I WATCH FAITH PAINT FOR hours, a stack of work next to me that I barely touch. I just watch her work while my mind chases the puzzle that is her mother and my father together. Murder brought us together. Lies could tear us apart. I don’t know what time I take her to bed, or how long I keep her awake once I get her there. But I wake with Faith pressed to my side, and I have one thought. In the right and wrong of things, there is nothing wrong about this woman in my bed.
The day is lazy, rain falling outside, and we have coffee on my balcony, talking, laughing, both of us in sweats and t-shirts with no plans to go anywhere until tonight. “Are you wearing the blue dress tonight?” I ask, sipping my coffee while thinking of the blue panties.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I wish I would have asked about the dress code. I brought several choices.”
I set my cup down and grab my phone from my pocket. “Let’s find out. I’ll call Chris.” I punch in his number from my auto-dial.
“No,” she says quickly, setting her cup down. “No, don’t—”
“It’s already ringing,” I say, and Chris immediately picks up, while I get right to the point. “What’s the dress code tonight?”
“Translation. You’re Faith’s date tonight and she doesn’t know how to dress. Put her on with Sara.”
“Good plan.” I hand Faith the phone. “Sara.”
She pales, glowers and takes the phone. “Sara. Yes. No. Great. Nice to meet you, too. Yes. I’ll see you then.” She hands me back the phone. “Chris.”
“I’m here,” I say, placing the receiver to my ear again. “And I need nothing else.”
“Works for me,” Chris says and we disconnect, and I focus on Faith. “Blue dress?”
“You shouldn’t have called them, and actually the blue dress is too fancy, and I want to save that dress for the L.A. event. It was lucky the first time.”
“Luck is good,” I say. “But you do have a dress to wear, right?”
“Yes. It’s pink and doesn’t require you to spend money on me.”
“You’re going to have to get over this money thing, sweetheart. I have it. I spend it. If I want to spend it on you, I’m going to and that doesn’t make me an asshole unless I use it against you in some way, which I won’t.” And those are words I’m going to have to repeat loudly when she finds out I paid the bank on her behalf. “Moving on,” I say. “Your dress is pink. Do I get the royal blue panties underneath?”
“They’re pink and I don’t want you to spend money on me.”
“I like spending money on you and I like pink.”
“Don’t rip them this time and you can like them twice.”
“Twice is good. More is better.”
“Do you know what you’re wearing?”
“Why? Are you considering which knife you need to undress me?”
She grins. “I think that’s a moment I need to capture on the canvas. That moment when you first saw the knife in my hand. It was priceless. I’m suddenly inspired to paint.”
“Then go and paint a masterpiece. I’ve got work that I can dig into in my office. I’ll come get you for lunch.”
“Are you cooking?”
“If ordering take out, counts, then yes. At your service, Ms. Winter.”
She laughs and starts to get up, but sits back down. “I never asked what time the party is. Chris never said.”
“I’ll find out,” I promise. “You go paint.”
Her eyes light. “I actually can’t wait to pick up a brush again.”
“I prefer you with a brush than a knife in your hand.”
She laughs and pops to her feet, rushing through the house, and I sit back and enjoy this moment. I could get used to having this woman around.
The day passes too quickly, when Faith will leave tomorrow unless I convince her otherwise.
It’s nearly seven, and I’m standing on the balcony off my bedroom in a blue suit and blue tie, waiting on Faith to finish dressing, a glass of that whiskey Abel left behind in my hand. And while outside, the storms of earlier in the day have passed, stars dotting the skyline before me, while the storm that is the lies I’ve told Faith are clear and present, haunting me tonight in ways they haven’t before now.
“Nick.”
At the sound of Faith’s voice, I down my drink, set the glass on a small table by the railing, and walk back inside. “Well?” she asks, holding out her hands to her sides. “How do I look? Is it too much? Too little?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t let women in my house, let alone invite them to dress here. So no one has ever asked me if a dress was too much or too little.” I close the space between us, my hands settling on her tiny waist. “But you look beautiful.” And she does. The dress is pink lace and knee length, which offers me the benefit of easy access to her gorgeous legs. Her shoulders are bare, her blonde hair caressing the skin the way my mouth will later. And the neckline is high, reserved, but still somehow sexy, but how can it not be? It’s on her.
Her hands goes to my chest, her eyes searching my face. “You don’t bring women here?” “Never,” I say. “In the five years since I bought this place, not once. Just you.”
“Why me, Nick?” she asks, her tone earnest
“Because you’re you, Faith. There is no other answer.” And while it’s the truth, it guts me to know that she’ll see it as one of my lies, and do so sooner than later.
“Where did you go?” she asks. “To their place?”
“Anywhere but here,” I say, when the truth is, I go to what is my club now, a place, that doesn’t matter to me, but she does. “You’re nervous about tonight. Why?”
“Chris Merit is a big deal in the art world. His support could change my life.”
“You admire him.”
“Yes. He’s talented and successful. And even though he’s really not from Sonoma, he just always felt like a local, and if one local could make it, another could, too.”
“Did you admire Macom? Was that part of the draw to him?”
“I met Macom before he made it. We both loved art and the creative process. And yes, he’s talented, but it was different. I don’t admire him.” Her hands settle on mine at her hips. “He called me yesterday and I just feel like I should tell you.”
I go very still, that possessiveness I feel for Faith rising up inside me. “And?”
“I didn’t take the call. I can guess what it was about. He heard, probably before me, that I was in the show.”
“And he wanted to congratulate you?”
“More to gloat. He’s been there done that, but of course, he’d mask it as a compliment. I don’t need that in my life right now and just wanted to tell you, Nick.” She pauses and then adds, “Thank you. I’ve known you such a short time and you’ve been more supportive of my art than anyone else in my life.”
“It’s self-serving,” I say, leaning in to brush my lips over hers. “I want a beautiful artist in my bed and if we don’t go right now, I might rip this dress, too.” I turn her toward the door.
We arrive at the gallery at seven thirty, and it’s not long before we’re ushered into a room full of at least fifty people, shiny white floors beneath our feet, wave-like rows of displays in random places. Faith and I work our way through the crowd, and when we’re offered champagne for a birthday toast, we both accept. “My preferred drink,” she tells me, sipping her bubbly. “It’s sweet and we don’t make it. It’s also low alcohol and I don’t tolerate much.”
“You really don’t like the winery do you?”
“No,” she says. “I really don’t, but I’ve never said that to anyone but you. Just now.”
My hand settles at her hip. “It’s our secret.”
She looks at me, shadows in her eyes. “That’s trust, Nick. Just in case you didn’t know.”
Trust.
That I’ve already betrayed.
“Welcome everyone!”
At the shouted greeting, I look up to find Chris Merit at the front of the room, the only person here in jeans, but it’s rather fitting. He’s a rock star in this world, complete with longish blonde hair and a brightly inked dragon tattoo sleeve on one arm. “I just want to say happy birthday to my wife,” he announces, “and to tell her how proud I am of her, and this gallery. Enjoy the art and chocolate cake, because it’s her favorite.”
Everyone applauds and there are shouts of ‘happy birthday.’ Chris catches my eye over the crowd right as soft music begins to play. He motions us forward and I lift a hand to acknowledge him. “Empty that glass,” I tell Faith.
Her eyes go wide. “I can’t just down it.”
“Chris is waving you over.”
She downs the champagne and I do the same with mine before handing our glasses to a waiter. I lace my fingers with Faith’s and lead her through the crowd, while cake begins to circulate on trays. Chris, however, is cornered by fans and Sara appears in front of us. “Faith!” she greets her, hugging Faith, her brown hair a contrast to Faith’s blonde, while waving at me over her shoulder.
I give her a nod, but she’s fully focused on Faith, as it should be. “I love your work,” Sara announces, leaning back to look at Faith. “Chris and I both love your work. Let’s go talk.” She motions us forward. “Come. Chris will catch up.”
She starts walking and we follow her through the gallery where two glass doors lead us to a heated outdoor sitting area, with at least a dozen seats, and rose bushes surrounding the exterior. “This space is our newest addition,” Sara says, claiming one of four seats forming a square, while primly tugging down the skirt of her emerald green dress. “I want people to come here and talk art, then buy artists like yourself, Faith.”
“I’m incredibly honored that you want to include me,” Faith says, claiming the seat across from Sara while I sit next to Faith.
“We’d be honored to show your work,” Sara says. “Just to be sure that your aware. Everything we do has a charity component, but we’re going to make that worth your while.”
“Exposure is everything,” Faith says. “I’m not worried about the money.”
“Thus why I’m her attorney,” I interject. “Because I am worried about her money.”
Faith glowers at me and Sara laughs. “He’s fine, Faith. He should be worried about you. Chris would be the same way.” She refocuses on business. “I’m not sure what Chris told you, so I’ll start from scratch. The gallery officially opens in six weeks, but we’re basically letting people have VIP cards to enter a week sooner if they’re here tonight. I’d like to get your work here by then.”
“That would be incredible,” Faith says. “And Chris said you need four pieces to make that happen?”
“Yes please,” she says. “But I need to know that you’re a for-sure placement by next week. And I can talk to your agent if you wish.” She laughs and glances at Nick. “Or your attorney.”
Chris joins us at that moment, greeting everyone as he claims his seat, his hand instantly on Sara’s. “Where are we on things?”
“I was just telling her the details on the gallery,” Sara replies.
Chris flags down a waiter who is immediately by his side. “I know you know what I want.”
The waiter reaches into his apron pocket, removes a beer, and hands it to Chris. “At your service.”
“Thanks, David,” Chris says, eying Sara, who shakes her head, but accepts his replying kiss more than a little willingly.
“Beer anyone?” Chris asks, as the waiter holds two more up.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, accepting it, while Faith and Sara wave off the offer.
“In explanation,” Sara says, as the waiter leaves. “Chris hates wine and champagne.”
“You hate wine?” Faith asks. “But your godparents own a winery.”
“And I still ask for a beer when I’m there,” Chris replies.
In other words, he’s his own man, the way Faith wants to be her own woman, and I squeeze her hand, silently telling her there is no reason she is that winery, and not her art. She glances at our hands, the tiny gesture telling me that she hears me even before she squeezes back.
From there, the four of us start talking, and I take in this world of art that is Faith’s now, listening to the ins and outs, interested in a way I wouldn’t have been before meeting Faith. It’s not long and we’re eating cake, and Sara and Faith have hit it off so well that their heads are together, and Chris and I are left to our own devices.
“You care about her,” he says, his voice low, and the women too absorbed in talk of art to hear us anyway.
“She matters,” I say without hesitation. “Yes.” And admitting that to someone else, saying it and meaning it, tells me just how deep I am in with Faith.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees and I do the same. “Does she know about the club?”
“No,” I say, and while I have pushed this topic aside, with bigger problems to face, I can’t ignore the topic forever. “Now is not the time.”
“It’s never the time,” he says. “And telling Sara was hard on us but we had to go there to get here. And one small secret becomes bigger over time. The bigger the secret and the longer you keep it, the bigger the problem.”
The bigger the secret.
He has no fucking clue how much bigger my secrets are than that fucking sex club. There’s a hell of a lot that I have to come back from with Faith and at some point, I’ll have to decide if I spill it all, fast and hard, or in pieces.
Chris has just leaned back in his seat, when the music changes and an old seventies song, “Sara Smile,” begins to play, a soft, easy, sexy tune. Chris sets his beer on the small table in between us, and stands, walking to Sara and taking her hand. “I need to borrow my wife for a moment,” he says, but he’s not looking at us when he speaks. He’s looking at her. And she’s not looking at us, but at him.
Chris pulls her to her feet and leads her inside the gallery, the words to the song filling the air:
When I feel cold, you warm me
And when I feel I can’t go on, you come and hold me
It’s you and me forever
Sara, smile
Faith stands up and I catch her hand. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” she says, but she won’t look at me.
“Faith.”
“I need a minute, Nick.”
She tugs against me and I release her but I don’t want to. I watch her walk back into the gallery and I know this woman in ways I should not yet be able to know her. Chris and Sara have this way of radiating love. You feel it. You almost believe in happily ever after. And then she suddenly feels like we’re nothing but sex and goodbye. I’m on my feet in an instant, pursuing her, following a sign to the bathroom. I spy Faith just before she is about to round a hallway and the minute she looks around that corner, she flattens on the wall, as if burned.
I’m in front of her in a few long strides, my hands on her waist. Her eyes pop open in shock and I lean around the corner to find Chris kissing Sara and it’s one hell of a kiss. Intense. Passionate. I refocus on Faith, and I cup her face. “We’re whatever we decide to be, Faith.” And I kiss her, just as passionately as Chris is kissing Sara. I kiss her my way. I kiss her and let her taste my words: We’re whatever we decide to be. And when I tear my lips from hers, I say, “Instead of a hard limit, we have a new hard rule: Possibilities, Faith. We have them. Say it.”
“New hard rule,” she whispers. “Possibilities.”
“Let’s go back and wait on them until we can say goodbye and get out of here.”
She nods. “Yes. Please.”
And with her hand in mine, I lead her toward the patio but footsteps sound behind us and Faith and I turn to find Chris and Sara returning. “You’re leaving,” Sara says, seeming to read our body language, her focus on Faith. “You have my email and phone number, right?”
“Yes,” Faith says. “And I’m excited about being a part of the gallery. Oh and happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I actually wanted you to come here tonight to give you a gift, Faith.”
“Me?” Faith asks. “I don’t understand.”
Chris reaches into the pocket of his jeans and produces a check. “I negotiated your price for the showing last weekend, as promised, Faith. You now get twenty thousand a painting and accept no less, or I will personally come kick your ass.” He looks at me. “Twenty thousand. Don’t let her get screwed.” He hands Faith the check. “Sixty thousand. You sold three paintings.”
Faith starts to tremble and my arm goes to her waist, my hips pressed to hers. Her hand shakes as she accepts the check and looks at it. “I think…I…I’m going to cry and I don’t cry.”
“Don’t cry,” Chris says. “Celebrate.”
Faith looks up at him. “I’m going to have to hug you,” she says, taking a step toward him and then grabbing Sara instead.
Sara laughs and hugs her. “Best birthday gift ever,” she says, and when Faith releases her, she adds, “You can hug Chris, too.”
Faith laughs through tears. “No. No I…thank you, Chris. And thank you, Sara.”
Chris grabs her and hugs her, giving me a look over his shoulder that is filled with admiration I see but Faith would dismiss. “She’s talented,” Chris says. “Take care of her and her gift.”
I nod and damn, I want to take care of this woman.
We say our goodbyes and cross the gallery to exit to the street. We’re a few steps away from the door when Faith turns to me and holds up the check. “I can’t believe this just happened.”
“It didn’t just happen,” I say. “You started painting at age five.”
“I know but, it feels…I don’t know what I feel. But now the winery—”
I cup her face. “Do not make this about the winery. That is your money. That is your first big success.”
“But Nick—”
I kiss her. “No buts. We’ll deal with the winery. This is for you. Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“Good. Now. Let’s go home.”
“Your home.”
“My home,” I say. “That is far better with you in it.” I turn her toward the car, and she’s still trembling. And the depth of her emotional response affects me. Everything about Faith affects me.
Thirty minutes later, Faith and I are standing by my bed, her shoes kicked off, and she is finally coming down from her high, her body calming. “I’m completely wiped out,” she says. “I think you are going to wish I was someone else tonight.”
I cup her head and pull her to me. “What did you say?” I don’t give her time to reply. “That came from someplace I’d most likely name as Macom. I’m not him. And we are more than the sum of how many times we manage to fuck each other. And for the record. To repeat what I’ve already said. I don’t want anyone else.”
Her lashes lower. “I think that was possibly the most perfect thing you could say to me right now.”
In that moment, I remember her comment about Macom competing with her and I decide Faith thinks her success comes with punishment. A problem I need to fix. For now, I kiss her, a soft brush of lips over lips before I turn her around and unzip her dress, dragging it down her shoulders. Her bra is next. Then her hose, but I leave the panties and as much as it kills me, I hold up the blanket and urge her to climb under. She turns around and faces me, pressing herself against me. “You feel good, sweetheart, but you’ll feel better when you’re rested. Climb into bed. I’ll be right there after I make sure I’ve locked up.”
“You, Nick, are nothing I expected.”
“You, Faith, are nothing I expected.”
She kisses my cheek, a mere peck, which might be the best kiss this woman has given me and I don’t fucking have a clue why. It’s a peck, but it’s sweet. It’s emotional in some unnamed way and I like it. She climbs into bed. My bed. And damn, I like her there more now than I did this morning. She snuggles down in the blankets, and I walk to the door, where I find myself just staring at her, watching as her breathing slows, and turns even. She’s asleep. She trusts me. Damn it, I need to solve this mystery so I can tell her everything and deal with the aftermath.
I exit the bedroom and head down the stairs to my office, walking to a chair in the corner and removing a box I have shoved underneath it. Stacks of my father’s papers. I shrug out of my jacket and pull away my tie, and start going through them again. Somewhere in here is my answer. I just have to find it. Time passes. Documents are read. My eyes are blurry. Finally, I decide I have to go to bed. I’m stuffing the papers back in the box when a small book on legal ethics falls to the ground and a piece of paper pokes from the side. I grab it and open it to read: Faith Winter is the problem. She’s dangerous. Far more than her mother. She must be stopped.
I stare at that piece of paper for long minutes, and I try to make sense of it. I return the box to its spot under the chair with that piece of paper inside it. I stand and walk upstairs, standing at that doorway again and at the naked woman in my bed, wondering which one of us is now exposed. Knowing it’s time to find out.
The End... For now.