Acknowledging the Relationship

 

I'm beginning to see the pattern with my princess. When she's naked, I'm cavorting with Bambi. When she's clothed for work, Joan of Arc's armored up to go out and take on the world. The two Juliettes collide in the kitchen, where she hasn't transitioned completely. I like in-between Princess. She's easy to poke at and fun to snark with.

Dixon's waiting for our morning update when I get to the Citadel. He’s already fired up the Keurig, and brings me a cup of coffee. He takes a sip of his, then sets it aside.

I follow suit. “Damn, that’s too fucking hot. Can I set the temperature on a Keurig?” Dixon smirks as I mutter. "By the way, I saw your man out at Juliette's. I'm assuming there was nothing going on out there, last night?"

Dixon fastens his icy eyes on me. "You'd know just about as well as my men."

Touché. "I'll have her call and tell you it's okay to fill me in."

"When she tells me that, I'll be happy to oblige.”

I try another sip of my coffee. "I admire your professionalism, Drew. One thing, though. If there's ever any need, call on me. I'll do anything necessary to protect her."

He scrutinizes me, then nods once.

“And what’s with the crabs at her back door? There was another there today!”

Dixon shakes his head, and possibly cracks a smile. “I’ll have the guys check into it.”

I finally get down a sip of my scalding coffee. "Okay then. Anything from the police on Juliette’s vandalism or my tires?"

"They're pulling feed from security cameras in areas from the restaurant parking lot. Hopefully we'll get an image of some sort today to compare to Ms. Samson's vandal."

"That could be helpful. Let me know."

 

*****

 

I'm sipping my rebujito in the upscale bistro where Cleo and I are having lunch, going over some last-minute wedding stuff, when my phone vibrates with a text from Leo.

L:  Dinner?

Me:  Please

L:  My turn to cook

Me:  Yay—I have time to shop

L:  Together after fitting

 

I slip my phone into my pocket and tune back into Cleo's patter. It stops suddenly and I look up.

"Okay, who was that?" she demands.

"Nosey." I try for nonchalant as I pick up my cutlery.

Her eyes flash and her jaw is tight. "You totally zoned out on me."

After internal debate, I sigh. "If you must know, it was Leo."

"Leo? Tony's brother, Leo?"

Cleo is treated to the stoic, long-suffering stare I've used to make grown men whimper. It never works on her. She ignores it totally.

"Leo just texted you."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"Cleo. So close to your wedding—you need to ask?"

"Oh. Final fitting. Okay."

I don't disabuse her of that conclusion since I haven't decided how much I want to divulge about Leo and me. He and I haven't discussed how we should handle letting friends and family know that we know each other better than mere acquaintances. It's going to be hard to hide at the rehearsal dinner and reception. Maybe I should say something now and diffuse the bomb of questions and comments it will elicit? 

My breath huffs in a noisy rush. "Hold on." I pull my phone back out to text Leo. Cleo signals the waiter for refills while she waits.

Me:  At lunch with Cleo

L:  Say hi

Me:  Tell her about us?

L:  Sure

Me:  How much?

L:  As much as comfortable

Me:  U sure?

L:  Better now than Friday

Me: K

L:  Gotta go

Me:  Thx

 

I slip the phone back into my pocket. "We've been seeing each other."

Cleo's eyes widen so much I'm afraid her eyeballs might roll out on the Carrara-topped table. "I knew it! I knew you two would hit it off! I want to hear all about it. Now!"

I take another sip of my drink, filtering what I’m willing to tell her.

"Wait. Did you just text him about what to tell me?" she asks.

"I wouldn't put it like that. I didn’t know how he wants it handled with his family."

"It?"

I roll my eyes, something I don't remember doing since elementary school. "Seeing each other."

"Seeing each other. When you say 'seeing each other'—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Cleo, what are we, in high school? Yes, I'm dating your soon-to-be-brother-in-law."

"When you say 'dating'—"

I glare at her. I'm not happy about this at all. I wish I'd stuck with the fitting idea.

"Oh, my God, Jules! You're fucking sleeping with him!"

My gaze flits around the room. No one’s staring, thank goodness. I'm used to Cleo carrying the conversation, not used to being the center of it, the focus of all her attention. In fact, we usually talk about her. How can I redirect her? But Cleo's not put off so easily.

"After meeting him last Friday? It hasn’t even been two weeks, has it?"

That swings my head around. "Cleo, what are you implying?"

She stops cold at my tone of voice and stares at me. "Nothing. You're the least slutty friend I have. I was just surprised for a minute."

"Thank you—I think."

"I'm trying to remember the last guy you even went out with. It's been awhile."

This is beyond uncomfortable.

And she doesn’t let up. "You like Leo."

"Yes."

"A lot?"

I hesitate. "More than I want to. You know I don't want a relationship."

"But you're dating. And probably sleeping together. Hell, you just asked his input about talking to me. Me. Your best friend." She scoffs. "Don't fool yourself, Jules. You're in a relationship."

"Honestly, Cleo, I’m trying not to think about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know how to do relationships."

"There's not that much to it, Jules. You just spend time together, work out the power dynamics, and try not to hurt or scare each other too much." She flips her hands open and shrugs.

Our waitress cruises in, refills our water glasses, and glides to the next table.

Words of wisdom from the madcap. I spear a tomato and some avocado and stuff them in my mouth. When did Cleo get so good at this?

She picks cucumber slices from her salad, stacking them on the edge of her plate. "And you cram in as much fun as you can between the shit-storms."

I’m dying to hear her succinct take on my biggest concern. "Where does the concept of trust fall in all these philosophical jewels you're sharing?"

"Ah. Trust. You have to talk to each other. Not at each other. With each other."

"About something specific?"

"About what makes you feel safe, mostly."

"Safe? My security detail makes me feel safe." I slurp down half my sherry cocktail.

Now she rolls her eyes at me. "I'm talking about your emotions, obviously.

Oh. I was afraid she was talking about those pesky things. "I just list things that make me feel safe? I'm not sure what they are."

"No. It's more like praising him when he does something that makes you feel safe. Or something that makes you feel cherished. And calling him on it when he does something that makes you feel unsure or diminished in some way. If he's listening, you'll know it through his actions. If not, then he can't make you feel safe and you need to dump his ass."

I think about Leo’s coming up with a way to have missionary sex without sending me into meltdown. It did feel good that he listened to me and translated it into action. It did make me feel cherished. In fact, I’d say it was a turning point for me. The main reason I’m entertaining this conversation.

Silverware clatters on the floor behind me, but barely registers. "What should I be doing for him?"

"The same, pretty much. Men want to feel safe and cherished, too. They have emotions, even cocky, self-confident, self-important men like Tony and Leo." She shakes her head and growls in mock frustration. "They want to know you're loyal and that you'll be supportive and hold their secrets and not hate them for their weaknesses or mistakes. And they want a playmate. In bed and out. A best friend."

"You make it sound so simple."

Cleo dabs at her scarlet lips with a pristine napkin then smooths it back on her lap. "Oh, it's not. But it's worth the work when it's right. And the real fun is finding out what makes each of you better people together."

I guess maybe I don't have to worry about Cleo's preparation for married life after all. She seems to understand the ins and outs of it better than I ever might.

But first things first. Is she right? Am I fooling myself about being in a relationship?

“Cleo, I have to tell you, the idea of a relationship scares me right down to my Ferragamos.”

“Yeah, it’s scary. And bodyguards can’t help. By the way, I want to hear about your security detail. All the bodyguards in movies are big and buff. Do you have big, buff bodyguards?"

 

*****

 

I’m still staggered over my conversation with Cleo, and now Leo’s here in my house, eating dinner we prepared together, wanting to move even further into my life? He has no idea how this affects me. He can’t relate to it.

 "You want me to give Mr. Dixon permission to give you daily updates on my security?"

Leo pauses in chewing his steak. "Is that a problem?"

I have to stop and evaluate. "Isn’t it enough that I agreed to hire Dixon at all?”

He puts down his knife and fork. "Tell me what’s really going on."

Talk to him. Cleo says talk to him. Tell him when he does something that makes me feel unsafe. I sigh and put down my utensils, too. "We're moving too fast."

He waits.

"Every day I let you into more of my life. Beyond just sex. Away from an arrangement I’m comfortable with.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t recognize myself. I’m in uncharted territory, and I don’t know who I am right now.”

“Juliette. Sweetheart. Come here.”

I shake my head. “I worry about losing myself, Leo."

"Losing yourself?"

"Sometimes I feel like I'm out on a limb, hanging out over an abyss, and if anything happens to that limb…I'll be gone."

"And every day I push you farther out on that limb."

I don't need to respond; he sees.

"Juliette, have you always had this fear of getting close to someone?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe."

His brow furrows as he considers. "I'm going to ask you to open up to me here and go farther out on that limb right now. I won't let you fall. You have no reason yet to believe that it won't happen. Today, next week, next year, someday. But I won’t."

I'm trembling. "Don't ask me for more, Leo. Not right now. Please. I just—I'm just—"

"I know. Come sit with me on the sofa."

We leave the table and cross over to the sectional. It's dark, so I flick on the fireplace. He pulls me close and holds my hand. "Tell me about what happened. In your past."

And still he wants more. “Leo, no.”

“I need some help, Juliette. I don’t know how to help if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.”

Is this what a relationship is? Turning yourself fucking inside out for someone else? My mind churns, debating with itself. This is too soon. Too much, too soon. How can I minimize it so we can change the subject?

“A man did something to you?”

God. No, I won’t go there. "It's nothing earth-shattering. The usual tale. An impressionable girl, a manipulative man, some bad decisions. Nothing extraordinary."

I'm being glib. But Leo’s like a dog with a bone, and this topic makes me want to vomit.

"How young were you?"

"Seventeen."

His eyes widen. "This is from back in high school? How old was he?"

"Twenty-four."

He scowls, and I realize it’s a look I’ve never seen Leo wear before. “That explains a lot. That's a big age difference that young, Juliette. How did you two meet?"

"Summer job." I’m stuck on three-syllable answers.

"He was a grown man hitting on someone in high school."  Leo's voice is calm, not attacking, but I can feel anger pulsing through him.

"I graduated that spring." Seven syllables. Better.

"Ah. You graduated a year early?"

"No. My birthday—"

"Your birthday is later in the year.  Is it coming up?"

I smile. "It was the week before you and I met. You're safe."

"A September birthday. That means your parents had a fun Christmas." He smiles back at me, runs a finger across my cheek, then rubs my bottom lip with his thumb.

"An unscrupulous cad takes advantage of a sweet, pretty, young thing for a summer fling, and breaks her heart, leaving her gun-shy." He shakes his head. "You're stronger and more determined than that, Juliette. What aren't you telling me?"

I stare into the firelight flickering so cozily and yet feel the chill move up my arms. He’s not going to give this up. "I married him. We married."

Leo inhales sharply and stiffens against me. The chill invades more of my body.

"You’re fucking married?"

My head whips around. "No!" I blink furiously. “You think I'd be having sex with you while I was married to another man?"

His shoulders sag. "No. Sorry." He runs his hands through his hair. "Your revelation just caught me by surprise. Cleo and Tony never mentioned it."

I swallow most of my anger. "They don't know about it."

Leo peers at me. "You haven't even told your best girlfriend you used to be married. That's interesting. Do you still have contact with him?"

I shake my head. "Not in years." Except for thinking I saw him in the restaurant last week.

"Does he live around here?"

"I left him back in Charlotte when I moved here."

"What's his name?"

Enough. "Why do you ask, Leo?"

"Curiosity."

"I think I've satisfied enough of your curiosity for one sitting."

"I want to know everything about you."

"I'm trusting you with more personal information than I've shared with my best friend. See, that's what I mean. Moving too fast." I wonder if he knows this is a test. Sharing this information with him, seeing what he'll do with it, how it will impact whatever is growing between us. Maybe he won't even want me now that he knows I've been married before.

"Well, there's definitely a lot more story here. But I understand and appreciate how difficult it was to tell me even this much. It's a start."

A start? If I have my way, it’ll also be the end of that line of questioning. "Have you ever been married, Leo?"

He looks at me, then smiles. "The goose and gander thing?"

I nod.

"No, I've never been married."

"Have you come close?"

"Not really."

"Hmm. There's definitely a lot more story here." 

Leo cringes. "All right, yes, a few years ago I might have come close."

A man as attractive and successful as Leo? I'm surprised there's only one story to tell. "Tell me about her."

He shakes his head firmly. "Not until you tell me about your former husband."

I shrug. Not happening.

Leo gazes at me a moment, then he recites:

 

I know the others

have hurt you.

And I know why you keep it

all locked up inside.

But one of these nights,

I’m going to close my eyes

and wake up within the walls

of your imprisoned heart

and jailbreak your love.

 

I cock my head at him. This man. Tears well. “Powerful.”

Could he be right? Does my love need a jailbreak?

“Another Jonny Ox. It’s titled Uprising.”

I absorb the words. "So did you discover that this woman was the female equivalent of an unscrupulous cad who took you for a fling and broke your heart?"

He doesn't smile back. "Not entirely."

My face falls. "Oh, Leo, I'm sorry I was flip."

"I've moved on. It's fine."

"You wanted to marry her?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet, but it's where we were logically heading. It just wasn't a good fit for the long-haul."

I think about that, and what Cleo and I talked about at lunch. "How do you know when you're a good fit for the long-haul?"

"That's a good question. I'm still figuring that out."

Mr. Fairy Tale? The man who wrote the book on romance? He’s still figuring out things, too?

I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. "Leo. You know what? I suddenly feel much better."

"About?"

"The thought of being in a relationship."

His grin could fuel a lighthouse. “Come here. I need to hold my woman.”

 

*****

 

"Ms. Samson's ex is a man named Daniel Briggs. They got married on her eighteenth birthday. Details are on Westlaw."

I look up from my paperwork and gaze at Dixon, letting this info sink in. "Was it bad?"

Dixon shrugs, and his sunglasses, hanging onto his chest pocket, rattle. "Divorce always is, one way or another."

He's right about that. I'll hit Westlaw when we finish here and read for myself. "Do we know where he is now, what he's doing?"

"He's here."

"The fuck? No longer in Charlotte. Doing what?" My jaw flexes and breath catches. To hell with paperwork. Juliette’s welfare may be at stake.

He consults a notepad while sipping his coffee. "He's a pool cleaner."

"How long has he been here?"

"About a year. I'm not sure how it all fits together yet, but, given your involvement with Ms. Samson, I doubt the two vandalism incidents are random."

Well, no, I’d say not. "And he's probably Juliette's lurker, too."

"Most likely."

"This isn't good," I mutter.  How unstable is this man?  “Juliette told me last night that she imagined she saw her ex at the restaurant we went to last Friday night. And, Dixon, I had an impression that I saw a man in a hooded sweatshirt taking uncommon interest in Juliette when we were at her shop after the break-in.”

I could almost feel Dixon vibrating. “You’re just now telling me this?”

“I thought it was just my imagination. But when Juliette told me what she thought she’d seen the same night…”

Dixon flips his notepad closed. “We’re not dealing with coincidences, Leo.  Something’s going on, and I need to get to the bottom of it.”

“The quicker the better.”

"We need to warn Juliette."

So now we’re Leo and Juliette to Dixon? Interesting. "I’ll handle that."

"He's going by Miller, David Miller. And, Leo? Her name was Rosalyn Jeffries."

What? "I don't understand. You're telling me Juliette is an alias, too?"

"She had hers legally changed when she moved here. Clean record on both of her names."

Well, that’s something. But why did she give herself a new name? I'll ask her. Later. "Anything in his background? Under either of his names?"

"Small-time con-man, it looks like. Nothing too serious."

"Yeah, the charming rogue type. Got it. Do you think Juliette's in any danger?"

He hesitates and rubs the corner of his notepad on the side of his head. The close-shorn hair makes a scratchy, crinkly noise. “There’s mention of something more serious, involving a woman, but nothing came of it.”

“But…?”

"I don't like that he's here, using an alias. There's some stuff you'll read about on Westlaw. But I've got men on her, and I'll pass along this newest information, with a picture of Miller. Tighten security."

My heart hammers. I take a swallow of coffee against the sudden dryness of my mouth. It doesn’t matter that the lukewarm brew is almost undrinkable. My mind’s not on its taste.

"Will you alert your contact in the police? In the meantime, I'll be with Juliette all weekend, through the wedding chaos, and then recuperating together all day Sunday. We'll see what shakes out by Monday."

As Dixon leaves, I turn to my computer and call up Juliette's divorce on Westlaw. Briggs was cruel to her. Nothing egregious, but maybe enough to warp the attitudes of a young girl. Enough that she'd gotten a restraining order against him. There was mental as well as some physical cruelty documented. The write-up doesn’t feel complete to me. Nothing cited here jibes with Juliette’s terror about her past.

Her body recovered from the physical damage, but Juliette stuffed away the mental and emotional damage where it corroded and made her determined not to fall victim to anything like that again. If she'd ever believed in the fairy tale before, this evidently killed it.

I'm suddenly aware of the weight of responsibility pressing on my shoulders. Juliette's learning to trust again, little by little, which I'll have to handle with extreme care until she feels more solid about it. Going behind her back to have Dixon check into her ex will probably set us back. But her panic at physical confinement, even of me lying on top of her during sex—nothing in Westlaw alluded to where that might have come from. There are still so many avenues of exploration to travel with her. So many potential triphammers waiting to fall.