“So how did you and Jay meet?” I ask.
“It was very sweet,” she says, and for the first time she actually sounds as if she liked the guy once. “We met in a coffee bar and I’d lost my wallet. He bought me a latte, then helped me get home. Turned out my wallet was in my purse the whole time.”
She lifts a shoulder. “That’s why he thinks I’m so scattered all the time. First impressions.” She rubs her hands over her face and then up, pushing her steam-slicked hair back. “Anyway, he did the full-court seduction press. Flowers. Sweet texts. Little presents. It was so nice. I felt really special. Like I was in a fairy tale.”
“What changed?” I ask the question softly, and Marcy just keeps on talking. She doesn’t even blink.
“I don’t know. It was subtle. Slow. First he just wanted to stay in and not go out with friends. And I thought that was because we were all cozy and new. And then he didn’t want me to go out even if he was busy. He said my friends were catty and gossiped too much. But they don’t, really. We just talk, you know, the way you do. And then he got mad when I burned a roast. And after that—”
She cuts herself off as if suddenly realizing what she is saying. What she is admitting to me.
“After that he started to hit you?” I ask. My voice is as gentle as if I were dealing with a scared puppy.
Marcy nods. “I—I’m getting really hot in here.”
I hate losing the momentum of the conversation, but I also figure that’s code for I’m overwhelmed.
So we step out of the steam into the cool area of the changing room, then wrap ourselves in the big fluffy spa robes and head into the relaxation area.
I get us each a glass of wine, both because I want one and because I know that after a massage and a steam, it will go straight to Marcy’s head, thus inducing more talking.
We find a corner with three lounge chairs set up in a triangle with a table in the middle, and since the table is topped with a big bowl of fruit, it seems like the perfect place to relax. We lay back, sip our wine, and after a few moments I try coming at it from a different direction. “You wanted the vase so you could pawn it?”
“Yes.” Marcy’s voice is a squeak.
“So you could run?”
This time she only nods.
“Because he hits you.”
And this time, she just looks at her hands.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Jamie says. “He’s the asshole.”
“I think he knows I want to leave. I think that’s why he wants to get married.”
“You should go to the police,” Jamie says. “He can’t hurt you like this and get away with it.”
Marcy tenses up so immediately it looks painful. “No. He just gets mad. And I get better. And I’m not making excuses, really. But it’s not like there’s any proof. No doctors. I didn’t tell anyone. Nothing.”
“What about a counselor? You should talk to someone.”
She shakes her head. “I should, I know. But I’m not ready.”
I glance at Jamie, who nods almost imperceptibly.
“Do you still want to run?”
Marcy nods her head. “Yes. So much. I want to go home.”
“Then run now. I’ll give you some cash—no, don’t argue. I want to,” I say when she starts to protest. “And I can arrange a car to take you wherever you want to go. So tell me, Marcy, where do you want to go? Where would you be safe?”
“I want to go home,” she says. “I want to go to Texas.”
“Done.” I smile at her.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I stand up. “But we shouldn’t wait around. Let’s get you out of here before he gets out of the trade show. Is there anything in your room you have to have?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve got my purse.”
“Good. He’ll see the stuff and figure you’re in the hotel somewhere.”
She blinks at me, her eyes wide and trusting. “This is really happening?”
“If you want it to.”
“Yes.” The relief in her voice cuts through me like a thousand sharp knives. “God, yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
We dress quickly, and as we’re walking out of the spa, I call down to the desk, then explain who I am and what I want. And, with typical Stark efficiency, everything is ready when we arrive at the main entrance—an SUV to take Marcy home with two drivers so that they can drive straight through to Dallas, and an envelope with two thousand dollars in cash.
Marcy stares at the SUV like it’s Moses’s burning bush. And as I look at her, I can’t help but think of Damien. Our romance had been whirlwind, too. He had seduced me so thoroughly, sweeping me off my feet, showing me a whole new world. Just like Marcy’s romance, it had been hypnotic and wonderful and like something out of a fairy tale.
But dear god, what different endings. Because now Marcy cowers when Jay is near, whereas I open like a flower for Damien.
He scares her, hurts her.
And as for me, there is nothing that I would not trust with Damien. My property, my soul, my heart. My life.
They are his, and I know that he will treat them well.
I reach over and give her a hug. “You’re making the right decision. You deserve to be happy, not hurt.”
Marcy’s lips are pressed together tight, but she nods, and I’m certain she’s fighting back tears.
“They’ll really take me all the way home?”