“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Right now, I’d like to speak with Ariel alone. Thank you for your quick work today, Mason. It won’t go unrecognized.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Mason leaves the room, Ian sits for a moment looking into my eyes. He looks so tired, almost defeated even. I’ve never seen him look this way and it bothers me so much. In my estimation, Ian Blackmon is invincible: I don’t like thinking someone out there can take him down, even if it’s just a peg or two.
“Ella, what I have to tell you is disturbing,” he begins, rubbing my hands and refusing to meet my eyes. My heartbeat is reacting to his demeanor—I can feel it accelerate: is this something that will impact our relationship? He’s not going to split from me, is he? Is there another woman? I’m now making myself sick so I ask him to have pity on me.
“Please, Ian, just spit it out. The suspense is starting to hurt.”
Nodding grimly, he begins. “I met a girl in high school…”
By the time he finishes with the story of Natasha, I sit there flabbergasted. So this horrible woman not only arranged my miserable night with Lucien but my whole employment with the motherfucker? I feel as used as a dirty dishtowel and could probably take the bitch on myself right at this minute, not to mention her boy toy, Lucien.
“So what happens now?”
He looks surprised. “What do you mean, what happens? We ignore her as best we can and you have continuous protection around the clock.”
“How long will she be a threat? Ian, it is against the law to stalk and harass other people, you know. Do I now have to live my life looking over my shoulder?”
“She’ll go away after a while. If she doesn’t we’ll have to look into more… proactive measures.”
I literally stomp my foot. “I say we look into more proactive measures right now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to live my life in fear of some insane woman.”
Shooting up off the sofa, he begins to pace in front of me, his hand rifling through his hair, which now suffers unduly from his anxiety. “Ian, your hair makes you look like a madman. How long have you been messing with it?”
Levity doesn’t seem to perforate his armor of stress—he’s in full-out war mode. I can see it in his comportment: his entire body stands ramrod straight, stiff as an oaken board, and there’s an inferno raging in his eyes.
“I’m not sure how to proceed. I need to speak to my grandfather about the case involving hers. But this is revenge, pure and simple. If her grandfather is in a vegetative state, there’s no remedy we can provide. Anyway, my instincts tell me he got what he had coming. My grandfather was an advocate for immigrants and tried his best to prevent their deportation unless they were involved in crime. As I recall, during the nineties, there was a huge exodus out of Russia, mobsters coming to our shores to run drugs and guns. I as much as said that to Natasha. It’s a little hard for me to believe she’s been nursing this vendetta since we were kids but there it is. I’m very sorry that you became involved in this sordid affair, Ariel.
I shake my head at his thickness. “Ian,” I get up and walk to him, “I am your fiancée; we are getting married, for better or for worse. Don’t apologize for getting me involved because you had no fault here. But I’d like to ask you one question and I want an honest answer.”
He nods nervously, I think. I continue. “What exactly are your feelings for Natasha?”
And he sits down again. Feeling like a yo-yo, I seat myself next to him, our legs touching. His body is throwing off so much heat, I start to have carnal thoughts about him but I need his answer first.
Hesitantly, he starts to explain. “I used to love her, Ella. I fell hard for her in high school and we made long-range plans to be together. It was all a lie for her but not for me: I planned our future to be together and I worked toward it. When I learned of her betrayal, it cut me—deeply. I spent the next five years keeping myself from forming any emotional attachment.” He stares me in the eye. “Until you. Somehow you broke through the barriers I had carefully constructed.”
“How do you feel about Natasha right now? Are your feelings conflicted?” I’m so afraid of his answer that my voice is barely audible.
His face shows no hesitation. “No, not at all. I have no love for her, Ella. Zero. I intensely dislike her, hate her even, especially for what she was responsible for doing to you.”
I accept his answer but there’s something he’s not telling me—I can sense it in the furtive glances he’s throwing at me, as if he’s guilty about something. I decide to give it one more try.