The beeping pulled me from a deep, dreamless slumber. I was slow to open my eyes, hesitantly observing the small hospital room.
“Welcome back,” he whispered, his voice tickling the air to my left. I turned to see him, my stiff neck protesting the eager movement.
“What are you doing here?”
He leaned forward in the small vinyl recliner next to my uncomfortable bed. “I wanted to check on you. They sedated you again.”
“You’re reading my medical file now?”
His laughing response sent a sweet rumble through my body, refueling my empty heart. The sound tickled its way through my nerves, calming me.
“No.” He smiled. “I’m just an observer.”
“Who are you, anyway?” I didn’t care if I got a response. I was safe with him. The flutter of my heart, the stillness of my mind, it all preached that I was safe, I was secure. I knew it.
“Me? I’m a nobody,” he whispered in a sigh, his smile quickly fading as footsteps trailed into the room. His posture stiffened while he stood to acknowledge the intruder with a brisk nod.
“Sir,” the intruder announced. It hurt my neck too much to turn in the direction of the door, but I needed to know. Through a burning ache, I peered over the covers to my right. His back was to me, his body encased in gray sweatpants and a white thermal shirt. The man who entered, greeting my stranger so formally, engaged in a whispered conversation, a secretive communication just inside the doorway. The mindless movement of his left hand tugging against his right sleeve distracted my gaze and pulled my attention to the scattered art along his muscular forearm.
“Aideen, Aideen.” A nurse squeezed through the two men. “You’re awake, doll! And you have visitors…again.”
“I was just leaving.” His voice softly tore through the air, pulling at my heart. Why? The nurse leaned across my stomach, adjusting the thin pad cushioning my bottom along the mattress. She hummed something softly, her sweet voice calming my nerves.
“What is that?” I inquired, my eyes still locked on the vacant doorway.
“What? Oh.” She giggled. “Sorry. My granddaughter just discovered those fairytale princess movies. She’s been staying with me for a while.” I listened to her music, my heavy eyelids responding to her syringe in my IV.
Air was trapped in my throat as fingers bound my mouth, trying to end me. I reached for the hand, struggling to pull the strong grasp from my face. Tears burned my eyes as my breathing refused to return beneath his torture. His skin. It was decorated, designed elaborately with ink. All I could think of as my final breath released from my flaring nostrils was how ironic it was for a man with such a beautiful cross tattoo to kill me.
I woke to a saturated pillow, stained by the silent tears of my nightmare. The increased frequency of bad dreams, their intricate detail, damaged my heart. They had the nerve to ruin my sleep once or twice a month since returning from the hospital, but they tormented me almost nightly for the last few weeks. The last three weeks, to be precise.
I couldn’t focus on the dreams. I had a date with the devil, his painfully beautiful smile, and his silent voice. I can’t wait. I sat up and looked around, my mind stinging with the eerie silence of being alone in Julian’s home. I didn’t feel right—my mind was numb, my eyes burned from crying through my nightmare, and I was starving. I leaned over the bed and searched through my small purse for the evil smartphone from hell. It was already four; I would certainly meet my maker if I wasn’t ready to pretend to be Julian’s girlfriend by six.
I needed to wash off the day and hopefully burn off every layer of skin exposed to Elliott earlier. That actually happened. Damn. Rubbing my eyes until my vision blurred, I climbed from the mattress and left my room, crossing the quiet hall toward the bathroom. The white marble felt intrusive, blindingly bright against my aching heart. I’m going on a date with Julian tonight. A date. A faux date. I want to throw up.
After a quick shower, I wrapped my vulnerable body inside a plush white towel that dangled from a marble hook near the sink. I secured the fabric around me and quickly flew from the bathroom, stepping into the perceived safety of my room. My room. Ugh.
It was nearing half past five, and I was dripping wet, dressed in a towel. It was time to scour through the overstuffed closet Maureen prepared. What do rich people wear to the theatre? Sapphires. But I can’t wear just that. I’ll die.
I poked my head into the closet, blinded by the price tags. The first dress that gained my attention was bright red, sticking out from the muted shades of blue, black, and cream like a flame. I was afraid to touch it, worried my fingers would melt the expensive fabric. Expensive is right. Holy Buddha. The price tag dangling from the wooden hanger informed me I was in possession of a dress costing nearly nine thousand dollars. Nine. Thousand. I’m going to repeat that to myself. Nine. Thousand. Dollars. Nine thousand dollars! For a dress! It was gorgeous. A bright, fiery red chiffon gown with a sweetheart neckline decorated with delicate red lace flowers that climbed to precious capped sleeves. Nine thousand dollars. I didn’t even know how to put on that dress. Do I climb in, go from the bottom, call for help?
I decided going in from the bottom would be the easiest option. I lifted the fabric above me, shimmying while it cascaded around me to the hardwood floor. I picked up the bottom and scampered back into my room, one hand secured around my damp hair in fear it would stain the precious fabric. The long mirror opposite the dresser betrayed me. I fit the part. I would secure my role in that dress. The bright crimson hugged my curves in a captivating way that left me in awe of my own reflection. I’ll show him. Damn Molloy.
I reached for the tag that fell to the floor, scoffing at the cost and designer name. I’ll show him. I wiggled from the fabric, careful to gently place it atop my bed, and quickly returned to the closet for a small package of cosmetics Maureen included as necessities. The package swelled with foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, all sure to cost more than my rent. I didn’t wear makeup in reality, so I had no idea what to do with anything other than the pencil of black eyeliner and tube of black mascara. I secured my dripping hair in a towel and returned to the mirror with my makeup.
While I precisely stroked the pencil along my eyelid, I was distracted by how a routine task like putting on makeup felt so disturbingly intimate. It was something I did in my own bathroom, inside my own apartment, with nobody watching, and no ridiculously handsome and unpredictable landlord possibly entering at any minute. Yet there I was, in my towels with half of my face decorated by expensive makeup that Julian Molloy’s sister purchased while I took up residence in his house. Oh, and I also had an uneaten lunch with Liam.
I needed to pull myself together or I wouldn’t be able to put on a production. If I let in the thoughts of my dream, the anxious feelings about being there, or the fact my dress cost a fortune, then I wouldn’t be able to function at the theatre. Finish makeup, style hair, put on expensive dress, and wait. Shoes! There was a pair of high, nude heels in Maureen’s supply that I would wear. Simple enough.
I stood in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes, debating how to best move within the glorious confines of the dress, when I heard the beep of Julian’s alarm disabling. At the quick sound of the front door unsealing, announcing his return, my heart dove into my feet. I needed to remember that no matter how sparkly his teeth were or how it made me feel when he held me on the sidewalk, Julian Molloy was just another manipulative, secretive elitist, possibly criminal. In the midst of reminding myself to breathe, the voluntary functioning of my body slipping into paralysis as I listened to his methodic footsteps, I slowly crept into my closet and shut the door. I just need two more minutes before I face him. Two more minutes.
It felt like an eternity. My stomach cramped, fingers trembled. Why am I so nervous? Jesus and Buddha. This is not how I react to this man. I need to be on top of my game. I fanned my fingers to wiggle free the nerves and held my head high upon leaving the closet. The mirror reflected a stranger, a gorgeous aristocrat-in-training. An ache in my stomach echoed the violent pulse of my rapid heartbeat. And I hadn’t eaten since breakfast…again, with Liam. I was a mess—a mess in a nine thousand dollar dress.
The hall grew eerily quiet. I neared the door when my barren hand reminded me I was explicitly instructed to wear Maureen’s bauble of a ring. I scoured the surface of the dresser and opened the box with shaking fingers before placing the ring on my right ring finger. Take a breath. You’ve been through hell. You can go to the theatre with Julian Molloy. I slowly opened the door, nodding in response to the evil jezebel that was my mind.
“Holy fuck,” Julian snarled, his mouth gaping with surprise as I exited the bedroom and joined him in the hallway.
Startled by his voice and profane language, I caught him standing just outside his bedroom door. His body was tightly restrained in a tailored ebony tuxedo, the fabric of his bowtie draped loosely around his neck. I could strangle him with that thing, but I needed to make this dress count. His eyes battled with mine, stubbornly refusing to leave while he remained motionless mere feet away.
“That’s what you have to say to me after leaving me on the sidewalk? You’re a fucking gentleman,” I sneered, filling with a violent, wonderful glee on the inside as I realized what an impact the dress made on Julian.
Julian’s inability to close his mouth was worth at least three thousand dollars. Six thousand left to make this purchase count.
“We’re late.” He stiffened, beginning to tie the short silk dangling around his neck. His long fingers skillfully arranged the fabric into a bow against his throat, finalizing the last step in his preparation for our fictitious public appearance as a couple hopelessly in love.