A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (49 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks. My entire life seems to be building up to one moment when I will beg—if need be—for him to listen to me, and hopefully he’ll forgive me for . . . everything. Every moment of our time together runs through my mind on an endless tape; the harder, sadder parts on the highlight reel. The guilt is crushing. I should have said this, done that, been there instead of here, and on and on. Even the great moments begin to feel tarnished by my fuckups, my wrongdoings, my foolish decisions along the way.

And my mother. I can’t think of her without being consumed with rage. It took all I had not to slap her that night, and I left the party resigned to not having a mother in my life. It’s only now I realize my relationship with my father and brothers will never be the same either. They’ll be at holidays and birthdays and I won’t be.

And now here I am, about to go to dinner with Ian. Last week at this time, I was at my dad’s party and about to be surprised by Dan. Sweet Dan, who only ever loved me.
God, I hope tonight doesn’t fuck things up even more between us. Then again, could it get any worse?
I breathe deeply and remind myself if nothing else, going to dinner with Ian will help Dan stay out of trouble. I can do this one last thing for him.

I put on a pair of black dress pants and a turtleneck sweater—the anti-Wonder Woman outfit. I figure the more covered up I am, the better. Camille and Bridget will be there, too, but will arrive separately from me. I take a cab over and enter the restaurant to find Ian is in the lobby, waiting for me.

“Come on,” he says, leading me toward the door.

“Wait, where are we going? I thought we were eating here.”

“Nah, I have somewhere better.”

“No. We’re eating here.”

“We don’t have reservations here. We have them at Hartley’s—up the street. I mean, if we’re going to dinner together, we need to arrive together.” He smiles with false sincerity.

Fuck. Slimeball.
“Fine.” I get into his limo, and it hits me that driving with him is probably not a good idea, but it’s too late. Luckily, he wasn’t lying—Hartley’s is just up the street.

“Wait here,” he says as the driver gets out. “He’ll open your door.”

I nod and look out the window—
are those cameras?
My door opens, and I step out. A flash goes off, and then another, and then many more as Ian leaves the car. He waves to the paparazzi and places his hand at the small of my back as if leading me inside. I hurry ahead to get away from his touch.

Once inside, we’re led to a table smack in the middle of the front window so we’re on full display, like a pair of monkeys at the zoo. He’s parading me around, and I know it’s for no other reason than to torture Dan.

I excuse myself to the ladies’ room and text Camille and Bridget about the restaurant switch. I’m not sure they’ll be able to get a table here on a Saturday night—it’s pretty packed—but they’re going to try. The change in restaurant makes me unexpectedly apprehensive. Something inside me says not to get in the car with him again.

There is minimal conversation throughout dinner. I feel like something’s coming, but I don’t know what. I’m on edge, and Ian’s got this smug look on his face that doesn’t budge.

“You look awfully tense.”

“I’m not used to sitting in the front window.”

“That’s probably because he was ashamed of being seen with you, which I can’t understand. Someone like you should be admired; I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have to deal with him anymore. On to greener pastures.”

I say nothing, but the glare from my eyes say, “
Fuck off
.”

He leans in. “You really should smile more. I think smiling would make me drop the charges even faster.”

“Don’t even think of reneging on our agreement, Ian.”

“I’d never do that! Never, ever, ever.”

I should just focus on the food, and not look out the window where people are still taking photos. “If only they knew what an asshole you really are,” I say with a nod to the window.

“Asshole? Nah. I think it’s tragic that someone can’t have confidence without being considered an asshole.”

I look back at my plate. It’s hard to eat.

“So how much would it cost to have you write a song for me?”

I almost spit out my food, but manage not to. I ignore his stupid question.

“Maybe you think I’m joking, but really, how much would it cost?”

“What would you want a song for anyway? Something to play when you’re admiring yourself in the mirror?”

His head tips back with laughter. “You’re quite a funny woman. Actually, I’d want a love song . . . for when I make love to you, and make you come. Something with a big crescendo.” He grabs my hand that’s resting near my glass, holding it so tight I can’t rip it away even though I try.

“That’s enough. Back off.”

“I like to joke, too.” He releases my hand and sits back to watch me. “You are such a fascinating person to watch. So graceful when you eat, when you move, really. I bet he loved watching you move, especially at The Big Top when you pole danced.”

My heart sinks.
Was he there way back then?
“How did you know about that?”

“Google, baby. There wasn’t video, so I could only put the pieces together with the photos and news reports. So, did he like it?”

“Stop it.”

He leans in way too close and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about that little, teeny tiny bikini you had on at the beach. Your body . . . mmm . . . Sometimes I’ll grab myself thinking of your perfect breasts and imagine your hips, nice and shapely, riding me. I want your thighs wrapped around my head, you know?” He kisses my cheek.

I jump back. “Do not touch me! You are harassing me now.”

“Harassing you? You agreed to come here. Can’t be harassment.”

I push out my chair to stand.

“Uh, uh, uh. Our agreed-upon dinner’s not over yet. You need dessert.”

I’m beginning to feel like a whore, and I want to crawl out of my skin. But I sit back down, thinking of Dan and those bullshit charges and how they’ll be dropped after dinner. We’re about to order dessert when Ian’s bodyguard whispers something to him. Ian’s face falls and his eyes widen a fraction, but the smug smile is back in a heartbeat.

“I think we should get dessert somewhere else,” he says, but I can tell something’s up. He suddenly seems tense.

“No. I’m fine here.”
I haven’t seen Camille or Bridget.
Shit.

Ian’s sitting straighter, and his eyes dart about. “There’s a pastry restaurant around the corner. Amazing cream puffs. Let’s go.” He makes a move to stand, but I remain seated.

“No. I ate dinner with you and that’s it.”

He grabs my wrist quickly and squeezes hard. Through gritted teeth, he says, “What did he tell you about me? That I’m some kind of monster? Because that’s how you’re looking at me.”

I can tell a volatile side simmers just under the surface. I must be careful how I answer. “He doesn’t say anything about you.”’

He smiles, satisfied with my answer. “You know how there are some people in this world you’ll never understand? You just can’t understand why people like them, why they’re even alive? Dan’s one of those people. I’ve spent a long time comparing him and me to figure out why directors want him, why girls throw themselves at him, how he garners attention so effortlessly, and you know what I’ve come up with? Nothing. There is no reason. But I know that if he weren’t around there’d be a void to fill, and I’d be right there to fill it.”

He’s officially scaring me. I scan once more for Camille and Bridget, but don’t see them.

His face softens and he smiles. “Seriously, it’ll be fine. Here, finish your wine. Don’t want that to go to waste.” He hands me my glass, and I take a huge gulp of the wine I didn’t touch during dinner. “We’ll just go around the corner, get some pastry, and call it a night. I’ll even make the call to my attorney in the car. What do you say?” He stands and offers his hand as if he’s not some twisted freak.

I don’t want to go, but I’m so close—so close to getting Dan’s name cleared. I stand, but
whoa,
my legs feel a little wobbly.
Maybe I’ve been sitting too long.
Ian helps me with my coat. We step outside where the limo is waiting. Ian waves to the cameras while he nudges me forward. I notice a police car coming up the street—its lights are flashing—and I look to see where it’s headed because it’s not speeding by, but slowing down instead. Ian is hurrying me into the car, but I resist, too curious.
Where is the trouble?
Ian pushes me to the side and lunges inside the limo. This confuses me, and things begin to look a bit blurry. I blink, trying to clear my vision, but it doesn’t help.

There are two police cars. Four officers jump out and rush toward us. “Where’s Ian Glammer?” I point to inside the car. I hear a “Fuck!” from inside. The limo door is opened on the other side.

“Ian Glammer? You have the right to remain silent—” It’s the last thing I hear, because my legs give out and I crumple onto the sidewalk. I can’t move. I try to speak, and I’m trying to stay awake, but my mouth . . . isn’t . . . moving.

***

I awake with a start in a hospital bed, and try to jump up, but someone holds me down. I turn. “Camille? What happened? Am I okay?” I look down my body and the memory of the night hits me. 

She smiles and hugs me tightly. “You’re going to be okay, Claire. Lie back and relax.”

I do as instructed and feel my hand squeezed on the other side. “Bridget.”

Bridget hugs me, too.

“What happened to me?”

“Looks like you were roofied,” Camille explains.

“What?”

She continues, “The police will be back to interview you. Seems Ian has a history of this sort of thing that’s caught up to him. Someone’s pressing charges for attempted rape, and well, it would have been a ‘he said, she said’ kind of thing, but they have your blood work now.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know. Looks like they got him just in time—and got you just in time, too.”

I shudder. “Oh my God.”

“It’s pretty terrifying what could have happened,” Camille says, exhaling deeply.

“What about the charges against Dan?”

“Ian dropped them yesterday.”

“Yesterday? I didn’t even have to go out to dinner?” Regardless, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. “Does Dan know?”

“Yeah. He called Colin on tour who relayed the message to me, asking how you were.”

“What did you say?”

“That you would be fine, but were still out cold.”

“Oh.”

“Colin said Dan was worried about you.”

I focus on my fingers twisting in my lap.
Of course he’s worried. He’s human.

Camille touches my leg, and I look at her. “It’s not over till it’s over, okay?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s another Saturday night, but I’m praying this one will be uneventful. Between the disasters of my father’s party followed by my roofied “date” with Ian last weekend, I need a break. Camille and Bridget are out, and I’m curled up underneath a blanket on the sofa with a cup of hot tea, watching Backstage Pass, an entertainment news show. Every report I’ve seen since being released from the hospital highlights Ian’s surprisingly sleazy background, which has shocked the public. It turns out he’s not only up on attempted rape charges, but he’s wanted in Mexico for drug trafficking, too, so now the feds are involved. Luckily, he remains locked up, unable to stalk, harass, or bother anyone any time soon. At least that’s something.

Next weekend is Judgment Day. My heart sinks every time I think about it. As promised, Dan hasn’t directly contacted me, although for a second time he called Colin who contacted Camille to see how I was doing, but it’s all so benign and unemotional, and I can’t help but be torn to pieces over it. If what-ifs were physical things, I’d have no more room to live here. Hell, I’m a what-if hoarder, but thankfully, when I’m at my peak of worrying, Camille rescues me with reassuring words and Bridget with her silliness.

***

Over the next couple of days, I’m rounding a cycle of exercise, music, cooking, cleaning, and sleeping that leads up to the twenty-fourth, to JFK, to the plane taking off, to landing in L.A., and to finding out if I’ll ever see Dan beyond then.

Thankfully, distractions come along, like when Bridget receives a massive rose bouquet from Shane. She’s completely freaked out, and yet her face stays buried in the flowers for hours. Colin sends Camille a CD of
Grease
songs, played by his band. I’m so happy for them. They deserve all the love in the world, my two sisters.

Wednesday arrives—mid-week, finally! I head to the gym in the late afternoon, but when I return home at dinnertime, I’m rendered speechless—my mother is sitting in my living room, waiting. She stands when I enter. A storm quickly forms in my belly, and I’m ready to yell at her to get out, when I notice her face isn’t twisted up into her usual sneer of righteousness. Instead, she’s got a balled-up tissue in one hand, and her eyes seem red. Her hair and outfit aren’t polished like usual either, and it doesn’t seem to faze her one bit. “Hi, Claire,” she says softly. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. I know you don’t want me here.” She glances down a moment. “But what I have to say won’t take long. Would you please sit with me a moment?” Her gentle tone hands me all the power. She nods to the sofa but doesn’t sit.

I glare at her—
is this a trap?
But my curiosity is piqued. I nod in response and sit on the sofa across from where she was sitting on the armchair. My mom sits, too, and looks to her hands that seem shaky. She’s twisting the balled up tissue.

“Is everything okay? Dad—is he okay?”

She looks at me and seems confused. “Oh yes, your father’s just fine. Everyone is fine. It’s . . . I have something I need to say to you.”

I’m wound so tight I may just spring apart.

She exhales then looks me directly in the eyes, which has always intimidated me, but this time it’s different. There’s pain in her eyes. I’ve never seen her like this.

“I came to say I’m very sorry for inviting Mark to the party . . . I honestly thought you and Dan were broken up, so when I happened to see Mark at the store, we got to talking, and he seemed so . . . remorseful about everything that happened between you two. Then he asked about you—it was the first thing he said, really, and my wheels started turning, as you know they do.” She pauses, shaking her head at herself. “And I invited him. I thought, maybe after all this time he grew up, and with you being so different now . . . well, I thought I was doing something good. Nonetheless, I should never have done that. I overstepped. I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and her brow is creased; she looks worn.

Whoa. This is unexpected.
It’s a lot to take in. I can’t remember her ever apologizing for anything, or look so humbled. I’m about to respond when she continues.

“Actually, this next part is long overdue . . . but I’m sorry for so many things, Claire. Everything really. I thought I knew what you needed, but . . .”

She stops, gets up, and comes to sit next to me. She takes my hands in hers and looks into my eyes. It’s overpowering; I’m holding my breath.

“I was wrong to presume your needs or wants, and I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to pinpoint when things began changing . . . between us.” She’s tearing up, and she exhales deeply before continuing.

“You . . . are my baby girl,” she says slowly, punctuating each word and squeezing my hands hard. “My littlest. After having three boys then finding out I was pregnant with you, a girl—well, it was the greatest gift—and you were so beautiful, are so beautiful.” With tears pooling, she smiles wide and looks up, remembering. “I spent hours holding you and gazing at your head full of dark hair and those long lashes while you slept. And I’ve always wondered where you got those incredible steely blue eyes.” She focuses on me again and smiles weakly. “Back then, I promised myself we’d be close, be friends even, and for a long while I think we were—weren’t we? When you were little?” Her head tilts to the side a little. “Do you remember?” Her voice is laced with sadness, almost desperation, as tears drip from her eyes. She lets go of my hands to dab them.

I nod, swallowing to hold back the dam of tears.

She clasps my hands again. “The need to protect my girl, who is so beautiful on the inside and outside, from the horrors of the world was so strong . . . and I think I thought I was helping you, if that makes sense. But as you grew, I felt I was losing you, and it scared me so much that I tightened my hold. I tried to steer you in this direction or that, thinking I could keep you safe in all ways.” She takes in a shuddering breath.

“I am a fool,” she says, resolutely.

I shake my head in disagreement.

“I am, Claire, and yet you remain the sweetest of girls, listening to your mom by
not
following your passion, but following
my
directions, giving in to
my
pressures. You were even ready to marry a man who—” She buries her head in her hands. After several muffled sobs, she composes herself, wiping her eyes and breathing deeply.

“And then to not recognize my own daughter’s happiness when she follows her dreams or finds someone who loves her so deeply . . . My God, Claire, I’ve become exactly what I never wanted to be—a controlling witch—although, I’m sure you have more creative names for it.” She offers an apologetic grin before crying harder.

Through her tears and sobs, she takes my face in her hands and says, “My girl, you are everything to me—everything—and I am so very sorry I am not everything for you. I’m sorry. I hope that someday you can forgive me.”

I fling my arms around her neck and she hugs me harder than I thought she could. Together we cry, releasing years of the ugliness that dominated our relationship. Eventually, the tears subside, and we slowly come apart, grabbing tissues to wipe our faces.

Camille and Bridget, who were evidently listening from another room, come in wiping tears, too. All four of us hug then pull apart to laugh.

“Oh, Mrs. Parelli, you aren’t Sauron after all,” Bridget says, smiling.

“Who?” my mother asks, dabbing her eyes.

“Never mind.”

“I’m especially glad she found you girls to be her sisters. She’s needed you,” my mother says.

I’m overwhelmed and yet confused, too. “Mom, what’s brought this all on? This is all so unexpected.”

She strokes my cheek, smiling. “My eyes were opened by—well, let’s make that a story for another day.” My mother stands.

“Are you leaving?” I ask as she heads for the door. I follow her.

“Yes, I have to get back home now. Maybe we can talk this weekend?”

I smile wide, my body lighter. “I’d like that.”

She strokes my cheek. “I’ve missed that smile.” She hugs me tightly and whispers, “I love you, my girl.”

“I love you, too.” She leaves, and I turn to Camille and Bridget. “What just happened?”

“Does it matter?” Camille asks.

“No, yes, well sort of. I’m just so . . . shocked. Maybe my dad said something?”

“Hmm . . . I think your dad probably said things along the way.”

“Then what happened?”

“No idea, so just enjoy it,” Camille says, hugging me.

***

The remaining days pass quickly, and finally I’m packing my suitcase. Camille’s sitting on my bed, folding things for me, when Bridget comes in with a garment bag.

“This is for the premiere, and you are not to look at it until you’re getting dressed for the event.”

“Is it slutty? Please don’t let it be slutty.”

“It’s not slutty, Sluterella. It’s actually really pretty. I just don’t want you judging it before you have to wear it. Trust me on this.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, and take pics of it on and send them to me.”

“Okay.”

Bridget sits on the bed, too. “How’s she doing?” she asks Camille.

“I’m standing right here!”

“Yeah, I know, but you won’t tell me the truth.”

“Don’t you have flowers to sniff?” I ask.

“Ha! No, but I have news—Shane is coming to New York this weekend. We’re going on a date.”

“Get out! So is Colin!”

“Oh my God! Double date!”

I smile, thrilled for them, but a wall of fear and worry and reality hits me square in the face. I very well may be the only single one soon.