He threw the pages toward her and watched as they scattered on the floor near her feet. He didn’t move; instead he stared and watched as Claire moved to the floor. Tony knew every word—hell, he’d read it fifty times. He watched as she fumbled with the pages, and her breathing became ragged.
“Tony, oh my God, I did not agree to an interview.”
He was once again beside her. What kind of pull did she have on him? He pointed to the picture. “So you’re telling me that the picture of you talking to this woman is a print shop fabrication and this is a colossal misunderstanding?”
“It is me, but—”
He seized her shoulders, lifted her from the floor, and pinned her against a wall. The falling picture and fear in her eyes didn’t register.
Her voice begged for understanding. “I wasn’t giving an interview.”
She was lying to him! He slapped her again! If he had to, he’d force the truth out of her. He leaned down until their noses almost touched. Would she have the audacity to look him in the eye and continue lying? “Then what in the hell were you doing?” He shook her again. “Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you, and I believed you. I sent you to a spa day. This is how you thank me? This is how you repay me? By breaking all my rules? By public failure?”
Abruptly, he released her shoulders. He wasn’t going there. He refused to reveal how betrayed he felt. That would give her too much power. She didn’t have the power, he did. And he would prove it!
When he turned around, Claire was scurrying to pick up the papers. The sight of her face finally registered: it was red and blotchy, yet her voice fought for steadiness. “What is this?”
Fine—he could be steady too. “It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. It’ll run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone.”
In an effort to control the emotions he didn’t want to feel, he stepped away, went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. The release served as a small vent. After a deep inhale, he answered, “Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy. I flew home as soon as I could.”
While she read, Tony walked to the sofa, sat, and watched. The pages in her hand trembled as tears fell onto the printed words. What the hell did she think—that he wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t know she’d betrayed his trust?
“Tony, I did go to school with Meredith. She did come up to me the other day and start talking. I didn’t know she was a reporter. I wasn’t giving an interview. I didn’t say anything about you.” She cried, “Your name was never mentioned!”
Tony didn’t speak; instead, he nodded toward the pages. Claire continued reading. When it appeared as though she were finally done, she didn’t move. She didn’t look up, or speak—or anything. Tony waited. The only sound in the suite was that of their breathing. Tony’s was getting louder while Claire’s became shallower. Eventually, she laid the pages on the carpet and kept her eyes downcast.
His fury had ebbed. On much steadier legs, he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire. How many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture, right here, of you sitting with her, the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate. It’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”
He wasn’t yelling; he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire still didn’t look up. He wanted to see her face; instead, all that he could see was the top of her head. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail and hung in front of her eyes. “Get up,” he ordered.
She didn’t move—not a flinch.
His volume increased. “Claire, get up!”
Still looking at the carpet she begged, “P-please, Tony, I-I’m so sorry.”
He reached for her arm, lifted her, and said, “The entire way home I was praying that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this, not after I put my trust in you, but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding, there had to be consequences. There had to be punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules.”
Claire wouldn’t look at his eyes. When he reached for her chin, she moved away from his touch. The red returned and filled every molecule of the suite. How dare she pull away from him! He moved again, not to lift her chin, but to strike her face. If she were going to pull away, he’d give her something to pull away from. His hand caught her pearl necklace, and Tony watched as the small pearl charm flew across the room.
He would do more than punish her physically for her betrayal. Next time, she would remember to follow his rules. Tony emphasized his control over her liberties as he continued, “I believe some time away from people, some time alone in your suite, will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”
The betrayal combined with the fear in her eyes was too much. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear. She was fighting him or protecting herself. Tony wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense.
It was like the boy at the Academy—only multiplied. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop. Claire’s behavior caused him pain. At the moment, the only thing he could think to do was return the favor.
How long did he hurt her? Tony truly didn’t know. It wasn’t until she stopped fighting, stopped begging, and stopped moving, that the red disappeared.
When it did, the only thing that remained was Claire.