The Black Chapel (16 page)

“Will you do me the honor and marry me, Scarlett Hansen?” he asks.

Tears are clouding my vision. Michael has just pretend-asked me to marry him. He’s in front of his family. Is it time for payback? Yes. No. Yes.

No.

“Yes, Michael, I’ll marry you,” I say, barely able to speak the words, my throat is so dry.

This is the worst moment of my life. And as I know all too well—I only have myself to blame. I shouldn’t have fallen for him. I should have kept things professional. I should have not been such a liar.

Michael stands up, slips the mountain of a rock onto my finger and embraces me.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Thank you for what? Marrying you? Making you one and a half billion dollars? For not making you look like a fool? For being so convincing that the whole family believes our Oscar-worthy performance?

His family is overjoyed and they crowd toward us and come up to congratulate us. There’s even cheering, whopping and whistling, and I do feel like they approve of me. Maybe they’re not as stuffy as I had initially thought.

Michael pulls me close and kisses me passionately. I melt for a moment, but then remember that this is only a business transaction with a whole lot of baggage.

Diane, who has avoided me pretty much up until this point, comes over.

“I need to speak with you, Dear.” She rolls off in her highly advanced electrical wheelchair and I follow after her. She must be very sick at this point, facing the last few days of her life to be confined to a wheel chair. I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask her about her health, and can’t really think of anything else worthy of conversation.

Diane takes me into the library, asking me to shut the white French doors behind me. I do as I’m told because this woman has authority.

“I apologize for the abrupt way in which I dismissed you last Friday. I didn’t mean to upset you. I am just so entrenched in my ways that when I find what I’m seeking for, I stop,” Diane says. “And I don’t have much time left on this earth to waste anyway.”

“So you found what it was you were seeking?” I ask, sitting down on the burgundy leather sofa. There are no normal walls in this room. Only bookshelves filled to the brim and a gigantic glass sliding door on one wall.

“Yes. The way to know a woman’s soul is to read her eyes,” Diane says.

I gulp and wring my hands. Can she read my deceit? Or should I say deceits, because now there are so many of them even I can’t keep track of them all.

She steeples her hands and is deep in thought. “You love my son, it is very obvious.”

I want to scream that no, I don’t because Michael’s a liar and a cheater, which basically are the same thing, but at this point, the more descriptive words I can throw at the jerk, the better.

“But what I am yet uncertain about is whether or not
he
loves you.” Diane’s eyes peer at me like I’m the enemy.

I’m speechless.

“So I’ve decided to change my will, but you mustn’t tell Michael about it, do you hear?” Her eyes are demanding, her voice stark, angry even.

This is news! “Yes.” I sound like I’m asking her a question.

“The will remains the same. But there will be an amendment added at the end. When Michael marries you, he will receive his inheritance. But the day he divorces you is the day he loses his inheritance,” Diane says.

I’m shocked. “But why would you do that—for me?” Is it for me? Now I’m not so sure.

Diane smiles. “Because anyone who loves my son the way I know you do, deserves to have the upper edge. And I trust you to do the right thing, Scarlett. My son, not so much.”

Suddenly I’m liking Mrs. Manning a whole lot more. “But how do you know I love him? You can’t just tell by looking into my eyes.”

“When you told me that you felt you had come home, it sent chills down my spine. I know a lie when I hear one, Ms. Hansen, and I know love when I see it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am not feeling well. Please give my regards to the rest of the family.” She gestures for me to leave and I pass a servant on the way out.

I saunter out to the living room, where truckloads of wrapping paper has been tossed around the room. These kids are serious about opening their presents.

“What did my mother want?” Michael says, almost sounding like he’s worried. He kisses me.

I can’t really help but smile. “She just wanted to officially welcome me into the family. She bought the whole cake. I’m in, and the inheritance is yours.”

Michael smiles and kisses me deeper. “Want to go upstairs and celebrate?” he speaks in a low, raspy voice.

Oh, he is so seductive. Even when I hate him I want his hands on my body, touching me, stroking my insides until I feel that burning heavy desire. “I think I’d prefer spending Christmas with your family,” I say.

“Really?” His eyes are confused.

“Can I take a rain check, maybe?” I smile innocently.

“Okay,” he says.

“Great!”

After all the presents have been opened and the wrapping paper cleared, we all hang out in the living room, with wine bottle after wine bottle popping open.

I’m starting to feel a little woozy, which is not good, since I need to keep my priorities straight—especially concerning Michael. I’m sitting wrapped in his arms and he kisses my hand and cheek alternately and from time to time. And for a moment, I almost think that this is my real life and that I’m actually marrying Michael. Only wine gets me in these ridiculously romantic moods. I decline the next glass offered to me.

Once the last guest has left, around 3:00 a.m., I excuse myself and head to the shower. I lock the door before hopping in. Michael is not coming to join me. Once I’m out of the shower, I hear a faint knock at the door.

“Yes?” I say.

“May I come in?” Michael says.

“Just a minute.” Ha. A minute. I’m going to take an hour, I think. I towel dry my body and hair, blow-dry my dark long locks and the slip into my flannel, un-suggestive as ever, pajamas.

When I step out, I see Michael passed out on the bed on his back. He’s still wearing his pants, and his dress shirt is halfway unbuttoned so I can see his sexy chest. I scowl at myself for thinking he’s sexy. I carefully slip under the covers, hoping I won’t wake him. His cologne brings to mind the awesome encounter we had last night and this morning.

Ugh!

I’m still completely spellbound by this man. But I must not be! Even after he wanted to be with someone else, and after he lied to me, I still want him. Well, he didn’t technically lie, did he? He just left out some very important information and wants to cheat on me. Why am I making excuses for this guy? I frown at myself and punch my pillow.

I force my eyes shut and try to fall sleep, but it’s hard to ignore that the man who has given me so much pleasure is lying right next to me, and if woken up, would ravish my body over and over. I sigh, and finally after what seems forever, I fall asleep.

The next morning, Michael still hasn’t figured out that I’m mad as hell at him. But I guess I can’t blame him too much. It’s not like I’m actually telling him about it. But how clueless is he to my emotions?

He tried to make a move on me this morning, but I said I had a pounding headache—classic, I know. After breakfast and a nice long shower (yes, I locked the door
again
) I ask him to take me home. I need to work on a couple of things and visit my dad, I tell him.

“Are you sure you want to be alone?” he asks, dropping me off.

“Yes. Don’t take it personally. I just need to catch up on a few things.” I smile wearily.

After dropping me off, Michael heads home, or at least that’s where he told me he’d go. Can’t believe a word out of that guy’s mouth.

I step into my house and crack open my laptop, curious to see if there are any more emails from Mr. Manning to Samantha. I’m surprised that there aren’t any. But now it’s my turn to respond, or Samantha, I should say. I hit the reply button.

From: [email protected]

RE: Merry Christmas!

Date: 12.25.2013 Time: 11:12 am

_______________________________________

Dear Mr. Manning,

I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your emails. I’ve been in the hospital, seeking treatment. But don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. Just comes with the job.

I leave just enough of a hint, I hope, that I could be in need of treatment for a sexually contracted disease. I laugh wickedly and then continue typing.

I hope this email finds you well. I have had time to reconsider your offer. I’d love to meet with you again. I too have been thinking about you. But the terms are the same. I want to meet you in the Sanctuary, but as before, absolutely no sex will be offered. I can come in today even, if you’d like and are desperate to see me.

XOXO Samantha

I press the send button and wait. He’ll never go for today. He’s got a bunch of family commitments and then he’s meeting the real me later. Ok, Mr. cheater. Come to me. When there is no reply, I decide to go check the mail. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the mailbox, and I might have missed some Christmas cards from extended family members. At the mailbox, I pick up a pile of letters and cards and once inside, I start opening them. Then I hear that ping, notifying me I’ve received an email.

I run upstairs as fast as I can, my heart in my throat and sit down on my bed with the laptop on my lap.

From: [email protected]

RE: Merry Christmas to you too!

Date: 12.25.2013 Time: 11:20 am

_______________________________________

Samantha,

I am pleasantly surprised and delighted to get an email from you. I must admit, I thought you’d never contact me again, and I was quite upset that I’d never have the chance to see you again. Having said that, though I do appreciate your willingness to see me, I have moved on. I wish you the best of luck in the future, and have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Michael

I frown. Rejected? I smile. Could it be that by saying he’s moved on that he’s moved on with the real me? I wish he had expounded on his email a little more. Like, would he admit to seeing someone else?

It’s a strange sensation when my stiffest competition is myself. Should I email him back? Invite him a little more seductively? See if he’s really had a change of heart? Yes. Guiltily, I hit the reply button.

From: [email protected]

RE: Merry Christmas!

Date: 12.25.2013 Time: 11:25 am

_______________________________________

Dearest Michael,

I completely understand moving on. I hope I didn’t do anything or say anything to upset you. I just thought we had such a wonderful time in the Sanctuary, and I think about your strong, sensual hands on my body. Your touch sent me to another place, sent my head spinning and my heart beating so fast, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And your mouth on mine felt so right, so raw and honest. I thought maybe you had felt the same. But of course I understand if you don’t want to meet again. Sometimes the best thing is to shut the door to the past and move on. If you change your mind, please email me. The offer is still open, and I’d still love for you to explore my body even further.

XOXO Samantha

I press send. Come on, Michael, don’t take the bait! Don’t take the bait! I know I’m acting totally irrational, being a bitch even, but I can’t help it. My heart is hoping he’ll stay faithful to me, but I have to know he really means it. There is a ping on my computer. Shoot.

From: [email protected]

RE: Merry Christmas to you too!

Date: 12.25.2013 Time: 11:29 am

_______________________________________

Samantha, meet me in the Black Chapel today at noon.

Michael

Oh crap! I didn’t think he’d actually want to meet me today on Christmas! I need to call Laila, tell her I’m working with Mr. Manning today and that she needs to open the club. I’m sure she’ll take me back in a second; it’s worth a lot of money for her.

I bolt out the door, hit the gas and speed through every street as if I had the devil tailgating me. While driving, I call Laila, and of course she is more than happy to accommodate my request. She doesn’t even ask me why I changed my mind. Better leave well enough alone, I suppose.

Once at the Black Chapel, I park right in front of the building. The Black Chapel sign, usually magenta neon blaring light, is off. The place looks dead. I wait a minute and then see Laila’s powder blue Mercedes pull up. I have no time to waste; Michael will be here in fifteen minutes expecting a hell of a performance.

Laila opens the front door and hands me the key. “When you’re done with him, drop the key in this slot.” She shows me a two-inch mail drop slot in the dimmed glass door. “Good luck.” She’s almost out the door when she stops. “Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I say.

I run to the dressing room and pick out my black fallen angel costume. The mask is heavy and I apply enough make-up that even Anne wouldn’t recognize me. The benefit of this costume, too, is that sheer fabric covers my entire body. I put on a padded push-up bra with faux diamonds on it, giving me the appearance that I’m a double D. It’s really hard to get into my wings, but I manage. I spray Anne’s perfume on heavily and with my shoes in hand, I jog to Jim’s booth. There, I put on some sexy music—a little louder than normal—and enter the Sanctuary.

Michael is there within a minute, and I both sigh and frown inside at the same time. Sigh because I made it here and because I’m in full, unrecognizable costume and frown because he’s here for the stripper.

I haven’t had time to really think about what I might say or do to Michael now that I’m Samantha. I’m not normally an aggressive person, but what I really want to do right now is punch him in the face. Of course that’s not what I’m going to do—I can’t let him figure out my secret. Because if he does, he’ll surely pull the deal and I’ll be back to square on, with no job, be swimming in extreme debt and worrying about an ill father who is slowly but surely dying of cancer.