After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL Page 13

  But that's a foolish thing to dream and an even more foolish thing to do.

  "You have no idea," I whisper. I can't turn to look at him. I need to keep up appearances so that no one will be the wiser. "I didn't know you were providing alcohol service at this."

  "I didn't know this was where you had to be tonight." He smiles, and it's a professional facsimile of the warmth I'm used to from him. "I guess that makes us even?" He offers me a glass of whiskey, which I take, sliding my fingers against his. He lifts both brows and eyes the glass as I sniff it. "Do you know what you're doing with that?"

  I look down at the whiskey. "Drinking it?"

  "Have you ever had whiskey?"

  "Nothing remarkable comes to mind."

  "Don't drink that, then." He swaps the drink in my hand with a champagne flute filled with what looks like a mimosa. "This is better. Something you're familiar with."

  I tip my glass toward him. "Thank you."

  I want to stay there and talk to him. I want to watch him work. This is my new natural environment. I want to watch him in it. He doesn't move like he's uncomfortable.

  He moves like a wild animal who has been caged and tamed and put on display, performing for its dinner.

  I open my mouth to speak. To tell him about Davis, who is here tonight and who I have to talk to. And allow to put his hands on me. And pretend like it is all that I want in this world.

  That I consent to being a toy for a spoiled, vindictive man.

  I don't. But I also don't have a choice.

  I tried once to escape and failed.

  "Go," he says quietly. "I'm here." I look up at him sharply, meeting his intense grey eyes. "If you need me."

  I swallow the burning need his simple declaration stokes to life inside me. That simple promise. One he's probably made to every stray that's come into his life, but right now it is everything to me. Everything I've ever wanted.

  And everything I cannot have.

  Because I am a doll for my fiancé’s showcase. A trophy for a father who is incapable of loving me.

  I am not allowed to be anything else.

  I turn away, disappointment squeezing my lungs, pressing the oxygen from my blood.

  I take a long sip of the drink and it burns a path down my throat. He's laced it with something. His eyes are dark and filled with something terrible. But his gaze is not directed at me.

  And in that instance, I take comfort, a strange comfort in knowing he's here. Even though there is literally nothing he can do, his merely being present wraps around me like the softest cashmere.

  I walk back into the crowd, mingling with my fiancé’s donors and all the others eager to come into the orbit of one of the most powerful men in Washington.

  I'm not ten feet from the bar when Davis strides back in from the patio, instantly the center of attention.

  He is polished and pressed. Leather that has been made soft and supple by lotion and care.

  His smile is blinding when he sees me, just as it's meant to be.

  We each have our part to play. Him the up-and-coming junior congressman from Virginia, setting the stage for a national run in the next election. Me, his dutiful fiancée, finishing up my dream of business school before we make things official. When I'll be far too busy running his social calendar to have dreams and aspirations of my own.

  His dreams will become mine.

  And I will recall that these are very First World problems, and I will smile and order custom furniture from a craftsman in his district because it is good publicity and shows our connection with the working men and women.

  The unbelievable sadness grips me as I turn my cheek and this time, let him kiss me. His grip on my upper arm is tighter than it needs to be, just like his smile and the coldness in his eyes tells me that my debt will be collected.

  Tonight.

  * * *

  Eli

  * * *

  She's trapped. I’d recognize that look anywhere. I start to take a single step forward when Kelsey catches me watching Parker again and shakes her head once.

  Kelsey's right. But I can't just walk away, leaving Parker on her own. I saw the strength in his fingers gripping her upper arm, the whiteness of bone through flesh.

  Leaving her behind, leaving her alone…violates everything that I am.

  But I'm also a realist. There's no winning tonight. Not here. Not in front of the crowd.

  But that doesn't stop the need, the pressure, the feeling that I need to do something. It is an impatient feeling, growing and building inside me. A violence I haven't felt in a long, long time, wrestling with the civilized presentation of self that I show to the world.

  Despite the beard and the tattoos, I blend into this place, but I won't if I let the darker angels of my nature fly free, as they very much want, toward the man who gripped her arm like he wanted to crush her bones.

  I am trapped in an iron cage of norms and expectations where anything I do will likely make the situation worse.

  The utter helplessness twists in a dark dance with the need to do violence to protect what is mine.

  Because she is.

  She's part of my world now. The small family I've built around The Pint.

  But she's mine in a far more primitive way, too.

  She just doesn't know it yet.

  "You are going to get fired without pay if you don't keep that overly aggressive stalker alpha male bullshit you've got going under wraps," Kelsey says as she refills her drink tray once more. "Take a break. I'll run the whiskey bar for a while. You need to go somewhere else and calm down." Her palm on my forearm is soothing and cool. "Seriously. Step outside and cool off. Deacon and I’ve got this while the speech is going on."

  The party attendees have all migrated back to a seated ballroom—yes the house is big enough to have its own ballroom. It’s a bit larger than an Olympic swimming pool, and the entire crowd fits easily in the space.

  I scan the attendees, looking for Parker. She's gone. How appropriate.

  I take Kelsey's advice for once and step outside into the moist heat. The sun is hanging heavy over the trees, casting long shadows over the manicured lawn. It's moments like this that I wish I hadn't quit smoking. At least I'd have an excuse for being outside, away from all the people. When you don't smoke, people just think you're weird. Or antisocial. Or both.

  A cobblestone path leads around the vast wraparound porch to a small grotto. The trickle of water over the fake stone is oddly soothing. Guess nature doesn't have to be real in order to remind us of just how small and insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things.

  I scrub my hand over my beard, trying to figure a way out of my Parker problem. I was raised not to avoid trouble. That if something was wrong you fix it. You stand up to it.

  You don't ignore it.

  But I was also a company commander, and I learned the hard way that you have to pick your battles carefully. Even ones that seem like they are a redline that must never be crossed.

  The world doesn't work that way. Principles and morality are fine until the bullets start flying.

  "How long are you going to keep up the silent treatment?"

  I frown and slip behind the stone chimney of the fire pit.

  "I'm sorry, Davis. I just needed some space to…figure things out."

  Parker doesn't sound like herself. She sounds forced, her voice strained. Higher pitched than I'm used to hearing. And more…insipid.

  I will myself to disappear. And I listen.

  "I'm not used to being ignored. You know I hate being ignored."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I was just…so shocked when you grabbed me."

  "You shouldn't have made me so angry." They are standing on the other side of a hedge. He cups her face. If I hadn't seen the bruises on her arm or heard the drastically different tone in her voice, I would mistake the gesture for genuine care.

  But it's not. It's controlling. Letting her know just how vulnerable she really is.

&nbs
p; Frustrated rage burns in my veins.

  Chapter 20

  Parker

  * * *

  I'm playing my part as well as I can. I've forgotten some of my lines. The ones that reassure Davis and say I'm completely to blame. That I'll do better next time, and no, I never meant to embarrass him.

  My soul shrivels with each word. I know it doesn't have to be like this. That there are good men out there who don't need to prove their power in everything they do.

  Who are comfortable in their own skin.

  Who know where to touch me to make my body sing.

  I want to be with that man right now. More than anything.

  "I'll be back in Virginia by the end of the summer for a couple of weeks," I say.

  "When you finish slumming at that hole-in-the-wall bar?"

  My skin goes cold, my blood thickens in my veins, grinding to a near halt. "I'm sorry?"

  "You honestly think I wouldn't find out about your little side project? Why didn't you just take the internship at Carlisle Industries? Why is this executive management program so much more important to you than I am?"

  Because I didn't want to see a sixty-year-old penis ever again. At least not until I’m closing in on sixty myself. But, miraculously, those words are not the ones that come out of my mouth. For once. "Because I wanted to make sure I’m prepared to assist you as your wife. The executive management program is elite. For only the best. Think about how that will sound every time I’m introduced with your name.”

  He smiles, his ego stroked for now. "But I miss you. And I want you to come away with me. It’s nice that you’re doing this but it’s causing too much trouble."

  "It’s not trouble. I’m fine. The bar is safe. The people are good. I’ll get my case study complete for my statement of purpose and I’ll be on the beach with you in a few weeks.”

  "You don't make any sense sometimes. You don't actually have to prove anything to anyone. You're not supposed to be a CEO to be my wife." There's an edge to his voice. One that tells me just how close I'm walking to the danger zone. The one where he slices at me with his words and tells me he's sorry later.

  Until he grabbed my arm last week, he’s never actually hurt me before. At least not physically.

  How my mother would be ashamed of my weakness.

  I place my hand on his chest, fighting the urge not to recoil from touching him. I part my lips deliberately and look up at him the way I know drives him crazy. "Look. I'm just working at The Pint for a research project. I want to finish this out then I'll be home. Back where I belong."

  "Yes but you're slumming. You're hanging around people who were too stupid to go to college and ran off to play Rambo in some stupid war. Violent people. They went to war, remember? How do you know none of them are going to snap and shoot the place up?"

  I release the breath I'm holding. This is old territory for the congressman's son. He hates the idea of military service. Disdains everything about it and the people associated with it. His father never talks about what he did during the Vietnam years, but I strongly suspect it had to do with military exemption.

  “That’s an unfair stereotype of veterans and one that’s not going to play well if you ever get recorded saying it.”

  He smirks. “Who’s going to record me? Besides, the veteran voting block is getting smaller every passing year. Once the Vietnam vets start dying off, their political influence will pass.” He strokes my cheek and I use everything I am to avoid pulling away. “Just be careful. You never know with those people.”

  “You know, I took a class on violence last semester. It was fascinating stuff.”

  “I don’t care, Parker,” he says coldly. “Veterans’ issues are not part of my plank and they’re never going to be.”

  I never thought anything of it—not the violence, not the veterans’ issues, not the war. Until I took that class. Until I met Eli.

  Now? Now Davis's attitude grates because he's talking about people I know. Real people who made real choices and live with the consequences.

  I bite back what I want to say and smile pretty instead. "It's not like I'm going to enlist and head off to Ranger School," I say dryly. Because I want to defend Eli and his service. I want to defend Eli and the people he cares about. The people who have taken me in, despite me being nothing at all like them.

  "That's not funny." His words are laced with a subtle threat. Hard to believe that I'd thought him so sexy and exciting when I first met him.

  "Sorry," I mumble. "Look, let me finish my project and I'll be home for a few weeks when we can talk about the wedding."

  "Which, by the way, we're setting a date for. No more stalling while you go off to find yourself. You can find yourself at our house in the Hamptons where you belong. I've had to hire a catering company all summer because you're not there to handle things."

  Oh, the humanity. That might be the first thing I think. Not what I say, mind you, because that would ignite the situation far beyond what I'm capable of handling at the moment. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure In The Garden's owners are thrilled with your business, though. And that will help them write the donor checks at this winter's gala, won't it?"

  He smiles now and it's the warm, self-assured smile I'd once mistaken as making him look handsome. "Very true." He leans in and kisses me gently. I have to remind myself to part my lips a little and make the right sound. A sigh that doesn't even remotely resemble the silent scream in my head.

  "I'm going to go find your father and try out the whiskey bar. I hear it's quite well stocked."

  I brush my hair out of my face and fight the urge to swipe my hand across my mouth. I want the taste of him gone. But I can't. Must play along. "The owner is creating quite a lot of buzz around here with his whiskey collection."

  "I’m sure he is." And then he's gone, taking the scent of over-cologned man with him. The air is at once fresh and clean and I breathe deeply, savoring the feeling of filling my lungs until they threaten to burst.

  Then I sink onto a stone bench. It's cold and rough on my thighs, penetrating the thin fabric of my skirt. "What the hell am I going to do?" I whisper to the universe.

  I press my forehead into my hand and close my eyes, replaying the exchange for any possible errors or mistakes.

  I have to get back inside. My father will be looking for me, and I'm expected to be present and smiling and pretty.

  Something like dread curls in my stomach. I hate this part of my life. More and more every day.

  "Want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

  Dread in my belly curdles and turns sour at the sound of Eli's voice.

  No. Not just his voice. The rage in his voice. The pure violence, constrained only by convention and politeness. This is so different than the danger I'm used to from Davis. There it's cold and calculating. Manipulating every sentence, every word, to make sure he gets what he wants.

  In Eli, there is merely violence. Maybe betrayal.

  Or hurt.

  Maybe all of the above.

  I inhale deeply. Breathe out again, just as controlled.

  Then I summon every ounce of acting skills I've honed in a thousand interactions with powerful men.

  And hope it's enough to convince him…of what? That I can stay? That I have power over my life that I don't really have? Or that everything I just said to Davis was a lie?

  I wish it was. But it wasn't. It was the cold, hard, ugly truth.

  I'm using Eli for a temporary reprieve from the prison that is my life.

  And it's better for both of us if he just lets me go.

  * * *

  Eli

  * * *

  “Is this the part where you tell me I'm fired for being a deceitful, conniving whore, and I live with the regret of what might have been for the rest of my life?"

  She's tense and the quip falls flat.

  She's scared. I can see that in the tight lines of her neck and the flat press of her mouth.

  I stay silent. There are
no words for what I need to express right now. I want to tear down the entire fucking structure surrounding her, to blast the doors off the gilded cage and set her free.

  My silence is destroying her. And yet the words I need are locked inside me, lodged in my chest.

  She glances back toward the building. I hate the fear that flashes in her eyes. "I don't do well with long sullen silences. Could you say something?" She swallows the rest of her drink. It dawns on me that it's the same drink I handed her over an hour and a half ago. "I mean, how hard is it to say fuck off and die?"

  If I wasn't so violently angry, I'd laugh. Her comment diffuses my anger. Just a little.

  "This isn't the part where I call you names." I take a single step forward. "It's the part where you tell me what the fuck is going on. Why are you lying to your fiancé?"

  I sink down onto the bench next to her as all the color fades from her face. "I'm confused." Her voice cracks over the words, like shattered glass skidding across a tile floor.

  "I heard you. I heard what you said to him." I dare to cup her face, to urge her to look at me. "It wasn't you. It was your voice and your words, but it wasn't you."

  She smiles sadly and shakes her head. "Yeah, it was." She looks away. "And it was all true."

  Her words are a knife, slipping between my ribs and piercing my faith in humanity. "You're not a very good liar."

  She scoffs quietly. "Yeah, actually I am." The bleak sadness in her eyes nearly breaks me. "You learn really quick growing up around men like my father how to tell the most convincing lies." She inhales sharply. "I have to go back in." She stands and the skirt shimmers down her body. It clings to her curves in all the right places and makes me wish we were alone so I could explore her skin and distract her from the fear and pain I see looking back at me.

  "You have a choice," I whisper.

  She shakes her head. "No, I really don't."

  She walks away, her hips swaying gently in the skirt, her shoes clicking on the stone.