Consequences(61)

“Miss, you’re partially right, Mr. Rawlings doesn’t want to let anyone else have power over him. Therefore, if he admits he has feelings toward you, he gives up control, and if I may—that scares him.”

Claire really didn’t think that anything scared Anthony Rawlings. “I don’t want his feelings. I want out! I want to go to Atlanta and forget I was ever here”—her voice steadied—“I promise—I won’t tell any of his secrets. I just want to go home.” Tears flowed with increased intensity. Her next question was barely audible, “Do you think he’ll ever let me go?”

Catherine looked into her eyes. “Mr. Rawlings is a man of his word. If he said he’ll release you when your debt is paid, then he will.” The obvious question was when would that be? “Now after you shower, would you like your lunch in here or downstairs?”

Claire began to get out of the bed as Catherine helped with her robe. “I’ll shower, but I’m really not hungry.”

“It’s sunny and beautiful outside; the sun will make you feel better. I’ll have your lunch brought to the pool.” Catherine started for the door, but stopped, and added, “Unless, you need my assistance?”

“No, thank you, I’ll be all right. I’ll be down to the pool in a little while.”

Claire slowly walked into the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as possible, stood under the stream, and let the flow hit her face and skin. It didn’t stop her head from aching, but it washed away the scent of him. As the steam built and her skin turned red, she found herself sitting on the bench, liquid needles hitting her hair, and tears flowing.

She couldn’t be sure how long she sat in that position, but the temperature of the water began to cool by the time she snapped back to reality. Drying her skin, she noticed new bruises—both of her hip bones and her left forearm were red and tender to the touch. As she placed her sunscreen, she found some more bruises on her legs. Momentarily, she considered the need to camouflage them while at the pool, then she realized, why? Maybe the staff didn’t have access to the videos of her bedroom, but what about the pool, his office, and any other place he chose to require her services?

She combed her wet hair, put on a bikini, a beach cover, flip-flops, and found her new sunglasses. Her eyes looked scary in the mirror. The sunglasses would definitely help. On her way to the pool she stopped in the library and grabbed an older magazine, People. Some light nonsense reading to help her mind stray.

As soon as she stepped outside of the house, Claire realized Catherine was right about the weather—lower humidity with bright sunshine. When she reached the pool, Cindy brought a tray with her lunch: a turkey sandwich, mixed fresh fruit, and an iced tea, and asked if Claire needed anything else.

“No, Cindy, I’m fine. Thank you for lunch.” The sound of defeat thickly flowed through her voice. The sight of the food made her ill. It reminded her of dining—dining of Tony—Tony of his rules, instructions, and video surveillance. She began to shove the tray off the table but stopped. Someone would need to clean it up. That seemed unnecessary. Claire picked up the glass of iced tea and walked toward a chaise lounge.

Remembering scenes on that lounge chair, she chose another.

The sun felt wonderful on her skin and the tea tasted refreshing. Her head still ached and eyes hurt. She suddenly wished she’d asked Cindy for some headache medicine. Thumbing through the magazine she looked at pictures of smiling, pretty celebrities. She read an article about a little girl saved by her dog—sweet.

Then she read the latest gossip—who was with whom and who was splitting from whom. It was then she saw the picture, in a section called Star Tracks. It was her! The photo showed her and Tony sitting in the private box at the symphony, her smiling at him, and him holding her hand. It contained the title and caption: