Behind the Green Curtain (33 page)

Chapter 49

Hours later, Caton woke in the same
position in which she had landed. Hissing at the glass that had embedded in her
palm, she stared down at the shards that glittered against her jeans like a bad
bedazzle job.

Closing her eyes again, she waited,
imagined time rolling backward, choices unmade, life less complicated. When she
opened them, the pain and the glass remained, and time continued to tick inevitably
forward, so Caton had no choice but to keep moving along with it. 

Over the next hour, her penitence
was to follow her path of destruction back to its origin on her knees,
retrieving the fragments left behind in her wake. Picking the floor clean and disposing
of the broken bottle, she returned to the bathroom to wash the last splinters
of glass from her skin and hair, until finally it was as if nothing had
happened.

When Amelia appeared at her door
the following afternoon, Caton bore no markers that anything was wrong, save
for the angry red line across her cheek, too prominent to go unnoticed.
Amelia’s eyes flashed concern as her fingers traced the broken skin with care,
and Caton sold the half-truth that she dropped a bottle with a self-effacing shrug,
kissing Amelia before she had time to think about it.

The night sped by them. As did the
next morning.

One week ticked away.

Two weeks.

Jack’s worry dissolved, temporary
insanity cured by the belief that everything was within his control, mind eased
by his own sense of superiority, and he returned to normal, late nights and
indifference, which freed Caton and Amelia to return to normal too.

All thoughts of work forgotten,
they spent their days in the bedroom - their bedroom - and Caton tried to comprehend
how she had let herself become so deeply ingrained in a world she was committed
to leave.

On the first day of her final week
at the Halston Palace, Amelia didn’t ask Caton to stay. She attacked her as the
day was coming to a close, all but dragging her down the hall and taking
possession of her without permission or resistance.

Lying with Amelia curled against
her side, contentment fractured by her own discord, Caton stared at the window,
watching darkness fall with a weighty feeling of dread, knowing she should be
pushing Amelia away with conviction, not knowing how.

“Caton,” Amelia husked, and the
sound sunk into Caton’s skin, an instant reminder of how weak Amelia made her.

“Yeah?” she roughly returned.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Heart thudding one heavy beat
before coming to a stop, Caton knew Amelia had to feel it.

“Do you want to leave?” Amelia
softly questioned, and Caton’s heart started beating again, pausing out of
time, like the notes of some strange cadence.

When Amelia lifted her head to gaze
up at her, expression open, almost innocent, a whisper of concern edging in at
the corners of her eyes, Caton felt the sudden need to rethink everything she
had already rethought. It was a vicious loop in her head, the knowing and not
knowing what she was doing, the certainty overtaken by the uncertainty, only to
rally once more.

“Do you?” Amelia prodded, giving
her no time to fully consider.

“No,” Caton admitted before she
could come up with a safer lie.

Smile spreading across Amelia’s
lips, relief evident in every relaxed line on her face, Caton felt it all
crumbling. Everything she had planned, everything she had done, all she needed
to do, was fracturing under the sheer radiance of Amelia’s smile.

“I’m going to tell Jack to extend
your contract,” Amelia uttered. “Indefinitely.”

Seeing Amelia content, happy even,
Caton felt happiness reach out for her too, trying to seduce her. Almost
placated, almost grateful, she knew her feelings were polluted. Realizing how
close she was to agreeing to Amelia’s terms, to settling for an unsatisfactory
half-life just to be with her, Caton was suddenly so angry at herself, she had
reserves to spare.

“Until you no longer require my
services?” she returned, and the hopeful expression on Amelia’s face sharpened
with a wince.

“That is not what I meant,” she
said.

“Really?” Caton countered, giving
into the resentment, relying on it to carry her through. “Because that is
exactly how it sounded.”

Shrugging her arm out from under
Amelia, she scooted to the edge of the bed, her back to Amelia to keep from
seeing her, to keep from giving in, as she fished her clothes from the floor
and pulled them on, movements simultaneously jerky and mechanical. Every bend
was contempt. Every raise of her arms was punctuated with anger. She needed to
be angry. She couldn’t afford to feel anything else. Anything else and she
would give in, she would do exactly what Amelia wanted and ruin everything.

“Caton?” Amelia was unsurprisingly
dumbfounded, her hand alighting on Caton’s back as she sat up in the bed behind
her.

The gentle touch was like a
knifepoint, threatening to fell Caton once and for all. It barely made contact,
and all Caton wanted was to turn back, to crawl into Amelia’s arms and accept
whatever terms came with having her. If it was truly an option, she would have,
she knew she would have, but it wasn’t an option. It never had been.

Standing to pull her pants over her
hips, Caton fastened them as she turned to face Amelia, who held the sheet
against her chest like a shield, otherwise completely vulnerable, eyes wide in
distress.

Caton thought she would have
something to say, that she could come up with something final, but meeting
Amelia’s worried gaze, she couldn’t say anything. It was better to just leave,
to get away from the proposal that was too tempting, before she changed her
mind.

With an unavoidably quick lunge,
though, Amelia caught her wrist, pulling Caton back around as she tried to go.
“Caton, please... talk to me.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Caton
asked. Eyes glazing, she refused to see what was right in front of her, refused
to feel Amelia’s fingers like solace on her skin.

“Everything,” Amelia returned. “I
want you to... I just...” She shook her head, and it was unnatural, watching
Amelia struggle to find the right words to persuade. Most of the time, they
seemed to live on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be of use to her. “I
just want you,” Amelia found them at last, and it was everything Caton feared
she might say.

Dissolving instantly, surrendering
to Amelia’s touch, to the tears that welled in her eyes, to the honesty, Caton
couldn’t remember why, but she knew she had to fight. If she didn’t do it now,
she would never do it. She would end up treading water, the rising and falling
tides of Amelia dictating her every move.

“No, you don’t,” she countered.
“You don’t just want me. You want it all. You want this...” She gestured to the
luxurious appointments of the room and the house beyond. “And this.” Watching
her hand gesture between them, Caton couldn’t feel the motion at all. “And you
will want whatever comes along next that you think you have the right to.”

Words insincere and ruthless,
Amelia took them as she should, as an insult and a lie. “I wasn’t looking for
anything to come along.” Her concern turned to defense. “You walked through my
door.”

“Do you think I don’t know what
this has been?” Caton returned before Amelia could find more logic she wanted
to believe. “You were bored and I was a new plaything for you. That will get
old, Amelia. It always does.” When Amelia’s mouth began to open in protest,
Caton went on in a desperate rush, knowing how likely it was the next words
from Amelia’s mouth would be the ones that convinced her to stay. “People like
you, you collect people like me. You keep us as long as you want and release us
when we’re all used up. You are just like your husband.”

Words fading to a whisper, Caton
knew at once she had gone too far. She could see it in the stricken look on
Amelia’s face, in the dulling of her eyes, in the pain that seemed to ooze from
every pore before she turned away, looking set adrift in the big bed.

Caton wanted to take it back, to
change tactics, but time refused to roll backward. It was better that she
couldn’t, she knew, because nothing could have possibly been more effective.
Amelia wouldn’t even look at her, and Caton knew it would take only a look to
bring her to her knees.

Realizing she wasn’t going to get
any further objections from Amelia, she turned for the door, letting the
resentment carry her through it without a backward glance. Halfway down the
stairs, the tears started falling, and Caton knew she had officially done her
worst. For months, she had made very few moves that could be considered morally
right, but it was the first time she felt like a villain.

Chapter 50

When things went beyond their
limits, they tended to limp across the finish line.

So was their fate.

They barely spoke. They never
touched. Amelia was rarely in her office. She was rarely even home. Caton’s
worst, it seemed, was also her best, and she spent the last days of her
contract merely existing in Amelia’s space, as if Amelia thought it was what
she wanted.

It should have been what Caton
wanted.

Her last day, Amelia stayed at the
palace, present, but not social. Caton was uncomfortably aware of her, and,
taking the deep breath that had to get her through the rest of her life at
afternoon’s close, she went to meet the end next door in Amelia’s office.

“I’m leaving.” She meant to
announce the fact at the door, but it came out little more than a whisper. Too
afraid to walk in, Caton was even more afraid to walk away, so she stood in the
doorway, a physical testament to her indecision.

Staring unflinchingly at her, stony
facade expertly in place, Amelia didn’t move either. “Am I going to see you
again?” she asked.

It was the first sign things
weren’t irreparable, that the rock hadn’t reformed throughout Amelia, and
Caton’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag in painful reminder of what
she needed to do. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you?” she
returned. “You can’t leave your husband, and I’ll never be happy being
someone’s mistress.”

Seeming to anticipate the answer,
Amelia’s face showed nothing as she at last got up. Slow steps carrying her
closer, Caton worried she wouldn’t be able to resist Amelia without the buffer
of space.

“Here’s the rest of your money,”
Amelia said quietly, maintaining a respectable distance between them. “I asked
Jack to throw in a little extra. You’ve been a big help to me.”

Eyes clouded as she slipped the
check from Amelia’s hand, Caton thought she couldn’t read, and frowned as she
realized she was reading the number just fine. It was far beyond a little
extra. It was more than double what they had agreed upon, as if she was being
paid for services she didn’t have to render.

For her affection.

For her silence.

Eyes rising to Amelia, Caton’s
instant indignation faltered as she met her steady dark gaze. There was another
explanation, it occurred to her, that Amelia wanted to make sure she would be
okay, because their feelings went both ways and this was as hard for Amelia as
it was for her.

The notion making the check feel
even more like blood money in her hands, Caton thrust it back out to Amelia. “I
don’t want it,” she uttered.

“Take it, Caton,” Amelia whispered,
stony facade cracking as she stepped closer, and Caton knew she couldn’t be
around when it crumbled.

“I don’t want it,” she repeated,
shoving the check into Amelia’s hand.

Spinning around, she escaped
Amelia’s office, the palace, and its fortifications, not stopping until she was
far enough away that it was further to go back than it was to move forward.

Pulling into the deserted end of a
parking lot, she threw the car into park and latched onto the steering wheel,
screaming until her throat was raw and she choked on the tears streaming down
her face. Head falling to the steering wheel, she felt the imprint of the
manufacturer’s emblem against her cheek.

Phone ringing next to her, Caton
dove to the passenger’s seat, fumbling in the depths of her bag, hoping for
another chance to go back, to undo. Everything she said to Amelia was a lie,
and she would admit it. She didn’t want money. She didn’t want any of it. The
only thing she wanted, she had left standing in that office, as perfect and in
control of herself as ever. Caton would tell Amelia that. She would confess
everything, if only she had the chance.

The phone vibrating in her hand as
she pulled it from her bag, she glared at the name on the screen. Not Amelia,
it wasn’t anyone Caton wanted to hear from at that moment, or ever again.

Mr. Superhero-Ambitions was so
adamant he was going to change the world, and he had. He changed her world.

He ruined her fucking life.

Chapter 51

With nothing else to do, Amelia had
returned to her desk chair and looked out into her office. As usual, everything
was in its place, an exquisite home in perfect order. Nothing in her life had
changed at all, and nothing remained the same.

Staring into the empty space, she
felt tears run down her cheeks, dripping into her silk blouse to turn cold
against her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She thought she knew what
she was doing. She had gotten so adept at calculating her emotions, at avoiding
things that added up to pain. Apparently, there was no accounting for
unfamiliar equations for which she had no formula.

“Amelia?” Sole started carefully,
stepping into Amelia’s office as evening darkened beyond the windows.

“I’m fine, Sole,” Amelia returned
instantly, making no move to get up or conceal anything. There was no need.
Sole knew how to keep a secret. “You can go.”

Though it was meant to be an order,
Sole took it as a suggestion, moving forward to sit in a chair across from
Amelia’s desk. Watching her sink into the seat, Amelia stared at her without saying
a word. There was nothing to say. They both knew Amelia would get over it, as
she had gotten over so much more. It was just going to take longer and hurt
more acutely until the scar hardened.

“You should wash your face,” Sole
advised at last. “Let me make you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Amelia replied
instantly, cringing at the self-pity in her voice.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sole
declared. “You still have to live.”

Far from a brimstone-and-fire
testimony about the sanctity of life, it was a sad statement on Amelia’s
singular purpose in life, to survive so that others would not suffer. Sole knew
her story. To some extent, she shared it. Sole too had people who depended upon
her willingness to be servant or slave, and, in the end, they both took their
orders from the same master. It was enough of a reminder to pull Amelia from
the chair and insist Sole take her leave for the night, which Sole finally did
to great protest.

A few hours later, when exhaustion
set in, Amelia went to her bedroom. The air inside, always set to
Goldilocks-perfection, puckered her skin, and the bed was like a tundra,
sprawling and uninviting. As tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep, but she
didn’t think either. Mind going pleasantly blank, body turning liquid against
the sheets, if there was one thing Amelia knew how to do well, it was simply
exist.

Still awake when Jack came in, she
didn’t need to look at the clock to know it was a ridiculous hour, and he was
at his usual volume, quiet enough to pretend he didn’t want to wake her, loud
enough to remind her that a man of his position didn’t have to be quiet in his
own home.

When he climbed into the bed beside
her, the expanse wide enough for two bodies between them, Jack still felt too
close. His presence in her bed disturbed Amelia’s fragile neutral state.
Despite years of experience lying unfeelingly across the bed from him, the
immense room felt suddenly too small.

Rising too quickly, Amelia felt
light-headed as she reached for her robe, pulling it on against the chill as
she moved for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jack asked
from the darkness.

“Away,” Amelia paused to answer,
before fleeing any further questions.

Down the staircase, she turned at
the end of the banister, no idea where she was going until she landed in the
guest bedroom, in the bed she had shared with Caton. There, sleep was just as
elusive, but memory was pervasive. Sounds. Tastes. Phantom caresses that
haunted Amelia’s skin. Caton was gone, but she was still present, more real
than anything within Amelia’s reach.

~ ~ ~

A few more nights, she tried the
master bedroom. Tried. Even when she slept, though, Amelia woke when Jack came
in, slipping out of the bed to the guest room without question, tossing
fitfully against the ghosts that lived there, recent, but still firmly in the
past.

Caton had made that clear.

After that, she stopped bothering
with the trip to the third floor, unconcerned with anything she had left behind
there. Mysteriously, though, clean clothes and personal items appeared for her
as she needed them, Sole’s efforts making everything look almost normal.

Amused the first morning, Jack’s
curiosity increased in agitation as the days passed. When Amelia came down from
her bedroom a week after she had staked her claim to it, it was late in the
morning, but Jack was still there, waiting tensely at the bar for her. Not
knowing what to make of it, Amelia didn’t put too much effort into deciphering
Jack’s behavior. She had angered him plenty of times over the years, but she
had never done anything to make him mad enough to fight on her schedule.

“Why are you still here?” she
asked, breezing past him to the coffee, shaking her head at Sole when she moved
to take over the trivial task.

“What is going on with you?” Jack
returned.

“What do you mean?” Amelia turned
to lean against the counter, the familiarity of arguing with her husband
strangely calming.

“Why the fuck are you sleeping in
the guest room?” Jack demanded.

“Why do you care where I sleep,
Jack?” Amelia reasonably asked, intrigue her first real feeling in days.

Watching Jack’s jaw grow tight,
Amelia felt no fear, nor pleasure. She felt nothing for or about him, and there
wasn’t a thing either of them could say that was going to change that.

“There is a lot of shit going on,
Amelia. You know that,” Jack responded. “This is not the time for you to fall
apart on me.”

“Do I look like I’m falling apart?”
Amelia countered, eyes dipping to her perfectly tidy state. Inside, she might
have been ravaged - empty, raw and bleeding - but she knew she was the only one
who could see it. “Put me out in public, and I will be the perfect shining star
for Halston & Company, I assure you.”

“Things need to be very normal
right now,” Jack gritted through his teeth. “I can’t have you pulling away from
me. It looks bad.”

“To whom?” Amelia tossed off.
“Sole’s not going to tell anyone.”

Pausing at Amelia’s side, Sole
clearly didn’t expect, nor want, to be acknowledged.

“Could you leave us alone, please?”
Jack requested, glancing her way, and Sole followed the order with relief, eyes
meeting Amelia’s in sympathy or frustration as she crossed in front of her to
disappear through the dining room door.

Left alone with Jack, Amelia’s gaze
returned to him, and she watched the arrogant judgment she knew so well appear
on his face, her composed state coming to an abrupt end at the sight alone.

“How was Caton, Amelia?” Jack
asked. “As you know, I’ve wondered myself many times.”

Casual animosity sharpening to a
deadly point in an instant, Amelia clutched the cup in her hand, feeling the
burn of hot liquid through porcelain. “Don’t,” she uttered.

“I’ll bet she’s a firecracker. Warm
and enthusiastic,” Jack went on with perverse glee. “How did she taste?”

Glancing to the window, Amelia
tried to escape, to be anywhere else, to ignore him and his attempts to provoke
her. In all their years together, Jack had rarely gone for the kill, happy to
let his mommy do it for him, putting Amelia back in her place like a parent
tidying her toddler’s room. Not that Amelia often needed reminding of her
position. She knew well the lines they wanted to hear. It was a rare misstep
that she went off-script.

“Indescribable, huh?” Jack couldn’t
help himself. “Is that it? Do you miss Caton’s taste?”

For Jack to come at her, he must
have felt truly threatened, Amelia realized, though the knowledge did nothing
to ease the churning rage in her stomach.

“Jesus Christ, Amelia,” Jack
laughed. “I’ve fucked dozens of women and have had no problems with forming
attachments. You fuck one and think your world is coming to an end?”

Script burned in protest, Amelia
improvised, hurling her cup at him, coming surprisingly close for an aimless
throw. Jack dodged the cup with an inch to spare, and it smashed against the
French doors, falling to the floor in a hundred pieces. Easing back upright,
Jack wiped his hand across his face, red streaks cutting down his cheek and
neck where the coffee burned, and all traces of humor left his face.

“I. Am not. You,” Amelia stated,
and the words were more shock to him than the physical attack.

Jack needed to be admired, and
Amelia had always allowed him to believe he was, that fitting into his world,
being like his kind, was something she had striven to achieve and struggled
every day to maintain. The idea that she wanted to be nothing like him, or his
fucking mother, rendered him momentarily speechless.

“I am going to a hotel for a few
days,” Jack finally stated, sliding off the bar stool and letting out a slow
breath as he met Amelia’s eyes. “I have enough to deal with right now without your
shit. Get your head on straight. You are my wife, you are going to stay my
wife, and, when I get back, you’re going to be a better one.”

Piece said, Jack departed the
conversation, and, with no argument against it, Amelia let him go.

Jack was right. When he came back,
she would be better. She would put on a happy face, and do exactly as he said.

As she always had.

As was required of her.

There was simply too much at stake
for her to do anything else.