“Axel,” I started, my voice thick with emotion. He couldn’t be done. Not when I was so close. Not when I’d been needing this for so fucking long.
“Your husband can finish you off.” He pinned me with a cold look, but I witnessed the play of emotions across his face hardening into that practiced neutrality. He tore himself away, storming around the corner before I could squeak a protest.
I tugged down my dress, suddenly aware of how far we’d gone and what we’d put on the line. My heart hammered in my chest as reality sank in.
I was alone in the back hallway of the restaurant, the almost-orgasm screaming through my veins. All the dreaded what-ifs and possibilities bore down on me. But more than that, a new type of feeling zipped beneath my skin. Something powerful and angry. Something absolutely fucking over it.
I balled my fists.Fuck you, Axel, for that little stunt.
I stormed around the corner, bolstered by the lingering electricity from my encounter with Axel. I pushed my way into the women’s restroom, took a moment to touch up my face and make sure I still looked presentable, and headed back into the clamor of the restaurant.
I spotted Axel first. He was back at his table, chatting with his brothers, looking as unaffected by what had just happened as if he’d stopped by the post office after work. Dropping my chin, I beelined for my parents’ table. Eli and my father were still deep in conversation about a new investment strategy they wanted to tackle. I’d been checked out of this dinner since the second Axel had shown up. Not like I could distract myself in conversation with my mother, either. She spent every outing scanning the room for people she knew, angling for a social interaction with anyone who wasn’t family.
At the table, I downed the rest of my wine without sitting down. Then I grabbed my handbag.
“I’m leaving,” I announced.
My mother blinked with absent surprise. “Do you have a different engagement?”
“No. But I’m full and bored. So I’m going home.”
Eli furrowed his brow, turning toward me. “Honey, you don’t—”
“Drop the act, Eli,” I hissed. “I’m going alone.”
Three sets of glowering gazes followed me as I stepped off the podium of our VIP table. I’d catch flack about this later. From all of them. But I didn’t care. I could barely breathe after Axel’s torture, and I needed to clear my head, submerge myself in ice water, or both.
I didn’t look at Axel as I left. I knew Eli’s eyes were on me, and I didn’t want him to have any ammunition. No more than he already had, at least. I wove through the busy restaurant, bumping shoulders with a man as I crossed the threshold onto the sidewalk.
Outside, I took a grateful gulp of air.
It helped. But not enough.
I called for my driver while I started off down the street, my heels clicking against the sidewalk. It was a humid, dreamy evening in SoHo. Fashionable people filled the streets, angled shoulder pads brushing up against me as a crowd of models filed past. Surely some event had just let out—or was about to begin—nearby. I smiled after them, admiring their unbridled expression. All my fashion choices were restricted to certain racks, specific designers. Nothing too flashy. Nothing too provocative. I had my followers in the way that Jackie Onassis had hers. And they loved to make sure I colored inside the lines.
The brief escape into the bustle of SoHo didn’t last long. Randall pulled up to the curb moments later, able to see where to meet me via my phone. And then the texts from Eli began.
ELI: Way to embarrass me.
ELI: What the fuck was that all about anyway?
ELI: You really have got to learn to control yourself.
Control myself. That was the funniest thing in the world. I lived controlling myself. I’d wasted my entire life controlling myself.
It would never be good enough.
I slid into the back seat of the company sedan, asking Randall to take me to the condo. I sank into pensive silence, watching as we passed the fashionable group I’d noticed before.
Emotions boiled inside me like an untended pot. What I’d done in the restaurant was risky because it invited commentary and backlash from everyone who’d been at our table. And I was so incredibly tired of hearing their fucking opinions.
Sometimes I felt like if I heard one more thing from any of them, I’d combust. I wanted to get back to my own opinions. When had they ever taken precedence? And more than that, I wanted to correct someone else’s opinion of me.
After the past few weeks, one fact had become glaringly clear: keeping Axel in the past was no longer an option.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CORA