Behind Her Smile (14 page)

Once I ask David the question, I delicately bite a piece of the sockeye salmon, making sure to chew daintily.

“Finished. After we eat, we’ll review the timeline for tomorrow evening, and I’ll read you the speech.”

How did we wind up here?
I have the sudden urge to drop my cutlery in a childish clatter on the fine china. I want to grab David by the shoulders and shake him. It seems like our wedding was ten years ago, not one. The loving, devoted David who swept me off my feet has left me. We are more strangers than lovers though David’s sex drive has not abated in the time we’ve been married. I miss the romance and dates to gallery openings. The only time we’ll attend now is if a potential client hosts the event.

Despite spending the majority of my time surrounded by women, I don’t have anyone in whom to confide. There’s no one to ask about the ups and downs of marriage. Is the distance between David and me normal? I desperately want to seek advice from someone—
anyone
.

“Wonderful,” I answer him with a stiff smile. Oddly enough, he returns the gesture with one of his own. Smiles are a rarity from my husband these days, and I’m inspired to open up to him. “David, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Yes?” He sets his fork and knife at an angle across the top right corner of his plate. Moments later, Miranda silently appears at his side to remove the dish.

“Lately, I’ve been missing designing.”
Lately
is a gross understatement. But if I were to tell him that the lifestyle he wants me to lead nearly drives me to tears with boredom, it will hurt his feelings. I’ve learned the importance of treading delicately with David’s emotions. “My creative muscles are dying to work out. I was wondering if you would be opposed to me taking it up again.”

His bow-shaped mouth turns down in a slight frown. I recognize this as his thinking face. Pondering my request, David leans back in his chair. “Once the gala is over, you will have more free time on your hands,” he muses.

Holding my breath, I nod in silent agreement. I’m trying to downplay the importance of my request, but I want this terribly. Fashion design is an emotional outlet for me.

Finally, David continues. “I don’t see anything wrong with your little hobby, so long as you don’t let it interfere with your duties to the family and our business.”

“Absolutely not,” I hastily chime in, trying not to bristle over the ‘little hobby’ description. It sounds dangerously close to something my mother would have said. Back when we were still communicating.

“All right then. You can use the easternmost guest room on the second floor for your studio, though I expect it to be kept tidy at all times.” The command is clear, but it doesn’t halt my blooming excitement.

“Oh, thank you, David!” I cry. Pushing my chair back, I close the gap of space between us and throw my arms around his neck. With a smacking kiss on his cheek, I sigh contentedly. “This means the world to me.”

My husband’s body goes rigid.

“Do I not give you the world?” There’s an edge to his voice. The unmistakable tell that indicates his anger. David reaches up and around his neck to clamp my wrists in his hands. He pushes me back a step. Panic starts to eat at me. I didn’t want to upset him with this request. Somehow, I’ve turned his good mood into anger. Why do I always do this?

I rush to calm him. “No, no. You give me everything I could possibly want or need. It’s just . . . I love working with my hands and designing things.”

With a muffled groan against the marble floor, his chair flies backward. One hand still clutches my wrist in a manacle-like grip. “We’re finished eating,” he says shortly. He strides toward his office, my shorter legs working double time to keep pace with him.

Inside the room I’m only allowed to enter if he approves, David releases me and slams the door shut.

One.

Two.

Three breaths later, his fingers wrap around the column of my neck. He backs me up against the wall. The grip isn’t tight enough to leave a bruise, only strong enough to keep me in place. And scare me till my blood runs cold.

He leans in close enough that I’m able to smell the stale scent of salmon on his breath each time he exhales. I want to flinch away, but from experience, I know it will only make him angrier. This isn’t the first time David’s grabbed me this way. What’s most frightening is that his aggression does not surprise me. The numbness has taken the place of shock, and only fear remains. How long will it last this time? Will I be able to hide the physical remnants?

“All of this can be taken away, Karolina.”
Thud.
He jerks my body and my head lands against the wall with a dull noise. His grip tightens, making it harder to breathe. My heart gallops in my chest. “Now apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” I croak.

“Damn right,” he growls. The moment he releases me, I wobble. I’m off balance, and I topple down on my knees.
He won’t hurt you badly. The gala is tomorrow, and if you have marks, people will ask questions.
“Do you have any idea how many women would kill to be my wife? I could replace you in an instant. Is that what you want, Karolina?”

Hot, fat teardrops escape the corners of my eyes.
Yes! That’s what I want. I want to be free of you.
All of a sudden, I’m on the ground. With one vicious kick to my ribs, the air is sucked from my lungs, and I gasp for breath.

Then David’s next to me, a fist wrapped around my hair to yank my head up and force my gaze to him. “There’s only one way out of this, Karolina. Don’t make me do it.”

Each breath comes in a fitful gasp. My heart jerks so wildly in my chest I wonder if I’m going to have a heart attack. Does he mean he wants to kill me? No. No.

No.

“I love you, David.” The words come out in as a wheeze. An attempt for freedom.

Instantly, he releases my hair. One hand slips beneath the back of my knees and the other curls around my shoulders. He lifts me effortlessly in his arms and steers me to the couch, placing me carefully in his lap.

“Don’t make me angry, my jewel. Don’t make me punish you when you take me for granted. I want to spoil and adore you, but you make it impossible when you talk back to me.”

I cannot help myself from sobbing against his chest. My tormentor is my caregiver. It doesn’t make any sense. But I’m terrified, and if he’s offering comfort, I’ll take it. David nestles me into his arms, tenderly stroking the hair he nearly ripped out of my scalp. “It’s all right, my jewel. I forgive you. After the gala, we’ll get started on your little studio.”

The sobs melt into whimpers, and I nod against the warm spot where his neck and his chest meet, begging for the comfort.

“Thank you.”

“That’s my good girl,” he soothes.

Blindly, I burrow deeper against him. Yes, I know this is beyond fucked-up. I should be running for the nearest glimpse of safety. But who would believe me? David is the image of the doting husband, and I am his beloved wife. No one would dare to think he hurts me. And most of the time, he ignores me. It’s not so bad. All of my needs are met and more.

And yet, each day seems like it's one step closer to my inevitable destruction.

The makeup artist doesn’t mention the faint purple fingerprints ringing my neck. Neither does the hairdresser or the event planner who popped by the house in the morning to discuss the last-minute details of the gala. Maybe all the Morgan wealth and prestige keep people quiet. Whatever the reason, no one dared to ask about the marks on my skin or the way I favored my left side because of the smarting pain on my right row of ribs.

Staring at myself in the full-length mirror, I hardly recognize the woman reflected back.
Do I exist?
More and more, I wonder if I’m losing my identity to Mrs. Morgan, an impossible goal to obtain. The ostentatious engagement ring and wedding bands weigh my hand down as if an anchor, securing me to the Morgan name.

“You look exquisite.” David appears behind me, his gaze roving along the length of my body hungrily. “Close your eyes,” he demands.

Obediently, I shut them. Something cinches around my neck, and my eyes pop open instantly in fear. A lush diamond choker sparkles underneath the recessed lights. Glancing at David through the reflection in the mirror, I only find a pleased smile lighting his face. “Perfect,” he murmurs more to himself than me.

Not perfect,
I correct silently. I’m learning the less I voice my opinions, the less likely I am to enrage David. But I know the truth. If David hadn’t been aggressive last night, there would be no need for the lavish jewelry. He splays one hand across the silk crepe, and he gently tugs my back against his front. His lips are close to my ear when he speaks. I shiver, though. Instead of the reaction being one of pleasure, it’s a hangover from the fear I felt last night at David’s disposal.

“Are you ready to wow Miami, Mrs. Morgan?” His hot breath whispers across the shell of my ear.

“Yes,” I whisper trying to keep the desolation from my voice.

David spins me around and waves his hand out wide in a gentlemanly manner. “After you.”

The event planner I selected is Miami’s premier event company. They throw parties for the professional sports team, the mayor’s first and second wedding, and other large-scale galas. For the most part, they planned the entire evening asking for my approval of color schemes and menu selections. That’s why the first annual Morgan Benefit flows without a hitch. The planners selected a venue with 360-degree views of the Atlantic Ocean and urban Miami nightlife. It’s an industrial space, dressed up with Lucite chairs and white décor. A balcony wraps around the perimeter of the space to offer a break from the live band and activity inside the gala.

Just like any other event we attend, David plasters me to his side the entire evening. He wears me like some of the women and their baubles. With one hand resting on the small of my back, he nudges me to indicate the most important perspective clients. I’m his puppet, speaking when he tugs one set of strings, smiling when he lifts the others.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Morgan.” Smith Connors is a portly man with a supermodel wife, a beefy waistline, and an even beefier wallet. David has been courting him for six months. An hour into the gala, David finally manages to get some alone time with Smith and his Venezuelan wife.

“All the credit goes to my wife.” David looks down at me affectionately. “Karolina truly is Wonder Woman.”

Flushing at the praise, I smile softly back at him. Where is this David, and why don’t I see him more often? I lap up every morsel of kindness hungrily. “This evening is about honoring the memory of our family. It could be nothing but spectacular to showcase William, Georgia, and Chandler.”

“At five hundred a ticket, I would hope so,” Smith chortles. David chuckles, too, but I can tell by the way his fingers dig into my spine that he finds the joke crass. “Morgan, let’s leave the womenfolk here to talk about shoes and such. I need your ear on some business matters,” the shorter man says. Lame joke forgotten, my husband stands a bit straighter. This is exactly the result he hoped for this evening. He leans down to brush his lips against my forehead tenderly.

“Be back soon, my jewel,” he murmurs loud enough that the Venezuelan model sighs in appreciation.

Once the men stride off, Smith’s wife titters. “What a sexy man, your husband.”

“Isn’t he?” Dora’s voice comes from behind us, and I whirl around to find my friend balancing on a pair of pointy stilettos and wearing a miniscule black dress.

“Dora! Finally. I’ve been looking for you all evening.” I wrap my arms around her back and pull her into my embrace. Awkwardly, she pats my back before stepping out of the hug.

“Have you? You never leave David’s side,” she says snidely.

My eyebrows shoot up on my forehead in surprise at her harsh tone. “He likes me to stay with him,” I say stupidly.

“Excuse me,” Smith Connors’ wife mumbles, exiting from the stilted conversation quietly.

“Maybe you don’t care about the little people anymore. After all, you are a Morgan.” Dora says the name like it tastes badly on her tongue. Her upper lip curls in disgust. “God, I thought you’d be the last person to get caught up in the scene. Guess I was wrong. Money does change people.”

Each word is like a dagger to my bruised heart. Is that really how Dora sees me? Money didn’t change me. Or, at least, it doesn’t feel like I’ve changed. More like I’ve molded into the demands made by my husband. But it’s impossible to explain my relationship to Dora here in this crowd, so I settle on saying the safest thing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dora.” The last thing I want to do is cause my friend pain. Seeing her contorted features, I know I’ve done just that.

“Well, you did,” she snaps. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my date.” Her nose wrinkles. Inwardly, I wince. David wouldn’t allow me to invite Dora independently because, in his words, she wasn’t up to par for the guest list.

“I’m glad you came,” I tell her truthfully. “Honestly, I miss spending time with you and talking.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” she says. Beneath the layer of aggression, I see Dora’s vulnerability. I can’t help myself from touching her shoulder.

“Please bear with me,” I beg. “Adjusting to marriage has been very challenging. I know I’ve neglected our friendship, but I really do miss you.”

Dora snorts in disbelief. “I don’t know why I even bothered coming over here. You deserve to be as alone as you look, Karolina.” Then she spins on her heel and flounces away, curling brown ringlets bouncing with each step.

A wave of despair strong enough to threaten my composure crashes over me. She’s right. I’m completely alone.

All of a sudden, I’m claustrophobic in the gargantuan space. I can’t breathe in here. Too many people. Too many expectations. Too many pressures. My legs move on autopilot until I find one of the doors open to the balcony. Slipping through the bodies, I finally break my way outside. I step close to the guardrail, thankful for the soothing cadence of the waves crashing against the shore. But it’s not enough. My heart still races, breaths coming out shallowly.