Consequences(206)

Lost in her thoughts, Claire watched as the lights of the city passed the windows. Her mind was back at college. The memories of the messy dorm room, the clutter, and now the game brought a warm feeling. She was happy for Simon. He succeeded in accomplishing his goals. She remembered his aspirations, not of wealth, but happiness and family. She recalled he wanted to be able to help his parents. She hadn’t asked if he was married. She hadn’t even looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, but with all her soul, she hoped he was.

“Mrs. Rawlings,” Tony was addressing Claire. She turned to face him. He was uncomfortably close. “What is your name?”

Bewildered she just looked at him. He reached for her chin and held it so they were looking at one another. “Your name—what is your name?”

Annoyed and alarmed, she replied, “Tony, what are you doing?”

He didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m asking you a question—one that you seem unable to answer.”

Mystified by his behavior, she answered his question, “My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.”

Slowly and deliberately he asked, “Explain to me, Mrs. Rawlings, how you can be sitting with me, your husband, wearing the rings I purchased, in the limousine paid for by my hard work, and thinking about another man.”

He still held her chin. “Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”

As he released her chin, his hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head and pulling the hair hanging down her neck. He continued, “Do I need to repeat every question or do you think you may be able to answer at least one the first time?”

Flashing, her green eyes spoke alarm and the stiffening of her neck spoke resolve. “Seeing Simon caught me off guard. I haven’t thought of or heard from him in eight years. Do you not think that deserves some reflection?”

His grip tightened. “No. I believe the past is just that. It’s done and now it’s time to concentrate on the present.” Her neck hurt. He had her head positioned so their eyes made contact—his shone—black. Hers weren’t apologetic, but full of fury. She didn’t respond. He continued, “At present I believe you need to concentrate on showing me my wife is first and foremost concerned with pleasing her husband.”

He used his other hand to shut the window between them and Eric. Next, he unzipped the slacks of his tuxedo. Shocked and repulsed, Claire started to protest. She soon found speaking impossible. Holding her neck, he silently directed her head, resting his head on the seat, his fingers entwined in her hair. When Claire tried to push away, Tony seized her hand and twisted it back. He did not release the pressure and movement on her head until he was finished.

As they walked through the lobby of the Trump Tower, Claire did her best to appear composed. Tony placed his arm around her waist and tenderly whispered in her ear, “I have more ways you can demonstrate your devotion, Mrs. Rawlings. We’ll review when we reach our apartment.”

The last thirteen months dissolved into nothingness. She wasn’t Claire Rawlings—wife. She was Claire Nichols—whatever he wanted her to be.





Any idiot can face a crisis, it is day to day living that wears you out.



—Anton Chekhov





Chapter Forty-Three


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The silence within the limousine intensified with each mile, as Tony and Claire rode from Bettendorf toward home. The silent auction unofficially raised over a half of a million dollars net. The cost of the event had been less than ten thousand dollars due to Claire’s clever procurement of donated services and goods. The noiselessness of the ride was a stark contrast to the convention center.