Until I'm Yours (16 page)

“Um, yeah. Like I said, I’m a big fan.” He glances between Trevor’s unsmiling face and mine. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“But you already have,” Trevor says, eyes flinty.

“Trevor, it’s okay.” I squeeze his hand. “What do you need…what was your name?”

“Barry.” His grin is back, wider now. “The name’s Barry. If you could just sign something for me.”

I’m assuming he’s not just carrying pictures of me around randomly, so I’m not sure what he wants me to sign. I hope it’s not anything weird, or Trevor might snap him in the middle of the street.

From his backpack, Barry pulls out a pen and a subway map, offering them to me. I sketch a quick autograph and hand it back to him.

“Wait till I show the guys on the team.” He carefully slips the subway map into his bag. “I just knew it had to be Photoshopped. Like I didn’t think you could look like this in real life, but you do. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

It’s amazing how time changes your perspective. There was a time when those words would have meant the world to me, and now compliments about my looks are like single drops of rain in a deluge. They have no impact. Make no difference. Indistinct from all the other words people say.

“Thank you, Barry.” I grab Trevor’s hand. “We need to go. Nice meeting you.”

Trevor doesn’t wait for him to respond, but just starts walking toward the hotel.

“Does that happen a lot?” he asks, taking my hand in his.

We’re holding hands. In public. Are we there yet? We’ve had only two dates, and they both ended up at home, but it feels like we’ve known each other for longer. For deeper. Maybe it feels like more already because Trevor set out to make it more. Whatever it is, my hand feels right in his.

“All the time.” I can’t help but laugh. “It used to give me a thrill. Now it’s a little bit of a nuisance sometimes, but it usually doesn’t take long to be nice. They build this image up in their heads about you. I at least try to be less of a bitch than usual.”

He still isn’t smiling, so I squeeze his hand and smile at him.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It could be.” Trevor frowns. “Some guy just like that could walk up with a knife or gun and hurt you before you have time to realize what’s happening. Shouldn’t you have security?”

“I do sometimes.” I shrug. “Like for events and things when people know I’m scheduled to be there, but other than that, not much. This is New York. I’ve lived here my whole life. We New Yorkers can’t be bothered.”

Trevor gives me one more skeptical look before nodding and opening the hotel door for me.

“Now why are we here and what’s for lunch?” I sit in the seat he pulls out for me at the table. “I’m starving.”

“Ah, my horse is back.” He pulls his chair closer to mine. Closer than the other chairs are to one another. “I have no idea what’s on the menu. I only know I get to have lunch with you, and I love this speaker and this cause.”

“There’s a cause?”

His shoulder is within leaning distance, but I resist. I should be careful. I’ve just gotten out of a very public relationship with Rip. One the media is still speculating over. It will take only one picture of me cuddled up with Trevor for them to speculate that I was cheating on Rip. That I’ve moved on too fast. That I’m taking advantage of Trevor. Who knows what they’ll say?

Well, I do because they’ve said it all before.

“Yeah, there’s always a cause.” He takes a sip of water and looks around the ballroom set in rounds of eight or so. The white tablecloths contrast with the bright floral centerpieces. The baskets of bread at the center of each table draw my eyes and my appetite.

“Bread,” I growl. I reach for a roll, but drop my hand back to my side, thinking better of it.

“Thought you were starving.” He reaches for a roll…and butters it, curse his head.

“I’ll wait for protein.” I sip my water, hoping it will douse the growl a little until the food arrives. “I have that shoot tomorrow.”

“Oh, the naked one.” His voice is neutral, but his lips go tight.

“Not naked.” I lean into him for a second. “Remember the panties.”

He relinquishes a small smile, but still doesn’t look pleased.

“Does it bother you that I model in skimpy stuff, and sometimes…” I leave that sentence hanging, but he picks it up.

“And sometimes in nothing?” He sets his water down before looking at me. “I don’t have any right to be bothered, do I?”

No, he doesn’t, but it feels like he does. I don’t know how he manages to make everything feel so intimate and new and familiar. Like an adventure I’m having for the first time with someone I’ve known forever, but just met.

“I just wondered…well, you seemed bothered when Barry mentioned
Playboy
.”

“Why did you do it?” His voice and eyes hold no judgment. Just genuine curiosity.

“Really, I think I had something to prove.” A low laugh slips out. “I think I wanted to prove that I still had…whatever I was supposed to be losing. I was in the best shape of my life in an industry that ruthlessly judges you by that shit.”

Before he can reply, a few other people join us at our table. A couple of them do double takes when they realize who I am. I smile and shake their hands when Trevor introduces me. I’m too preoccupied with the salmon on the plate set in front of me to wonder what they’re thinking about Trevor’s bringing me.

“I’m so excited to finally meet Halima,” the woman Trevor introduced as Isabelle says. “But you see her all the time, don’t you, Trevor?”

“Some.” Trevor chews the steak he opted for before speaking. “She lives in London now. I actually saw her more when she lived in Gambia.”

“What a treat to have her here in the States,” Isabelle’s husband, Frank, says. “And while you’re in New York.”

“And is this your first Restore event, Ms. Baston?” Isabelle asks, her eyes toggling between Trevor and me.

“It is.” I take a sip of my water, hoping I can disguise how ignorant I am about Restore and Halima, whoever she is, and Gambia in general. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I frown at Trevor for throwing me in blind. He mouths “Sorry,” but goes on eating. I’m finishing my fish when a young woman, dressed well but simply, takes the podium.

“Thank you all for attending our monthly Restore luncheon.” She licks her lips, my only clue that the overflowing crowd might make her a bit nervous. “There are so many of you here today, and I think I know why.”

She glances back at a woman seated behind her onstage. The woman has the most gorgeous skin I may have ever seen, the color of dark cocoa, not a blemish in sight. Her hair is cropped close to her head, leaving her stark bone structure prominent. She is slim and dressed even more simply than the girl at the podium. The shift dress she wears is bright orange and contrasts beautifully with her dark skin. Her smile as she returns to the speaker makes her face glow.

“We are so pleased to have our guest with us today,” the woman continues. “Her story, her courage, and her ongoing fight against FGM have inspired us all. She inspires thousands every year, and we are honored to hear her today. Please welcome to the stage Halima Mendy.”

While I’m still using context clues to try to figure out what FGM is, everyone else applauds as Halima takes the stage. She receives a warm welcome and offers an even warmer smile.

“Greetings, all.” Her soft voice, thickly accented, hushes the crowd. “I am honored to be here with you today. Thank you, Lisa, for that lovely introduction. Many of you have heard my story, but many have not, so I’ll ask those who have to bear with me. Your story is your most powerful weapon. We must use our hurts to help, and so I tell my story every chance I get. Every time I do, I raise a fist against my oppressors.”

I’m unprepared for her passion. She is soft-spoken, but her eyes gleam with the truth of her words. Even standing still, arms at her side, she has the look of a warrior.

“I was ten when they woke me before the sun was up,” she continues, her eyes roving the crowd. “Me, my sisters, my cousins, girls from my village, all taken before daylight. One by one, we were held down, our legs spread, and we were cut. I have no words for the pain. I have never borne children, maybe I never will, but I am told this pain of female genital mutilation is greater than that. They cut away our pleasure and exchanged it for pain, for infection, for trouble that will follow many of us for the rest of our lives.”

Her dark eyes scan the crowd. I don’t know what she’s searching for, but for some reason when she reaches me, it’s like she finds it. Her eyes hold and lock with mine. And somehow I know it has nothing to do with the fact that she probably recognizes my face. It is that she recognizes
me
. Connects with something inside of me. I don’t understand it, but I know it.

“I tell this story all over the world, but the one place I can never tell it is in my village in Gambia. My family has disowned me. If I ever go back, I will surely die for telling the truth about how our girls, not just in Gambia, but in Egypt, all over Africa, all over the world, are being abused, even right here in America.”

Her mouth tightens as her fists ball at her sides.

“Yes, FMG is on the rise here in America. Vacation cutting is on the rise as those who have immigrated here send their young girls home to be cut, and they come back forever changed.”

I’m stunned by the facts she shares over the next half hour. Shocked that I never knew this was happening. Mostly I am unsettled by her words.

Your story is your most powerful weapon. We must use our hurts to help.

I close my eyes against the images flooding my mind. Kyle’s smug face, Shaunti Miller’s frightened eyes. Memories from that night fifteen years ago that I have stuffed into a dark corner in the back of my mind, but Walsh’s words from this morning and Halima’s words now tug and pull at those memories until they are spread out before me, not dusty and wrinkled, but fresh and crisp like they happened only yesterday.

“Sofie.” Trevor speaks into my ear as everyone else applauds the end of Halima’s speech. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

I turn my eyes to him, meeting his concern finally with an honest answer.

“No.” I shake my head and blink at the tears I’ve been keeping at bay since last night. “I’m not.”

“Let’s get out of here.” He gathers my things and is pulling my chair away from the table when he’s stopped by a hand on his sleeve.

“Trevor, you are going?” Halima asks, her smile warm and familiar. “I saw you about to leave and made my way over here quickly. It has been too long, my friend.”

Trevor reaches down to hug her, his hands on her shoulders and a smile on his face.

“I was planning to call so we could see each other before you leave,” he says.

“Where is Fleur? I’ve been meaning to call you both.” Halima’s eyes drift to me, standing close to Trevor. “Oh. I’m sorry. I…”

Who the hell is Fleur?

Confusion clouds her features for a moment, but she recovers, extending her hand to me.

“I’m sorry. How rude.” She takes my hand, pressing it between hers. “I’m Halima.”

“Hi, I’m—”

“Oh, Ms. Baston, I know who you are.” Her smile somehow sets my rattled nerves a little more at ease. “One of the most beautiful women in the world. Even I know that.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand back, looking directly into her dark, kind eyes. “What you said, your words, they…they moved me deeply.”

“I could tell this.” Halima’s smile melts until her mouth is just a gentle curve. “When you speak as much as I do, you always know who’s with you, and you, Ms. Baston, were with me.”

I want to ask how she knew that. I want to ask her how she learned to fight. I want to ask her if telling her story, making it a weapon, is truly worth what it costs her, because I have a story I think I have to tell.

And it could cost me everything.

Before I can unload any of those questions on her, Lisa, the young woman who introduced Halima, appears.

“Halima, so sorry, but we need to go.” She gives Trevor a smile. “Mr. Bishop, always good to see you. Thank you for your continued support.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss Halima for the world.” He bends to kiss Halima’s cheek. “But now we have to go, too.”

“I leave for Los Angeles tomorrow,” Halima says. “But I am back in New York in a few weeks before I return to London.”

“Maybe breakfast?” Trevor hands me my things and rests his hand at my back, a reassuring pressure that draws Halima’s eyes and smile.

“Yes, I can see we have much to catch up on. Much has changed since we last spoke.”

Trevor grins, pulling me an inch closer.

“Yes, much has changed.” He nods to Lisa, who is beginning to look impatient. “I think you have to go, and so do we. We’ll talk when you’re back in the city.”

Trevor leads me out of the crowded ballroom and down the hall until we’re in the corridor for the bathrooms. He sets me against the wall, facing me and clasping our hands together between us, taking my eyes hostage. I can’t help but think back to the first night we met. He found me hiding from Kyle Manchester in a corridor similar to this one. I don’t think I can hide anymore.

“Kyle Manchester raped me fifteen years ago.” The words come out with no aplomb. No drama. I say them as matter-of-factly as if Kyle had stolen a parking space at the grocery store instead of what he actually took. My virginity. My dignity. My voice.

I don’t know what I expected to find on Trevor’s face—shock, anger, outrage. His face is stone—emotionless, prepared.

“I know.” He cups my face with one large hand, his touch so tender I can’t resist leaning into it. “Or at least I suspected.”

I nod, not surprised that he’s not surprised.

“Is that why you brought me here?” My bitter laugh joins us in the quiet corridor. “To convince me I should tell my story?”

“I brought you here so you would see that it’s okay to tell your story. So you could see what it looks like to tell the truth when it’s dangerous and hard.”

“I don’t want to do this.” I shake my head, the air rushing up my chest in jagged puffs. “I’m stepping into the middle of a huge scandal. They’ll eat me alive, Bishop. Who’re they going to believe? The political favorite of the moment, with his sweet wife and two kids, or me? The woman who had an affair with a married man and posed for
Playboy
? And more. So much more.”