The Iron Tiara

She looked up at him while simultaneously reaching for his hand. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the back of his huge brown hand. “I know,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her. "You've told me that more than once."

She sensed the shift in his body language and realized he’d moved around to face her and was caressing her cheeks with both of his hands. She opened her eyes and looked up into black eyes so dark, she could see her own reflection. Her expression held a mixture of anticipation, curiosity and a little apprehension. Anthony smiled at her, revealing a dimple so deep and teeth so white she wasn’t sure she was looking at the face of the same man who’d instilled so much fear in her three short days ago. Three days that seemed to span a lifetime.

He slowly bent his face toward hers and gently nipped at her lips. She relaxed and welcomed his playfulness. He could feel her smile, and he moved his tongue along her lips, an exploration so light, it tickled. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting him inside. His kiss was gentle at first, but became more passionate when she moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist. He knew the moment she sensed his need, and he pulled back. Still holding her face in his hands, he recognized the relief in her eyes. She wasn’t ready, and he was okay with that.

“Um…I’m sorry, Anth—” she started to say, her voice quivering.

“No, don’t be sorry.” He let go of her face and took a step back. He brushed his hand down his face and exhaled loudly. “We’ll take it slow,” he told her, his voice sounding throaty.

Take it slow? he asked himself. Why would he do that? He obviously wanted her, but why was he willing to wait until he sensed she was ready? Because you care, the voice in his head told him.

“Thank you,” she answered quietly without meeting his eyes. Her gaze landed on the wall behind his desk. He turned around to see what she was looking at. She was surprised she hadn't noticed it before and was shocked at its implication.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked.

"No," he told her.

"Then why do you have that?" she queried, looking at him curiously. She couldn't fathom a reason why it would be hanging on his wall.

"Because my sister does," he told her. "She asked me to make it for her a few years ago. I thought she was going to take it with her and I found it hanging there after she left." After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "Do you?" A few seconds passed. "Believe in God?"

She looked down at her feet, answering without looking at him, "I haven't believed in God for a long time." She could discount her prayer at the Glades Motel since she was convinced that Anthony had saved her. Not God. At least that’s what her bruised and bitter heart told her.

"Do you like it?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She thought his voice sounded hopeful. Like he wanted her to like it. Needed her to like it.

“Very much,” she answered honestly. “You said your sister asked you to make it. I saw something similar in the living room, but I think I like this one better.”

The dimple was back, deeper than she thought possible.

“C’mon,” he told her. “I’ll show you my shop.” He led her outside.

An hour later they were back in the house. The storm had knocked out the power, and they were settled on his couch surrounded by candles. Anthony could’ve flipped a switch to the backup generator but chose the quiet and serene ambiance of candlelight instead. He had his long legs stretched out on the coffee table with Christy nestled into his side. For a split second, he let himself think about the woman who’d tried to have moments like this with him. Veronique. She was the only reason he had candles in his home. She’d shown up with them along with romantic notions of long, luxurious bubble baths, dinner by candlelight and beds covered in rose petals. He thought it was nonsense and the idea of spending any time with Veronique that wasn’t steeped in basic, guttural sex, didn’t appeal to him. Not even a little. And even that was no longer appealing.

“Why do you hate Van so much?” Anthony blurted out.

Up until now, their conversation had been lighthearted and casual. They discussed world events, politics, music, and even favorite television shows. They’d both steered clear of anything too personal. But Anthony decided that he wanted to know everything about Christy Chapman. And Van seemed like a good place to start. After all, he was the reason they were together now.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Why did you hate me so much?”

“Touché,” he replied, nodding. “You go first.”

“I didn’t always hate Van. I never loved him, but I didn’t hate him either. He wasn’t what you’d expect of a traditional father. I’m not sure that I even know what that would be, but I’m certain it wasn’t what Richard and I got from Van and Vivian.”

“Have you always called them by their first names?” he questioned. He grasped her observation about not understanding the definition of traditional parenting. He’d only caught a glimpse of it for the two years he’d lived with his Uncle Robert, and Aunt Carolyn. And with Aunt Carolyn’s waning health he wasn’t sure if how they lived was considered normal, but it was the closest he’d ever seen.

“No. I called them Mom and Dad until I was about twelve. But even then, Litzy was more of a parent to me than either one of them. Van was always gone, and Vivian was always absent.”

“What’s the difference?” he interrupted.

“I rarely if ever saw Van. The most I ever spent with him at one time would be the obligatory family vacation and it usually involved business. Believe it or not I have some happy memories of those few trips. It was a rare opportunity to pretend we were normal. Anyway, we always vacationed with another family that Van knew through his business connections. As far as Vivian being absent, I mean emotionally as well as physically. She stayed locked in her room for days and only let the servants in to restock her private bar and deliver her prescription drugs.”

“You didn’t answer my original question,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “When did they stop being Mom and Dad?”

She stiffened as she tucked her legs beneath her and sat up straighter. “We were on a cruise. The last vacation we ever took as a family.” She looked away, unable to meet Anthony’s eyes. “We were there with another family. They had a seventeen-year-old daughter. I remember admiring her and trying to impress her. She was five years older than me, but seemed so mature and worldly. I wanted to be just like her. Richard was about nineteen, and he only showed up because Van insisted. We had to put on a show for the other family that Van was trying to impress.”

She exhaled loudly and said, “To make a long story short, I spilled something all over myself and ran back to the cabin to change, and I walked in on Van. He was having sex with the daughter of his prospective business associate.”

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