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Taking a deep breath, Anton seemed to steady himself. “So that was my childhood. Nothing special. Lots of people have it worse. And I was lucky enough to be just smart enough to get through school without a lot of studying. I don't know. Maybe I did well because it was the only place where no one was screaming all the time. When I was sixteen I left and stayed with a friend. His house wasn't that much better, but...” He trailed off, a faint, humorless smile on his face. “He did have an older sister.”
He wouldn't look at me. “You can perhaps infer our relationship. We fucked on the sly, and one day she asked me to spank her, because she'd heard it was hot. She didn't like it. I did.” He shrugged, as if that was all there was to say to that. “I liked having control over things in the bedroom. It was the only thing I felt like I could control. You learned to be whatever someone wanted you to be in my house if you didn't want to get hit, and I could control myself, but controlling other people... it was like a drug. With domination, you control the environment. No screaming. No yelling. No hitting.” He smiled again. “Not unless they want you to, anyway.”
I squirmed, remembering the spankings Anton had given me. I was glad I enjoyed it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have this opportunity.
“Once I was done with school I left those people behind. I changed my name. You don't want to hear the boring details, but being a control freak and a charming man gets you pretty far in the world of business, in case you hadn't figured that out. The problem was that I wasn't really me anymore. Or perhaps I didn't know who I was to begin with. When I came to New York, I told myself I would try to build a new identity. I'd throw myself into the city, and I'd make this place my home. It's about as far from the backwards redneck part of Florida you can get without moving to somewhere like Amsterdam. This...” He gestured around us at the art he had collected. “This is part of that. I wanted New York to be the place where I was most comfortable. I wanted to be a New Yorker. You can lose yourself here and become someone completely new. So after I started making money I started turning myself into a New Yorker, going to clubs and using the subway even when I didn't have to and drinking coffee in local shops and patronizing local artists... I just wanted to become Anton Waters, whoever that was.”
He heaved a sigh. “I don't think I've done very well. I still feel out of place. But after I started buying up pieces from local artists, I found I liked them. They are exactly what I need to see. Different every time I look at them, because I'm different every time I look at them. Sometimes it's the only way I know that the person I am inside changes. Sometimes it's the only way I know there's someone in there, choosing which mask to wear.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “So that's it. Fairly boring, I think. Love makes people stupid, and loud. Getting emotionally involved... it's not safe. Obligation is a terrible thing when you don't want it. My family taught me that. I was just an obligation they didn't need.”
My eyes stung. I was the same for my father, but in a different way. And my mother... I was her crutch. Too much need was just as bad as too little, in its own way.
“That's why you didn't want the hassle of finding someone who would just... be a trophy wife?”
He shook his head. “I didn't want a trophy wife, I wanted a real wife. But falling in love...” He seemed to shudder. “That's why our contract was so exacting. I didn't want you to feel as though you owed me anything and start resenting me. But I truly did want a wife. It's just hard to get a wife when you don't want to fall in love.” That faint smile crossed his face, and I realized, for the first time, that he was laughing at himself, at what he thought was his own ridiculousness.
“Didn't... didn't you try therapy?” I said. “That could help.”
His smile widened. “I'm sure it could, if I could stop fucking my therapists. Whenever the questions get too probing I get desperate and out of control. I hate that. So I fuck them.” He shrugged. “And then they aren't very good therapists any more.”
My heart hurt. “And why did you want a wife?” I asked him.
He turned and looked at me. His green eyes were so deep, so intense. Just like the eyes I gave him in my sculpture. I wanted to fall into them.
“I wanted someone to give a shit about me, I suppose,” he said. I heard the lump in his throat. It was the most raw and honest thing I'd ever heard him say.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. “I give a shit about you,” I said.
His smile turned wry. “I know you do, Felicia. I give a shit about you, too.”
We're so romantic. They should make movies about us.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Then I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him so fiercely he started to cough. Only when he tapped my shoulder did I back off.
I pulled back, but not too far. His face hovered in front of me, warm and full-lipped, beautiful and guarded. Reaching up, I wove my fingers through his luxurious hair and pulled him down until our foreheads touched.
“Anton,” I said, “I don't want a marriage of convenience. I think we're beyond that now, anyway.”
He swallowed. “Yes. Most likely.?
? He paused. “Your piece... the piece you just made... that was us, wasn't it?”
I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Yup.”
“It was amazing. Sadie made sure I saw all the best pictures.” He sighed. “Is that how you truly feel?”
I nodded against him.
“It was amazing,” he said again. For a long moment, I felt other words hovering at the edge of his tongue. “I hurt you,” he continued finally. “I didn't mean to. I should have said something when I realized you had agreed to our marriage under false pretenses. But I didn't know how to do it. The drama...” He trailed off, but I knew exactly what he meant.
“Fuck my parents,” I said. “Fuck that drama. Where's your family?”
He gave a tiny laugh without humor. “Once I started making a name for myself they recognized me and started coming around for money. I paid them off, made them sign contracts saying they would never contact me again, and sent them to live in Mexico.”
Smart. Really smart. I should do that, I thought. Put that shit on my to-do list. “Good. Fuck those guys, too. Fuck it all. I don't care about them, and I don't need to know your original name. You're Anton to me. You've never been anyone else. And you weren't the one who told me my mom was dying.”
“I didn't tell you that I knew she wasn't.” He sounded pained.
