“I will do. Bye, Chloe, have a good weekend.”
She uplifts her hand in the air and offers a departing wave.
Left alone and unsupervised––a dangerous combination for, Samantha Kennedy––I pull free the top right draw behind my desk. Pulling a single envelope free from the pile bound with an elastic band, I quickly scribble a note on the front:
Hayden, the power you deem over me is unacceptable and
unfair.
Well, two can play at that game, now we are even…OPEN ME.
“Are you sure I look okay, Jess?” I ask for the millionth time.
“Sweetie, you look drop-dead gorgeous.” My diminishing ego is reassured by her words and her inability to keep her jaw closed.
I glance down at the black jumpsuit that shields my body. The draping neckline exposes the right amount of cleavage, while the crossed backing bares a very generous amount of flesh. My deeply waved locks tumbles down the middle of my spine, and my eyes are coated with a smoky seductive eye makeup––just the way Hayden likes them.
I peer down at my watch. With only twenty minutes left, I begin to politely kick Jessie out of the apartment. She shrugs on her small, faded denim jacket and stands at the front door. Raising her hands, she holds me at arm’s length.
“You may think this is silly, but don’t feel embarrassed about celebrating your one month anniversary.”
“Women our age aren’t supposed to celebrate such a trivial stage in a relationship, Jess,” I grimace.
Releasing my shoulders, she holds my head firmly in her clutch while she looks into my eyes. I’m overpowered by her intensity. “You can celebrate whatever relationship milestone you feel like celebrating, sweetie, and do you know why?” I shake my head faintly. “Because each day you stay in this relationship, is a milestone for
you
.”
I surrender to a timid, tightlipped grin. “Where would I be without you? Thank you, Jessie,” I murmur as I bury my face into the crook of her neck.
“You are more than welcome, sweetie.” She rubs her hand soothingly up and down my back, before we free each other. “Now, enjoy yourselves…that is an order.”
I’ve dressed the dining-table with a white linen tablecloth and adorned it with a red satin table runner and a single, tall, thin white candle. Deciding to cook the only dish that is impossible to fuck-up, the aroma of my traditional, homemade Bolognese is wafting through the apartment as it simmers nicely. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.
I peek down at my watch again, 7:00 p.m. I lift my head as the knock on the door reverberates through the apartment. I heave a sigh…finally. Drawing in a lungful of air, I smooth my hands over my hips and open the door.
Hayden rests against the doorway looking his usual, sexy self in his cobalt shirt and black suit. It’s impossible to stand so close to someone, who’s so irresistible, without breathing in their amazing, muscle-clenching scent. Hayden’s scent––not only is it my own aphrodisiac––its home.
“I know I said 7:00 p.m. Hayden, but you were cutting it fine.”
He pulls his left arm from behind his back and presents me with a beautiful arrangement of pink, blossoming roses. He pouts and flashes his big, innocent, puppy-dog eyes at me. I could never be mad at this man.
I smile widely. “You’re forgiven.” I hold my hands out to recover the bouquet, burying my nose at their center as soon as he hands them to me. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” I wave him in from the doorway, and waltz over to place my roses on the breakfast bar.
“And thank you for my gift, Miss Kennedy,” he hums as he closes the door behind himself.
A shiver paves its way up my spine and my body gives in to a shameless shudder. I turn to face him, the appreciative smile I was wearing a moment ago, now a smug grin.
Out of his inner breast pocket he retrieves––and teasingly sways––the tiny, dark blue, laced thong I stuffed into the envelope before leaving the office.
“Well you see, Mr. Wentworth, this is a two way street. If you are going to torture me all day by eye fucking me, then I think it’s only fair for me to offer the same courtesy,” I utter candidly and suggestive, as I saunter over to his alluring form. His left hand rests in his pants pocket, his right clutching at the floral lace material.
I stand before him; even with my heels on he still towers over me. I press myself against the warmth and firmness of his body, tipping my head back to meet his dangerously irresistible, dark, enthralling eyes. He parts his lips as his regard roves from my eyes down to my lips. His authoritative posture, his confidence glowing, he’s so damn fine. He makes no attempt to touch me, and the hankering my body sustains at this proximity is excessive, boundless.
Beginning my journey, I set my hands on his chest before gliding them down his torso feeling the fullness and the definition of his body which is hidden beneath his clothing. Brushing my tongue over my lips I rid myself of the drying, cracking flesh then retract it with agonizing tardiness.
Hayden repeats my gesture and I focus intently on the tip of his tongue as he sweeps it over his lips. The image of areas in which his satin-like tongue has explored over my body invades my mind, causing me to clamp down on the right side of my lower lip. I hear him force a swallow, and see his throat move and tense to assist his reaction––it makes me throb, it makes me slick, it makes me desperate to have him on me, under me, behind me, I don’t care, I just want and need him in me.
“I think we are even,” I breathe, before reaching up to kiss him.
While the majority of the room is drowned in darkness, the golden glow of the candlelight flickers between us, setting a romantic ambiance that only a few weeks ago, would have had me running for the hills.
“A toast…” Hayden announces as we lift the wineglasses of full-bodied Shiraz. “To us and our one month anniversary,” he beams.
I’m momentarily stunned by him honoring our time together––regardless of how long it has been. I smile gloriously at the man opposite me with ill-disguised elation of his edict, and tap the glasses together in assent, before returning to our meal.
I snigger with profound happiness while staring at Hayden’s empty seat, as I wait for him to return from the restroom. This feels so surreal. I cannot believe that I am actually here at this point in my life. Somewhere that I gave up imagining I could ever possibly be.
Four weeks ago…that’s it, in four weeks I have grown so close to Hayden, we laugh, we’re passionate, and the craving for him is stronger than ever. I haven’t grown bored or anxious. I have achieved so much…changed immensely. Having Hayden in my life with his patience and understanding, his want to make me happy and his need to make me feel secure about myself––I am overawed with every emotion that I had abandoned and rewired over the years. But most of all…I can trust him––I do trust him.
Three short buzzes of Hayden’s phone, which rests on the table beside his place mat, disrupts my musing. Influenced by my curiosity, I glance over my shoulder and down the corridor that leads to my bedroom. Hayden is still in the bathroom.
Seizing the window of opportunity, I recover the touchscreen Smartphone, the white backing light illuminating a text message notification. The faint word of the small voice in my head tells me that in doing this, I am invading his privacy, but it’s easy to ignore, so I choose to ignore it.
Gently touching the envelope on the screen the message opens.
*** Received: Friday 19
th
October 2012 @ 8:22 p.m. ***
Hayden, don’t forget about tomorrow.
It will be nice to see you again.
I will meet you at noon.
I’m baffled, tomorrow is Saturday. Hayden and I are supposed to be going rock-climbing, he organized it as soon as we came back home last weekend. My heart rate quickens, I feel my pulse through my fingertips, my ears ringing as blood and adrenaline overthrows my system and logic.
Marveling who the message was from, I scroll down.
I fight with all the strength I have to keep my meal from being expelled over the dining-table.
Who the fuck is Cassandra?
SAMANTHA
REVIVING TRANSGRESSIONS
Other than the gut-wrenching sensation of someone punching me in the stomach, I’m totally disconnected, feeling like an observer, watching events unfold in a dream-like trance. I hold the handset in my grasp, and it’s as though it has electrocuted me, sending a sharp volt through my body that makes me feel both nauseated and enraged. Canceling off the message screen, I return it to its previous position with an irritated swiftness.
I continue to stare at the phone while the hollowness of my perception deepens.
Who the fuck is Cassandra? And why the fuck is he meeting her?
Maybe it is a harmless meeting between old friends? He did have a life before you, you know,
my subconscious acts as the voice of reason. Meeting at noon? My stomach roils and a bubble swells in my lower abdomen. Hayden was going to cancel our plans––blow me off––for her? For someone who I don’t even know?
With my elbows upheld on the edge of the table, I position my forehead onto the tips of my fingers. I shake my head, feeling an upwelling of despondency acquainting itself with my emotions. Nonetheless, I silently question my judgement.
How can someone feel so secure one minute and totally insecure the next?
I sense Hayden returning from the hallway behind me. I daren’t turn around for I know I will lose my strength and say things that I shouldn’t probably say when I am this pissed off…this suspicious.
Suspicious?
My subconscious sneers,
what the fuck? The proof is right there, on that fucking phone that he is meeting another woman, there is no suspicion involved. He’s a lawyer, he deals with fact––and that,
my subconscious point to the device on the table in derision,
is a fucking fact!
Hayden closes behind me. I’m aware of his stare as it bores into my back. In an act brimming with sensuality, he sweeps my locks over my left shoulder, his fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of my neck and sends frissons up my spine. He bows down and trails three impassioned kisses over the nape of my neck and I close my eyes, absorbing the warmth of his breath and the gentle placing of his soft, full lips on my body. I love him, but I hate that he’s keeping a secret from me, hating that he isn’t being honest with me. It would be easier if I didn’t love him, but right now…I just hate that I love him so Goddamn much.
He’s a liar…he’s playing you…he’s bored of you already. That must be a record, even for you, Samantha…your man spends four weeks with you, and he is already searching and lining up other women.
I attempt to brush my paranoia aside, but I still cannot help but wonder, is she right? Surely Hayden has contacts, he’s bound to have uncovered something about me? Is that what he is doing? Playing me at the game I once played?
I recoil away from the aesthetic, yet irritating feeling of his mouth upon me. I can’t even begin to think about having him touch me like that right now. Not after that message. Not after,
Cassandra
.
“Hey, beautiful…what’s the matter?” he questions with what sounds like genuine concern, but fuck…do I really know this man one iota?
He returns to his seat opposite me, reaches over the table and grasps my left hand in his.
Anger and frustration boils deep in my chest and belly. I’m a spring being pushed down and held tightly, being contained by the secret fact, that I invaded his privacy to even check the fucking message in the first place.
His eyes wrinkle and are tarnished with unease.
I swallow my pride, along with my trepidation and offer a small smile.
“Dessert?” I offer as means of distraction. I slip my hand from underneath his. Then reach over the table and gather our empty plates.
What are you doing, Samantha?
Hayden’s mouth locks into a promising smirk; one that would usually have me panting and tensing, writhing as the yearning for his naked body pushing me to find my release overpowers body and mind. But all I want to do at this precise moment is allow my spring to uncoil, release the indignation that I am endeavoring to keep restrained; shout at him, tell him I know he’s a lying bastard just like the rest of them, and that I cannot believe that he could be so malicious and vindictive. Even I wouldn’t stoop as low as to keep one foot on the dock and the other on the ship, until there’s a certainty of safe boarding.
“New York Cheesecake with strawberry sauce okay for you?” I mutter as I brusquely turn to leave the table, not even attempting to conceal the irritation that spears through my voice.
Placing his hand on my right forearm, Hayden halts me. The force behind my grip tightens around the plates, stopping me from impetuously hurling them toward the nearest wall. His frown deepens as he looks up at me from his seat.
“Samantha, you seem very…do we need to talk about anything?” His voice is delicate and deep, shrouding me with a force of reckoning. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe I got it wrong. I should at least give him the opportunity to rationalize this setback named, Cassandra.
Guilt builds and hardens as I gaze down at his pained, bewildered expression.
Defeated, yet optimistic, I place the plates back down on the edge of the table. Gaping into his eyes, I silently tell him that I know something is going on behind my back and pleading with him to be honest. I lift my right hand and lay it on the side of his gorgeous face, the pad of my thumb tracing the shape of his mouth. Alas, he remains silent.
I sigh. “I’ll be right back.” I remove my hand from his strong cheekbone and chiseled jawline, feeling his jaw muscle tense as I slip my hand away.
I gain the plates and saunter into the kitchen.
The bile raises, my eyes and sinuses burn as salty tears form. I’m left deliberating if this is some form of punishment. I knew it was too good to be true. There are no such things as Happily Ever After’s.