Convicted - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений .TXT) 📗
He spoke slowly, revisiting the subject of him watching her through the years. He explained how, at first, it was done as a means of identification. He and Catherine had a list—the children of the children. In the early years, Tony was busy creating CSR with his business partner Jonas Smithers. Later, his energies were used creating and building Rawlings Industries. He supported his grandfather’s vendetta, but Catherine did, or had, most of the research done. He emphasized that he wasn’t blaming her. “I never tried to stop her. It never occurred to me—I mean—it’s what my grandfather wanted. He mentioned it to me—Catherine knew more of his plans, so I went along.” He stressed, “Claire, I more than went along. She would never have been able to afford to have the people, like you, watched, or have things occur, if I hadn’t bankrolled everything. I knew what I was supporting.”
Claire nodded into his chest. It was her way of encouraging his words, without interrupting his thoughts.
“You were different.” His arm tightened around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “You were the first person who personally interested me. You were so young. I was curious if I could actually influence someone’s life without them knowing it. The first thing I did—well, it wasn’t really to you. It was—”
The warmth radiating from within Claire suddenly increased; she couldn’t stay silent any longer. The subject he was approaching was one of her greatest worries. Simon! She lifted her head to see Tony’s eyes. “It was Simon, wasn’t it?” She tried to keep her voice and breathing calm. “His internship with Rawlings Industries wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
Tony closed his eyes and didn’t respond.
As the silence prevailed, Claire exhaled, lay her head back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. The fan in the darkness hummed while the blades created a hazy blur. In the time it took her to blink, Tony’s face was over hers. She’d wanted to see his eyes and understand his emotion, and now, she had him right on top of her. His palpable rage filled their room, the humid air no longer moved, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. Claire’s training told her to walk the fine line; however, somewhere in the three years since that training began, she’d taught herself to disobey. Defiantly, she asked, “Are you going to answer my question?”
“No.” His warm breath bathed her face, adding to the still, humid air.
She waited for more clarification. When he didn’t continue, she asked, “No? You aren’t going to answer?”
“No”—each syllable was strained—“it wasn’t a coincidence.”
The fury, which had saturated their conversation, evaporated as Claire’s muscles relaxed and the air re-entered her lungs. With his confession, she realized the anger she felt wasn’t directed at her or her questioning, it was directed back to Tony—he was upset with himself.
The rumble of thunder loomed louder and closer. With their noses almost touching, Claire smiled. “Thank you. I know this is hard on you. I also know that revelation should upset me.” She lifted her lips to his. “Honestly, it was more of a confirmation than a revelation. Somehow, I think I feel better knowing the truth, no matter what it is.”
Tony sighed. “I hope so, because my dear, there’s more.”
Claire closed her eyes, unsure how much more she was ready to hear.
“Open your eyes”—Tony demanded—“I need to see what you’re thinking.” Obediently, she did as he said. His next confession came with more emotion than she was accustomed to hearing from him. “My life hasn’t been perfect, yet I’ve never wasted my time envying anyone else. If something wasn’t the best it could be—I made it better. Never did I want to be someone else. That’s still true; however, there’s one person of whom I was jealous.”
“Simon? Why?”
“He was the only man I knew of that you loved. I did what I do—I made it better—for me. I separated the two of you.” Tony shook his head. “So you can imagine how shocked I was when he showed up at the symposium in Chicago. When he approached us, I didn’t know who he was until he asked to speak with you privately. Suddenly, I recognized him”—he paused—“Then...it was you I didn’t recognize.”
Claire couldn’t process fast enough to respond. There were so many thoughts, yet all she could do was listen.
“You were usually so perfect in public—flawless.”
She remembered what could happen if she wasn’t; nevertheless, she stayed silent; her thoughts monopolized by this conversation’s destination.
“Your expression and then...” Tony’s words trailed away as he privately relived the encounter. “You could hardly speak. Even the introduction was difficult for you.” Tony’s sudden restraint became visible as the muscles in his neck tensed and his tone hardened. “For maybe only a split second, because Mrs. Rawlings, you quickly remembered to play your part, I saw something in your eyes I’d never seen. When you recognized him, before you remembered who you were, who I was, for only a moment, you were that eighteen-year-old girl I’d seen in pictures.”
She tried to speak, although she didn’t know what to say. The Claire from 2011 would have known the exact appropriate response—she wasn’t that Claire anymore. “Tony,” she steadied her voice. “If you saw that—I’m not denying it was there. Honestly, I don’t remember feeling anything except panic. I guarantee, I was more afraid of you being upset than I was happy to see Simon.” The warmth from his body covered hers. She continued, “If you expect me to apologize for that split second, then I’m sorry—not for that split second—but that you’re not getting that apology.”
Tony shook his head. “No, I wasn’t expecting an apology. I’m trying to give one.”
Claire lifted a brow.
“Don’t you see? Instead of having confidence in our marriage, I was jealous. You were the woman I manipulated into marrying me, and Simon was the man you loved”—he paused—“To say I behaved badly would be a gross understatement”—Tony inhaled and exhaled, and continued—“to Simon and to you.”
“I do love you.”
“Now”—he kissed her—“it’s all right. Remember, we promised honesty?” His rage, which moments earlier filled their bedroom, faded into the stormy skies. “That look, the one I saw for only a short time, I see it now—every day—every time your beautiful, green eyes look my way. I think perhaps it’s a look that one must earn. When we saw Simon in Chicago, I hadn’t earned it—I’d demanded it.” He closed his eyes. “It isn’t the same thing.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. Her touch opened his eyes, revealing the storm of brown behind his lids.
“Claire, I don’t want to lose that look. I promise, I’ll never demand it again...I don’t want that. I want what I have today. I’m concerned that, when all my confessions are out—it’ll be gone. ”
“I’ve told you, my love won’t change, but you started this story, so are you going to finish it?” Her stomach twisted with each word. Her accelerated heartbeat throbbed behind her temples.
“I apologize for how I reacted in Chicago.”
“Tony, you opened this door; I need the rest of the story. Do you know how Simon died?”
She felt his body tense as he said, “I do.” His words came quickly as if speed could take away their sting. “His plane was tampered with, but I don’t know who did it or how they did it. It’s a very complicated network of connections to allow the person paying the fee to stay anonymous.”
The air left her lungs. “Oh, God...” She pushed against his shoulders. “Please get up, I can’t breathe.”
“Open your eyes.”
Claire shook her head.
“Claire”—his tone now softer—“Please open your eyes.” Slowly, emerald green met sad brown, as Tony offered, “I can call Roach. I can be gone before noon.”
She shook her head against the pillow. “Stop that! Stop threatening to leave every time I’m upset. I deserve to be upset!”
