Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (97 page)

It was set too low to hear, but the talking head with perfect hair had a floating box next to him. In it was Paulie Patalano—mob boss, philanthropist, and murderer—drinking wine with his wife in a picture captured in happier days. The ticker described him as brain dead, as if I needed the reminder, and placed him in an unknown location. The picture flipped to three mug shots. I recognized one face, the brown-eyed man who had come in with Theresa. Even in the mug shot, he was handsome, angry, with a knowing grin that frightened me.

My newly minted mother-in-law didn’t see the television. Her gaze stayed in the middle distance. Sheila was on the phone threatening someone, and Deirdre was into her magazine. Declan was either seeing Jonathan or making arrangements for me to kill someone. I’d need to be ready. It was time for me to see Paulie Patalano in his undisclosed location.

I excused myself and took the elevator to the second floor. I scoped out the stairwell, wondering if I should take it next time. Then more complications presented themselves. First being, how would I find him? How would I do it once I got there? How could I be sure Declan’s job was done? Who did I think I was?

In pacing and beating the hell out of myself, I rounded a few corners, trying to look for something I’d never defined. I only found ignorance and a lack of expertise in the simple skill of murder. I had a scattered entry plan and a slight hope I’d only get caught when it was too late to do anything but harvest Patalano’s organs. After that, I’d just confess and let Jonathan’s family talk him into annulling our marriage. But he’d be alive. I could deal with the rest if he lived.

The squawk of a police radio made me look up before I crashed into the uniformed cop. He was in his thirties and seemed to take up more space than humanly possible. A female counterpart stood nearby.

“Staff only,” he said, blocking my way to the narrow hall.

“Uh, okay?” I peered past him. The hall looked like every other one except for the lack of flitting staff and the presence of three old Italian women in black. That was the hall. I made note of the location and walked away.

I knew Brad had said he’d be in his Doheny office, but I checked anyway. He was just my neighbor and he meant nothing to me, but I’d stepped on him in a way guaranteed to offend him. I didn’t want to leave things like that. He was on his way out the door, clipboard in hand. He slowed when he saw me, which I took as a good sign.

“I know you’re busy,” I said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

He kept walking. “I want to explain how serious what you did is, but I have a meeting.”

“I know. I have reasons but not excuses.”

He pulled me to the side, out of the hall traffic. “I only have a second. I don’t want to make you feel better because I’m still pissed off. But first of all, the list doesn’t work the way you think. Geography is important. The state of the patient. The gender. It’s not like a line for coffee. But second, you’re not getting away with it. When this is over, you’re sitting down with me and I’m explaining to you the ten ways you fucked up.” He was taller than me and used to being in charge. He had the arrogance of a cardiologist and the authority of a man not called by his first name. But when he looked at me, I knew he wasn’t half as pissed as his words let on.

“All right.”

“Over dinner.” He must have seen me turn to ice. “Platonic, With Mr. Drazen, if you like. If you knew me better, this wouldn’t have happened. That’s all I want.”

“I guess I owe you.”

“You do.” He walked away. Jonathan wouldn’t be thrilled, but Brad didn’t expect Jonathan to be around, did he?

MONICA

I
 had to see him once again before I did it and they dragged me away. I just had to put my fingers on his lips before I faced what I had to face. I wouldn’t tell him what I was doing because he’d be an accessory if he didn’t stop me and suicidal if he did. I would stand with him clean, as his mate, if even for an hour.

I got out of the elevator on Jonathan’s floor and made a right instead of a left to check the placement of the stairwell closest to Patalano’s room. I stopped at the turn as if a brick wall was in my way.

Margie and Will Santon stood in a corner, too close for friendship, too far for intimacy. Their hands were up, Margie pointing and accusing, Will in supplication. Their words were inaudible, but their faces shouted rage, hurt, and frustration. I’d have to check the placement of the stairs on the little map by the elevator because I couldn’t just stroll past them. I turned and walked away.

I got two steps before I felt a hand on my arm. Margie slowed me down. She looked drawn and upset. Though I didn’t know her well, I was sure she didn’t want me to ask her what was going on with Will.

“I was just—” I started to explain exactly nothing and was grateful for her interruption.

“Forget it.”

“Where have you been?”

She said, “This family’s a full-time fucking job. Congratulations, by the way. Well done. One less pre-nup to argue over.”

“It didn’t even occur to me.”

“Him either, I’m sure. But I want to tell you, if he doesn’t make it through tonight, I have your back. I’ll do what my brother wanted.”

“He’s not dead yet.”

She grabbed my shoulders and put her eyes square with mine as if she wanted to tell me something, something critical and painful. Instead, she threw her arms around me and held me so tightly I thought my ribs would break.

“I envy you,” she said. “You know that?”

“If something goes bad, like if I do something wrong, would you represent me? No matter what?”

She pushed me away, holding me by the shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“Stuff. Life. Say yes.”

“Fine.” I saw Will out of the corner of my eye. Her gaze flicked to him then back to me. “Go see him. I’ll be there in a minute.”

MONICA

T
here were doctors and nurses everywhere. Clean white sheets and sage scrubs. Trays of uneaten food and plastic detritus in soothing, meaningless colors. The lights were pinpoint and dull as if that would help him sleep with all the human traffic in the room. The doctor wasn’t much older than I was, but I knew her from the way she asked questions instead of answered them.

“Hi,” I said.

“You’re the wife?”

The title still hit me like a bag of flour. “Yeah. I’d like… I don’t know. Time. A little.”

“You got it.”

She hustled everyone out, and it was just me and him. He looked as if someone had painted him white. If I thought it was hard to see him after his disastrous operation, well, that was worse. That night came down to me accepting the situation for what it was or me living in a fucking illusion.

“Good evening, sir,” I said.

“Get over here.” His voice was no better than a whisper breaking through a stone wall. It took too much effort, as if he carried me uphill.

I put my elbows on either side of his head and touched my nose to his. “Jonathan, I—”

“If you have never seen beauty in a moment of suffering—”

“Oh, I remember how that goes. Schiller was the poet. I looked it up.”

“I always thought it was the object’s suffering. But I think it was the viewer’s, now. I think seeing you, I’ve seen beauty for the first time.”

“You’ve made me so happy. I wanted to tell you that.”

“I played with you in the beginning. I wasted too much time lying to you.”

“That’s over now.”

“Actually...” He paused, and I knew why.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“The night of the Eclipse show, when I went to Jessica’s—”

“La la la, I don’t hear you.”

“There was more than kissing.”

I let my neck release the weight of my head. My forehead dropped to his shoulder. “Go ahead.”

“Second base.”

From the way he stroked my arm and nuzzled my hair, he must have thought my shaking shoulders and hitched breaths were signs that I was crying. But when I picked my head back up and he saw that I was laughing, he smiled.

“So it’s okay?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s okay. Is there anything else? I mean, seriously. Something that matters?”

“No. But my brain’s not working well. So something might come up later.” I put my cheek to his because he spoke about later as if it would happen. He felt cold already. “You never told me about our wedding night. I carry you into our house over my shoulder.”

I bite my lip. He doesn’t want sad. He wants to have a life in his mind. I could give that to him. “I’m laughing because Lil can see us, and the whole caveman thing is hilarious. I know you have something planned, but I have no idea what. The house is on a hill in Beechwood Canyon. Can we do Beechwood Canyon?”

“For the sake of this conversation.”

“It’s a modernist masterpiece in the hills with walls of windows looking over the city. You close the door and carry me through the dark house out to the backyard. It’s lit with tea lights, and the pool has lights in it. Everything shimmers like it’s under water. You get me to my feet, and say, ‘Take your hair down.’

“I raise my arms to pull a hundred pins and braids out of my hair. My arms are out of the way, and you use the opening to kiss my cheek, my neck. Your hands follow, landing on my collarbone. You drag your thumb across it and down. You find the zipper to my wedding dress on the side and pull it. I’m still not done with my hair. I admit I’m going super slow, but it’s falling out of its arrangement. You pull the dress down until it pools at my feet. Your hands find the edges of my underwear. It’s all straps and rings. My hair falls totally. You step back and look at me. I feel beautiful. You’ve made me feel like that all day, looking at me like that in your black tux. I say, ‘What do you want, sir?’ And you say—”

“I say this,” he interrupted. Even with his rasp of a voice, I stopped. “I say, ‘Tomorrow I’m going to destroy you. I’m going to mark your body and ruin your mind. By noon, you won’t know whether to laugh or cry. But tonight? Tonight, I will revere you. I will build an altar of myself. I will frame you in stars.’”

“God, you make me crazy when you talk like that.”

“There’s a blanket on the grass. I lead you to it. You lie down.”

“The night is clear. The stars are out.”

“My lips on your body trace the story of my love.”

My eyelashes fluttered on his cheek. “I try to touch you, but you won’t let me. God, you’re still in that tuxedo.”

“I took it off.”

“When?”

“When I say, goddess.”

I sighed, going with him. “You’re perfect. Shaped for me.”

He swallowed thickly. “I kiss your ankles. Pull your legs apart. I draw a map to your sex with my tongue. I feel overtaken. In my guts, I need to yank you, pound you with my dick, make you scream and beg. But I hold back. I kiss behind your knees. I control myself for you.”

“I want you. You’re all I can think about.”

“I’m losing steam.”

His eyes filled my vision, red rims and pale skin. He was soaked in exhaustion, but he needed me to create the story for him, for us. I took a deep breath and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger on him. “Your lips inside my thighs. Your tongue finding its way to me. You kiss my clit. You finger my nipples. You’re touching me just enough to drive me crazy. Your mouth works between my legs, sucking and twitching. I arch my back. I’m so close when you stop, and you know it too. You pull me to you. We kiss. I taste my pussy on you.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I turn you around. We’re both on our knees. Your back is against me. I push you up, spread you. I put my dick in you, and you push down.”

“You’re so hard, and I’m so wet. It’s so easy isn’t it? Wasn’t it always so easy for you to put your cock in me? Like you were meant to be there.”

“I pull your head back until you’re looking at the sky. I hold your face up. My hand is on your throat.”

“Your other hand slips between my legs. You touch where we’re joined.”

“I look at the stars with you.”

“I move with you. I’m safe under the sky. I feel you everywhere on me. I’m filled with you. I tell you I’m coming.”

“I say, ‘yes.’”

We stayed silent for a minute, deeply joined as if he were inside me, expanding together, into each other, fully unified, merged, consciousness where our bodies should have been.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Please stay with me.”

I didn’t answer for a long time. I kept my face buried in his neck and listened to his breathing. At some point, I would have to leave and meet with Declan. If not to get the whens and wherefores, then to kick his ass for not holding up his end of the deal. “Your family’s going to want to see you.”

“You ever want sisters?” he asked.

“Always.”

“You’re welcome.”

I laughed. He smiled. “They’re outside. I’m going to take care of some business and come back, okay?”

“Stay.”

I kissed his cheek. It felt warmer than it did before our pretend wedding night, and I lingered there. “I’ll be back.”

“Stay.”

“I can’t. I promise—”

“Stay.”

I backed up and let his hand slip from mine.

MONICA

W
hen I walked out, I must have been a sight. The bright hall lights hurt my eyes, and my hair was a rat’s nest pressed in the shape of Jonathan’s fingers.

Eileen approached. “How is he?”

I didn’t say anything. Doctors would report facts to her. All I could say was something like, “He can barely tell me how he’s going to fuck me because he’s dying.” But that wouldn’t be helpful, least of all to me. Eileen passed me, then Sheila, then Margie and Deirdre. Leanne in Asia. Carrie far away. Theresa in some kind of trouble. Fiona, entourage-free for once, scuttled down the hall and blew past me.

Declan drew up the rear and whispered in my ear, “Fifteen minutes to a fire drill on the second floor. They don’t move brain dead patients for drills. He’ll be alone. Staff’s been arranged. Cops are a wild card. Good luck.” He winked at me with real élan, as if the situation was just delicious. As much as I’d doubted Jonathan’s fear and hatred of his father, in that moment, I knew it wasn’t completely unfounded.