C2, PT. 3

When her lungs burned for air, she surfaced and scanned the bathroom, but she was alone. Her eyes settled on the tray and the food that was going cold. She eyed the empty doorway before she reached for toast. A minute later, she leaned over to fork up mushrooms. Eventually, she got up so she could set the tray on the lip of the tub. Her eyes were trained on the doorway that led into the bedroom, but Roth didn’t reappear. Hopefully, there was an emergency he had to tend to. Even though she hoped she was right, she left the tub long before the water cooled. On the off chance that Roth was still around, she wanted to face him fully clothed.

She slipped into a robe, which was damp and smelled like him. She ignored that and the fact that it dragged on the ground as she went into the bedroom, hoping her luggage had been delivered. No such luck. She eyed the closet. It was either face him naked, stay in this wet robe, or borrow something of his. She entered the closet, hoping Roth had a sweater or thick long sleeve that could pass for a dress on her.

When the light clicked on, she stilled when she saw the colorful, feminine wardrobe that seemed to have appeared out of thin air across from the muted color palette of his business attire. Two weeks ago, this side of the closet was empty, and now it was filled to the brim with accessories and handbags. There were three dozen pairs of shoes in individual cubbies with fancy lighting. She reached out to inspect the tag on one of the dresses, not because she cared about the designer or price, but to check the size. Her brows came together in a frown. Roth must have gone through her clothes at some point and relayed her size to a personal shopper.

She ran her hand along the fine fabrics of the elegant, shimmery gowns, and couldn’t help but admire the lush winter coats that had been provided. Never in a million years had she imagined that Roth, the man who attended her father’s party in work boots and jeans, would supply an extravagant, top of the line wardrobe for her. Image used to mean little to him, but this was a different Roth, one who ensured his prop was ready to be put on display at a moment’s notice.

She opened a drawer and ignored the assortment of sexy underwear and nightgowns she would never wear. She was looking for something drab and comfortable, and coming up empty-handed. In the last drawer, at the bottom of a stack of clothes, she found Burberry jogging pants and a matching hoodie. It wasn’t drab, but it definitely looked comfortable. At least Roth’s personal shopper had mercy on her and bought her one outfit to lounge in.

She examined herself in the full-length mirror. The bottoms fit a little too well. She would have preferred a size bigger, but the oversized sweater made up for the snug pants. She pulled on a pair of patterned socks before she went to the bathroom to fix her tangled hair.

Her eyes were swollen, with dark circles beneath. That was no surprise after days of little sleep and their brawl last night. The soak and painkillers eased her aches, but she was still sluggish. She needed something significantly more potent than the tea that accompanied breakfast.

She walked back into the bedroom and spotted a lone chair facing the bed. A chill of foreboding trickled down her spine. He’d been waiting for her to wake. Did he plan to take advantage of her exhaustion and fragile mental state by manipulating her somehow? Her stomach curdled with anxiety, threatening to expel the food she just consumed. He pushed and shoved her to the breaking point and when she shattered, he comforted her. He was sick. She wasn’t sure how much more of his scheming she could stomach.

This man bore no resemblance to the one who had treated her with such care when they first met. That man was a figment of her imagination, a character Roth created to con her into marriage and a life of desolate misery. Now, there were no pretenses between them. No guises to hide behind and no need to play the nice guy with their deal in place. The reality of the man she was dealing with, who she had entrusted with her life, made her feel as if she were in free fall.

When she left the bedroom, she found the hallway deserted. The penthouse was so quiet that her cushioned footfalls seemed strangely loud. The great room looked as tidy as it always did, pillows lined up in perfect rows as if no one really lived here, and on second thought, no one really did. A splash of color in the entry hall caught her eye. She rushed toward their suitcases (one was his, six were hers). She considered rummaging for one of the sweaters she got in Denmark, but she had no idea what bag it was in. Instead, she retrieved her phone and peered down the hallway. The door to Roth’s office was open, but she didn’t hear the rumble of his voice or the tap of computer keys. Hopefully, he’d taken off. On that cheerful thought, she tiptoed down another hallway, grateful she didn’t have to pass his office to access the kitchen.

Brilliant sunlight bounced off glossy countertops and cabinets. The sky was an unreal, perfect blue, with no trace of last night’s storm that had raged just as furiously as they had. The counters held no appliances, which made her search the cabinets for a coffee maker or espresso machine. She jumped when her phone rang. Desperate to make it stop, she snatched it out of her pocket and answered without looking to see who it was.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Minnie?”

She straightened. “Ariana?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No, I…” She hoped the thick walls and distance kept him from hearing the call if he was still in the penthouse. “Roth’s working. I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh! Should I let you go?”

“No, um…” She pinched the bridge of her nose as Roth’s claim about her sister replayed in her mind. She’s been abusing prescription drugs for years. She’s been trying to kick her habit, but she relapsed half a dozen times this year. “How are you?”

“Probably not as good as you,” Ariana said wryly. “Where are you?”

“Back in London.”

“Does that mean you’ll make it back in time for Thanksgiving?”

“Roth told Lyle we would be, but…” She resumed her search for any machine that could produce her elixir of life. Roth loved coffee as much as she did. She refused to believe he didn’t have a freaking gold French press or something. “Roth’s running behind on his meetings. I’ll let you know when we’re back in the States.”

“I hope you can make it. Colette’s hosting, and she’s going all out since it’s Polara’s first holiday. She used to be as annoyed as Dad about any event that interfered with work, and now…” Ariana let out a shaky breath. “Things are so different.”

Her hand tightened on the phone. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You sound like you have a cold or something.”

“It’s allergies.”

She waited and even checked the phone to make sure her sister was still on the line before she murmured, “Ari?”

Her sister’s voice was a tad muffled as she admitted, “I’m not having the best day.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just realized it’s ten weeks today.”

“Ten…?” she echoed, bewildered, before realization hit.

“Minnie?” When she didn’t answer, Ariana sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

She grappled for control as grief clawed at her throat. First Roth and now Ariana was putting her through the wringer without letting her get her bearings or a hit of caffeine first.

“Colette was discussing the menu and asked for my opinion on the wine selection. I asked if she had a bottle of Dad’s favorite Scotch before I remembered.” Ariana let out a strained laugh. “It’s not like we celebrated a ton of holidays together, but it hit me that he wouldn’t be there and I…” Ariana’s breath hitched before she finished, “I didn’t mean to bother you with this. You’re on your honeymoon. This is the last thing you need.”

“You aren’t bothering me at all. If you need to talk, call me anytime.” She frowned and calculated the time difference, before she said, “What the hell are you doing up, anyway?”

“I had some work to catch up on.”

“At three in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get a jump start on my to-do list. It’s been challenging fulfilling my role and Colette’s.” A pause and then, “Not that I can’t handle it. We’re just going through a rough patch.”

“What kind of rough patch?”

She and Roth had a deal. He said he would help her sister’s out of the rut they were in. If he wasn’t doing his part…

“Roth gave us some notes that Colette suggested I implement immediately. It’s turned the office upside down, but I’m confident we’re through the worst of it and everything will settle in a week or two.” When Jasmine didn’t comment, Ariana’s chipper voice flattened. “There’s been so much change, personally and professionally. Roth’s input in the company, losing Dad, Colette giving birth, you remarrying… It’s been so hectic. I’ve never been so unsure of myself, so… I don’t know. I haven’t been myself lately.”

Her pulse quickened. “I can help. Whatever you need.”

Ariana let out a watery chuckle. “I don’t think Roth would appreciate me taking up your spare time.”

“He wouldn’t mind at all,” she denied, and jolted when she saw a large shadow out of the corner of her eye. She glared at Roth, who leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to her side of the conversation.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Ariana sounded weary and amused. “I hope you make it back in time for Thanksgiving. Kye and Bailey have been missing you.”

She bowed her head, letting her hair swing forward to shield her face. “Tell them I’ll see them soon.”

“Will do. I should get back to work. Thanks for the chat. Have fun in London for me!”

Her sister’s forced cheer made her wince. She was glad that Ariana hung up before she had to respond. Her voice would have betrayed her tenuous hold on her emotions. She stood there for a moment, wrangling the grief that threatened to drag her under. She didn’t have time to indulge in a crying spell over her father, not with his greatest foe watching, ready to pounce on any hint of weakness. Ten weeks he’d been gone. Was that all? It seemed like a year ago. How had she made such a mess of her life in such a short time?

“Who was that?”

“Ariana.”

“She’s asking you for help?”

The chill in his tone made her stiffen. “No. She just wanted to talk.”

He didn’t comment, he just waited. Knowing he recorded all of her calls, she grudgingly elaborated.

“She’s been working overtime, implementing the changes you suggested.”

“They needed to restructure.” His voice was as unyielding as his expression. “They should have done it years ago. It’ll reduce cost and improve productivity and efficiency.”

“I’m sure it will,” she said with a tight smile.

His eyes narrowed. “If your sisters need assistance, they should come to me.”

“She didn’t ask for assistance. She’s having a bad day.” When his brows drew together in a forbidding frown, she hastily tacked on, “She’s being spread thin since she’s taken on her and Colette’s duties. I offered to help.”

He pushed off the doorjamb and started toward her. “Hennessy & Co doesn’t exist for you. You haven’t been involved in eight years. You’re not about to start now.”

She scowled. “I have my degree. I know what’s required—”

“But instead of following in your family’s footsteps, you chose to become a writer, and married me to steer the company in the right direction.” He stopped before her, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Leave it to me, princess. Don’t interfere.”

“I’m not trying to interfere,” she grumbled. “I want to help.”

“You are.” He fingered the ends of her wet hair that she’d carelessly slicked back. “Through you, they get me. I know what I’m doing.”

She wanted to argue, but knew he was right. He was ten times (perhaps more) effective than she would ever be.

She stared at his throat as his fingers sifted through her hair. His touch was soothing, hypnotic. Her body associated touch with genuine affection. It couldn’t comprehend that he was using her love language to lull her into a false sense of security. She should step back, but retreat would incite him to pounce, so she endured and fought the urge to bury her face in his chest and cry.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute. 

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