Leilani turns to Waylen and sees that he’s frowning. She vaguely remembers that Waylen hates crowded places, but she can’t remember why. Does he have a phobia? She wonders. Is he afraid of germs? No, that’s not it.
The idea suddenly hits her—he hates physical contact. She quickly thinks about the time they’ve spent together in public places and realizes he’s never touched anyone but her. He didn’t shake hands with the doctor in the hospital, he refused to take his glass of wine directly from the waiter’s hand, and he wouldn’t even let the nurse touch him to clean the cut on his neck.
Waylen stands close behind Leilani as if to shield her from behind. He gently pushes her forward, and they stop to look at some organic lettuce. A mist of cold water sprays from the shelf above, keeping the lettuce fresh and crisp. Waylen grabs a bundle of spinach and tosses it to Robert.
“Don’t we have food at home?” Leilani asks.
“We do,” Waylen says, shrugging. “What do you want to eat for dinner?”
Leilani frowns and asks, “Are you going to cook?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Waylen asks.
“You don’t know how,” Leilani replies.
“I can learn,” Waylen says, teasingly pinching her side.
Waylen follows her through the produce section, picking vegetables at random. They argue about the bell peppers. Waylen wants to choose the biggest peppers, and Leilani wants to get the shiniest. Waylen’s give in, kissing her forehead as he bags the shiniest peppers on the shelf.
Leilani spots several shoppers staring at them and pulls away from him. She can feel herself blushing with embarrassment. We must look like newlyweds, she thinks. It looks like we can’t keep our hands off each other. Feeling self-conscious, she tries to stand further from Waylen, but he doesn’t let her.
When Gabrielle wakes her entire body aches, she feels like she’s been crushed under a mountain. She groans and rolls onto her side. Jackson’s face is inches from her own. She squirms away from him as quickly as possible, feeling a chill on her arms.
She looks down at her body. The sheets have slid away, and tangled at her feet, revealing the pale skin on her b.r.e.a.s.ts and stomach. Large blue and purple hickeys dot her skin like the evidence of some horrible crime. She covers her mouth, trying to hold back the scream rising in her throat.
Calm down and breathe, she thinks. She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. Then she reaches for the bedside table. She grabs the phone and dials the police. She presses the phone hard into her ear to muffle the sound of the officer.
“Help,” she whispers, “I think I was r.a.p.ed.”
“Miss, I just want to let you know that your call is being recorded as evidence,” the officer says. “Now, can you please describe the incident to me?”
“I’m not sure what time it happened,” Gabrielle says. “Actually, I don’t even know what time it is now. I-I think I’m in the private clubhouse above The Palm House restaurant.”
The officer sighs into the other end of the phone. Gabrielle tries to control her breathing, but her entire body is shaking. She looks nervously at Jackson, but he’s still sound asleep. She presses the phone even more firmly against her ear.
“Can you tell me the name of the person who did this to you?” the officer asks.
“I-I don’t know that either,” Gabrielle said, fighting back tears.
“Well, what about your name?” the officer asks.
“Gabrielle Peters,” she says.
“Are you sure?” the officer asks rudely.
Gabrielle closes her eyes and tries to remember what happened, but she has no idea how she got to this room. The last thing she remembers is Jackson pouring her a glass of wine. Did he drug me? She wonders. Why didn’t I notice? Why can’t I remember?
“I don’t remember anything about the event,” she whispered into the phone.
“Miss Peters, have you been drinking?” the officer asks. “If you have, you’re going to need more evidence than normal to prove that this was a r.a.p.e.”
“I can provide evidence,” Gabrielle says. “The man is still here next to me. Can you send some officers here to look at the scene? Quickly? I don’t know how much longer he’ll stay asleep.”
The officer is silent for a long time. She can hear his heavy breathing on the other end of the line. Before she can ask him if the officers are on the way, she feels a painful pressure on her wrist. She drops the phone, and it falls onto a fluffy white pillow.
Jackson twists her arm and presses his body against hers, forcing her onto the mattress. She screams, but he covers her mouth. She licks his palm and tries to bite his fingers, but he forces her jaw shut. He’s still wrapped in a sheet, and the thin fabric keeps his bare skin from touching hers, but she can feel every part of his body against hers.
He presses his lips into the soft skin under her ear. The heat of his breath makes her skin crawl. The harder she struggles, the harder he presses himself against her. Finally, she goes limp, and she closes her eyes. She wonders if he’s going to kill her.
“Evidence is helpful, but do you know what’s better?” Jackson asks. His lips curl into a cruel smile. “It’s better if they walk in on the crime.”
“It’s no joke,” Gabrielle says. “The police are on their way, and I swear to God, I’m going to take you down. For r.a.p.e, for theft, for fraud, for everything my lawyers and I can think of.”
“I understand the situation perfectly,” Jackson says. “In fact, I understand it much better than you.”
“Get off me, and I’ll ask them to reduce your sentence,” Gabrielle says.
“I’m not interested in your mercy,” Jackson says, curling his lip.
“You should be,” Gabrielle says. “It’s all you’ve got left.”
“I doubt that,” Jackson says. He looks down at Gabrielle’s bare chest and smirks. “Sorry about your b.o.o.b.s; they look terrible. So small, too.”
“Just let me go, you bastard,” Gabrielle says. She wants the words to sound strong and confident, and she hates that they sound like a plea instead.
Jackson eases off of her and gets out of the bed. He walks across the room, collecting his clothes. His wine-stained shirt is crumpled on a chair, his pants are on the floor, and his underwear is under the bed. He looks up at the chandelier and laughs—Gabrielle’s pink bra is dangling from a crystal.
“I’ve paid for your services,” Jackson says. He reaches into his pants pockets and pulls out two credit cards. He tosses them at her. “Really, you should think of this as payment for the accident. Because what happened was an accident, you know.”
The door flew open, and two uniformed policemen rushed in with their guns raised. One man points his pistol at Jackson and the other points at Gabrielle. Gabrielle freezes, but Jackson remains calm. He wraps a sheet around his waist and lifts his hands in the air.
“We got a call that someone was r.a.p.ed,” an officer says. “We tracked the location, and it led us here. Did one of you make that call?”
“I did,” Gabrielle says, slowly raising her hand.
“What’s that in your hand?” the officer asked suspiciously.
Gabrielle looks at her hand and realizes she’s still holding one of the cards Jackson tossed at her.
“Oh, um, he gave this to me,” she said.
“As payment?” the officer asks. “Are you a p.r.o.s.t.i.t.u.t.e?”
“What? No! No, no, no,” Gabrielle says, feeling her face darken. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jackson shaking with silent laughter.
A burning smell fills the Bamford kitchen. A servant stands next to the open windows and waves a dishtowel through the smoky air. Waylen pours half a bottle of oil into a pan on the sofa. The oil sizzles and pops, splattering the entire stovetop.
“Why did you add so much oil?” Leilani asks Waylen. “It’ll make it too greasy.”
Waylen scowls at her and grabs a large knife from the block on the counter. The sharp blade glints in the bright kitchen light. He slams it into the red streak on the wooden cutting board. The meat is tender, but Waylen struggles to cut it—he’s using the wrong knife. He raises the blade in the air and smashes it down onto the steak.
“You’re cutting that beef like you hated the cow,” Leilani teases.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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