THREE

 

Emily had the worst headache she’d ever had in her life.

The pain throbbed at her temples and at the back of her head. She couldn’t seem to think clearly, and her eyes would sometimes lose focus. Even her stomach churned sickeningly, although that could have been caused by several cups of black coffee and the double-dose of aspirin she’d taken earlier.

She’d had headaches before, of course, but she couldn’t remember her head ever hurting like this.

She tried to focus on the questions being asked of her, and she articulated her responses as clearly and efficiently as possible so her recorded deposition would be strong, official documentation of her testimony. As the minutes and hours past, however, she had more and more trouble thinking about anything but her headache.

She sat in the same large conference room in the law office where she and Paul had signed the pre-nup. She was dressed, once again, in her best suit, although this time she’d paired it with a little vintage blouse she’d found in a thrift store. She’d hoped to look as mature and professional as possible when she met with the staff from the U.S. attorney’s office. Now her suit felt too tight, though, and the pins she’d used to secure her hair were poking her painfully in the head.

She had to fight the urge to yank out the pins and rub her scalp with her fingers. She’d slipped her high heels off under the table, but she hadn’t taken off her jacket. She’d been too hot for the last hour, and she was afraid she might have sweated through her thin blouse.

“Mrs. Marino,” an assistant U.S. attorney named Bill Hathaway asked from across the table, “Can you tell us what he said in the conversation you overheard?”

“He was threatening the other man, Jud Bentley, about a shipment of drugs he’d been cheated on,” Emily replied, after closing her eyes briefly and taking a slow sip of water.

“Can you repeat the exact words, please?”

Emily glanced over to a chair on the other side of the room, where Paul was observing the proceedings. He’d insisted on being present, although she would have been more comfortable without his sharp, observant gaze on her the entire time. Their eyes met briefly now, but she couldn’t really tell what he was thinking.

She searched her memory and repeated the words Vincent Marino had spoken in that conversation—a conversation she would now give anything to unhear.

When she’d finished her answer, she rubbed her temples as discreetly as she could, trying to ease the throbbing in her head. For a moment, it hurt so much a wave of heat slammed into her. Her stomach lurched dangerously.

She took a deep shaky breath and tried to pull herself together. They had a lot of ground to cover in this deposition. She knew why they needed to do this, even though she was still on the docket to testify at Marino’s trial the month after next.

There was no guarantee that she’d be alive at the trial, and they needed an official record of her testimony that could be offered in lieu of her live body in the witness stand.

But it wasn’t any fun. She knew the deposition would probably take a good chunk of the day, and later she would have to be questioned by the defense attorney. He and his associate were here now, farther down the table, busily taking notes as she talked.

She could ask to cut it short because of her headache and pick up again next week, but she’d rather just get it over with today.

She put a discreet hand on her belly and tried to breathe deeply, fighting past the pain and nausea so she could pay attention.

“So, Mrs. Marino,” Hathaway continued, looking down at his notes before asking his next question, “Can you tell us what happened after you overheard—”

“I think we need a break,” Paul interrupted. He’d been peering at her closely and had evidently drawn his own conclusions.

The lawyers from Paul’s law firm who were present in the conference room responded immediately, looking up and putting down their notes. But Hathaway’s face flickered with annoyance before he managed to say politely, “Of course. If Mrs. Marino needs another break—”

“I don’t need a break,” Emily interrupted, glaring in Paul’s direction although her eyes were so blurry she couldn’t really focus on him. “We just had a break not long ago.”

Paul had stood up, the charcoal gray suit he wore smoothly following his motion. He normally dressed more casually but, like her, he must have wanted to convey a professional appearance today. He gave her one more quick look of scrutiny before he turned back to Hathaway. “We need more than fifteen minutes. Should we start up again at about twelve-thirty?”

Hathaway obviously wasn’t pleased by the delay, but he said, “That’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Emily objected, trying to get her shoes back on so she could stand up. “I told you—”

Paul completely ignored her. He turned to an administrative assistant from the law firm and asked, “Is there somewhere comfortable she can rest?”

Emily almost sputtered in indignation at such high-handed behavior, but her head throbbed too much for her to form a coherent argument. Somehow, without her conscious agreement or volition, she was shuffled into a small lounge that was obviously used for clients of the prestigious firm, since it had a bookshelf full of novels, a stack of current magazines, a television and DVD player, and several plush couches and easy chairs.

Paul closed the door behind him, shutting out the hovering administrative assistant. He scanned her face closely and reached out to put his hand on her forehead.

She jerked away from him, regretting the move immediately since it hurt her head so much she almost gagged. “I don’t have a fever,” she managed to snap, “Stop fussing.”

She hated feeling weak and helpless, and she hated having Paul treat her like an invalid. She might have an incurable virus, but she was still an intelligent, capable person who was equipped to decide the shape of her life. However long that life lasted.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever,” Paul agreed, sounding just faintly impatient, his gray eyes searching her face. “So what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a headache. It’s no big deal. I want to just get this deposition over with, and I don’t appreciate you ignoring my wishes.”

“You needed a break.” When she started to argue, he went on, “Going on when you obviously feel so sick is counterproductive. You need to be clear and coherent if your testimony is going to be convincing.”

He was right, and she resented him for it.

She didn’t resent him for prioritizing his father’s trial over her. She wasn’t a fool, and she knew what was most important to him. He had been incredibly generous with her, and she appreciated it, but she knew he’d not done it out of any tender regard. He liked her well enough. He felt sorry for her, and she was sure he didn’t want to see her suffer.

But if it came down to a choice between pleasing her and ensuring a successful conviction against his father, he would always choose the conviction. She didn't blame him for that.

She did, however, resent him for treating her like a child, like she was too sick to make a good decision. And for throwing logic in her face when she’d worked up some perfectly good righteous indignation.

She tried to think of an objection, but she started to feel dizzy so she went to sit in the corner of a big sofa instead.

Evidently assuming she’d accepted this break, Paul asked, “Do you need anything? Aspirin? Something to eat? More coffee?”

She almost shuddered at the thought of food or coffee. “I took some aspirin earlier. Just some water, thanks.”

Then she was left in blessed silence when he left the lounge.

She leaned against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. It didn’t seem fair. She only had a limited number of days left to be alive, and she had to spend one of them with this horrible headache.

In just a minute, she heard someone enter the room, and when she opened her eyes she saw Paul reenter with an expensive bottle of sparkling water in one hand and an old-fashioned glass bottle of Coke in the other.

She hadn’t had regular Coke in a glass bottle in years, and she reached for it instinctively. He’d already popped the top, so she took a sip, the sweet, bubbly liquid a balm in her mouth and throat after the hot coffee she’d been drinking all morning. She took a shaky breath and then another sip.

Without speaking, Paul had set the water down on a side table and then walked over to shut the blinds on the glass wall that looked out onto the expansive common area of the office suite. He then leaned over to turn on a small lamp in one corner of the room before turning off the overhead lights.

The room was left in dim shadows, lit only by the small lamp in the corner. The darkness was a relief. She hadn’t realized the florescent lights had been grating on her head, but she knew now that they had.

She took another swig of her Coke and looked up at Paul a little dazedly.

“Close your eyes for a while,” he instructed. “You have more than an hour to rest. If you aren’t feeling better then, we can reschedule for another day.”

He didn’t sound gentle or affectionate. He mostly sounded matter-of-fact and a little bossy.  He was giving her that look of intense scrutiny again—the one where he seemed to search for signs of her impending demise. She didn’t like that look at all, since it defined her as an invalid and not a whole person. But at least it was better than the mild gentleness he’d been using on her recently.

She’d rather be a project of his than an object of pity.

“I don’t want to reschedule,” she mumbled. “I want to get this over with.”

“I know you do. Get some rest.”

She didn’t understand his tone, and he left the room before she could read his expression.

She was relieved when she was left in the darkened room by herself, with just her Coke and a couch.

She finished her soda. Then she couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled the pins out of her hair, finger-combing it loose and finally able to rub her aching scalp. She took off her shoes and jacket and curled up on her side on the sofa.

It wasn’t a dignified position, but Paul wasn’t going to let anyone barge in and bother her. And it felt so good to lie down and close her eyes.

She didn’t go to sleep, and her thoughts were a confused jumble of images and feelings, all intensified by the aching of her head.

She thought back to her wedding two days ago, still hardly believing the lush, glowing beauty of it was real. It had seemed so much like a romantic daydream she’d thought she’d long outgrown.

She shouldn’t have been so affected by it. She shouldn’t have cried. She wasn’t one of those sappy romantics. She’d talked herself out of sentimental expectations a long time ago.

At least, she thought she had.

She knew the storybook effect of her wedding had been manufactured, but it was something—and she could have died without anything.

She would have liked for her father to be there. Thinking about him now, she felt emotion swell up in her throat, and she almost started to cry.

But the crying hurt her head too much, so she forced the grief back—thinking about her testimony, about the rest of the items on her list, and about how to convince Paul to treat her as a person and not a project.

She must have dozed off at some point, although it felt like she was conscious the whole hour. She was jarred into awareness by the sound of a voice saying her name and then a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Emily,” Paul murmured again. “How are you?”

She blinked up at him, completely disoriented. Instinctively, she sat up, vaguely embarrassed that he’d caught her in such a vulnerable position.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, as the sudden move made her head throb dizzyingly.

Paul had sat down in a chair next to the couch, but he said, “We’ll reschedule this. You need to get home.”

“No,” she argued, glaring at him as best she could. “Just give me a minute.”

“Here,” Paul said, offering her a new bottle of ice-cold Coke and then gesturing at the bag he’d set on the coffee table. “And I brought some sandwiches. You should eat something.”

She took the soda gratefully but made a face at the sandwiches. “I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. Try to eat something anyway. It will help your stomach, if nothing else.” He reached into the bag and asked, “Turkey, ham, or roast beef?”

“Turkey,” she mumbled, annoyed with him but too shaky to put up a fight.

Paul handed her the sandwich and then took another sandwich out for himself, helping himself to the bottle of water he’d brought in earlier since she’d left it untouched on the side table.

They ate in silence, and Emily was able to finish half of her sandwich. Paul had been right. The food eased the churning of her stomach, although it didn’t help the pounding of her head.

When they were done, Emily was able to get up without feeling dizzy, and she insisted she was ready to start up the deposition again.

Paul gave her a dubious look, but he didn’t object.

He walked out of the lounge with her, putting a hand on her back to guide her toward the conference room.

She resisted. “I need to go to the bathroom first.”

Paul adjusted his direction, and they were walking to the restrooms when they passed the pretty receptionist Emily remembered from the day they’d signed their pre-nup, the one Paul had appeared to be flirting with.

The receptionist glanced away from them now, but not before Emily had caught an expression of amused curiosity.

Since she wasn’t at her full thinking capacity, it took her a minute to figure out what that expression meant. When she got into the bathroom and stared into the mirror over the sink, she realized what the receptionist had been thinking.

Emily’s hair was hanging in messy, rumpled waves around her face. Her blouse was wrinkled and disarranged. And her cheeks were unnaturally flushed, probably from dozing on the sofa for so long.

She blushed hotly as she realized that the receptionist had thought Emily and Paul were indulging in a little sexy-time behind the closed door of the lounge. They were supposed to be newlyweds, after all, and the receptionist wouldn’t know Emily’s condition or the terms of their marriage.

It embarrassed her more than it should have, probably because it was so far from the truth.

The receptionist wouldn’t know Paul had absolutely no interest in Emily’s body, even when she’d offered it to him.

* * *

Emily made it through another hour of the deposition. But, by then, her head was pounding so painfully that, although she objected when Paul called an end to the proceedings, she couldn’t help but be a little grateful.

They rescheduled for the following morning. Tomorrow was Saturday, but Paul's lawyers would accommodate any of his wishes, and Hathaway and the defense attorney clearly just wanted to get this done.

Emily went to the bathroom one more time before they left the law offices. When she came out, Paul was on the phone, but he hung up as she approached.

“Ready?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I told you more than once that I wanted to get it done today.”

“I know what you wanted, but it wasn’t going to work out. Your answers were getting less and less coherent. We needed to reschedule.”

She stuck out her chin as she studied his impassive face. “Well, I appreciate your absolute commitment to the perfect quality of my testimony, but I was doing fine. Since I’m the one giving the testimony, I should be able to decide whether I’m up to doing it or not.”

Something tightened on his face as he pressed the elevator down button, and she wondered if he was going to get angry. He’d been impatient with her before. He’d been exasperated or coolly patronizing. But she couldn’t remember him being truly angry with her. She almost wanted to see it, since it would be proof that he was treating her like a normal person.

His voice was level and controlled, however, when he replied, “I would let you decide for yourself if you weren’t so ridiculously stubborn.”

She gasped in outrage, her anger only serving to make her head hurt even worse. “You’re calling me stubborn! You’re the one who—”

“Emily, enough,” Paul interrupted curtly. “The decision is made.”

She responded automatically to the clipped authority in his tone and then hated herself for doing so. She was feeling dizzy again, though, and she just couldn’t put up the fight his behavior deserved.

She shook with indignation and with physical weakness when she got on the elevator with him. She moved to the opposite side without thinking, not wanting to be close to him.

She’d lived most of her life doing what she wanted, making her own choices, taking care of herself. Even her father had basically given her free rein, partly from trust and partly because he just didn’t know how to control her.

The fact that Paul thought he had the right to make decisions for her—now, when she had so little time left to live—and that he was somehow capable of making her abide by them was baffling, unnerving, and infuriating.

She told herself it was just the headache. Had she been in better condition, he wouldn’t have been able to exert such presumptuous authority over her.

The elevator stopped two floors down from the law firm, and two businessmen got on with them.

One of them was middle-aged and forgettable, but the other was young, slick, and very well-dressed. He also seemed to have poured cologne all over him.

The scent itself wasn’t unpleasant, but it was so strong Emily almost gagged. She took a step away from the man, but she was soon against the wall. The small, confined space just intensified the oppressive fragrance.

She prayed the elevator would descend quickly, but it stopped two floors lower and three more people got on.

Now Paul was on the opposite side of the elevator, and the cologne-soaked man had moved even closer to her by necessity, trapping her in the back corner of the elevator, swallowed up in the sickening scent.

Her head pounded blindingly and her stomach rolled. She clung to the rail and tried to breathe, but breathing just made the smell worse.

The elevator stopped again. Emily had to turn her head to face the wall, desperately trying not to be sick.

She wasn’t looking at the door when the elevator stopped, and she was startled when she heard Paul’s voice say, “Excuse me. My wife needs to get out. Emily?”

The people on the elevator looked surprised, since they hadn’t thought she and Paul were together. But they made room for Emily, who gratefully stumbled out of the elevator onto the twelfth floor.

Paul must have pushed the button for this floor to get them off the elevator as soon as possible.

Emily swayed on her feet dangerously, raggedly sucking in air.

Paul put a supportive arm around her. It was purely functional—not intimate or affectionate—but Emily appreciated it. She clung to his suit jacket and leaned her head against his shoulder, shaking with suppressed sobs. Paul smelled familiar to her now, a light scent that was clean, masculine, and pleasant. She didn’t think it was strong enough for cologne. It might have just been the combination of his laundered clothes and his soap.

“What’s wrong with me?” she demanded, when she’d managed to pull it together. “It can’t be the virus. My aunt never had anything but fevers.”

“It might not be the virus,” he said quietly. “It may just be a headache—from stress or from dehydration after all the traveling we’ve done or from who knows what. If a headache is bad enough, it can knock you out.”

She took a shuddering breath, strangely comforted by his mild words. Maybe it was just a headache. Maybe it wasn’t really a sign that her death was coming sooner than it was supposed to.

“Anyway,” Paul said, reaching over to push the down button to the elevator, “We need to get you home.”

Because she hadn’t wanted to be where people would always be hovering and waiting for her to die, they were staying at an apartment that Paul’s mother had owned in a luxury building in Center City, instead of her big house in the neighborhood. It wasn’t really Emily’s home.

But it was as close to one as she had anymore.

* * *

When they got back to the apartment, Emily went to her room, changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and crawled into bed.

She’d just closed her eyes when she heard a tap on the door and Paul came in. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie and had opened the top buttons of his white dress shirt. He carried a prescription pill bottle and a bottle of sparkling water.

“What’s that?” Emily asked, hating how her voice cracked, making her sound as weak as she felt.

“I called Dr. Franklin earlier, before we left the law office, and he sent over a prescription.” He read the label and dumped out one large white pill. “It’s a painkiller for your headache.”

Dr. Franklin had been her primary physician for the last month. While Emily had never known a doctor who would immediately send over medication at a patient’s call, she assumed the Pauls of the world got different treatment than the Emilys of the world. She wasn’t about to turn down anything that might make her head feel better.

She accepted the pill and swallowed it with the water he’d handed her. Then she relaxed back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbled, when she could feel him still standing and looking at her.

“Try to get some sleep,” he said, before leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

The medication must have been some sort of narcotic because in only a few minutes the pain started to fade and her head began to swim. Every time she moved she felt a little dizzy, but she figured out that, if she lay perfectly still on her back and closed her eyes, she wouldn’t have those whirling feelings.

So she lay motionless, and it wasn’t long until she fell asleep.

* * *

She woke up groggy and disoriented.

She looked over at the clock and stared at the digital numbers that said 6:42. She blinked a few times, thinking she must have woken up a little earlier than normal that morning. She tried to remember what day it was but couldn’t figure it out.

Then she wondered why she was wearing a t-shirt and sweats instead of her pajamas or nightgown. Then she wondered why there was a green bottle of sparkling water on her nightstand.

She sat up, feeling strangely fuzzy. She was conscious of something good though. Something really good.

She finally figured out her head wasn’t hurting anymore, and the absence of the throbbing pain was a relief so palpable she felt almost giddy.

She took a sip of the water and was vaguely surprised when it was still fairly cool. She stared at the clock, trying to figure out what the numbers meant.

Then she was finally hit with the revelation. It was six in the evening, not the morning. She’d just woken up from what had been a very long nap—almost four hours long.

She stumbled to her feet and stood for a minute to get her balance. The apartment was perfectly silent. Eerily so. It felt like she’d been abandoned by the entire world.

She walked down the hall barefoot, looking in rooms, and finally saw that the door to Paul’s office was only halfway closed.

She peeked in and saw that he was working at his computer, focused intently on whatever he was typing.

He was now the Assistant Vice President of Management at his mother’s company—a corporate position created just for him—but evidently he was able to do a lot of work from home, since he’d spent the last two evenings working. From the brief glimpses she’d had of the work on his desk, it looked deadly dull to her, but he seemed absolutely committed to completing it all with as much care and efficiency as he could muster.

A far cry from partying all night like he used to.

Despite his intent focus, it didn’t take long for Paul to notice her presence in his doorway.

He smiled when he saw her, but it was that mild smile she hated, the one that reminded her she was dying. “How’s your headache?”

“It’s better. It’s totally gone.”

“Good.” He sat and looked at her for a minute. Then asked, “Did you need anything?”

She suddenly realized she was interrupting his work. She’d come to find him instinctively, since she’d felt lonely and disoriented in the apartment by herself. She was perfectly capable of amusing herself, however, and she definitely didn’t want to be a nuisance. “No, I’m fine. Is it all right if I find something to eat in the kitchen? I’m kind of hungry now.”

“Sure,” Paul said, looking with a surprised expression at his wrist. “Make yourself at home.”

She murmured thanks and turned to leave when she realized he’d gotten up. “I can make do myself,” she told him, “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I need to find something for dinner too, unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No.” She smiled in pleased surprise, “I don’t need to be alone.”

The truth was she was glad of his company, even for something as mundane as scouring the kitchen for something to eat. She was used to being surrounded by people she knew—her friends in the neighborhood, her classmates, her aunt.

All of the people around her now were strangers except for Paul. She could call Chris or her other friends if she wanted, but it wasn’t the same. Their world seemed so far away from hers now, and being around them hurt, reminded her of her old life, the one that was coming to an early end.

If she wanted real company, Paul was her only option. While it would be wrong to expect him to spend all of his time keeping her company, she was kind of glad he’d decided to come eat with her.

The kitchen in the apartment wasn’t really very large, but it was more luxurious than any kitchen Emily had ever been in before. She felt like a plebian in her sloppy t-shirt with no bra as she opened the top-of-the-line, stainless-steel refrigerator.

It was full, and everything was neatly organized on the shelves and trays.

“Do you have someone who cooks for you?” she asked, looking back at Paul curiously.

He had opened a cute little cubby-hole in the cabinets and pulled out a fresh loaf of bread. “I have Ruth, who comes in and cleans, and she usually leaves me things to eat that I can just warm up.”

He came to join her, and together they investigated the contents of the refrigerator.

Eventually they decided on homemade chicken and brown rice soup that just needed to be warmed up and sandwiches made from an assortment of gourmet sliced meats and cheeses they discovered in the deli drawer.

They didn’t chat much as they prepared their meal and ate it on the stools at the kitchen bar, but Emily didn’t mind. The quiet didn’t feel awkward. They spoke when they had something to say, but they didn’t feel compelled to talk for the sake of talking. It felt almost companionable.

She was finishing up her soup when Paul asked, “So what’s next on your list? After we finish the deposition tomorrow, we’ll have the rest of the weekend to do something, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that. There are a few things on the list that I can do here in Philadelphia, so I thought I could just go out on my own tomorrow afternoon and Sunday and get them crossed off. There’s no reason you have to do everything with me.”

Paul frowned. “I don’t mind. What were you thinking of doing?”

“Just...” She shook her head, foolishly embarrassed by a couple of items on the list. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m happy to do them on my own. That way you can catch up on work or do something fun yourself.”

“I told you I don’t mind going with you. I don’t like the idea of your running around the city on your own.”

Her mouth fell open. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve been going wherever I want on my own since I was thirteen.”

“I know that,” he said, his eyes narrowing with what looked like disapproval. “But it’s not safe for you right now. If you don’t want me around, then I can send a couple of bodyguards with you.”

“No,” she objected, almost choking on her last bite of sandwich. “I want to get some sort of satisfaction out of doing my list. I don’t want to rush through it with a bunch of hulking men glaring at me. I’m going by myself.”

Paul was already finished with his meal, but he put his bottle of water down and let out a slow breath, as if he were restraining his impulse to be angry. “It’s not safe, Emily. My father could still try to kill you, and I’m not going to put you in danger.”

“It’s not your choice to make!” She tried to keep her voice as level as his, but she couldn’t quite manage it. “Tomorrow, I’ll have finished the deposition so it won’t matter if I get killed.” When he made a strangled sound in response, she hurried on, “I just mean it won’t affect the case. I’ll have fulfilled my side of our agreement, so you can’t keep me locked away under guard.”

“I don’t want to keep you locked away.” His voice sounded a little rough, and she realized he’d gotten angry after all. It was almost a relief—that he was treating her like a real person. “But we can at least take basic precautions. You never minded my protection before.”

She scowled. “I never thought I needed it, but I was all right with it when I thought I had a long life waiting for me, or when I knew I still needed to testify. Those things aren't true anymore. I’m trying to get through my list, and I need a little freedom to do it.”

“You can do your list. I’m not stopping you. In fact, I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to control me.” Her voice had gotten louder and shriller, and resentment buzzed hotly in her ears.

“Emily, you’re being ridiculous.” His face and shoulders were tense with whatever emotion he was suppressing. “I don’t want to control you. I want to keep you safe. I promised that I would protect you. Have I ever given you cause to think I’ll go back on my word?”

He hadn’t. Not once had Paul not kept his word to her. But that didn’t make his presumption and arrogance any more palatable now.

“I don’t want to be protected. I want to be treated like a normal person.”

“For God’s sake, Emily,” Paul growled, clearly at the end of his patience. “What the hell do you—” He bit off his words and turned away from her. Took a few slow breaths.

When he turned back toward her, she knew—she knew—he’d remembered she was dying.

And apparently you didn't yell at a dying girl.

“Emily,” he said gently, “We can go through the items on your list together this weekend, with adequate security precautions, or you can do them yourself, escorted by a bodyguard. Those are your options. You agreed that I would protect you. This is the only way I can do so, unless you want out completely.”

Before she could do more than sputter a few times in outrage, he’d gotten up and walked out of the kitchen.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to claw lines down Paul’s stubborn, infuriating face.

She looked down at her left hand and suddenly remembered she was married to the bastard.

Despite her automatic reaction, she didn’t chase after him and throw a fit, since she knew it would be immature and counter-productive. Instead, she put up the food and dishes, more from habit than from any concern that it wouldn’t be taken care of.

Then she walked back to her room, noticing that Paul’s office door was closed tightly.

She glared at it as she passed, but she didn’t try to enter.

Instead, she grabbed her purse from her room and simply made her way to the front door of the apartment.

In the hall, she was greeted by a big man in a suit. A bodyguard. She thought she remembered Paul had called him Tim.

“I’m just running out for a few minutes,” she said with a smile.

He gave her a friendly enough look, but he put his hand out. “Just a minute, Mrs. Marino.”

She stood in outraged shock as he made a call and quietly asked if it was all right that she was leaving without anyone escorting her.

The person on the other end—undoubtedly Paul—must have said no.

“I’m sorry, miss…missus,” Tim said, looking awkward in the face of her visible indignation. “I can call someone to go with you if you want. But otherwise…”

He trailed off, and Emily was hard pressed not to scream and hit something.

This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t trapped in this damned penthouse apartment.

She knew Paul wouldn’t genuinely trap her here. She could leave any time she wanted. She could leave the marriage, his protection, their agreement.

She didn’t want to leave all that, though. She just wanted to go out for a while by herself.

It wasn’t Tim’s fault, so she managed not to snarl at him. She just turned around and went back inside.

She was stewing. Shaking with resentment.

As she passed the office door, it opened, and Paul stuck his head out. “Sorry,” he said, as if his behavior was somehow normal. “Just let me know if you want to go do something, and we can get someone to go with you so it’s safe.”

Instead of expressing her rising fury, she was suddenly hit with a brainstorm. “Am I at least allowed to go for a swim?” She made sure to sound unhappy, almost pouty, since he’d suspect something if she seemed all right with this situation.

His eyebrows drew together, making those two little lines on his forehead. “Of course. There’s the plunge pool on the terrace, if you don’t think it’s too cool—”

“I wanted to do laps. Isn’t there a bigger pool?”

“Oh, yeah, downstairs. Sure you can go. Do you mind if someone goes with you?”

She made a face and mumbled, “Fine.”

Evidently, her performance was convincing. He didn’t seem remotely suspicious as she left him and headed to her room.

There, she sat down on her bed, forcing down her resentment so she could think clearly. She pulled out her list from the drawer next to her bed and looked down at it.

For years, Emily had done what she’d liked, gone where she wanted, made things happen at her own devising. And nothing—not locked doors, not fear, not the authority of someone else—had kept her out if she'd wanted in.

There was one thing on her list that she could do tonight, alone, not far from the city.

Paul wouldn’t be happy, but he wasn’t in control of her.

And she knew how she would get out of the building.

.* * *

It ended up being quite simple.

Had Emily been trying to get into the apartment, she had to admit she wouldn’t have been able to do it. But she wanted to get out, and she’d always been good at getting things done.

She put on the one swimsuit she had with her—a red tankini—and then she pulled a short, red knit dress over it for a cover-up and slid on a pair of sandals.

She thought about bringing a bag with a change of clothes and some other supplies that could come in handy, but the bodyguard might think it was strange if she’d carried a bag. So she just put her phone, some cash, and her list in a pocket of her dress, found a big towel in the linen closet, and walked casually out the front door of the apartment.

Tim was still in the hall when she emerged.

“Paul said it was okay for me to go down to the pool to do laps,” she said with a smile, when he immediately straightened up at her presence.

“Of course, Mrs. Marino,” Tim said. “He already let me know you were going. Mark is waiting downstairs. Just take the elevator down to the pool level.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a bright smile and felt a little guilty when he smiled back, looking like he appreciated her friendliness.

She wasn’t really being friendly.

There was a private elevator that went up to the penthouse apartment. It seemed a ridiculous indulgence to Emily, but it did make security simpler. She descended to the pool level and stepped off to see another bodyguard, evidently named Mark, waiting for her.

She gave him a breezy greeting. The indoor pool serviced the entire building, but there was no one else here tonight.

She’d explored the whole building the other day, so she’d known what to expect from the pool deck. And all the adjoining rooms.

She spread her towel out on a chaise and stalled a little, pretending to take off her sandals. To make it look convincing, she should probably dive into the pool and do some laps.

But she didn’t want to make a trek out of the city in a wet swimsuit and with wet hair.

So she fiddled around a little and then looked over at Mark sheepishly. “Is there a convenient bathroom? I should have gone before I came down.”

“Sure. Just there.” He gestured toward a door across the pool from where she sat.

She rebuckled her sandals and then got up and walked around the pool to the women’s room. Mark came with her, which wasn’t surprising, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to follow her inside.

She’d noticed the bathroom when she’d been looking around the building before.

This door led from the pool deck, but there was another door to the restroom into a hallway.

She immediately walked through the bathroom and out the other door, knowing she wouldn’t have much time before Mark caught on.

It was a back hallway that led from the lobby to the housekeeping areas, but there was also a nearby door that led down to the building’s main parking deck.

She ducked into the stairwell and flew down the stairs.

The parking deck was filled with expensive cars, but it was used by the general population of the building, and the stairs and elevators didn’t access the Paul’s apartment, so there was only minimal security.

She walked around against the wall toward the garage exit. There was one security guard. He was employed by the building’s homeowners association—not the security firm Paul used—so he wasn’t as experienced or professional.

It was probably a fairly boring job, hanging out all night with the cars and checking out anyone who drove in. The young man was leaning back in his chair and watching a game on a small television.

He didn’t see Emily, even when she edged over near the big garage door. He would be conditioned to listen for cars coming in or out—not for a lone woman sneaking out of the building.

Emily had to wait a few minutes, but eventually one of the building’s tenants returned from an evening out.

When the car drove in, she ducked out.

As she walked quickly down the sidewalk, away from the building, she wanted to hug herself with pure excitement.

She was flushed and breathless from the adrenalin generated by her escape, but she also felt victorious—almost exhilarated—from managing to get out of the building undetected.

Now she just needed to find a cab.

It wasn’t even nine yet, so the streets were still crowded. The first couple of cabs she gestured for didn’t stop, but finally one pulled over.

She was about to get in when she felt a strong hand on her arm, swinging her around to face a very unhappy Paul.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, waving for the cab to drive on and then glaring down at her with eyes like hard steel.

Emily blinked up at him. Her blood throbbed in her veins, from her earlier excitement paired with the jolt of shock at being stopped so abruptly. For some reason, Paul’s language had startled her too. While he obviously wasn’t any sort of prude, she’d never heard him use the word “fuck” before.

She opened her mouth, but any words she might have said stuck in her throat.

“Are you insane?” he rasped, his voice thick with anger and a muscle twitching visibly in his jaw. “Do you want to get killed?”

“How did you catch me?” While the question was hardly the most relevant issue, it was the only thing she could think of to say. She was shaking a little, from adrenalin or shock or something else.

“There are cameras in that parking deck. When Mark realized you’d snuck away, we immediately did a search. Now tell me where the hell you were going!” He was still holding her upper arm in a tight grip, and now he grabbed her other arm as well. He seemed to be shuddering with barely suppressed rage.

Her first instinct was to be intimidated by his strength and his fierce indignation.  That instinct was immediately followed by absolute outrage, though—not just that he would grab her the way he had but also that he could make her feel so intimidated.

Her teeth almost snapped as she processed a hot flash of responding anger. “I was going to do something on my list. I told you I wanted to do it alone.”

“And I told you that wasn’t an option.” His fingers tightened on her arms until it almost hurt, and he dragged her a little closer to him. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“It’s not your choice to make,” she burst out, struggling to pull out of his grip. “What I do is none of your business!”

Paul seemed to realize he was holding her too tightly, and his fingers loosened on her arms. He also managed to moderate his voice. If anything, though, his eyes were even fiercer when he gritted out, “Yes, it is my business. You’re going to have to accept that. You can leave me and leave this marriage any time you want. But if you don’t, then you’re my responsibility.”

She started to object, instinctively resisting that idea.

“You are my responsibility,” he insisted, staring down at her with such intensity it was like he could somehow see her soul. “Emily, you’re my wife. And, whatever the reasons we got married, that makes you my responsibility.”

Emily stared up at him, trying to process what he was saying. How she felt about it.

“Excuse me, miss.” The voice came from behind her. She turned to see a young man approaching. He looked young—in his twenties—and he was glaring at Paul suspiciously. “Are you all right? Do you need any help?”

She suddenly realized they were having a very private argument in the middle of a public sidewalk. Flustered, she pulled herself out of Paul’s now loose grip. “Yes. He’s my husband. Just a squabble. Thanks, though.”

The man gave Paul a couple more dubious looks as he walked away.

Paul had initially flashed the man an exasperated glance, but he could hardly be angry at a man who’d been willing to intercede when it looked like a woman needed help. “Let’s go inside,” he said, taking her arm gently and starting to walk back toward their building.

This time, Emily didn’t resist.

Completely distracted, she kept looking down at the rings on her hand—the platinum wedding band and the gorgeous antique engagement ring. She was married to Paul—married to him. And she was suddenly hit with the overwhelming realization that it meant more than having a lovely, storybook wedding and living in the same apartment.

They weren’t in love, but he was still her husband. That evidently meant something to Paul. And it should to her too.

Marriage didn’t just mean getting her rings. It meant being tied to this man by mutual bonds of trust and responsibility.

It meant she would never be perfectly free.

“Emily, are you all right?” Paul asked, stopping on the sidewalk just in front of their building.

Emily realized she’d been breathing hard, almost gasping, as she stared down at her rings and tried to come to terms with this relationship.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and looked up at him. She made herself say, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

Paul blinked. “You are?”

She gave a nervous giggle at his obvious astonishment. “Do you really think I’m so dense that I can’t acknowledge a reasonable point?”

“What convinced you?” he asked, little lines appearing on his forehead. He looked off-stride and just faintly suspicious.

So she told him the truth. “I know I’m being difficult. And I know it’s not fair for me to make things so hard for you when you’re just trying to help. It’s just…” She looked away from him and swallowed hard. “It’s just that everything has changed for me. Nothing is the same. And I just wanted to hold on to something, at least for a little while.”

Her throat felt like it was closing up, and her eyes started to burn, but she managed to finish, “I shouldn’t have tried to sneak out, since I don’t want to leave you. I just wanted…I just want to be me, for as long as I can.”

She hadn’t really meant to spill so much, and she felt horribly self-conscious after she realized what she’d said. She couldn’t look Paul in the eye, but she darted a quick glance up to his face.

He stared at her—not intense or emotional but deeply focused.

After a long, tense silence, he asked, “What were you planning to do tonight?”

Emily lowered her eyes. “I was going to go Lake Collins,” she murmured, referring to a recreational lake not far outside of the city, “To go skinny-dipping. I figured I’d take a cab to a gas station nearby and then walk the rest of the way, since I wouldn’t want a cab driver sitting waiting while I went for a swim.”

Paul was silent for longer than she expected. Then he said, “You can’t go by yourself. I’m sorry. I know you think I’m being paranoid, but I’m absolutely convinced my father is a danger to you, and it’s just too much of a risk. I realize it’s not the same, but what if you and I went out there now, tonight?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Having all the security around might take some of the thrill out of it, but it’s better than noth—”

“I mean just you and me. I can drive us there.”

Her eyes widened as she gazed up at his impassive face, catching just a tiny hint of uncertainty in his expression. A pressure of emotion tightened in her chest. “Really? That would be okay?”

He nodded.  There was pity in his eyes—she could see it there—but there was also something that looked like understanding. “I think so. Would that feel enough like you?”

She beamed up at him with a wobbly smile. “Yes. I think so. Thank you.”

* * *

They took Paul’s black Porsche, and Emily felt a silly thrill every time someone glanced over to see who was riding in the ludicrously expensive car.

Now that she’d resolved things with Paul and with herself, Emily's excitement about the evening’s activities returned in full force. She pushed all heavy thoughts out of her mind and allowed herself to enjoy it.

Once they got out of the downtown area, Paul picked up his speed. He let her choose their music on his sophisticated satellite radio, and she turned the volume up loud.

She had a really good time—speeding through the mostly empty roads at night and singing loudly to all the songs she knew, even the cheesy ones.

Before, she might have been self-conscious about being so uninhibited with Paul, since he might think she was foolish or childish. She just didn’t care as much about that now, though. Knowing you were going to die changed your perspective. Paul smiled over at her sometimes, so she didn’t think he thought she was too silly.

He didn’t try to make small talk or get in the way of her fun, and she was in high spirits when they got to the lake.

The recreation areas around the lake were officially closed, but Paul didn’t let that stop him. Instead of trying to get through the main gates—which were locked—Paul simply drove around the gates on the grass, maneuvering through some picnic tables, around a swing-set, and in between various trash cans until he could get back to the road that led down to the lake.

Emily had been clapping at Paul’s improvisation, and it wasn’t until he parked the car right in front of the sandy beach area that she realized she was here to go skinny-dipping.

Paul had turned down the volume of the music, and now he looked over at her with a little smile. “You ready?”

She nodded resolutely, grabbed her towel, and climbed out of the car. Paul got out too and walked halfway down the beach with her, until she stopped and leaned down to unbuckle her sandals. “You’re not going to watch, are you?” she asked, her heart starting to beat a little faster.

Paul gave a huff of amusement. “No. I won’t watch.” He turned his back to her and the lake, facing toward the car instead. “Is this okay? Nothing is likely to happen, but I’d rather not be too far away.”

“That’s fine,” she told him, taking off her sandals and then pulling off her little dress and dropping it on the sand.

It was a lovely, clear night with a mostly full moon. But there was a slight nip in the air, and Emily felt it as she started to pull off the top of her tankini. Her breasts jiggled from the motion, and her nipples immediately tightened in the air.

She couldn’t help but feel rather self-conscious, stripping with Paul standing only a few feet away. His back was to her, though, and he wasn’t going to look.

She had the bottom of her swimsuit halfway down her legs when Paul began to speak, startling her so much she gave a little squeak.

Paul had been starting to say, “Is it—” But at her squeak, he broke off his words and asked, “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she said, yanking her suit off her ankles, “You scared me. I’m naked. Don’t turn around.”

“I’m not going to turn around,” he assured her, laughing low in his throat. “I was just going to ask if it was too cold for this tonight.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to swim for hours, anyway.” She faced the water of the lake and took a deep breath, the breeze blowing against her bare skin and making her feel oddly vulnerable. “Okay. I’m going in.”

“Have fun.”

She walked to the water and started to wade in. She squeaked again as her ankles were sloshed with cold water.

“Cold?” Paul asked.

She sucked in a breath and shot a look over her shoulder, but he was still facing away from her. “Yes. A little. Not too bad.”

She walked in deeper, bracing herself against the cold. When she got deep enough, she dove under all the way.

After just a minute, her body adjusted to the temperature, and she started to enjoy it. She swam underwater some, and then splashed around, reveling in the way the water rippled along her naked skin.

The moon and stars were bright in the dark sky, and she did a length of backstroke so she could gaze up at them. Then she just floated on her back for a few minutes, breathing the fresh air and staring up at the night sky.

She felt almost free.

“How is it?” Paul called from the shore, reminding her of his presence.

She looked over at him. He still stood with his back to the lake. He wore the white dress shirt and gray trousers from the suit he’d had on all day, and the breeze blew the fabric against his strong, lean body.

“It’s great!” she called, laughing out of pure joie de vivre. “I swam in this lake all the time when I was a kid, but it was never quite like this.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so. Don’t get too cold.”

“I’m fine. Just a few more minutes.”

She dolphin-kicked her way farther out into the lake and then treaded water, enjoying the sight of the wooded areas and grassy lawns around the lake, all glazed in the moonlight.

Then she realized her teeth were chattering so she started back toward the shore. She swam slowly, extending the experience for as long as she could. Her breasts jiggled strangely in the water, without any sort of support from a suit, and her hair hung wetly around her face, since she hadn’t thought to pull it back in a ponytail. She felt absolutely wonderful, just the same.

She reached the point where the lake bottom got shallow enough for her to stand up, and she half-walked, half-swam her way toward the beach.

She was about hip-deep in the water when something brushed against her leg, startling her so much she squealed.

“What happened?” Paul demanded, turning around in what was almost certainly an automatic impulse.

She squeaked again and ducked down into the water to hide her breasts from him, more from instinct than from any conscious belief that Paul wanted to leer at her body. “Nothing,” she explained breathlessly, “No crisis. Just a fish or something swam by me and scared me. Now turn around. I’m getting out.”

Paul obediently turned his back to her, and she waded out of the water and onto the sand.

“That was fantastic!” she burst out, dripping with water as she leaned over to pick up her towel. “Oh, my God, I’m so glad we did that!” Her teeth chattered helplessly, but she didn’t care.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, but hurry up and get dressed so we can get you back in the car. You’re shivering.”

She darted him a surprised look, but his back was still toward her, so he must have heard her shivering in her voice. “Okay. Just a second.”

She dried off as well as she could and pulled back on the bottom of her suit. She decided to forgo the tankini top since it would feel binding and restrictive now, and they had a drive back to the city. She just pulled her knit dress over her head.

“Okay,” she said, trying to towel dry some of the wetness out of her hair and step into her sandals at the same time. “All done.”

Paul turned around, and he was smiling at her. For once, his smile looked real.

Spontaneously, just responding to an irresistible instinct, she reached over and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she said, her mouth muffled by his shirt, “For taking me.”

Paul felt a little stiff, like he had the last time she’d hugged him. He put both of his arms around her this time, however, and actually hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”

She was pulling away, still shivering from being so wet in the brisk air, when he frowned and studied her face. “You’re freezing.”

“Not freezing, but I wouldn’t say no to getting back in the car.”

As they walked, his eyes scanned her in close assessment. She knew he was just looking for signs of her having gotten sick from the cold—since he seemed to be hung up on that idea—but something about the way his gaze came back to her chest a couple of times made her look down at herself.

The cotton of her dress had gotten damp from her hair, and it was clinging resiliently. The thin fabric clearly revealed the unsupported curves of her breasts and the outline of her tight nipples.

She blushed a little—unable to suppress the self-consciousness—but Paul didn’t seem affected by the sight, other than his initial distraction.

He could have the most beautiful women in the city without even making an effort. He wasn’t likely to get excited by a stray glimpse of her quite unexceptional body.

He opened the passenger door for her calmly and shut it behind her before he went to get in the driver’s seat.

After he turned the car on and adjusted the heat, he smiled at her gently. “Do you want to get something hot to drink on the way home?”

She smiled back at him, fighting the instinct to be annoyed with him just because he was giving her that gentle look she hated. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

By the time Paul stopped at a nearby quick shop and came back with two cups of hot chocolate, Emily was feeling good again. She was tired and still kind of wet, but she felt like she’d accomplished something, and Paul wasn’t bad company at all.

They didn’t talk much on the drive home. Emily turned the music up again, and Paul drove fast. She didn’t sing this time, just listened and let herself get swept up in the heady rhythm of the music and the motion of the car. There was a kind of rich momentum to the combination of speed and sound on the dark road that was hypnotizing, compelling.

Whenever Paul glanced over at her, she made sure to smile at him—so he knew she was enjoying the drive.

She thought maybe he was too.

When they pulled back into the private parking deck under their building, Emily grinned and pulled her list out of her pocket.

She unfolded it and laid it on her knee. Without prompting, Paul reached down to a little compartment of his door and groped until he’d found a pen.

He handed it to her with a smile.

She crossed off from her list the item that said, “Go moonlight skinny-dipping at Lake Collins.”

As she was refolding her list, she said, “Thank you, Paul. Seriously. I really appreciate you taking me.”

“I was happy to.” He hadn’t turned off the car yet, and he hadn’t taken off his seatbelt. His eyes slanted away from her now, but she caught something reluctant in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

Emily stiffened, realizing Paul was going to say something she didn’t want to hear.

She’d thought they’d had such a good night.

“Emily,” Paul began, meeting her eyes again, seriously this time, “I’m glad we could do this, but I also need to know if you’re going to try to sneak out on me again.”

She sucked in her breath, surprised and a little relieved by the direction of his comments. She hadn’t been sure what he was going to say, but she’d briefly been scared he was going to tell her he couldn’t help her out with any more items on her list. “I’m not,” she said, lowering her lashes as she remembered the intensity of her feelings of rebellion earlier that evening. “I told you I was sorry about that. If I’m in this marriage, then I can’t have it both ways. I won’t do it again.”

Paul was silent for a moment, and she was sure he was scanning her face, although her eyes were still lowered so she couldn’t see him. He cleared his throat. “I don’t understand why you thought you had to do it in the first place.”

With a ragged exhale, she met his eyes again. “I don’t know really. It was like the last straw. I’ve had to accept…accept so many other things lately, and I just couldn’t accept your ordering me around.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t trying to order me around, but you were kind of doing that.”

When she paused, he was clearly thinking back to what he’d done and said earlier that evening. Then he nodded in internal acknowledgment. “I guess I was being…”

“Bossy,” she finished for him, slanting a little smile so he knew she wasn’t still angry. Then, since she could tell he wanted more of an answer, she stared forward at the gray concrete wall in front of the car and made herself continue. “You were being too bossy, but it was more than that for me. I don’t know if I can really explain it. Have you ever felt…Have you ever felt like you’re surrounded by shadows? And they’re all slowly encroaching on you?”

There was a long pause before he murmured, “Yeah.”

She cut her eyes over to him and saw with absolute clarity that Paul understood about shadows. She nodded, staring back at the wall since it seemed safer to speak that way. “Well, lately, the shadows all closed in on me so fast. Too fast. Too many of them. And they’re all taking things away from me. I guess it just felt like you were the only shadow I could fight.”

“Why am I a shadow?” Paul asked, very softly. When she jerked her gaze back to him, she saw his face was perfectly still but there was a glint of something vulnerable in his eyes.

“It’s not you,” she said hurriedly, afraid she’d hurt his feelings. “It’s not about who you are. It’s just that all these other shadows are taking away my choices, and I can’t do anything about them. I can’t stop them. I can’t stop them.”

For a moment, she had to hide her face, shaking a few times as her eyes blurred over and a flood of grief and helplessness overwhelmed her, but she controlled the emotion enough to continue, “So, when you started to take away my choices too, it felt like you were…you were one of them. And, unlike all of the other things, there was something I could do to resist you.”

She stared down at her hands for a long time after she finished, and it was absolutely silent in the car. Finally, she turned to check Paul's expression. He breathed heavily and stared straight in front of him at the wall she’d been focused on earlier.

“Do you,” she began, her voice cracking, “Do you understand?”

He met her eyes then, and she knew he did.

Tears started to stream down her face, and she brushed them away impatiently.

Paul finally spoke, his voice just slightly thick, “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m just used to doing what I think is best. I’m trying to do right by you—I really am—and I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“I know. I know you weren’t doing it just to be mean and controlling.”

“I’ll try not to bulldoze you. I mean that. But there are going to be some things about your health and your security that I’m not going to back down about.”

She nodded, sniffing a little. “I know. I can accept that.”

“So,” he began, finally reaching over to turn off the car. For some reason, he looked just a little uncertain. “So we’re good?”

“Yeah,” Emily told him with a smile, “We’re good.”

They got out and went up to the apartment, and, after a quick shower, she was very happy to pull on pajamas and crawl into bed.

This day seemed to be endless, but it ended better than it began.

Emily knew she would always be a project to Paul—something he’d committed to and was determined to see through to the end. She was pretty sure he was working out some sort of private guilt with her, and she was okay with that. She knew their relationship would never be defined by deep affection or emotional connection.

But it felt like they’d understood each other just now, and she thought that, from now on, they could at least be closer to partners.

As far as partners went, Paul was a pretty good one to have.