Authors: Christina Ross
At
the top of the page, in his own handwriting, he wrote, “This is from
Steinbeck:
A Life in Letters
.
It’s one of my favorite books.
When we were in Maine, whenever I saw you or thought of you, I thought
of this, because I’m in love with you, Jennifer.
Steinbeck wrote this letter to a friend of
his.
It reminded me again of how
short life is, not that I need to be reminded after what happened to
Diana.
But still.
I wanted you to know how I feel about
you.
I know now that life is too
short to not tell you.
For me,
there’s no shame in telling you exactly how I feel about you—and about
us—even if you feel differently.”
I
brought a finger to my mouth and closed my eyes.
No man had ever said that he was in love
with me.
And for him to say so in a
letter was intentional—it meant that I could always revisit this
moment.
He didn’t want it to be
something I would remember in a blur—he wanted it to be something
tangible that I could return to whenever I wanted to.
I couldn’t process my own thoughts or
feelings at that point—they were scattered.
Overwhelmed.
Instead, I just started to read.
“There
are several kinds of love,” Steinbeck’s passage began.
“One is a selfish, mean, grasping,
egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance.
This is the ugly and crippling kind.
The other is an outpouring of everything
good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the
social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of
another person as unique and valuable.
The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can
release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t
know you had.
“You
say this is not puppy love.
If you
feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.
“But
I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than
anyone.
What you wanted me to help
you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.
“Glory
in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.
“The
object of love is the best and most beautiful.
Try to live up to it.
“If
you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you
must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take
that shyness into consideration.
“Girls
have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear
it also.
“It
sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but
that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.”
He
ended the note with this:
“For me,
it’s the second kind of love that I feel for you.
I’m saying this to you now not because I
don’t want to say it in person—I plan to do so soon—but so that you
have a love letter from me.
People
don’t write love letters anymore, but I think they’re important.
I think letters between lovers are
romantic.
It can define a
relationship.
Lift it.
I wanted you to know in writing how much
you mean to me.
In time, I hope you
feel the same as I do.
I’m looking
forward to that day.
I do love you,
Jennifer.
Now, you know that.
I love you—Alex.”
With
a dizzying sensation, I carefully folded the note and put it in my clutch.
I took a breath and looked out at the
city, which seemed to sigh back at me with a breeze that encompassed me.
My pulse raced.
At that moment, my father’s voice
started to encroach and steal away my happiness, but I pushed him away with a
strength I’d never possessed.
I
denied him access to this moment, I shut him out of this moment, and I locked
the door so he couldn’t find a way inside.
I was determined to savor this letter without interruption from the
corrupt, abusive drunk who happened to be my father.
Did
I love Alex?
I wasn’t sure.
What was love?
It was a foreign concept to me, at least
romantic love was.
Steinbeck didn’t
address sex when he spoke above love.
Instead, he went to the core of what love was, saying the best kind of
love gave you strength, courage, goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you
had.
That’s what being with Alex
was like for me.
Am I in love with him?
Before
I could answer the question, Alex came up beside me and put his arm around my
waist.
His sudden presence gave me
a start, but I stilled it.
“You
jumped me,” I said.
“Sorry.”
I turned to him, and he looked
happy.
He kissed me gently on the
cheek and asked if I was ready to go.
“Let’s
stay for a bit.”
“But
you said that you wanted to leave?”
“I’ve
changed my mind.
People are dancing
near the orchestra.
How about a
dance, and then we can leave?”
“I’d
love that.
I’d love to dance with
you again.”
Am I in love with you?
“First,
how did it go with Dufort?”
“He’s
intrigued.
He knows that Wenn
Entertainment is in the countries he can’t seem to get into.
We’re going to meet on Friday.
I think we’ll come to some sort of
collaboration.”
“That’s
fantastic.”
“You’re
the one who thought of it.”
“You’re
the one who sold it to him.”
“Which
makes us one hell of a team.”
“It
does.”
And
it did.
In so many ways.
“Later,
I want you tell me about the idea you had in mind for him,” I said.
“At that meeting, you might want to
pitch it to him.
Because of your
contacts, a lot of goodwill will be between you at that point.
That’s an opportunity for more business.”
He
dropped his voice and pressed his mouth against my ear.
“You know what opportunity I want?
I want to be with you now.”
“Well,
there’s a change in subject.”
“I’m
serious.”
“Probably
best not to do so here.
Immaculata
is here tonight, and she’s been tossing me daggers since you’ve been with
Dufort.”
“Immaculata
is here?”
“Mmm-hmm.
She’s with Richard Gould.”
“The
AT&T Richard Gould?”
“That’s
right.”
“So,
that’s how she got in.
Fine.
Let her lose herself in him.
I’m all for it.
Let’s dance.
And then let’s get out of here.
I want to get you into bed.
There are all kind of things I want to
do to you.
And to say to you.
In fact, you’re not going to know what
hit you when I’m finished.”
Funny,
because I already didn’t know what had hit me.
When
we left the party after an intimate waltz, during which Immaculata made it a
point to step away from her date and openly watch us, Alex texted his driver on
the elevator ride down, and then he pressed me against one of the walls.
It was a long drop to the lobby, and he
used every second of it to run his hands along my body before he knelt before
me, lifted my dress, and kissed my sex.
“In
about fifteen minutes, I’m going to lick you here,” he said, kissing me on the
spot where he was going to lick me.
“And here.
And maybe here
where you’re already wet.
In fact,
I will go there.
And my tongue is
definitely going in there.”
He
looked up at me.
“But why wait
fifteen minutes when I can have you now?”
In
a flash, he turned around and pressed a button that stopped the elevator.
Likely knowing he didn’t have much time
before an alarm sounded, he fell back on his knees, lifted my dress, pulled
down my panties, and covered me with his mouth.
His tongue pressed against my folds and
swirled around them for a moment before he entered me with his tongue.
I gasped at the sensation and
instinctively reached out a hand, put it on the back of his head, and pulled
him closer to me.
As
risky as this was, none of it felt wrong.
I looked above us for a camera tucked within one of the corners, but I
didn’t see any.
Not that I cared
much.
I was with Alex Wenn.
What was anyone going to say or do to us
for what he was doing to me now?
I
ran my hand through his hair, and whimpered as he brought me closer to the
edge.
I could feel his breath hot
against my thighs while he eagerly and successfully tried to please me.
I thought about the letter he wrote to me
and how he said that he was in love with me.
And despite confusing this moment for me
because I didn’t know what to make of it, or even how to process it, the way he
laid himself bare to me in that letter actually fueled me now.
For
the first time in my life, I felt whole.
I ground myself into him and came almost at once.
I cried out, but he didn’t stop.
He went deeper.
When he was satisfied, he pulled out and
flicked his tongue over my clit.
Then he brushed across it with the stubble on his chin, which made me
come again, this time to the point that my knees buckled.
And
then the alarm went off.
Quickly,
Alex slid out from under my dress and hit a button.
The alarm stopped and the elevator
lurched into motion again.
He took
a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his mouth while looking at me with
an arched eyebrow before he came over and kissed me hard on my lips.
“Those
are your first two for tonight,” he said.
I
was practically panting.
I pulled
up my panties as the elevator slowed, and shot him a look as I tried to steady
myself.
“That was incredible.”
“That
was just the beginning.”
The
elevator stopped, and Alex shot me a sexy, mischievous look.
The doors slid open, and I reached for
his hand, which I leaned into because my body was still weak from what he’d
just done to me.
We
walked across the lobby, went through a door that was held open for us, and
slipped into the night.
Ahead of us
was the car.
It wasn’t the
limousine we usually took—this time it was a large, beautiful black
Mercedes.
It looked different from
any other Mercedes I’d ever seen—it looked like a tank.
A brute of a man was standing beside the
rear door and holding it open for us.
Just looking at him, I knew he was one of Alex’s guards, but I said
nothing.
Another man was at the
wheel.
I glanced around and took in
Manhattan at night.
Light reflected
off glass.
Traffic roared down
Fifth.
On the sidewalk, pedestrians
either strolled or walked at a quick clip.
We
were nearly at the car when gunshots rang out.
“Rifle!”
the man holding the door said.
People
on the sidewalk screamed.
Everything
else that happened in that moment was a blur.
I
was propelled into the car so hard that my head struck the door as I slid
across the seat.
Another
gunshot sounded, ripping into the sky.
Behind
me, I heard another scream.
It was
a woman.
I heard people run.
I heard people shout.
Chaos had found its place here, and it
rooted itself in an effort to bloom.
The
driver got out of the car, pulled out a gun, and hurried over to Alex.
I heard him order Alex into the car, but
Alex was shouting something to the man who held the door open for us.
I saw the man break into a run and rush
down the sidewalk.
Then I saw the
driver get behind Alex and shove him toward the open door.
Another
gunshot fired, but this time something went terribly wrong.
Something connected with Alex’s
chest.
Winded, he collapsed onto me
just as the door slammed shut behind him.
The
driver got back into the front seat, swung around, and reached out a hand to
grab Alex’s arm.
“Were
you hit?”
It
was difficult for him to breathe.
Frightened, I put my hands on his body.
I felt for the warmth of blood, but he
was at the wrong angle.
I cupped
his face, and saw that he was struggling to breathe.
Somewhere, he was hit.
I was sure of it.
“Stay
with me!” I shouted.
“Don’t you
dare leave me!”
The
driver was trying to assess Alex, but he should have been driving.
Getting us to a hospital.
I glared at him.
“He’s
hurt,” I said.
“Shot!
Do something, for Christ’s sake!”
The
car sped away.