An Old Friend
1358 Words
AUNIKA
"Ms. Marshall?" Alexander's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I blinked hard, the champagne-soaked nightmare dissolving around the edges. It was.... not my son, it wasn’t my baby with his pajamas and sleepy eyes and devastating resemblance to his father.
It was just some other child across the room, tugging on his mother's designer dress and whining about being tired, not my dark-haired boy who was safe at home with Mrs. Patterson three thousand miles away from this moment.
Get it together, Aunika. You're losing your f*****g mind.
"I'm fine." The words came out rougher than I'd intended. My champagne flute was intact in my hand, my carefully constructed facade still in place. "Just... the heat in here is overwhelming."
"Of course." Alexander's hand found my elbow, steadying and possessive. "The bathroom is just down the hall if you need a moment to freshen up."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The phantom weight of my son's absence pressed against my chest like a physical thing, and I needed space to breathe before I did something catastrophically stupid like scream or cry or grab Marlon Lance by his perfect lapels and demand to know if he ever thought about what he'd destroyed.
"Excuse me," I murmured, extracting myself from Alexander's grip with practiced ease. "I'll be right back."
Victoria's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Don't be too long, darling. We were just getting to the interesting part of the conversation."
I walked away before I could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean.
The hallway leading to Alexander's guest bathroom was mercifully empty, lined with more of his pretentious art collection and lit by sconces that probably cost more than it should. I pushed through the bathroom door and immediately locked it behind me, my hands shaking as I gripped the marble countertop.
What the hell is wrong with you?
I stared at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. E.R. Marshall looked back; perfectly styled hair, flawless makeup, designer dress that hugged every curve I'd worked to perfect, nothing like the broken secretary who'd bled on a ballroom floor two years ago.
But underneath the expensive veneer, I could see her. Aunika Duvall, with her soft edges and naive hope and stupid, destructive love for a man who'd never deserved it.
The cool marble helped ground me. Real. Solid. Unlike the hallucination that had just ripped through my chest like shrapnel.
I was reaching for my purse to reapply lipstick; anything to delay going back to that room; when the door handle turned.
"Occupied," I called out, but the lock was already disengaging with a soft click.
Marlon stepped inside and closed the door behind him with the kind of casual authority that made my wolf snarl and my pulse spike in equal measure.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I spun to face him, my voice pitched low and dangerous. "This is a private..."
"Aunika." The name fell from his lips like a prayer. Like an accusation. "It... it really is you."
My blood went cold, then hot, then cold again. "I don't know what you're talking about. My name is..."
"E.R. Marshall. Right." He took a step closer, and the small bathroom suddenly felt suffocating. Cedar and expensive cologne and something darker that made my teeth ache. "Except I know those eyes. I know the way you hold your left shoulder when you're nervous. And I know..." His gaze dropped to my throat, where the high neckline of my dress covered skin that used to bear scars. "I know what should be under that dress."
Run. You need to run.
But there was nowhere to go. Marlon filled the doorway, six feet of lean muscle and barely contained intensity, and every instinct I'd developed over the last two years was screaming at me to get out.
"You're mistaken." I forced steel into my voice. "I don't know who this Aunika person is, but I'm not ..."
He moved faster than I'd expected, one hand bracing against the mirror beside my head while the other caught my wrist. Not rough, but firm enough that I couldn't pull away without making a scene.
"Then you won't mind if I check."
His fingers found the high neckline of my dress, and panic shot through me like lightning. The scar was gone; laser surgery had taken care of that eight months ago. i had to get rid of the only reminder of him. Maybe not the last.
"Don't." The word came out sharper than glass, desperate in a way that made his eyes widen. "Don't you dare touch me."
But he was already tugging the fabric down, searching for something that was no longer there. His brow furrowed when he found only smooth skin, confusion replacing the terrible certainty in his golden eyes.
"I... there was a scar. Right here." His thumb brushed against my collarbone, and my traitor body responded with a shiver I couldn't hide. “That night... The night we made love before.... The scar from..." He spoke, struggling to believe as he tucked my dress lower but there was still nothing.
The raw pain in his voice almost undid me. Almost made me forget why I'd spent eighteen months building walls between us.
"Get your hands off me." I shoved against his chest, but he didn't budge. If anything, he leaned closer, his face inches from mine, and I could see the exact moment he stopped thinking and started feeling.
"I'm sorry." The words were barely a whisper, broken and desperate. "God, Aunika, I'm so f*****g sorry. I was a coward and a fool, and I've regretted it every day since..."
"Stop." I couldn't let him do this. I couldn't let him apologize his way back into my life like the last two years had been some kind of tragic misunderstanding. "Just stop."
But he wasn't listening. His free hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone like he was memorizing it, and I could see the exact moment he decided to kiss me.
I jerked backward, my head hitting the mirror with a sharp c***k that made him freeze.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
The spell broke.
Marlon stumbled back like I'd slapped him, his hands falling to his sides, horror replacing desire in his golden eyes.
"I... s**t. I'm sorry. I thought..." He ran his hands through his hair, destroying its perfect styling. "You looked exactly like someone I used to know. Someone I... someone I hurt very badly."
"So, you decided to assault me in a bathroom?" I straightened my dress with shaking fingers, fury and something dangerously close to heartbreak warring in my chest. "Is this how you treat all women who remind you of your past mistakes?"
"No. God, no. I would never..." He looked sick, pale and shaken. "I'm sorry. I'm so f*cking sorry. I don't know what came over me."
I pushed past him toward the door, needing distance before I did something stupid. Like forgive him. Like tell him the truth about what his rejection had cost us both.
"Stay away from me," I said quietly, my hand on the door handle. "Whatever you think you know about me, whatever you think gives you the right to put your hands on me... you're wrong and you’ll pay for it."
I yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Behind me, I heard Marlon's sharp intake of breath.
"Wait. Please..."
But I was already walking away, my heels clicking against marble as I headed back toward the door. I could not do it anymore. I could not stay back. Alexander tried to stop me but just before he could, I hastened my steps and got into my car. I took a deep breath and brought out my phone. I could not let myself break this way.
“Nikita....” I started just as she picked up her call. “I need you to find someone.”
- Writer
