Unraveled by Him (27 page)

It takes a few more sessions of hypnosis for me to remember the full horror, the trauma I have, until now, locked away for almost all my life.

My playroom, also my bedroom, where I sleep alone, where I feel so happy, so safe.

Waking up in the middle of the night to find Grandpa at the end of my bed, watching me. Then touching me. I can’t stand it, can’t stop it. I cry and I cry, but I have no choice. I am helpless. And he has the control. All of it. And I have none. No control whatsoever.

All of it belongs to my grandfather.

For the next few days and nights, Robert listens while I delve into my memories, and he holds me and comforts me as I cry bitter tears.

When I’ve cried all my tears away, he makes love to me, and, at last, I come as I’ve never come before.

In the afterglow, I snuggle close to him, all the shadows gone and nothing but happiness ahead of us.

Chapter Sixteen

“No riding crops, no canes, no punishment, no tests, just the two of us, alone together in paradise,” Robert says as we are about to leave Hartwell Castle, bound for a romantic interlude in Palm Beach to celebrate my upcoming birthday.

Then he kisses my neck so passionately that I can’t catch my breath.

“You mean just vanilla?” I say once I’ve recovered.

“For the first time in your life, Miranda. I think it could be good for you,” he says, and gives me one of his devastatingly seductive smiles, the kind that makes me feel as if he has just stripped me naked.

“But will you like it, Robert?”

“As long as I’m with you, Miranda, I will. I just want to give you a new experience, one I think it’s time you had; otherwise you won’t ever really know any other alternative to dominance and submission,” he says.

It’s as if he has morphed into a father, trying to educate me for my own benefit, and I feel slightly uncomfortable.

So I change the subject by asking him whether we are going to stay on board the
Lady Georgiana
, as I know that she is sometimes berthed in Palm Beach.

He pulls away from me, stiffens, and then shakes his head.

“Too many memories,” he says. And then I realize the reason that we didn’t stay in his castle in Switzerland but in a hotel in Geneva.

Too many memories of Georgiana. Of the good times, as well as the bad.

“But we’re staying somewhere just as wonderful as the yacht,” he says, and I can’t wait.

As the limo speeds from Palm Beach International Airport along South Ocean Boulevard, I sit close to Robert, dazzled by the soft sunlight, the blueness of the sea, and the endless horizon of my happiness at this romantic escape he secretly arranged for us.

Then, right on the edge of the ocean, Eau Palm Beach Resort and Spa comes into view.

“All of it, just for us,” he says.

He has rented out an entire superluxury hotel and spa, just for the two of us!

At the end of the imposing drive, on the hotel’s terrace, the hotel’s managing director is waiting and presents me with the biggest bunch of red Baccarat roses I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then Cristal in the lobby before we are escorted up to our suite.

“Must have named it just to please you, Robert,” I whisper to him when I see the sign on the door: “The Commander-in-Chief Suite.”

“Don’t push it, Miranda, I could still . . .” he whispers back, and the vision of me over his knee flashes through my mind and I blush.

“The suite has been so named because of the US presidents who have graced us with their presence, from President Clinton to President Obama,” says the hotel’s managing director, who must have great hearing.

Then we step into the suite, and in front of us a magnificent view of the Atlantic Ocean beyond our terrace, dark blue and stretching out into infinity.

Infinite. Just like our love will be, just as long as I can help Robert transcend the shadows of his past, and also work through my own, as well.

But not here, not during our glamorous Palm Beach interlude. An interlude so romantic that on our bed the hotel has arranged shimmering rose petals. Roses without thorns and perfect.

Just like our time here is destined to be.

Twilight, we are strolling along our private beach, hand in hand, while the scent of the ocean fills the air.

Then dinner by candlelight at Angle, the resort’s signature gourmet restaurant, where we sup on intricate and sophisticated creations starting with pea and coconut soup with crème fraîche, which Robert feeds me, spoonful by spoonful, as the waiters keep a discreet distance from us.

Then wild Atlantic salmon, followed by Chocolate Indulgence, a combination of dark chocolate mousse and chocolate mint sorbet that has my name on it.

“You must have ordered it for me specially, Robert,” I say.

“No, my darling, sometimes serendipity takes a hand.”

He’s right, and I raise my glass of Cristal and say, “I’d like to make a toast to our serendipity: my sister, Lindy.”

And we do.

After supper, when we are alone in the hotel’s Serenity Pool, a sensational beachside pool that gives the illusion that it is part of the Atlantic, swimming together, naked, Robert brings up Lindy’s name again.

“Lindy will make a beautiful bridesmaid,” he says.

I burst into tears of happiness as, above us, a thousand fireworks explode and form the words
Marry Me, Miranda
.

“Is that an order or a question, Robert?” I say once he’s kissed the tears of happiness off my face.

His answer is to pick me up in his arms and carry me into the hotel and up to our suite, where he sweeps the rose petals off our bed and starts to make passionate love to me, as I marvel at his strength and power.

And all through it he looks straight into my eyes, and between every movement, every thrust, he whispers words of love to me, as we come together gloriously.

I make a silent wish to freeze this moment, this night, and stay in it for all eternity.

“Yes, Robert, I will marry you,” I say, and as he kisses me, a thousand fireworks explode within me.

The following morning, after a champagne breakfast on our terrace, we visit the spa, where Spa Fairies dressed as angels greet us and I have the opportunity to make a wish at the spa wishing well.

Never let me go, Robert, never let me go
, I wish, although I’ll die before I tell him, for fear of jinxing it.

Our days at Eau glitter by us like a beautiful dream. And while we are there, I never once have my nightmare.

Instead, each and every night, I sleep in Robert’s arms, snuggled up close to his broad chest, his strong arms around me, feeling safer than I could ever imagine.

During in-between time we play pool on the table in our suite, and he wins so resoundingly that I tell him I feel like switching roles and giving him a good spanking.

“Dream on, Miranda,” he says, then scoops me up in his arms, takes me out by the pool, puts me in the swing chair, and makes love to me so vigorously that I almost faint from pleasure.

I bask in my time here with Robert. We are together 24/7, except when he works out in the gym and impresses me with his dedication to fitness. Meanwhile, I have a makeover in the spa, then a massage, and float away as I relive in my mind every minute of our time here.

On our last night, we stroll along the beach, hand in hand, as the sun sets into the Atlantic Ocean. Then we dine by an open fire pit, while a cabaret singer sings love songs, just for us. She ends her performance with Edith Piaf’s anthem, “Hymne à l’amour,” sung in French.

When she sings the first line of the song, “Le ciel bleu,” Robert whispers “The blue sky” to me, and then translates the rest of the lyrics, ending in the sentiment that no matter what befalls the lovers in life, they will always have each other, never leave each other, always be together, no matter what.

“Our song, Miranda, now and for always,” Robert says, and all I can do is nod, my heart is so full of love for him.

On the way to the airport, Robert asks the limo driver to make a detour, and suddenly we are on Worth Avenue, Palm Beach’s equivalent to Geneva’s Rue du Rhône, where he bought me so many beautiful things.

“Please, no more, Robert,” I say, not wanting him to shower me with gifts all the time.

“Just a small birthday gift, Miranda,” he says, and stops the limo and gets out in front of an antique store, the pride of the avenue.

Five minutes later he’s back in the car again, carrying a large gold package.

Assuming that he is about to give it to me, I reach to take it, but he pulls it away from me.

“Not until ten minutes after midnight on the morning of your birthday,” he says.