Listed: Volume I (10 page)

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* *

She woke up groggy and
disoriented.

She
looked over at the clock and stared at the digital numbers that said 6:42. She
blinked a few times, thinking she must have woken up a little earlier than
normal that morning. She tried to remember what day it was but couldn’t figure
it out.

Then
she wondered why she was wearing a t-shirt and sweats instead of her pajamas or
nightgown. Then she wondered why there was a green bottle of sparkling water on
her nightstand.

She
sat up, feeling strangely fuzzy. She was conscious of something good though.
Something really good.

She
finally figured out her head wasn’t hurting anymore, and the absence of the
throbbing pain was a relief so palpable she felt almost giddy.

She
took a sip of the water and was vaguely surprised when it was still fairly
cool. She stared at the clock, trying to figure out what the numbers meant.

Then
she was finally hit with the revelation. It was six in the evening, not the
morning. She’d just woken up from what had been a very long nap—almost four
hours long.

She
stumbled to her feet and stood for a minute to get her balance. The apartment
was perfectly silent. Eerily so. It felt like she’d been abandoned by the
entire world.

She
walked down the hall barefoot, looking in rooms, and finally saw that the door
to Paul’s office was only halfway closed.

She
peeked in and saw that he was working at his computer, focused intently on
whatever he was typing.

He
was now the Assistant Vice President of Management at his mother’s company—a
corporate position created just for him—but evidently he was able to do a lot
of work from home, since he’d spent the last two evenings working. From the
brief glimpses she’d had of the work on his desk, it looked deadly dull to her,
but he seemed absolutely committed to completing it all with as much care and
efficiency as he could muster.

A
far cry from partying all night like he used to.

Despite
his intent focus, it didn’t take long for Paul to notice her presence in his
doorway.

He
smiled when he saw her, but it was that mild smile she hated, the one that
reminded her she was dying. “How’s your headache?”

“It’s
better. It’s totally gone.”

“Good.”
He sat and looked at her for a minute. Then asked, “Did you need anything?”

She
suddenly realized she was interrupting his work. She’d come to find him
instinctively, since she’d felt lonely and disoriented in the apartment by
herself. She was perfectly capable of amusing herself, however, and she
definitely didn’t want to be a nuisance. “No, I’m fine. Is it all right if I
find something to eat in the kitchen? I’m kind of hungry now.”

“Sure,”
Paul said, looking with a surprised expression at his wrist. “Make yourself at
home.”

She
murmured thanks and turned to leave when she realized he’d gotten up. “I can
make do myself,” she told him, “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I
need to find something for dinner too, unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No.”
She smiled in pleased surprise, “I don’t need to be alone.”

The
truth was she was glad of his company, even for something as mundane as
scouring the kitchen for something to eat. She was used to being surrounded by
people she knew—her friends in the neighborhood, her classmates, her aunt.

All
of the people around her now were strangers except for Paul. She could call
Chris or her other friends if she wanted, but it wasn’t the same. Their world
seemed so far away from hers now, and being around them hurt, reminded her of
her old life, the one that was coming to an early end.

If
she wanted real company, Paul was her only option. While it would be wrong to
expect him to spend all of his time keeping her company, she was kind of glad
he’d decided to come eat with her.

The
kitchen in the apartment wasn’t really very large, but it was more luxurious
than any kitchen Emily had ever been in before. She felt like a plebian in her
sloppy t-shirt with no bra as she opened the top-of-the-line, stainless-steel
refrigerator.

It
was full, and everything was neatly organized on the shelves and trays.

“Do
you have someone who cooks for you?” she asked, looking back at Paul curiously.

He
had opened a cute little cubby-hole in the cabinets and pulled out a fresh loaf
of bread. “I have Ruth, who comes in and cleans, and she usually leaves me
things to eat that I can just warm up.”

He
came to join her, and together they investigated the contents of the
refrigerator.

Eventually
they decided on homemade chicken and brown rice soup that just needed to be
warmed up and sandwiches made from an assortment of gourmet sliced meats and
cheeses they discovered in the deli drawer.

They
didn’t chat much as they prepared their meal and ate it on the stools at the
kitchen bar, but Emily didn’t mind. The quiet didn’t feel awkward. They spoke
when they had something to say, but they didn’t feel compelled to talk for the
sake of talking. It felt almost companionable.

She
was finishing up her soup when Paul asked, “So what’s next on your list? After
we finish the deposition tomorrow, we’ll have the rest of the weekend to do
something, if you’d like.”

“Yeah,
I was thinking about that. There are a few things on the list that I can do
here in Philadelphia, so I thought I could just go out on my own tomorrow
afternoon and Sunday and get them crossed off. There’s no reason you have to do
everything with me.”

Paul
frowned. “I don’t mind. What were you thinking of doing?”

“Just...”
She shook her head, foolishly embarrassed by a couple of items on the list. “It
doesn’t really matter. I’m happy to do them on my own. That way you can catch
up on work or do something fun yourself.”

“I
told you I don’t mind going with you. I don’t like the idea of your running
around the city on your own.”

Her
mouth fell open. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve been going wherever I want on my own
since I was thirteen.”

“I
know that,” he said, his eyes narrowing with what looked like disapproval. “But
it’s not safe for you right now. If you don’t want me around, then I can send a
couple of bodyguards with you.”

“No,”
she objected, almost choking on her last bite of sandwich. “I want to get some sort
of satisfaction out of doing my list. I don’t want to rush through it with a
bunch of hulking men glaring at me. I’m going by myself.”

Paul
was already finished with his meal, but he put his bottle of water down and let
out a slow breath, as if he were restraining his impulse to be angry. “It’s not
safe, Emily. My father could still try to kill you, and I’m not going to put
you in danger.”

“It’s
not your choice to make!” She tried to keep her voice as level as his, but she
couldn’t quite manage it. “Tomorrow, I’ll have finished the deposition so it
won’t matter if I get killed.” When he made a strangled sound in response, she
hurried on, “I just mean it won’t affect the case. I’ll have fulfilled my side
of our agreement, so you can’t keep me locked away under guard.”

“I
don’t want to keep you locked away.” His voice sounded a little rough, and she
realized he’d gotten angry after all. It was almost a relief—that he was
treating her like a real person. “But we can at least take basic precautions.
You never minded my protection before.”

She
scowled. “I never thought I needed it, but I was all right with it when I
thought I had a long life waiting for me, or when I knew I still needed to
testify. Those things aren't true anymore. I’m trying to get through my list,
and I need a little freedom to do it.”

“You
can do your list. I’m not stopping you. In fact, I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re
trying to control me.” Her voice had gotten louder and shriller, and resentment
buzzed hotly in her ears.

“Emily,
you’re being ridiculous.” His face and shoulders were tense with whatever
emotion he was suppressing. “I don’t want to control you. I want to keep you
safe. I promised that I would protect you. Have I ever given you cause to think
I’ll go back on my word?”

He
hadn’t. Not once had Paul not kept his word to her. But that didn’t make his
presumption and arrogance any more palatable now.

“I
don’t want to be protected. I want to be treated like a normal person.”

“For
God’s sake, Emily,” Paul growled, clearly at the end of his patience. “What the
hell do you—” He bit off his words and turned away from her. Took a few slow
breaths.

When
he turned back toward her, she knew—she
knew
—he’d remembered she was
dying.

And
apparently you didn't yell at a dying girl.

“Emily,”
he said gently, “We can go through the items on your list together this
weekend, with adequate security precautions, or you can do them yourself,
escorted by a bodyguard. Those are your options. You agreed that I would
protect you. This is the only way I can do so, unless you want out completely.”

Before
she could do more than sputter a few times in outrage, he’d gotten up and
walked out of the kitchen.

She
wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to claw lines down
Paul’s stubborn, infuriating face.

She
looked down at her left hand and suddenly remembered she was
married
to
the bastard.

Despite
her automatic reaction, she didn’t chase after him and throw a fit, since she
knew it would be immature and counter-productive. Instead, she put up the food
and dishes, more from habit than from any concern that it wouldn’t be taken
care of.

Then
she walked back to her room, noticing that Paul’s office door was closed
tightly.

She
glared at it as she passed, but she didn’t try to enter.

Instead,
she grabbed her purse from her room and simply made her way to the front door
of the apartment.

In
the hall, she was greeted by a big man in a suit. A bodyguard. She thought she
remembered Paul had called him Tim.

“I’m
just running out for a few minutes,” she said with a smile.

He
gave her a friendly enough look, but he put his hand out. “Just a minute, Mrs.
Marino.”

She
stood in outraged shock as he made a call and quietly asked if it was all right
that she was leaving without anyone escorting her.

The
person on the other end—undoubtedly Paul—must have said no.

“I’m
sorry, miss…missus,” Tim said, looking awkward in the face of her visible
indignation. “I can call someone to go with you if you want. But otherwise…”

He
trailed off, and Emily was hard pressed not to scream and hit something.

This
wasn’t happening. She wasn’t trapped in this damned penthouse apartment.

She
knew Paul wouldn’t genuinely trap her here. She could leave any time she
wanted. She could leave the marriage, his protection, their agreement.

She
didn’t want to leave all that, though. She just wanted to go out for a while by
herself.

It
wasn’t Tim’s fault, so she managed not to snarl at him. She just turned around
and went back inside.

She
was stewing. Shaking with resentment.

As
she passed the office door, it opened, and Paul stuck his head out. “Sorry,” he
said, as if his behavior was somehow normal. “Just let me know if you want to
go do something, and we can get someone to go with you so it’s safe.”

Instead
of expressing her rising fury, she was suddenly hit with a brainstorm. “Am I at
least allowed to go for a swim?” She made sure to sound unhappy, almost pouty,
since he’d suspect something if she seemed all right with this situation.

His
eyebrows drew together, making those two little lines on his forehead. “Of
course. There’s the plunge pool on the terrace, if you don’t think it’s too
cool—”

“I
wanted to do laps. Isn’t there a bigger pool?”

“Oh,
yeah, downstairs. Sure you can go. Do you mind if someone goes with you?”

She
made a face and mumbled, “Fine.”

Evidently,
her performance was convincing. He didn’t seem remotely suspicious as she left
him and headed to her room.

There,
she sat down on her bed, forcing down her resentment so she could think
clearly. She pulled out her list from the drawer next to her bed and looked
down at it.

For
years, Emily had done what she’d liked, gone where she wanted, made things
happen at her own devising. And nothing—not locked doors, not fear, not the
authority of someone else—had kept her out if she'd wanted in.

There
was one thing on her list that she could do tonight, alone, not far from the
city.

Paul
wouldn’t be happy, but he wasn’t in control of her.

And
she knew how she would get out of the building.