Footsteps(48)

It was at the department store that she’d met James Auberon.





He’d come to the counter, clearly in a rush, holding a wad of silk in his hand. His crisp, white dress shirt was buttoned to the neck, but he was without a tie. Sabina deduced quickly his problem and smiled. “May I show you a tie, sir? Yours has been damaged, I think?”





His brilliant green eyes had sharpened at her words, and his expression had shifted from irritated impatience to pleasure. “Where are you from, miss?”





Of course she’d known what he was really asking, but she found that question rude when it came so early in an acquaintance, as if her accent were the most interesting thing about her, and she had a pat response. “I live in Manton, sir.”





He’d cocked his head. “You know that isn’t the answer I want.”





“Yes. May I show you a tie?”





He’d grinned, and Sabina had been dazzled. She’d never met a man more physically perfect. “The customer is always right, I believe, miss. You should answer my question.”





It had been hard to keep her voice steady. He was flirting with her, she could tell, and she was captivated. But she stayed strong. “I will answer any question you have about ties, sir. Of course. It’s your most pressing concern now, I think, yes?”





He’d cast his wadded tie away to the sales counter. “You know, I don’t think it is. Not anymore.” His eyes had dipped to her nametag. “Sabina. Lovely. I’m James.”





“James. May I help you with a tie?”





After a desultory look into the case on which he was leaning, he’d pointed down to a deep blue Hermès. With a smile more sincere than her usual retail version, she’d pulled out his selection and held it out to him. He’d caught her hand in his—perfect hands, like a model’s hands—and then lightly looped the silk tie around her wrist. “How does that feel?” he’d murmured. “It’s good silk, isn’t it? The best. Gentle on delicate skin.”





“Excuse me?” Her face had gone hot, and she’d known she was blushing. Between her aunt’s illness and her tenuous life on her own, Sabina had not dated much at all. She could have counted the number of times she’d kissed a boy on one hand. But the stranger before her was exuding sex so strongly that even her naïve senses could tell.





With a gentle tug, he’d pulled the tie from her wrist. “I’ll take this one.” He’d dropped a black American Express card on the counter. They’d been new at the time, these ‘Centurion Cards,’ and even at this store, she’d only seen two others. “And I’d like to take you to dinner when your shift ends tonight.”





As she’d run his purchase through, she’d shaken her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I think I shouldn’t—”





He’d cut her off with a sharp twitch of his hand. “I’ll be waiting out front. Black Jag. You join me or you don’t. But I’ll only wait five minutes.”





“How do you know when my shift ends?” She’d handed him his purchase and his fancy charge card.





He’d only smiled and pulled his new tie over his neck.





He’d been waiting at the curb when she left the store. They were married four months later.





During the four months of their courtship, there had been signs, Sabina understood later, about who James really was. It had been crucially important to him that she was a virgin. In 1999, perhaps that should have been a point worth examining, but twenty-year-old virgin Sabina had thought it charmingly old-fashioned. He was moody, and when his mood went dark, the air around him was toxic. Sometimes, when she’d said or done something he didn’t like, she’d seen him literally shaking before he responded in a rational way, his eyes belying his calm. He’d been severely possessive and jealous, but, since she’d had no friends or even many friendly acquaintances, no one for him to chase from her life, his jealousy had manifested itself in ways that had not alarmed her—he’d glare at men who noticed her or who spoke too long to her in the line for coffee or sitting next to her in the theater. She’d understood these as little more than quirks, and, it later shamed her to realize, she’d interpreted them as expressions of his love for her.





Three times, he’d lashed out jealously in some way and scared her. But control was extremely important to him, and those instances were rare. What had made her concerned at all was that he’d shouted at her, grabbed her, for something someone else had done—the man in the coffee line or in the seat next to her. The drunk at the benefit, who’d grabbed her ass. That was the only time, before they were married, that James had physically hurt her. He’d spanked her. And then he’d kissed her bare, inflamed cheeks, thanking her for her understanding.