The Last Mrs. Parrish(84)

“Amber, this is so thoughtful and beautiful.”

She held her arm up, and I saw that she wore the same bracelet. “I have one too. Now our sisters will be with us all the time.”

Jackson was watching the exchange, and I could see the anger in his eyes. He was always telling me I thought about Julie too much as it was. But even Jackson couldn’t take my joy away. Two gifts that honored my sister and the love I felt for her. I felt heard and understood for the first time in so long.

“Oh, and one other little thing.” She handed me a small gift bag.

“Another present? The bracelet was enough.”

I pushed aside the tissue paper and felt something hard. My breath caught in my throat as I lifted it from the bag. A glass turtle.

“I know how much you love them,” she said.

Jackson’s lips curled into a smile, and delight shone in his eyes.

And just like that, my feeling of being known and understood evaporated.





Fifty-Five




Meredith was throwing her husband a surprise fiftieth birthday party at Benjamin Steakhouse. Truthfully, it was the last thing I was in the mood for. I was still tired from all the Christmas preparations and we were leaving for St. Bart’s in two days, but I didn’t want to let Meredith down. She was insistent that the party be on the twenty-seventh, Rand’s actual birthday, since over the years it had always been underplayed due to its proximity to Christmas.

I’d just arrived in the city; Jackson had asked me to meet him at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central. That way, we’d be right down the street from the restaurant, and it would only take us a few minutes to walk there.

Even as I put on the Dior dress, I knew I was making a mistake. It was a favorite of mine, but Jackson didn’t like the color. It was a pale gold silk, and he claimed it made my skin sallow. But it was a party for my friend, and I wanted to make a decision for a change. The moment I saw his face, the barely perceptible furrow of the brow, the small wrinkle worrying between his eyes, I knew he was angry. He stood to kiss me, and I took a seat on the stool next to him. He picked up the crystal tumbler and, with one flick of his wrist, downed the remaining amber liquid and flagged the bartender over.

“I’ll have another Bowmore, and a Campari and soda for my wife.”

I was about to protest—I’d never even tasted Campari—but I choked back the words before they escaped. It would be best to let whatever plan he had concocted play itself out.

“Meredith asked that we get to the restaurant by seven so we don’t run into Rand. She wants him to be surprised.”

Jackson arched a brow. “I’m sure the bill will be surprise enough.”

I laughed dutifully, then looked at my watch. “We’ve got about half an hour, and then we’d better get going.”

The bartender placed the drink in front of me.

Jackson lifted his glass. “Cheers, darling.” He toasted me with such force that my drink ended up all over the front of my champagne-colored dress, now splashed with red.

“Oh dear, look what you’ve done.” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

Heat spread to my cheeks, and I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. Meredith was going to be so disappointed. I looked at him with no change in expression. “What now?”

He threw his hands up. “Well, obviously you can’t turn up to the restaurant like that.” He shook his head. “If only your dress were darker, or if you weren’t such a klutz.”

If only you were dead, I wanted to answer.

He called for the check. “We’ll have to go to the apartment and get you changed. Of course, by the time we do that, it’ll be too late to make it in time for the surprise.”

I forced my mind to go blank and followed him numbly from the bar. We got into the limo, and he ignored me while reading e-mails on his phone. I pulled my phone out and texted my apologies to Meredith.

Because of traffic, it took over forty-five minutes for us to get there. I smiled at the doorman, and we rode the elevator in silence. I went to the bedroom, threw the dress on the floor, and stood looking at the closet. I felt him before I heard him—his breath on my neck, then his lips on my back.

I suppressed the urge to scream. “Sweetheart, we don’t have time.”

His mouth traveled down my back, to the top of my panties. He slid them off and cupped my buttocks with his hands. He moved closer, and I realized he’d taken off his pants. I could feel him hard against me.

“There’s always time for this.”

His hands moved to cup my breasts, then he grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the wall, his pressed on top of them. I braced myself as he took me, hard and rough, moving into a frenzied crescendo. It was over within minutes.

I went into the bathroom to clean myself up, and when I emerged, my black Versace was hanging on the bedroom door. I grabbed it and laid it on the bed.

“Hold on,” he said, walking toward me. “Wear this underneath.”

It was a black Jean Yu thong with a matching strapless bra. He’d had it made to order for me, and it felt amazing—like a silk caress—but the sight of it only reminded me of what he’d done before he gave it to me. I took it from him though, and gave him my best imitation of a smile.

“Thank you.”