Page 174 of Into the Dark
I wait. Wait for him to laugh or smile or reach across the table to choke the life out me like he suggested earlier he might do.
But he does nothing. Just stares at me. Calm. Controlled. At peace.
“You forgive me?” I try a smile, but it doesn’t get very far on my face before I’m shaking my head in disbelief. He forgives me. Fucking hilarious. Best thing I’ve ever heard. Why isn’t he laughing? Why aren’t I? I try a laugh, but it fades out a second later when I realize his expression still hasn’t changed. He’s as serious as I’ve ever fucking seen him. I stare at him stunned, speechless. In the silence, I contemplate telling him how Vicky really died. Something. Anything to make him act like I need him to. Like I fucking deserve.
“Fred, you’re not ma—”
“You ever gonna learn when to stop fucking talking, son?” He cuts me off, flared nostrils about to breathe fire down on me. My mouth closes again as he stares me down. “Now, you got something more to tell me, Jay, or are we done here? ’Cause if we’re done here, then good, because I got a half finished still-life to get back to before the colors set, or I have to redo the whole fucking thing from scratch. So, we done or are we done?”
I stare at him for a few more insane seconds, then I nod. “We’re done.”
A tiny whisper of a smile. Gone in a fraction of an instant. “Hmph. Thought so.” He nods. “Now, get the fuck out of my sight and don’t ever let me set eyes on you again, yeah?”
Whenever she’s late, I always try to remind myself I waited thirty-three years for her and so ten more minutes won’t fucking kill me.
But I’m impatient when it comes to her. When I’m not with her, it’s just a long, empty wait until I am again. After watching her die over and over again in my head, that feeling of being away from her is now like a physical pain. And fear is painful. I forgot that.
Where the fuck is she?
I pick up my phone again and contemplate calling her. She’s only five minutes late. I check my pocket again for the box, tapping my hand lightly against the fabric of my pants. I hope she likes it. Robyn said she would. Rob knows her taste a bit better than me, and so I deferred to her on this one. I know Alex’s body, mind, and soul, and I’m learning her taste in other things over time—but I couldn’t fuck this up. I’ve waited too long already. After my first stupid, half-arsed proposal that night in the car, this has to be perfect. She deserves for it to be perfect.
She thinks this is a just a child-free “Goodbye London” dinner, but it’s more than that. I want to ask her again before we leave for California, and I’ve brought her to this place as a half-joke, mainly because I know she’ll laugh that fucking laugh when she reads my card telling her where to meet me. She’s the mother of my daughter, she’ll be Caleb’s mother in every way that matters, and tonight, when we leave this place, she’ll be something else. I can’t fuck this up. Her image, the one she’s probably carried with her her whole life, has to be delivered, by me, someone who’s fucked up everything their entire life.
Well, least the ring will be right.
I’m sweating. I contemplate taking the suit jacket off, but I’ll wait until she gets here first. Thank fuck I didn’t wear a tie.
A noise slightly to my left disrupts my thoughts, the sound of a door opening behind the heavy black velvet curtain. The sound of voices, one male and then female. The only female voice capable of turning me into a nervous fucking wreck. I’d happily hear nothing else but that voice until the day I die—though the sound of our daughter’s laughter comes close. But as far as sounds go, Alex’s voice has ruined me in the best way.
“Oh, thank you—just through here?”
“Yes, just through the curtain on your right,” the waiter says.
“Thanks so much.”
I turn my head just as she steps through it. My heart stops then starts thudding loudly in my ear. Fucking hell.
She stops moving. Then she smiles, her eyes widening as she casts a quick look around the space before bringing her eyes back to me. I have no words to describe how she looks, but I have a lot of thoughts. Filthy, depraved, disgusting thoughts that don’t belong in a private dining room at The Dorchester.
She’s wearing a long black dress that hits the floor, open-toed heels poking out from beneath. The front comes to a low V, down almost to her stomach, and I can see from here there’s no way she’s wearing a bra. Is she fucking kidding me? The skin of her neck and chest and arms is pale, creamy perfection and stands out against the black of the dress, which looks like silk. Her hair is pulled up away from her face—a style she rarely wears, but it makes her neck look long and graceful, a pair of gold pearl earrings against the skin there making my mouth water.
“What have you done?” she asks, a beautiful red-lipped smile on her face, earrings glittering as she shakes her head at me.
She comes toward me clutching a small silver bag that looks like it’s made of metal, and my cock hardens further. The top half of the dress leaves nothing to my imagination—nothing to anyone’s imagination, frankly—which is already thinking about peeling the straps down her arms and kissing and licking my way across her body. Can I fuck her here? I paid a lot of fucking money for this place, so I don’t see why not.
It takes me a second to drag my eyes up to her face. “Told you I’d bring you here one day, didn’t I?” I smile, standing up from the stool to pull her into me. In these heels she’s almost as tall as me, which I like.
Wrapping my arm around her, I press my mouth against her throat first and lick my tongue up it, sucking it softly just below her ear. She smells bloody incredible—an exotic fragrant spice that sends my blood wild. When she wraps her arm up and around my neck, I press my lips to hers and kiss her. She kisses me back, moaning softly, as I slide my tongue deep into her mouth. She tastes of the champagne I had sent up to our room for her back at the hotel. I’m glad she drank some. I ordered it along with the flowers and card with the note about where and what time she was to meet me.
When I pull back from her mouth, I lick the taste of her from my lips and move back to the small corner bar, where I pour us both a glass of champagne. The bartender isn’t an extra I paid for. Because I want to be alone with her when I ask her.
“Jake, this is far too bloody much,” she says, taking the glass from me.
“What is?” I look about innocently.
“All of it. The suite at the hotel, a private dining room, The Dorchester.” She giggles but gives me a long, loving look.
I shrug innocently, lifting the glass to my mouth. “I got a discount deal. It’s a really quiet night.” The champagne is cool, and the bubbles fizz and pop on my tongue. It’s really fucking good. “The hotel I got a discount on ’cause I know the owner. Helped him out with something once, so he owed me. I’m actually a cheapskate.”