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‘Are you going to hurt him?’
‘That’s up to him.’
I cover my face with my hands. I can’t help feeling so guilty. That all of this is my fault.
‘I should have walked away from Lenny first. And then come to you. How stupid I’ve been,’ I sob.
He pulls my hands away from my face. ‘I couldn’t have waited that long. This is not your fault. I chased you. You were minding your own business. I knew what I was getting into.’
‘Nobody’s going to get hurt?’
‘Unless someone fucking asks for it,’ he says.
‘Promise?’
He smiles a little sadly. ‘Promise. Now go put on one of your new dresses. I’m taking you out on the town.’
I slip on a knee-length black dress with diamante straps, a tight bodice and a flaring skirt and go out to meet him in the living room.
He smiles softly. ‘Beautiful. Just beautiful,’ he says with great satisfaction in his voice.
We go out to dinner at Layla’s husband’s restaurant. Again we are treated as if we are VIPs. Nothing is too much trouble. The food is excellent and Shane is courteous and attentive, but he seems distant and preoccupied. And I realize that since my meltdown last night we haven’t had sex.
I start to wonder if Lenny was right. Knowing I have been gang raped would put even the most persistent man off. I start looking for little signs of change in his behavior. Is he looking at that woman? Why is he not reaching for my hand? Did he just avoid my eyes?
Then why is he helping me? Is it because he is just a nice guy and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings? The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that ever since last night he is definitely more distant. He has hardly touched me all day and all throughout our meal.
A woman comes up to him.
‘Shane,’ she coos.
‘Bella,’ he replies coldly.
‘You were going to call me,’ she says, one beautifully plucked eyebrow raised.
I feel a burning in my gut. What a cheek? I am sitting here and she is hitting on my man. That brings me up short. Maybe he is not my man. And the thought brings tearing pain. For a year I felt no pain at all no matter what someone did or said, and now the ability to feel something more than just baffled sorrow at what happened to me that day in the hotel room is back. My body is responding to external stimulai again.
Shane shrugs his wide shoulders in a gesture of casual disdain. ‘I figured that if I didn’t call back you’d get the message.’
She turns to me. ‘Don’t gloat too much honey. He’ll do the same to you one day.’ Her voice is acid.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
‘Sharpen your claws elsewhere, Bella,’ he says menacingly, rising to his feet. A gesture meant to dominate by his sheer height and presence.
‘Fuck you both,’ she spits, and flounces away.
Shane resumes his seat. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says, his eyes seeking mine.
‘It’s OK,’ I say lightly, but Bella’s words are burned into my mind.
After dinner, Shane takes me to a club called Gibran.
‘I’ve got to see someone quickly,’ he tells me.
There is a long queue outside, but he leads me to the front and the bouncers come forward quickly.
‘Good evening, Mr. Eden,’ they greet politely, unhooking the red ropes, and standing back respectfully.
