Dare to Surrender (31 page)

Grandmother handed over the files, and Joy flipped open a folder. When she saw the various balances, her stomach dropped in
shock. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me.”

“It was for your own good,” she repeated, and Joy heard desperation there. She ignored it.

“It was for my own good to treat me like some kind of birdbrain in this family just because I’m a girl?”

“Because I love you.” Her grandmother’s blue eyes turned watery—was she actually tearing up? “I’ve just done what I think
is best for you.”

“This—” Joy picked up the file and waved it at her grandmother. “Keeping this from me while my brothers were all privy to
the information was
not
best for me.”

Grandmother stood, her tears quickly drying. “You’re a good girl, Joy. But you’re flighty and you don’t think. That”—she lowered
her voice—“man out there is a perfect example.”

“You don’t even know him.” Shaking in rage, Joy spun on her heel and yanked the door open. She marched down the hallway, not
even pausing when she yelled, “Come on!” to Ash as she passed the sitting room.

“Joy, wait,” she heard her grandmother calling after her. “What about dinner?”

Chin raised, Joy turned and faced her mother’s mother. “Guess what?”

Her grandmother just stared at her.

“You’ve finally managed to kill my appetite. And you know what else?”

“What?” her grandmother said uneasily.

“I look fucking fantastic in these jeans!” What would have been a fabulous exit line was ruined by her frenzied digging through
her purse, looking for the keys to her Mercedes. She began handing items to Ash: reading glasses, lotion, a bottle of perfume.
She dug deeper, her mind so distracted by now she didn’t even realize when she took out a small but heavy piece of marble.
She was about to hand it to Ash when she realized what she’d done. He stared at it, his expression one of total confusion.
And then disbelief. When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed ice-cold.

He reached out to take the sculpture, but her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold it steady, and just before
he reached for it, the beautiful sculpture dropped onto her grandmother’s slate floor, shattering into an array of chunks
and chards.

“What is this, Joy?”

“I can explain—”

“Where did you get this?” She’d never heard his voice sound so deadly.

“I took it, but I was going to give it back!”

“You took it?”

She nodded.

“You mean you stole it.”

“Yes, but I had a good reason.”

She saw him bite the inside of his cheek, fighting for control. “A good reason to steal. From me.”

She went to touch his arm, but he jerked back. “Listen, Ash. Can I just explain?”

“What’s there to explain? You took something that didn’t belong to you. That makes you a thief.”

“It was for your own good!” She cringed. Hadn’t her grandmother just said those very words to her only moments ago?

His gaze sharpened, and she nearly recoiled. “I thought I could trust you,” he said.

“You can.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I can’t.” All the items he’d been holding fell to the floor.

The hurt of betrayal burned in his eyes, and she felt her own eyes water. “Ash, please…”

But he ignored her. Instead he turned and walked out the door.

She looked up to see her grandmother, who’d silently witnessed the whole thing, shake her head and walk back to the study.
Then Joy was alone, surrounded by random items from her purse and the ruins of Ash’s sculpture. There was nothing left to
do now but clean up the mess and go.

A
s she entered her apartment later that night, she was still reeling from the night’s events. Ash, the money, the argument.
It was all too much.

So much betrayal, so much hurt.

She dropped the pile of files onto the kitchen counter. She’d been lied to by her grandmother and her three brothers for nearly
a decade.

A fucking decade!

As she jerked open the freezer door and pulled out a carton of rocky road, she laughed bitterly. Just days ago, her grandmother
had made her feel horribly guilty when Joy had asked her for a loan. What a joke!

She began shoving bites of ice cream into her mouth. She could almost accept the fact that her grandmother had deceived her
this way, but to know that her brothers were in on it, that they believed she was as irresponsible as her grandmother thought
she was, hurt Joy to the bone.

Was this how everyone saw her?

But she already knew the answer; enough people had told her so. If so many people thought that, it must be true, and as she
looked around her apartment, she saw in the chaos of her home what everyone else saw in her: a mess.

She’d always thought that, even if she was a bit disorganized, at least she was a good person. But now she was even beginning
to doubt that.

Absently she began piling up papers on her kitchen table. Why
was
she so messy? She had a desk by the entryway; why didn’t she ever think to use it? She glanced to the writing desk she’d
bought from the import store. It was piled with miscellaneous items like photographs, a bottle of water, a windup toy, a bra….

She went to the desk and cleared the surface, putting every item in its proper place. Then she gathered the piles of mail
and bills scattered around the house (why had she put her checkbook in the bathroom?) and organized the desk appropriately.
Standing back, she crossed her arms over her chest and was surprised at how satisfying it was to look at all the paperwork
stored in its correct area.

The kitchen was next. She drank wine as she organized the cookbooks and cleaned the counters. There was her favorite fake-jeweled
hair comb! Why was it behind the toaster? She found a basket in the fireplace and took it to the bathroom, and from then on,
whenever she found a ponytail holder or other hair accoutrement, she placed it in the basket.

It was like she was possessed. When the kitchen looked like Martha Stewart’s cleaning team had been through, Joy moved on
to the living room. She gathered bag after bag of old magazines and newspapers, making about twenty trips to the apartment
recycle bins. She gathered all her art history books and organized them in the bookshelf next to the fireplace. She arranged
the colorful ethnic throw pillows on the sofa and draped the brightly woven blanket she’d picked up in India over the back
of a chair. She stacked the current magazines she hadn’t yet read on the rustic coffee table and then positioned all the candles
she’d uncovered next to them.

Next she attacked her bedroom, sorting clothes and drawers and putting things away. She took everything out of her closet
and replaced the items in a neat, ordered fashion. She even organized her blouses and skirts in sections by color, going from
white to pink to red, all the way down to black.

By the time she had cleaned the entire apartment, it was close to dawn.

She was a sweaty mess, but she felt good. Cleansed. This was a good start; she was ready to make some changes in her life.

Erica was grinding spices for her own curry paste when she heard a soft knock on the door. Blaine. Instinctively, she knew
it was him.

She peered through the eyehole. Her heart skipped before she could stop it. What was he doing here?

Unsure, Erica continued to stare through the small hole of glass. Why did the man have to be so damn gorgeous? He wore another
of his tight, long-sleeved T-shirts and those damn khaki pants that seemed anything but preppy now that she knew exactly what
was underneath them.

“Erica. I know you’re in there; I can smell the curry. Now open the door.”

She paused, her heart pounding. She wanted him to go away. And she wanted to pull him inside and wrap her arms around him.

But that would just make everything so much worse.

“Come on, Erica. You can’t avoid me forever.”

“Fine, but only for a second. I’m busy.” She pulled open the door.

“Smells amazing,” he said, entering her apartment.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

“To find out why you’ve been avoiding me since that day in the restaurant.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you. I see you every day at school.”

“Yeah, but each time I try to talk to you, you run away.”

She moved past him, heading for the kitchen. “I do not run away. I’m just busy.”

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

Raising her chin, she met his gaze. “Nothing. I just don’t want to be your plaything anymore.”

He blinked slowly. “My plaything? What are you talking about?”

She jerked out of his grasp. “Come on, Blaine. I saw you with your lawyer friends.”
And that girl.
“Your friend even said it: You’re going back to being a lawyer.”

“No. What he said was that they want me to.”

“And based on how you were dressed that day, I would assume you will.”

“And you’d be wrong.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

“They were celebrating the end of a three-year case, one I was involved in.”

She scoffed. “A messy divorce? It took a team of lawyers to divide up the Jaguars and the houses?”

“No. It was a domestic violence case. A poor woman trying to leave her abusive asshole of a husband. A rich jerk who beat
her up but didn’t want to give her custody of her three children.”

That stopped her cold. “A-a poor woman? But how can she afford you?”

“Pro bono. We’re not all a bunch of selfish assholes, you know.”

Her stomach churned, unsettled. “What about that blond woman? The one sitting next to you that day?”

“You mean Bitsy?”

“
Bitsy?
” Seriously?

“She was on the case, too.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. “Um, not anymore.”

“But she was.”

“Yes.”

A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “Bitsy and Beaumont. How perfect.”

“I’m not seeing her anymore.”

“But she wants to.”

“Maybe. I don’t care about her, Erica.”

“Okay, I need you to leave now.”

He stared at her, and she could tell he was fighting back anger.

But she couldn’t think, didn’t know what to think. Everything was so much easier when he fit into the box she’d created for
him.

But now he’d blown that box into shreds, and she didn’t know how to put it back together.

“Please, Blaine. Just go.”

He continued to hold her gaze before finally stepping back. “Fine. But I mean what I said before.”

“What?” she asked, her voice shaky. Her head was spinning; nothing made sense.

He went to the door and opened it. Then, with one last look, he said, “I won’t wait forever.” And then he shut the door quietly
behind him.

She stared sightlessly, fighting the urge to run after him. Because she wanted to. She wanted to so badly it scared the daylights
out of her. So instead, she went to the kitchen and pounded away at the spices. And as she worked, she couldn’t help but feel
like it was her own heart she was grinding into tiny specks of powder.

O
ne week later and Joy still hadn’t heard from Ash. He’d delivered all the art on Sunday. He knew she didn’t work Sundays,
so he must have purposely come on that day so he wouldn’t have to see her.

She got the hint.

Her heart had ached all week, and she felt as if her throat was constantly on the verge of closing up. But she’d done what
she’d done, and now she had to live with the consequences. It was her recklessness that had gotten her into this mess, and
she vowed to be more careful in the future. She was thirty now. No more bad choices, no more chaos. She’d learned her lesson:
It was time to start thinking before she acted.

Andrew hung the last of Ash’s photographs on the wall, and Joy stood back to admire the newly transformed space. If she looked
at all the images objectively, she had to admit the images he’d taken of her were very nice. The way he used light and shadow
to emphasize the dip of her waist or the curve of her breast was breathtaking. And the best part was, he’d obscured her face
in just such a way that it was nearly impossible to identify Joy as the model the images featured.

There were others, too. She’d arranged a mix of pieces featuring different models, the uniting element being the theme of
bondage. His marble sculptures were perched on pedestals around the gallery, with the one large piece taking center stage
in the space. Despite her sadness over losing Ash, she had to give herself some credit. She’d curated a damn good show.

In the bathroom, she changed into the outfit she’d bought just for tonight. A simple black sheath dress with a high collar
and a hem that fell just below the knee. She wore black mules with just the tiniest kitten heel, and she’d pulled her hair
into what she hoped resembled a French twist. Now she applied the makeup she’d purchased just for tonight. On Wednesday, she’d
hit the MAC counter and had a makeover. A professional look—that’s what she’d asked the makeup artist to create for her, and
he’d done a perfect job. Now she applied the bronze eye shadow, brown eyeliner, and peach blush just as he’d instructed her.
Stepping back, she looked in the mirror, her reflection gazing back at her.

She looked good. Put together, sophisticated, professional. She looked ready to sell art. Ash’s art.

Her heart cracked, but she ignored it. Deep breath. In, out. She was a proficient art dealer, and this was the most important
event of her professional career so far. She hardly ever allowed herself to think of her parents, but she couldn’t help but
wish they were here tonight. After all, this was one of her greatest professional achievements, and it would be nice if they
could have been here to share it with her. Would they be proud? She believed they would—she
had
to believe they would.

When she looked in the mirror, she saw her mother’s hazel eyes. Joy’s chest tightened. It was so hard. When she’d first heard
about her parents, that they’d died in a plane crash in Spain, Joy had been devastated. She remembered dropping to her knees,
because her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. She remembered lying in bed, curled up on her side, sobbing uncontrollably
as her heart was ripped in two.