Regarding that authority, it did not assert itself as it had a year ago. She reasoned that perhaps it was because her behavior didn’t warrant that type of implementation. No matter the cause, life was undeniably better.
Watching the moonlight on the budding trees, Claire reminded herself of the outings that she’d recently enjoyed. They’d included lunches in Iowa City, Red Cross meetings in Davenport, and shopping in Chicago. A few weeks ago MaryAnn suggested a catch-up day in New York as she and Eli were there for business. Tony reviewed all of the e-mails before Claire and she didn’t expect permission to spend the day in New York, but she asked. Surprisingly he acquiesced. Smiling and feeling her pulse slow, she remembered him offering a company jet and flying off to a beautiful April day in NYC. All of the women had a marvelous time and she made it home before seven. He was home first, but she was home for dinner. He wasn’t unhappy.
Calming, she listened to the voice in her head and the gentle breeze that blew her hair, remembering a recent unexpected freedom. Secretly coveting the chestnut hair that kept trying to return, she informed Tony that she needed an appointment to maintain her blonde. He said they had no overnight plans in the near future, so she should just go. If he had the private plane she could take one of the company jets, just plan to be home before dinner. Shocked, she remembered questioning, “Are you saying I can go by myself?”
“My dear Claire, is there any reason you should not?”
She assured him there was not. He or Patricia arranged the appointment, and Claire went to the airport and boarded a company jet by herself. She landed in Chicago, took a waiting cab to the Trump Tower, where she spent the rest of the morning being pampered. Then she ate lunch and shopped for a few hours and came home. Blushing in the cool night air she thought about being back in her suite before six and how she did her best to show her husband the meaning of a statement she’d made months earlier: coming home to a wife who wants to be home is better than coming home to a wife that has to be home. He caught on pretty quick, the first indication was the spark in her emerald eyes and the next clue involved a black satin robe and a warm waiting bath. Truth be told, she couldn’t remember eating dinner at all that night.
Claire’s eyelids reminded her that she should be sleeping. Slipping back into her suite and under the warm blankets, she thought about the man lying next to her. He continued to be a paradox. The man Claire met when she first arrived hadn’t shown his personality since her accident. She knew he was still here, that knowledge alone was motivation to obey his rules. She’d been told too many times that his promise to keep that personality away was contingent on her ability to behave appropriately. The stress of that reality and unpredictability loomed omnipresent.
The man who worked to court her, to convince her that she was important, desirable, and loved still existed in a muted form. He was still attentive, present, and always sexual, but he was busy with work and often preoccupied. That was understandable. He was a successful man with many fires to tend.
It was his need for complete supremacy over every aspect of her life that felt stifling and unbearable. Claire theorized that this was the cause of the suffocation that usually accompanied her nightmares. He had companies, peoples’ jobs and livelihoods on his list of responsibilities. The fact that he controlled her comings, goings, e-mails, hair, and often attire seemed ridiculous.
Attempting to stop the rise in blood pressure, she reminded herself that no matter what, she loved him. He could infuriate her one moment, making her feel less than human. And the next, he could make her feel like the world spun only because she mattered to him. It was just that those two contradictory emotions could come too close together and in any order. As Claire reminisced she recognized that similar to a year ago, her mood, liberties, and sense of self-worth seemed to have a common denominator, Anthony Rawlings.
As that realization struck, he rolled toward her, wrapped her in his arms; and though still sleeping, murmured, “My love, you’re so cold. Come closer.” She melted against his warm chest. At this moment in time, he made her feel safe and loved. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.