She seems to only just now notice that the limo has stopped. She shuts her laptop and slips it into her bag, unbuckling her seat belt and getting ready to leave me.
As she double checks that she has everything, including a dry cleaning bag of three of her outfits she’s left at my place, she gives me a small smile and grips everything in her hands.
“I’ll go with you,” I offer.
“No, don’t,” she says stubbornly, “I’ve got this.” She leans forward and plants a kiss on my lips and pulls back slowly. At the same time my phone beeps and vibrates in my hand with a text.
It catches me off guard. Maybe it’s my nerves. She seems to realize I’m off a little, but before she can think on it, I pull her closer to me, one hand on her lower back, the other on the back of her head and slip my tongue along the seam of her lips until she parts for me. The dry cleaner bags ruffle as she drops them to run her hand through my hair. Andrew starts to roll up the partition and I let out a small chuckle.
Charlotte backs away and leans down to grab her bags.
“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” She nods and slips out of the limo. It’s not until she’s in her building that I tell Andrew to head home.
“Thank you for that, Andrew.” His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror and he smiles.
“No problem, sir.”
My home is only fifteen minutes away and I spend the time looking out of the window and watching the people walking along the busy streets of downtown. Couples holding hands and laughing, a few men and women in power suits and brightly colored pencil skirts talking on their cell phones and walking at a quick pace and brushing past the slower walkers.
The world keeps moving. No matter what happens, it’s merely small ripples for the most part.
I don’t even realize we've traveled up the hillside to my house on the cliff of the city, until Andrew clears his throat.
“We’re here, sir,” he says, looking back at me in the mirror.
“Thank you, Andrew.” I quickly grab my briefcase and make my way inside. Before I push the large maple door open, I turn to my right and see the doctor’s car parked in the circle driveway.
My heart sinks. I have these visits. I grit my teeth and try to forget everything else. This must be done.
Marilyn greets me at the entrance. The front entrance has a fresh citrus scent and there are fresh flowers in the vase on the entryway table. Signs of her work.
“Hello and goodbye, Mr. Parker,” she says with a small smile.
“Good night, Mrs. Doubet.” I leave the door open for her.
She says in a quieter voice, “The doctor is in the great room, waiting for you.”
I give her a tight smile and nod. I answer, “Thank you.”
She doesn’t respond, instead she ducks out and leaves to go back to her family or maybe somewhere else. I watch her leave and then close the door behind her, leaving my briefcase on the table.
I take off my suit jacket and unbutton my shirt as I walk straight to the great room.
It’s my favorite room in this house. It’s why I bought it. The back wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The dark wood shelves and chair legs are freshly polished, shining from across the room and the faint of smell of citrus fills my lungs. There are two large tufted sofas and a grand fireplace made of slate. The thick red curtains covering the large windowpanes are always drawn back, giving the room a more open feel.
I haven’t lit the fireplace in God knows how long. As I walk across the room to the leather chair that the doctor’s pulled out for me, I realize I haven’t been in here since the last time he came for a visit. Two months.
It’s my favorite room, but on these days I hate this fucking room.
“Doctor Wallace,” I greet as he hears me walk into the room and turns to face me. He’s an old man with a slight hunch to his back and thick glasses that cover his pale blue eyes. He doesn’t look quite like a doctor in slacks and a red polo that looks like it should be worn by a younger man.
I take the seat and slip my shirt off, tossing it onto a nearby end table.
He gives me a small smile and nods. I’m not one for small talk. He’s used to getting this over with quickly.
“Anything new since we last met?” he asks me as he puts the stethoscope to my back and then tells me to take in a deep breath.
“No changes.” I say the words, but internally I feel like a liar. She’s new. My Rose.
My fingers touch my lips and I remember the faint sounds of her moaning in my mouth.
It would be nice to have her home with me. But not tonight. She can’t be here for my appointments.
At the thought I take my phone out of my pocket, remembering the beep from the text earlier. It’s Trent. Doctor Wallace pulls away, giving me space to look at it.
My heart stills as I read through the message.
That fucking bastard. I stand instantly with barely contained rage.
Chadwick Patterson. That fucking prick. Trent traced the message, or had someone else do it for all I know. But he’s certain the message is from him.