The Last Mrs. Parrish(72)

Forty-Six




I’d only been at Meadow Lakes for a little over a month, but it felt like years. Jackson came to fetch me himself, and I sat in the passenger seat of his Mercedes roadster, looking out the window, afraid to say the wrong thing. He was in a good mood, humming as if this were any ordinary day and we were simply out for a drive. When he pulled up to the house, I felt strangely outside myself, like I was watching someone else’s life. Someone who lived in a beautiful estate on the water who had lots of money and everything she could want. Suddenly I longed for the haven of my room at the hospital, far from the prying eyes of my husband.

The first thing I did when I got inside was race up the stairs to Tallulah’s nursery. I flung open the door, eager to gather her in my arms. Sitting in the chair rocking Tallulah was a beautiful dark-haired young woman I’d never seen before.

“Who are you?”

“Sabine. Who are you?” She had a thick French accent.

“I’m Mrs. Parrish.” I held out my arms. “Please give my daughter to me.”

She stood, turned her back on me, and moved away. “I’m sorry, madame. I need to hear from Mr. Parrish that it is okay.”

I saw red. “Give her to me,” I screamed.

“What’s going on?” Jackson strode into the room.

“This woman won’t give me my child!”

Jackson sighed and took the baby from Sabine and handed her to me. “Please excuse us, Sabine.”

She threw a look at me and left.

“Where’s Sally? Did you hire that, that . . . creature? She completely disrespected me.”

“Sally’s gone. Don’t blame Sabine, she didn’t know who you were. She was looking out for Tallulah. Sabine will teach her to speak French. You have to think of our child’s well-being. Things are running smoothly now. Don’t try and come back here and upset the apple cart.”

“‘Upset the apple cart?’ She’s my child.”

He sat down on the bed. “Daphne, I know you grew up poor, but there are certain things that will be expected of our children.”

“What do you mean, I grew up poor? I’m from a middle-class family. We had everything we needed. We weren’t poor.”

He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Excuse me. Okay, you weren’t poor. But you certainly weren’t rich.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “Our definitions of rich and poor are vastly different.”

His voice rose. “You know damn well what I’m trying to say. You’re not used to how people with money do things. Doesn’t matter. The point is, leave it to me. Sabine will be a big asset to our family. Now that’s enough. I have a special dinner planned. Don’t spoil it.”

All I wanted was to be with the baby, but I knew better than to complain. I couldn’t risk being sent back to Meadow Lake. Another month there, and I would have truly lost my mind.

All during dinner, he was in an unusually good mood. We shared a bottle of wine, and he’d had Margarita prepare my favorite seafood dish—crab imperial. There was even cherries jubilee for dessert—all very festive, as though my exile hadn’t been by his design and had instead been a relaxing vacation. My mind was racing the entire evening as I tried to keep up with his uncharacteristic nonstop chatter and be engaging. By the time we went upstairs to bed, I was exhausted.

“I bought you something special for tonight.” He handed me a black box.

I opened it with trepidation. “What is this?” I pulled the black leather straps out, studied it, not sure exactly what it was supposed to be. There was a thick collar too, with a round metal ring attached to it.

He walked around behind me and slid a hand down to my hip. “It’s just a little role-playing fun.” He took the collar from my hand and put it up to my neck.

I shoved his hand away. “Forget it! I’m not wearing that . . . thing.” I threw it on the bed along with the corset of straps. “I’m bushed. I’m going to sleep.” I left him standing there and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I came out, he was in bed, his light out, eyes closed.

I should have known it was too easy.

I tossed and turned until I heard the soft sound of his snoring and relaxed enough to drift off. I don’t know what time it was when I was awakened by the feeling of something hard and cold on my lips. My eyes flew open, and I was trying to swat it away when I felt his hand grip my wrist.

“Open your mouth.” His voice was low, guttural.

“What are you doing? Get off of me.”

His grip tightened, and with the other hand, he yanked my hair until my chin was pointing to the ceiling. “I’m not asking again.”

I opened my mouth and tensed as he shoved a cylinder into it until I started to gag. He laughed. Then he was straddling me, reaching for the lamp by my side of the bed. When the light came on, I realized what was in my mouth—the barrel of a gun.

He’s going to kill me. Panic swallowed me, and I laid perfectly still, terrified to move. I watched in horror as his index finger moved to the trigger.

“What will I tell Tallulah when she grows up?” he sneered. “How will I explain that her mother didn’t even love her enough to live?”

I wanted to yell out but was afraid to move. I felt tears rolling down the side of my face into my ears.