Behind Her Smile (33 page)

A throbbing pain takes up space in my chest.

Alec lifts his hand to skim it across my jaw and then to cup my cheek. “You asked me for a promise, now I’m asking you for one. Try to recognize that you could not control David or anyone else for that matter. You can’t control that I love you more with each breath I take. You can control how often we spend time together. I’m praying you won’t let me go, Karolina. I just can’t stop loving you. No matter how many excuses I find to turn off my feelings, they won’t go away.”

“You have a way of making all my problems seem, not smaller, but manageable. When I’m drowning, you reach down and pull my head above water. I—I can breathe when you’re around.” God, the poetic waxing sounds pathetic, but it’s
true.
Alec does something to me.

“Karo, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I believe you.”

His arms slip around my waist, and I find myself sliding into Alec’s lap. The short hairs on his beard brush against my temple as he touches his chin to the top of my head. One hand anchors me to his waist, splaying against the small of my back. His other hand skims up my spine to cup the back of my neck.

“As much as it burns me to say this, we need to spend some time apart. You don’t need to fall out of one relationship and into another. Independence is important to you, and I’m not going to influence your decisions. Take a month away from me.” The groan comes from deep in his chest. His pain is palpable. “I don’t want to walk away from you again. Go where you need to go, but please, I beg you, return to me, sweet Karo.”

Inexplicably, a consuming sense of peace settles around me as the metaphysical manifestation of Alec’s embrace. Burrowing deeper into his chest, I let the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat soothe me.

“And what about when we inevitably run into each other on the street?” I inject some lightness into my voice, and I hear his answering smile.

“I’ll look at you and take solace in knowing that I’m one day closer to where I belong.”

Karolina

L
ife goes on. Little by little, I surface from the crippling grief and self-doubt. On my own.

It starts with a job. Lourdes offered me a position five days a week. The job is mostly crap—steaming garments, making alterations, cleaning the showroom—but I get to attend meetings and voice my opinion to Lourdes and her design team. In that aspect, the job is invaluable. At Lulu, I contribute and socialize with people who have the same interests as I do. Most importantly, the job gives me the chance to uncover what I truly want from life.

The door swings open and a very smiley Adriana stands on the threshold, waving me inside. “It’s here!” She sounds like a child on the morning of their birthday. Little thrills dance in her eyes. I have a garment bag carefully folded over my arm. In my free hand is a shopping bag with a pair of unworn shoes from my former life.

Grinning with the same amount of enthusiasm as my friend, I hurry inside. “Keep in mind I still may need to make more alterations. But we are really close.”

With steps in sync, we make our way through the ground level of the home toward the master suite. “Right, right. You keep saying that, but at the last fitting the dress was flawless.”

“Sue me. I’m a perfectionist.”

Adriana laughs freely; her shiny raven hair flips over her shoulder as she closes us inside her dressing room-slash-closet. I hang the dress on a wall hook then go into the bathroom to wash my hands to avoid smudging the fabric. Once my hands are totally dry, I go back into the closet and find Adriana carefully removing the dress from the garment bag. She emits a little squeal not congruous with her polished exterior. I’ve come to learn that Adriana takes pleasure in the little things in life and has no problem showing her emotions. Every little thing I learn about her, I like. From fairy godmother, Adriana has turned into my best friend.

I help Adriana zip into the gown. While she admires her reflection, I take notes on final dress adjustments.

“I went back to the Morgan house,” I murmur between the pin in my mouth.

“Come again?” Adriana says, arching one of her sculpted brows.

“The divorce will be final in the next couple of weeks.” Pausing to remove the pin from my teeth, I turn to retrieve the shopping bag from where I left it next to the hanging garment bag. “And I won’t ever go back to that place. I wanted to do one more run-through to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything I wanted during the rush to escape. Plus, I wanted to visit with Miranda and Carlo. Turns out, they’re going to retire. They bought a place down on the Keys.
And
I found these Manolos that I never wore once. Since we wear the same size and they’ll complement the dress wonderfully, I thought you should at least try them on.”

Adriana opens her mouth to argue. I can see the protest forming on her face, but I cut her off first. “Just try them. If you don’t like the shoes, no sweat. You’ve done so many outrageously kind things for me, so it’s one little way of thanking you.”

She eyes the shoebox in my hand with an interested gleam in her eyes. “Well, let me see them then.” She holds on to my shoulder when I bend to my knees to slide her feet into the strappy metallic stilettos. The agreement comes swiftly and mutually—the shoes are perfect.

“Do you have time to stay and catch up?” Adriana asks once she changes back into a pair of jeans and blouse.

Grinning, I shake my head at her. “We talk on the phone almost every day. What do we need to catch up on?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the deadline Alec imposed on you thirty days ago? We’re coming to a close here, darling, and quickly. The man has been working rapidly to keep his mind off you, and it isn’t working. He asks me about you every chance he gets.”

Pleasure colors my cheeks. I don’t try to hide my obvious reaction. “A month ago, Alec didn’t impose a deadline. He planted a seed of possibility.”

Adriana loops her arm through mine, pulling me toward the kitchen. “This calls for a glass of champagne.” There’s never a reason
not
to sip on champagne, according to Adriana.

“You don’t even know what I have to say,” I cry laughing at her insistence. She gives me a gentle push toward a banquette built underneath wide windows displaying the manicured backyard. I sit down with a mock sigh. The noise doesn’t register with Adriana.

“Damn right. Friends don’t always need to speak verbally.” I grin in her direction. She’s right; we have developed a close friendship. She makes quick work of nabbing a bottle from the double-wide Sub-Zero and popping the cork. Not a moment later, two flutes appear on the table and the bubbly liquid hisses as it hits the glass. She lifts her glass to clink it against mine in a toast. “To your burgeoning fashion career.”

The carbonated liquid tickles as it trickles down the column of my throat. “That’s kind of the point,” I tell her dryly.

“Start talking,” she demands.

“Working at Lulu’s has given me a real insight into what it’s like to work at a fashion house. Don’t get me wrong, being there is thrilling and inspiring. And also, exhausting.” I grimace. “That sounds ungrateful. I don’t mean it to. It’s just that—well—let me start at the beginning.”

Adriana takes another small swallow of champagne, waiting quietly for me to continue.

“Somewhere along the way, my dreams got complicated. When I was in school, my singular goal was to become a designer like Lourdes. I wanted to run a fashion empire, hold court at Bryant Park, and see my dresses on the covers of magazines and at the Academy Awards. Then David came into my life and I realized that I wanted a family—desperately. I couldn’t see any way to balance a family and a career in fashion.”

“And your no-good disgusting
pendejo
of a husband didn’t help,” Adriana growls. I can’t help my tiny smile. That’s unconditional love.

“That too. What I’m trying to say is my dreams are changing and I’m learning to be okay with it. I’m not as career driven as I thought I was in school. I want some of my marriage to be for good. Over the last five years, I’ve met many women who need gowns for this event or that, and I want to create for them. One-off designs like I’m doing for you with this gown. And I’ll keep the business to whatever pace suits me. Who knows where I’ll be in a few months’ time. But I’ll keep working at Lulu’s and hopefully build a business on the side.”

Adriana’s champagne flute is half-full on the tabletop. One hand props up her chin as she listens. “And what of your personal dreams?”

This time warmth and color floods my cheeks. They get hot as I play with the stem of the glass between my thumb and pointer finger. “If he’ll have me–”

“Ha! As if Alec would turn you down. He practically salivates at the sound of your name.”

It’s easy to laugh again. It’s easy to smile—truly smile without pretense—again. Little by little, day by day, life goes on. The past keeps parts of the broken Karolina with it, and the present greets the stronger, wiser prouder woman.

In the impending divorce, the only asset I decided to ask for was the car I drive. With a mountain of legal muck to battle, my lawyer, Jared, was right. David didn’t fight for anything. We’ll sign the papers at the end of this week, and then I will be a free woman. The thing is that I don’t want to be completely free. It’s been years since I felt any sort of real emotion for David Morgan. I’ve been starving for love for so long I don’t remember how I felt before the cavernous emptiness in my heart. That will have to wait for a little while because I have an important appointment on my calendar.

The sight of Willow’s House still makes my heart rate rise, but the consuming panic no longer threatens. I parallel park the car along the curb and climb out. There’s no forcing myself this time. Freely, I walk to the front door, buzzing myself in as I do on all of my visits to this place.

Sara waits for me in the kitchen, some of the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies already spread on the counter. We greet in the way that has become accustomed to us—a quick but fierce hug.

Once the news broke of David’s sinister plot and near success, people from all points in my life have contacted me. Some to offer support, others wanting to capitalize on the story somehow, and then those curious about the salacious details of my marriage and subsequent arrest of David. Unfortunately, Dora fell into the last camp. The first time she called me, I was naively hopeful our friendship could return to the way it had been all those years ago. All she wanted was the story—dirt on the Morgans and information on the financial situation. As quickly as she reappeared in my life, she disappeared. I have no time for disingenuous relationships. That’s why I’ve spent my time cultivating genuine relationships—like this one with Sara.

“I have news,” she tells me as I measure the dry ingredients.

“What’s that?”

“Friday is my last day living at Willow’s House. I saved up enough money, and one of my girlfriends is looking for a roommate.”

“Sara, that’s wonderful! I’m excited for you. Where is it?”

She shoots me a worried glance, nibbling on her lower lip. “Fort Lauderdale. Probably forty minutes from here.”

“What about your job?” I cringe, my hand immediately lifting to cover my mouth at my stupidity. “That sounded really judgmental. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant to say is that forty minutes isn’t that far, and I hope we can continue to be friends.”

Sara shoots me a relieved look. “You care about me. I get why you’d ask about a job. The doctor’s office I work at here has another location up there. They’re going to transfer me, and I start on Monday.” Then she grins. “And I’m really hoping we can still hang out even though I’m moving north.”

“Tell me about your place.” Sara and I have this baking thing down to a science after doing it four times together already. We work in unison while she tells me about the amenities in the apartment complex and her roommate’s cat. It’s not until the cookies are in the oven that she finishes her story, and I finish gushing in excitement.

“I have news too, though not nearly as upbeat as yours.”

“Oh, no. Here I’ve been raving about my awesome new place and you have something on your mind. I’m sorry. Go ahead.” Sara shoots me a sympathetic look.

“No, no, nothing bad. Ah. I’m going to get emotional.” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I twist my lips upward. “David and I will be divorced really soon, and I wanted to tell you that meeting you inspired me to tough it out when things were really crummy. And I’m thankful for that. You’re brave and really freaking awesome.”

At this point, we’re both crying and hugging. I am thankful the cookies are safely baking in the oven. Otherwise, salty tears would cover them. When the tears settle and we’re both laughing at the emotional overload, Sara leans against the kitchen counter and folds her arms over her chest.

“Where are you with the divorce? No, the actual divorce proceedings, I mean, like emotionally.”

“Admittedly, I’m still trying to figure things out. But every day, I come to accept a little more that I couldn’t control David. And I realize that I don’t have to be the woman who stayed for the rest of my life. I’m the woman who survived and who will be better for it. One day. Not today. But one day.”