away from my body on his elbows. He kisses me, not gently, hard, a marking, a claiming. When his tempo speeds up, I wrap my legs around his thighs, one arm is around his waist and the other holds him tight around his neck. I tilt my hips and he enters me deeper and I cry out, spilling the sound into his mouth. When I come, I don't know where I begin and he ends.

**-**

I'm nervous. Elijah's a pillar of strength and confidence and standing next to me looking every bit the proud papa.

"Good morning Ms. Banks," Dr. Bryant says. He's an older man with hair as white as snow on his head and glasses hanging around his neck.

"Dr. Bryant, this is Elijah," I say and stop.

"The father," Elijah says sticking out his hand.

"Well, very nice to meet you." Dr. Bryant looks between the two of us. "Are you ready to find out what you're having?"

I take a deep breath. "I am."

Elijah takes my hand. We're both operating off little sleep. Elijah will be a part of his child's life, but other than that, we're stuck on go. He wants to try for a relationship and I'm still fighting hard to keep my distance from him.

Dr. Bryant squeezes warm jelly on my stomach and rolls the ultrasound machine closer. He presses the wand on my stomach. I don't need to read Dr. Bryant's creased brow, I instantly know something is wrong.

"What's the matter," Elijah asks.

My throat close, my heart seizes in my chest, my breath stops.

There's no heartbeat.

### Chapter Fifteen

I've had some fucked up, shitty things happen to me in life, but never have I thought it unfair until this day. I'm lying in the hospital bed holding on to my sanity by a single frayed thread. I don't know how I'm going to make it through this. I don't know if I want to. All my hopes and dreams...gone.

"This will start labor," the nurse says in a quiet voice. Elijah is standing silently beside me, holding my hand. The nurse leaves without saying anything else. I want to scream. I want to break things. And why the hell did I have to do this on the maternity ward? I'm surrounded by blues and pinks, teddy bears and fucking ducks and everything that only stabs me deeper and deeper because I will not be leaving this room with my baby in my arms. No, my baby is dead. My next breath hitches in my throat.

"Do you need anything?" Elijah asks in a low voice.

"I'm so sorry," I say. Sorry doesn't cover it, but it's all I got.

"No...no." He kisses my hand. "This is not your fault."

I shake my head. I can't speak anymore. I can't open my mouth. If I do I'll start screaming.

"Alright sweetheart, I need you to push when the next contraction hits," the nurse says. She holds my left hand. Elijah has my right. "You can do it."

The words are so sad. Words meant to encourage when all I want to do is give up. The contraction tightens my stomach.

"Big push," the nurse says.

I take a deep breath, curl my shoulders, raise my head, and hold my breath as I push the baby I'll never see grow up from my body. When I exhale I scream...and scream...and scream until my son is delivered into this world and then I wail. A sound that tells the world of my loss and I keep on making it until Dr. Bryant sedates me. I pray for something stronger, something that offers a longer sleep. I'm alright with something permanent.

His worry for me is worn plainly on his face, but I don't give a damn. I hate him. Every fiber of my being, every molecule, every atom. I hate the could-have-beens, I hate him for every make-believe possibility my fucked up mind conquered from every one of his kisses, from his touch, from his persistence.

"I love you, Lu."

"No!" I scream, and try to take my hand from him. He refuses to let go and I slap him with my free hand, the sound loud, echoing in the room. The action is so unlike me that it stops me cold. I look at Elijah and start crying. "I can't do this, not today, Elijah. Please," I beg and turn away from him. He won't let go of my hand so I can't ball into the knot I want to.

"I love you."

"Oh, God." The words are loud, drawn out, a cry to the heavens to save me. To open up and take me away from all this madness.

"I started falling the second I saw you sitting on that damn blanket crying. I was fascinated... spellbound from that second and by the time we'd reached Palm Desert I knew I wanted you. I knew I had to break down the walls you've built around your heart, but you're so damn hard." He stops and takes a deep breath, "I didn't say anything yesterday because I knew you would run, you were scared, but I finally had a reason to keep you in my life and I knew I could chip away all the doubts and fears as we raised our child and you'd one day see what I already knew."

"No." I try again to pull away, and again he refuses to let me go.

"I'm done. I'm not allowing you to run any longer. I don't care about the reasons. We'll deal. I love you." His voice was thick with emotion. He's almost crying. "Every scream for our child tore a piece of my soul from my body, every tear broke my heart until I thought I'd die from the pain, from the loss. I've been sitting here these last couple of hours thinking of everything from criminal to asinine trying to figure out how I can help you bear this burden. I love you."

"No."

"Yes," he kisses my hand. "Marry me, Lu."

I laugh. Then I cry. Not wailing, but soul rocking sobs.

"I want to marry you. I want to marry you today. I want to give you everything, anything, to make you understand, to know...you're good enough." He releases the hand he's been holding, my left. A ring with a stone big enough to cover the base segment of the finger is in it. "It's the biggest ring I could find, but it doesn't matter how big the diamond, no stone is worthy of you, but you will wear this ring because I want the world to know, at a glance, that you are someone of worth. I will buy you the most expensive clothes and cars, I'll cover you in jewels and furs. I'll take you around the world and people will know when they see you, without you uttering a single word, that you are someone of worth. I'm going to spoil you every day for the rest of your life. I'm going to wipe away every bad experience with really, really good ones because, I love you, Lu. Marry me."

I shake my head, but don't open my mouth. I refuse to look at the ring, but I can feel it on my hand, feeling more like a shackle than a symbol of the love Elijah is professing.

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I'm going to take you home and I'm going to take care of you. I already called your job and told them you aren't coming back. I called your mother and sister and they'll be here next Wednesday. When you feel up to it, you're going shopping. You will buy a wardrobe, you will spend an obscene amount of money and you will enjoy every fucking second of it. You can drive my car until you pick one you like. Next Friday I want a wedding date. I love you and you will be my wife. Marry me, Lu."

I'm too stunned to do anything when he leans over and kiss me, a sweet, gentle peck on the lips salty from my tears. His face is too close to focus on when he continues. "I've told my mother everything. I don't have secrets from her. I'm taking you home and she'd like very much to meet you today if that's alright with you. She's worried about you."

I find my words and ask, "Why? She doesn't know me."

"She knows that I love you and that you're hurting, which means I'm hurting, and I'm a bit of a momma's boy."

I nod. Partly because I don't have the strength to argue and partly because I just don't give a fuck. A part of me is dead. A very big part, and not even Elijah's declaration of love can bring it back to life.

**-**

Elijah was busy while I was sedated. In addition to the ring there is a change of clothes. They still have the price tag on them when I take them out of the brown and tan Luis Vuitton duffle, as did the toiletries. The trip back to his apartment is made in silence. I wish for my MP3 player. When I'm ready to talk again I'll call my sister. There's no way in hell I'm staying with Elijah. It's madness to even think of it. The doorman tips his head at Elijah and offers me a smile when we get out of car. The elevator ride up to his apartment is also in silence. He opens the door and drops the duffle next to it. He seems to know I can't find my words because he simply leads me to the bedroom. I stand next to the bed while he pulls back the bedding and then sit on the edge until he comes back with night-gown. I raise my arms and allow him to pull the top over my head and then stand while he pulls the pants down my legs. I lift my arms again so that he can slip the cool fabric over my head and I climb between the sheets. Elijah goes to the other side and climbs in on that side, snuggling up against my back on top of the covers, his arm resting across my waist. I'm tapped out on tears but what's broken is far from fixed. My soul feels empty, my body too light.

The woman that enters is small. She looks like a strong wind will sweep her away. Her dark hair, loose and curly, hangs around her like a shiny short cape. Her skin is darker then Elijah's, enough to know there's color in that family tree. Not black, but she's definitely not Angelo—Spanish maybe...Indian? It doesn't really matter, she's as beautiful as her son is handsome, and the genuine concern in her eyes free tears that I thought were all gone.

"Look how lovely you are," she lies. It has to be, because I feel like shit. She crosses the room and I manage to sit up, just in time for her to wrap me in an embrace that tightens my throat and yet frees the sound of my crying. My body is the definition of contradiction it seems. Does this painfully, beautiful woman not understand that I'm half mad with grief?

"My heart is breaking for you both. He was so excited when he called me last night."

I blink through the tears at the news, shocked to hear that Elijah had called her before. I'd assumed he hadn't contacted his parents until after— I cut the thought short, too afraid of what would happen if I did not. She rubs my back in comforting long strokes that only mothers have. "Oh, you poor, poor darling, I lost my Javier only days after he was born. Now our two angels will be side by side when I bring your son home."

I hold her tighter, tight enough that it probably hurts her small frame, but she clings to me just as tight, and the sounds I made earlier, the ones that left my throat raw and taken most of my voice are back.

"My sweet, sweet girl," she whispers into my hair. She surprises me more by climbing into bed with me, never taking her arms from around me, as if she knows I'll shatter if she does. We settle down on our sides, me with my face buried in her chest, her with one arm wrapped around my shoulders and the other stroking my hair. She lets me cry, mourn, lose myself in grief and despair, whispering soft words, thick with her own tears. Elijah spoons my back. Fitting his body tight to mine, so tight that I can feel his hitching breathing. "I've got you," his mother says, and holds us both in arms that should be too short. But that's the miracle of mothers. There's nothing they can't do. That I know she's talking to both of us puts the first two pieces of my destroyed heart back together again.

**-**

I wake up in a room filled with sun light. I don't know if it's the same day, a different day or two or three days since I fell asleep. The pillow beneath my cheek is wet and my eyes are still leaking. I get up from the bed and go to the bathroom.

"Who are you? I ask the woman looking back at me.

I wait. I want an answer. She has nothing to say. I use the toilet and climb back in bed and stare at the wall of windows in Elijah's bedroom, not seeing the beauty beyond them, just giving my eyes something to look at instead of the inside of my eyelids. When the door opens I don't look up. The sound of a tray being sat on the bedside table makes my stomach roll. I can't eat, hell, I can barely live.

"My darling...preciosa," she whispers, "You must eat. I brought you broth." She sits, pulling the covers down from around my chin. I take the hint and sit up. She settles the covers over my lap and takes a bowel and spoon from the tray. She feeds me.

"I'm Antonia,' she says, the slightest bit of accent coming through at the pronunciation of her name. "Elijah tells me that your sister calls you George. I love Georgiana, may I call you that?" I nod because I'm not quite ready to talk yet. "My brother called me Tony." She sounds appalled. My lips twitch. She talks in a low soothing voice, with an occasional hard vowel or rolling R. She tells me how she met her husband, Elijah's father, James, when he'd come to Spain, fresh from college. It had been love at first sight. Her father had not approved. But she was head strong, and strong willed, and in the end had her way. She is from a wealthy family and she and her husband had returned to America to build a life and new wealth of their own. She'd had Elijah early, almost a year to the day of her marrying; he missed their wedding anniversary by two days. They had wanted a large family, at least five, but Antonia's second birth, Javier, had been hard and she'd had an emergency hysterectomy.

"My boy loves you." I look down at my hands. Her "boy" didn't know me well enough to say those words. Antonia lifts my chin by placing a finger beneath it. "Oh, yes, a mother knows these things about her son. He is wonderful, kind, patient, loyal, dependable..." I smile at her laundry list of attributes. "Awww...preciosa," she says, smiling back at me. She wiggles her eyebrows at me, "And very, very, wealthy."

"I don't want his money," I snap, rolling my face from her hand.

"Of course not, my love," she says, her perfectly arched brow furrowing as she shakes her head, "But you will have it." She stands, picking up the tray and looks down at me. I'm confused as hell. "Please, call me, Madre." Before I can answer she turns and leaves the room. I lie down, snuggle back into the cool press of sheets with the weight of the bedspread my cocoon and close my eyes. I need to call my sister so she can pick me up. But not now, right now I just need a little more sleep.

I wake in full dark, and for a full second I am blessedly ignorant and then it hits me. The pillow is dry so I guess I've used my quota of tears for today. Antonia...Madre...breezes into the room and turn on a lamp. "I'll run you a bath," she says, headed for the bathroom. A second later I hear water running. When the door opens I smell lavender. "Come," she says. I don't let the low, soft tone fool me. It's an order, and I swing my legs out of bed dragging my tired body out of it. She walks too close to me and stays at the threshold when I enter the bathroom. "I'll give you a minute." She closes the door with a soft click.

I use the toilet and slip the straps of the gown from my shoulders. The water is milky-white, candles have been lit and the overhead lights have been dimmed. I climb in, hold my breath and submerge my entire body in water hot enough to have steam rising from it. When I emerge she's back. I watch her as she goes to the counter and retrieve a large paddle brush, meant for someone with hair like mine. I wonder who bought it.

She's wearing wool pants and a silk shirt. The sleeve of bangles tinkles as she walks. She kneels next to the tub and starts brushing my hair the way thick super curly hair is supposed to be brushed, starting with the end and working her way to my scalp. No one's brushed my hair wet since my mom stop doing it when I was in the sixth grade.

"My father did not like James for many reasons. The two biggest reasons being he was not wealthy and he was not a Spaniard. But what does a young girl in love care of these things?" she says.

I think back on the conversation I had with Elijah and how furious he'd been when I said the hateful things his family and friends would say.

"My father loved me, and came to love my husband; it was a different story for James' family. It took many years for them to warm up to me, to accept me, and my son. Of course, James' grandmother called me a Mexican until the day she died. She said this word like an insult."

"I'm sorry," I say, because racism sucks ass.

"Are you mulatto?" she asks.

I shake my head. Both my parent are black, both light skinned. On my mother's side my grandfather could have passed for white; a tall, thin man with stark white hair and pale grey eyes. His family had been slaves but their genes had been watered down as each woman gave birth to their owners children until no African features remained. But they were still black, and when slavery ended those that did not escape the South to "pass" married black women or men. You can see the reversal of color at our family reunions, the oldest all pale skin, white hair and light eyes, the younger, darker, some even with the beautiful blue-black skin that seems as smooth as any newborn's. I hadn't heard the word mulatto outside of movies, but Antonio is not from America and she certainly doesn't mean it in an ugly way. My sister and I have light skin but will never be able to pass for white; we did end up with "good hair" not the tight, curly, kinky hair. It's thick, hard to manage, but soft and long.

Antonia starts to hum and I can tell she has a beautiful voice. The song is soft, the melody forlorn, but not too sad, it matches my mood. I lay in the tub and let this wonderful woman brush my hair and think of nothing, just listen to the sound of a song I don't know, but add to my favorites list. One day I'll ask her the name.

"Georgiana, wake up, my love. You have a call."

I open my eyes to a twilight lit room. I've been in bed two days. I know because I've been fed and bathed twice. Antonio is leaning over the bed, her soft floral scent a cocoon of comfort. "Your sisters, darling," she says handing me the phone.

I sit up and wait for the door to close before I put the phone to my ear. "Hello."

You're lucky that money bags bought my ticket for next week or I'd come over there and kick your ass." A worried voice says.

"Ray?" My voice cracks, and not from remaining mostly silent, but because it's Ray. Her voice is like a raft in deep waters. "I'm here too," Ted says.

"Why haven't you called us?" Ray continues.

"Ray" I say again, and start to cry. They let me cry, but I've been crying almost nonstop for days and its over quickly.

"I'd ask how you are but I know. Is he taking care of you or do I need to bring Richard and Lester?"

I laugh. A real one. God, I needed her. "No, please don't," I say.

"Alright, but if you change your mind before Wednesday just let me know. Richard's been asking about you so he may even pay out of pocket."

I laugh again. "I'm..." I stop short not sure how to convey just how fucked up I am.

"I know," Ray says.

"Do you want me to come and get you," Ted asks.

"Hell no!" Ray answers for me. "If you do I'll kick your ass when I get there."

"I'm not George, and if there's any ass kicking going on between me and you, it's going to be me kicking the ass."

"Whatever," Ray says. "So you're getting married?"

"No," I say, not able to keep the shock out of my voice. I can't believe Elijah told them.

"That's not the word on the street. That word is you're getting hitched and it's going to be a real shindig."

"I'm not marrying anyone, and I do need you to pick me up Ted."

"Wait just one fucking minute," Ray says. "

Ted breaks into Ray's rant, "Ray, please." She sounds about as put out as I am with our shared best friend.

"Shut the fuck up Ted," Ray retorts. Ted sighs but remains silent.

"I can't," I say before Ray has a chance to say anything else.

"Why not...is it because he's white?" She whispers the last part as if Elijah might hear her.

"No!"

"Well I know it's not the damn money," she says, then adds, "It better not be the damn money."

I'm silent for a second. "Maybe a little."

"Really," Ted says. "Hell, I'll take him."

"I'm going to say something that I should have said a long time ago. I didn't because I stay out of grown folks business. Are you ready, are you listening...ARE YOU LISTENING!" Ray yells.

I snatch the phone from my head. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"Stop selling yourself short. Get your head out of your ass, and thank God that the man can see through those layers of bullshit enough to fall in love with you. Marry him, be happy, make more babies, live Georgiana." With every word her voice gets lower and lower until my name is almost a whisper.

"I second that," Ted says.

"I thought you were on my side."

"Always," she says. "But Ray is right. I've watched you date asshole after asshole because you don't think you can do any better, but you can, you have. You're one of the smartest people I know, you're beautiful, talented, nice—"

Ray interrupts, "Got a bangin' body and a good lay."

"This face and body, along with my mastery skills in the bed is what got me into this mess," I say, interrupting Ray. "What if the only thing we have in common is the sex? It's not like we've sat down and had any philosophical discussions."

"Oh for Pete's sake. You like to fuck, so what. So do I. You don't see me going around all: Oh, woe is me, do you. You hooked up with some assholes, get over it. As the great Dolly Parton said in one of my all-time favorite movies, 'Get off the cross, someone else needs the wood.'"

"But—"

"No...no but, no if, no maybe, get off your ass, go find your man, and tell him you'll marry him. Because George..." she pauses. Long, dramatically, theatrically.

I finally say, "Yes, Ray."

"Ho's need love too."

After the most bizarre pep talk ever, I climb from bed and find the robe that matches my gown on the chair in the corner. I take a few deep breaths and head for the door. It opens without making a sound. Barefoot, I silently move towards the front of the apartment.

"How is she?" A deep voice asks. I stop in my tracks and move closer to the wall.

Antonia answers, "As well as expected. She's lost her child." Her accent is thicker, she sounds close to tears.

The deep voice asks, "How are you doing son?"

There is a beat of silence. "I think I'm in shock."

"Of course you are, my love."

I take deep breaths to stop myself from a fresh bout of tears. Ray and Ted both had skipped over the subject, because they knew me well. When I want to talk about it with them I would, and they'd be there. If I never mentioned him again, they'd respect my silence.

"No....I mean, yes....it's all just so...it's all happening so fast. She looked so fragile. To see her so broken almost broke me. I keep thinking I hardly know her." He pauses, take a long shaky breath. "How is it possible that I loved him so much?"

I collapse against the wall, clutching the phone to my chest and cover my mouth with my hand. Elijah sounds close to tears.

"My beautiful boy." Antonia's on the move. I can almost see her going to her son, sitting next to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. "Of course you love him, he was your son."

"And Lu?" he asks.

My heart stops in my chest. It's the moment of truth. Surely they'll tell him to get rid of me.

"I keep going over it all in my head. It's all I've done since the first time I saw her, but then I think I'm just giving myself a reason to think of her. Sometimes, when we're together, I feel like the whole world has disappeared and it's just the two of us. I want her so badly. To think of her anywhere else, with anyone else, makes me crazy to the point of violence."

There is a deep chuckle. "It was the same for me when I saw your mother."

"But she's so damn stubborn."

"Now she really does sounds just like your mother," Elijah's father says, and he too is crossing the room. "Do you love her son? Don't lie to yourself. We love Ashley like a daughter. You two were together a very long time. It surprised me when you called to say you'd broken off your engagement."

"Friason," Antonia says, her voice deep, heavy with warning.

"No, amour, let me say my peace. Ashley is family, has been since she was a little girl, she's a good woman. I think she would make a good wife, a good mother."

"Enough with this nonsense," Antonia says, and her accent is so thick I can barely understand the words. She's like a Spanish Meryl Streep, I swear it was barely noticeable when I first met her. But at least she's on my side. I can't be mad at Elijah's father; he's the only one making sense.

"Ashley was my first love, but she's not the one. She doesn't make me feel the way Lu does. I...I can't explain it."

"Then there's nothing else to speak of." Antonia says, and I have little doubt she is giving her husband the stink-eye.

"Antonia," Friason starts but there's a string of Spanish, fiercely spoken words that sound like machine gun fire. I feel sorry for Friason.

"I don't mean to upset you, amour, I know she carried our grandchild. I'm just as heartbroken at this lost as the two of you, but even now, a voice of reason is needed."

'There is no reason in love, if there was, I would not have married you." I cringe. Antonia sounds about a second from kicking Friason from the house. "My father did not say these things to me."

"He said them to me. That and much more. You think I don't remember there were others who asked for your hand."

"What," Elijah says.

"Oh yes, your mother was born a great beauty and her family the richest in the land. She had suitors lining up at the door from the day she was old enough to date."

"Madre," Elijah says.

"Do not listen to the ramblings of an old fool. He knows there is no one for me but him."

"I know that now, but I didn't then. I'm just lucky you spoke English, I would have lost you if I had to wait until I knew enough Spanish to ask you out." Antonia makes a dismissive sound. "You were...are my greatest love. You stood by my side when my family didn't believe in me. Everything I have...everything I am, is because of you."

Man, the men in this family really lay it on thick. I tear up at his confession.

"You gave me a beautiful son, one any father would be proud of. Elijah is grown, has made his money—"

"No," Antonia says, cutting off her husband. "You will not make this about money. You have made money a thing to be coveted, but what is life without love? Will your almighty dollar hold you when you are sad, laugh with you, when you are happy? I would sleep on the streets, my darling, under a box, as long as I have your arms to lie in. There I am safe, where I belong. Nothing else matters."

This argument has to be just as bizarre as my pep-talk from Ray. Who fights professing love to each other?

"You love her, even if your father does not know, I do. Fight for her, fight for this illogical love. You will need each other, now more than ever."

"Thank you, for everything," Elijah says.

"Nonsense, I do what any mother would." There's a pause and then Antonia says in a low voice, "There are things that need to be sorted out at the hospital. It's too soon for Georgiana, but there are documents, a certificate that needs a name. So that I can bring him home and lay him with Javier.

A pained sound escapes me and brings them to the door. Elijah reaches me first. His arm goes around my shoulders, his mother takes my hand. Even his father has come, but he stands back. I don't blame him. He's the only one with any sense, no use getting too close (emotionally or physically) I may not be a keeper. Elijah and Antonia lead me to a couch and I sit down sandwiched between the two of them.

"Friason, I need water," Antonia orders her husband.

The conversation that I just heard, the conversation Ray had earlier. I'd gotten my head out of my ass, but I wasn't looking for Elijah to tell him I'm going to marry him, but I am going to give us a try, on my terms, of course. Friason comes back holding a tall glass of water. Antonia takes it and he takes a step back and looks down at me. He's taller than Elijah, a big man, tall and boxy; he looks like an old boxer from the thirties. He has dark hair too, but not the black of Elijah's and his mother. He has a thick beard that's trimmed and neat. His suit is charcoal grey pinstriped, with a white shirt and silver tie. He looks—distinguished.

"It so good that you're up," Antonia says handing me the glass of water. I take a sip, realize that I'm thirsty and end up drinking the whole thing. She takes the glass and sits it on the table next to her and takes my hand. This woman has taken care of me for the last two days, she's fed me, bathed me.

"Will you give us a minute," Elijah asks.

"Of course," Antonia and Friason say together. She gives me a one armed hug and stands. She leaves with her husband trailing behind her.

I take a deep breath and look at my hands no longer sure if I should even bring up the subject of trying for more with Elijah. What I need is some space, but I don't think he's going to make it easy. He's already told Ray and Ted, hell, my mom is supposed to be here in less than a week. I don't know where to start, so I decide to start at the beginning.

"Georgiana Tallulah Banks. My mother loves to read and loves movies, Georgiana is from Pride and Prejudice and Tallulah is after the actress Tallulah Bankhead."

"James Elijah Friason, the fourth," Elijah says in a voice just as low, as soft as my own.

I nod while keeping my head lowered, staring at my wavy hands because tears are gathering again. I swallow, lick my lips and say, "I'd like to name our son Christopher James Friason."

"Okay," he says, his voice is thick and when I look up he's nodding, and blinking. If I see a tear I'm going to cry too. "Okay," he says again.

### Chapter Sixteen

The house Elijah grew up in is massive. Antonia had left Spain behind when she married, but she got it back when she built her house. It's a Spanish Vineyard, acres and acres of grapevines for as far as the eye can see. The house is a shade lighter than tan but darker than cream, it has a red tile roof. It also has three levels. There's a barn, a swimming pool the U.S. Olympic team can practice in, with a pool house and a tennis court. There are also several guest houses on the property. I'm damn near hyperventilating and I haven't even gotten out of the car. Elijah has money, but his father...think tycoon, or magnate. He's in shipping. His mother is no light-weight either. Her family was wealthy but she's made her own fortune, the vineyard is hers. The original grapevine that got her started is from her family's vineyard.

Elijah stops the car and cuts the engine and I want to scream, to beg him to please, please, take me back to the city. I thought his apartment was too much. This house makes it look like a shack. He gets out and I climb from the passenger seat while he grabs our bags from the trunk. We'd stopped by the hospital and taken care of all the necessary paperwork, well, Elijah had, I just sat beside him, too afraid to do much, because I didn't want to break down and have to be sedated again. Tomorrow my son, our son, will be laid to rest next to his uncle.

"Your home is beautiful," I say to Antonia as she approaches.

Her arm goes around my shoulders. She's really touchy-feely. I don't mind. Right now I need it.

"Thank you, love. Are your tired, do you need to lie down a bit before dinner?"

I nod, not because I'm tied, I just need time to process. To take this all in. The house is dark hardwood floors, tile that look twenty-by-twenty square, exposed beams and fire places. The furniture is like nothing I've ever seen. Elijah trails behind us, carrying our bags. I didn't pack them, and have no idea how long he plans on us staying here. The hike to the bedroom is long, because Antonia stops whenever she sees me look at something longer than a second. There's a story behind each piece of furniture, every picture, even the damn floors. They were originally the flooring of an eighteenth century monastery in England. When we reach the bedroom, I feel like I've had an intimate tour of a museum.

"Thank you so much," I say, "For everything."

"Of course." She hugs me tight, before walking to Elijah. "You should rest, too. You've been up a long time."

My heart constricts when she runs her hand through his hair and rests her palm on his cheek. She pulls him forward and kisses him lightly on the side of his mouth before hugging him. He hugs her back, not a polite hold but a hard one. As if he's taking strength his mother is offering through the embrace.

"I will," he answers, and kisses her cheek when they break the hug.

"Make yourself at home. If you need anything tell Elijah and he'll make sure you get it."

"I will, thank you."

She smiles at me, turn and pats Elijah on his arm before leaving us alone.

"Your parents' house is really big," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Elijah crosses the room and sits next to me, close, but not touching. He's been handling me with kid-gloves since I'd stumbled upon him and his parents in his apartment. I look at the ring he'd put on my finger in the hospital. Why haven't I taken it off? I twist it around my finger. I'm already use to its weight. I thought it obscenely big when I first looked at it and it is, but Antonio's ring is the Rock of Gibraltar in comparison.

"Do you want to lie down?" Elijah asks.

"Will you lay with me?" I ask. Once his mother arrived, I hadn't seen him but I knew he was near. He was right, I hadn't given him a chance. I'd pushed him away but he was always just an arm's length away. Why?

"Of course," he says, toeing off his shoes.

I kick off the flats and climb further on the bed. There's a mountain of pillows. Elijah lies down, opens his arms, and I lay my head on his chest. I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with the smell of him, the cologne I don't know the name of, and that of him. It feels right to lay here on him. I think of Antonia's words to her husband. Can I have that with Elijah? Can I have that with anyone?

His heart is beating fast. We're quiet for a long time. I think Elijah is afraid to speak and I just don't know what to say. Both are alright. The strong beat of Elijah's heart and the slow strokes up and down my back are nice. I still haven't had the talk about more. I didn't want to discuss it at his apartment in his office, and I didn't trust myself to speak before or after we went to the hospital. Now this house has given pause. You'd think the fact that I'm here would alleviate some of uncertainty, that and the conversation I overheard. Antonia is on my side, Elijah loves me. Still...

I'm not after his money. I'm a whore, not a gold-digger. You can have my body, may break my soul, but I'm a hard-worker. No one can take that from me. I'm not one of those women looking for a man to pay bills.

"Ican'tmarryyou." I say the words fast, a run-on sentence, to get them out and out of the way.

"Lu..."

"No." I sit up. Elijah's expression is a mix of many emotions. "Your father is right."

"You heard," he says.

"You were right too, this is happening too fast. You said I wouldn't allow for something more. Well I am now, but I can't marry you."

"Alright, I can live with that, but Lu, more may not be enough for me, now...I want it all."

Jesus Christ, give a man an inch... I don't answer. What can I say? So I lay back down in his arms and even though I've slept most of the last three days I fall asleep.

There is no service; I didn't see the body delivered, or buried. A little after lunch Antonia finds me and Elijah. How, is anyone's guess, unless he has a GPS tracking device on him. We are lost in a sea of grapevines. Antonia is one of those women who dress up every day. No jogging pants or jeans for her. Today she is the picture of style, grace and elegance in her riding attire, a helmet under one arm, a pair of gloves in her hand. She's so beautiful it's almost hard to look at her. She isn't crying but her eyes are a little puffy and red-rimmed. My stomach drops and I tightened my hold on Elijah's hand.

"Okay," he says before she can speak. She stands there, this tiny woman looking as big as any skyscraper and as fierce as any mother lion protecting her cub—correction—cubs. She'd taken me in from the moment she came into the bedroom. The thought tightens my throat further. She nods and turns without a word. I have a feeling it's because if she opens her mouth she'll cry and she's trying to be strong for me. But there's no strength on earth big enough for this, to lay one's child to his final rest. I keep telling myself that it could have been worst. He could have been born alive, or God forbid, older. I find no comfort in these thoughts; all my heart knows is my son is gone. We walk back to the cart we'd driven in and I see Antonia riding off ahead of us on a beautiful chocolate brown horse. We drive back in silence. Elijah leads me to a spot behind the house where a beautiful wrought iron bench sits in front of rose bushes and other plants I don't know the names of, but the area is a mini botanical garden. There's a plaque at the head of one rose bush:

Javier Ruiz Friason 1976.

The one at the foot of the other brings the first tear.

Christopher James Friason 2014.

We sit down on the bench with our arms wrapped around each other. I don't weep, or wail, or sob, the first tear isn't joined by an endless stream. He's been loved from almost the first second I found out. That was all I could do.

# Part Two
### Chapter Seventeen

I've come to my office after a week long absence leaving Lu in the capable arms of my mother. On my desk is a stack of mail. The manila envelope from my attorney is a copy of the child support paperwork I'd asked him to draw up. I'm a take charge kind of guy and when Lu told me she was pregnant, after she'd fallen asleep, I'd called Julian and told him what I wanted. I drop like a ton of bricks and sit staring at the paperwork. A week ago I was going to be a father. I've thought about children. I want three, maybe four. But when I broke off my engagement my future was something I could no longer see, at least not clearly. I'm not old at forty-one, but I'm no spring chicken either.

I rented the car after deciding some alone time was needed after breaking it off with Ashley. Nothing but five days on the open road, and me alone with a chance to regroup. Ashley had been understanding after the shock of my words had worn off. I knew she would be. We were friends long before we were a couple. She told me she knew it was coming. I never drag my feet on anything, and a three year engagement was my tell. If I hadn't believed her then, standing in the dressing room of the bridal shop, my proposal to Lu sure as shit convinced me. Lu and I have something special. So special I'm willing to bet a married life on it. Everything I've said is true, but we only have a few "dates" beneath our belts. The foundation of us is sex. The time we've spent together is numbered in the hours, but each one is precious to me. Each one Lu opens up a little more, relaxing, letting me peek inside. She's kind, intelligent, loyal, and honest. She makes me want to live a life different from what I've ever known. My parents have that same something special. Up until Lu I'd thought their love was once in a lifetime. Not for each other, but for the world. Not that I mind my life. It's pretty good. I'm wealthy in my own right, the only son that will inherit much more. My parents love me and I love and respect them. All my friends I've had since childhood. Yeah, my life is good. Lu and our baby were going to make it perfect.

Lu losing Christopher broke my heart in a way I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. The sounds of Lu screaming echo in my head constantly. I not a crying man., my mother's passion is countered nicely with my father's more stoic demeanor, but I cried. Cried for the loss of my son, cried for the pain Lu was going through. Not the physical pain of child birth, but the spiritual, soulful pain of delivering a son that would never draw breath. It tightens my chest just to think about it. But we can try again. We will try again if Lu allows it. The original plan was her dream wedding, but she hasn't agreed to marry me. She's adamantly against it, but she's agreed to more. It's a start. I'd expected more of a fight from her, especially after she heard the logical argument of my father. She's so damn stubborn and heartbroken, but I want her more than my next breath, I want her so badly, so desperately, it scares me. I live in fear that she'll repair those breaks in the walls she's built around her heart and run. So I have to make sure I have a place in it before that happens. If I do everything right, there won't be a need for those walls at all. If there's a fight, I plan on winning. No matter the cost. And it has not escaped me that Lu has not said that she loves me, nor does she believe that I love her. I have a lot of work to do.

I look at the clock. Why had I come to the office? I decide to leave for the day, even though I've only been here forty-five minutes. That's the good thing about being the owner. I walk home, needing the time to sort through everything that has happened in the last week. I enter the foyer of my apartment complex and take the stairs two at a time. I'm anxious, a ball of nervous energy, and will continue to be so until Lu overcome all her doubts and fears and agree to be mine forever. I reach my floor, a hot, sweaty mess and push open the door. My mother is in the kitchen making a snack of some sort and she smiles at me as I tip my head in her direction heading for the bedroom. I need to see her, to make sure she's alright. The door is open to the bedroom and so is the bathroom door. I know she's in the tub. I can hear splashing. I throw my jacket on the foot of the bed, and stop in my tracks still feet from the threshold of the bathroom. Lu has a leg thrown over the edge and she's lazily dragging a razor over it. I take slow, quiet steps towards the bathroom, wanting to just look at her so...unguarded. She's washed her hair and it's in a bun on the top of her head. She looks relaxed, a little forlorn, but peaceful. I stop at the door as she slides her leg back over the edge, and sits the razor on the edge of the tub. That's when I notice the ear buds. She raises her knees, wrap her arms around them and rest her cheek on them. Every muscle in her body tenses, her face become hard lines, pinched with an emotion unknown to me. I wonder what she's listening to. I sit at the door, not wanting to disturb her now that she was in my sights. I raise my own knees and sit my forearms on them and watch her: each breath, every long exhale or quick inhalation, drawn-out sighs that relaxes previously taut muscles. She turns her head in the opposite direction with her eyes closed. She releases her legs, lie back in the tub, and starts to sing.

I lose myself in the sound of her voice. Sometimes she sings the entire song, other times the chorus, sometimes just a word or two. All so sad, so heartbreaking. I close my eyes and lean my head back and let the sound of her voice fill me. Lu's exterior is hard, but she's not. The first time I saw her she was sitting in green grass, in bright sunlight crying. Music moving her in a way that had left me enthralled. Of course, I didn't know it was the music that made her cry, but she'd neither looked sad nor particularly upset. It was a puzzle I had to solve. She drove off, windows rolled down, her hair whipping in her face, ear-buds in place, singing at the top of her lungs, going seventy-five down interstate 10. I open my eyes, stare at the ceiling for several seconds before it dawns on me she's stopped singing, and she isn't even humming. I lift my head. Her arms is draped across the edge of the tub and she's looking right at me. I stand up slowly.

"May I join you?" I ask, my voice low, careful, unsure. It takes me by surprise because for the life of me, I can't remember ever being unsure of anything.

"I've bathed...the water's dirty," she says. Her face so solemn, almost stoic. She takes a deep breath that could mean everything or nothing.

"I don't care," I answer, but remain rooted to the spot just inside the bathroom. She smiles at me, a sad one, not even a ghost of the smile I'd become accustom to in the weeks before Ashley came to the apartment and her ass-hole ex showed up. I miss that smile, I miss her laugh. I miss her.

"Alright," she finally says.

I strip, shedding my clothes slowly while we stare at each other. Oh, the things we've done together and yet, I'm nervous. Lu's eyes never leave my face as I approach the tub. When I reach the edge I expect her to sit up, instead she stands. My eyes drop, her body wet and slick, so unlike any other I've ever been with. Not the model thin, but soft curves. Lu has breasts, full, heavy weights in my palms. She has hips and thighs and an ass. Her latte colored skin is flawless and oh so soft. I step in the tub and we stand facing each other for a handful of heartbeats until I lower myself in to the milky white water. Lu straddles me, wraps her arms and legs around me, rest her head on my shoulder and exhale as she hugs me tight. It's the first time, this kind of intimacy. Not the clingy need that we usually display when we're naked, wild...savage. I shudder at how I'd treated her before I found out about her past. There is absolutely nothing alike when it comes to me and her ex but our time together had been full of me acting like a fucking caveman when it came to having her. I snake my arm through hers so I can hold her around her waist, I pull her closer to me and run my other hand up and down her back in long slow strokes, occasionally dipping my hand in the lukewarm water running it up her back to keep her warm. Giving her the gentleness she deserves from the man who plans on spending the rest of his life with her. Lu starts to hum, not a song, just a sweet sound to fill the silence. She shifts in my arms and kisses my shoulder before resting her head once again on it and continues to hum.

"What were you listening to," I ask.

She reaches behind me and leans back so that I can see her face. She puts the ear-buds in and turns on the MP3 player. The intro is slow, haunting, and powerful. A woman's voice, deep and low, but powerful begins to sing. The first verse and chorus are slow, but builds, the song become loud, intense, until the vocals and music remind me of something taking flight and soaring. Lu watches me as I listen to the song, giving me a smile that really isn't a smile. What I've come to call her pleasant blank face.

"It's beautiful," I say when the song ends.

Lu shifts, leaning back and I raise my knees to support her back.

"You're home early."

She traces my jaw with a finger. I close my eyes as it makes a trail down the side of my neck. We'd been like rutting animals on the too brief time we've been together. I've explored every inch of her body, but Lu has never touched me this way. I take shallow breaths hopeful that it's the beginning of her opening up, accepting me, and agreeing to be my wife.

"I wanted to see you," I say, eyes still closed, reveling in her touch.

"Hmmm," she says, laying soft kisses on my neck and chest. After a moment of nothing from her I raise my head and open my eyes. She leans in and kisses my cheek, then the other, before kissing my eyelids, my forehead, and my chin. My heart warms with every soft kiss. I hold her tight to me, wishing, praying, until finally—her lips brush mine. I run my hands up her sides. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me closer, tilts her head and lick the seam of my mouth before biting my bottom lip gently. All control shot, I wrap an arm around her waist and slide my hand in her hair. The kiss grows, still soft, still gentle, an exploratory kiss, but an urgent one that leaves me breathless when we break apart.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah."

She stands and steps out of the tub. "Your mom's too nice," she says as she grabs a towel and wraps it around her body.

"I like her," I say.

I have to admit it's strange having her here, knowing she isn't going to run off, not yet at least. My mom had gone shopping for some basics the day I called her and told her everything, including that I was bringing Lu home with me directly from the hospital. We dress in my closet, Lu putting on a navy velour jogging suit, while I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. We dress in silence. There haven't been many words between us, Lu is understandably down. I pull her into my arms. In the tub, with nothing between us she was relaxed, now she stiffens in my embrace. Her arms hanging at her sides. I kiss the top of her head. We're going to make it through this. We have to. Failure is not an option.

"Knock, knock." My mother calls from the bedroom. "Lunch is ready."

Lu steps out of my arms and turn. I follow. My mother is standing at the door and opens her arms as Lu nears. She lays her head on mom's shoulder. Mother closes her eyes and stroke Lu's back before hugging her tight for a second. They walk out with mom's arm around Lu's shoulder and Lu's around mother's waist. I follow behind happy that Lu finds comfort in my mother. God knows she's always been my rock.

Mother has made a quiche, asparagus and a salad. There is wine and water on the table she's set. It's a small thing, eating lunch with my mother and Lu, but that it's happening at all is just one more thing that she's given me that has brought a new dimension to my life that I love. Today we're quiet, allowing Lu a chance to acclimate and yes, continue to mourn the loss of our son, but one day, the sound of laughter will fill this space and before Lu's, my mother's had been my favorite.

"Thank you, Antonia, it smells wonderful," Lu says, sitting and placing a napkin in her lap.

Mother has asked Lu to call her Madre, mother in Spanish. .

She places a hand on top of Lu's. "Would you like to go out for a while? I'd love to take you to some of my favorite boutiques. I've always wanted a daughter."

I look at my mother with a furrowed brow and shake my head. Lu hasn't said yes. Mom is laying it on thick.

"That sounds nice." Lu says.

I almost choke on the bite of asparagus. I take a sip of my wine. Lu hasn't left the house since we returned from my parents the day after Christopher was buried. Of course, wild horses couldn't drag my mother away from her, and my father has learned to stay out of my mother's way when she wants something. She had, after all, gotten her way and married him against her father's initial misgivings of the older man that had become quite smitten with his youngest child and only daughter. Dad had been thirty, mom only nineteen. Dad had just really found his footing in the shipping world. His family was middle class. Mother's family had had money for so long they probably couldn't understand the concept of not having any. But she had been prepared to walk away from the only life she'd ever known...for love. Her father had eventually given his blessing, I'm sure at my grandmother's insistence, but he refused to help his daughter. If she was going to go against his wishes, then she'd damn well learn what the outside world held for her. One who'd never wanted for a thing and had been raised like royalty. What her father had not understood, maybe not allowed himself to see, was that his daughter was no one's pampered princess. She didn't look back; she rolled up her sleeves and stood by her man. She encouraged him, worked for him as his secretary, his accountant, his personal assistant. When he made his first million my grandfather came to America to congratulate his son-in-law, and to tell his daughter how proud he was. He also gave his daughter a belated wedding present: a home. Sixteen thousand square feet, sitting on five hundred acres, no expense had been spared and my grandfather had personally overseen the construction. Two years of flying back and forth from Spain, sometimes even riding on the ships with the materials he'd found from all over the world. My father's ships.

My mother had been born rich, but she was a self-made millionaire. When she decided to go into wine-making she'd called her father. He'd brought the entire family with a clipping from a four-hundred year old grapevine. The celebration had lasted a week. My mother was from a family with eight children and she'd wanted a large one. It had almost broken her when Javier died and she had to have a hysterectomy. My grandmother had come and stayed with us a year, nursing my mother's broken heart. Mother loved Ashley, but when she spoke about her she'd always say, your fiancée, with Lu she's been saying daughter. Ashley is blond hair and blue eyes, she comes from good people and is a good person, but Lu is more like my mother: dark hair, dark skin, an exotic dark love, hell, I was marrying my mother. I could do worst.

"Thank you," Lu says looking at me, "For everything."

"You never have to thank me for taking care of you Lu." I take her hand. She stares at our joined hands for a few moments before taking a deep breath and looking at me. She smiles a soft smile full of promises. I hope. I insist on cleaning up after lunch, glad that Lu's going out. Her eyes still look haunted but she's smiling, my mother has looped their arms together. She's in full pamper mode, I'll be surprised if they make it back before dinner. I walk them to the door and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and lean down to kiss her on the cheek when she tilts her head. Progress.

**-**

It's time for me to go home," Lu announces.

"What?" I'm dumbfounded, shocked by the words. I'm fucking panicked. "What?" I say again, hoping I've misheard her.

"I need to get back to work."

"Why?" I ask. My heart is beating too fast. I'm breathing a little faster too. Lu had already called and explained to her parents that I'd sort of jumped the gun. Her mother's still anxious to come meet the man who called and announced, so boldly, that he was going to marry her daughter, more so since I'd made the call before I'd asked for Lu's hand, or even asked Lu. But also because Lu had not said yes. Lu hasn't told her parents that we barely know each other but she hasn't been in California a year, that we are virtual strangers is a given. Her parents know the basics: that I'm an architect, that my parents are alive, and that I love them. We're long past the time when men ask for a woman's hand, but parents still want to meet the person their children are going to marry, want to meet their parents. Even with my proposal put on hold and Lu's agreement to try for more, it never occurred to me that she'd leave. Hell, I called her job and quit for her.

"How?" I ask.

"I'd hope you would give me a lift since you brought me here." She's trying to lighten the mood with a little humor. There's nothing funny. "I agreed to date; I did not agree to move in with you. I have a job."

"But I already told them you wouldn't be back."

"Well, guess what, you can't quit for me. I called my boss and explained there was a misunderstanding."

"What?" I say, standing now. Lu's standing on the other side of the island, too far for me to grab her and shake some sense into her. I think she's put the obstacle between us on purpose.

"When?" I say, because I'm stuck on stupid.

"Would you like me to throw in who and where for your?" she asks.

"No...Lu...it's just that I'd thought you'd stay here. There's no reason for you to work. Even if we don't get married, you can still move in with me."

"I could...if I wanted to, which I don't," she says, each word a dagger to the heart, "At least not right now. I need my job. I take care of myself."

"Well can't you find a job in the Bay," I ask.

"Yes, if I wanted to, but I don't."

"Why?"

"Because," she answers, and now she's starting to look pissed.

I'm glad, she's been depressed for the last two weeks, but I'd take sad if it means she'll stay. It's fucked up, but so true.

I take a deep breath that does not calm me at all. "Lu, stay."

"No."

She's determined. From the set of her jaw to the tension in her body, she means to leave and probably soon. It's Friday. Damn. "We can talk on the phone, we can visit on the weekend."

"It's not enough," I say, and I'm not just talking about her moving back. I want her here, not as a girlfriend, not as a _possible_ fiancée, not even as a fiancée, but as my wife. It didn't seem like a long time, okay, it wasn't a long time, but she's the one.

"I'm sorry," she says. And she looks it. So much so, that I feel like shit.

"No...I'm the one that's sorry," I say, and walk around the island, glad when she doesn't run from me. I fold her up in my arms and she hugs me back. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "It's your life. I just want to be a part of it."

"You will be...you are."

"My mother's really going to miss you," I say. If she won't stay because of me, maybe she's formed some kind of attachment to my mother. It's not beneath me to beg if emotional blackmail won't work.

"I'll miss her, and you."

I bury my nose in her hair. It's something that she'll miss me, still not enough, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Okay." I say, but already I'm plotting on how to get her back.

She doesn't pack any of the things she's bought in the week she's been shopping with my mother. I don't mention it. I try to think of it as she's left her things, therefore she'll be back. Pathetic, I know. We drive in silence. Lu even manages a nap. I don't know how, I'm a ball of damn nervous energy; every fiber of my being is in protect mode. How can I protect her with her over a hundred miles away? What if she needs me? It'll take me over an hour to reach her. I could call the airport and have my dad's plane on perpetual stand-by. It's illogical, stupid, I don't give a damn.

I pull in front of her apartment pleased with the security precautions the landlord made. I'd paid for the fence and motion lights and peep-holes. I wanted to outfit the whole complex with alarm systems in each unit but the electrical was shoddy. The building is old and in need of a major overhaul.

When I turn off the car Lu asks, "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes," I say too quickly.

Her apartment is dark and under-furnished. The Christmas tree is gone. I assume her sister came by and took it down. There's light coming from the kitchen. I'm not sure if I can do this...leave her. I sit on the couch and wait for Lu to say something, because short of doing that begging, I don't have a fucking clue what to say.

"Would you like something to drink...eat?"

"No," I say. My stomach is in knots. Who could eat at a time like this? "Lu—"

"Elijah, I've made up my mind. I want to work, I need to work."

"I understand that. You transferred your job before, why can't you do it again?"

"Because you need to make sure this is what you want."

"I'm forty years old, I'm pretty sure I know how to make a decision of this magnitude."

She laughs: a short, harsh bark of sound that I don't like.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing," she says, and I'll be damn if she doesn't sound exasperated. Well she can joined he goddamn club. But I don't want to fight. For a matter of fact, it's the absolutely last thing I want to do. I flop back on the couch. Defeated.

"Where were you five years ago...ten?" she asks.

"In the wrong place," I answer. A place I don't want to be again where she's concern.

"You should go. It's late."

"It's Friday."

"Oh," she says. She looks so confuse that I actually laugh.

"Well then, what do you want to do?"

"I'm doing it," I answer, and stand up. She allows me to hug her and I walk backwards to the couch and sit back down, dragging her with me. She climbs into my lap. "Let me just hold you."

"You sound like we're never going to see each other again," she says, and laughs into my neck.

"I just want to keep you close."

"I know," she whispers.

### Chapter Eighteen

I've been staring at the set of blueprints for the last half hour not seeing the design because I'm thinking about Lu. What's she doing? Is she thinking of me? What's she wearing? Is she thinking of me?

I jump when my assistant, Angela, voice comes from the intercom on my desk. "Mr. Friason, Ms. Fitzpatrick."

I haven't seen Ashley since she dropped by the apartment. I'd met Ashley in the fourth grade after she and her family moved here from L.A. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she's wearing a pair of jeans with a thick turtle neck. Her knee high boots are black with a ring of dark brown at the top three inches. She looks like she's stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

"Jamie," she says, stopping at the threshold. I close the space separating us in long strides and don't stop until my arms are wrapped around her. She stiffens for a second before hugging me back. She had not been just my fiancée; she is also my best friend. I hope to God that she still is.

"Jamie," she says again, her voice heavy with concern.

"Oh, Ash," I say. I feel the slightest tinge of guilt. How can I possibly talk to her about Lu? We haven't even been broken up a year.

"Talk to me," she says, squeezing me tighter for a second. "We're still us."

I sigh, almost collapse at the words. "I'm so sorry?"

"For what? I told you I'm not mad about breaking it off. You hadn't called me and I wanted to make sure we were okay."

"If you can forgive me, then of course we're okay."

"There's nothing to forgive. Now, if you had let me spend ten grand on that dress it might have been a different story."

"I would have paid you back."

"It's the principle of the thing," she says.

God, it was easy being with her. Of course, I'd been with her since before puberty, since I thought all girls were a waste of space, everyone except her.

"I needed a hug." I hold her a second longer and squeeze before I let go. "Thanks." We walk to the couch hand and hand and sit down. "So, what's up?"

"I wanted to return this." She swings her purse around, opens it, and pulls out the ring I'd given her. A very pretty, solitaire surrounded by smaller diamonds. "Take it Jamie," Ash says, when I don't reach for it right away.

When I met Ash I'd been James, she's the only person who has ever called me Jamie. It drives my mother crazy, but she's never told Ash that. I always liked it. It gave me an identity of my own. In sixth grade I announced that I wanted to go by my middle name. In the business world there's only one James E. Friason, and that's my father. I take the ring thinking of Lu. Had she taken hers off? Would she be handing it back one day? I'm a mess.

"Hey," Ash says, leaning over to look in my face. "What's wrong? Is it about mystery woman?" Ash asks.

"Yes," I answer, because I need someone to talk to, and because I've never lied to Ash about anything.

She nods, sit back on the couch, crosses her legs and her arms across her chest. "Jamie we've been friends since I wore French braids, best friends since I had braces, I know you—you need to talk. So, talk."

Damn.

"I asked her to marry me." I blurt. Yeah, I hadn't planned on saying that. There was a long stretch of silence. Guilt keeps my eyes glued to the ring pinched between my fingers. I'm an asshole. Maybe I don't deserve Lu.

"Wow," Ash says, and leans up, placing her hand on my knee. "Did she say no, is that why you're so upset?"

I whisper, "She was pregnant, she lost...she lost our baby."

"Oh, Jamie." Ash pulls me into a hug. I let myself get lost in the offered comfort of her arms. It's Ash; her arms were almost as good as my mother's. "I'm so sorry."

I nod, swallowing down the bitterness of how unfair life can be. "Yeah." I pull out of the hug. "She did say no, but we're still dating."

"You're tore up about this. You love her?"

I nod.

"What does your mom say?"

I laugh. Ash knows my family so well. Our family is set up like a hyena pack, matriarchal all the way. I shrug, a move so unlike me that Ash laughs. I look at her, beautiful, kind, gentle Ash, the polar opposite of my mother. I'd asked Ash to marry me on my thirty-seventh birthday. There may have been a little bit of drinking involved, but when I said the words they felt real...they felt right. Ash felt right. That night we'd had sex for the very first time. We weren't thirty-seven year old virgins. There had been the occasional boyfriend for Ash, and I had certainly sowed my wild oats when I went away to college. Even half-drunk I'd been gentle with Ash, and had stayed that way the last three years. Thinking about this makes me feel like a fucking asshole. It isn't her fault I put her on a pedestal, refused to ask for what I wanted in bed, the thought of a lifetime of me on top is one of the reasons I'd broken off the engagement. For all I know Ash is a damn wildcat in bed. But she'd never initiated sex. Lu... I cut the thought off.

"You know my mom," I finally say. A non-answer if ever there was one.

"Oh, come on, Jamie," Ash says, calling me on my bullshit. "Does she like her?" I look at Ash. "You are the biggest mama's boy in the world." She doesn't look apologetic for the words.

"She likes her," I say.

"Is that code for something else? It's me remember. Your mother doesn't just _like_ anyone."

I know she's not going to let it go. So I say, "She loves her."

Ash nods. I don't want to hurt her. A part of me wonders if Ash had waited on me. I haven't worked up the nerve to ask her. God, I don't want to know the answer.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says and stands. She paces in front of the coffee table. "It's not like you get to choose who you love."

Ash knows me, but I know her, too. She's hurt. I get up and stop her trek. "I'm sorry," I say again, hugging her to me tight. "I'm so sorry Ash, I'm an asshole."

She laughs. "Yes, yes you are...I love you." She whispers.

"I know," I whisper back.

We hold each other. This is our real good-bye, the true end of our engagement. I feel like shit, but it had been the right choice, for me and for her.

"I should go," Ash says, pulling away from me. It tears at my heart when she swipes at the tears. "We should go out to lunch sometimes. After you work things out with your mystery woman."

"Georgiana." I say. I'm not sure why I tell Ash that name. Her sister and friends call her George, but that hardly seemed appropriate either. Maybe, God willing, Ash and Lu will become friends, then Lu will decide what she wants Ash to call her.

"Georgiana," Ash repeats in a low voice, weighing it, making it fit into the life that is us. Because there will always be an us. "It's a beautiful name."

"Yes."

Ash picks up her purse and puts the strap on her shoulder. "I know it'll all work out. If your mother loves her it's just a matter of time. The woman's a force of nature."

I laugh, and pray that Ash is right. I walk her to the door. "Thanks," I say.

"Anytime. I don't want us to stop being friends."

"God, no," I say, shocked that she'd say it, that she'd think it.

"For all your vast knowledge of women you can be quite stupid." She kisses my cheek, opens the door and leaves me with the sound of her laughter. Laughing at me.

**-**

I've been trying to give Lu space so I don't call her when I leave work. We've gone over her schedule for this week so I know she's been off for at least two hours. My palm is twitching to pick up the phone and dial her number and if she doesn't call me in the next ten minutes I'm going to do just that. When the phone rings I'm more, fifteen year old girl, than forty-one year old man.

"Hey," I say, and try to rein in the sigh.

"Hi."

We sit on the phone, listening to each other's breathing. It's been four days, but I feel like a lifetime has passed. I make a mental note to take pictures this weekend so I can look at her while we're apart.

"I miss you," she finally says.

My heart picks up its pace. The sigh I'd swallowed rush from my chest. "I miss you more."

She laughs, such a sweet sound.

"Can I see you?"

"Yes, please." She doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm up, slipping on my shoes and rushing to the front foyer for my keys. "I'm on my way." I hang up and run for my car. I can't imagine the look on my face. Surely the people I pass think there's some terrible emergency. Suddenly an hour and a half feels like a year and a day. My phone rings and I answer without looking at the display. "Hello."

"E, its Ray." I pause. No one has ever called me E. "Rachael King, George's best friend."

"Hello Ray, what can I do for you?"

"I need to know what your intentions are."

I change lanes and pray that the speeding gods are on my side today. I'm already up to eighty and my foot is still increasing its pressure on the gas pedal. "Excuse me."

"I'm breaking about fifty girl codes and I'm pretty sure at least one sister's golden rule. But George is important to me."

"She's important to me too."

"She loves you." The three words make me look at the phone, which takes my eyes from the road, a dangerous thing when you're driving a hundred miles per hour. "I'm not surprise, Georgiana is a serial lover."

"What?"

"George was that girl that lived life like the books she was always reading. She believes all that bullshit about knights in shining armor, and happily-ever-after." She makes a sound that says it's all nonsense to her, but what can she do. "I'm going to tell you a few things about George that you will not repeat...understand?"

"Why," I ask, switching lanes and curse that the gas pedal is to the floor. I should have taken the plane. Dammit, why had I not thought of that before? I can turn around, but traffic in the opposite direction is bumper to bumper. I'll stay the course.

"Are you not listening...because she loves you?" She sighs, like she's speaking to a three year old...a special needs three year old. "George thinks she's not good enough for you because she's been a little bit of a whore most of her life."

"What?"

"Not literally, I don't mean she's a hooker or anything, I mean she use to sleep around, for free, not that I didn't try to teach her that she shouldn't just give it away."

"What?" I say, hardly believing the conversation. Was Ray a prostitute? I wasn't sure if I liked her anymore.

"Oh, God, I'm getting this all wrong. Let me start over," she says, and I hear her take a deep breath. "George started planning her wedding when she was in the sixth grade. That pretty much sums up my best friend. She believes in true love like most people believe in God. Unfortunately she's beautiful and has been forever and she's also looked the same since she turned twelve. She had breasts when the rest of us were dreaming of our first training bras and she was noticed early by boys...and men."

"What?" I sound like a broken record. But each sentence that falls from Ray's mouth has my head spinning. The knot forming in my stomach grows until it stops my heart and makes it damn near impossible to breathe.

"There are things I suspect happened and others I know, but they're not my stories to tell and I won't, so don't ask. I will say that most of the boys that George slept with she thought they were the one. But they weren't. Some used her naïve views to get their way, others really did like her, but what boy thinks long term. All they want is a piece of ass. She's never changed, she still believes, even if life should have taught her differently. God, knows, Van should have beaten it out of her, but not my girl. She's waiting for her knight in shining armor, but there are more than just dragons to slay, or mystical forest to make it through, and her family is anything but evil. No, whoever claims George will have to make it through the bricks of bullshit that every bastard that ever hurt her left behind and the darkness that she's cast herself in."

There was a beat of silence. I don't know to say. I don't know if there's anything for me to say.

"I don't think George has it in her for another heart ache." Ray sounds so sad that I read between the words and I actually push my foot down even though there's nowhere for it to go.

"I won't hurt her." I say vehemently.

Rays voice is low, threatening, when she says, "You make sure that you don't. George is like no other woman I've ever known. She's loved, and the people who love her are willing to go to the mat for her."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"Exactly what you think, so remember that the next time you see her. She's broken, no matter what she lets you see. She's strong but when it comes to men, she's as weak as a kitten. She loves you because she doesn't know how _not_ to love you."

"So you're basically saying that it's not me she loves, but the ideal of love that she loves."

"Yes and no," Ray says. "George left home not only to get away from an abusive relationship, but also to start over, and then you came along. She was like a recovering alcoholic put in a room full of his favorite liquor. You fucked her—"

"I—"

You fucked her," Ray speaks over my interruption, "And she freaked. She called me when she got to Ted's house and I suggested that she use you."

"You what?"

"She needed to have some fun. She and I are a lot alike, only I don't come with George's hang ups. I don't look at every casual hook-up as a potential life of everlasting blissfulness. I like to fuck, so does George, but it's been warped inside of her. She started falling in love with you the second you ate her out."

"You have a way with words," I say.

"Thank you," she says and keeps going, "That baby was her true new beginning. She was going to have what she's been searching for her entire adult life...unconditional love, given and received." Her voice cracks. She's crying, trying and failing to hide it from me. "So yes, she was doomed to fall in love with your, or destined, depending on who you ask. But you did something no other man has done. You put her first. She loves you, but love hasn't been kind to George. She doesn't know if she can trust it anymore." We sit in silence. Ray giving me a chance to let her words sink in. "I've never understood that part of George, but I don't need to understand it. God knows in the world we live in that kind of love is needed."

"Yeah," I say in a soft voice. "She's special."

"Yeah," Ray says. "Don't give up on George. It's going to be a hard fight, you may even feel like you can't win, but keep fighting. If it's too much, walk away now."

"No," I say.

"Well, considered yourself warned. If you walk away now I think we may be able to save her. If you wait... a week, a day. If anything happens to her I'll hold you personally responsible."

"I—"

"And I'll come for you, and make no mistake about it. The people who love George are not just women. George has left a few broken hearts behind, men who didn't go to Ivy League schools and play lacrosse. They're old school, from the school of hard knocks, and won't think twice about beating the shit out of a spoiled, rich white boy. Hell, they'll enjoy it." With that she hangs up on me.

I pull up in front of Lu's house with Ray's words playing on a continuous loop. Yeah, I've been warned and I really do think she'll show up one day with a carload of friends to kick my ass if she feels like I hurt her friend. I sit in my car and really think. Am I willing to go the distance for Lu? Can her self-loathing, doubt and past heartaches become a physical thing between us? Will it wear me down until I walk away? Ray says Lu already loves me but she hasn't said it. Do I take her word for it? Already I feel the weight of the decision growing heavy on my shoulders, in my stomach. How much heavier would be too heavy? What if she never believes in our love...me...us? I pull out my phone and call the one person on earth I trust to help in this kind of situation.

"My darling boy," my mother says.

"Madre."

One word.

"I'm here. Tell me what you need."

I sit in the car, full of questions, but can't figure out which words will work best. My heart says one thing, my common sense says something similar, but it's cautious, so cautious. Am I biting off more than I can chew? Am I being selfish?

"Do you love her?" My mother asks. So simple a question.

I think about it harder than I've thought about anything in my life. I see Lu sitting in green grass moved to tears by a piece of music, I see that devilish half smile, then the real one I've not seen nearly enough. I see her beneath me or on top of me, giving and receiving pleasure like I've never known. I hear her saying my name. I feel her lips kissing my body, her skin as I hold her.

"I do." I answer.

"Then go get her."

### Chapter Nineteen

"I need you."

I wake up with these sweet words and Lu's hands stroking me. I want to ask if she's sure. It's been three weeks since... but Lu doesn't give me a chance to voice my concerns, she hitches up her silk gown and throws her leg over me. She holds my erection and impales herself.

"Lu..." the word is more a moan. I run my hands up her thighs, my hips already moving up and down as she rides me, her hands behind her, on my thighs, her head thrown back. God, she's beautiful. I grab a breast; run my thumb over the hardened peak. "You feel so good." I sit up and pull her close, her hands resting on my shoulders. I pull the band holding her hair in the high ponytail she wears to bed every night and grab a handful as I claim my kiss. Rolling, I hook her leg over my forearm and continue the slow in and out. Lu's breathing hitches. She's crying, I stop moving, shocked.

"No," she says, her voice thick with tears. "Don't stop."

"Talk to me," I say, moving again, slower, each stroke shallow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she tightens her free leg, "Elijah, please. Harder."

I spread my legs, lean back on my heels, place my hands on her shins, holding her open and wide. She arches her back and moans long and loud as I plow into her, strokes hard enough to move us up the bed. I've missed this.

"Yes," she cries out, "More." I fall down, put my hands under her ass, dig my feet into the mattress, tilt my hips and bury myself as deep as I can possibly go. Lu bites me hard on the shoulder. I lose myself in her. Like the first day I was with her. It's always that way. She's been a sexual awaking. So raw, so commanding. I've never come so hard with anyone else. I collapse on Lu, our racing hearts almost in synch, our breathing hard, our bodies covered in sweat. Reluctantly I slide free of her. She rolls onto her side so we're facing each other. "I love you."

The three words stop my heart.

I close my eyes.

"Again."

"I love you." she repeats.

It's amazing how three little words have the ability to transform you, change you into something...someone else. I grew up hearing I love you on a daily basis from my mother, and more than you'd think from my father. But the love of parents is often taken for granted. You expect it, or at least I do. I've heard it a thousand times from Ash. We were in junior high school the first time she said the words. But like my parents, Ash's love is a given. We'd been friends most of our lives and it wasn't the sweet profession of two love-struck teenagers, it was more like a sister saying the words to a brother, I said them back immediately, and meant it when I did. I still do. With Lu...I feel...blessed. But even blessed doesn't seem like the right word. I'm not sure there is one, and if there is, it's not enough. There are some things too strong, too big...they simply can't be watered down enough for something as small as a word to accurately describe them, and to attach any number of words or phrases only gets you close. Meeting Lu, the time we've spent together, the road that led to this very moment, it's surreal. I will never take her or the love that she's given me for granted because I fought too damn hard for it. I feel as if I've been through the flames of hell for it, and still it isn't mine by default. I've never worked so hard in my damn life, nor has any accomplishment felt so prized. Lu's presence in my life changed me. I haven't been the same since the first moment I laid eyes on her and I will never be the same again. She loves me. It is my job to make sure it stays that way.

I spent the night at Lu's. She actually got up and went to work, leaving me in her small apartment alone. It's...charming, small, (the entire thing can fit in my bedroom), but charming. I can see why it appeals to my girl. I hate the place. I will never understand why or how she continues to live here after what that monster did to her. But we had our first real conversation here. The weekends that she came to the city had been filled with fun and sex. We talked for hours about absolutely nothing of substance. Not that I didn't try to learn as much about her as I could, she simply refused to share any of her life with me.

I walk through the short hallway into the master bedroom. The only furniture is a bed that takes up almost the entire room's space. The walls are generic, stark white, but the floors are a deep, old wood brown. I slide open one side of her closet. She doesn't have many clothes, and even fewer shoes. I wonder if it's because she left her house in Alabama in a rush, or if she really is, truly, unlike any other woman on the face of the earth. A bag, thrown in the corner of the closet, catches my eye, and I pick it up. My breath wavers as I stare at the contents. I back up and collapse on the bed, clutching the corner of the bag in one hand, the other is a fist that threatens to break bones, or at the very least, skin, my nails are so embedded in my palm. The things she'd bought for our son brings back in vivid detail his delivery into this world. The nurse had taken Christopher away from Lu afterwards so she never got a chance to see him...to hold him, but I did. He was beautiful. So tiny, with a head full of thick black hair. He could have been asleep. In the half hour I sat in the quiet, dark room holding his lifeless body, a decision was made. I was done tip-toeing around Lu and all the bullshit that stood between us. No longer would I wait on the perfect time for advancement. No more stealth or careful planning. I'd called my mother and she'd come to Sacramento and sat with Christopher while I called a jeweler and had five rings brought over for me to pick from. Mother had gone shopping, buying the overnight case and outfit Lu left the hospital in. I was prepared for her to say no, I'd been knocked on my ass if she'd said anything else, but no was no longer an option where we were concerned, and still isn't. I'm giving her room, but make no mistake about, Lu will be my wife. The contents of the bag steels my resolve.

I put the bag back in the closet and go to the second bedroom. It's completely empty, the walls the same white as the rest of the apartment. A large window on the back wall and a small walk in closet on the opposite one. I close the door and decide a shower is needed. The bathroom is microscopic but somehow finds the room for a tub and stand-alone shower. The tub's tile surround is the same that makes up the shower stall. I open the medicine cabinet and riffle through its meager contents. No medication other than ibuprofen, a couple of bottles of body spray with the matching lotions, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and a bottle of prenatal vitamins. The hall has a small built-in linen closet and I find towels in the top and a pack of Lu's razors in one of the four drawers. I shave, then jump in the shower, lathering up in soap that smell like rose and lavender. I hadn't stopped long enough to grab a change of clothes so I put on my outfit from the day before but throw my underwear in Lu's hamper.

The kitchen cabinets are as bare as the rest of the place and the refrigerator completes the trifecta. I know she's been at my place but shouldn't there be something from before? I grab my wallet and head for the corner store across the street.

I grab a six pack of beer and a frozen pizza. I don't remember eating this bad since college. Okay, maybe not even in college. When the pizza is done I sit down on her couch and lose time in an endless string of court T.V. shows until my phone rings.

"Hey, you," Lu says.

I can't stop myself from smiling. "Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Watching T.V but I'm thinking about a nap."

"Naps are good," she says.

"Agreed, come home and take one with me."

"I can't, but I think I'm going to take off early. It's Friday and I'm off for the weekend. Do you want to go back to your place?"

"Only if you want to. I'm perfectly happy to spend the weekend at your place."

"You didn't bring clothes," she says.

"That's why God created malls."

She laughs, the first real one I've heard in a long time. "I'll stop at the store and cook dinner for us."

"That's sounds perfect," I say, grabbing the bottle from the side table and downing the last of the lukewarm beer. "I can't wait for you to get home."

"I get off in two hours. See you then."

We're silent. Both hanging on the phone call for as long as possible until I finally say, "I love you."

"I love you, too." She hangs up.

I turn the television off, throw my empty beer bottles in the trash and go to the bedroom. I strip naked and climb into bed. I haven't slept for more than a few hours for weeks. Lu's not with me, but I'm at her place and for some reasons that'll do. I haven't napped since...I'm not sure I've ever taken a nap in my adult life but I'm exhausted. After dinner we'll run to the mall and pick me up a few things to leave over here when I visit. It won't be much. Lu won't be staying here long.

I wake up to the smell of bacon. Not the turkey kind either, but real, honest to God, pork bacon. I damn near run to the kitchen.

"Hey," she says looking up from a bowl. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," I walk to her; I pull her into my arms for a kiss, a long lingering one that threatens the burning of the delicious bacon. "You're up early."

"Had to feed my man," she says.

"Damn right." I say, in the same playful tone. "Coffee?" I ask, while pouring myself a cup.

"Please."

I like Lu in my house. It's Sunday. We got up early Saturday morning and drove back to the city after all, but spent most of the day at my parent's house. It had been Lu's idea. I speak to my mother a couple of times a week and have dinner with them at least once a month, but I can't remember the last time I went to their house and just enjoyed their company when it wasn't a holiday or special occasion. Funny how life gets in the way of living. Mother taught Lu how to play bride, gave her a tour of the estate, and accepted Lu's offer to help make dinner. Something she had always declined when Ash visited. After dinner we sat in her drawing room, Lu and my mother in quiet, constant conversation while my father and I talked about our businesses, and the current state of the world. My mother gave Lu a long hug and a kiss before we left. My father even hugged her. It was the last thing on earth I'd planned, but somehow ended up being the perfect thing to do with my entire Saturday.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask. Maybe if I pack our day full of things she'll be too tired to go home. My plotting and planning is juvenile. I'm powerless to stop it.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Three days ago I would have been a wreck at the ominous sounding words. That was before she said she loved me. "Alright," I say, not sure what to expect.

Lu looks at her hands, then fiddles with her fork. "I can transfer my job to a local store."

"Yeah," I say all nonchalant, like I don't want to fucking jump up and down.

"So, if you still want me to move in..."

"I do," I say and go to her. I stand her up just long enough for me to sit and pull her in my lap. "I do." I kiss her shoulder. "I can't tell me how happy I am."

She shrugs. "I'm taking a leave, a week, to move my things to storage." I've seen her things; it's going to take about ten minutes. "I'm scared," she says.

"I'm sure." I turn her in my lap so she could see my face, see the seriousness in it. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lu. This is real."

She takes a deep breath and when she exhales it's my muscles that relax.

"Alright," she says, and kisses me.

"Let's go now," I say. "We can be back in time to have dinner with my parents."

"Your dad doesn't like me," she announces.

"My father likes whoever my mom tells him to like," I say.

Lu laughs, "I can see that."

"Seriously, my dad doesn't know you, but he'll love you when he does." I stand and take her hand, leading her to the bedroom. I barely keep a smile off my face. It'd ruin my macho persona.

**-**

The last three weeks of my life have been what dreams are made of. I blame every emotion and half my actions on my mother, or rather, her Spaniard genes. I'll have to remember to send her something nice.

Lu looks stunning in a champagne color strapless gown. I watch her more than the opera. I'm glad we're hidden within my parents' box. I'm also glad my parents are out of the country and cannot witness just how enthralled I am with the woman sitting to my left. Next month the ballet is performing, I can't wait to watch her then. I've never loved the fine arts so much as I have while experiencing it with Lu. My mother loves it but Lu _loves_ it. I don't have to hear or see anything. All I have to see is her face. She's cried, she's laughed; she's just as spellbound with the scenes playing out on the stage as I am with her. I'm still staring when it ends and smile at her when she turns, her eyes bright as any child's after opening the best present ever. It's been that way every weekend. I've taken her to M.O.M.A. and the Legion of Honor. She does not like modern art; she absolutely LOVES the old masters. As it turns out my Lu is artistic, pen and ink and charcoal. Every day we learn more and more about each other. We haven't moved into the painful past that Ray spoke of, nor have I pushed her. The past is just that, and I am more than happy to leave it there and help Lu leave it there, too. Each weekend is spent with me rediscovering the Bay. I take her to all my favorite places: the flea market held every weekend at one of the Bart stations in Berkley, an old junkyard type store that has a little of everything in it, from doorknobs and windows savaged from old homes torn down, to medical equipment and old pictures. She loves every second. I love that I'm the one that is able to do this for her. I've taken her all over the city. My favorite places to eat, everywhere from places that required jacket and tie, to midnight snack runs in sweats. I'm the kid showing his hot, new girlfriend around.

"Thank you," she says standing. I remain seated and she straddles my lap. Such a flagrant display of affection, but Lu and I often put hand-holding and public kissing to shame.

"Thank you," she says, kissing my forehead, then my eye-lids, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, finally my lips. The kiss is hot and heavy from the first second. I'm hard before the second sweep of her tongue in my mouth. I grab her hips and pull her hard on the erection already well on its way to busting. She rolls her hips and tightened her fingers on my shoulder but break from the kiss. She doesn't stop moving and I'm oh so tempted to pop the button on my pants and run the zipper down. I back my chair up and to the side with her still in my lap, hoping the curtain offers us a tiny bit of privacy and do just that. I don't think about someone walking in, it's a private box, I don't think about anyone seeing us from another box. I only think about getting inside her body. Lu stands while I hold my dick in place. When she slides down my length I moan into her mouth. "Lu, you feel so good," I whisper into the skin of her neck. We're not moving fast, I hardly move at all, Lu's in complete control, slowly rocking back and forth, rolling her hips, tightening her sex around me. I fight not to move, not to spread my thighs wider, or to jerk her forward by her hips. Lu head falls to my shoulder and she hugs me. She's close, I can hear it in every rush of air and with each tight squeeze of her sex. She kisses me right next to my ear and says, "I love you."

"God, I love you, too," There's no doubt. I do. I wrap my arms around her, hold her just as tight.

She whispers, "I'm coming," seconds later there's a soft moan and she stills in my lap. I'm still as hard as a piece of granite when she kisses the tip of my nose. She slides back, gather her gown until she expose my stiff glistening dick and stuffs it back into my underwear. Once I'm zipped and buttoned she sticks her fingers in my mouth. Her scent, her taste is the best aphrodisiac ever. I grab her hand and pull her finger from my mouth then kiss her palm, smelling deep as I do, never taking my eyes off her.

She smiles and says, "Yes." I frown, tilt my head, I don't understand. She repeats, "Yes." She adds a nod. Understanding hits. I close my eyes, my lips still pressed against her palm, her scent in the fine hairs in my nose. "I would be honored to be your wife."

I nod and say the first thing that comes to mind. "Thank you."

I'm sure my balls are a deep navy and I'm glad that the jacket hides the ragging hard-on. I'm happy that she has agreed, but I need to seal the deal. My body damn near vibrating with need as we wait for the car. I hold her hand on the way home, we smile at each other and giggle like a couple school kids but the sexual tension is thick because we both know what's going to happen the second we're alone. I throw the keys to the valet on the curb of my building as Robert, the doorman, holds the door for Lu.

"Did you have a nice evening, Ms. Banks," he asks.

"I did, it was wonderful," she says, eyeing me.

"Ms. Banks has agreed to marry me, Robert," I say, putting an arm around her waist. I can't not tell him, or anyone else I may come within speaking distance for that matter, the only thing that may keep me silent is that I don't want conversation to slow our way to the apartment.

"Congratulations," Robert says, and smile at the two of us, he extends his hand and I shake it. "Thank you, Robert."

I guide her to the elevator with a palm on her back. My hand has been there many times in the past few weeks, but tonight it feels different. Soon she will be my wife.

Mine.

Possessiveness is already a wild beast inside me. The doors close but we behave, the perfect couple returning from a night out: me in a tuxedo, Lu in her gown. The hallway lengthens like a damn horror movie scene and when we, at last, stand in front of the door Lu is dancing from foot to foot. I'm not the only one that needs to consummate her yes. I slow down, turn the key slowly, look at her, she licks her lips, place her hands on top of mine and twist. She opens the door and walks in. She unzips her dress and it falls to her feet

Nothing but brown skin and strappy stiletto sandals.

She reaches up, behind her head, lifting her glorious breasts, to take out the pins holding her hair up. I toe off my shoes, grab my tie and yank it off. Lord, help me, I've tried to tone down how I touch her, but my need for her is primal. She backs up, watching me while she throws pin after pin on the ground until her hair is free. I pull my shirt from my pants and the sound of buttons ping in the silent apartment. I'm still advancing, she's still retreating and damn if I don't feel like some wild animal about to pounce. Her hands go to her breasts, kneading then pulling her nipples. I unzip my pants. She widens her stance and a hand goes between her legs. I watch her finger her clit before her finger go further and slowly work in and out. I push my pants down my legs and step out of them and remove my socks. I'm completely bare when Lu's ass hit the sofa table. I'm glad it's not one of the many antiques in the apartment or I was about to find out if things built in the past really were built to last. "Say it again." I don't sound like myself. Not only is my voice deeper, the throaty words are almost a growl. "Yes," she says.

I hit her hard enough that she makes a small noise, it couldn't have felt good for the back of her thighs to hit the table, and I'll kiss the bruises later. I fill her with one deep thrust. She cries out. I hammer her, relentless driving that tears animalistic sounds from my throat as Lu repeats "Yes...yes...yes...yes..." I don't last long, I've been hard since her first yes back in the box, but I don't worry about that now. I have a lifetime to take her, to fill her, she's mine. When my hips stop jerking I loosen my bear hug and she drops her legs. I place her ass on the edge of the table and drop to my knees. Lu opens her legs and throws one over my shoulder. I lower my face and latch on to her while driving two fingers inside her. Her sex clinch my fingers greedily, as greedy as I suck her. "Oh...God...Elijah." The words urge me on. I suck, lick, hell, I bite. "I'm going to come," she says breathlessly. She grabs a handful of my hair and presses my face tighter to her body and explodes around my mouth, around my fingers until her body jerks and shakes. When I stand she grabs me and kisses me hard, licking my face, my chin, my nose.

"Do you love me?"

The question is so absurd it's foolish. But I answer, "I love you."

She turns around, bends over, knocking pictures and knick-knacks to the floor, presenting her magnificent ass and I don't need a verbal invitation. I slide between her sodden folds, a slow smooth entry until I'm buried hilt deep. I hold her around her shoulders with one arm and around her waist with the other while I slow fuck her. If not for the four inch heels the difference in height would have made it a shallow entrance, but now it's perfect. I curl around her back, with each drive burying me deep inside her. The smell of sex, and sounds of our love making fills the darken apartment until I lose myself in us. "I love you," I say again in her hair. "I love you," I say before kissing her neck and again after kissing her shoulder. "God, I love you." I snake my arm around her waist and play with her clit until her clenching sex tells me she's about to come and when she yells out I'm right there with her. Sweat slicking our skin, we remain bent over the table, I'm physically incapable of moving.

"Yes," she whispers.

### Chapter Twenty

Since Lu's yes, it's been full steam ahead with the wedding. It took three months just to get Lu's dress made. Not to mention the parties and teas. Arrangements for family coming from out of state and other countries. Five hundred people will watch me marry the woman of my dreams. I'm not sure whose having more fun. Lu and my mother have been damn near irrespirable.

"Has your dress arrived for the engagement party?" I ask. There had been a little bit of a mix up at the store, Lu's dress had been delivered to the wrong store, and you would have thought a national emergency needed to be called by my mother's reaction.

"Yes," Lu laughs, "But your mother is taking me shopping...again. She says I need a trousseau."

"She's old school," I laugh myself. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not." I'd promised that she would be recognized as a person of worth at a single glance. My mother's mission in life had been to raise me with the knowledge that while we were lucky enough to have, not just money, but truth wealth, that money didn't make me better than the poorest person. For a matter of fact, it could make me worse.

"You're both bad and your dad is right behind the two of you. Has he told you where he's sending us on our honeymoon?"

"Not a word."

Each day we spend time sitting and going over our day. I look forward to it like I do to coming home to her. We clean our breakfast dishes and Lu follows me to the bedroom and makes the bed while I head for the shower. I shower, comb my hair, brush my teeth and head for the closet to dress for the day. When I enter the bedroom wedding paraphernalia has taken over the surface of the California king. Lu sits in the middle of pictures, magazines, her planner and a thousand of sheets of paper.

"I'd offer aid..." I say.

No expense will be spared and the amount of money being spent is fast approaching astronomical, but the look on Lu's face every time she tells me about some new detail makes it worth every penny. In truth, it's become too much for even me and I took my mom up on her offer to pay for the entire thing. Most of this is her fault anyway.

Lu climbs off the bed, still in her night gown, the silk not leaving much to the imagination, not the soft rounds of her nipples, or the tuff of hair between her legs. She takes the tie from my hands and ties a prefect Windsor knot. When she's finished we stand looking at each other.

"Is this real?" she asks smiling. She asks at least once a week. It saddens me sometimes. That life had treated her in a way that she can't truly believe that something this wonderful is happening to her.

I nod. "Yes." I tuck a strand of hair that's escaped her ponytail behind her ear and keep my palm on the back of her neck.

She smiles, a brilliant show of every tooth in her head. "I love you."

My heart sings. She owns me, body and soul, but she's mine, too and I need to reaffirm it, to me and to her. Like she's read my mind, she slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders. I back her up until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and lower myself to the ground, kissing, licking, sucking my way to the junction of her thighs. Lu sits on the edge of the bed and opens wider for me. I kiss the inside of her thigh, then the other one. I kiss higher and higher, each kiss causing Lu to squirm, to roll her hips. She smells divine and taste just as good. I part her slick folds and latch onto her clit. Sucking hard, flicking it with the tip of my tongue.

"Elijah," Lu moans.

I can feel her sex contracting around my fingers, grabbing, holding them, her arousal running down my fingers into my palm is my undoing. I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants and cover her body.

"I love you," I say as I enter her. She cries out while holding on to my arms. I'm completely dressed, including my jacket, but all that matters is having her come. Each thrust is met until I feel the tightening in my balls signaling my orgasm. "I'm coming, Lu," I say, plowing harder, crying out at the exquisite feel of being wrapped in her hot core. I place a hand around her throat and gently squeezed. Lu's hand comes to my wrist, pressing my hand down. She tightens her muscles in her sex, and I explode, the orgasm making me cry out. Lu's jerking body telling me she's come too. I slide free of her body and stand. She sits up and then lowers to the ground, taking my cock in her mouth, sucking me clean. When she stands she offers me a kiss. I take it. The taste of us filling my mouth, making me hungry for more and hard again.

"Have a good day," she says breaking the kiss and winking at me before sashaying to the bathroom. I rearrange my hard-on and smile the whole way to work.

**-**

I frown when the door pushes open and smile when I see who steps in. "What are you doing here?" I ask leaning back from the computer. She's a vision in a charcoal grey pencil skirt and soft pink silk blouse. Her gold jewelry looks great next to her complexion. Her hair is the only thing that has not changed since she's moved in and started becoming accustomed to being Mrs. James Elijah Friason, the fourth and all that it entails. When she goes out, she wears it high on her head, and occasionally in a low ponytail. I love it down, when it's a cloak of crazy curls. She is always beautiful, no amount of money can change that, but there is something about seeing her in expensive clothing that makes me want to puff out my chest.

"Time off for good behavior," Lu says sitting the bags she's carrying next to the door. She throws the Birken, which doubles as a briefcase and holds all her wedding planning things, in a chair as she passes and walks around the desk. I roll my chair back so she can sit in my lap. "Your mom really does shop till she drops," she says, kicking off her shoes. "We looked at a house." She laughs at my shocked expression. "The Jeffries house is on the market and your mom insisted that I look at it and then forced her way into the house. I felt sorry for poor Mrs. Jeffries."

"A house," I say, still a little flabbergasted.

"A house," Lu says, laying her head on my shoulder and giving me a quick squeeze. "Before that, I picked out china: every day, informal, formal, holiday. Then it was silver and crystal. Spending money is a full time job."

It was my turn to laugh. "Did you have fun?" I rub Lu's back and press a kiss on the top of her head.

"I did," she says, squeezing me again. "Thank you." She unfurls from my lap and sits on the edge of the desk. "Do you want to hear about the house?"

"Do we want a house?" I ask.

"Well, according to your mother, yes. It's beautiful, but your mom is right, I'd want to completely gut and redo the inside. Mrs. Jeffries taste is abhorrent." She says the last part in a low, airy voice with a hint of Spanish accent. She has my mother pegged.

"I've been in the house, although not for quite some time. I don't remember it being that bad."

"Yeah, well, you are a man," she says, winking at me before hopping from the desk. She is a breath of fresh air, in the office and my life. "I won't keep you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd swing by."

I pick up her shoes and kneel at her feet. I run my hand up her leg. She has on stockings. My hand slide beneath her skirt and hits flesh at the top of her thighs. There's something so incredibly sexy about thigh highs. I look up and Lu was staring down at me. We have a moment. One where words aren't needed because there are none that fit.

She runs her hands through my hair before asking, "Will you be home late?"

"Not too late." I say, lifting her foot so she can step into her shoe. "Do you want the house," I ask, after putting on her other shoe and standing up. "We could make an offer and start renovations."

"It's a nice house," she says biting her lip. I pull gently on her chin until she releases it. "I'll call about it then."

"Really?" She jumps, but the pencil skirt won't allow her to wrap her legs around me so I hold her around the waist.

"It's my job to make sure you get everything you need or want."

She opens her mouth. Probably to say thank you or something equally unnecessary but thinks better of it and gives me a kiss instead. It's the only thanks I need.

"Lamb for dinner?" she asks, releasing her hold on my neck. I miss her touch instantly. When she turns I slap her ass. "That sounds great."

**-**

Ashley's brother, Marcus, is waiting in the lobby when I arrive at the apartment. The look on his face is anything but happy. He's been in Europe for the last year. He's a couple of years younger than Ashley but takes his job as brother seriously. It's the only thing I like about him. Other than his fierce over protectiveness of his sister, Marcus is an asshole, typical rich boy who throws his money around and holds little respect for those who don't run in the same circles. Old money and good home training keeps him from accosting me in the lobby but everything from the heated gaze to the set of his shoulders tells me that he has a few choice words for me. I may even deserve them. I can't imagine what I'd do if the shoe were on the other foot, but Ash deserved happiness, and while she would have found some happiness being married to her best friend, I'd have to be a fool not to think my lack of real happiness wouldn't have effected hers. I'd thought we'd make a hell of a team as man and wife, but we were destined to be no more than friends. Marcus heads my way the moment I clear the door. There's no way in hell I'm taking him upstairs. Lu has come leaps and bounds, but she doesn't need to hear what Marcus is about to say to me.

"Marcus." I stop in front of him.

"So you string my sister along for three, hell, thirty years and dump her in New York on the day she's picking out her gown. You were always the golden boy, but I knew one day you'd hurt Ashley."

"It's nothing like that Marcus. I've spoken to Ashley, we're still friends."

"Friends," he says, making the word sound dirty. "Ashley's too sweet, too kind, to say or do anything else."

"I'm sorry you feel this way. It was never my intentions to hurt Ashley. I love her. But what happened between me and your sister is a personal matter," I say.

He takes a step forward, invading my personal space. "Watch your back...Jamie."

He takes a long, slow look up and down my body. I've been weighed and found wanting. I watch him leave before going to the elevator. If I wasn't in such a rush to get home I would have asked him out for drinks. I need to take care of him sooner rather than later, but I'm humming by the time the elevator reaches my floor. I push the door open to the wonderful smells of dinner. Something with tomato and onions is being cooked. My stomach growls.

Lu has taken off her skirt and blouse and is in the kitchen cooking in black cropped yoga pants and a t-shirt. She's barefoot and her hair is a chaotic ponytail, with wisps of hair escaping in all directions. Her ring flashes as she brings a glass of wine to her lips. Eminem is playing full blast. Her taste in music is all over the board. As if to prove the point Johnny Cash is the next voice heard. Lu stirs the contents of a boiler and jump when she turns to find me standing on the other side of the island. Her hand goes to her heart for a second. Wine has sloshed over the glass and she licks the red drops from the glass and her hand. An act I find incredibly sexy.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry...I thought we were having lamb."

"I changed my mind, decided on spaghetti."

"It smells delicious."

I go to the cabinet and pull out a glass and pour myself some wine. I prop my hip on the edge of the counter and watch Lu chop tomatoes for a salad. Before she moved in I ate out most nights. Ash was over daily but she wasn't exactly Betty Crocker. My mother doesn't cook often, although she's an excellent one; we always had domestic help. Lu cooking for me is yet another thing that I love about her. I close in on her back and kiss the back of her neck. The shiver that shakes her body vibrates down the front of me. I love that I have such an effect on her.

"Did you get everything you needed today," I say into her hair.

She nods. "More than enough, although your mother doesn't agree. I'm afraid to think about what all is being delivered to her house. She knows my size."

I laugh. "You were warned."

"I was," she says, tossing the salad with my arm still around her waist. I let go to allow her to take the bowl to the table she's already set for us. I follow. I've turn into my father. I use to find it funny how whipped he is by my mother. Now I feel his pain.

"Dinner's almost ready if you want to change out of you suit."

"Be right back."

The bed is still full of wedding paraphernalia. Ray said Lu's been planning her big day since sixth grade. I hope it's all she wants and more. I've stayed out of it. My mom is working via email and phone calls with Lu's mother on the guests list for the various parties. Dad's plane will pick up Lu's parents and fly them to every party and for any other family who wants to come tickets will be paid for by my parents. It's another thing that we have in common, family means a lot to both sides. I hang up my suit, throw my shirt in the hamper and pull on jeans and a t-shirt before rejoining Lu in the kitchen. She's piling my plate with a helping of spaghetti that could feed two.

"This looks delicious," I say.

"Your parents will be by tomorrow for dinner." We eat with my parents at least once a week. Mainly on Friday night or lunch on Sunday, tomorrow's Wednesday but with the wedding so close I'm surprised my mother hasn't moved in.

"Are you cooking, or do you want to order out."

"Your mother? Order out?" she says.

"You don't have to impress my mother. You already have her wrapped around your finger."

"I hardly have her wrapped around my finger. She's...."

I laugh when she pauses. "I know. She's a bit much to take in sometimes, but her heart is always in the right place." It's slowly sinking in to Lu that she's a part of my family now. Even dad has warmed to her.

I throw my napkin on my plate and groan. Lu smiles behind her raised glass. We clear the table, put away the food and clean the kitchen. Lu finds us a movie to watch and falls asleep half-way through it. I miss most of the movie because I watch her, so relaxed and peaceful, all her walls vanishing in slumber. The closing credits are done before I wake her.

"Did you like it?" she asks, stretching and yawning.

"You'd seen it?" I ask, standing and pulling her off the couch. It's after eleven and bedtime.

"Yeah."

We peel off our clothes, each on opposite sides of the bed. I settle into the cool sheets and pull Lu to me rolling over her and kissing her softly. So often our love making is hard and frenzied, tonight I want to savor her. I kiss down her throat and between her breasts before kissing each nipple. Lu's soft moans drives me crazy, making me want instant gratification, but I beat back my raging libido and worship her body in long slow licks and kisses until she writhe beneath my tongue, lips, teeth and hands. Her body is a marvel, so soft and padded with curves. I squeeze her breast and take it in my mouth, biting down until Lu pulls my hair to tell me enough. I lick and kiss her nipple while my other hand slips between her legs. "God, Lu, you're always so wet," I say against her breast. Her thighs are already slick with arousal. I crawl down her body, kneel between her spread legs, fingering her clit as she rolls her hips into my hand. "I love watching you come," I say, applying more pressure to the sensitive nub, circling in hard tight circles until her breathing become pants. She fists the sheets and fills the night with a loud moan. Driven half insane from the sight I fist my erection, match the stroke with the fingers that are pleasuring her.

"Elijah," Lu moans, rolling her hips wildly, she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with mine. "Go down on me."

I run a finger through her sodden folds before sticking two fingers into her and lowering my mouth to her. She bucks beneath me, but doesn't close her legs. She's such a sexual being, and it's contagious. I suck her clit, run my tongue in quick flicks up and down then side to side. Lu is panting, moaning and lifting her hips off the bed while I tongue and finger her. Her taste, her smell, everything about her is addictive to me. She comes screaming my name and almost pulls my hair out when I continue to suck while her body convulsed. She sits up, pushing me back in her rise from the bed. She kisses me, licking my lips and chin. She loves her taste in my mouth. We are grinding into each other and I long to be inside her but she only allow quick shallow entrance before she backs down my body and take me in her mouth. My hips leave the bed in a hard thrust, filling her mouth. I groan at the exquisite feel of being so deep in her throat. I don't touch her, fight every instinct to grab her hair and fuck her mouth hard and fast. Lu releases my cock and suck my sac, taking my nuts in her mouth one at a time then both. She licks me from root to tip and then circle the slit before focusing just on the head. "Shit," I groan and lose the fight of not touching her. I palm the back of her head and thrust my hips up. "You feel so good," I say, looking down my body, my balls tightening and I can feel my shaft getting harder. When I orgasm I yell out, pushing Lu's head and thrusting into her mouth hard. The feel of her sucking while she swallows every drop my body has to offer makes my toes curl.

"Enough," I say tapping out when she keeps sucking after I'm spent. She climbs my body and kiss me long and hard.

"Never," she says.

I'm hard again in seconds. I push her down on the bed and flip her on her side, straddling one leg while the other is over my shoulder I enter her in one long stroke and fuck her hard, holding on to her shoulder to keep her body from moving away from the onslaught of my pounding. She feels like heaven. I never tire of her, I can stay buried inside her for eternity. Without sliding free of her body I turn her over on her stomach and raise her hips. She lowers her head to the bed and slams back over and over, meeting every stroke. The sight of me stretching her, my cock glistening, her ass clenching each time I pull out, I'm fucking captivated. I circle her dark entrance with my finger, applying more and more pressure until it slips in. Lu cries out and I feel her tightened the muscles of her sex. I need to be inside her in every way possible, to possess her completely. She's so close. I revel in that knowledge—that I know her body so well. I'm right behind her when she comes. Collapsing at her side, I throw my leg over hers and kiss her shoulder.

"What you do to me, Lu."

"I love you inside me," she says turning to face me.

"It's a good thing, because I love being inside you."

Our arms and legs tangle together, our breaths warm our faces, we fell asleep holding each other.

### Chapter Twenty-One

"What's this?" I ask my father. We'd left Lu and mother after a very ominous, _son, I need to talk to you_ , from my dad. In my home office he handed me a manila envelope holding a pretty thick stack of papers.

"Your prenup."

I stare down at the envelope and can't help the tinge of anger that rise to the surface like oil separating from water. "Why?"

"Elijah," my father says.

"No, I don't mean, why you brought this, or why you thought I needed one, or even why you thought I'd forget something like this. I mean, why you think this is any of your business?"

My father looks relieved, even though I've just spoken the first harsh words in my life to him. "I'm glad you've taken care of it." He says, reaching for the envelope.

"I lower my arm, taking it from his reach." You haven't answered the question and just so we're clear, no, I haven't taken care of it."

"Elijah," he says, again with the tone that says, _are you stupid?_

I walk to the bar. I don't stop until I have a big-gulp size scotch. My father watches patiently until I take a few scorching sips before he starts in.

"Elijah you have to protect yourself."

"From my wife?"

"Yes, even her."

"Are you protected from mother?"

"Of course not, the circumstances were different."

"Is she protected from you?"

"Stop being childish. Your mother loves Georgiana, and I like her very much but you're the only child that will inherit billions when we die. She's a fine girl, she loves you, you love her, but the two of you weren't raised in a time where marriage really, truly, means forever. You said it yourself, things are moving fast."

I hold my angry tongue by taking a drink. Then calmly say, "And if I don't ask Lu to sign a prenup?"

My father looks at me with the first real flash of anger in his eyes...ever. I'd been a model kid. This is the first thing I've ever bucked him on. "I was willing to sign a prenup when I married your mother."

The news was less than comforting. My mother had been the one with all the money when they married, well, my grandfather, and his wealth was as large as my father's is now.

"You're grandfather laughed in my face and pretty much said that if I married Antonia she would get nothing. I was prepared to leave your mother then. It didn't seem fair."

"Well, if you haven't notice, I make quiet a comfortable living. Lu won't exactly be in the poor house if you don't leave me all that hard earned money."

"Son—"

"How dare you." I look at the envelope wondering what my father thought Lu was worth. I'm fucking furious. "You had no right."

"I have every right...as your father." I glare at him, he glares right back. He breaks the stare-off first, taking a deep breath and going to the bar himself. "I'm not saying that you and Georgiana won't have what your mother and I have. I see that you love each other, but that's now. You've already had a rough time with Christopher, God knows I don't wish either of you to have to go through something tougher, but you might."

"What could be tougher," I ask, because losing a child was pretty fucking rough.

"Adultery."

I laugh. How can I not? I fuck Lu every chance I get. If I could, I'd walk around with my dick in her twenty-four-seven, and the killer part is, I think Lu would actually let me. We have sex sixty—maybe seventy-five percent of the time we're together. Hell, if my parents weren't here, I'd be fucking her now. Adultery...It's nonsense, no, it's goddamn buffoonery. The look on my father's face pretty much makes me choke on the laugh.

"No." I say, shaking my head. "I don't want to hear it." I turn my back on him, hoping whatever terrible thing on his face wouldn't form into actually words.

"Elijah," he says softly.

"No," I repeat.

"It was a long time ago. It only happened once."

"Dammit Dad," I turn around. One hand already a fist, the other squeezing my glass hard enough I'm surprise it doesn't shatter in my hand. "How could you do that to Madre? Does she know?" I take a step forward and I think my dad knows that I'm about to defend my mother's honor because he takes a step back.

"It wasn't me that strayed son."

That stops me in my tracks. I put my glass down and allow the words to sort of roll around in my head. I'm almost convinced he's lying, when he says, "I was different then...distant. I loved your mother I just couldn't give her what she needed."

"Stop."

"I wasn't raised like she was. I was raised to believe that any physical contact between a husband and a wife took place behind a closed and locked door of a bedroom."

"Please, stop," I repeat, because I don't want to hear this. Not about my mother's infidelity, and I damn sure don't want to think of my parents' sex life.

"She tried to tell me, and then tried to show me."

"For the love of God," I say and pick up my drink. I down it in one big swallow.

"When I wouldn't listen, wouldn't give her what she wanted—needed, she found someone who did."

"I can't believe his," I say. I go to the bar, make a second, bigger, drink and sit at my desk.

"It almost killed me. But divorce wasn't an option because that's just not what our generation did. We toughed it out and I learned from my mistake. I forgave your mother."

"What's going on here?"

I swing around, spilling half my drink. Mom and Lu are standing in the doorway.

"Nothing."

I could be mad at my father for his indiscretion, my mother, not so much. Yeah, I could totally see him neglecting my mother's needs. Why else would she have stepped out on him? She is so...loyal, so fucking loving.

"Nothing," my father repeats, and take a step forward, towards my mother, but she sees the manila envelope and moves away from him.

"You didn't," she says, and just like that, her accent is there, thick. She's pissed.

"Antonia..."

"What?" Lu asks. She looks between the three of us.

"Prenup," I say because the situation is already so fucked up.

"Oh," she said, "It arrived?"

She walks over to the desk and picks up the package.

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"I ask your mother to take me to her attorney. I didn't know they would send it to your parents' house."

"They did not," my mother says, looking at my father with a gaze hot enough that I'm surprise he's not sweating.

"Then..." Lu says.

"My wonderful husband decided to have papers drawn up on his own. We discussed this and I told him it was a matter between the two of you. He obviously thinks his wife stupid."

"You know better," Dad says.

"Then why are these here," she says, pointing to the envelope.

"Wait...you had a prenup drawn up?" I ask.

"Of course," Lu says. She looks confused.

"She does not want a dime, not one cent if they should divorce. When my beautiful boy leaves this earth every penny of his money will go to his children with only a small stipend for Georgiana to live a comfortable life, and not the one she will most certainly become accustom to." Mother says these words looking directly at my father. "Any monies left to our son upon our death will also to go to their children upon his death. She does not want our money. She only wants our son. I think his value is more than your net worth," she shrugs, "But that's just a foolish mother speaking."

"Lu," I say, going to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know I had to. I figured we'd go over it when it arrived."

"But—"

"I don't understand what all the fuss is about," she says.

"The fuss is about my husband being a stubborn fool."

"Antonia," Lu says.

"No, she's right, I apologize, Georgiana. I was just..."

"Protecting your precious money," Mother spits at him.

This was going downhill fast. I've never seen my mother so angry with my father. I've never seen them raise their voices at each other. First the whole mom stepping out, and now they were fighting right in front of my eyes.

"I say to you over and over, money is not love, money does not make a person, a marriage. Still, you do not listen." Mom's voice is rising. She's almost screaming. She points to Lu. "This woman is to be our daughter, she will be the mother of our grandchildren. I love her," she says, slamming her hand on her chest, over her heart. "I. Love. Her." She turns to Lu, and takes her hand. Lu looks about as comfortable as I am, which isn't very. "This is why I changed my will. If you will not take my son's money, or my thick headed husband's, you will have mine."

"Antonia," Lu and my dad says together.

She ignores dad and keep talking to Lu. "There is no changing this. I've made up my mind."

Lu will one day be the richest person in the room, because my mother is. Her father had almost disowned her, but she'd proved him wrong about her husband, and when he'd died he'd left her substantial wealth and part of a four hundred year old vineyard that produced the finest wine out of Spain, wine that sells for hundreds of dollars a bottle. I'm sure Lu doesn't know this.

"I can't," Lu said.

"You will."

Lu seems to know she's fighting a losing battle, but I can see the wheels turning in her head on how she can get this all sorted out. The two embraced after which my mother walks away. Each clipped step speaking volumes of just how put out she is with my father and their private conversation on this matter is far from over. I feel bad for him. We follow in their wake. My head is spinning from all that has transpired. Lu holds the door open for my parents with me standing in the living room probably looking like I want to scratch my head. When the door clicks close I furrow my brow.

"Did that just happen?" She laughs, and comes to me, hugging me, my arms are on autopilot and I hug her back.

"What on earth was that?"

"I'm not sure," I reply. I pull back enough to look down at her. "Tell me about this prenup."

She shrugs. "We needed one. You work, I thought I'd help out since all I do all day is spend your money." I don't argue the "my money" comment. "Your mom made it seem so...noble, but it wasn't anything like that. She refused almost every suggestion. We met in the middle. Well, closer to her side than the middle, but she assured me you'd approve of that _modest_ stipend."

I didn't like the emphasis she'd put on the word modest. "I give, how much is it?"

"Eighty-five thousand dollars a year."

I blink. I run the number over in my head. It's a nice number, millions would love the number, but in truth, my parents are part of the one percent the majority of the world bitches about. I'm nowhere near their status in terms of money but I make eighty-five thousand dollars several times over in a year. The rent on my apartment is more than that. Lu's ring is more than that, hell, my car cost more than that. To say it was too low...

"Alright." I say, real slow, because I'm still processing the information. When Lu takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen I'm still thinking about the number. If mother had to work her up to eight-five, what in the hell was her starting number? I make a mental note to ask mother.

The plan had been dinner. Lu had started and mother jumped in to help while dad and I went to the office. I'm guessing they were coming to get us since the table is set. Lu leads me to a chair and pushes me in it before heading for the kitchen. She brings back a covered dish. I know she cooked a roast. She cuts the meat, plates it and adds vegetables. She pours me a glass of wine and sits down.

"My mom had an affair," I say.

I don't know where the words come from. I hadn't wanted to talk about it with my father, but alone with Lu, I needed to get it out in the open. Needed to talk through the craziness. My mother...cheating...impossible. There is no happily-ever-after, there is until-death-us-do-part, which means even when life is kicking the shit out of fairy-tale endings you solider own, with your shoulder next to the man you've promised yourself to before God and in front of family and friends. Women like my mother don't cheat.

"I know...your mother told me."

"And how did that conversation come up." I ask, picking up my silverware. It is a day of surprises, but Lu's roast is unsurprisingly delicious. I eat mainly for a bit of normalcy because I know the next few minutes will be anything but. My stomach is in knots.

"It's funny actually," she says, and I look at her with a raised brow. "I'm sorry, but it is. Your mother wanted to make sure we were...sexually compatible."

I choked on the food in my mouth and reach for the glass of water. "What?" I say when I've stopped coughing, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

"Told you it was funny," she says.

"No...it's not...shocking, disturbing, unreal, but not funny," I look at her, "Do I want to know?"

"I don't know...do you?" She's smiling at me, but just because she isn't making the sound, doesn't mean I don't know she's laughing at me.

"Tell me."

"Well," she says, getting comfortable in her seat. Like she's preparing to tell a really good story, the fact that it's about my mother's infidelity makes me push my plate away and sit back in my chair. "Where to start," she asks herself, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, your father is...he's...let's say, he has all the right equipment, really big equipment, but he didn't really know how to use it when he married your mother."

"What the fuck does that mean," I ask, not mad, just... "Oh," I say, picking up my glass of red wine for liquid courage.

"Oh, hell," Lu says and drinks the contents of her glass in one backwards tilt of her head. She pours herself a second glass. "Your mother was a virgin when she married your father but he was a little too vanilla for her. He wouldn't go down on her, wouldn't allow her to go down on him, he only wanted to have sex in..."

"I got it," I say, holding up my hands. I'd just thought all these things not too long ago about Ash and me. I t had been enough for me to end an engagement with a person I loved, and respected. I shake my head to clear it. "Oh, man," I say.

"She loved him, would never have left him, but her body burned for something, wild, passionate, raw," Lu says, complete with an accent.

"Oh, God...did she really say that?"

"Yeah," Lu says nodding. "Things got really bad after the death of Javier, your father was dealing with his grief by working around the clock. He walked in on your mother having sex with another man."

My mouth drops open. "You're shitting me." Lu shakes her head. "I think she wanted to get caught. I mean, who has sex in the foyer?"

"In the foyer," I say, emptying my glass, and pouring myself another.

"Yeah...your dad learned all he needed to know about real passion by watching another man go down on your mom and then..."

"Stop," I say getting up and going to the bar for something stiffer. "I don't 'want to hear any more." I make my drink, drink it, make another and turn. "Okay, go on."

"He didn't' interrupt, just stood in the doorway...watching. Your mother saw him first, the man didn't until after he'd finished." I opt to sit before I fall, landing hard on the sofa, looking over the back at Lu still at the dining room table. "There was a huge fight, one that lasted the rest of the day and most of the night"

"I bet," I say.

"Your mother was frantic that he would throw her out, she really did—does—love him, and the last thing she'd ever thought about was sleeping with anyone else. But it was kind of like she couldn't help herself."

"Excuse me." I was okay until the last part. Lu's statement made it seem like my mom had snuck a sweet before dinner, and not allowed a man other than my father in her body. I never would have cheated on Ashley. Of course, it was easy for me to think this, I'd left her. I'd broken her heart in a different way. But this isn't about me and Ashley, this is about my father and mother.

Lu gets up from the dining table and come around the couch, I sit back as she climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs. She takes the low-ball glass and a sip of scotch then hands it back to me. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing against me tightly. "You don't understand what it's like, wanting to be touched, to be loved. For some the two walk hand in hand."

"Lu—" I start.

"I've searched my whole life for it, substituted it with...too many...given too much of myself. I never thought I'd find it and then you came along. I'm so scared one day you're going to wake up and know you can do better."

"There is no better."

She smiles, one that shows a lot of teeth. If these few words are all that it takes to make her happy, I'm pretty sure our life, crazy as it may seem now, will be smooth sailing.

"I want to believe you, but I have a lifetime of experiences that says something different. I know these are my hang-ups, but it's no different than what your father did to your mother. Will you leave me for someone less...messy? Maybe not something as drastic as divorce, but will my issues drive you into the arms of someone that is less complicated?"

"No," I say, kissing the tip of her nose. "I love complicated and messy. You and your beautiful chaos are all I care about." Lu is so like my mother in some ways, but there's a certain fire my mom has that Lu doesn't possess. She's full of self-doubt and uncertainty that she's excelled at covering it up. How many men thought of her as some vixen? She is anything but. She smiles at me, but it's not a real one, it's her pleasant plank face. I tug on her chin. "Hey."

"I'm waiting on you to hurt me," she says. She stares me in the eyes, her words spoken so low they're barely audible.

"I know," I say just as softly.

She shifts in my lap. When we're alone Lu wears sweats, or yoga pants and t-shirts. She dresses up when we know my parents or mother is coming over. Today she wears a cashmere sweater dress and still has on her camel color knee-high boots. She pulls the dress over her head and I can't help it, my eyes leave her face and I stare down at perfect skin, a perfect pair of breasts covered in lace. They drop lower, I lick my lips when I look at the scrap of fabric covering her core. We're getting married with things unsaid between us. I don't care about the past, I only care about our future. That she stills struggle with trusting our love breaks my heart a little. I have figured out that she controls her uncertainty through sex. The more aggressive, the more afraid she is. When I stand she wraps her legs around my waist. I don't mind being used this way by Lu. God knows I love the sex, but I don't want the fast and furious fucking that is a guise of control, but what she feels is all she deserves. I love her. I walk us to the bedroom and lay her down gently on the bed. I undress with her watching me as she removes her boots. When I get to my underwear she hooks her thumbs in the sides of her thong and lifts her ass, sliding them down her legs as I push my boxers down. I don't think I'll ever stop worshiping her body. I love her naked, but there's something about one article of clothing remaining that drives me wild. Lu spreads her legs, her pussy is in full view, but it's her lace-covered breasts that has my dick rock hard, dark nipples peeking through white lace.

I put a knee on the bed and Lu reaches up, tries to pull me to her. But I won't allow it. I'm in control. I pry her hands from around my neck and hold them over her head and enter her slow. When I'm fully sheathed I start a slow rocking, each push and pull is matched with an inhale and exhale. She feels so good, its damn near impossible to keep much control because I love the punishing love making that is our norm. We're slaves to sex; our attraction to each other's body is like nothing I've ever experienced. "I love you," I say between slow strokes. Lu drops her eyes, like she doesn't want to look into the face of that love. Too bad, it's here. I'm not going to hurt her, I'm not using her, I'm hers. I release her hands, pressing her into the mattress as her body take my full weight. "I...love...you," I whisper between kisses on her neck. With a tilt of my hips I'm as deep as I can go. Wrapped in her warm, wet core with her gripping my dick as I pull out, but I don't move any faster, even when every fiber of me wants to. The wetness on my shoulder makes me prop on my elbows. Lu's silent tears are not surprising. I kiss the corner of her eyes, each salty kiss another vow, I am her happily-ever-after.

"Elijah..."

"No," I say. I won't fuck her, not today, maybe tomorrow, but not now. I lift her leg and drape it across my forearm, making us both moan when I get to the end of her.

"Please," Lu begs, tears falling into her hair. I watch her, eyes closed, mouth open, she's so much more than just a beautiful woman. She's smart, kind, brave...why couldn't she see this.

Sliding free of her body, I turn her back to my front and enter her from behind on our sides, wrap my arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. Her nails bite into the skin of my forearms. I love when she marks my skin. I drop the arm from around her waist and lower my hand between her legs and finger her clit, rotating in hard, tight circles until her breathing is harsh and my slow controlled thrusts become faster. She cries out as her orgasm takes control of her body and I bite down on her shoulder to stop my own yell as ecstasy only she has ever given me takes over. She turns, still crying and I wrap her up in my arms. She'll learn that I love her, that she is indeed deserving of this love, can trust this love, if it's the last thing I do.

### Chapter Twenty-Two

"And this is only family?" Ray says from behind me. I don't know why, but I think she may have been standing there for a while.

"Mostly...my mother is from a family of eight."

Ray closes the distance separating us and stands next to me. I've spoken to her a couple of times on the phone. I'd formed a picture of her in my head. Boy, had I been wrong. Ray is poured into a gold dress so tight, skin-tight, or even second skin aren't the right words. It looks painted on and hug curves that May West would have envied. Her skin is dark and flawless. She has full, thick lips and large eyes that tilt upwards, just a tad, on the ends. Her hair is straight and long and pulled over one shoulder to give an unobstructed view of the back of her dress, or lack thereof. She's loud, says exactly what's on her mind, doesn't mince words and has a mouth like a sailor. I like her.

"Are you having a good time?" I ask.

"Hell, yes." She looks me up and down. I've been getting the once-over since she stepped foot off the plane. I keep waiting on her to ask for a minute of my time. "Your grandmother is a hoot. She keeps trying to set me up with your cousin."

I laugh. If she only knew. Not only is my grandmother trying to set her up, she doesn't particularly care which of them Ray hooks up with. I overheard her tell at least half a dozen that they would have beautiful children with Ray. She's right. Ray is destined to have gorgeous children. "My grandmother is definitely something."

My parents are in the corner speaking to Lu's parents. The family that Lu invited isn't a large number. My people outnumbered it six to one, but they are as tight as my own and I'm glad to see our families getting to know each other and from what I can see, actually liking each other. I look for Lu and find her standing with Richard, Ray's date. A tall, slim man, his smile seems permanent. When Lu saw him she hugged him tight, and a little too long for my liking. I hadn't always been so possessive, so protective. Have I? The man is looking at Lu in a way that makes me want to kick his ass. He's hanging on every word, giving her his full attention. It's like the room has disappeared and it's only the two of them, hell, maybe even the world. I know how he feels.

"I think he loves her." Ray says. It isn't the words that turn my head, but the sound of such...forlornness in her voice. Ray isn't looking at me; she's staring at the couple across the room: my fiancé and the man in love with her. "Richard's a great guy, if he could hold down a job and was smarter than a third grader, I'd say one of the best." I almost choke on the sip of champagne, Ray pats me on the back. After I get myself under control she says, "Van's missing."

My gut starts to churn instantly. "When?" I barely manage because instincts is to go to Lu, to take her and what...lock her up forever until I can have Van hunted down and killed like the fucking rabid animal that he is.

"The day before we left. Richard's crew is still looking, but he's gone, not just laying low."

"Who is Richard, an old boyfriend?" I ask looking back at the two.

"No," Ray says, with an honest laugh. "Close, though." She throws her head back, downing her drink. "Not that Richard didn't want more. George broke things off with him to date Van. I don't think it would have led to anything more than sex. Like I said, Richard's not the brightest bulb in the box. Fun as shit, but dumber than a brick." I'm confused, but before I can voice any questions Ray leans over and whispers, "He can fuck you into oblivion." My hand tightens around the thin stem of the glass, threatening to snap it. "Damn," Ray says beside me." I turn to look at her. "You should see your face," she says, laughing. "If you're going to get jealous every time you come across one of George's old lovers I strongly suggest you stay your ass on this side of the country."

Ray had hinted before at Lu's sexual past, I still don't care. I'm not even sure if I care that she's not opened up to me about it, or so I thought. Now I have a piece of that past standing in my living room, standing next to Lu, looking at her with excited puppy eyes, looking like he's ready to obey any and every command she gives.

"I don't think Van is finished with George."

Those words snapped me out of my daydream of breaking Richards' neck. "Why?"

Ray looks me up and down again. "You can't tell George."

"Alright," I answer right away although I'll make the decision afterwards whether or not I'll keep what Ray is about to say to me from Lu. It's her life and she has the right to know, but more importantly, I'm not planning on keeping anything from her. Ray looks across the room at her closest friend. A friend that's more a sister, one that has suffered at the hands of a madman and hurt by so many more.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, a chill traveling my spine.

She looks back at me. "That he means to see her dead."

The words are like a shot in the stomach. I lower my arm holding the empty champagne glass because I have just enough strength to stand. "Follow me."

I'm proud of my legs by the time I make it to my office. I close the door, muting the music and the sounds of family and friends. Tonight is a meet-and-greet for the family, tomorrow my mother is going to have two-hundred people at her house for our engagement party.

"He doesn't know where she is, so there's that," Ray says, making a stiffer drink at the bar. "Richard thinks he's either here in California or headed this way."

"Why would Richard know this?"

"When Van returned home he received a little street justice. Richard took care of it." I sit. The tall thin man may be dumb, but he's charmed the pants off most of the women in the room even if it is Lu he's following around like an obedient pet. "Richard has his ear to the ground, but as of yesterday...nothing." Ray sits next to me. "I don't think there's anything to worry about, like I said, he doesn't know where George is. Her last known is the little apartment and no one there knows anything....do they?"

I think. Lu hadn't really been in the apartment complex long enough to make any life-long friends. I'd called her landlord and took care of breaking the lease. I'd sent a company to pack up her apartment and put her meager furnishing in storage. I can't see Lu calling any of her neighbors to say good-bye, or telling them where she moved. "No," I say, feeling better after thinking everything through.

"Good," Ray says standing, "I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but I've watched you two together and I know now you really care about her."

"And if you weren't happy?" I ask.

She looks at me, this beautiful, dark chocolate woman, with her exotic eyes and full thick lips, painted in gold. Gone is any trace of a smile, her eyes tightened. "That's why I brought Richard."

**-**

Richard is exactly where I'd left him and I have mixed emotions as I approach them. Is he standing guard over Lu? Van couldn't reach her here. Or is he staying close for different reasons? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see he's in love with her. The same easy smile that's been plastered on his face since he arrived is flashed at me when I come to a stop.

"E," he says, taking a step away from Lu. "This is a great party."

"Thank you, Richard," I say, sliding my arm around Lu's waist and pulling her into my side. The man has already bowed out, acknowledge that he knows she is mine, but damn if I don't feel like marking her in some way.

"We should go out," Ray says joining us, she wraps her arms around Richard. He smiles down at her, has the same look in his eye as when he looks at Lu. It dawns on me then. Richard pretty much looks at every woman that way, like they're the only woman in the room. No wonder the smooth bastard has charmed every woman in the place. I feel tons better. I may not have to kill him after all.

"That's sound like fun," Lu says, looking up at me. I want to say no. I want to say, hell no. Not with Van missing, gunning for Lu, no pun intended. He'd beaten and raped her last time he found her. Who know what he plans on this time. "Please..." she says squeezing me a little.

"Yeah, E," Ray says. "Show us what your city has to offer."

"Alright," I say.

My mind is racing. My emotions warring. Do I tell Lu? How can I protect her? Do I hire private investigators to find Van? Guards to protect Lu? I think of little else while we go around and tell everyone good-bye. That's the nice thing about a family gatherings; you don't have to wait for everyone to leave. I tell my mother to lock up the apartment.

When I close us in our bedroom I take her in my arms, I close my eyes and breath in the scent of her shampoo, her lotion, her. Van could be anywhere, including far, far away from the woman I love, but he could also be just down the road, a hour and half away. Once it had seemed so far, now it felt right next door. I release her and take a step back. Mother was right in so many ways about money: it could pay the electric bill, but artificial heat doesn't offer the same warmth as the arms of a love one, and it could buy food but it doesn't nourish the soul. People do all kinds of things to acquire it, but it isn't a reason to live. I look at Lu and know that I'd spend every cent to make sure she is safe...happy. She is all that matters, my reason for living. A vision in black lace. The knee length dress was custom made because the nude fabric to make the dress decent matches her skin-tone exactly. "You're so beautiful," I say.

She looks down the front of her body as if seeing it for the first time tonight. "Thank you."

"No...thank you," I say taking her hand. "I love you." She smiles. And take the step that separates us, places her hands on my shoulders and kisses me, a light peck on the lips.

So not enough.

I grab her around her waist, pulling her feet from the ground and plunder her mouth, giving her a kiss that has us moaning into each other mouths within seconds and me hard as steel quicker than that. When we break apart Lu knows the look on my face well enough.

"We don't have time." Her mouth is saying one thing, her tone...well, that's a different story.

"Quickie," I say, unbuttoning my pants. We'd come back here to dress in something more club appropriate anyway. Lu is right there with me, shimming the hem of her dress over her hips, bunching it around her waist. She's laid out before me, an erotic offering; her feet, on the bed, her legs open. I don't waste any time, there's none to waste. I climb between her legs, settle between her thighs, pulling her thong to one side and bury a moan in the comforter as I slide into the warm depths of her sex and fuck her hard and fast until every muscle seems about to snap. Her sex milks my dick as it pulses inside her. Going out suddenly didn't seem like a good idea. For a matter of fact, it seemed to be the worst. Staying in bed, inside Lu, is all I want. She's almost addictive...fuck that...she is. I slide free of her body, still semi-hard and ready for round two, but we have guest in the other room, people waiting on us. I stand, look at my glistening cock, and tell it to behave, at least for the next three hours, that's all I'm willing to wait before I can do a thorough job of loving my woman. Lu hasn't moved, she's still lying on the bed, still spread out like an offering, waiting to see if I'm finished. God, I love this woman.

"Come on," I say, offering my hand. She takes it but doesn't stand, instead she leans forward, grab my dick and wrap her lovely lips around it, sliding them down the length until her mouth touches my skin. My dick grows as her head retreats and I'm tempted to push her head back forward, but I don't. It takes strength greater than Samson's. She stands and I'm rewarded when she pushes her fingers in my mouth, covered with our release. I suck them greedily while fisting her hair hard enough to draw a sound from her. We have control issues. She needs to control the sex, I need to control her. Each of us trying to one-up the other. It's fucking heaven.

"We need to dress," she says, her fingers still in my mouth.

I growl, and bite down lightly before releasing them. "Later," I promise. I just hope later means at home. You never know with us.

**-**

Richard and Lu move like twin waves reaching a shore. Their bodies so tight together they look conjoined. Richard has one hand on her hip, the other swings gracefully by his side. When Lu turns and faces Richard, he moves his hand to the small of her back. It's too dark and they're too far away for me to tell if he's pressing her body closer to his. First the possessiveness and now jealousy, I remain seated because I'm afraid of what I might do if I don't. Richard is her friend, one who has gone above and beyond when he dealt with Van, but then again...maybe that's why Van's still after Lu. Even as I think it I know it's not true. Van's a sick bastard with an anger management problem.

"Hey, ol' man," Ray says, flopping down in the seat next to me, waving her hand in front of her face, lifting her hair from the back of her neck.

"Do you know my name?" I ask, glad to have a distraction.

"Sure I do."

I've been moneybags, white-boy, E and now ol' man. At least with the last Ray had declared I was holding up well for my age. To a twenty-three year old I guess I'm damn near a geriatric. I see Lu and Richard heading our way and I stand. Lu's hand comes up, reaching for me before she's close to the table and I go to her. She pulls me onto the dance floor, her body rocking from side to side as she melts into the mass of people. When we're enclosed on all sides she lays her hands on my waist and starts the slow, seductive moves that she calls dancing and I call foreplay. I can hold a beat, but Lu and her friends make dancing look and feel like sex with clothes and in Lu's case, very little clothes, because she's only wearing two things, a black halter dress, and a black lace thong. I put one hand on her hip and the other on her back and most definitely pull her close to me. She's danced until she's sweated and even that smell I love. I've smelt it plenty. Even with the barrier of our clothes, where our bodies touch is somewhere between electric charge and molten lava. From the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest, to her hot core pressing firmly on my thigh, I feel as if our bodies are almost...almost, one. I wonder if that's how it felt to Richard, too. Richard, who knows my fiancée intimately, and according to Ray, has fucked her into oblivion. Did Lu remember that when his hands were on her body, when his body was pressed so tightly against hers? Every person in the room disappears and the only things that remain is the heavy thump of the techno and Richard and Lu, as they were earlier, her back pressed tight to his front. She's naked, one of Richard's hands is between her legs, the other plucks and pulls one of her nipples. Lu's head is back, lying against his shoulder and Richard kisses her neck then bites her. Lu writhes against him and I see her body shudder in pleasure and then dance in short jerky movements signaling her orgasm. I see this as surely as if it was really happening. I 'm both deeply aroused and angry to the point of violence. Lu's arms snakes around my back and lowers until she grips my ass hard, the other has gone between our bodies and she grabs my rock hard dick with just as much enthusiasm. I damn near come in my pants. Ray's words ring in my ears, she's been used, she has some warped view of sex and control and has enough issues with men to warrant therapy, but in this moment none of that matters. Maybe it doesn't matter because I know I love her and she'll have to die before I let her go, maybe it doesn't matter because Lu is finally accepting that she's worth that love, all I know is that the hope of waiting until we get home before I have her goes out the window and my feet are headed away from the dance floor. There's no private bathrooms in this club. I don't care. I lead her to the men's room that's blessedly empty, or at least there's no one standing in front of the urinals. I've been here before and sex in the bathroom is common. Hell, there's two sets of feet in the first stall. But the gods are on our side and the biggest stall at the end is open and I push Lu into it, barely remembering to lock it before I press her body against the unforgiving cement wall opposite the door. I lift her dress and in my haste snap the side of her thong, I run a line of kisses down her throat and bite her in the exact spot I'd envision Richard, biting hard enough to draw a pained sound from Lu, but it's like I'm possessed. I kiss the spot, run my tongue across it and then go to the other side. By this time Lu has my pants unbutton and I lift her from her feet. "Fuck," I hiss when I enter her hilt deep on the first hard drive of my hips. My orgasm is barreling down the length of my dick within seconds and it's not the first time I think Lu's pussy was custom made, by God himself, just for me. Her greedy sex milks my pulsing cock for every drop as I entire body jerks in hard spasms until I soften inside her. I kiss her, something soft and gentle. My heart is a jungle beat in my chest with hers keeping perfect rhythm. When I pull my head back to look her over I see I've left a mark on her neck where I've bitten her and I'm appalled at my actions.

"Are you alright," I ask.

"Yeah," she says, airy, throaty, her eyes closed, her head back against the wall, a small smile playing along the line of her lips and damn if I don't feel my dick twitch.

"George!" It's Ray, and Lu does the totally unexpected...she starts laughing. I feel like a kid getting caught with his girlfriend in his bedroom when his parents come home from date night early. I fix my clothes and let Lu hold onto my arm as she steps out of the thong I'd destroyed. She gives it to me and I put it in my pocket. When we open the door it's not only Ray, but Richard too. His smile is no longer charming but more Cheshire cat. And he's not looking at me, he staring at Lu. Maybe Cheshire isn't the right cat, perhaps lion is more like it. Like he'd like to eat her alive, and I know exactly where he'd start. Ray is leaning over the counter applying lipstick.

"E, Richard needs a smoke," she says, dismissing us men. Lu stopped smoking when she was pregnant and never picked the habit back up. I'm grateful. Ray looks at me with a raised eyebrow when I don't get moving. Lu pulls on my hand turning my attention to her. She winks and pushes me towards Richard.

"Come on man," he says, his voice thick with amusement. It's impossible to tell if he's amused with me or the situation in general. He smacks Ray's ass before turning. "Order me a drink."

I look between the two, think back on the feet I saw when I first entered and it all clicks. They hadn't come in search of Lu. We'd stumbled upon them. I laugh. I take the lead once outside the bathroom taking Richard to a back patio reserved for smokers. He lights one before turning to me. I brace myself for a talk. Hoping he doesn't go anywhere near what he and Lu shared in the past because that conversation is going to end up with us doing a lot of rolling around on the ground.

"Ray told you about Van?"

"Yes," I answer, every muscle tight for a completely different reason.

He nods, takes a long pull from his cigarette and then exhales a stream of smoke from his nose. "Van was in a gang before he moved to our hometown. He's from Chicago, but I think he was born in Hawaii, his mother was in the military. He moved around a lot before he settled in the South to live with his grandmother." He pauses to take another puff. "He was hot shit when he arrived on the scene, the girls went fucking wild...fresh meat," he wiggles his eyebrows. "He fucked around until he saw Red." He turns to me, the smile leaving his face, allowing me to see for the first time that Richard is dangerous. "We weren't dating, but George had pretty much stopped fucking other guys, well, unless I was with her."

My throat closes up, my heart seize.

"I love her."

I'm too stunned by the whole fucking other guys with Richard to hardly hear his confession of love.

"I should have stepped in when I found out that Van was beating her. I'll never forgive myself for not." He looks sad, and a little sick. "That's why when Ray called and told me it was time, I jumped at the chance. I've been wanting to kick his ass for years."

"Thank you," I say, because I needed to say something.

"Nah, man, no thanks needed. She's good people." He takes a pull that ends his first cigarette and lights another with the butt. "That's why I'm fully prepared to kick your ass if you hurt her, but I see the way you look at her. You love her."

"I do," I answer.

"Good....good," he says with a nod. I wish for his devilish smile, something to signal the end of this conversation, but his expression remains grave. "Van has connections through his gang, connections that spread across the country. He's pretty high ranking and I have no doubt he'll show up in California eventually." The news weakens my knees and at the same time strengthens me. "Because you're so far removed from the life we live I would have said she was safe but I'm not sure. Van's obsessed, not that lots of men back home aren't," he says, and that brings the smile out again. "You know what I mean."

Hell yeah I know what he means. I'm obsessed too and had been since the first time we'd been together. "Yes."

"Van is a big son of a bitch, built up like a fucking truck and mean as a rattlesnake. He's good with his fist, and has the weight to back it up. He'll kill her if he gets the chance. I always thought he would. I thought he'd beat her to death, but now I think a bullet would be just as good for him."

"Oh my, God." I say, the words barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Richard agrees, putting his cigarette out. "We've been watching Van since he came back. A few people have heard him talk about killing her. If I had known he was serious I would have watched a little closer. I'm in the same gang because I looked up to him once. I don't have the connections he has and I'm not high ranking enough for one to listen to me.

We stand in silence. I've learned more about the woman I'm about to marry from virtual strangers than from Lu. I keep telling myself that her past doesn't matter, that it's our future that means anything, but the past shapes and molds us into the people we become. Lu was possibly molested as a child, is a battered woman, and has sexual issues. A talk is needed. Badly.

"Thank you," I say again and extend my hand. Richard takes it without hesitation. "You're welcome. Take care of your girl."

"I will," I swear.

And I will.

### Chapter Twenty-Three

Yesterday we were at my apartment; tonight we're at my parents' home. Lu's parents are staying with them. Richard, Ray, Ted and Dennis are staying at my place. I'd offered separated rooms for Ray and Richard but they shared one. Even with the space offered by six thousand square feet, I can hear them like they were in the next room of a hotel with paper-thin walls.

"Richard told me he dropped his theory about Van on you last night," Ray says, taking a glass from a passing waiter. We'd stayed out late, rolled in around three this morning and slept until noon. The women went for a spa day while my father took the men to the country club for golf and lunch. I wasn't too sure about the golf, knowing from Lu that none of her crew had ever played, but between Richard and some of my cousins we were well entertained.

"Yeah, I'm on the fence about telling Lu everything," I answer honestly. I look at Ray and wait for her wrath, but she only nods, giving me no clue on whether it's an agreement or simply an acknowledgement of the words I've spoken. I'm shocked when she say, "What the fuck!" None too softly.

I look in the direction of her gaze and I see Mrs. Fitzpatrick speaking to Lu. I can't hear the words, but from her expression, they're surely not congratulatory. Richard's profile is stormy. As if the only reason he's restrained himself from swinging is because the object of his rage is a woman. Mr. Fitzpatrick isn't saying a word. He almost looks embarrassed by his wife behavior, but he isn't trying to stop her and I hate him for it. I'd always thought him a little bit of a pussy. He married into old money and his wife certainly wore the pants. I'm a step behind Ray when we arrive at the group as Mrs. Fitzpatrick is finishing up. When she sees me the look she gives me would have made a weaker man flinch. Maybe it worked on her husband. Me...not so much. I hear Richard say in a soft voice, "Come on, darling," before he takes Lu's elbow and escort her away from Ashley's parents. I'm pivoting to change course when Mrs. Fitzpatrick says, "I can't believe your mother allows such filth in her house. To think, you stringing my daughter alone all these years, only to leave her for some...uneducated, low class whore."

I'm so stunned...so appalled, that I'm speechless. Surely to God, this is not the same woman who car-pooled my soccer team when I was a little boy, who baked cookies every Friday afternoon, whose house I practically lived in from the ages of ten thru eighteen.

"Ashley's done nothing but wasted her life and her tears on you if that's the kind of woman you want," she finishes.

What the fuck?

I follow the Fitzpatricks until they've cleared the room and look around to find I've been left. Ray must have gone with Richard to comfort Lu. I'm thankful that the entire exchange had taken place in a corner and that there were no raised voices. I plan on getting the complete story from Lu, and if not from her, than from Richard. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called Lu a whore. The words are spinning in my head as I open door after door in search of my fiancée.

When my mother asked about inviting Ashley's parents I said yes. I've spoken to Ash a few times since my engagement and thought all was well. Of course her brother was anything but fine with the outcome of our relationship, why hadn't I thought her parents may hold some of the same feelings. Ash had waited for me. But I don't have time for that now. I have to find Lu. I'm almost frantic. I can only imagine what she must be feeling. I find them in the library. Richard gives me a hard pat on the shoulder as he passes me. Ray gives me a look that says that on no uncertain terms is my life worth shit if I don't fix this.

Lu's standing too far from me on the opposite side of library. She loves to read and had found solace in a room full of books. Her back is to me, her arms wrapped around her middle, her head down.

"When I was eleven I developed breast," –she says without turning to face me— "on my twelfth birthday I woke up with my father's hand under my nightgown. I pretended to be asleep."

Bile rises in my throat, and I desperately want her to stop talking, but I need to know.

"There was no...penetration. He masturbated while he felt me up. Later that year I had sex for the first time...with brothers.

I walk to a couch and fall when my knees give out.

"I had my first real boyfriend when I was thirteen, he was eighteen. I was raped when I was sixteen."

Each word is like a knife stabbing me in the stomach until it hurts to breathe. I want to tell her to stop. Please, for the love of God, stop, but I can't seem to work my mouth.

"Christopher...he wasn't my first." She breaks down and starts crying, and while I can't form words, my feet work just fine.

"Lu—"

"Let me finish," she says, her voice catching with every word. "I've slept with a lot of people...a lot. Mostly boys and men that I thought liked me, or would like me if I gave them what they wanted, but then as a way of getting back...taking the upper-hand in a life that I felt like I had no control over anymore." She turns, dark tears making a line down her face as her mascara runs. "One hundred and thirty-six, that's the number of men I'd slept with when I stopped counting when I turned eighteen."

I know I'm losing her with every word that she utters. I've taken her false control, taken her from the life she and Richard and Ray grew up in and thrown her to the fucking wolves. These words, meant to shock are her way of regaining that lost control, she's putting herself in place, belittling herself so that when I agree, it won't hurt as much. She still doesn't see.

I love her.

I grab her hair, in a tangle of wild curls on the top of her head and pull until her head is back. I am partly to blame for this. I'd come on strong, lured in by the defense mechanism she's built to guard her heart because so many had used her, but each touch, each kiss was reverent...worship. She's kissed me places that my adult body has never been kissed: the soles of my feet, my ankles, the back of my shins, my knees. Each soft lay of lips drawing me in deeper and deeper.

"Make no mistake Georgiana, I make love to you," I say. My body tight with anger, no one talks about the woman I love like this, not even the woman. "I don't care if you've fucked a thousand...ten thousand, no one else will ever touch you." She grins, that pleasant blank look that I want to slap off her face. I tighten my grip on her hair until her mouths open. "I love you, do you understand," I give her head a shake by the handful of hair. "I love you." She tries to shake her head, to deny my words, but I hold her hair too tight to allow the movement. There's a knock on the door that I completely ignore and my mother's gasp is the only reason I release Lu's hair, but I grab her arms before she can move.

"James!" Mother storms across the room taking Lu from my grip and folding her up in her arms. My mother is small and delicate in stature but when she's angry she looks as big as the tallest man. "How dare you!"

"Mother," I say, while looking at Lu.

"Get out!" she yells. "Now!"

I don't argue with my mother, I'm so angry at Lu for her continued doubt in my feelings for her, Mrs. Fitzpatrick words, the shit that has been done to the beautiful woman I love that I want to thank her for giving me a reason to leave. I run into Ray standing on the other side of the door, she gives me the evil-eye as she enters the room. Richard is the next person I see and I'm looking forward to the fight that he promised although I'm not sure whose ass would be getting kicked. I've only been in a handful of physical altercations in my life, but I'm pretty fucking pissed.

"Hey," he says raising his hands, "don't hit me."

My fists are clinched at my sides and I'm madder than hell. Richard knows Lu better than I do, understands her better than I do, he's even had the pleasure of beating the shit out of Van. When did my charmed life get so...un-fucking-charmed?

"I need a smoke," he says, "and a drink."

We stop by the bar and grab two glasses of whisky before stepping out into my mother's back yard. Richard lights a cigarette and offers it to me. I take it even though I've never smoked in my entire life. The smoke is abrasive. I choke, cough...take another pull. I'm light-headed already.

"I hit Mr. Fitzpatrick."

"What?!" God, this night is going from bad to worst. Mr. Fitzpatrick is probably going to call the police. I stop breathing long enough to listen for sirens.

"Not hard, but I really wanted to deck that wife of his. When we were outside they were both talking shit about George. That's not how I roll."

I nod, a quick jerk of my head. "Thanks."

"Hmm," he answers.

I stub out the cigarette and put the butt in a flower pot. Smoking is a disgusting habit. I have no clue how people start.

"I'm sorry about all this," Richard says. "I am glad that George's parents weren't around."

"Me, too," I say. I thank God for mom's mall-size house. She hadn't closed any of it off and people were pretty much roaming the entire thing. "God," I say, pushing my hand through my hair. "This is so..."

"Fucked up," Richard finishes for me.

"Fucked up," I repeat. I look at Richard and say the last thing on the planet that I thought would past my lips. "How did you do it? How do you love her?"

There is so much self-hate in the woman I left with my mother. She's her own worst enemy. She's setting us up for failure before we even get started. I want her but she doesn't want herself. How am I supposed to win this fight?

"It's easy for me. Lu doesn't have to pretend with me, she knows I don't judge."

"I don't' judge her," I say, mad that he would think it, madder that she does.

"But your people do," he raises his hand when I open my mouth, "Not your family, your mom loves her as much as her own mother, but your other people, the people that you hang out with, your friends, your co-workers. You're always going to be the rich guy who married the poor black girl, the poor black whore."

Anger is a physical thing, it reddens my vision, makes the air wavy. I'm pretty fed up with everything being about race, we live in the twenty first century...in California, not in the fifties of the Jim Crow South. What the fuck!

"It's different here, I've never seen so many different types of people, but racism is alive and well, just hidden better in certain places and hurt brings out the worst in people. The Fitzpatricks are hurt, and they're angry because you've hurt their little girl."

"It's not like that," I say.

"Maybe you and Ashley should've sat down and explained that to her parents. Maybe you should have done it a long time ago, especially before parading around a new fiancée, hanging off her like she hung the damn sun."

I look at Richard, the man Ray says is dumb as bricks. Right now, he's smarter than I am. A lot smarter. "What do I do about Lu?" I ask, because hey, he's turning into some kind of fucking Guru right before my eyes.

"Honest," he says, and I don't like the look on his face. I nod anyway. He takes a deep breath. "I've never known George to break up with anyone. She's either dumped or just kind of drifts from guy to guy, with the exception of Van, of course. I don't think she'll leave you, she's waiting on you to leave her. She knows sex. She's both used by it and uses it. You have to beat her at her own game."

I let the words roll around in my head, like marbles in a bowl. They don't make a lot of sense. Isn't sex the last thing she needs from me?

"If you'd met George ten years ago, you'd be golden." I frown because ten years ago made Lu sixteen and me thirty. I'd be in jail is what I'd be. I keep my mouth shut and listen because I'm sure there's a point. "Ten years ago she wasn't bitter, she wasn't angry, she wasn't beaten...bent but not broken. She's always been a little loose, but ten years ago she fell in love so hard, so completely, it was painful to watch."

I ask, "How long have you been in love with her?"

He smiles, not his devil-may-care, charm-the-panties-off-every–woman-in-the-room smile but a sad smile. He shrugs, "Ninth...tenth grade. She was a senior. God, she was so beautiful, every boy in school wanted..." he stopped, thought better of his first words before continuing, "Was hot for her. And she had a reputation, one that she thinks is all bad but not all of it is. Yeah, girls called her a slut and a whore, but you know boys don't think the same way, well, not all of them, and none of the ones I hang around with. She wasn't a slut or a whore, not with the way she touches you. She makes you feel like...like she's loving you."

It's like I'm part of some weird group of the men who've fallen in love with the seductress. We should form a support group.

"She's still raw, needs time to heal...you know?" I look at him with a crinkle in my brow. No! I don't know. I think. He shakes his head and laughs, his mischievous smile is back. "Once George is certain that you accept all the bullshit, you'll be fine." He smashes his butt out in the planter I'd put mine in and drinks the last of his whisky. "And you're going to have to show her whose boss in bed."

"Excuse me," I say.

"She's not a whore or a slut or dirty because of what she likes to do. It's your job to make her see it," he says.

I nod.

"Good." He looks out across the yard, breaths deep and sighs. "I'm going to check to make sure George's parents haven't found out what happened. We're lucky there weren't a lot of people around. I'm sure she doesn't want her folks to know."

He walks off leaving me alone. Life would be so much easier if I'd just married Ash or someone like Ash. Now I have a stalking, abusive, gang member, ex-boyfriend, a thug ex-lover, and a lovable, but vulgar mouth best friend. Even with all this I will not walk away. It's too much sugar for a dime, as Lu's mother has said about something that is too much trouble. But who doesn't love sugar?

I go back in trusting Richard to take care of her parents because I have to speak to Lu. I knock on the library door and push it open. It's empty. I go upstairs to my old room but it's empty too. She's not in the upstairs den, my parents' bedroom, my father's study or my mother's sitting room. By the time I find my father I'm panicked. "Where is she?"

"She's gone with her sisters."

The words leave me so stunned that I don't see my mother. I barely even register the hard slap across my face. She hisses out a string of Spanish words disowning me. She thinks I was abusing Lu when she walked in on us. That I had or was about to hit her. I should correct her assumptions, but all I can think about is that Lu has left me. My phone rings and I almost punch a hole in the pocket of my tux reaching for it. It isn't Lu. It's Ash. I don't want to speak to anyone with the surname of Fitzpatrick so I send the call to voicemail. I dial Lu's number only to have my call sent to voicemail. I want to throw my phone on the ground, maybe stomp on it until it's nothing but glass and plastic shards, instead I act like a grown-up and wait for Lu's message to end and the beep. "I need to know you're okay...call me," I say and hang up. I call Ray. It goes straight to voicemail. Her sister is next—same thing. She's on the planet, she's with her sister, and she's safe. Okay. I take a deep calming breath.

I look at my mother and speak her native tongue when I say, "I would never raise my hand to strike a woman. You should know that...you raised me better. I love Georgiana." Before she can reply I see Richard strolling towards us in his slow easy gait. "Let's go," I say, and head for the door, hoping he picks up the pace. I want back-up, and need the company, but I'm going to leave his ass if he's not at the passenger side door when I reach my car. I call Lu's phone again, it goes straight to voicemail this time and I'm fuming by the time the message is over this time. "Call me." I hang up and hit the unlock button on the key fob and Richard is right there, pulling open his door as I climb in.

"What's going on?" he asks.

Somehow, someway, Richard has become a friend, not Ray's friend, not Lu's, but mine.

"Lu left."

"Damn."

I throw the phone to him after slamming my door. "I'm sick of this shit," I say, starting the car and throwing it in gear. He doesn't say anything, which is fine with me. We ride in silence to my apartment and he goes straight to the room he and Ray are sharing. We meet in the front room at the same time changed from the tuxedos worn to the engagement party: him in jeans and a pull over hoodie me in khaki pants and a sweater. We get in the car and head to Ted's house. I hope she's there, if she makes me track her ass any further I am not going to be held responsible for what I might do. Richard's phone ring and he pulls it from the pocket of his hoodie.

"Sup," he answers. "Mmhmm...yeah....naw..." –there's a long drawn out pause—, "you know that's fucked up, right?" –another pause— "no...no...hell no...mmmhmmm...yeah, okay." He hangs up. "They're headed for Ted's and Ray has instructed me to keep you from George...by any means necessary."

"Do I need to pull over?" I ask. Come hell or high water I mean to speak to Lu tonight. If it means a fight with Richard, so be it. I just rather pull over than risk killing us both fighting in a moving car.

He laughs, "No man, I'm on your team. But you owe me."

"For..." I ask changing lanes. At the rate I'm going I'll either catch up with them or pass them.

"Ray's refusing service if I help you."

"Ser..." I stop, sneak a peek at the man sitting to my right. "Do you mean sex?"

"Yeah," he says real slow, bobbing his head. "Damn."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool. We all stayed out of George's business when she dated an asshole, now Ray and Ted's going all mother-knows-best when she finally gets someone that's good for her. It's all ass backwards."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, but you still owe me."

Dennis is sitting in front of the house when we arrive. They've only just pulled in, the car is still making ticking sounds as the engine cools. The pungent aroma of marijuana greets us as we near the house. "What's up," he asks as Richard and I approach. Richard slap palms with him and takes the offered joint. Dennis looks at me and say, "Man, you sure you want to go in there?"

"If that's where Lu is, then, yes," I answer.

The door is slung open and Ray is standing there in her gown: a fire engine red, strapless number that floats like waves around her body at the slightest movement. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Her head is swinging from side to side as she looks at the two of us.

I take a step forward. "I want to see her."

Ray crowds the door, put her hands on her hips and look pretty unmovable. "Like hell you do."

"Ray," I say, trying and failing to rein in a temper I had no idea I possessed before tonight. "Move."

"Make me," she says, and looks over my shoulder, "Are you going to handle this?" she asks Richard.

"I am," he says, forming words even though he's mostly holding his breath. He exhales. "Girl, get your ass out the way."

Ray's glare is hot enough to melt metal, but she takes a single step to the side. I walk pass her, making sure not to touch her and bracing my body for a strike. She doesn't hit me. Ted is the second line of defense, but she doesn't look angry, just concerned for her sister.

"I just want to talk." I say.

She take steps to close the distance between us, she's taller than Lu and is almost eye to eye with me. "Do you love her?"

"I do."

It's enough for her, she steps aside.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

I open the door to find Lu standing as far away from the door as humanly possible in the tiny bedroom. There's nowhere for her to go so she's forced to stay rooted when I walk to her. Good.

"What do you want from me? You want happily-ever-after? I'm trying to give it to you." The first tears escape the corner of her eyes.

"No, not this time." I say, shaking my head. "I'm sick of these tears." I take a deep breath and another. I count to ten and run my hand over my face.

"Elijah—"

I cut her off. "The dress has been bought, the invitations mailed. In a little more than a month five-hundred people will be waiting on you to walk down an aisle and swear before God that you will love, cherish and obey me." I lean over, close enough to kiss her and whisper. "So, Lu...get in the fucking car."

I step to the side and point to the door. At first I don't think she isn't going to move and I am fully prepared to let my caveman loose and sling her ass over my shoulder. She's still crying and I'll handle those tears as soon as we make it to the hotel. I'm too rattled to drive back home, the furthest I'm going to make it is downtown. I walk behind her as she makes her slow trek to the door, she wipes at the tears on her face before she opens the door. When we step out into the hall her sister is closing a big fluffy robe and Ray emerges from a bedroom next to the one Lu and I had been in. She's in a black slip.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Lu, go to the car," I say.

"Don't move," Ray says.

Dennis comes around the corner with Richard at his back. We're trapped. I'm trapped. I love Lu, and like her family and friends. I have a deep respect for this kind of loyalty, this kind of love, but Lu is to be my wife and by God, I'll get the respect I fucking deserve.

"Ray, you need to back the fuck up. This is between me and Lu." She takes a step forward, I stay where I am.

"How can you say that after tonight!" she yells.

"You think I had something to do with what Mrs. Fitzpatrick said. You honestly think I would allow, knowingly, someone in my home that thought that way," I yell right back.

"It's not what they said, it's what you did. You strung that girl along and then dumped her ass."

"It wasn't like that. Ash is my best friend...and was a long time before all this happened."

"Your best friend," Ray says, crossing her arms. "So you still talk to her?"

"Of course I've spoken to Ash. We grew up together, that's what best friends do."

Ray's head looks ready to explode. Her chest is heaving. I thought I was doing a poor job of reining in my bad mood, she is failing miserably. "Are you fucking insane!"

She drops her hands and rush me. I'm not sure how the situation has escalated to violence but I grab Ray's wrist before she gets a chance to claw my eyes out. Ted's there in seconds, then Dennis is rushing to help his girlfriend with the woman turned honey-badger. They get control of Ray, but she's trying to break free of their hold. "Who do you think told them about how heartbroken she is? How she's waited for thirty years, how she's spent her entire life pining over you? Who in the hell do you think sent someone looking into Georgiana's past." Ray's screams at the top of her lungs. "Are you really that dense?"

"I know Ash...if it was anyone it was her brother." I say. "Ray, I made a mistake. I'm going to make another. That's the way life works, but Lu and I will work through our life together. Thank you for being her friend, but I'm her husband."

"Not yet you're not." Ray says.

"Rachael, cool it," Richard says from behind us. I turn. His arms are wrapped around Lu's shoulders.

I reach out, extending my hand, but don't touch Lu and say. "Are we going?" I want to marry her, but some battles you can't win alone and Lu is one of those battles. Love can't be a one way street.

"Yes," she says barely above a whisper.

"Fuck!" Ray screams loud enough to break glass. Lu steps from Richards arm. "Thank you," I say to him. I don't want company, but I'd dragged him all the way here. I owe him a ride. "Let's go."

"I'm staying here," he answers.

We stare at each other a handful of ticks. "I'll call you later...tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Lu and I walk to the car and I open the door for her. She gets in without hesitation and doesn't look back. Her head is lowered and she looks at her hands in her lap. I walk around the car, trying to figure out how to fix this shit. I'm clueless when I slide in beside her. Ted is standing in the door, silhouetted by the light shining from the interior of the house. She raises a hand. I toot the horn.

It's going to be a long night.

**-**

When the elevator opens I place my hand on the small of Lu's back and as angry, frustrated and yes, scared as I am, a part of me relaxes knowing she's with me and the soft press of my hand on her body is enough assurance to release some of the tension that has been riding me since I first found out she'd left. Tonight we there will be a final understanding, an agreement. I'm in love, not a fool. The steps leading to the suite seem loud even with carpet beneath our feet. The soft swishing of Lu's gown is like nails on a chalk board. Everything is grating my nerves. Ray and her conspiracy theory about Ash spoon feeding her parents the filth that Mrs. Fitzpatrick said to Lu has me itching to call Ash. Not to accuse, just to ask her what the fuck was going on with her parents and if her brother had anything to do with it. I know Ash already knows what happened because she's called me and my phone has been vibrating since I put it in my pocket when I arrived at Ted's. I'm sure my parents have called, and probably Lu's, but everything was going to have to wait. I pushed the suite's door open and allow Lu to enter first. When I close us in, I'm both relieved and so nervous that my hands are shaking. Lu crosses the room and turn, waiting on me to begin. I cut to the chase. "Do you love me?" When she tries to speak I silence her with a raised hand. "I mean me," –I pat my chest— "Not the ideal of love, not the fairy-tale, do you love me."

She's ten feet away but might as well be a thousand miles from where my feet are planted. She doesn't answer...still doesn't answer...her eyes leave mine for the floor...than she turns her back. I refuse to move. My heart is jack-hammering in my chest.

"Yes." The word is spoken so low I think I imagine it. God, knows I want that to be the answer. "Yes," she says again, and turn around. "Of course, I love you. I love you so much I ache when I'm not with you. I love you so much sometimes I get panic attacks when I think of us not being together. I love you so much I don't know what I'll do without you. I love you more than I love myself."

I don't move, at least my feet don't, but the rest of my body sags as the declaration washes over me. "Lu, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep running...doubting." I take a step in her direction. "I need to know...right now...tonight...if this is what you want because love isn't always enough. I'm one-hundred percent vested. I'm all in, but that doesn't matter." I take a step getting closer, but don't touch her. Not yet. "Don't answer, just think about it for the rest of the night. Are our differences enough to keep us apart? Do you really want to marry me?" I hold my hand up again when she tries to speak. "Let's get some sleep. I'll call my parents to let them know what's going on."

"Will you apologize to your mother for me?" Lu hugs herself, she looks so fragile that I want to go to her, but she's not mine. Not yet, no matter how much I want it to be so. My mom loves Lu and she's not going to be pleased if this doesn't work out. I would like for my mother not to know about Lu's past but I'm sure Mrs. Fitzpatrick is going to make sure every person within listening range knows what she's found out about Lu.

"Of course," I say. "You take the bed." Lu stands there a moment, uncertain. "We'll both be here tomorrow."

She walks slowly to the bedroom and closes the door with a soft click. I damn near run for the bar taking my phone out along the way. Seven missed calls and a text message from Ash.

Jamie I'm so sorry about what happened tonight. I have no words. My brother is leaving tonight.

So the little shit had been behind the whole thing. I pour myself a hefty glass of scotch and take my drink to the couch before calling my mother. She'd slapped me, is furious with me, but she'll still be worried. She's called me three times.

"James."

Yeah, she's still mad. My father is Friason, I'm Elijah. James is reserved for us when we're in the dog house.

"I have her," I say, and suddenly my voice is thick. "Oh, Madre."

I have her body, not her heart and soul, which she owns of me. She makes me want to be a father, and husband, a provider and protector.

"My darling boy...Why?"

"I...I would never hurt Lu. I wasn't hurting her." I've never laid a hand on a woman like I do with Lu. There are a lot of hard holds but none meant as threatening. I close my eyes and lean my head against the back of the couch. "She makes me crazy. She makes me violent, makes me want to rip things apart, and throw things, but I'll never hurt her."

"Oh, Elijah," my mother says and sounds better, almost pleased. "Bring her back."

"I'm trying, Mother...I'm trying. I love you."

"And I you, my darling, beautiful boy."

Mom hangs up and I think about calling Ash. I veto the thought. I'll deal with that ugly tomorrow. I kick off my shoes and take off my clothes. I grab the blanket and extra pillow from the closet and settle into the nice comfortable couch for the night.

I wake up with a frown because I almost never wake up in the middle of the night once I fall asleep. Confused, I sit up, letting the blanket fall around me. The room is dark and I don't have to go to the bathroom. Why am I up? I swing my legs over the side of the couch and stand, headed for the kitchen area to get a glass of water. I look at the clock. It's a little before five which means I've only been asleep a little over an hour. As I drink, a feeling of unease settles over me. There's no sound in the suite. I walk to the door separating me from Lu. I lean forward, putting my ear to the door. Nothing. I straighten, turn the top of my body then stop. It makes no sense, but I'm certain that something is wrong on the other side of the door. I put my hand on the knob and hesitate only for a second before pushing the door open. The room is pitch-black beyond the tiny circumference of light falling in it from the open door. I can see the foot of the bed but not much else. I enter the room and not a full breath is not passed before I know why I've awaken. Lu's crying.

"Lu," I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Come here." She turns, tangling her body in the sheets. I lay down and her body begins to shake from the force of her crying. "It's alright," I say stroking her hair and back.

"I'm so sorry," she says, a hitch between every word.

This woman... God, she makes me weak. I'm putty in her hands, wrapped around her finger; she puts me on my knees. "I'm here. Talk to me."

"I don't want to live without you," she whispers. I know the feeling, but it's not enough. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I kiss the top of her head. I hold her until the worst of her crying is over with her clinging to me, my skin wet with her tears. I'll fight for her, for us. I need to know that she will too. I can't imagine the hell she's been through, but I can guess at the wonderments of our future, but she has to try to put the past, our differences in color and status behind her. She's been waiting on her happily-ever-after, but only she controls how her story ends.

"Will you still have me," she asks.

"Of course," I answer. There's a deep breath and a shuddering exhale and Lu relaxes against me. "I know you can't forget, I'm not even asking you to forgive, I just need you to move forward, to leave the past in the past, to trust in me and how we feel about each other to get us through the rest of our lives. Nothing else matters Lu. I've never experienced so many emotions. I feel I've lived half my life in the months since I met you."

"I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you marrying me to hurt you."

"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"What will your mother think?" she asks. "Your parents' friends, their peers?"

"I love my parents and I know they love me. I know my mother loves you. Anyone who says a bad word against you better watch themselves around her. She's hot tempered if you haven't noticed."

"She thought you were hurting me," Lu says.

"I know...she slapped me."

"What..." Lu shifts from my arms. "Elijah, I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one that should apologize. I shouldn't have touched you that way, not after—" I cut myself short from saying her ex's name, "Not after what you've been through."

"I know you won't hurt me. I...I like that you're so possessive. It makes me feel wanted."

I sit up and roll us both. Lu on her back, me half on top of her. I lean in blindly and kiss in the general direction of her face, my lips making contact with her nose, which is fine with me. I cover her face in soft kisses. "I always want you Lu...every part of you...I want to own you completely." And I mean it. She's not an object, but I want her to be mine in a way that scares the fuck out of me. I finally get to her lips and the kiss is just as light, just as soft as the rest and I don't let it go any further. In a few short hours I was going to take her home and handle the fallout from Ms. Fitzpatrick's outburst, but for now, I just want to hold Lu.

**-**

"Mr. Friason, Ms. Fitzpatrick is here to see you."

I stand because it's the first time Ash and I have been in the same room since her mother's hate-filled words the night of my engagement party. That was three weeks ago. In a week Lu and I will be married. Lu is spending almost every waking second with my mother, who I've seen more of in the last week than I have since I left for college.

"Jamie," Ash says, and she looks positively ill. "I can't apologize enough...for my mother's behavior."

"And your brother?" I ask. Ash has stopped just inside the door. I haven't come around to greet her. It's weird, this tension between us.

"There's no making excuses for him."

Lu's parents hadn't heard what Ash's mom said. Lu hadn't wanted her parents to know, so no one told them. My father also had not been present, but knew something happened because Mom slapped me. My life is as close to being perfect as it is utterly and completely in chaos. Then there's Ash, a woman I've known my entire life. One that I trust with my life and I can't bring myself to be mad at her, even if it is her brother and mother that hurt Lu, and through her, me.

"Will you forgive me?" Ash is a girl's girl, all tiny, soft and delicate looking. All it takes is a tear and I'm heading around the desk.

"Yes," I say, taking a deep breath, "None of this is your fault."

"They're my parents," she says, wiping at her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are." I put my hand on her shoulder, but keep distance between us. "Please don't cry Ash."

"I just wish I could take it all back," she says.

"Me too." Ash hugs me. "It'll all be alright," I say, removing her arms from around my waist.

Somehow, someway, I end up with Ash's lips firmly pressed against mine and her trying to invade my mouth with her tongue. I push her back. "What are you doing Ash?" I step away from her, backing up until there's at least ten feet between us.

"Oh, God, Jamie," she says and looks as shocked as I feel. "This can't be real." She goes to the couch and sits down. "In what world is this right? I did everything...everything."

"Ash," I say moving closer, but keeping the coffee table between us. She looks at me, her eyes still leaking, but anger in her face. "What did I do to deserve you to treat me this way?"

I'm flabbergasted. Ray had been right. Well...damn. "Ash...I'm sorry. You can't know how sorry I am. I love you, I do, but I'm not the man for you."

"How can you say that after all these years—all the time between us?"

"Ash..." I run my hand through my hair and begin to pace. "I thought I explained this."

"You told me that you wouldn't be able to make me happy. That you didn't want to tie me to you, but Jamie...can you really say you didn't know all this time that I've wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. In all honesty, I thought we'd get back together. I thought you were just getting cold feet, and you'd come to your senses. Never in a thousand years did I think that it would end up like this. Marcus hired the private investigator. He's...mad. Jamie..." she says, standing and walking around the table, "Did you ever want to marry me?"

We had thirty years of friendship under our belts. She's owed the truth. I open my mouth, not to hurt, just to be completely honest with her. "No. I never wanted to marry you. I'm so sorry Ash. It seemed so right that we did marry, but early on I knew it wasn't."

"Why," her voice is desperate, clingy. If I wasn't moving to keep distance between us she'd been clinging to me. "I love you, you love me. What more do you need."

I don't need anything now that I have Lu. I don't feel guilty anymore, but I do manage to feel ashamed. "I'm sorry." If there were better words I'd say them because Ash looks hurt. So hurt she looks damn near destroyed, it doesn't move me towards her. One almost kiss was enough for me.

"You're sorry," she repeats, "I see."

"Ash, I don't know what else to say. Nothing seems adequate and nothing is going to make it right or make it sound more reasonable. We're not the right people for each other. I could say it's me and not you, because God knows that's the truth. I can say there's someone out there better because that's true too, but in the end it's all the same...with me having hurt you, and I am truly, deeply sorry for that. You didn't deserve it."

She doesn't say anything. Just stares at me. I wait for screaming, weeping, hell, maybe even a little fighting, but Ash stiffens her spine, takes a calming breath and wipes her face. "I see."

She turns and leaves the office, closing the door softly behind her. I don't follow. I am heartbroken a little myself. I would have never thought our friendship would be strained to the point of breaking, not even after I told her I wanted to call everything off. Goes to show what we I know.

### Chapter Twenty-Five

A year ago today I saw a beautiful woman sitting on green grass crying. From the first moment I set eyes on her I was enthralled, be-spelled, possessed, the list of adjectives is endless. Luck, fate, circumstance, perfect alignment of the stars, after a very, very...very rough start, we're finally at the finish line. If you'd asked me a year and two days ago about marriage I'm pretty sure I would have said I saw myself as a lifelong bachelor. I certainly never saw Lu coming. I stayed the course, my feelings for her never wavering, only growing into the kind of love that steals your breath every once in a while. We've grown as people, and as a couple, and while hard times are sure to come, I know we'll make it just fine.

I finger the ribbon on the box checking the time for the millionth time. I wonder if Lu has opened her present yet: a suite of diamonds I found at an estate sale. I check my watch instead of looking at the clock on the wall or the various ones on tables. Lu's note says to wait until ten-thirty. Our wedding starts at eleven. I wonder about the time, wonder why I wait. How will she know? Because I'll tell her the truth if she asks, that's how. It's ten twenty-nine and the second hand is turning tortuously slow. I sit, holding my breath as the smooth sailing hand takes eons to round the face of the clock. I take a breath and my heart starts beating again when it finally crosses the twelve. Like an eager little kid I rip the paper open but then carefully lift the box top and gently open the soft gray tissue. My next breath hitches in my throat and I release a shaky exhale. I pull the thin, white, plastic stick out of the box and stare at the two mauve colored lines. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, glad that I asked for a couple of minutes alone. Before I know it, my shoulders are shaking and I'm crying like a damn idiot. Joy, relief, happiness, love, all too much to contain. I sit up and bend to pick up the box that I dropped. The tissue has fallen out and in the bottom of the box is a photo. The waterworks are back as I pick up the box with trembling hands. I pull the small picture out and look at the first picture of my baby. How far along is she? Why hadn't she told me? A knock on the door startles me and I look at the clock that reads fifteen minutes to eleven.

"Elijah," my father says from the other side.

"Yeah," I croak. I clear my throat while wiping my eyes and standing, "Coming."

My father is frowning when I open the door. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, fine," I say hugging him. "Everything's great."

He looks at me, deciding whether or not I'm being truthful before nodding. We walk outside and the wedding starts. I kiss mom, kiss Lu's mother and shake her stepfather's hand. Lu decided that there will be no giving away of the bride. We're going to start our new life the way we intend on ending it. The two of us. I walk to the front and stand next to the minster.

There's a full choir, trumpets, a string quartet. Music is important to Lu, so it's important to me. As the first cords of the song Lu will walk down the aisle fills the perfect day I close my eyes and lower my head. I take a deep breath. I take another before looking up in the direction of the archway Lu is now standing in. My heart flutters and there is a strange feeling radiating from my stomach that engulfs me until my entire body is buzzing. She is...beautiful. Exquisite. Perfect. The people disappear and I glory in all that she is, standing so far away. Too far. Before I know it, I'm moving, not quite running, but not wasting time either. I see her take a shaky breath, my lover, so unsure, so scared, even now and when she opens her arms I lose what little control I have and race the last few feet to her. Didn't she know? She controls me in all ways. Two tears have escaped her eyes and I rub them away with my thumbs.

"You're crying," I say, pressing a thumb to my lips and then pressing a kiss on each of her eyelids. "Happy tears I hope," I whisper into her hair.

"The happiest, now that you're here."

"Always," I step away from her, "You look beautiful." The smile she offers is my favorite: the one that shows almost all her teeth. She's radiant, and glowing. I take her hand, kiss it and put it in the crook of my arm. The ceremony goes by too fast and at a snail's pace. My heart is beating a mile a minute somewhere high up, right behind my tongue. I repeat the words I'm instructed to say and listen, spellbound as Lu repeats hers. I know I've just said them, but they take on a different meaning coming from her. Love is a wonderful, beautiful thing, and yet manages to be something that can break you, destroy you. When the man announces us husband and wife I actually feel lighter, free, and yet, weighed down. Responsible for Lu, responsible for the life growing inside her, and the two or three or four more I'd love to have. We walk down the aisle smiling, kissing, shaking hands and all I can think about is getting her alone. When the door to the sitting room is closed I grab Lu, pull her into my arms and off her feet and swing her around in a circle. I sit her on her feet and fall to my knees and press my lips to her stomach.

"Eight weeks," she says rubbing my hair. "I didn't tell you in case something went wrong."

"Nothing's going to go wrong." I say, looking up at her. "Everything is going to be perfect."

She nods, but tears are already shining in her eyes. I stand to kiss them away. "No sad tears today."

"No," she whispers. "I love you."

"And I you, Mrs. Friason."

"I want to wait until after the honeymoon to tell our families if that's alright."

"Of course, but I'm glad we have the wedding to use as an excuse. I'm pretty sure my face would give the secret away." We kiss, a long, slow branding that threatens to drown me. I love this woman.

**-**

A feeling of unease has been riding me all day and I give up trying to get any work done and go home. I'd missed so much with Lu's first pregnancy that I am hell bent and determined to experience every single milestone of this second one. Lu is a nervous wreck that something will go wrong, but I don't think so. She and our unborn son had been survivors of an attack and it had been a miracle she had not miscarried that night. I'm almost certain Van's attack is the reason my son is dead, but I don't share this thought with Lu. I only want her happy, not harping on the past.

Van is still missing. I get weekly calls from Richard. He says the trail is pretty much dead. Every time I feel myself relax, breathing easier, something reminds me that Van is out there. Maybe he just left town, but he could be here, and if not in San Fran, just down the road. It's enough to make me seriously consider protection for Lu, but so far I have not. I don't bring him up and I try not to think about him too much. We have bigger, better things to think about. Like the delay in the renovations on the house we bought. I put an offer in on the house the day after Lu came to my office, over asking because Lu wanted it and I meant for her to have it. The owners were given until we returned from our honeymoon to move out. They'd contacted my mother and offered the furnishing. My mother called Lu while we were in New York, the last leg of the honeymoon my father had planned, we spent the first three weeks in Europe. She was laughing so hard I gave up trying to understand her and passed the phone to Lu. It took Lu two minutes to stop laughing hard enough to explain. I really don't remember Mrs. Jeffries taste being that bad. Some are just your average delays, most are because my mother has gotten involved. She's taken over everything and the budget was shot to shit three weeks in, but Lu loves every suggestion my mother makes, so my job is simply to smile, nod, agree and make sure there is enough money in the account allocated to paying for the remodel.

Since marrying Lu work days have gotten too long and I find myself damn near running out the door at five each day. I rush home to a front room that has been turned into mission control. Wallpaper, color and fabric swatches litter the dining room table that can seat eight comfortably, along with magazines, photos and catalogs. My mother has also become a semi-permanent fixture. The only room my mother is steering clear of is the nursery. Lu flip-flopped between waiting on finding out the sex of the baby, and decorating the room in a neutral, unisex color scheme. She'd even gone with my suggestion on the wall covering, a pale gray fabric with a touch of shimmer. It will go nicely with blue or pink. Of course, that was weeks ago. Now we know what direction to go in. I temporarily forget my worry and smile. I've been someone's husband for four months and in three months I'm going to be a father. My life has been in hyper-drive since I met Lu.

I try Lu on the way to the elevator, but the call is sent to voicemail. It's the second time this has happened today. This wouldn't be cause for concern except she hasn't called me back from the first call I made three hours ago. I hit the button and will my feet to wait on the car instead of going to the stairs. I'm probably over reacting. Lu probably put her phone on silent and forgot to turn the volume back on. It's happened before. I step in the elevator, not really believing the rationale mainly because Lu and I talk constantly every day. Lu and Mom have been spending time packing up the apartment. I'm going to keep it, but some of the furniture is going to the house. There are also deliveries being made on a daily basis to the new house and Lu calls whenever something exciting is uncrated. Earlier this week my grandmother sent over an armoire that her father built. My uncle's wives are also sending house warming presents. Nothing as simple as towels or pots and pans, and everything from decorative knick-knacks in the form of urns big enough for people to fit in, to artwork bigger than the size of a small car, tapestries, rugs, if you can think of it, we're getting it. Lu is probably at the new house. She sat her phone down and walked away from it and can't hear it ringing. She hasn't called because she's busy directing the movers. That's it, I tell myself. I wait four seconds before calling Mom. The only reason I haven't called sooner is because her schedule is full today and she and Lu weren't planning on seeing each other.

"My darling boy," my mother answers.

"Is Lu with you?"

There's a beat of silence before she answers, "No." One word, one syllable and I know my mother is on the same page. "I'll run down to the house."

I sigh long enough to cave in my chest. "Thanks, I'm headed to the apartment now." We hang up without saying good-bye. The feeling of unease grows as I step out of the elevator. I push open the door of my office building headed home. I keep the phone in my hand the entire way.

"You're early Mr. Friason," Robert says, holding the door.

"Have you see, Mrs. Friason today?" I ask, my heart already paused in my chest.

"Yes sir, she left around noon."

Three hours ago. I try to keep my cool when I ask, "Did she say where she was going?"

Robert frowns, "No, she didn't. She left with a woman working on your new house."

It's my turn to frown. The only woman working on our house is my mother and Robert knows what she looks like.

"She was carrying an armload of wallpaper samples and had a briefcase." Robert pauses, "Is everything alright?"

"I'm sure it is," I lie, and head for the elevator. The ride takes several light-years, but the doors finally slide open on my floor. I push the key into the lock, my breath caught in my throat. Something's wrong. I don't know how I know, I just do. My phone rings, startling me. It's my mother.

"She's not here," she says as soon as I place the phone to my ear.

"Are you sure," I ask, going to the bedroom even though I know the apartment is empty, but Lu could have re-entered the building through the parking garage, but if she hadn't taken her car, why would she? Our house is not as big as my mother's but it's still pretty fucking impressive. There are also two guest cottages and a pool house to check.

"Si, mi amour." That my mother is speaking her native tongue tells me how nervous she is. Shit.

"I'm going to call Ted," I say.

"Let me know."

"I will."

I hang up and dial Ted's number. She picks up just as I think it's going to go to voicemail. "Is everything alright?" she asks.

Ted and Ray are almost as nervous as Lu about the pregnancy.

"Yes," I answer automatically because just yesterday we'd gone to the doctor and found out that this baby is a girl and everything, as of yesterday, was perfect. Her heartbeat was strong, mine beating almost in time with the near fluttering one of my daughter's. I hadn't cried but was damn close. We hadn't even told our parents yet. We're going to tell them this weekend. "Have you spoken to Lu today?"

There's a beat of silence before she asks, "Why?"

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Lu is from a close and loving family with a younger sister and best friend that she has almost no secrets from. The level of loyalty is to be commended.

"I've called her a couple of times and she hasn't picked up. The doorman says she left around noon with a designer but I just wanted to make sure she wasn't headed your way."

"I spoke to her earlier this morning," She finally answers. This I knew. Every day from six to six-thirty Lu and Ted talk on the phone, sometimes Ray is even called on three-way. "Have you spoken to Ray yet?"

"No, I'll call her next. I'm sure she'll turn up." I say.

"Well, call me when you find her," Ted says, "I'm still at work so I need to go."

"Of course, and I'll text you if I need to."

We hang up and I look around the empty apartment. I go through it opening every door as if she's hiding in the coat closet or the spare bedroom. I sit down at the dining room table in Lu's customary seat and finger fabric swatches as I call her cell again. This time it goes right to voicemail without ringing. Her phone is turned off. My heart-rate increases. I dial Ray's number next, ignoring the slight shake in my hand as I do so. The phone rings and rings before going to voicemail.

"Hello Ray, its Elijah. Call me when you can."

I hang up. I lay my hand on top of the table still clutching the phone but my free hand is running up and down the swatch of wall-covering in pale pink so light the only reason I can see the tint is because it was lying on top of a white one. I close my eyes and can see the nursery done up in different shades of pink, with all white furnishing, a huge overstuffed chair in one corner, a rocker in the other. The French doors opens to a Juliet balcony overlooking our backyard. Right now the landscape is a lot of grass and a few palm trees but soon it's going to look like a tropical rain-forest. My phone rings snapping me out of my daydream. I'm disappointed when I see it's only Ray.

I don't give her a chance to speak. "Have you spoken to Lu today?" I ask.

"E."

The sound of the man's voice sends a chill down my spine. "Richard," I say, just above a whisper.

"Ray was attacked sometime over the weekend." His voice is thick with emotion. He's holding on by a thread. "I found her this morning." His voice finally cracks, and I hear him crying. "She was beaten, left for dead. She was alone for two days..." It's as far as he gets before great sobs stops his words. I listen, stunned...numb as Richard cries. "She's unconscious. She hasn't been able to tell us what happened."

"Van," I say.

"Yeah," Richard answers. "Who else can it be?"

I swallow...then swallow again, move my lips and barely hear the words myself when I say, "Lu's missing." The silence is thick. I can't even hear Richard breathing when seconds ago he could barely pulled himself together after dropping the news about Ray. "Tell me I'm over-reacting," I beg.

"No."

I feel like screaming. It's Monday evening. Richard said Ray had been attacked over the weekend, plenty of time for someone to fly out, hell, to drive if they did it straight through. The thought of Van having help, someone else just as crazy as he is, drives me to the brink of insanity. My stomach is a tight knot, my bowels are loose and my body weightless, as I beat back the ghost of images trying to form into solid thought in my head.

"I have to go. Keep me posted on Ray." I don't say good-bye. I hang up the phone and call the police.

### Chapter Twenty-Six

"I didn't get a good look at her face. She had on big oversized sunglasses. She was Mrs. Friason's height, dark hair in a ponytail. She was wearing a suit, red, with black shoes. Her briefcase was dark brown." Robert turns to me. "I'm really sorry I can't tell you more."

"That's alright," I tell the man. The words are automatic.

I called the police after hanging up on Richard and spoke to several people before calling the police department that handled Lu's original assault in Sacramento. Once I got them involved my phone rang minutes later and two police arrived within thirty minutes. I haven't called my mother, or Ted, or anyone else.

"Do you remember what Mrs. Friason was wearing?" Office Lawrence asks. He's the taller of the two, older, but he keeps in shape. He could still run down a suspect if he had too.

"She had on a navy blue dress and flats."

"Thank you Mr. Welch," Officer Cochrane says standing. "If we have any more questions we'll be in touch. Call us if you remember anything else."

Robert nods and leaves without another word. I watch from the dream state I've been in since Richard's call.

"We were sent over the details of the attack. You said her childhood friend was attacked over the weekend?" Officer Lawrence asks.

"Yes."

"And a few months back, this..." Officer Lawrence checked his notebook, "Van Wilkerson disappeared from his home town and her friends warned that he was still angry about her leaving him?"

"Yes."

Officer Cochrane sits up, placing his elbows on his knees, "Did your wife know this?"

"No," I choke out. God, guilt is a wild animal chewing its way from my middle. I should have told her, should have gotten that protection detail.

"How long did your wife date Mr. Wilkerson?"

"Four years," I answer.

"And she was trying to get away from him when she moved across the country?"

"Yes."

Officer Lawrence is writing. My phone rings. I'm still clutching it in my hand. It's Ted.

"Have you heard from her?" I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

"No, I spoke to Richard," she says, and I know she's crying. I'm not a soulless monster, but I don't care about Ray right now. She's alive, people know where she is. It's five o'clock and Lu's been missing going on five hours. Each passing minute, no, second, is making me more and more ill.

"Oh, my God," she says. I envy her. I wish I could fall apart.

"I have the police here," I say, looking at the men in front of me. I lower the phone from my mouth. "It's my wife's sister." I speak back into the phone. "It's..." I swallow hard because while I want to believe everything is going to be alright, I can't. "I'll call you as soon as we're done here." I finally say.

"Alright, I'm calling our parents."

"Yes, right," I say.

"Alright, I'll talk to you soon."

I hang up.

"We have his photo from processing from the attack. Ordinarily there's a twenty-four hour rule..."

I interrupt. "My wife's pregnant." Saying the words out loud fills me with something close to dread. What will this madman do to her once he sees her round belly? I lower my head and take several breaths. I will not break down in front of these two men. I look up to find Officer Lawrence watching me with sympathy filled eyes. The other—not so much.

"Because of the previous attack, Mr. Wilkerson's known gang ties, and his arrest record we're bypassing the twenty-four hour rule. An APB is already out for him, and we'll get a picture of Mrs. Friason out as soon as possible. Do you think you'll get a ransom request?"

"God, I hope so," I say, but I'm not holding my breath. Money means nothing to animals.

"If you get a call, you'll call us immediately. Do not try to make contact or pay," Officer Cochrane says.

"We're getting a team over to tap the phones," Officer Lawrence adds.

"Of course, I just want her back."

They stand. I stand. We look across the table for a handful of seconds. "We'll do everything in our power to find her," Officer Lawrence finally says, earning him a look from the other man.

"Thank you."

I walk them to the door and am not surprised that my parents are on the opposite side. Mom looks as distraught as I feel on the inside. "Elijah!"

It's all I need. It's as if I've held it together just long enough for her to make it. I collapse into her arms. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed, I'm fucking relieved that she's here.

**-**

The nicer officers have been replaced with way more suspicious detectives. Lu's been missing for two days and I try to contain frustration and anger threatening to go nuclear with each passing second as the morons across from me continue to ask me the same questions.

"Where were you Mr. Friason?"

I look into the beady eyes of a man long past his policeman's prime. He certainly is not going to be running any suspects down. I wonder if I can ask for a different detective. God help Lu if this asshole has to save the day.

"As I said before, I came home from work to find my wife missing."

"You left work early and arrived here at a little after three?"

"Yes."

"Why would you leave work early? Do you make a habit of doing this?"

I've made new habits since I married and learned my wife was pregnant."

"Yes," the detective says, "She's already showing, but you've only been married a couple of months," he refers to his notebook and continued, "Three to be exact." He closes his note book, lay his hand on a thigh and lean in a little. "If she's showing, that's put her at about five months, give or take."

"Six," I answer. He nods but doesn't say anything. "Is there a point to this line of questioning?" I finally ask.

"We know she didn't come from money. Is this a case of post-wedding cold feet? Did you figure out too late that she wasn't going to fit in with the elite and decide to get rid of her?"

I sit stunned for a handful of ticks. This can't be happening. They should be out looking for my wife, following up on leads, instead of sitting in my living room accusing me of this bullshit. I know it won't do any good to get mad, but mad is what I am. I take a few breaths before opening my mouth. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I love my wife. I love my child. I just want them home safely." I give myself a pat on the back for not attacking the jacksass.

"You were previously engaged, recently so, to a Ms. Ashley Fitzpatrick."

"Yes."

"You called off your engagement after three years."

"Amazing," I say standing and walking away from the man who is close to getting his fucking lights punched out. "If you spent half as much time investigating Lu's disappearance as you have me, she'd be found by now."

"It's just procedure Mr. Friason." The other man says, standing too.

"It's bullshit, is what it is. I didn't know Lu was pregnant until the day of our wedding. She kept it from me and gave me the results of the pregnancy test as a wedding gift. We lost a child late last year." My voice is rising with each word. I'm powerless to stop it. I'm not sure I want to. "Christopher's buried next to my bother. I love Lu, I loved Christopher, and I love the child Lu is carrying this second. If anything happens to either of them, I will spend every cent I have suing you and the police department, because this is wasting time you could be out searching for my goddamn wife! Now get the fuck out of my house."

I storm off before I get arrested for assaulting an officer. My mother is standing in the entryway and she holds her hand out as I approach. I stop long enough for her to rub my cheek and lay a comforting hand on my shoulder. It slides down my arm where she gives my hand a little squeeze. I walk past her to my office trusting that she'll get rid of them for me.

My mother has moved in and my father comes by every day. Lu's parents are scheduled to arrive later this evening. Even Ted is coming down tonight. I collapse in a chair and put my face in my hands. God, is she alright? Is she hurt? Is she even still alive? The thought chokes me and I swallow the sob that's riding the coattails of panic.

"My love." My mother is standing in the doorway, holding a package out to me. "This was just delivered."

I stand, crossing the room on legs weighing a ton each. I opened the yellow envelope and poured the contents in my hand.

Lu's wedding rings.

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# Excerpt from Black Butterfly

I am holding panic at bay with a strength of will that can be described using words like: miniscule, thin...gossamer. At twenty-seven I am years away from old by anyone standards, but my short time on earth has not been kind to me and just when I thought I could breathe a little my suddenly charmed life is once again more nightmare than fairy-tale. For four long years I'd tied myself to a man that was on the fast-track to killing me, and on the very first day of my newly claimed freedom I met the man of my dreams. He is...unbelievable. His list of attributes is long and while I sit many a night and day thinking on all the many things that makes him my very own dream come true, the one that I cling to at the moment....the one that is helping me not fall completely apart, is that he loves me. I have not lived through horrors that have broken many only to find my true love and give up now. The torturous time spent with my ex, Van Wilkerson, taught me many things and as I sit quietly in the corner of an office in an abandon warehouse I go to a place that I'd escaped many times after Van had used fist and foot on me, a place that is no longer a figment of my imagination but the life I'd lived up until the moment I opened the door to discover a woman pointing a gun at me—no—not me, but my daughter. If the gun had been pointed at my head or heart instead of my stomach it would not have triggered the utter and complete horror and fear.

He loves me. He will do everything in his power to get me back.

He loves me.

I repeat this in my head. A mantra meant and succeeds in making me strong, for if money is what they want Elijah and his mother have it in spades and they love me. I rub my belly where my daughter is currently residing in peaceful slumber or simple content and take a slow breath that is released with a tiny hitch. I will not cry. Not yet. I've survived, I'm a survivor and my survivor instincts say I'm not at that point just yet. I will remain calm and quiet because when dealing with crazy people that seems to works best.

I drop my hand at the sound of footsteps and stand, taking an unconscious step backwards, pressing my back into the corner until it becomes a sort of half cocoon. My breathing, which has been steady since I was placed in the office is shallow, sips of air taken between my lips and my heart starts to race despite my outwardly appearance of calm. Strength is something that I've faked for many years. I'd left my life of abuse but I wasn't running far. No, I never intended to make it to California. I was planning on ending my life. Elijah saved me. I was not strong enough for me. I am strong enough for the man that I love and my unborn child. I will do any and everything to survive this for them. They are my reason for living. Two damn fine reasons.

The woman that pushes open the door is no longer dressed in the designer suit and red-sole shoes. Her hair is not tastefully messy gathered at her nape. She's changed into jeans that look like she's been poured into, a sweater that is long enough to hang mid-thigh, and big clunky combat boots cover her feet. Her shoulder length hair is loose and looks as if she's been running her hands through it...a lot. She looks nervous, which makes me nervous. She's not the mastermind behind this. Call it women's intuition, or like recognizing like, this woman is following the orders of a man. One that has a power over her that makes her do things she would never do otherwise. I know the feeling. Van had that power, along with countless others. Van had taken it but I'd offered it freely, to him and to so many others. I surrendered it to my husband as well, only with Elijah, it is well placed.

He loves me. I think as she closes the door. She wraps her arms around her middle and sort of hugs herself. Her shoulders are slumped and she has that kicked puppy look. Maybe...

"You don't have to do this," I say. My tone: gentle, my voice: barely a whisper. "Please, whatever you're being paid...I'll double it."

I'm not the only one holding on by a thread, only hers is more raveled than mine. She looks...torn, maybe even remorseful.

"Please," I beg, my hands moving on their own covering my belly, protecting the child that is now a fluttering in my stomach as she wakes for her evening exercise. Triggering tears that I refuse to give voice to. How many times have Elijah and I lain in bed or on the couch in wonderment of our daughter? Each movement validation that she is healthy...alive.

The sound of a door being slammed shut somewhere below us makes us both jump. My capture's head swings around and I catch a glimpse of panic in her eyes before her face is covered by her hair. When she turns back she's fixed her face, her mouth no longer open, and her eyes no longer wide, but that it was there gives me hope. Please, God, let me connect with this kindred soul.

"Please," I say.

She shakes her head and turns without ever speaking a word. I wonder what she'd come in to say. She leaves and I hear hurried footstep leading away from the door. I sit back down instead of heading for the door that is unlocked. I'm miles away from civilization, even if I escaped the warehouse, then what? If it's money they want, I have nothing to worry about. I refuse to let myself think about the alternative. Not now.

Not yet.

**-**

My knees go out and I fall in a heap at my mother's feet. The sound that erupts from my throat does not sound human. Every muscle in my body is constricted to the point of pain as I scream my throat raw. Seconds later my mother follows my descent with tears in her eyes, speaking words meant to soothe...to give me hope. I don't realize they're in Spanish until I've run out of air and collapses into her arms, crying into her neck, clinging to her as if she's the last real thing in this world, clutching my missing wife's wedding rings in my left hand.

"Madre," I sob, holding my mother in a bear hug that has surely cut off her breath. I'm powerless to stop. If I let her go I'll lose my mind.

"My love," mother says, her lips next to my ear, one hand clutching the back of my shirt the other rubbing comforting strokes starting at the top of my head to the small of my back. Most little boys grow up thinking their father's giants. I'd grown up thinking my mother was the stronger of the two, an unmovable thing, an unstoppable force, a thing to be reckoned with if you ever crossed her. My father had the height and size (which is why I'm nearly a foot taller than the woman whose arms are now around me) but my mother had...a passion, a fire. She was—is—my rock.

"Come," she says and despite the difference in height and weight stands with me still folded over her like a cape. She pushes the door close as she directs me to the nearest chair. I sit, she kneels beside me, holds my hand while I get myself under control.

I try and fail to stop vision after vision of horrific things being done to Lu. Bile rises and I rush for the half bath, barely flipping up the top on the toilet before I vomit.

"Oh, God," I moan. My face is damn near touching the fowled water in the bowl as I lean in on my forearm. "Please." The word is a prayer, a plea to any and all higher powers to let this be some terrible dream that I wake from. I close my eyes and flush before raising my head and turning my body, closing the lid and sitting on it. My head still hung, my forearms on my thighs, I turn my hand and open my palm and look at the rings that Lu had not taken off since we wed: the simple gold band and large cushion cut diamond. The band was what had sealed the deal but the diamond is what really meant something...for Lu and me. I'd given it to her after the stillbirth of our son, Christopher. I'd asked her to marry me, she'd said no. Then she'd left me and moved back to her tiny apartment. There was the whole Mrs. Fitzpatrick blow-up at the engagement party. Through it all, Lu had doubted every second that we would make it, believing she wasn't worthy of me and through it all she'd never taken the diamond off. I'd slipped it on her finger while she was sedated after becoming hysterical with grief at the loss of our son. The ring means so much more than just me asking her to be my wife. Christopher is tied to the piece of jewelry. That it wasn't on her hand...

"Mr. Friason..."

My mother turns off the water and rings the towel out and hand it to me. "I'll be right out," she shouts out to the detective speaking to us from the other side of the door she'd closed.

I'm grateful that they've stayed away from me. After the questions they'd asked me, the looks I'd gotten from one. If I so much as saw one suspicious glance I was going to go bat-shit crazy on their asses. Mother doesn't allow them in my office, but steps into the hallway closing the door behind her. Yes, I'll let her take care of it. I wipe my face with the towel after rinsing my mouth out and head back into the office. The envelope that held Lu's rings is sitting on the edge of a table. I sit next to it but don't touch it. I'm staring at it when my mother comes back in the room. Once more closing the door, keeping me separated from the police. She's the epitome of strength and grace as she walks towards me. I follow her descent when she kneels beside me.

"My darling boy," she says rubbing my knee. "The police need the rings. There may be DNA on them."

Instinctively my fist tightens. I shake my head because I cannot put to voice the words rolling around in my head. Not to my mother. If it was one of the detectives I would have absolutely no problem saying: "Go fuck yourself." But mother squeezes my leg and places her free hand on top of mine, the one currently closed like a vise. No squeezing, just a barely there touch. She is no stranger to work, she picks grape from the vines, cleans her house and stalls. Not because she has to, her staff number in the double digits but because she wants to.

"DNA that may tell us who has our Georgiana." Her voice finally cracked when she says Lu's name. She's been Lu to me since the first introductions outside the hotel she had checked in on her way to California. I'd seen her earlier in the day sitting on a blanket crying. I'd been enthralled, be-spelled...obsessed since the very first moment I saw her. I had been relentless in my pursuit. No had never been an option for me where she was—is—concerned. I had to have her, I got her, and I plan on keeping her for the rest of her life. Reluctantly I open my hand and my mother and I spend a few moments just staring at the rings. I fight reflex when my mother hands reaches for them. I take in a shuddering breath as the weight of them disappears. I feel like I've lost her all over again. If Lu is...

If anything happens to Lu, I know now, I might not survive it.

Mother stands but instead of heading for the door she stops at the bar. "Chivas," I say. I'm a scotch drinker, Glenfiddech is my choice. Chivas, is Lu's. Mother pours a generous amount and hands the heavy crystal glass to me. I take it gratefully. She picks up the envelope and I'm once again alone. Lu's sister, Ted, is supposed to be here tonight. Not only am I not in any condition to receive her, do I want to? All I care about is Lu and our daughter.

God...our daughter.

Lu had been damn near suicidal after Christopher. So nervous when she found out she was pregnant with our daughter that she'd not told me until our wedding day and had hardly taken a full breath nor will she until the little girl is safe in her arms. I was more certain that everything was going to be alright. The last appointment we'd found out the sex and the reality that I am soon to become a father settled on me like a ton a brinks, not just on my shoulders, a pressure that covered me from head to foot. I had excellent examples in my parents, Lu would love the baby to no ends, she would never want for anything in life. But money will not shape and mold her into an intelligent, kind, giving, child and woman. That is all on Lu and me with the help of our parents, of course. Can we pull off raising that kind of child when my mother was already preparing her coming out party that will cost more than what the average American brought home in a year? In mother's defense I turned out okay. Having Lu, seeing the world through the eyes of someone on a different social scale had also opened my eyes. The last night before she was taken we'd watched our daughter evening play. The gentle waves and hard spots on Lu's stomach damn near blowing my mind. And Lu, beaming, glowing, lying in bed naked, round with my child. I was a fucking caveman with pride. So much so I'd taken Lu hard, unable to stop the need of being inside her, being a part of the miracle that was happening.

God.

I throw back my head, the burn of the scotch scorching my already raw throat and sit the glass down. I enter the master suite through the door that had installed since marrying Lu. I often times worked at night and she'd had the opening made one day while I was at work. That door, like her rings, signifies more than just my wife's need to feel close to me. It was the first money she'd spent on something she wanted. Lu is still getting used to having money on a scale most people will never know, which is a good thing since Mother is leaving her vast fortune to her upon her death and because Lu is the kind of woman that deserves—nay—need to be in the finer things. She's beautiful in jeans and a t-shirt, she's...otherworldly in a gown and jewels.

I close the door with a soft click and peel off my clothes dropping them on the floor on my way to the bed. I round it, going to Lu's side and pull back the covers and burrow into the sheets and pillows, taking a deep inhalation, filling my nose with Lu's scent. I've slept on her side for the last two days. My heart has been heavy for the last two days; it almost fucking shattered tonight.

Her rings.

No note.

What does that mean? I fall asleep with a prayer on my lips. "Please, God, I'll do anything to have them back safe and sound. I'll gladly give my life. Just give me back Lu. I can't live without her. I don't want to."

