Hearts of Glass (The Glass Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

All this while we waited for Daniel to return to his old self. Then we’d see what the consensus was . . . expose Kristin or not? It was a tough call. I had never been one for revenge or “an eye for an eye,” but Elodie, Alessandra, and Sophie felt differently. Star wanted her fully exposed, her little film at the ready. Sophie actually thought it would be easier to have Kristin “topped off,” and Elodie even offered to do it, although that part they kept silent from Star.

“Too much hassle,” Elodie had said, “keeping an eye on Kristin long term. What, am I supposed to spend my whole life keeping tabs on the bitch? A nice, clean shot to the head would be the most humane way for her to go.” Remy, who had reemerged (after a drunken night on the town that time he vanished), was keen to be Elodie’s “right hand man.” He’d been trailing around after her, love-struck as a puppy. Bonnie and Clyde in the making?

Then Sophie changed her mind and decided Kristin didn’t deserve humane treatment, and thought she would be better off served with her own medicine (ha ha), locked in a cage with electrodes screwed to her head, or dropped by helicopter into the middle of a remote rainforest with chimps and gorillas to do what they wanted with her. I kept out of the discussion, but agreed that the biggest punishment of all would be for the world to know who she truly was.

“Don’t be so sure,” Alessandra had warned. “There’s a whole camp out there who’d come to her defense. She’d garner fans worldwide, especially in the medical world. It could backfire.”

When Daniel was better, I decided, we’d put it to him and see what his opinion would be. Meanwhile, the three of them: Sophie, Elodie, and Alessandra—like Macbeth’s witches brewing their potion in a bubbling cauldron—waited with baited breath for Daniel to recuperate before revealing the full story to him, and promised to hold off exposing Kristin, or doing anything crazy, until he was a hundred percent better.

19

Janie.

W
E’D GOTTEN THROUGH an obstacle course, Daniel and I. And miraculously survived. It was almost as if Someone Up There was testing us. To see if we were strong enough, tough enough to endure our ordeal. I hadn’t let on to him quite how badly his coma had affected me. We needed to turn the page, move forward.

“We need to get back to work, start rehearsals for
The Dark Edge of Love
. I’m going crazy twiddling my thumbs,” Daniel said, stroking my hair as we lay on the bed, a silver tray of half eaten breakfast beside us, he casually reading
The New York Times
. He looked as handsome as ever, a dark lock of his hair flopping over one eye, his cut jaw and cheekbones a testament to his beautiful bone structure, his lips sculpted like they belonged to one of the romantic poets of the last century . . . yet his searing blue eyes looked tired. Worn.

“Drink your juice, finish your eggs and croissant,” he said, his bossy tone music to my ears. At least I knew he was on the way to recovery. I bit into my croissant and chewed. Daniel shooed some loose flakes away from my lips. “I’m going to be watching you, making sure you eat properly,” he warned. “Plenty of protein and lots of iron-rich greens.”

We were back in L.A., where Daniel had been transferred by helicopter to another hospital as soon as he was out of danger. He was one week out of the new hospital and now recuperating at Shutters On The Beach, a beautiful oceanfront hotel in Santa Monica—an iconic “beach house,” laid back, but luxurious. I too was resting up, gathering back my strength. His whole coma ordeal was “a blank,” he’d told me—he couldn’t remember a thing. Thank God. The doctors had made it very clear that he was in no way to get upset or angry, that it could set him back and actually threaten his life. “His heartbeat needs to stay steady,” they had warned, “his blood pressure stable. Do
not
let him exert himself or become overly emotional.”

So we were both taking it easy; long walks on the beach, holding hands, reading novels, and enjoying the pure pleasure of being together around the clock, hanging out and getting to know each other more. Silly things like
What’s your favorite color? Animal? What dead person would you bring back to life and have dinner with?
Questions that seemed childish and insignificant when we’d had a theatre production to do, or a movie to discuss, but things I’d longed to know when he was in his coma.

I drained the rest of my juice then lay my head on his shoulder. I knew he was secretly loving the slow pace of us just being together and doing nothing, but his work ethic was too ingrained to allow him to totally relax.

“You’ve been out of the hospital five minutes, you’re not ready for work,” I pointed out, alluding to his comment earlier about ‘twiddling his thumbs.’ I imagined how frustrated Daniel felt, but the idea of his health being set back because of too much strenuous activity made my stomach fold in on itself. I gave him a warning look.

“It’s been an entire week, Janie. We have a film to make. My father didn’t raise me to be a slacker.”

“So finding out we both love blue, and cats and dogs is ‘slacking?’ ”

A lopsided smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “You don’t get to choose cats
and
dogs, I told you already, you have to decide between the two.”

“I can’t.”

He brushed a lock of my hair away from my eye. “Then you’re not playing the game properly. Just one, Janie.”

“All right, cats, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love dogs any less.”

He winked at me.

“And you, you promised you’d get back to me about your dinner date choice,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m still mulling it over. This is a once in a lifetime dinner, right? I’d better pick someone with whom I could have a scintillating conversation.”

“Einstein.”

“Too obvious. Too cliché.”

I laughed. It was true, Daniel liked being contrary, favored the obscure. I nestled my head further down his wide chest, relishing the sound of his heartbeat, soaking in the rumble of his deep, reverberating voice, making me remember that he’d been an actor before a director.

He said, “You’re still having dinner with Marilyn, then? Really? You don’t want to change your mind?
Marilyn Monroe
? Why choose her?

“Because she was everything I’m not. A siren. A blonde bombshell. The sexiest woman who ever lived.”

“
You’re
the sexiest woman who ever lived,” he corrected. I grinned. He made a face. “Marilyn? Seriously? What about Joan of Arc, Queen Elizabeth, or Cleopatra? Or your favorite, Emily Dickinson?”

“Don’t judge me. I’d ask Marilyn about the Kennedys, find out the truth. She was a lot more complex a character than people give her credit for, you know,” I retorted. “A good actress, too, a great comedian, and she worked her ass off. I’d get a few makeup tips from her while I was at it.”

“You don’t need makeup, and I prefer your hard-working ass any day, Janie Juilliard.” He gave my butt a little squeeze and I was secretly on cloud nine knowing that, in Daniel’s eyes, I was more special than Marilyn Monroe.

“But you’re right. Scrap Marilyn, I’d have dinner with my mom. Tell her how much I love her. How badly I miss her.” I blinked away a pending tear.

Daniel kissed my nose.

“So not Einstein, who then?” I said, veering away from the topic of my mother. Daniel had been driving me crazy for two days with this dinner date thing.

“Still thinking.”

“Daniel, that’s not fair! Am I going to go to my grave not knowing who your dinner date is?” I playfully bit one of his pecs, or tried to, but it was hard to sink my teeth into such a solid mass of muscle.

He chuckled.

“It’s not funny! You’re like a fathomless ocean. I never know what’s going on inside your head. Why can’t you be more . . . more basic.”

“Oh I’m pretty basic, all right. Give me your hand, you’ll see how basic I am.” He took my hand in his and placed it over his groin, where his erection was lying patiently in wait. Alert, keen, and hungry.

I shook my head. “But you need to
rest
, not exert yourself too much. Doctors’ orders, remember?”

With his other hand he traced his finger up the nape of my neck, setting goosebumps all over my flesh. I could feel my nipples harden involuntarily.

I suspected one of the reasons Daniel wanted to get back to work was to distract himself, release his energy. Since he’d been out of the hospital we hadn’t made love. Well, we had “made love,” but we hadn’t fucked. I didn’t want to. Actually, I did—I was desperate for it—but the doctors had also warned me to go easy. I was terrified of Daniel regressing. But I’d been driving him crazy, and he’d been silently obsessing about it.

He guided my hand along his hard length. Over the thin silk fabric of his pajama bottoms. “Please don’t torture me anymore, Janie. I’m telling you I’m not going to keel over if we fuck.”

“You’ve got no idea what it was like for me, do you? Watching you wake up and then slip back into your coma.”

I hadn’t yet told him the real reasons that had happened; the events concerning Kristin. The other doctors were still maintaining that she had acted “impeccably” and were dismayed when she took a long leave of absence, due to “stress.” Little did they know the power Elodie wielded over her with her little film—forcing Kristin to keep to herself. Although I feared it could only be a matter of time until she returned. It was true what Alessandra had said. Kristin was a bit of a star in the medical world and had support. A lot of people wouldn’t give a damn about the animals in the lab, and would back her up about her “EEG scans” on Daniel that she had claimed were monitoring his dreams. Even I was beginning to wonder if she’d been innocent. Your brain can do that to you: make you doubt yourself, make you wonder if it had all been your imagination all along.

But I had a sneaky suspicion Kristin was simply biding her time, waiting in the wings.

“You’re making up stories, baby.” Daniel laughed and ran his fingers through my hair. It was if he’d been reading the thoughts pitter-pattering through my mind. “I can’t believe that
mid
-coma, I woke up all of a sudden, had a raging hard-on, got the blow-job of the century from you, asked you to marry me, and then regressed back into a coma—”

I broke in, interrupting his raucous chuckle, my voice squeaking with outrage: “It’s true, Daniel, I swear, please believe me!”

Even though I was secretly second-guessing myself, I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. Daniel was making light of his marriage proposal. As if it never happened. It wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t remember that pained me so much, but that marriage was obviously something he was not even entertaining. I felt like a child who had been given a toy that was then snatched away. I knew I was being over sensitive; we had only been dating a couple of months. But I’d been in love with him for years and couldn’t see my future without him, and all I wished for was that he felt the same way. In my head I’d been his
fiancée
. Now I was just an actress having “an affair” with him. My old fears lodged themselves deep in my gut. Was he just with me because we had a film to make? I couldn’t leave his side, and I wouldn’t, but I wanted him to commit to me. One hundred percent.

My silent sulk hung in the air like a wind chime on a still day. I edged away from him and got off the bed. I was holding all these secrets from him about Kristin, and it was hurting me. I felt hollow.

“Baby, where are you going, come right back here!” Daniel patted the bed, his laughter now only a ghost of a smile. Maybe he guessed he’d hurt my feelings.

“I want to tell you so much more, but don’t want you freaking out,” I said, realizing I’d already revealed too much.

“Fuck me, and I’ll tell
you
a secret,” he said, winking at me. “I can’t hold out any longer, baby. You think it’s easy for me to see you slinking around in that silky thing you’re wearing, with your smooth gamine legs, and your long hair cascading over your pert nipples and—”

“We’ve done other things,” I reminded him. It was true. He’d given me so many powerful orgasms in the last week, I’d lost count. All without penetration. But I was psychologically blocked; giving
him
oral pleasure could only result in one thing: Daniel slipping back into a coma again. The memory was etched in my brain. It was absurd, but every time I started, and he groaned, I found myself screeching on my brakes. It wasn’t just doctors’ orders I was following, but my own fear, rooted deep inside my subconscious. Plus, now knowing that marriage wasn’t on the cards, sex suddenly felt recreational, not spiritual. I wasn’t mentally strong enough for that. Maybe I was subconsciously doing an Anne Boleyn on him; not giving him what he desired until he asked for my hand. Driving him crazy until I got what I wanted. Could I be
that
controlling? Perhaps. But my logic told me that had nothing to do with it. The doctors had advised me to keep him steady, and the way Daniel fucked was anything but . . .

“I need to be inside you, baby. Please. Has there been someone else? Is that your little secret?”

I rolled my eyes like a child. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I was joking.” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip then caught that sexy lip lightly with his teeth. “Lie next to me. Come.”