Page 96 of Masked in Deception
I send a “Hello?” message to Sir’s number again, letting out a harsh sob when I hear another buzz from the nightstand.
This can’t be real. My breathing is too fast. The room is too quiet. I can feel my blood pumping through my veins as time slows.Fuck, I’m either hallucinating or hyperventilating.Hopefully the former but almost certainly the latter. I lean forward to open Jack’s nightstand, and there, under his little trinkets and tchotchkes, is the twin to the phone in my hand.
I don’t even try to stifle my sobs, sounding more like a wounded animal than anything else, as I open it, seeing the other side of all of my messages with my Sir.Jack.
Maybe it wasn’t him? Maybe he just found this phone. My masked man didn’t have any piercings, so perhaps he was trying to find my masked man to kill him. Picking up a velvet pouch in the nightstand, any hope I have leaves my soul as my matching leash slides out into my hand.
Why?Why would he do this? To trick me? To make a fool out of me one more time? I can’t…Jesus, I can’t breathe.Okay. Okay, Margot. No hyperventilating over a man. Any man. Fuck this. Get out.Get out, before he comes back. Get out, get out, get out…
If I can keep it together for ten minutes, I can be free. Gasping for air, I swallow the bile that’s risen in the back of my throat and try to stand.Come on, Margot. Just make it ten minutes.
All I really need is my purse and my phone. Calling Marco, I give him the emergency word we came up with ages ago to signal that we needed to do whatever the other says with no explanation. “Toast,” I said, and he repeated it, called the jet, and headed my way in a car.
Moving through the apartment, I ignore my piano, my shoes near the door, the flowers Jack got me two days ago, the box of my chocolates on the sofa table…I ignore it all, moving like a zombie, or a robot, or whatever bipedal being has the least of a heart.
He needs to know. He needs to know what he’s done so he can be in a fraction of the pain I’m in right now. I leave both phones on the kitchen island, open, so he knows I saw the texts.
I unhook my diamond cow keychain he sent me for Valentine's Day in Paris, when I was still mad at him but couldn’t resist how perfect this stupid thing was. It’s been on every set of keys I’ve carried since. I set it down next to the phones.
Barely holding on to my robot spirit, I take down the bow from my hair and add it to the island. Pink silk with a tiny crystal J hidden in the clasp. He bought it for me last week from a street vendor who was customizing them on the spot. Jack tried to tell the man to add an M, but I told him I’d prefer a J. I remember thinking his smile could have powered a whole block for a day, it was so bright.
Finally, hands shaking, I clip my leash onto my collar and add it to my tragic little pile on the island. My offering. Or sacrifice, I guess. If I thought burning these things would cleanse me in some way, I’d incinerate them now and not blink. But there’s no saving me from this pain, no ritual that can undo this damage.
Marco texts that he’s downstairs and the plane will be ready by the time we get to the airport, so I leave my little collection of offerings to Jack on the kitchen island. He’s joked before that it was an altar at which to worship me.
Well.
It can be an altar at which he mourns me, now. I pray he feels an ounce of my pain. I hope he sees everything, andknowsimmediately, and feels the enormity of his mistake. I hope he feels it for the rest of his days.
Amen.
Chapter sixty-five
After another day of dealing with the fallout from our security breach at the club, I have one more stop to make before I can get home to my girl. I’ve been shaving off an hour here and there, making sure her ring is resized and polished to perfection. She picked it out herself years ago in a vintage shop, some offhand comment about how she’d never settle for another ring and her true prince wouldknowand find this one. In a tiny shop. Off the beaten path. Naturally, I snatched it up, thinking I could at least keep it until she found a man worthy of her, then give it to him. All I need now is the perfect time to ask.Soon,I think, before LJ is born. Maybe even while we’re in Paris. We’re meant to be together, and I’m ready to be her emergency contact. There’s no reason to wait.
Well, maybe one reason. I haven’t come clean about being her Sir yet. I’ve meant to, we’ve just been so fucking happy. And at this point, I know I’m a giant piece of shit, so what else is new? But now I think she’ll see the positives, and see my heart, and we’ll be romantic together in the City of Light. At least this is myhope. If this all blows up in my face, I’m not even entertaining that as an option.
I’m whistling with a pep in my step as I open the front door, ready to smell Margot’s hair and let the worries of the day melt away before we head to our favorite Thai restaurant for dinner. Immediately, I know it’s too quiet. Beyond that, it’s as still as a tomb in here. Unnaturally so. Fucking creepy.
“Margot? Princess, are you okay? Are you here? What’s…” I trail off as I enter the kitchen and see the items left on the counter. I freeze, waiting for anything at all to happen to make this not be my reality. But it is. She found out.
She found out about my absolute bullshit, and she’s gone.
I can’t do anything but fall to my knees and crawl to the island, sitting back on my heels to look at the pieces of Margot left behind. Both my Margots. Her collar and leash, the phones, the keychain.The bow.I lose it at the bow, crumpling to the floor in a heap of sobs, ruining the silk with my tears as I clutch it to my face. I remember how it felt when she said she wanted a J instead of an M. I thought I was going to burst with love. Now, I feel like I’m going to burst with pain.
Fuck,and I deserve it. I allow it to wash over me, sobbing until I don’t have tears and then dry heaving until my abs burn with the effort. I hadn’t even wanted to keep the phone, but every time I almost got rid of it, I thought of Margot feeling like she needed her masked man for something, and showing up to the room and him never coming. I convinced myself I couldn’t hurt her like that, so I kept it in my nightstand just in case. And now everything’s exploded in my face.
She’s gone. Two years, and I had her for not even a month, and she’s gone. I must literally pass out from panic and grief because the next thing I know, I wake up to a darkened apartment and a million missed texts and calls from the entire family. Immediately, I fear the worst, that they’ve figured out aboutMargot and me, and now how I’ve hurt her. Instead, it’s just the group chat popping off with more baby stuff, work texts about the security updates, and calls from Ledger trying to confirm new hires for the clubs.
I lie on the floor, twisted uncomfortably but unwilling to adjust because I deserve every bit of this. Time passes, and I remain there until I see the first beams of the sunrise start to move through the apartment. Finally, I stand to rinse my mouth and use the bathroom, and when I come back to the living room, I see the sunlight hitting the polished top of her piano. She’s played for me every time I’ve asked in the last few weeks. I asked her if she thought our kids would have her musical talent, and she gave a coy shrug and said, “We’ll see.” The tears threaten to fall again when I realize I’m not doing this again. I’m not giving up. I gave up two years ago, and it was the wrong thing to do. I knew then and didn’t fight. But now I’ve had her again and she’s magic, all the fucking good in the world. I’m not letting her go. One of the missed texts was from Blanche saying she wouldn’t come for dinner tonight since we were in Paris early. Margot must have told her she was going ahead, and Blanche assumed I was with her. Clearly, Margot didn’t feel like explaining, but that’s to my advantage. I know where she is, and nobody else in the family knows what’s going on.
I can work with this. Packing the lightest possible bag and planning to buy everything else when I get there, I’m on the next flight across the Atlantic.
I told you I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Princess. Time for me to prove it.
After a frustrating text exchange with Ledger while I was en route, I finally land in Paris and make my way to the pickup spot for the car service. I mean, how hard is it to just confirm or deny whether he thinks a turkey baster pregnancy is a reasonable method to trap a woman with you forever? He acted like he never considered it with Sloane,which I know he did,and tried to be all high and mighty about it. The man hacked her medical records and put cameras in her house! His high horse is a fucking miniature pony at this point.
I’m running on fumes by the time I reach Margot’s apartment, ready to beg, grovel, plead, disfigure myself, anything she wants if she’ll just let me in and listen to me. My hand is raised to knock when it opens and a supermodel walks out wearing a red, skintight latex midi dress, a coat slung loosely over her shoulders, carrying matching gloves and wearing sky-high heels. Large sunglasses cover most of her face, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a tight chignon. It’s not until she sweeps past me without a glance, and I catch a faint whiff of her scent that I realize it’s…
