Page 109 of Fierce

They Always Leave

I hadn’t even asked Hemi about his meetings, I realized the next morning, after I’d slept the clock around and then some and was eating breakfast at the dining-room table of the most extravagant suite I could possibly have imagined. Let’s just say that it put the Hôtel du Louvre to shame. There was a huge marble fireplace in the living room, and it had been lit by a butler this morning. Upstairs, my bedroom was set beside a monstrous terrace overlooking Central Park. I wouldn’t be using that in December, but it was nice to have, I guessed. I ate my eggs and toast and wondered how on earth I’d ended up here, and, most uncomfortably of all, remembered how inadequate my thanks had been for everything Hemi had done.

What I’d told him was true. I hadn’t had anything to give—less and less with each passing day. I’d been living on nerves and fumes. But I should have asked about his trip. I should at least have spared him a thought, and I’d be fixing that when he came back.

I did still have my hands full with Karen for now, though. It was a relief almost past bearing to get her out of the hospital, to settle her into a cloudlike bed with a scrolled headboard fit for a princess in her very own bedroom, to have her reach for the remote control with a sigh of satisfaction, and to be able to smile at that.

And it was more than a relief, during the days that followed, not to have to shop, or run errands, or do anything but look after Karen and try to recover from the sleepless nights, from the fear and worry that had run me ragged. To have our meals delivered at first, to be able to order anything that might tempt Karen’s fickle appetite and have it arrive just like that. And, when she was a little stronger, to take her down to sit in the over-the-top sumptuousness of the Palm Court and eat more, to see her delight in not being sick, in hurting less every day. The hotel was gorgeous, and the suite was better, but who’d known that the absence of pain and illness was the ultimate luxury? We both did, now.

It was a different kind of relief, but just as real, to know that I’d be able to start contributing again, or at least to do my job. I couldn’t come close to paying Hemi back for everything he’d done, but I could get back on my feet again and stop taking from him, and sooner would be a whole lot better than later. Especially since I hadn’t heard from him nearly as much as I’d expected to.

I’d known he’d be busy. He’d told me so, I vaguely recollected. We’d had a few quick calls in the late afternoon, when he was getting ready for bed, a few more texts during the day. And, on Thursday, the news that he wouldn’t be coming back the next day after all, but would have to stay until Monday.

Complicated, he’d texted. Stay at the hotel.

Karen was so much better, though, bouncing back at a rate Dr. Feingold told me wasn’t uncommon in teenage patients. And I knew staying would be nothing but an indulgence. The sooner we got back to our real life, the better. The sooner we had solid ground under our feet again instead of these clouds we were walking on right now. Solid ground to make solid decisions.

And the sooner I got back to work, too. I’d be doing that from home for the next week, and then, assuming Karen’s recovery went as well as expected, back in the office. That work was going to start this morning, because my bizarre vacation was over.

I’d been lying on Karen’s bed reading to her, because reading was still beyond her, but I broke off in mid-sentence at the knock I’d been expecting, then set the book on the bedside table.

“To be continued,” I said.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She was worn out, I could tell, from the walk we’d taken this morning to look at the Christmas window displays on Fifth Avenue. But she’d been so much stronger on that walk, and this was going to be a great Christmas. Our best ever, because she was here for it, and she was going to be well.

“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m good.”

I closed the bedroom door softly behind me and hurried across the living room to the front door and opened it to Martine, looking as polished as always in a knit suit that emphasized her willowy proportions.

“Nice place,” she said in the understatement of the year, looking around as I gestured her toward the dining-room table. “You’re a very lucky girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I refused to blush. By now, Hemi’s involvement with me couldn’t have been any kind of secret. I was sure that he’d had to make it very, very clear in order for me to keep my job through all this after barely three months’ employment, especially with a boss who wasn’t crazy about me anyway.

“Your sister’s doing better, I take it?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She didn’t say anything further, to my relief, just sat with me and went through what looked like far more than a week’s worth of work, but that I was somehow going to have to accomplish anyway. I couldn’t run to Hemi and complain. How would that look?

“And that’s it,” she said crisply, shoving her laptop back into its Kate Spade bag. “Shouldn’t be a problem, not with all your other needs taken care of so…thoroughly.”

Her gaze traveled around the room, taking in that fireplace, the huge arrangement of lavender roses and white calla liles on the Beaux Arts end table under the semicircular window overlooking Central Park, the graceful staircase leading to my bedroom on the floor above. At least she hadn’t asked to use the bathroom. Those had chandeliers, too.

Her eyes met mine again, and I realized I hadn’t answered.

“No,” said. “Of course it won’t be a problem.” And refused to feel like a mistress, because I wasn’t one. I might have been a lot of things, but I wasn’t that.

Martine hesitated, tapping an elegant fingernail against the clasp of her bag. “Can I make one more suggestion?” she asked. “A little word in your ear?”

“Of course.” Note One. You are calm. Even though I was anything but. My emotions were so volatile these days, rocketing from the giddiest heights to the darkest depths. My brain and body seemed determined to force me to acknowledge the extent of my terror, now that it was over.

The lesser but still powerful anxiety about what to do about my job, all Karen’s missed school, and both of our futures still loomed. And always, still, the overwhelming need for Hemi, undeniable and irresistible as the tide, and just as dangerous.

There was desire there, of course there was, coming back now that I could feel something—anything—again. But that was the easy part. It was remembering his tenderness that was so devastating. The sweet rightness when I’d been in his arms after we’d made love, when his hand was stroking down my back to soothe me. The leaping pleasure I still felt at every text, every phone call. The thrill every time I’d opened my apartment door, had seen him standing outside, and had known he was there for me.

I’d told him I couldn’t think of anything but Karen, but I’d come to realize during this past week that it wasn’t true. Somehow, sometime, I’d fallen in love. During these past quiet days, I’d been forced to admit, to myself if nobody else, that this was so much more than attraction. That I loved Hemi with an intensity, an understanding, and a connection that was all the more powerful for being unspoken. I loved him for his strength, yes, but I loved him more for his weaknesses. For how hard he worked to be the best, and for how deeply he feared that he wasn’t enough. And I missed him. I missed him so much.

Now, Martine smiled at me, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that all those thoughts were there to read in my transparent face.

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