Convicted by Aleatha Romig
Liz stirred, murmuring as she rubbed her cheek against his pillow. Her blonde hair and soft skin pulled him closer. He wanted to be honest with her, he really did; nonetheless, it wouldn’t do either one of them any good for her to know that he still thought about Claire, from time to time. Sometimes when he’s alone he remembered what it was like to be with her. It wasn’t just the sex. He thought about how scared she was when she first moved to Palo Alto. Every time he remembered her buying her first cell phone, a smile came to his lips. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but he felt his cheeks raise. When he first met Claire, she was like a frightened fawn exploring the world on her own. He was drawn in by a need to protect her from all the dangers—including Anthony Rawlings. Even before Harry knew the details, he knew that she’d been hurt. Looking into her emerald eyes, he knew that it was something he didn’t want her to experience again.
Harry cared about Liz. He could even see spending the rest of his life with her. She was different than Claire—so strong and independent. How many women would take him back after what he’d done? Granted she gave him hell about it—he deserved it. Harry admired her strength and strong will. With an appreciative smile, he knew he also admired her ingenuity. Never once did she blow his cover with Claire or the Vandersols, yet her jealousy played a significant role in his and Claire’s first big fight. When Amber received the call—at the last minute—about Rawlings being at the gala, Harry knew Liz had withheld the information on purpose. He even told Amber.
Watching her sleep peacefully, Harry moved her soft blonde hair away from her neck. Damn, he loved that neck. Fighting the urge to wake her, he smiled.
There was no doubt that he was pissed during the night of the gala. He was pissed at Liz and at Claire; however, now Harry had to give Liz an A for effort. She took the cards she’d been dealt and played them—she played them very well.
“Why are you smiling?” Liz asked as her eyes opened.
“I was just thinking about that sexy neck of yours.” His fingers went to her collarbone and traced a winding path over her neck and down to her breast.
Liz reached for his hand. Momentarily, their palms touched and their fingers intertwined. “Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“One more question, and then I’ll drop it—I promise.”
He exhaled and laid his head on his pillow. “Go ahead.”
“How do I know that if you run into her in the future that you won’t still have feelings?”
“I don’t know. Some couples have this thing called trust. I realize I’m the one who needs to earn it back”—He lifted his head and allowed his lips to lightly trail over her neck. Breathlessly he whispered—“I will.”
“In Venice?”
Harry lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “In Venice—what?”
“Did you want to be with her again? Did you sleep together—or anything?”
“No!” Harry pulled the covers back and abruptly left the bed. “Why are you on this kick? No! She was planning on meeting up with Rawlings.” Pacing nude by the bed, Harry lifted his arms. “I screwed up. All I can say is—I’m sorry.”
Liz moved to her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. With her face lifted, she cooed, “I believe you. I can tell you’re upset. I’m sorry. It’s just that after I saw that picture of the two of you holding hands—well, I guess I needed to know.”
“You saw the picture? How?”
“Amber showed it to me.” She lifted herself on her knees, kissed his lips, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts against his hard chest. “I believe you. If you say it’s over—it’s over.” She moved slightly away to look into his eyes. “Oh, please don’t tell Amber that you know I saw the picture. She just wanted me to be sure that I knew everything—so that I could make an informed decision.”
Her grin widened as she pulled Harry back down on the bed. When his head hit the pillow, she leaned over him. The warmth of her flattened breasts covered his wide chest as their skin united. Liz continued, “She told me not to tell you.” Her words came between butterfly kisses to Harry’s cheek and neck. “I probably shouldn’t have”—“but Agent Baldwin”—“now that I know”—“my decision is informed”—“and”—“I don’t want”—“to let you go”—“again!”
Harry flipped Liz onto her back. Before he could speak, she begged, “Please, Agent, can you show me how much you’ll miss me? Please?”
Harry couldn’t resist her begging—her flushed cheeks—her trusting gaze—or her disheveled hair. It was more than he could take. Any thought unrelated to becoming one, with the woman below him, momentarily slipped away.
Focus on things you can control.
—John Wooden
“Monsieur?”
Tony pulled his gaze away from Claire and looked toward Madeline. In her arms, she held a stack of towels and sheets.
“We need to clean her and cool her.”
Tony nodded and reached for a wash cloth. After going to the bathroom and saturating it with cool water, he folded it in thirds and gently placed it on Claire’s forehead. His soft tone resonated through their suddenly cavernous suite, “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” Thunder shook the house. Tony continued, unfazed, “If you need to sleep now, it’s all right, but pretty soon, our little one will be here. He or she needs their mommy.” Tony fought the emotion boiling in his throat. “Claire, I need you. With you I’m someone I’m proud to be. P—please—don’t leave me.”
The pressure of someone’s hand fell on Tony’s shoulder. He was on the edge of a dark abyss. Fear pulled at him, inciting emotions he couldn’t control. Anthony Rawlings controlled everything and everyone. The sudden impotence filled his world with red. Other than Claire, he was surrounded by employees. Didn’t these people know anything? They didn’t address him without a title, and they didn’t touch him! Tony inhaled and looked toward the touch. His gaze met Madeline’s as she smiled a sad smile. Instantaneously, the red faded. Tony covered Madeline’s hand and relished her support.
Madeline said, “Monsieur, Madame el, she’s not gone—she’s resting. The island cure I gave her is helping her. She needs her strength for your baby. We must make her comfortable.”
Tony didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to do. It was an uneasy situation under normal circumstances. With Claire’s life on the line, Tony felt completely helpless. Swallowing his pride, he asked, “H—how can we make her comfortable?”
Madeline explained her plan. Once Tony approved, she put it into motion. First, she instructed Francis and Phil to carry a chaise lounge in from the lanai. Rain covered the floor when they opened the door and brought the long lounge into the bedroom. Madeline immediately dried the moisture from the floor and from the lounge cushions; then she proceeded to cover the chair in towels and sheets.
Phil and Francis went back to the hall and kept silent vigil, while Madeline and Tony removed Claire’s wet clothes. They cleaned, rinsed, and dried her with cloths and towels from the bathroom. Once she was dry, Tony gently lifted her to the lounge chair where they dressed her in a nightgown and covered her shivering body with a clean sheet. The chase lounge was much lower than a normal bed; however, since the mattress of their bed was saturated, it gave her a clean place to lie.
No longer did station matter. Madeline was no longer house staff or an employee—Tony willingly submitted to her control of the situation. If she told him to jump, it would be he who asked, how high? For the first time in his memory, Tony didn’t want power. He knew nothing about giving birth. Without a doctor, Madeline was their best bet. She was the dealer—she controlled the deck and had his full respect and attention.
As the sky darkened and night time came, Tony did the only thing he could. He sat by Claire with one hand on their unborn child. When he’d feel the baby move, he’d tell Madeline, “I felt something.” His other hand continually touched Claire. It may have been her hand, her cheek, or her forehead. He didn’t care where they connected—as
Throughout the night, Claire’s pulse remained steady, and their baby continued to move. It wasn’t until dawn when Claire began to wake. At first, it was the incoherent mutterings of earlier. She pleaded, “Tony...no...gone...Tony...no...” Eventually, the pleadings morphed into tears. With each outburst, another piece of Tony’s heart broke. Claire was fighting a battle only she could see. He would’ve said, paid, or done anything to bring her relief—he couldn’t.
All he could do, was offer himself. Never leaving his wife’s side, Tony repeatedly wiped her tear coated cheeks with a soft handkerchief, and each time she’d mutter, in his calmest tone, he’d reassure, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...” He didn’t know if she could hear his words; nevertheless, saying them brought a sense of comfort to their suite.
By the time the sun rose behind the still billowing clouds, Tony’s head rested quietly on the side of the chair. There hadn’t been a change in hours. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, but the rumbling of thunder, rhythm of rain, and constant in Claire’s condition allowed him to slip into a false sense of security.
Claire couldn’t remember where she was. Her last memory was of the suite in Iowa. The copper colored walls she remembered were gone; instead, the white woodwork and golden drapes of 2010 were back. The fear that infiltrated her thoughts and drained her world of color was the overwhelming sensation of isolation. Claire was, once again, alone. No longer did she wake to the sounds of her paradise. Birds no longer sang and the surf no longer roared. The only reoccurring noise was that of the beep. She didn’t need to look, to know why it occurred. Claire knew too well—the beep happened whenever the door to the rest of the world opened.
Alone forever, the beep was a continual reminder of her fate. Claire didn’t want to hear the sound or see the person who’d enter. There was a time, somewhere long ago, when Claire yearned to see Catherine, she prayed for that. Now, each time the door opened, she prayed for someone—anyone else, yet each tray of food—each outfit set out—everything necessary for life—came at the hands of the woman who was no longer her comforter—but her tormentor. If Claire turned, she knew she’d see Catherine’s sadistic gray eyes.
Though her life was hell—it no longer mattered. Claire’s will to continue vanished with her husband and child. She saw the food which arrived three times a day. Never once did she desire to eat. She saw the French doors which opened only upon request. There was nothing beyond the panes she craved. Colors were gone. Showering, dressing, sleeping, and waking were inconsequential. Claire’s thoughts and actions were consumed with one desire: to be with her family. If her goal could only be obtained through death, she willed it to occur.
This sense of doom overwhelmed her as she woke. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the golden drapes. Tentatively, more from reflex than want, Claire pried her eyes open. As she tried to focus, the world she feared was gone; instead of white woodwork, a thatched ceiling filled her view. A slow, methodical fan twirled above her bed and cooler than normal air moved through their suite.
Though the angle didn’t seem right, she knew she was in paradise. When she attempted to move, stiffness affected each joint. Claire felt as though her body were bruised. With pressure on her stomach, she suddenly remembered their baby. Tears of loss filled her eyes as she reached for her midsection. Before her hand moved that far, her fingers brushed a full head of hair. Raising her face, Claire’s lips morphed into a grin as she saw the familiar head of dark hair highlighted with renegade white. It was the most perfect head of hair she’d ever seen.
Reaching below the perfect head of hair, Claire felt her enlarged midsection. The slight pressure she’d felt was Tony’s large hand splayed across their unborn child. For a moment, she lay perfectly still relishing her reality. The night of terror was only a dream—a nightmare. As if for confirmation, their child moved. The small, strong life pushed against her skin from within. Every muscle in Claire’s body relaxed. Their child was still inside of her, Tony was beside her, and no matter what the future held, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Weaving her fingers through his hair, Claire whispered his name, “Tony?”
Though his head didn’t move, the hand over her midsection shielded protectively, as he murmured, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone...”
Again, she whispered, “Tony, what happened? Why are you on the floor?”
His tired eyes found hers. Though he looked exhausted, the sparkle behind the soft brown filled Claire with love and hope. He reached up and touched her cheek. “Oh, thank God, you’re not hot.”
Her lips twitched upward. “Thanks a lot. You don’t look all that hot yourself.”
His lips gently found hers. When he pulled away, Claire watched as his grin emerged, coming from some dark place, and a tear slid down his cheek. Had she ever seen him cry? Claire couldn’t remember. It was the relief in his voice that overwhelmed her and brought tears to her cheeks. “Mrs. Rawlings, have I ever mentioned how much I love that smart mouth?”
Claire nodded. “A time or two.”
He smoothed the hair from her face. “You’ve had us all very scared.”
It was a day of revelations; first a tear and then an admittance of fear. Claire almost asked who this man was, and what he’d done with her husband; however, the sincerity in his voice didn’t deserve a quick retort. Instead, she reached for his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m sorry, I scared you. I don’t remember. What happened?”
Their voices must have been overheard because before he could answer, the bedroom door opened and Madeline came rushing in. “Oh, Madame el”—her deep dark eyes smiled—“Madame Claire, our prayers, they have been answered.”
Something as simple as a name shouldn’t make her cry, yet hearing Madeline call her by her name, a request Claire had made months ago, ignited warmth. Again, Claire felt movement within her. Smiling, she asked, “At the risk of sounding redundant, would someone please tell me what happened?” At that moment, she noticed the back pain was gone.
“Yes, my dear, we will. We don’t want you to have to ask again.” She could hear the smirk in her husband’s voice.
“Thank you, I don’t believe I’m the only one who doesn’t like to ask the same question twice.” Claire saw the gleam in Tony’s eyes and squeezed his hand. It truly amazed her that a simple phrase could possess so much meaning.
“Madame Claire, how do you feel?”
“I think...I feel good...” Claire tried to sit. Tony moved to the back of the lounge chair and repositioned the back. When he did, Claire realized something leaked. With a surge of panic, she confessed, “I think I just...”
Madeline reached for her hand. “Your water broke. Your baby is coming soon.”
Claire knew she should be excited, yet looking at her husband and then past him, she saw the gray skies. It was then the drumming of steady rain registered. “Dr. Gilbert?” she asked.
Tony shook his head and grasped her hand. “It’s too dangerous. Phil and Francis have both offered to go after him; however, even if they get to town, Dr. Gilbert may not be willing to travel back here.”
Claire tried to think. “Madeline, did you say you’ve delivered babies before?”
“Oui, I’ve helped.”
It was more experience than either of them had. Claire nodded; then she asked, “My water broke? When?”
“Last night,” Tony replied.
“Then why am I not in labor?”
“Oh, but Madame you are.”
Claire closed her eyes and assessed. She felt more comfortable than she had in weeks. The lower back pain was gone. The tightening was gone. The pressure down low was gone. A tear escaped her eyes.
Tony tenderly wiped it away. “Why are you crying?”
Her words came between ragged breaths. “I don’t think this is right.” “If I’m in labor, then I should feel something.” “My water broke.” “It isn’t safe
Madeline answered truthfully, “I do not know, but you will. Your baby will want to come out.”
The lines around Tony’s eyes deepened. “I’ll go to town. I can’t ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do.”
Claire grasped his hand. “No! No you won’t. I don’t want Phil or Francis risking their lives either, but under no circumstance are you allowed to leave me.” Not bothering to smile, Claire added, “This is not debatable.”
His grin twitched, and he whispered close to her ear, “Do you want me to get the satin mask?”
She tried to suppress her smile; however, suppression of any kind was impossible. Her emotions were too raw. The days of figurative masks were gone. With her emerald eyes shining, she replied, “Maybe later, but right now, you’re not leaving me!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tony looked up to Madeline. “Do you think she should eat?”
Claire remembered the night before. “I don’t want to. Last night, I threw up after dinner.”
“Madame el, you can drink? No?”
“Yes, Madeline, I can drink.”
“I’ll be back.”
When Madeline opened the door, Claire saw Phil and Francis standing just through the opening. Suddenly, she remembered modesty. Looking down to her feet, Claire realized she wore a nightgown that she didn’t remember putting on and was covered with a sheet. “Please let Phil and Francis come in for a minute. They look worried.”
Tony kissed Claire’s forehead as he fought to stand. Sitting on the floor all night appeared to have stiffened his muscles as well. “My dear, we were all concerned.”