“Please stop the video,” Claire cried. She couldn’t help it. “Please, I can’t watch anymore.”

Relishing Claire’s suffering, Tony said, “Oh, there are so many videos, we can watch for hours.” He hit some buttons and went back to the menu. “For example,” the screen read, March 19, 2010, “how do you suppose your suite got into that condition? I am sure we could find out.”

“Please!” she pleaded. Her head hurt and her stomach twisted in knots. She couldn’t stand this. She tried desperately to make it stop. “Please, you are leaving tomorrow. Wouldn’t you rather spend tonight making movies instead of watching?” Her eyes were red and puffy and her nose ran from crying.

Tony smirked at her desperation. His tone dripped with ruthlessness, “But maybe we should watch some more, find out where you need improvement.”

“I will do anything you say, anything you want me to do differently, just tell me. Just please don’t make me watch.” Claire was now on the floor kneeling in front of Tony, crying. She hated that she’d been reduced to begging, but this ruined her whole compartmentalization. How could she keep these awful memories hidden if he made her watch them?

His dark eyes pierced her soul and his voice was ice cold. “You will do whatever I say, even if it is to watch. But . . .” He hesitated to add emphasis. “I do not want to spend my last night for over a week here with you in this condition.” He stood, causing her to fall back onto the floor. “I will be in your suite in a few minutes.” Claire stood. He continued, “Go up and get ready. Wash your face! You look like hell, and as far as attire . . . I am thinking some new lingerie.”

She started to leave the theater as Tony gripped her arm. She stopped, met his gaze, and listened to his steely tone, “Claire, what do you say?”

She looked at him, fire in her moist eyes. They stood silent for a moment while Claire’s confused mind spun. She couldn’t fathom what he wanted. When it hit her she wanted to scream. It took all the resolve she had not to lash out. Instead, she managed, “Thank you, Tony.”

Loosening his grip he responded, “You may demonstrate your gratitude when I get upstairs.”

Claire continued to stand, afraid to move. Her mind was a mess, not knowing what to do or say, all she could do was pray she would never see another of those videos. As if sensing her bewilderment, Tony remained in control of her motion, “You may go to your suite now.”

It was after sunrise when Claire felt Tony get out of her bed. She listened as he picked up his clothes and knew he was dressing. Next she heard him open a drawer and rifle through it. She opened her eyes and in the dim light saw him writing a note. When he turned to look at her, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Doing her best to keep her breathing steady, she remembered that he wouldn’t be back for over a week. At this moment in time, she detested everything about Anthony Rawlings.

  Lust and greed are more gullible than innocence. —Mason Cooley

 Chapter 12

Nathaniel didn’t mind the commute between New York and New Jersey, especially when he drove the winding drive toward his home. Each time the beautiful combination of river stone, limestone, and brick came into view, he momentarily remembered the two-room apartment he’d shared with his wife. For a young soldier recently home from fighting the Japs, it was ample. Being a soldier was the only attribute Sharron’s family had seen in him. That was the only reason they allowed their daughter to marry Nathaniel Rawls.

Today as he stepped into the marble entry, he wished her high-and-mighty father could see his daughter now. Oh yes, Nathaniel Rawls did make something out of himself. And now with Clawson’s ideas, there is so much more to be made. If his father-in-law were still alive he would gladly shove this up his—

“Good evening, Nathaniel.” Sharron’s greeting came from the archway to the sitting room. She had his bourbon waiting. Dinner would be precisely at seven. Everyone knew that. Perhaps it was the military training, but punctuality was never questioned. “How was your day?”

“It is better now.” He took the glass she handed to him and kissed his wife’s cheek. The sparkle of his wife’s eyes in the illumination of the fireplace added to the tranquility of the scene. A man’s home is his castle and Nathaniel loved the castle his queen was able to enjoy.

  Look deep into nature, and then you will

understandeverythingbetter. —Albert Einstein

 Chapter 13

Claire waited about ten minutes after hearing the door to her suite shut. During that time, she lay still, barely breathing, and pretended to sleep. She didn’t want to face him, talk to him, or even see him. Though appearing peacefully asleep, her mind was a whirlwind of questions: How long until I am sure he won’t come back? Can he see me? Is he watching? Oh god! What did he write?

Finally, her curiosity overtook her. She got out of bed and started to walk to the table to read his note. Suddenly, the thought hit her like a physical strike. She remembered the cameras and the staff. She reached for her robe on the floor near her bed and put it on. Sitting on the table where he left it was his note. I believe we have a blockbuster on our hands. It is

hardtosay,until we thoroughly review the footage.

I plan to return a week from Wednesday. Eric is

available if you want to visit the Quad Cities. I trust

last night’s film reminded you of my rules. Don’t

disappoint me.

Never in her life had she remembered being so overwhelmed with emotion. Her entire being emitted loathing, directed completely and totally toward one man, Anthony Rawlings. She hated him, his sadistic ploys, and nasty reminders. She picked up the note, crumbled it into a ball, and threw it against the wall. It created significantly less mess than the vase of flowers had months earlier.

Her mind tried desperately to compartmentalize the videos. She wanted to put them away, someplace she would never find them. Think of something else, she told herself, but it was too difficult. She climbed back into bed and smelled his aftershave. Turning over the pillow, the cool side smelled fresh. That, with the realization that he wouldn’t return until a week from Wednesday, gave her a sliver of peace. She tried to concentrate. What day is it now? Sunday. She felt her muscles relax. It is Sunday, his day to be home . . . but he is gone. Her eyes closed as tears began to slip onto her pillow. She drifted away to another place.

“Ms. Claire? Ms. Claire, you must wake.”

Claire tried to focus. She’d been somewhere in a dream. Now hearing Catherine’s voice, she rolled over and saw her standing at the edge of her bed.

“Catherine, what are you doing?”

“Ms. Claire, it is after one in the afternoon. You need to wake and eat. You have already missed breakfast and now lunch. I am worried about you.”