Time's Forbidden Flower (29 page)

From out of nowhere, Christopher’s voice resounds. “Who’s Chuck Cunningham? Is everything all right?” Christopher appears as if every emotion he feels is a contradiction. His eyes stab me while his form appears weak, like he wants to release a furious scream before he’s sick to his stomach. He was so much calmer inside a moment ago. What has set that poor man off now?

“He’s an old TV character we use as a joke,” Donovan says, sounding as deflated as I feel. “Lily’s just got some anxiety brought on by lack of sleep. Can you give us a little more time?”

Something in Christopher’s eyes as he walks away sends razor blades though my veins. Oh, crap. How much did he hear? “I’ve got to suck up my problems and get back inside. Christopher needs to know this changes nothing between us.”

“Thank heaven our test results aren’t here,” Donovan sighs. “Since whatever we find is yet another dose of betrayal, let me get through Anna’s rehab first. Now I need to get my daughter home to her own cold reality.”

Christopher stands at the patio door, watching his father play with the children. “You all right?” I ask, approaching him with trepidation.

 
“Let’s go upstairs,” he says sternly. “Today has given us much to talk about.”

As Christopher shuts the bedroom door he firms his stance, flipping his hair aside to reveal his lovely eyes have grown darker and stormier than ever. A new side of Christopher is brewing, and I shiver at his glare. “I thought you might like to finish what was started.”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

“A few minutes ago the pin was pulled on our marriage. Would you like to throw the grenade or shall I do it for you?”

His words fail to register in my hazy mind, but his tone does. My only response is a blank stare. I hope he’s not getting at what I fear and pray he didn’t hear Donovan’s talk of our break up.

“All right, Lilyanna. If you can’t admit the truth, I’ll say it for you. It’s time we had it out about those two years apart. Clearly you and Donovan have much to say about it. Do you care to share?” Christopher’s glare is unwavering, making me feel as if there is no possible way I can squirm out of anything. His arms drop as he heads for the door. “Fine! If you want games you have them, but I am not doing to my children what my parents did to me. We no longer have ties. However, the children must never know our marriage is a sham. If you won’t cooperate, I’m leaving and taking the children with me. I’ll sue if I have to, but I don’t think you’d want that.”

My desire to rationalize with him is halted by his state of rage, fearing his senses are blind to all else. Instead I sit silent, unresponsive, and feeling imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit.

“Lilyanna, do you understand me?”
 

A nod is my only reply.

“Good! We will be out the rest of the day. Have dinner on the table at 6 P.M. Bring your game face.” The slam of the door behind him shatters my heart like splintered glass.

Full body tremors hit as I crumple to the ground. Even though it is ridiculous that my prior actions hurt Christopher, and may forever haunt my children should the bigots of the world learn and ridicule them, only my foolish irrationality is to blame.

Below me the garage door closes. Outside the bedroom window Christopher drives off with Eric and our children. My cries turn into blood curdling screams as my life abandons me.

Boisterously the kids run in, still excited from the wonderful time they had at Knox Berry Farm without me. Eric sports a grin that rivals those of my children. “Lilyanna, glad you are well. Christopher said you had a horrific headache and we would probably order take away for dinner.”

It takes all I can muster to conceal my hurt. “Thanks, Eric. I’m much better now. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes.”

Christopher enters carrying a bunch of kitchy toys and looking knackered. He likely has the headache he claims I was suffering from. Serves him right for ditching me.

“Cracking. Need any help?” Eric asks as Antonia chases Graham around the kitchen for reasons completely unknown to me.
 

“If you would make sure the kids wash that would be perfect. Thank you.”

Christopher gives me a luscious kiss with a beautiful smile. “Glad you are well.”

“On it!” Eric chimes while chasing the children up the stairs to their rooms. As soon as they are out of view, Christopher heads upstairs, now appearing as if he’s returned from a funeral.

“Rough day?” I ask.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he mutters. Christopher lumbers up the stairs, and I feel that though his public actions were adoring, his private ones show he is really walking away, not only from me at this moment, but from our life.

I feel as if I am in an old movie—in a scene where tension exists because the only sound comes from the ticking of an old clock—only here there is nothing but silence that tocks through me. The glow coming from the digital clock on the nightstand reveals it is 2 A.M. When last I looked it was midnight. How did I manage to actually get a few hours of sleep? In the week since our blowout, scarcely a civil word has been uttered between Christopher and I that wasn’t in public, and we’ve each accumulated less than a night’s worth of rest.

This battle has to end.

Light seeps through the crevices of the adjoining bathroom’s door. Stiffly I lie in bed, pretending to be asleep and watching the numbers on the clock morph as the minutes crawl past. At 2:34 A.M. I rise, worried for Christopher who has been silent the entire time. Standing just outside the bathroom, my raised hand halts before knocking. Faint sobs travel through the door—the sound of a broken heart. Softly I knock, “Christopher, please, let’s talk.”

The
rip
of a tissue being pulled from a box comes to my ears, followed by a deep breath. After a moment, the door wildly swings open. Christopher emerges from the bathroom and storms past me, as if he has been stewing the entire time. “Christopher, we need to talk about this.” I follow him to the bedroom door that he slams behind him, halting my pursuit. From outside he mutters faintly, “I’m sorry,” so softly I question if I actually heard it.
 

Back to bed I go. Another night, another dose of pain.

High atop the Hollywood Hills, Robert and I stand in a majestic mansion resembling an old English castle. With the exception of modern luxuries woven into the façade everything about it screams antique. It seems fitting that we find ourselves here as tonight’s party, celebrating the 60th Anniversary of Anthem Records, will be filled with rock n’ roll royalty from all of its eras.

Nestled in the corner of a large room lined in grey bricks and windows overlooking Los Angeles, we put the final touches on a cake. The full-sized replica of a Vox Super Beatle amp, seated in an original metal frame, stands tall and proud. Robert and I dote over little details that make it look so real someone may plug a guitar into it.

“Wow! That looks incredible!” Jenny exclaims on her approach. “Have you seen how much champagne they brought in?”

“Yeah, along with all the whisky,” I add.

“Yeah, along with the hot delivery guys who carried that stuff in here,” Robert says, fanning himself. “I would gladly drink anything those guys have to offer.”

“Robert, that is vile!” Jenny laughs and gives his arm a little shove.

Robert gets pouty. “It’s not fair that you get a tall, hot man and I don’t.”

My voice deepens, sounding as if I’ve lined it with smut. “You mean that Jenny and I both got the tall, hot man and you never will!”

With a flick of his hand he walks off, leaving Jenny and I giggling. “Hey, Christopher!” Jenny yells as he enters the room carrying a couple of guitar cases. “Did you see this cake Robert and your wife made? It’s amazing!” Christopher dashes over, his hair flowing with a lovely bounce. Seeing him is heartbreakingly beautiful. “Isn’t it smashing?” Jenny beams.

Christopher’s grin flows in response to her use of his vernacular. He then looks at the cake with a keen eye of appreciation, nodding his head as he strolls around the back, observing the fine details. “I wouldn’t call it smashing. I’d call it absolutely perfect. Whatever gave you the idea to make a cake like this?” he asks as he puts his arms around my waist from behind. My hands grip his elbows, tightening the embrace.

“It was all Eric’s idea. He even helped me chart out the details.”

“Hey, Jenny! Get over here and help me with these trays,” Robert bellows from across the room. “I’m not the only one working today, you know.” Jenny drops her shoulders with a sigh before dashing off.

“Do you really like it?” I ask.

“It’s perfect,” he says, maintaining the snuggle.

For the first time since our world went upside down two weeks prior, he continues to show affection once others have left. When I turn to him, I can scarcely look him in the eyes for fear he will run. “Christopher, please. Nothing here is so important that we can’t walk away and talk. Don’t you think it’s long past time we faced the inevitable?”

Christopher’s eyes downturn.
 
His swallow is so deep it is audible. “No,” he firmly states. His eyes pop up, and they start to storm the way they did the day this madness started, yet I sense what he thinks is irreparable pain leaks through his façade. “Not at all. After all that was revealed, what could we possibly say that would be in the best interest of our children?”

With a snapping turn, Christopher heads out the door, slamming its push bar down in disgust as he shoves his way through.

Now this is more like it! When the tough get shunned for three weeks, they start playing dirty!

I slink into the bedroom, wearing Christopher's favorite nightgown—a short baby pink number with little silk roses adorning the straps. It’s barely long enough to cover my ass. If I sway my hips, a little bit of my bare butt peeks out, revealing my lack of underwear.

Christopher is already in bed, hugging the edge of his side, just like he’s done every night since the day of revelation. If he really doesn’t want me near him he’ll have to reinforce it while I’m flashing him.
 

Deviously I approach his side of the bed and straddle over him, giving him a glimpse of my glory before I slink down and spoon him. My hand slides down his torso, headed for unfair territory. “The children are sound asleep,” I say in my sexiest voice while nuzzling into his neck.