Truth - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно txt) 📗
Before Claire could respond, they stepped from the lounge into the dining area. She gasped. Her neck stiffened as she took in the empty restaurant. No longer was her subconscious filled with memories of love and pleasure, but control and manipulation. The harshness deflated her lungs. Claire fought to breathe, battling the sensation of suffocation she’d suffered during the years of his domination.
With new found determination, she turned toward the sly smirk of her ex-husband and asked, “What have you done?”
“I wanted to spend time with you, without the diversion of others.”
“Where are the other people?”
“I believe they accepted an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant. After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the food and company.”
Claire stared incredulously, “You bought-out the entire place?”
“Yes, Claire. Shall we sit? I believe you requested this central table.”
Her blood boiled, looking around she wondered about Phil, where was he? She’d become accustom to seeing him periodically throughout her day. Feeling incredibly vulnerable she sat, allowing Tony to push her chair under the table.
Fighting her instinct to run, Claire straightened her neck and met her ex-husbands smug expression and sparkling darkening eyes head-on. The waiter delivered their wine, including glasses to their new location. After he left, Tony lifted his glass and proposed a toast, “To you, the only person in this world, who can keep me on my toes.”
Claire held her glass. Tony moved the goblet to his lips. Slowly, she raised the rim to her mouth. Just before she took a drink, he laughed. Placing the glass back onto the linen tablecloth, Claire said, “I hope you’re amused. I believe I’m getting a headache. We’ll need to postpone this dinner for another time.” She placed her hands on the table to push back her chair.
Tony reached across the table and covered her hand. The touch ignited her skin. She wanted to hate the man with her entire being; yet, his touch, the sound of his voice, smell of his cologne, and sight of his incredibly handsome face turned her insides to jelly. The two contrasting memories of love and domination, played simultaneously within her head. Unwillingly, she looked into his soft chocolate eyes and sighed.
In a much gentler tone he said, “Claire, I would like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you are stunning. Now, if we are done with this ridiculous posturing, I’d like to talk with you for a while.”
“This was not meant as posturing! And I assure you, my head does hurt.”
“I have missed you terribly.”
She stared. What did he just say? It didn’t make sense. She was gone from him, from his life, due totally to him.
He continued, “I have missed your voice, your strength, your smile, and mostly your eyes. My god, Claire, you have the most amazing eyes!”
“Stop it.”
Abashed, he asked, “Excuse me?”
“I said, stop it!” Her voice was harsh yet hushed. “The last time we spoke, in person, I begged to go with you back to your home, our home in Iowa City. As I recall, you offered me a psychiatric institution. So why would I be interested in listening to your drivel today?”
“Well, first, because you accepted my invitation.”
“I accepted your invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We are done.”
“My dear, it is not that simple.” His expression revived a suppressed fear.
She fought to steady herself as the room wobbled off center. It was the finality with which he spoke, as if his comment were beyond reproach. “It is.” Her voice less convincing than she’d hoped. She inhaled to emphasize her next word, “Anton.”
His back straightened, and his eyes intensified, “My name is Anthony. You may still address me as Tony.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?” Claire watched an internal battle launch and rage within her ex-husband. She knew him and could read his non-verbal clues. Others may not recognize the scene before her, but she did.
Externally Tony remained stoic as he fought for control. Finally he spoke, his voice deceivingly calm, “Where could you possibly come up with such a story?”
“Why, Anton, it was in your box of confessions.”
Tony stared in utter shock and disbelief. Claire wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen his facade shatter as quickly. Though he remained still, she imagined him scurrying to pick-up the pieces of his usually intact veneer. His voice gained strength with each syllable. “I assure you, I have no idea what you are saying.”
“The information you sent me in prison.”
Before they could continue, a waiter appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in front of each, he asked if they were interested in hearing about the specials. Concurrently, they answered, “No.” The waiter apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the table. Tony reached for the leather folder; his fingertips blanched, as he squeezed the helpless menu.
It didn’t make sense. The writing on the note was his, as was the writing on the photos. Although Claire was reasonably certain he’d ended this conversation, she decided to go ahead and ask the question screaming in her head, “Are you saying you didn’t send me a box of information?”
He didn’t need to answer; his expression and body language spoke louder than words. Nonetheless, he managed to articulate, “I can assure you, I did not send you anything while you were in prison.” Continuing to regulate his external calm, he added, “And, speaking of prison, congratulations on your early release.”
Sarcasm dripped from his final statement; however, Claire was still mulling-over his first declaration. If he didn’t send me that information, then who did? When his words registered she decided to dial down the conversation. Yes, her old instincts were guiding her through this mine field. Those instincts saved her life in the past. He’d changed the subject, and experience warned her to take heed. Any discussion of his box or his alternate persona would need to wait. “Thank you, I promise, I was as surprised as you must have been.”
He harrumphed as he took another drink of his wine. The contents disappeared. He poured himself another glass. “That, my dear, is debatable.”
Claire smiled; he may have manipulated her plans. Nonetheless, she’d just acquired invaluable information. He didn’t send the box; he hadn’t known she knew about his past or his vendetta, and she could obviously influence his demeanor. That knowledge seemed more powerful today than it’d ever been. She looked at the menu and discussed the entrees she found appetizing.
Truthfully, neither of them possessed much of an appetite; nevertheless, the dinner progressed. As expected, Tony ordered their meals. However, as he spoke to the waiter, in French, Claire smiled when he ordered the selection she’d suggested.
After the waiter left, Tony turned to Claire and continuing in French and said, “I see you have broadened your language portfolio.”
Also in French, she replied, “Yes, I decided to capitalize on my gift of time.”
He grinned and shook his head ever so slightly. Now in English, “Claire, how is your headache?”
“I believe the wine is helping.”
“That’s good. Tell me about San Antonio.”
Momentarily, she savored the robust thick liquid that contained a hint of sweet floral flavor, and contemplated her response. If his obvious knowledge of her whereabouts was supposed to threaten or alarm her, she disappointed him again. Meeting his gaze she smiled, “It was lovely. I’ve always enjoyed sunshine and warmth.”
“Yes, I can see your lovely tan.”
Maybe, he could make her smile. Yes, there was a twinge of concern about upsetting him. But even empty, they were in a public place. She knew he wouldn’t do or say anything harmful while in the sight of others. Truthfully, she felt a new sense of empowerment. If it had been present before, she’d been too close to see it. But now, Claire sensed her ability to affect him. She could upset him and she could calm him. Few people held that power. Perhaps, others did, but were not brave, or stupid, enough to try.
