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Every day, I curse Gerry for what he's done to me, for what he's done to my relationship with Matthias. But I can't be with Matthias knowing that one way or another, something is about to rock our relationship to the core. Maybe I'm checking out so that when it happens, somehow, I'm still going to be able to survive it.
But it hurts.
It aches knowing he's just within reach, but that he was never really mine.
But I know now, I am his.
Completely, utterly, desperately.
And I always will be.
There's a knock on the door and Clementine calls out to me.
"Mr. Baxter is here to see you."
My body reacts before my brain does and I leap to my feet before I remember that I'm trying to distance myself from him. I smooth my hands over my dress and follow Clementine out, preparing my face for when I see him.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Gerry.
If I had a gun, I would shoot him. Right between the eyes the pop a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
"Please leave," I say, keeping my voice down. But I don't want him here. In this place that had become my safe space.
"I won't be here long, I just wanted to remind you that the time to make a choice is coming. Clock is ticking."
"I told you, I'm not doing anything to help you take Matthias down. He hasn't done anything wrong."
Gerry sneers. "But he will, sweetheart, he will."
He looks around, running his finger along my name on the door. "This is such a lovely place. I think I might book a regular table here. Just think, we'll be able to see each other every night, wouldn't you like that?"
Then he leaves.
And the room swirls around me.
I grab the hostess's podium but it doesn't help. I slip to the ground, my brain forgetting how to breathe.
Chapter 36
Matthias
"Faster,Kevin,forfuckssake!" I shout, heart frantic.
"Yes, sir, there's a lot of traffic."
"I'm sorry... fuck! I'm going to run." I jump out of the car, it's only another four blocks, the call from Clementine still ringing in my ears,"You need to come, something's wrong with Clarissa."
I'd been on the way to the airport, and made Kevin turn the car around.
It's probably another anxiety attack, but she hasn't been telling me if she's been having them since we stopped really talking. She shouldn't have to go through it alone.
My lungs threaten to explode in my chest as I run to the club, pumping my arms, the heat bearing down on my back as I sprint.
"Where is she?!" I yell when I get to the club.
"She's in her office, she crawled in there and won't open the doo—"
