Page 1 of Degrees of Control
CHAPTER ONE
I can barely hear thesound of the band gently playing in the background over the pounding of his heartbeat as he holds me closely. The weight of the magnificent princess cut diamond he has just placed on the ring finger of my left hand is as heavy as the despair in my heart.
“Katarina, there’s nothing that would please me greater than to call you my wife,” he says, repeating his proposal, lifting my chin to meet the intent deep green eyes searching my own.
My heart is racing, and for the second time in my life, I find myself turning down a wedding proposal. “Chase, I care about you more than you will ever know, but I can’t marry you,” I say, sliding the ring from my finger and placing it into the palm of his hand. I cannot bear to look into his eyes as I close his hand around it, turn from the restaurant and head towards the ocean. My body is on autopilot and full of despair. I just need to move. I find myself walking faster, gaining speed as I head towards the ocean, but I can hear him behind me, and he quickly closes the distance.
“Katarina,” he says, spinning me towards him just before I reach the coast. “Tell me what is wrong,” he says, brushing the tears that have escaped and are streaming down my cheeks. I take a step back trying to gain a little distance. If I let him kiss me, I will succumb.
“Chase, please. I’ll always love you, but you were right when you said that I don’t trust you. I know that now, and if I don’t, how in the world can we expect to live happily ever after?”
“Why do you say this?” he asks, eyes probing, deep pools of green. They are like magnets and I struggle to avert my gaze.
“I do not want to have this conversation here,” I say, gesturing to the beach around us.
“Katarina, we are the only ones within hearing distance in the middle of an entirely private coastline. Tell me.”
“My mom informed me about what happened in Miami the night you and my dad rescued her.”
“What is it that you think you know about that night?” he says.
“You knew the men in that house would be killed, you and Carlos planned it, but yet you let me believe their deaths were an accident. I thought somehow things went wrong, or maybe it was self-defense, but it was planned, an assassination. You and my father have an entirely different set of values than I do. It’s exactly why my mom ran twenty-six years ago. I can’t make the same mistakes she’s made.”
He begins to say something, and I put my hand up to dissuade a quarrel. “I don’t want to argue with you, Chase. I don’t have the emotional strength. I know everything about that night and what happened to Ty. I can’t even think about what transpired without feeling ill,” I say.
“I see,” he says, watching me. His eyes are hooded and controlled. “So, you would walk away from what we have, putting your principles above all else?” he asks.
“You said it best some time ago. If I don’t trust you, over time it will manifest itself, and we won’t have a relationship anyway. I don’t know what else you want me to say. I can’t pretend to condone the things that have happened,” I say, swirling my foot in the sand.
“It’s late, and you are emotionally exhausted. I’ll let Jay know we’re heading to the airport.”
“Chase, I’m not even packed. We weren’t planning to leave so soon,” I say.
“We’re leaving now. I’ll have the team bring your things. They can meet us at the airport,” Chase says once again in full command, on his phone, ordering people around and making arrangements. When we reach the Ridalgo, Jay has a car awaiting our arrival and opens the back door of the limo for us.
Jay leans into the open window to talk with the driver who I do not recognize and then turns his attention to Chase. “By the time the pilot’s ready to take off we’ll have your luggage and computer onboard. I’ll meet you there,” he says, closing the door. I have never met our driver, and Chase does not introduce him to me. As we pull away from the resort entrance, the privacy glass of the limousine slides into place, effectively eliminating him from our view.
Chase pulls the laptop tray down from the seat in front of him, boots up his Mac, and within moments is engrossed in his work appearing at ease with the distance between us. I don’t know what I expected and resign myself to an uncomfortable trip back to the states. I decide to forgo hooking into the limo internet, and pull out my cell to message Jenny.
Message:We’re on the way back to Chicago. Will let you know when we arrive.
Reply:Sounds good. I thought you were staying for a few days?
Message:Long story. Talk later.
Reply:Have a good flight. Call me tomorrow.
It is a relatively short drive across the island to the airport. Chase assists me up the ramp and into the jet entrance, his hand briefly on my back, a painful reminder of the palpable current which exists between us. He spends a few moments thanking the crew for making adjustments in the schedule before joining me in the cabin.
I glance around the multimillion-dollar Gulfstream. It is the same jet we took home the last time; his favorite by admission, designed to make him feel at home in the air with overstuffed leather couches and loveseats, a fireplace that crackles lightly giving off a warm ambiance and extending from floor to ceiling in decorative stone. We buckle up, and it is not long before the pilot is traveling down the runway, and we lift off, careening past the island perimeters and over the multicolored turquoise sea that surrounds it below.
“Katarina, you look exhausted. Why don’t you go into the bedroom and get some sleep? It will take me the majority of the trip to complete the work I need to finish,” he says.
I shrug my shoulders and try to avert my eyes, feeling dismissed, but at the same time thankful for the separation and space to be alone with my thoughts. The bedroom is an instant reminder of what we’ve been to each other, and it is difficult not to think about the time we’ve spent in this room. I slip out of my dress and pull the luxurious feeling white robe around me trying not to think of the times he has wrapped me in it after making love to me. My heart is aching as I climb into the oversized bed longing to talk to my mom who must have felt the exact same way years ago.
A brief knock startles me hours later before the door to the bedroom opens. “Katarina, we’ll be landing soon. You will need to get seated and buckled up shortly,” he says before closing the door.
I try to stifle the feeling of despondency as I slip my dress back on and shrug into the sweater Jay thought to bring along for the trip back to Chicago. I look around the room, drinking in the memories, before closing the bedroom door and buckling in across from him for the final descent.
