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She lets out a dramatic sigh and crosses her arms over her chest defensively as she starts to pace her living room. I know she knows I’m right. We already talked to Detective Lundgren about the incident at the restaurant and he continues to say there’s nothing he can do – this time it’s because we were in a public place and when Robert saw us, he left to avoid violating the restraining order.
I tried to tell him the truth is that Robert left because he knew he was going to get his ass kicked. Lundgren wasn’t having it, though. He told me once again that until we have proof of Robert doing something provocative or threatening, there is nothing that can be done. He continues to claim his hands are legally tied.
So, without any options, and Robert starting to get bolder, more aggressive, and more threatening, I see no other options right now than to hide Emily at a corporate condo until somehow, some way, we can get that son of a bitch off the street.
“If we’re done with the pointless argument now, go and pack your things,” I direct her. “Enough for an extended stay, since we don’t know how long this is going to be.”
Emily is clearly pissed off about me barking orders at her. Although, I think she’s even more pissed off that I’m right. She’s a headstrong, proud woman who’s never going to admit it. Instead, she growls and mutters underneath her breath as she heads toward her bedroom to pack – that’s about as much of an acknowledgement that I’m right as I’m going to get.
Almost half an hour later, she comes back out with several bags and drops them at my feet. She stares at me with baleful eyes.
“Since you’re forcing me to go, you can carry my bags,” she commands.
I chuckle softly. “It would be my pleasure.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emily
I consented to being moved out of my home and into a strange condo – not that I had any choice in the matter. But I didn’t consent to having a large, goonish man shadowing me every step of the way. Aaron, in his infinite wisdom, somehow thought I’d be okay with him having a bodyguard hovering over me twenty-four hours a day.
In addition to this behemoth man following me around, Aaron has somebody who comes in to replenish the groceries, a personal chef to come in and cook for me, and a driver who shuttles me everywhere I need to go. I feel like a damn invalid. Or a child who needs to be babysat twenty-four hours a day.
I know he’s trying to do what he feels is right. I know he’s doing what he feels is in my best interest, as well as the best interest of our child, but I don’t like being pushed around and bullied. I don’t like being told what to do. And I sure as hell don’t like feeling as if I’m under house arrest.
But most of all, I don’t like this feeling of uncertainty I’m still carrying around in my belly – or in my heart. Aaron and I were growing closer together. I really thought we were moving forward – together. For the first time in my life, I really felt like I’d found somebody I connected with. Somebody who got me. Who understood me. I really believed I found that missing piece to my personal puzzle.
The fact that he’s distanced himself from me, that he can’t bring himself to commit to me and to raising our child together, hurt me more than I ever expected it would. Maybe I expected too much of him. Maybe I expect too much from everybody. I have no idea. All I know for sure is that nobody has ever hurt me the way he did.
I’m doing all I can to remain calm about it and not show just how much it’s affecting me. That’s not going to do either of us any good. If he doesn’t want to be with me or wants to be with me simply because he feels obligated to be with me now that I’m pregnant, that’s a relationship I don’t want. That’s not somebody I want to be with.
I want to be with somebody – no, I need to be with somebody – who values me as a person. I want to be with somebody who wants to be with me because they care for me. Not just out of some misguided, old-fashioned and misogynistic sense of duty.
I deserve that. I deserve to be with somebody who will treasure and cherish me. And I’m not willing to accept anything less. Nor should I have to.
I’m sitting at my desk sorting through a billion emails and the pile of written letters I screen for Aaron. I still have a job to do – at least for now. I have no idea what’s going to happen. For all I know, Aaron could walk in here and fire me today. And given my current situation, I need to keep this job as long as I can – uncomfortable as hell though it will certainly be. At least until I can find something comparable and get out of here.
I don’t have a choice but to keep working here, since it’s looking like I’m going to be a single mom. Some people might think that’s a fatalistic way of looking at things, but I think it’s just realistic. If Aaron really was interested in being a dad and raising a family with me, he wouldn’t have pulled away from me the way he has. He would have made his intentions – or at least, his interest in raising a family – clear.
He hasn’t. And I think his hesitance tells me all I need to know.
Trying to get myself focused and my head back on straight, I shuffle through the massive pile of Aaron’s correspondence that’s built up on my desk over the last few days. Most of it is the usual crap – nothing too pressing or important. I toss a lot of it in the recycle bin and sort out the others by subject and importance.
I stop when I get to a large manila envelope bearing a Los Angeles address. A flutter of nerves rush through me when I tear it open and look inside. I pull out a pre-stamped and pre-addressed envelope as well as a copy of what’s inside the envelope – our marriage certificate.
As unbelievable as it sounds, with everything going on, I’d back-burnered it so hard, I’d completely forgotten about it – about us getting married out there. It was so absurd to begin with that it doesn’t seem real. Not just that, but the fact that it was a lark – something that, once we realized what we’d done, agreed to not go through with – made it seem all the less important and easy to let slip from my mind.
As I look at the paper, memories of everything we did in Vegas flash through my mind. As I recall our time together, I can’t keep the smile off my face. The day or so we spent out there was good. It was better than good. For the first time in my life, I felt – special. I felt wanted – and for more than just sex.
As with all dreams, though – especially the best ones – it ended. We came crashing back down to earth in a fiery heap. And as I’m learning again and again in my life, the hard dose of reality that comes with the real world isn’t all that great.
The faint smile that touched my lips when I found the marriage certificate swiftly fades and I drop the copy onto my desk. I look at the sealed envelope, all ready to be mailed, for a long moment, and then with a sigh, toss it onto a small pile in a basket I keep on the corner of my desk. I’ll run it all through the shredder later. No sense in hanging onto it for posterity.
And once it’s shredded, it’ll be like it never happened. Our frivolous, drunken mistake will be erased forever.
My cell phone rings, pulling me back to the here and now. Grabbing it out of my bag, I check the display and see that it’s coming from Olivia. We haven’t spoken in a couple of days, and there’s a lot I need to catch her up on. I’ve been meaning to call her, but things have been pretty – hectic, to say the least. She’s probably calling to read me the riot act for going incommunicado on her.
Connecting the call, I hold the phone to my ear. “Hey,” I greet her.
