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Mason shook his head. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Then ask me to stay and I’m yours. Libby’s too. We could make it work, I think. She’s sweet and giving and…” What was he saying? What was he suggesting? The hope that showed in Mase’s eyes wasn’t fair to any of them. Mase was right. They couldn’t make these decisions without Liberty. He was having an affair with her husband. What they were currently doing suddenly appeared very different from what the three of them shared last night.
Today there were intimacies that had remained closeted the night before. There was an entire plane of emotions laced with a complex past that Liberty had no idea about. It wasn’t fair to discuss these things without her there. He hated the sense that he was somehow betraying her at the moment. He would never have Mase again without her acceptance. Oddly, Sean wanted her acceptance as much as he wanted Mason’s. He loved them both. Staggered by the realization, Sean looked up at Mason, finally understanding the pain and fear, the incredible agony of surrendering to love.
He cupped his palm over the rough edge of Mason’s jaw and smiled sadly. “We have to stop.”
* * * *
Liberty stumbled back from the bedroom door and dropped the pile of linens onto the white carpet. What had she just witnessed? That wasn’t lust, as she assumed the night before. It was love, love rooted in a foundation she knew nothing about, love that stood apart from her and Mason’s.
The pain etched on Mason’s face told her he was breaking apart, torn in two directions. Her husband was in love with Sean. How could she have been so stupid? She’d never seen even the slightest evidence of Mason finding other men attractive until she witnessed him with Sean.
There was more than arousal fueling those desires that had come in to play in the past few days. This was bigger than that. This was a history she had no idea existed. She felt foolish and betrayed, and at the same time terrified she would be cast aside.
Biting her knuckles to stifle a sob, she quickly turned and rushed down the hall until she gained the stairs. Her frantic steps didn’t stop until her feet crossed the threshold of the guest room on the third floor. Looking back at the empty hallway, she quietly closed the door and turned the key.
Liberty’s body hit the wall with a thud as she staggered backward. Her spine slid down the surface until her bottom came into contact with the hard floor. She stared around the perfect room, taking comfort in its precise display.
Whitewashed wood floors gleamed without the slightest fleck of dust. Pristine ivory carpet fit the square room with perfectly measured angles. The thick button upholstery of the white headboard delineated the various monochromatic throw pillows. Everything was clean and perfect and pure. From the glossy white framed mirror to the chic crystal chandelier, to the Irish lace curtains filtering in the white rays of sunshine, there wasn’t a single impure mark. Then her eyes landed on the pristine mantel painted a pale shade of eggshell. There, centered beneath, like a gaping sore was the black fireplace. A stain upon an angel’s wings. She was that stain.
Liberty looked down at her white linen pants and examined her pale polished toes. No matter how hard she tried to wash out her boldness, it remained, that same darkness seeping from her pores. Three tiers of metal, three crystal beads, three shiny bulbs, three dressed windows, three round pillows, three white sconces, one chipped toenail.
She shouted, her voice hoarse as she reached for an object to throw, an object that wasn’t there. Her fingers went to her one imperfect nail. She slid the tip of her fingernail under the scale of hard polish and chipped away the remainder until there was nothing but natural peach showing through. Nine perfectly painted toes, one misfit.
Looking down at the mess she made, she quickly stood. She wouldn’t get on her hands and knees to clean up those microscopic flecks of chipped paint. No!
Whirling around, she marched into the bathroom of the guestroom. Under a curtain of draped gossamer, sat a porcelain claw tub. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Her shoulders trembled.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
Her eyes molested the white curves of the tub, its purifying purpose seducing her demons without effort. One drop, one turn of the wrist, and the water could flow. She could take off her clothes and climb into the scalding water and immerse herself and wash it all away. A taste of serenity, a baptism that would cleanse her of the devil’s fingerprints, the pain would be so good. Pictures of patches of pink flesh played in her mind as shivers twitched her limbs. She could make the hurt go away. She could own it, control it…nine perfect toes.
