CHAPTER 34
“How long will we be gone?” Leonora broke the silence of the car ride, tried not to let her missing of Pittsburgh taint her pitch. She couldn’t stop thinking about the hospital and the soldiers left behind; the way the nurses had rolled their eyes and turned their backs to her, another wealthy volunteer leaving her duties at the wink of a boyfriend. They didn’t know she hadn’t had a choice.
“Just until your uncle gets this draft nonsense resolved.” Alex’s face darkened, spawned a new quiet between them.
A few moments later, Leonora leaned forward, perked at the changing landscape. New York City loomed in the window of the Rolls-Royce.
Alex inspected himself in the side mirror, straighened his tie.
The driver parked in the arch of a towering limestone hotel, the sloped awning licking the air like a metal tongue. Alex nodded to the doorman while young men with buttoned coats and strapped caps bustled for their luggage. Alex led her through the lobby by the elbow, passed under a chandelier as large as a sparkling pond, then up the sweeping stairs. “You’ve been here before,” she noted, surprised.
“A few times.” He winked and escorted her to a thickly engraved door. “Your suite, Miss Fairfield.”
The room contrasted perfectly in color and texture: dark wood and gleaming white marble; stone and silk; pillows and tiles. Every angle and corner filled with three-foot vases of roses, birds-of-paradise, cannas and jasmine—the smell of which left her light-headed. Gossamer panels hung from the bed’s tester, and so many pillows lined the bed that only a foot of comforter showed at the base. The shuttered windows were open, revealing the balcony with more silk curtains blowing gently into the room.
“Do you like it?” Alex asked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely.”
“We’ll see about that.” He pulled a black velvet box from his jacket.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She opened the box to find two diamond-studded earrings. She touched her throat. “You shouldn’t have, Alex.”
“Call it a thank-you. For coming away with me.”
“It’s a very expensive thank-you.”
He kissed her cheek, looked at her intently. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She smiled and kissed him back, her eyes sparkling. “Me too.” And she was. He was handsome again, kind. The conversations about the hospital and the motives around the whirlwind trip faded into the softness of his eyes and she couldn’t remember why she had been so angry with him.
He led her to the bed. “It’s been a long trip. Why don’t you rest a bit and we’ll meet up later.” He pointed to the silver tray on the nightstand. “There’s fruit and rolls. Champagne.”
“Where are you going?”
He smiled at the disappointment in her voice. “Business, darling. I’ve got a lot of people to connect with.” He popped a strawberry in his mouth. “A few friends are going to meet us for dinner. They’re all anxious to meet you.”
Alex bent his neck and kissed her, found her lips willing. He stirred closer, held her hips in his palms before releasing her quickly. “I better leave now or I won’t be leaving at all.” He sighed, then kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, darling,” he directed, and left the room.
Leonora leaned back on the pillows, the softness of his lips still fresh as she closed her eyes. The noise of the city rode on a breeze, filtered through the gossamer. The scents of the flowers mellowed to a warm cologne, and somewhere between her massaged senses she fell asleep before she even knew she was tired.
The breeze tickled her cheek, moved down her neck, smelled of drink. She opened her eyes to find Alex kissing her throat and jumped.
“Sorry if I scared you. I knocked. I swear,” he said innocently.
She smiled nervously, bluntly aware of his body lying on the bed next to her, then looked over his shoulder at the night sky. “What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock. I’d have let you sleep, but everyone’s waiting downstairs.”
Leonora hurried off the bed and opened the closet. “It’ll just take me a minute to change.”
Alex leaned back on the bed and watched her languidly. “Take as long as you want.”
Playfully, she pulled him by the hands to his feet. “In private. Now, go!”
After she dressed, they strolled outside under a full moon to the sweeping stone patio. Arborvitaes lined the edges, their sculpted green points shielding the space from the frenzied lights of the city. Ragtime hummed from an invisible source, its syncopation making the very breeze dance. Laughter, high and shrill, echoed from a long, rectangular table. Cigarette smoke drifted and fogged the stars. Empty bottles of wine were collected by the waiters and new ones uncorked. Chatter rippled, flowed over the slate.
“Finally!” One of the men stood from the table, a cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth. “We started to think you’d forgotten about us!” he said with a smooth British accent melted down with drink.
Alex’s manner shifted instantly, loosened like he had traded hard shoes for slippers, and his eyes turned mischievous. “This, my dear, is Edward Warton.”
“And you must be Leonora.” Edward lifted her hand and kissed it with an air of familiarity. “You’re as lovely as Alex described.” Suddenly, he pulled her against him. “Why don’t you take the seat next to me and we’ll see if I can’t change your favor in beaus.”
“Not likely,” said Alex as he rescued with one arm and with the other wrestled his friend in a headlock. Leonora tensed under their game.
“Boys!” A woman from the table clapped her hands and scolded, “Don’t be greedy with our guest!”
Alex let go of Edward and whacked him on the back, brought Leonora to the table for introductions. “Leonora, this is Molly Brighton, of Brighton teas no less.” The woman rose grandly, her face almost shielded by the tilted, oval-rimmed hat. In one hand hung a cigarette in a black holder that nearly reached to her elbow, in the other a martini glass with drunk olives, a smile of red lipstick stained on its rim.
“Why must you always introduce me that way! It’s my father’s affair, not mine. I’m not exactly a tea toddler, you know.”
“Quite clearly!” Edward chimed. Molly elbowed him flirtatiously. Her dress dipped down, showing the deep crease of her bosom. She was not beautiful in feature, but quite astonishing in figure and manner. It was hard not to stare.
“And this is Margaret and Robert Farthington.” The middle-aged couple, tighter in face, rose from the end of the table. “Robert runs a diamond plant in Arkansas,” explained Alex.
“I see you’re acquainted with our stock.” Mr. Farthington winked.
Leonora touched the studs in her ears. “They’re beautiful.” “Then we have the brothers, Ralph and Ronald Hancock. The laziest, wealthiest bastards in New York. What does your family do anyway?” Alex asked, amused.
“White slavery. Opium. Sex. The usual affair,” answered Ralph with a straight face until the table snickered.
Leonora inched closer to Alex and smiled wanly. Every exchange seemed like a carried-over joke that went over her head. Alex pulled out her chair and everyone sat.
Ralph searched the room and his brother’s gaze followed narrowly. They were good-looking men, tan and lean, but their faces looked in a permanent state of contempt even when laughing. Ralph snapped his fingers at one of the waiters along the wall. “I’m fuckin’ starving.”
Molly tapped her ashes into a silver tray, blew a trail of smoke out the side of her mouth. “Have another drink, darling,” she consoled Ralph, then turned languid eyes to Alex, tilting her head. “It’s so nice having our Alex back. We’ve missed you, darling.”
Leonora’s stomach turned uneasy, but Alex seemed unaffected as he leaned smoothly into his chair.
“And how long will we have the pleasure of you in New York?” Molly glanced at Leonora. “Both of you.”
Alex took a sip of wine, irritated. “Depends on the blasted draft.”
“Horrid thing, the draft!” Mr. Farthington chimed, his wife nodding dumbly. “Picking men from numbers! Lining them up side by side as if one were equal to the next.”
Molly leaned her head back, cackled. “A table of cowards! Amen.” She sucked on her cigarette.
“Hardly!” Mr. Farthington blustered. “Someone’s got to watch out for the economy. If we all spill our blood, what’s the use of fighting?”
“Cheers.” Ralph and Ronald raised their glasses.
Edward leaned in, his beak nose flaring at the side with amusement. “Talk all you want of drafts and blood, but we’re all prospering from this war and let no man, or woman, deny it.”
Molly raised her glass for a toast. “To war!”
Leonora stifled a cough with her handkerchief. The tobacco smoke made her eyes water and her throat itch. With every sentence uttered, she felt more and more the uninvited guest. Alex seemed aloof, so engaged in drink and banter that he nearly waved her off with the smoke.
Alex ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his finger along the edge of his glass. “Soon as I get the word that all this draft nonsense is cleared up, I’m heading back. No offense to my dear friends, of course.”
“None taken!” Mr. Farthington laughed. “I’ve been wondering, though. Why did Owen let you out of India? You’re his best manager.”
Edward snickered and winked at Leonora. “I’m sure there are more important partnerships in the pipeline.” Alex and Edward exchanged grins. “Where is the tiger anyway?”
“Tiger?” Leonora asked.
Alex laughed. “The white tiger—your uncle.” Then, addressing the group, “He’s in Harrisburg pulling the strings.”
Leonora turned to him, confused. “I thought he was going to meet us here in the city?”
“He will, dear.” Alex tapped her knee. “The good man wanted to give us a night to settle in first, give us a chance to be alone.” Alex’s gaze rested on her lips. “Nice of him, eh?”
“Kind of chaperone every man dreams of.” Edward licked his lips, the comment sending a cold draft up her dress.
Waiters lined to the table and began laying out a spread of bread, beef tenderloin, gravy, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. “Makes it hardly seem there’s a war on, eh?” Edward flapped his napkin, draped it across his lap.
“Here’s to the poor saps in the trenches!” toasted Ralph.
“May their stupidity bring us glory and wealth!” chimed his brother.
The table erupted in laughter. Leonora dropped her mouth, scanned each guest. “That’s horrible.” Her words rose above the noise of the table. All chatter ceased with the tone.
Alex cleared his throat and smiled to his friends. The top part of his jaw clicked. “It was a joke, darling.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, hid his lips in her hair. “Just shut up and eat.”
They were all strangers, especially Alex, and Leonora wanted to be alone, wanted to be back in that room where everything seemed beautiful and he had been kind, a place where no ugly words had been spoken. She stood to go. “Excuse me.”
Alex grabbed her wrist. “Where are you going?”
It was Molly who spoke. “Oh, I’m afraid we’ve offended dear Leonora with our callousness!” She scanned the table with mock reprimand. “Watch your manners, children. Please sit, Leonora. We were just having a bit of fun. We’ll behave better now; I promise.”
Leonora sat down. The waiter held the tenderloin in front of her, knife ready. “No, thank you.” Alex looked at her coldly but kept quiet.
Molly ignored the plate before her, seemed to feast on the sudden change in mood. “I like her,” she announced. The woman’s lips rose pointedly to one side. “Much sweeter than the others. Prettier, too.”
Alex stopped chewing and glared at Molly, wiped his lips with his napkin.
“So, Leonora,” said Molly, leaning in. “You must share your secret. How did you tame the wild Mr. Harrington?”
“That’s enough, Molly,” Alex warned, no longer smiling.
She ignored him and moved in closer, confidentially. “You are familiar with his reputation, I’m sure.”
Alex stood then. “Ralph, take Molly home. She’s had one too many.”
Ralph took her by the shoulders. “Come on; we’ll get you a cup of your dad’s tea.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Molly shooed his hands away. “I’m simply trying to get to know this lovely lady. Besides, I’m sure she’d like to hear some stories of our friend.”
Alex dropped his napkin. “That’s enough.” His anger was palpable and a nervous shuffling took place. He moved to Molly and with a few other men, despite her protests, escorted her out.
Mrs. Farthington shot a look back at them, swayed against her husband’s shoulder. “I do believe Molly is jealous.” She breathed in her husband’s ear and he turned away disgusted. “She’s always had a bit of a crush on Alex, hasn’t she?”
The men came back soon with Molly nowhere in sight. Conversations and laughter started again, but Alex was distracted, his face dark. He ignored Leonora completely, not even pulling out her chair when the meal ended.
Alex walked her up to the room, did not speak. At the door, he turned. “Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me?” His lips were thin with anger.
Her heart pounded. “Do what?”
“Embarrass me like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
He stepped forward until she retreated against the door handle. He spoke each word with measured threat, his top lip twitching, “Don’t make me look the fool, Leonora. Ever.”
Through the open shutters of the New York hotel room, phases of night, of uprising stars and veering moon, kept her company through the hours of fitful sleep. Dreams bordered on nightmares, sucking in the sounds from outside and distorting them with anxious will.
By morning, she was only dully refreshed, her body jittery. The smell of garbage and old urine snaked above the streets, rose between the stately buildings. The haze from exhaust washed away the dawn. Leonora dressed, found the tea and fruit the butler had unobtrusively left in the sitting room.
A siren wailed a farewell song, for she planned to leave this morning. She tried again to close the leather suitcase against the pyramid of flung clothes. She moved her thoughts to Pittsburgh, and while the home and her aunt brought her no joy, the hospital reached to her like a beacon and she held on to its wide wings as if they were a waiting embrace.
The door to the sitting room slammed. Her nerves iced. A long silence paused until the knob to her bedroom turned and Alex walked in, closed the door and leaned against it, arms folded. He was clean shaven, his hair still damp from bathing, but dark circles lined his eyes. “Good morning,” he greeted formally. “Going somewhere?”
“Home.” Even as she said it, the word didn’t fit. She had no home. The Fairfield mansion was only a building of cold stone and contempt. A wave of sadness suddenly left her weak.
“All right.” Alex moved to the sofa and, to her surprise, pressed against the suitcase until it locked effortlessly. He picked up the handle and set it on the ground. “But not until I have a chance to apologize.”
He sat on the sofa, pulled down his tie, unbuttoned the collar and then massaged his eyebrows with his fingertips. “Sometimes I forget how naïve you are.” She shot him a look and reached for the suitcase.
“Sorry, bad word choice. Sensitive. That’s what I meant.” He patted the seat next to him. “Sit. Please?” It was not a command but a request and she set herself reluctantly, straight spined on the edge of the velvet.
“Your sensitivity is one of the things I love about you. The innocence of it.” He turned to her with soft eyes. “You have to understand that I work around men all day. Not men like your uncle. Men as hard and rough as coal who’d sooner smash a rose with their fist than smell it. It’s easy to forget the sensitivities, the gentleness, of women. I’m sorry I mocked the soldiers.” He put his hand on hers. “We come from very different places, Leonora. We’re going to have to meet in the middle sometimes.”
Leonora stared at the hand on top of hers, felt the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his eyes. There was so much coldness to her life, and the pull to that warmth, to anything not made of ice, drew her heart forward.
“Let’s start over.” Alex stroked the fight away. “Promise me you’ll give me a few more days to make it up to you. If you’re still unhappy, I’ll drive you home myself. Is that a deal?”
She nodded and turned her hand over, squeezed his fingers, let the heat eclipse the cold. Maybe this was how men and women worked. She had never dated before, never known a kiss before Alex’s. Perhaps all men had moods that swung; perhaps she was too sensitive.
Alex sighed and raised her hand to his lips, held it out in front of him, turned it over and etched a line down her palm, the touch so delicate her fingers twitched. “You have the most beautiful hands, Leonora. White. Smooth. Perfect.” He rubbed his thumb over hers. “They remind me of my mother’s.”
His face fell with a memory and her heart opened to his sudden raw pain.
“She died when I was away at boarding school,” he began. “My stepfather never contacted me. I didn’t find out she was dead until I came home for holiday.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. That’s terrible.”
“Par for the course.” He sank his head into his hands and scratched his scalp methodically until he began to laugh. The shift frightened her with its bitterness. “A proud name—Harrington. My mother scrambled to acquire it, then drank herself to death to forget it.”
And then she recognized it. The cold. He had known it, too, had felt it in his life just as she had. And in that moment she understood him. The anger fell away like a feather upon silk. He only needed warmth to chase away the ghosts, the bitterness. He could be kind; she had seen it. He just needed warmth, her warmth.
Leonora reached around his waist, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice. Her heart pounded; he looked as wounded as the torn soldiers in the hospital. She kissed his cheek, tried to turn his face toward her to distract him from the pain. She pressed her lips against his fervently until she felt them soften and bend against her mouth. She slipped her arm under his jacket and slid her nails down his spine. His mouth became urgent with the touch and he raised his shoulders, took her face in his hands, slid his lips to her neck and ran his tongue to the base of her throat. He pulled at the fabric on her shoulder until he found her slip strap and tugged it down her arm, his nail scratching a line of red.
Pressing his face against the crook in her neck, he reached for her breast, squeezed it roughly, pushed it upward until it came loose from the fabric. Her mouth went dry as he sucked it in his mouth and found the nipple. She stiffened. He felt the tension and took it for pleasure, pulling at the nipple with his teeth. Crying out, she tried to pull away, but he clasped his hands to her back, swung her to his open knees and pushed her against him. A hard bulge pressed against her inner thigh. The warmth disappeared and she began to panic under the hands molding her breasts and tried to push away.
A loud knock rattled the room. “Alex, you in there?” Owen Fairfield’s voice rose and fell pleasantly.
“Fuck!” Alex growled into her breast before raising his head. Leonora took the pause to tuck her body parts back into her dress and pull up the straps.
“Anybody home?” called the voice again.
Alex placed his finger to Leonora’s lips, waited until her uncle’s footsteps receded. Alex grunted, adjusted his pants, the mood broken. “Your uncle’s timing is perfect, isn’t it?” He smirked, his words flowing lazily. “Help me with my tie, darling? Sounds like he wants to talk. Hopefully, it’s good news.”
Taking the black tie with shaking fingers, she formed a knot and glided it under his chin. He stood, scanned her body before drawing her against him. “You’ll remind me where we left off?”
She placed a hand on her forehead, stared at the floor. “I’m just going to rest. I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”
“You do look pale.” He kissed her lightly. “Rest, darling. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
She stood in front of the closed door for several minutes. She touched her left breast gingerly, still sore from his fingers and mouth. Inside her body, a pulling had begun; straws of feelings gathered and tightened until they were no longer vague memories and sensations but one emotion. And with the gathering, a truth formed and trailed a subtle power—a knowing. She thought of Alex’s face, how it looked in anger, in mirth, in desire, and the faces melded until she saw him, saw one face. Her nerves settled under this knowing, for she cared for Alex, at times felt great affection for him, even desire. But she also now knew with all certainty and a hint of fear that she did not love him.
Over the next few days, Alex kept his promise and when he wasn’t at a meeting with her uncle he doted on her with attention and affection. If he gathered with his friends and stayed up late with drink, he kept it hidden. And, three nights later, Alex escorted Leonora to a private terrace atop the hotel. The sky rose lavender above the city. Lights flickered from candles, orange and yellow flames elongating across the marble terrace, reflecting the silver urns of fire in a mirage of imitation. Simmering rose drifted and thickened the air like brandy, left Leonora breathless as she scanned the gossamer canopy over their table, the shower of white lilacs hanging over every ledge and railing, softening each angle.
Alex wore a black tuxedo and white bow tie and had never looked more handsome. He pulled out her chair. She could smell his rich cologne with the movement. The waiters disappeared. The weather was neither hot nor cold, but balmy enough to tickle the light fabric of her dress around her crossed ankles. It was perfect.
Leonora’s skin suddenly chilled. It was too perfect, too planned, and what should have been obvious before she even left Pittsburgh became startlingly clear now as Alex rose to his feet, drifted toward her and took her hand. Each of his movements stood out strangely magnified and she watched it all play out before her as helplessly as a dreamer. Her chest sank in steady increments that matched his descent to one bent knee.
“Leonora.” He spoke with sureness and clarity. “I know that we have not known each other for any great length of time, but I knew as soon as I saw you that I had found my wife.”
The word wife brought a fresh wave of panic. She tried to stop the widening of her eyes, tried not to look horrified, but her face was frozen.
“Your beauty and grace, your refined dignity and purity . . . it leaves me breathless.” He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I want nothing more than to spend my life with you.”
Alex reached one hand into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box, opening it slowly to reveal a large oval-cut diamond set in gold and flanked with emeralds. “It belonged to my mother. I can’t think of anyone’s hand more worthy to wear it.” He took a deep pull of air in just as her own lungs stopped. “Leonora Fairfield, will you marry me?”
No. No! The word screamed. She closed her eyes, felt such a fool for not seeing this day was coming. She did not know how long she was silent—a second, a minute—before the words came out. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
He cocked his head, the smile still plastered to his lips. “What?”
“I’m so sorry.” She tried to squeeze his hand, but it was cold and stiff.
“Sorry?” he repeated, still trying to grasp the word. Alex pulled his hand away, shook his head like his ears were filled with water. “You’re saying no?”
She nodded slowly.
“Why the hell not?” he shouted.
Her mind swam in a million directions and yet he stared at her, waiting for an answer. In her silence, his face drained of any tenderness and hardened.
“I know it doesn’t make any sense, Alex.” She floundered for words that wouldn’t hurt and came up empty.
Alex’s eyes narrowed and his knuckles cracked into a fist. “Is there someone else? So help me, I’ll—”
“No! Alex, no.” She shielded her eyes with her hand and pressed her temples. “I just can’t marry you. I’m so sorry.”
A prolonged pause showed real pain in his face before a seething ripple clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. Leonora’s throat closed. “Please don’t be angry.”
“Shut up!” he spit, and raised a hand, pounded it against the air as if it were a wall. “Just . . . shut . . . up!”
Alex looked over the rooflines and snorted. “And would you mind telling me what the last three months were about?” His eyebrows rose to sharpened peaks. “Was this all some kind of game to you?”
Her hands writhed; she lowered her head. Alex flicked her chin up. “Damn it, look at me! What? Did you get a thrill leading me around by the dick all this time?”
The foul speech was rough, violent, and her lips began to tremble. “Please don’t say that.”
“Then why?” he shouted. “Why won’t you marry me?”
This is why! her mind whimpered. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Everything began to shut down and she was a child again, mute, too scared to move.
Finally, Alex pursed his lips and nodded. He pulled his shoulders back and rubbed his palms across his lapels, straightening them. He looked at her then, his lips twisted in disgust. “You’re a fool, Leonora. A damn bloody fool.”
He turned to walk away but stopped at his pulled-out chair, kicked it flying into the air before it landed wounded and shattered across the tiles.
Leonora looked down from her hotel room balcony. Window shutters closed with a click behind her. She took her elbows off the wrought-iron banister, did not turn around. The sweet smell of pipe tobacco joined her before her uncle did. Owen Fairfield smiled over the sea of traffic and took a deep breath of the air.
“I’m not marrying Alex.”
“So I’ve heard.” Owen chuckled. “I suppose he reacted well to the news?” When she didn’t answer, he grew serious and stepped closer to the balcony, leaned on his forearms and made a pyramid with his fingers. “I’m very disappointed.”
“I don’t love him.”
He was quiet for a moment. “The problem with the Western world is we look for fairy tales, Leonora. In India and Asia, almost all of the marriages are arranged. Did you know that? They say those unions end up happier than in countries where men and women choose their own mates.” He looked at his hands. “We carry the word ‘love’ cupped in our palm as if it were something that falls out of the air and needs to be caught. Sometimes it happens that way. Sometimes. But most often, love needs to be grown, added to, watered.” He smiled then with a thought. “Eleanor didn’t marry me because she loved me, Leonora. I knew that then and I know it now. But the love did come, over time. Just like it will with you and Alex. He’s a good match for you, dear. And he loves you. You might not feel the same way now, but you will. I promise.”
“It’s not just that.” She struggled to find the right words and was surprised by the ones that she chose. “There’s a cruel side to him.”
“Alex? Psssh! We’ve kept you too sheltered, I’m afraid. A man must have a few harsh veins, my dear. He’s not a man otherwise.” His tone grew stern. “You’re young in more ways than years, Leonora. Some decisions are better left to your aunt and I.”
She looked at him, aghast. “Are you trying to force me to marry him?”
“No. Of course not.” Owen moved his gaze pensively over the buildings. “I can’t force you to marry anyone. It’s 1917, not 1617, after all.”
She put her hand on his and sought his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down, Uncle. But I’ve made up my mind.”
He turned to her, his face deep with pity. “It won’t stop, Leonora.”
“What won’t stop?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
“Eleanor’s obsession to get you married. She can and will make your life very, very miserable.” He sighed deeply. “This is important to her, Leonora. You marrying Alex. She will take away everything from you, dominate your life until you’re clutching the first proposal that comes your way, just to escape. Alex is a good man. The next offer might not be as promising.”
She cringed at his words, the truth of them, knowing her aunt’s wrath. Even worse was her uncle’s passivity, as if he had nothing more to do with her treatment than the paint on the wall.
Owen read her thoughts, the soft parts around his eyes wrinkling, aging him. “I’m a weak man, my dear—weak when it comes to my wife. I love her, Leonora.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “There are things about your aunt that you don’t know—things about her past, about what she has endured in her life. I don’t think you could ever imagine what she’s been through.” He shook his head. “She would die if I told anyone and I’ll keep her secret to the grave. Even from you, I’m afraid.”
His eyes moistened. “I’m only sharing this with you because I would do anything to keep her happy. Anything. When she is upset, she panics and the old memories flood her.” Owen combed his beard with his fingertips. “I’m not a fool. I know she hasn’t made life easy for you. She can be cruel. If you don’t marry Alex, I won’t be able to protect you.”
You’ve never protected me! Her head swirled; her stomach hurt.
Suddenly, his whole figure transformed. He chuckled and seemed at peace again and she couldn’t keep up. “My dear, life is about compromise. It’s all about choices, weighing the benefits against the losses. It applies to business but works equally well in relationships.” He paused, his eyes boring into her. “If you agree to marry Alex, I am prepared to offer you something in return.”
The gears in her mind sped. What could he possibly offer that would make her change her mind? “The hospital?” she sputtered. “You think I would agree to marry Alex just so I could continue working at the hospital?”
He laughed heartily. “You dear girl! I’m talking about holy matrimony! Working eight-hour shifts cleaning bedpans? Huh! That would hardly be a fair trade. I never understood your devotion to begin with. No, I can offer you something much bigger, more important, than that.”
She shook her head, frustrated, tired of having her brain manipulated. Then he shifted again like the phase of the moon and stepped toward her, placed his palms on her cheeks. His voice came out very soft. “Don’t forget I know you. I knew you before you became my niece. I know your history.” His eyes burned. “I know where you came from.”
Panic filled her. The mere mention of the subject chilled her blood. Her eyes blinked and she wanted to run away, the fear completely automatic after a lifetime of threats.
His voice quaked with remorse. “We took so much from you, dear child. But I can give you something back.” He pleaded, “If you marry Alex, I can give you a piece of your past. A part of you that you lost . . . that we took away from you so long ago. I don’t believe you will be disappointed.
“Remember, with Alex you have a chance, a real chance at happiness.” Owen pulled out his gold watch, checked the time. “Just think about what I’ve said. The choice is yours.”