Page 7 of Somewhere Without You
“Happy to,”hesaid, handing me my suitcase. Our fingers touched—just barely, but the spark that followed shot straight through me.
Katherine arched an eyebrow.“I hope he behaved himself.”
“He was a perfect gentleman,”I smiled, though my pulse was still racing.
“A gentleman, huh?”She gave Jackson a pointed look.“That’s a new one. I’ve heard him called a lot of things, but‘gentleman’usually doesn’t make the list.”
“That’s because you’ve never acted like a lady,”he shot back smoothly.
Katherine smirked, but I caught the flicker of something unreadable in her eyes as she stepped aside and motioned me inside.“Come on. Let’s get you settled.”
As Jackson turned to go, something tugged at me.
“Hey,”Ishouted, and he paused, half-turned toward me.“Will I see you again?”Iasked, trying to sound casual, not like my heart was stupidly hoping for a yes.
His gaze lingered on mine as he slid his hands into his pockets.“I hope so.”
Four
Now
ThegownJacksonboughtclung to me in all the wrong places. I was a size 16, and this dress was meant for someone with half my waistline.
Still, with a bit of wriggling and careful maneuvering, I managed to slip into it—strategically concealing the safety pins and the inch-wide gap where the zipper refused to close. One wrong move, and it would split. Embarrassing for the dress, but even more humiliating for me.
My honey-brown hair was swept into an elaborate updo. Jackson had brought in a makeup artist named Anya to mask the bruises. She didn’t flinch as she dabbed at the violet stains blooming over my eye and across my cheekbone, her brush moving with a quiet efficiency that made me wonder how many wives like me she’d painted over before.
You didn’t get hired for gigs like this unless you knew how to keep secrets.
I kept my face still, afraid that if I cracked the illusion Jackson had orchestrated, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish me later.
When Anya was done, I barely recognized myself. The foundation was thick, the eyeshadow garish. I couldn’t remember what I looked like anymore—barefaced or made up. Over time, my amber eyes had dimmed, and the freckles that once danced across my nose and cheeks had faded like stars at dawn.
Jackson used to love those freckles. Back when we were new, he’d name them like constellations, mapping them out with his fingers as we’d lie together in bed, our skin still hot from the fire we’d kindled out of passion and lust.
Now, he thought they made me look childish, and he no longer traced them like a galaxy he was once so eager to explore.
Outside, the driver laid on the horn as I made my way down the steps. I opened the car door, but the hem of my dress snagged on my heel. I stumbled, catching myself with a graceless sprawl against the pavement.
“Jesus Christ, Emily. We’re already late. Can you hurry the fuck up?”Jackson didn’t even look at me as I gathered myself and slid into the seat beside him.
“Sorry,”Imurmured, keeping my eyes forward while he sipped whatever dark poison swirled in his glass.
“I see you found my gift,”hesaid, tilting his head, letting the ice clink against his teeth.
“It’s beautiful.”I ran my fingers along the sequined fabric.“Thank you.”
He gave a tight nod.“And is it. . . comfortable?”
What he really meant was,Does it fit?Jackson was careful to never comment on my weight outright. He preferred veiled criticisms.
“Like a glove,”Isaid, forcing a polite smile and willing my makeup not to crack. But the truth was far from comfortable.
Since my mothers death, I couldn’t seem to keep my weight steady, but this was the heaviest I had ever been. When Jackson and I first met, I’d weighed around 160. These days, I hovered near 200, and he found a new way to remind me of it every day.
I’d tried everything to lose it—pills, workouts, starvation diets, kale for every meal. Even a desperate detox at a sketchy sauna that landed me in the hospital with severe dehydration. But nothing worked.
“Listen, about last night. . .”Jackson began.
