Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

“I tried texting you after we picked up my parents. Where have you been all day?” I flash back to my phone in pieces on Rhys
’ desk. Shit!

“I was with Rhys.” I peek out from under the towel to read a shocked face.

“What?”

“Is that so strange?” It stings to hear my own doubt reflected back through her shock. Olivia bounds from the bed and has her arms around me in a moment, pulling me into a hug.
             

“Oh
, sweetie, it’s not. It’s just that Matthew said there was some emergency that took him from the bachelor party. He was supposed to go back to New York last night. I thought he would be gone until tomorrow.” 

“Well, he was here last night.”
Liv releases me and fiddles with my party clothes, fluffing the skirt and smoothing the shiny taffeta. I chose the outfit in her honor, a pale green taffeta skirt with a high waist and pockets (a must) and a tiny white tank. I know how much she always wants to glam me up. ‘Put on a party dress and slap some makeup on that face girl, we are going out!’ is a tag line she should trademark.

“I know he has been working on something big, but Matthew said that it is falling apart. He is always
working.” I reflect back on the powerful man surrounded by talking heads, watching me like prey from his leather throne in the Admirals Lounge. 

“Maybe it is resolved.” I can feel unanswered questions crawling up my back, tapping my shoulder, prying at
Pandora’s box of insecurities and self-doubt.

“Maybe.
But, who cares. What is going on between you two?” Her eyes shine with anticipation, hungry for details.

“I don’t know. I
mean, nothing. We talked for a long time, and he slept here.” I look to her for insight, but she offers none, hanging on my words waiting for a juicy tidbit to slip out. I hold back the details she so desperately wants. “I woke up this morning and he was gone, but he left me this note.” I toss the note into her lap and walk into the bathroom. “He took me for Cuban coffee and pastries this morning and then to his family’s house to see all the wedding stuff. Olivia it is so beautiful.” Seeking a reaction and still getting none, I continue. “Then he said he wanted to spend the night with me and offered to escort me to dinner tonight.” 

“Huh?” Her face twists in question. Little does she know the true extent of his proposal, or of my almost complete
surrender.

“Yeah, huh?
He actually said ‘
give yourself to me
!’ Can you believe that?” It is clear by her avoidance and wide eyes that she knows exactly what he means. But she shies away, a conspicuous non- reaction on her face.

“He must like you
,” her answer so matter of fact yet, childish and unsatisfying. It’s clear that she is holding back, there has to be more. I know he wants me, he said it plain as day, but what is he expecting?

“
Liv, tell me what I am getting myself into.” Reluctantly, she takes a seat next to me on the bed. She grabs my hands and squeezes before releasing a long, heavy sigh. The struggle in her eyes is evident. I know she wants to protect me, not let me wander into the dragon’s den. And men like that don’t just randomly take interest in women completely against type. It is not in the nature of man to stray from what he knows and craves. I just hope he doesn’t eat me for dinner. 

“Powerful men like simple
women, Sophie, receptive to their whims, willing and eager to do anything. Someone who won’t complicate their lives. Rhys is no different. Just don’t get too attached and you will be fine.” 

“Is that how you and Ma
tthew are, Liv.” She smiles, shaking her head.

“All men have
a type and Rhys is no exception. He usually has a beauty on his arm, I won’t lie. But I have never seen him with the same girl twice, with one exception.” Her emphasis hangs, mingling with Rhys’ earlier confession. A confession I thought to be a gimmick or a ploy. “And he has been pseudo single as long as I have known him.” He likes the type of girl that I am not, I am a good girl. He said it himself. Why do I suddenly feel like the butt of a bad joke?

“Pseudo single, what does that mean?” She shrugs me off with a lofty wave of her perfectly manicured fingers.

“You know, single and playing the game, but totally unavailable.”

“I don’t know about this.” The more she doesn’t say, the more spooked I become.
Simple
women
, this is not a phrase I am comfortable with, I am not simple, nor will I allow him to belittle me like that. I want this, but can I handle it? I am beginning to doubt my ability to keep up with him, to please him. Not to humiliate myself.

“Do you like him, Sophie?” What a simple question. He is gorgeous, clever, mysterious and rich. How could I not
like
him? Like is not the right word. I want him, deep in my soul and far in the back of my mind. I ache for him. No. Like is not the right word at all. She has volunteered so much, yet revealed nothing. I still have no idea what it really means, or what he really wants or expects from me. I could never
give myself
to anyone. I have never been that kind of girl. My soul stirs and twists, the effect that Rhys has over me could be very hard to resist. Already he flows in my blood. What has he given up? And what has driven him back to his mystery vice? 

“It’s one night, what could it hurt?” She turns to me with a bit of worry in her brow. “Just don’t let things get awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you sleep with him tonight don’t expect anything from him tomorrow. He can be cold like that. I have seen it. And although I love Rhys, I love you more and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Running the straight iron down my
hair, she pauses, and pins me with her gaze in the mirror. “And, not to sound selfish, but I don’t want it to affect my wedding. I mean, it is my special day.”

“I won’t get hurt. I am a big girl, I can separate things. Besides, I’m only here for you,
Liv. Whatever it is, it’s temporary. I’m sure that he just wants to use me like a rag doll, not that I am wholly opposed to the idea, but still. He is an addictive man, I have barely spent any time with him and already he is under my skin, and in my head. I swear sometimes he can see right through me. He is dangerous, I can tell.” 

“Sophie, this could be good for you, let loose for a change, take a risk. Don’t deny yourself the opportunity to do something new, out of fear. You can’t use your parents as an excuse forever. You have to live your life. Live it, don’t just endure it, you deserve so much more than you have allowed yourself.” I know that she is right. I know that I should let loose, follow my instincts, and stop being scared of my own shadow.
Stop being afraid of what could happen. 

Unsatisfied and frustrated by the lack of illumination, I change the subject, asking about last minute wedding prep. It does the trick and we relax back into old friend skin easily.

She helps me get ready, like a big sister coaching the little on the expectations of a first date. I feel like a little girl, full of butterflies and fear. But this is no ordinary dinner date. I want to probe her about his pseudo single past, the beauty in the picture perhaps, but think better of it. All he has shown of himself seems in complete contrast to the whisperings of the women around him. I chose to let him reveal himself. Listening to them, one would surmise that Rhys was a sexual predator. One they would willingly surrender to, some of them over and over again. And he is coming for you! I push the fear aside and resolve to just be. I think back on that last night in my room and his musings on first impressions. Yes. I will allow him to make his own impression upon me. And with that, I banish the chatter and suspicions to the furthest dark room in the back of my mind and lock the door. Olivia finishes putting the final touches on my hair and pinches my cheeks before she is gone and I am left alone with the sound of my pounding heart, and a beautiful stranger in the mirror.

I smooth my full skirt, fluff my breasts and check my reflection. If I hadn’t watched the transformation I wouldn’t believe that was me staring back from the mirror. My hair is sleek, straightened by
Liv, an asymmetrical curtain, teasing my bare shoulders. Make-up light and natural, an argument hard fought and won. I look down at my legs to my poor, poor feet, in sky-high, nude Loubitons. Olivia insisted that I borrow them. They are spectacular, and make the outfit, but whether or not I will be able to walk anywhere is another issue. I twist and turn in the mirror, admiring the sexy woman I see before me, wondering where she has been all my life, when a knock at the door bowls me over. My pulse breaks from the gate at full speed and I have to remind myself to breath.

He stands before me, one perfect gardenia blossom rolling between his fingers, my favorite flower. The scent swirls around us both, twisting and tightening, pulling us together. He shines in his
pale, crisp shirt and slacks, like an angel, freshly fallen. His grin sideways and wicked betrays that devil within. His eyes wash over me, heating every inch of exposed flesh, taking in the sight of the stranger from the mirror. Voices in the hallway distract us both as Melissa and Kylie are also set out for dinner. His smile straightens as he steps forward, casually closing the door behind him with a tap of his foot, while they crane their necks for one last peek. I am sure the sighting will not go unnoticed.      

“You look beautiful, Sophie.” His voice is hungry and low, bringing me back to the moment, back to him. He brushes my hair back and tucks the gardenia behind my ear before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath from the flower. I catch myself closing my eyes along with him, letting his scent flood my nostrils, citrus and musk and gardenia. They complement each other nicely, strong and soft, heavenly and earthly. I feel his hand leave my hair before I open my eyes. His grin turned to amusement.

“We are quite a pair,” he says, spinning me around to the mirror, he stands behind me with his hands resting on my bare shoulders. I think I may melt from the casual contact, when I see what he sees. His pale green button down linen shirt mirrors the shade of my skirt. I can’t help but smile and reflect back on the couples Olivia and I used to see at the country club we worked at when we were young. They would match their golf outfits, shoes, club covers, visors and all, even the pom-poms on their socks. We would call them “Biff and Buffy” collectively, and always promised to never let one another fall into such a situation. At this point I would gladly don a silly visor and pom-pom socks if it meant I could remain one half of the pair I see reflected back at me.

The woman in the mirror is put together, confident and lovely under the warm gaze of such a potent masculine man. His hands rest gently on my shoulders, while the rest of my body tightens and twists, humming with anticipation. He is calm and cool, smiling at me through the mirror. His thumbs caress the base of my neck before he slowly slides his warm hands down the length of my arms, leaving a telling trail of goose bumps. A naughty grin arises on his face and he swats my behind, stepping away from the mirror and towards the mini bar.
             

“Let’s have a toast, shall we?” Not waiting for an
answer, he pulls a bottle of white wine from the mini bar. The vibration from his gentle tap rolls through me in waves. He hands me a glass and holds his aloft, humor bubbling at the surface of his carefully manicured façade. He flashes a wolfish grin. “Here is to breaking the rules,” I scoff; he grins and clinks my glass. The words echo in my head. The wine does little to cool the fire that is smoldering deep within me. Every trivial thing that the man does chips away at the walls I have built. Walls I prefer to hide behind. I like to keep a comfortable distance, but he inches closer to me with every breath. Can I do this? Do I want to do this? YES!

                                               ***

Dinner is held in the hotels steakhouse, and Matthew’s father has reserved the wine cellar for the celebration. The dinner is intimate, hosting only the wedding party and parents of the bride and groom. I am on a march to the unknown as Rhys holds my hand and leads the way. He draws circles on my palm with his finger and I loosen and relax under his gentle coaxing. Thoughts of Melissa, gossip, and my earlier phone call fall away. He makes me feel better, happier.

The wine cellar is cool, but the warm wood and priceless bottles make up for it. A long table anchors the room with ornately carved wooden chairs. Delicate white linen covers the table dotted with white votive candles that warm the slightly stagnant air. Everyone is moving about the room, greeting one another, buzzing about the coming event. When we cross over the threshold I swear you could hear a pin drop, a brief moment that was instantly swallowed by zealous greetings and th
e first of too many toasts.     

Rhys’ grip tightens around my hand as we make our way around the room, sending my pulse racing. He introduces me to Matthew’s groomsmen, Mark, Matthew’s younger brother and Wes, who looks as out of place as I feel. And I am not wrong. He is from a small farming community in New Zealand, but made it all the way to St. Andrews to play rugby. He is witty and brash, startlingly masculine and comfortably adrift in this sea of money. As I look around the
room, I can’t help but think that if things had happened differently Wes would have been the type of guy I would connect with here. Bawdy, beer drinking, foul mouthed and fun. Not worried about appearance or net worth.