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WYNN MAKELTI PLATED the filet mignon, garlic encrusted potatoes, and roasted brussels sprouts onto the delicate bone china plates and took a step back to examine the presentation. Not bad. Not bad at all. Smoothing her hands down her red dress and checking her hair in the reflection of the oven door to make sure it was perfect as she sighed. At least she appeared fine. Reaching for the inhaler from her purse, she took two puffs, then grabbed the tray with the plates and made her way into the dining room. She never really liked the formal table that seated twelve, nor the large crystal chandelier, but there were some things a woman had to do to keep the peace…
“Something smells delicious, baby,” Rory slurred from the head of the table, setting his phone to the side, but not too far.
Wynn placed a plate in front of him and jumped when his hand snaked up under her dress. “Rory,” she shrieked. “You’re going to make me drop the plates.”
He laughed and swatted her bottom. Taking her place at the other end of the polished table, she remembered she’d forgotten to light the candles. Scurrying out of the chair and grabbing the lighter from the drawer of the antique buffet, she lit the wicks and returned to her seat as Rory poured himself another glass of wine. The hair on the back of her neck lifted and her stomach twisted. Wynn couldn’t tolerate another drunken meltdown, not today. He caught her gaze and a roll of his eyes warned her that he’d already had one too many.
“What is that look for?” he asked over the rim of his glass.
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” She did, but again, keeping the peace had become a job, and so had walking on eggshells when he’d had too much to drink.
Rory’s chuckle sounded like fingernails down a chalkboard. “That look of revulsion. Can’t we have one dinner without you judging me?” He emptied his glass in one gulp.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” Wynn picked up her knife and fork, cutting into the juicy steak. The meat was a little too raw for her taste, but Rory liked it still bleeding.
His ragged groan made her pause her fork in midair. “Not until you tell me what the problem is. I can feel your disappointment and it’s giving me indigestion.”
“Are you sure it’s not the alcohol?” she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. After having a rough day with her asthma, she didn’t feel like an argument that would end with nothing solved or gained except a headache.
One thing she’d learned over the last three years, Rory would make sure she was miserable until she finally gave in to whatever his fixation was at the moment. Last week it was her resistance to platinum blonde hair and Wynn didn’t hear the end of his complaining until she gave in and wore the wig. Laying the fork and knife to the side of her plate, she then clasped her hands together in her lap. Any response she gave him could send the night exploding into several different directions. “I just thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t drink tonight.”
“I’m only having a couple of glasses, Wynn. A man who works hard wants to come home and relax. I should be allowed to without adjudication.”
“Fine. Then at least eat something.”
She jumped when his fists came down hard on the table, upsetting the dishes and sending his empty glass to the floor, shattering.
Although she’d come home from the doctor and slaved for two hours preparing the meal, she suddenly had a loss of appetite. Pushing her chair back and standing, she grabbed her untouched plate, not meeting his disparaging gaze and stepped through the swinging door into the kitchen. Dumping her meal into the sink, she switched on the garbage disposal and watched the food disappear into the drain to be ground into bits. This process seemed a lot like her life. For the last six months, she’d found herself helplessly descending into an invisible disposal to be ripped apart, little by little, until she was ground and sent into an abyss, never to surface again.
Turning off the switch to the disposal, his arm snaked around her waist and she squealed in surprise.
“Relax, baby. You’re a little uptight.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair.
“I guess I am.” And tired. Very tired.
“Let me see if I can help.” Rory seized her wrist, swung her around and pulled her hard against his chest. Physically hurting her wasn’t his way of doing things, but he often used scare tactics or manipulation to get his way when he was drunk, probably the same way he ran his company where he spent most of his time making money. He never could quite make enough.
Lately, she’d lost trust in him as he drank more.
“Come back to the table and sit down,” he urged.
“I’m no longer into this evening.”
“Maybe you just need a little persuasion.” He pulled back the curtain of her thick, synthetic curls and kissed her neck. She shivered and he stiffened.
Why didn’t she feel anything but revulsion? “Let me go.”
Several tense seconds passed until he finally released his hold while giving her a grin that made her skin crawl, but he didn’t step aside. He pressed her against the edge of the granite counter, caging her with his weight and his thick arms on each side of her. “Dinner wasn’t done.”
“I was though.”
“Not another one of these nights I hope.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t play Miss Priss, sweetheart. You know I don’t like the attitude,” he snorted.
How he chalked her emotions up to being “prissy” sent her closer to an unwavering edge. “I don’t like the attitude either. Or the games, so I won’t be needing this tonight.” Reaching up, she dragged off her wig and pushed past one steely arm, happy he didn’t resist. Taking a step away from him, she threw the wig at his chest and he caught it. A slow smile lifted his lips, showing off an even row of pearly whites, but it didn’t deter from the iciness of his stare. She gave her natural brown hair a finger comb, sending the pins popping out and her wavy tresses tumbling around her shoulders. The feeling was liberating. “I’m tired of all this.” Her words came out in a plea. “The dressing up. Pretending all the time.”
“I’ve never forced you into doing anything you never wanted to do, baby.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, pushing his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “We’re together in this.”
“I don’t mind a little role playing, but this…wanting me to dress up in costume every night is getting old. I have more slinky lingerie in my closet than regular clothes. More wigs than a drag queen. I’m starting to think you can’t get a rise with me unless I’m dressed up like your personal hooker.”
“That’s not true. You’re sexy, but you know how you, dressed in a slutty dress and a bombshell wig, get me going.” He wagged his brows which made her skin crawl. He eased from his spot and took a step toward her, but she sidestepped him.
“Yeah, I do, and that’s my point. A man shouldn’t have to watch porn all the time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with porn. A lot of men watch it.”
“Yeah, but name one time in the last year that you haven’t had a movie playing while we were having sex.” She received only his silence. “Exactly.”
Dressing up to be someone she wasn’t didn’t entice her as it once did. Tapping into a fantasy world and losing more and more of her true self no longer settled well with her. When she’d met Rory, she was waitressing at a dingy diner, working double shifts to work her way through school. She had goals, but when he swept in, utilizing all his charm, his money, and his ease at making her feel special, her ten-year plan suddenly became a memory. At first, things had been a fairytale and he’d treated her like a princess, but every time she started talking about going back to college, he’d held her off for one reason or another. Lately, she felt less cherished and more like a dimwit, not from a lack of education, but from Rory’s underhanded comments.
At thirty-one, she wanted more than to be treated like a man’s sex-slave. She was smart. Too smart to hide her intelligence behind a rhinestone trimmed bra that made her thirty-four Bs look like thirty-six Cs. Or the spankies that reminded her she liked her chocolate and pasta. The last straw should have been when he, unknowingly to her, scheduled an appointment with the plastic surgeon for breast augmentation. And yet, she allowed him to fool her into believing he wouldn’t be so stupid again. If and when she decided to have “work” done she could make her own appointment, but he shouldn’t hold his breath. She was happy with who she was, although disgusted that she’d lost herself.
“Is this about the drinking, baby? I know I promised. I won’t drink anymore tonight,” his words were garbled.
“Now that the bottle is almost gone,” she murmured. He didn’t hear her, and she wouldn’t repeat it. Wynn marched out of the kitchen, up the winding back stairs that led to their master bedroom. The luxurious suite with the king bed, large upholstered headboard, the five-hundred count sheets, Egyptian carpet, and the expensive makeup lining the vanity once made her feel like a lucky woman, but now she saw that she was handcuffed to a life where she never fit in.
Rory was behind her, a little wobbly on his feet, but it didn’t take him long to catch up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m changing out of this dress and putting on something more comfortable.” She reached into her drawer and pulled out jeans, the ones with the holes and the missing pockets. She stuck each foot in and wiggled them up her legs, zipping and buttoning them. Pulling the dress over her head, she dropped the designer label onto the end of the bed and padded across the room to her walk-in closet. Switching on the light, she turned a full-circle, examining the racks and shelves. She had nothing to wear, in a sea of clothes, but she didn’t care much what she wore if she didn’t have to put the red, strapless dress back on. Choosing an old T-shirt left over from her pre-Rory days, she dragged on the comfortable cotton and tugged the hem down her hips, hearing a seam rip. He hated when she wore her thrift store finds, but in all honesty, she’d never been happy dressing in designer clothes and expensive heels.
Growing up poor, she’d always found her clothes at second-hand stores. Her mother had taught her how to shop frugally and find quality items for less. Rory never appreciated that about her, or her desire to design homes without emptying bank accounts. When she’d moved into the condo with him, she was grateful that he’d let her switch out some of the décor to make their home more comfortable, but the museum feel that still existed in most of the place had never been to her liking.
When she turned she found him blocking her path. “Excuse me.”
“What the hell has come over you?” He looked her over from top to bottom, his nose wrinkling and his eyes growing cold.
“Move, Rory.”
“Or what?”
His raw tone made her throat constrict. He was notorious for pouting or throwing a temper tantrum if he didn’t get his way which was quite ridiculous for a man who was nearing forty. He’d never threatened her or raised a hand in an intimidating way, but then again, she’d never stood up for herself.
“Get. Out. Of my way.”
“You’re being a bitch,” he sneered and stepped back, but made it so that she couldn’t pass him without brushing against his chest.
“Sure, Rory. I’m a bitch, one who is tired of all the bullshit.” She sat down at her vanity, lifted the lid to a bottle and dipped her fingers in it. “I’m sick and tired of the suspicious business dealings of yours.” She smeared the cream all over her face. “The late nights at the office.”
“I told you, Wynn. I work hard to provide you with this lifestyle.”
“What about the police questioning you?” She lifted her gaze, meeting his through the mirror.
“They don’t have proof that I did anything wrong.”
She turned on the cushioned stool. “Interesting choice of words, yet not once have I heard you say that you’re innocent.” Giving him an annoyed look, she swiveled back, plucked a tissue from the box and removed her make up. “I can’t believe all this has been going on under my nose. All those social gatherings and parties you’ve asked me to attend. They were crooks, weren’t they?”
“Watch what you say,” he said in a menacing tone.
“You see, Rory. I’m exhausted of watching what I say. You’ve become a ticking time bomb, and the alcohol is the flint. I won’t apologize anymore and overlook how you have some crazy ass fetishes that are getting sicker. I’ve tolerated you picking out the clothes you want me to wear, the wigs, down to my thong, long enough. I’m not who you want me to be. I’m not sure who it is you want, but I have a feeling you’re finding her at the men’s club.” At his gasp, she nodded. “Yeah, Rory. I know you spend a lot of time there with your business buddies.”
“I close business dealings there.”
“I bet you do. Fact is, I don’t even care any longer. That’s sad for both of us. I’ve wasted three years.” She crumpled her tissue and tossed it into the trashcan.
“When I found you, you were living in a rat-infested apartment building living on beans and rice. Why? To have some overrated degree.” He sniffed. “I saved you.”
She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “You saved me? Really? Well, let me give you a dose of FYI. I might never have a fancy degree, but at least I’m honest. You’ve embezzled from your clients and your elbow-rubbing buddies are criminals. That’s why you have the police pounding at your door. It was only a matter of time before we had this discussion and there’s no time like the present. I’m leaving, Rory.” Her plans weren’t to leave tonight, and she had no proof that he had embezzled money, but she’d heard the rumors. She also only suspected his involvement with the Irish mob, but the time had come that she needed to get away—needed to spread her wings.
“What the hell did you say?”
“I’m leaving. Moving out. Taking a different path. Hasta La Vista baby. You choose what you want to call it.”
“And go where? You have nowhere to go.”
“You shouldn’t worry about where I go. You have enough to think about with regards to the investigation your smack dab in the center of. Also, just so we’re clear, I know about you and Patricia, your secretary.”
“H-How?” he stammered.
She chuckled coldly. “Actually, I didn’t, but you just answered my question. Eventually the truth comes out.” She started for the closet, but he blocked her, grabbing her shoulders and hugging her.
“You can’t do this,” he said quietly.
“I can, and I will.” She faced him.
“Really? Then you should know that you’re as deep in this as I am. Do you think I hired you as my assistant because you’re handy with a keyboard and a phone? You signed your name to many documents.”
She wouldn’t allow his threats to change her mind. He’d manipulated her long enough, although he did scare her a little. Over the last few weeks it seemed the walls were tumbling down around him. She didn’t want to go down with the ship. “Say what you want, but it won’t change the facts. I’ll even leave all those tight dresses and wigs you like so much and maybe you can convince Patricia to change her identity.” For the first time in a long time she felt vindicated.
He gave her a glaring look that tore through her. “You’ll come crawling back. You wait and see. You have an easy life here and can’t make it out there on your own with no money or prospects. Or maybe you should take those fancy dresses because you might need them when you’re looking for a way to pay the bills.”
His words bounced off her. It was high time she got back on her own two feet. For years now she’d worked for Rory, slept with Rory. Made his dinner and his bed. Did everything he asked—at least to a certain extent.
“Well, at least I won’t be here, with you.”
What Rory didn’t know was that she did have some place to go. When her grandmother, Agnus, passed away last year, she’d left her house in Wyoming to Wynn, although she hadn’t seen her grandmother or anyone on that side of the family in twenty years. The attorney told Wynn that most of the property had been sold right before Agnus passed, but the remaining two acres and house remained, which Wynn inherited as next of kin. She’d kept the inheritance a secret, thinking one day she might need a place. At least she’d planned far enough ahead that she wouldn’t be living on the street.
Wyoming was far away from New York, and exactly what she needed.
“You’re not leaving.” Rory’s jaw hardened.
“Get it through your head. I’m leaving,” she said through clenched teeth.
He grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against him. She saw his hand and a glint of metal about the same time she heard a soft click then a cool touch on her wrist.
“I guess I get to use these after all.” One corner of his mouth slid up into a dangerous smile.
Wynn dropped her chin. One cuff wrapped her wrist and the other circled his. She tilted her head, catching him in what she hoped was a deadly glare. “Unlock these handcuffs at once!”
“Not happening. After you’ve had time to think about all this, you’ll see that leaving isn’t the best idea.”
“This is wrong. This is kidnapping. Let me go!” She gave a jerk of her hand and the cuffs jingled. “Where is the key?” she seethed.
“Safely tucked away.” He patted his front pocket. “You won’t get to it because I plan to stay awake all night to see that you behave yourself.”
“Go to hell! This won’t keep me here.”
He laughed. “Calm down. You’ll be thanking me later.” He winked and touched her cheek, but she jerked her face away.