Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) (19 page)

“Why not?”

“Because then he’d
have no one. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned Annabel to you, but
she was very defiant. Yes, her parents were strict with her but it’s
no excuse. While she was slouching around London taking drugs, she
had a child with some lowlife. A neighbor found Marc lying next to
her body, sobbing his heart out. He’d been there for two days. Can
you imagine? A six-month old child.”

“My God,” I said,
putting a hand to my chest.

She nodded curtly. “We
have no idea who the father is and no one ever came forward.
Certainly that’s worse than being related to a notorious madman,
wouldn’t you say? He’s more a fable in our family than anything,
and he’s been dead a couple of centuries. If Marc knew the
situation he really comes from, it would be terrible for him. He’d
be lost.” She spoke with absolute certainty, her eyes a hard,
glittering brown.

“Would he?” I said.
“How do you know?”

Eleanor looked at me as
if I were dense. “We’re all he has. He’s not married. He
doesn’t have children. He has his business and that’s hardly a
substitute for people who love him.”

I hesitated, searching
for a way to soft-pedal the truth. “From what he’s told me, it’s
been hard for him to accept things that happened on your mother’s
side of the family.”

Her mouth twisted into
a smirk. “I suppose you mean love affairs and scandals and all
that. These troubles happen in a lot of families. Are they harder to
accept than having no family at all? My parents considered telling
him about his mother when he was a teenager but he was having trouble
enough. He’d probably have disowned us, the only people who’ve
ever cared for him.”

“But you’re still
his family, even if he was adopted. He’d understand that.”

“Would he?” she
said, squinting skeptically at me. “He would believe we’ve
deceived him all these years, which we have. His father is his uncle
and his mother was his uncle’s wife. I’m his cousin. That
knowledge would change everything for him.”

“Maybe for the
better,” I said, smiling to temper my words.

“Oh, please.” Her
face was sharp in the bright light from the chandelier. My early
perception of her as friendly and accommodating had been wrong. She
needed control as much as her brother did, but in a very different
way. “Forgive me, Sophie, but you know nothing about Marc and this
family. It’s too complex to explain.”

“You don’t have to
explain,” I said. “I have a good idea already.”

She let out a cold
laugh. “If you think I don’t understand your connection with my
brother, remember the calls I used to get from his former girlfriend.
I’m well aware of the tie Marc sees between his family and his
relationships with women.”

“But do you know how
much it bothers him? He believes it’s something innate that affects
your uncle, your grandfather – ”

“That’s absurd,”
she scoffed. “Obviously it’s not because Marc has no blood ties
on my mother’s side.”

“But he doesn’t
know that.”

She raised her pointed
chin. “Even if I were to tell him about Annabel, he’ll still be
the same person with the same bizarre ways of relating to women.
Nothing will change.”

“Nothing but the way
he thinks about himself, Eleanor. That could make all the difference
in the world.”

She gave me a
condescending smile. “I’m sure you’re well-intentioned, Sophie.
You think you have insight into him that the rest of us don’t, and
you may be right. But I have my father to worry about. Turning Marc’s
life upside down isn’t my top priority right now.”

“It’s up to you, of
course.”

“I appreciate you
letting this be a family issue.” She patted my shoulder stiffly. “I
meant to thank you, by the way.”

“For?”

“The lovely article
you wrote about us. Marc forwarded it to me this morning. He told me
you were gifted and he was right. I’m sure you’ll go far.”

Her praise sounded
false, like a little pay-back for staying silent. “Thank you,
Eleanor.”

“You know I’m
putting most of Sade’s work up for auction? Even the letter you
found today. We’ll include quotes from your article in the brochure
that goes out to serious collectors before bidding starts. I think it
will really help generate interest.”

“Great,” I said
flatly. “When does your father come home?”

“In a few days, I
hope. My children are back at boarding school so I’ll stay with him
for a while. If I don’t see you again, Sophie, best of luck.”

I lay awake that night
listening to Marc breathe calmly beside me. We’d made love, an
uneasy stab at vanilla sex that had satisfied neither of us. Every
moment had felt like a performance, a story we’d agreed to tell
each other.
We can be like
everyone else if we try hard enough.

I’d spent half an
hour pretending I didn’t want to be roped into submission, while
he’d pretended he didn’t want to give me what I craved. Our
bodies were the same, our desires were the same, but now we lied to
each other. We lied without uttering a single word.

What he’d said three
days ago was true: he
had
affected my life, but not in the way he believed. He hadn’t
destroyed me, he’d awakened me. He’d shown me what real pleasure
was, and now he was taking it from me. And all because he blamed
himself for things outside of his control.

I’d been lying to
myself for days. But tonight, I wouldn’t do it anymore.

I loved Marc, but could
not tell him what I’d found. And there was only one way to give him
the peace he wanted so much.

When I got back to New
York I’d throw myself into work, build my résumé, launch another
blog. My career would thrive, but I’d never feel about another man
the way I felt about Marc. At least I’d know I’d done the right
thing for the man I loved.

I couldn’t cure him
of his desires, but I could take away the one thing that made them so
difficult – my presence in his life.

I got up and tiptoed
out into the hall with my phone. In ten minutes I was back in bed
next to Marc, my heart racing. I turned my head to look at him and
saw that he was already awake. He was on his side gazing at me, his
lips turned into a sweet smile.

“What’s occupying
your mind at three-thirty in the morning?” he asked.

“Just having trouble
sleeping.”

“Any particular
reason?”

He slid up next to me
and put his hand on my stomach. I could feel it again, the strain
that was tearing us apart piece by piece.

“I’m leaving today,
Marc,” I said.

His body went rigid.
“What do you mean, today?”

“I got a two o’clock
flight out of Lyon.”

He sat up into a patch
of blue moonlight. “Sophie, no.”

“Yes,” I said.
“It’s already done.”

The sheet dropped from
his sculpted body, making my stomach reel. It seemed impossible that
this gorgeous, complicated man would soon be part of my past, and
another woman’s future.

“I don’t
understand,” he said, sounding confused and irritated. “Why the
rush?”

“Is it a rush? We
both knew I was going home sometime.”

“But this way,
without warning? What the hell, it’s the middle of the night.”

I felt the shock in his
voice like a sliver to my heart. “What we’re doing now, it’s
not working. You know that.”

“Give me a chance,”
he pleaded in an agitated voice. “It’s only been a few days.”

“It won’t make a
difference,” I said softly.

He didn’t respond.
Taking shallow breaths, I waited.
Please
,
I thought, clenching my fists under the covers.
Please.

I wanted him to fly
into a rage, shout at me and smash the furniture. This was the man
who’d made me cuff myself to a bed, who’d tied me, collared me,
and changed me. He could fight for me. I knew he could. He had it in
him.

But instead of saving
us, he lay down and stared into the darkness. When he spoke, his tone
was even more determined than mine. “I won’t subject you to this
life, even if it means losing you.”

It was over. There was
nothing more to say, but I couldn’t help trying one last time.

“I want this life,”
I said, grabbing his hand. “I want it more than anything.”

He turned his face
toward me. “That’s what Lydia said, too.”

The sound of her name
made me seethe. “Don’t compare us.”

“It’s not a
comparison, it’s a pattern,” he said. Even in the dark, I could
see his anguished expression. “I don’t know why you won’t give
me more time. I’ll keep things under control.”

After everything I’d
said, he still thought that was what I wanted. “I’m sure you
will. That’s what scares me.”

We stared at each
other. Down the hall, the grandfather clock struck four.

I stroked a finger down the side of
his face, trying to memorize his skin, his smell, the sound of his
voice. “You want this as much as I do, Marc. Someday I hope you
figure that out.”

The ride to the airport
was much too short, and so long I thought it would never end.

Neither of us had slept
or eaten. Our voices were hoarse from circular arguments that had all
ended in the same conclusion. Nothing we’d said or done had stopped
this moment.

Even with the airport
in sight, I didn’t believe I’d never see Marc again. There was so
much to dread – the first meal without him, the first night in my
bed at home. If only I could force time to move faster, I could get
through the pain of losing him without enduring every agonizing
moment.

I looked at the faint
lines around his eyes and the broad angle of his shoulders. Hard as I
would try to remember, I’d begin to forget things about him as the
weeks went on. I had forgotten things about my parents that I didn’t
even know I’d forgotten, and the same would happen with Marc.

I could stop it by
telling him everything. Eleanor be damned, I could do what he’d
always asked me to do – keep no secrets. Even now, with nothing
left of our relationship but regrets, I wanted to please him. My
submissiveness could save him from a lifetime of burying desires that
had nothing to do with his family, and never had.

Unless Eleanor was
right. Instead of feeling unburdened, he might be angry at me, his
father, the world. I imagined him calling her from the car, the
one-sided conversation peppered with words like “dishonesty” and
“betrayal.”

The last thing he’d
think about was his future with me. I’d be the woman who’d
wreaked havoc in his life, who’d ripped his family apart and pushed
him to be someone he despised.

He pulled up to the
curb at my terminal, and we got out. We stood behind the car looking
at each other.

“I won’t let you
go,” he said.

“You have to, Marc.”

“Do I? Why do I have
a feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

I turned away so he
wouldn’t me flushing. “I need to get home, that’s all.”

A plane roared into the
sky over our heads, sun glinting off its wings. I would always
remember this moment – a brisk wind in my face, a woman’s voice
blaring in French over a loudspeaker. “I should check in,” I
said.

He stalled, lightly
kicking the pavement with the toe of his boot. “What are you going
to do when you get home?”

“Work. Deal with the
charges against Trevor, if there are any.”

“Please let me know
what happens. I’ll fly to New York to testify. I already gave the
police a statement over the phone.”

“I know,” I said.
“Thank you. You have my address and phone number if you need to
reach me.”

“Yeah.” The wind
whipped a short lock of my hair across my cheek. He pushed it gently
behind my ear with his index finger. “I don’t understand why
you’re doing this.”

A hot tear spilled down
my cheek. “I’m doing it for you. So you can get on with your
life.”

He grabbed my hands,
clenching them so tightly it hurt. “If you want to do something for
me, Sophie, stay. I know it won’t be easy but we can figure it out
together.”

“You’re right,
Marc. It wouldn’t be easy. It’s hard work to be someone you’re
not.”

He reached out and
gently wiped a teardrop from my chin. “I’d rather be someone I’m
not than a man who destroys the woman he cares about.”

It took a huge physical
effort to stop crying, take my suitcase, and step onto the curb. He
had no idea how close I was to staying, how weak I was for him. If he
pulled me against him, there was no telling what I might do.

He shook his head, his
expression dark and broken. “If you need me for any reason,” he
said, “whatever it is…”

Before I could change
my mind I walked away, letting those words be the last.

I’d been back in New
York almost three weeks when I got a call from the prosecutor in
charge of the case against Trevor.

As soon as she said
hello, I stopped breathing. I could tell from her voice that
something was wrong. “I’ll be direct,” she said. “We think
the case is too weak to prosecute.”

Legs teetery, I sank
into my living room chair and closed my eyes. “Why?”

Her answer only
reiterated what I already knew: there were no witnesses, no
significant forensic evidence, and the presence of whips and ropes in
Marc’s apartment supported Trevor’s claim that I’d asked him to
tie me up and then accused him of attempted rape to get revenge for
his infidelity. I’d let him inside and made him coffee. I had marks
from previous episodes of rough sex, making my accusations even
harder to believe.

The case would have
been difficult to prosecute if the crime had happened in New York,
let alone thousands of miles away in France.

“I’m sorry I don’t
have better news for you,” she said. “Some cases can’t make it
past a grand jury. This is one of those cases.”