Truth (26 page)

Her breathing labored as his gorgeous form
advanced closer. With each step, he narrowed the vast fifteen month
divide. He hadn’t changed. His perfect appearance was just as she’d
remembered, from his dark thick hair masterly styled in place, to
his brown eyes sparkling with electricity. His cheeks were raised,
revealing a closed lip grin. And of course, his suit was silk,
tailored specifically for him, with cuff links shining from the
edge of his jacket sleeves. If anyone else had been in the room,
they would have disappeared into his all-encompassing aura. But
alas, no one else was present, except the piano player. And
momentarily, even the music dissipated.

From the archway to Claire’s table could be
traveled in a few seconds; however, it seemed as though Tony’s
casual stride fought an unseen tide. The seconds lasted minutes,
hours, or perhaps days. During the elapsed expanse of time and
space, Claire remembered every moment of their time together. Three
years of memories compressed into a fraction of time. Finally,
accomplishing his journey -- because Claire knew Anthony Rawlings
rarely failed at any endeavor -- he stood before her table. She
fought diligently to remain calm and serene, as he politely nodded
in her direction.

His voice filled the cavernous room,
engulfing the otherwise empty molecules and stirring the cauldron
of emotions within her chest. “Good evening, Claire.”

She’d fought this fight before. Admittedly,
she’d rarely won, but nonetheless, the battle was familiar. Claire
pressed on, “Good evening, Tony. Won’t you please have a seat?”

“
Thank you.” He pulled the
chair from the table and lowered his tall lean body into cushioned
seat. She watched as his dark eyes remained fixed on hers. Perhaps
the rest of the world was gone. It was the most plausible answer.
Heaven knows she couldn’t see or think of anyone else. That must be
the answer, they were the only two people left, as the Earth spun
into a timeless abyss.

Claire once read time doesn’t pass at normal
speeds within a black hole. If one were to travel into a black hole
for only moments and return again, centuries would have passed.
That explained the sensation she felt, once again peering into his
dark gaze. She wouldn’t look away; she’d trained herself better
than that. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn’t an option. She
couldn’t divert her gaze if she wanted. The hold upon her stare was
stronger than any ropes or chains made by man. Claire knew from
experience, submitting to the hold was her best chance at survival.
Fighting was a futile waste of energy.

As she felt herself
slipping into her old station, she remembered her cause. Claire
remembered her friends and their support. She recalled the advice
of a good friend. She needed to ask herself,
am I in fear of upsetting him? Does he make me smile?
She thought about her cellphones in her purse and
her car in the parking lot.

No! She could fight and survive. She had!
Within the milliseconds that transpired, she clawed her way out of
the abyss, time had not elapsed. She continued their dialogue. “It
was nice of you to accommodate my change in plans.” Taking a sip of
her water, she fought the dryness threatening her mouth and
gestured toward a bottle of wine. “I took the liberty of ordering
us a bottle of wine.”

Tony smiled a devilish grin. Claire’s
insides tightened. His eyes lightened as he lifted the bottle and
assessed the label. “Excellent choice.”

Before their conversation could continue,
the waiter appeared at their side. “Monsieur and Mademoiselle, your
table is not yet ready. May I open your wine?”

Claire spoke before Tony could answer, “Oui,
grazie.” She noticed Tony’s smile broaden. In the past she learned
amusement wasn’t always a good thing. A small voice in the back of
her head warned her to proceed with caution.

After the waiter poured the wine, he left
them alone, literally. Claire couldn’t help notice the absence of
others. She tried diligently to keep her increased unease
hidden.

“
My, Claire, you continue
to amaze me. I see you’re trying to show me the new independent
Claire Nichols.” She didn’t speak. He continued, “You don’t need to
work so hard. I’ve been observing you from a far and am already
impressed.”

“
Tony, my goal is not to
impress. My goal is to show that I don’t need your observation. I’m
doing quite well on my own.”

“
I believe you have
surpassed my expectations, once again.”

“
And for the record, I was
independent before our encounter.”

“
Yes,” pause, “I can see
how you would think that.” He sipped his wine, “Now tell me, what
the point was with the change in venue?”

“
No point. I’ve eaten here
and thought you’d enjoy the cuisine.”

“
I see,” he continued to
sip the wine. “That’s good. I was afraid you were trying to
manipulate our visibility...”

Before he could continue the maître d’
approached their table. “Excusez-moi, your table, it is ready.”

“
Gaize,” Tony replied as
he stood. While Claire gathered her handbag, Tony politely helped
her with her chair.

As she stood, she continued to fight the old
pull. It was as if she were slipping into Mrs. Anthony Rawlings,
perhaps not slipping, pulled – by an irresistible force. She needed
to remain diligent to be the independent woman she longed to
be.

Walking across the empty lounge, Tony placed
his hand in the small of her exposed back. She didn’t fight the
contact. Actually, she fought the sudden desire to melt toward it.
Memories came rushing so fast, she barely had time to blink -- the
feel of his caress -- his ability to elicit emotions and desires --
the warmth and security of his embrace. Although her resolve
diligently fought, her heartbeat quickened and fantasies interlaced
her recollections. Not only did she remember his large strong
hands; she also remembered his tender mouth, firm steady chest, and
tight abdomen. The slight touch evoked memories of ecstasies they’d
shared. Highs, which before him didn’t exist, and elations she
feared were forever extinct.

When his tall body inclined, allowing his
lips to hover near her ear, her body tingled. Then, without warning
he whispered, and her fantasy evaporated. Reality struck with a
slap that only real life can elicit. “I’m glad visibility was not
your goal for this evening. I would hate to disappoint you.”

Before Claire could respond, they stepped
from the lounge into the dining area. She gasped. Her neck
stiffened as she took in the empty restaurant. No longer was her
subconscious filled with memories of love and pleasure, but control
and manipulation. The harshness deflated her lungs. Claire fought
to breathe, battling the sensation of suffocation she’d suffered
during the years of his domination.

With new found determination, she turned
toward the sly smirk of her ex-husband and asked, “What have you
done?”

“
I wanted to spend time
with you, without the diversion of others.”

“
Where are the other
people?”

“
I believe they accepted
an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant.
After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the
food and company.”

Claire stared incredulously, “You bought-out
the entire place?”

“
Yes, Claire. Shall we
sit? I believe you requested this central table.”

Her blood boiled, looking around she
wondered about Phil, where was he? She’d become accustom to seeing
him periodically throughout her day. Feeling incredibly vulnerable
she sat, allowing Tony to push her chair under the table.

Fighting her instinct to run, Claire
straightened her neck and met her ex-husbands smug expression and
sparkling darkening eyes head-on. The waiter delivered their wine,
including glasses to their new location. After he left, Tony lifted
his glass and proposed a toast, “To you, the only person in this
world, who can keep me on my toes.”

Claire held her glass. Tony moved the goblet
to his lips. Slowly, she raised the rim to her mouth. Just before
she took a drink, he laughed. Placing the glass back onto the linen
tablecloth, Claire said, “I hope you’re amused. I believe I’m
getting a headache. We’ll need to postpone this dinner for another
time.” She placed her hands on the table to push back her
chair.

Tony reached across the table and covered
her hand. The touch ignited her skin. She wanted to hate the man
with her entire being; yet, his touch, the sound of his voice,
smell of his cologne, and sight of his incredibly handsome face
turned her insides to jelly. The two contrasting memories of love
and domination, played simultaneously within her head. Unwillingly,
she looked into his soft chocolate eyes and sighed.

In a much gentler tone he said, “Claire, I
would like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You
probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you are
stunning. Now, if we are done with this ridiculous posturing, I’d
like to talk with you for a while.”

“
This was not meant as
posturing! And I assure you, my head does hurt.”

“
I have missed you
terribly.”

She stared. What did he just say? It didn’t
make sense. She was gone from him, from his life, due totally to
him.

He continued, “I have missed your voice,
your strength, your smile, and mostly your eyes. My god, Claire,
you have the most amazing eyes!”

“
Stop it.”

Abashed, he asked, “Excuse me?”

“
I said, stop it!” Her
voice was harsh yet hushed. “The last time we spoke, in person, I
begged to go with you back to your home,
our
home in Iowa City. As I recall,
you offered me a psychiatric institution. So why would I be
interested in listening to your drivel today?”

“
Well, first, because you
accepted my invitation.”

“
I accepted your
invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We
are done.”

“
My dear, it is not that
simple.” His expression revived a suppressed fear.

She fought to steady herself as the room
wobbled off center. It was the finality with which he spoke, as if
his comment were beyond reproach. “It is.” Her voice less
convincing than she’d hoped. She inhaled to emphasize her next
word, “Anton.”

His back straightened, and his eyes
intensified, “My name is Anthony. You may still address me as
Tony.”

“
That’s very gentlemanly
of you. Do you not think as your wife, I deserved to know your true
name was Anton Rawls?” Claire watched an internal battle launch and
rage within her ex-husband. She knew him and could read his
non-verbal clues. Others may not recognize the scene before her,
but she did.

Externally Tony remained stoic as he fought
for control. Finally he spoke, his voice deceivingly calm, “Where
could you possibly come up with such a story?”

“
Why, Anton, it was in
your box of confessions.”

Tony stared in utter shock and disbelief.
Claire wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen his facade shatter as
quickly. Though he remained still, she imagined him scurrying to
pick-up the pieces of his usually intact veneer. His voice gained
strength with each syllable. “I assure you, I have no idea what you
are saying.”

“
The information you sent
me in prison.”

Before they could continue, a waiter
appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in
front of each, he asked if they were interested in hearing about
the specials. Concurrently, they answered, “No.” The waiter
apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the
table. Tony reached for the leather folder; his fingertips
blanched, as he squeezed the helpless menu.

It didn’t make sense. The writing on the
note was his, as was the writing on the photos. Although Claire was
reasonably certain he’d ended this conversation, she decided to go
ahead and ask the question screaming in her head, “Are you saying
you didn’t send me a box of information?”

He didn’t need to answer; his expression and
body language spoke louder than words. Nonetheless, he managed to
articulate, “I can assure you, I did not send you anything while
you were in prison.” Continuing to regulate his external calm, he
added, “And, speaking of prison, congratulations on your early
release.”

Sarcasm dripped from his
final statement; however, Claire was still mulling-over his first
declaration.
If he didn’t send me that
information, then who did?
When his words
registered she decided to dial down the conversation. Yes, her old
instincts were guiding her through this mine field. Those instincts
saved her life in the past. He’d changed the subject, and
experience warned her to take heed. Any discussion of his box or
his alternate persona would need to wait. “Thank you, I promise, I
was as surprised as you must have been.”

He
harrumphed
as he took another drink
of his wine. The contents disappeared. He poured himself another
glass. “That, my dear, is debatable.”

Claire smiled; he may have manipulated her
plans. Nonetheless, she’d just acquired invaluable information. He
didn’t send the box; he hadn’t known she knew about his past or his
vendetta, and she could obviously influence his demeanor. That
knowledge seemed more powerful today than it’d ever been. She
looked at the menu and discussed the entrees she found
appetizing.

Truthfully, neither of them possessed much
of an appetite; nevertheless, the dinner progressed. As expected,
Tony ordered their meals. However, as he spoke to the waiter, in
French, Claire smiled when he ordered the selection she’d
suggested.