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Chase wasn't a subtle man. He was dominant, forceful, quiet, and controlled, but he wasn't subtle. If he had wanted more from her, he would have demanded it.
And really, could she blame him for not wanting more? Her anger and outrage two years before had risked his reputation as well as the reputations of the men and women it was his job to protect. And when she had retracted her statements, she had moved out of society as much as possible, disillusioned with the friends she had thought she had, suddenly left adrift and uncertain which way to turn.
So she had hidden. Here in this huge, lonely apartment, she had hidden and forced herself to be content with it. Because the wounds had gone so deep, had been so ragged, that she'd had no idea how to heal them.
The night Drew had come to her with champagne and flowers, wanting to repair the rift that had opened between them, she had wanted to believe him. She didn't handle champagne well, or any alcohol, actually; her tolerance was very low. It hadn't taken him long to get her drunk enough that she was dazed and confused.
When he had carried her into their bedroom, she had felt like a princess. When he undressed her, she had closed her eyes and imagined love. And then she had felt another man's hands.
She shook the memory away. The horror of her husband and another man holding her in her bed. Drew holding her down as she fought, as she cried and begged them to let her go.
It had finally been the third who had stepped away, then tore her husband away from her long enough for her to escape into the bathroom, where she locked herself in, sobbing in fear. It had been that third, and she still didn't know who he had been, who had argued in the bedroom with her husband, nearly fought, she believed, before he slammed out of the room. And it was only minutes later that her father had arrived, apartment security behind him, responding to a call that his daughter was in trouble.
Drew had never told her who that third person was. When her father arrived at the apartment, one of his security personnel from the company headquarters accompanying him, Drew had been enraged.
Her father had been coldly, dangerously furious. He had wrapped her in his jacket, wrapped his arms around her shaking body, and he had taken her back to the home she had been raised in.
Her parents had sheltered her for as long as they could. She had used her father's lawyer, Lenore Zimmer, to file for divorce from Drew. Lenore had made certain Drew was out of the home before Kia returned, that he paid the bills until the divorce was final. She had been a godsend to Kia. But nothing, no amount of comforting, no settlement amount, could make up for the knowledge that her dearest friend, Rebecca, had been telling everyone she knew the information Kia had given her while she had been practically in shock and struggling to understand why her husband had attempted to hurt her as he had.
Everyone does it, Drew had screamed at the bathroom door. That bitch Tessa Andrews you think so highly of, her husband is one of the head members. That son of a bitch you eat with your eyes every chance you get, Chase Falladay, all our fucking friends, you stupid bitch. Why the hell do you think I've been encouraging those friendships?
And he had. There had been Tally Rafferty, Ella Wyman, so many others. People she knew but had never been friends with, people she couldn't imagine living the lifestyle he had attempted to force her into.
As she rubbed at her cold arms and stepped back into the apartment, she admitted she couldn't truly blame Chase for what she was feeling right now. Perhaps she expected too much from him, as Drew had accused her of expecting too much of him.
It wasn't his place to fill her bed at night. To hold back the cold. He hadn't made her any promises, she thought sadly, closing the doors behind her. He had promised her pleasure, and he had delivered well on that promise. She had no right to ask anything more of him.
So where did that leave her? At this rate, if she didn't get her head straight and figure her own life out, then she was going to become old and bitter before her time. Twenty-six was much too young to give up on life or having friends entirely.
Chase had taught her that. Through the pleasure he gave her, the warmth that surrounded her when he gave it, and the cold that filled her when he left, he had shown her she couldn't live in such isolation. And she was tired of being alone.
She could have friends. It just might take her a while to find the right friends, she thought. And those friends only needed to know the most basic information about her. Anything about her marriage or her divorce, she didn't have to answer. She didn't want to answer.
She had made a mistake two years before. She had hid, licked her wounds, and tried to make sense of what happened in her life. There was no making sense of it. She should have picked herself up, held her head high, and forced herself to remain a part of the world she and Drew had inhabited.
But now, how to fix the problem? Perhaps her mother could help. Wasn't she forever inviting Kia to lunch or dinner with her and her friends? They were older, yes, but invitations were still invitations.
As she frowned at that thought, the doorbell chimed.
Kia's head jerked to the door. Few people came to her apartment. Her parents always called first.
Chase?
She moved to the door, lifted herself to her tiptoes, and stared into the peephole before pulling back, biting her lip, and wondering why the hell they were out there.
The sound chimed again.
/> Disengaging the lock, Kia opened the door slowly and stood back, staring at the pair in confusion. Ella Wyman and Tessa Andrews were dressed for shopping. Shopping was a serious game in Alexandria. Flat-soled shoes for Ella, low-heeled pumps for Tess. They each wore slacks and stylish camp shirts and carried larger purses.
"Can I help you?" She was standing in her robe, her hair mussed, her feet pushed into ugly fuzzy mules, staring back at the two of them in confusion.
"Yes, darling, you can move back so we can come in. " Ella smiled at her gently, her gray eyes twinkling in a face that appeared much younger than what Kia knew her actual age was. Ella Wyman was forty-four years old, several years older than her handsome, charming second husband, James.
Kia moved back slowly.
"She looks like we've come to lynch her up, Mom," Tessa's low laughter passed Kia as they entered the apartment.
Ella stopped just inside the foyer. She stared at the couch, the low gas fire, and read much more into it than Kia would have appreciated her knowing.
