Being Me (35 page)

He slowly strips away my clothing, tenderly kissing my shoulders, my neck, my lips. We step under the blissful heat of the hot shower, washing away the chill of the night, and with it the bitter cold of all we have been through these past few days. Resting my head on Chris’s chest, being in his arms, I feel as if I’ve been lost and found again. But Rebecca is still lost, and I fear the worst for her.

Chris and I spend several hours on Saturday at the police station, and the Rebecca mystery is no closer to being solved. I have a bad feeling about her that I can’t shake, and this fans the flames of my need to find Ella. I go ahead and file a missing person’s report and contact the French consulate. After that, Chris and I go home and we don’t leave the apartment the rest of the weekend. We just revel in being together, making love, and watching movies, though we take a trip to the gym, where I just about die re-creating my much-neglected treadmill routine.

Monday morning, we reenter the real world. Chris goes with me to the school, and despite expecting the worst, I am crushed to discover Ella is a no-show. Afterward, we discover she hasn’t paid her rent. We pay it for her and then stop by the police station to update the report with what we’ve discovered.

In an effort to cheer me up, Chris convinces me we should head out Tuesday morning to his godparents’ Sonoma property
and attend an art exhibit in the gallery next door. Katie is thrilled, and truth be told, so am I. The feeling of family and belonging is a welcome one. By eight that evening, Chris and I have had dinner, he is painting in his studio, and I am packing for the trip. Chris has yet to unpack from L.A., so I open his suitcase to begin pulling out what isn’t needed.

After I remove the dirty clothes, my hand settles on a small, clear bag of the paintbrushes he autographs, and I stop. There was one of these in Rebecca’s keepsake box—but he said he barely knew her. Why would she have kept one? I pull one of the brushes from the bag and stare at it with a frown.

Chris appears in the doorway. “Do you know where I put—” He pauses. “What’s wrong?”

I get up and go to the closet. “I have a question for you.” I flip on the light and drop to my knees in front of the safe. “What’s the combination?”

“What’s going on, Sara?”

“You’ll see in a minute. The combination?”

He tells me the numbers and I dial the lock. Yanking open the door, I grab the box I’d found in Rebecca’s unit, retrieve the brush inside, and hold it up for Chris to see. “Why does Rebecca have your paintbrush in her keepsake box?” Then I grab the torn photo and pop to my feet to show that to him, too. “And do you know anything about this photo?”

He sighs. “The picture was taken at a charity event, with me and Mark. That was before he and I had a falling-out.”

“Over Rebecca?

He nods. “The night after the charity event, I was at the club when a buzz was going on about Mark and his new sub, and how
she’d cried through a public flogging. I confronted him and told him he’d pushed her too far. He told me to butt out, that he was Master of the club. Since he wouldn’t listen to me, I tried to warn Rebecca away from him.”

I suddenly feel a déjà vu. “Like you warned me.”

“
Not
like you, Sara. I barely knew her.”

“But you wanted to protect her, like you wanted to do me.”

“Look, I know those journals make you relate to her, but she was nothing like you. She was just a kid, and Mark couldn’t see why that mattered, but it did. She was happy with him that night at the gala, a schoolgirl in love—before he stole that innocence from her. When I warned her off him, she was furious. I’m not surprised she tore me out of the picture. She felt the same way about Mark as your mother did about your father.”

“She kept your brush,” I say flatly.

He shrugs. “I have no idea why. Maybe because it reminded her of that night with Mark.”

I let that sit, then I nod. I can accept that answer, but not his silence before now. “So why wouldn’t you tell me this before? I asked you directly if you knew her. We’ve been looking for her together, Chris.”

“I told you I barely knew her, and that was the truth.”

“But you knew her better than you made me believe,” I say, trying to keep the accusation from my voice, but it’s hard. I don’t understand his silence. “You didn’t tell me you’d seen her at the club, and there were plenty of chances for you to speak up.”

“When you asked me about her, I didn’t want you to know the club existed. I didn’t want you in that part of my life.”

His words hit me hard. I am still raw from him shutting me out of the funeral and his life. Suddenly, I realize this ache inside me isn’t so much about Rebecca as it is about the realization that Chris is still keeping me at an emotional distance, never really letting me inside his life. I am here with him but I am never fully present the way I want to be.

I try to move past him. He blocks me. “Let me pass, Chris.”

“Sara—”

“I need to think, Chris. I need space.” And I do. I don’t understand what I feel, but it hurts. I hurt and I’ve hurt for weeks on end. I’m tired of feeling this way.

He hesitates and then backs into the bedroom. I walk past him and snatch up my purse. “Where are you going?” he demands.

“I told you: I need some space.”

“No. You need to stay here and we’ll talk this out.”

“I can only assume you’ve told me everything there is to say now. Unless there’s more I don’t know?”

He visibly flinches. “No. There’s nothing else. That’s it.”

“Then we’re done talking. I need to take a drive and think.”

“I didn’t want you to know about the club, Sara. Right or wrong, that’s my honest answer,” he pleads.

“I know. The problem is that everything you tell me is because you’re
forced
to tell me—not because you
choose
to tell me. You never fully trust me.”

“That’s not true.” He runs a rough hand through his hair and he looks as tormented as I feel. “It’s
not
true.”

“It’s how I feel. It’s what I feel right now.” He’s been all
about secrets from day one, and I chose to ignore the danger they might present. I chose to look the other way because I’m so damn in love with him. I walk toward the door and he steps in front of me. “Stay.”

“Keeping me here right now is the worst thing you can do, Chris. It’ll make me feel trapped. I’ve felt that way too much in my life. Don’t do that to me.”

He steps aside.

I start walking, part of me wanting him to stop me, even though I’ll be furious if he does. And part of me thinks his not stopping me is so out of character that it scares me. He let me go before, after I found him begging for a beating. No, that’s not right. He’d downright pushed me away. I haven’t fully healed from that and right now, I’m afraid of what I don’t know and how it will tear us apart, like the club discovery almost had. I’m afraid it’s going to happen again. I can’t help it. I need him to fight for me now, no matter how wrong of me that might be.

He can’t win by letting me go or keeping me here—and neither can I. Maybe we never
could
win together. We were destined to shred each other inside and out. Destined to end up right here, where we are tonight.

At the front of the building, I order my car brought up to me. Once I’m inside it I sit behind the wheel, unsure of where to go. I want to be with Chris, but the secrets he keeps, on top of the rawness of his withdrawal this past week, eats away at me.

He didn’t trust me to go through the loss of Dylan with him. He didn’t trust me to tell me about Rebecca. No, about the club. He hid that from me for as long as he possibly could. What else
is he hiding and unwilling to share because he still thinks I can’t handle it? I’ve poured my heart out to this man, and now I’ve given up my job for him. I had put all fear aside and gambled on us. When will
he
fully gamble on us? Will he ever?

My phone rings and it’s Chris. I decline the call. The doorman knocks on my window and I jump. He mouths, “Are you okay?” and I wave and pull onto the road. I don’t know where I’m going; I just drive.

•   •   •

An hour later, I end up at Mark’s white mansion in the same Cow Hollow neighborhood as his club. I have no idea why I am here. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go. And Mark really is my one real connection to both Chris and Rebecca, who have both become a huge part of my life. Both of whom I now feel like I am losing.

Besides, Mark is all about facts, not the emotions I am letting control me right now. Just hearing him tell the same story Chris has told me about Rebecca might give me new perspective about why Chris’s silence on the subject bothers me so much.

I grab my purse and shove open the door. Motion detectors flicker to life and doors identical to the ones at the club become visible, sending a frisson of unease through me. I press past it and ring the bell. I shiver, telling myself it’s because I’ve hastily forgotten a jacket, not because of my location. It doesn’t work. Nerves flutter through me and the frisson becomes full-blown doubt. I’m about to make a mad dash for the car when the door opens and Mark appears, looking like a Mark I’ve never seen. He’s barefooted and his normal, finely groomed blond hair is rumpled. The perfectly fitted suit I’ve become accustomed to
him wearing has been replaced by a white T-shirt and faded jeans.

His gaze sweeps my jeans and T-shirt, clearly finding my attire as striking as I do his. One blond brow lifts. “Ms. McMillan. What a surprise.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, sounding as awkward as I feel. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

He motions me forward and I hesitate, remembering the room called the Lion’s Den at the club, and that caged feeling I’d had in the demo unit. But I want answers. I need answers. I draw a breath and step onto the pale ivory hardwood floor and into a narrow hallway, too close to Mark for comfort.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes. No. I just need to ask you a few questions about . . . Chris.”

His eyes narrow. “Chris?

“And Rebecca.”

“And Rebecca,” he repeats, and I catch a flash of consternation in his gaze that quickly fades. “I’m not sure how they connect but I’m intrigued enough to see where this is going.” His chin lifts to urge me forward. I just stand there, frozen in place, his gray eyes sharp as he watches me. Oh yes, I feel like I am in the lion’s den and want out. “Staying or going, Ms. McMillan?”

Answers, Sara. You want answers
. “Staying. I’m staying.” My feet move. That’s progress. One step into the den is closer to one step out.

The massive living room I bring into focus a few feet down the hallway is exactly what I expect of Mark. Rich, rich, and rich
in every way. An obviously expensive chocolate brown leather couch is framed by two oversized matching chairs. A fireplace is to the left, and above it a painting I recognize as a Motif. Two sculptures are to either side of the fireplace, and I have no doubt they were done by famous artists, though I am not knowledgeable enough to be certain.

Mark steps to my side, intimidatingly tall and close. “Let’s sit.”

I walk forward and choose the solitariness the overstuffed chairs allows me and perch on the edge of one, setting my purse beside me. Mark sits on the arm of the couch facing me, automatically assuming the position of dominance.

My throat is ridiculously parched and my pulse starts thrumming wildly, afraid of what may be another Pandora’s box.

“Yes, Ms. McMillan?” he asks when I’ve apparently let too much time pass.

A heavy breath escapes my lungs. “I need to know what caused you and Chris to come to bad terms.”

He considers me a moment. “What did he tell you?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Why is this important?” His voice is crisp.

“It just is.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

Of course not. That would be too simple. “Was it over Rebecca?”

“Is this about the police investigation?”

“No, it’s not that. I . . .” I almost tell him about the storage unit but think better of it. “She’s just become very personal to me and I came across some of Rebecca’s items, and there were keepsakes from a charity event that she and Chris—”

“They weren’t involved. Not even close. In fact, she came to dislike him quite a lot.”

“I didn’t think they were involved, but what made her dislike him?”

“He saw her as a young kid who needed a daddy more than a Master.”

This explains why Rebecca had scribbled out Chris’s name in her work journal. “And you didn’t agree with him?”

“No. I didn’t agree with him. I saw a young, intelligent, beautiful woman with the world in her hands.”

There is a softness to his voice I’ve never heard, and not for the first time I believe he had feelings for Rebecca. Maybe not love, but he had an attachment I once thought him incapable of feeling for anyone. “Where is she, Mark?”

“Contrary to Ricco’s insistence that I know that, I don’t.”

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

I jump at the sound of Ava’s voice and stand up, turning toward a hallway to my right. Ava is standing there, eyes ablaze and wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. Ryan is behind her, bare-chested, in a pair of dress pants.