Obsessed, p.2
Obsessed, page 2
“Sure you are,” Heather said dryly.
“I am,” Briana sputtered. “I do…spontaneous things all the time.”
“I just bet you do, like when you shop for groceries and think about what you’re gonna make for dinner?”
“Well, no. You know I always have my list.”
“Uh-huh…When was the last time you did something wild and outrageous?”
Never. Briana bit her lip. They both knew she didn’t do anything without planning. “I can be outrageous. Maybe I’ll paint my toenails blue…I’ll just have to add—”
“—the polish to your shopping list?”
Another long pause had Briana ready to end the conversation she felt so depressed, so lacking in the “normal” gene.
“You know what the problem is, don’t you?”
“Other than my husband left me?”
“He’s not in his proper place. Hell, you get a panic attack when a coffee cup doesn’t get turned right side up in a cupboard. Why don’t you stick a pin in the map and take a trip? Get away from everything familiar. Give your brain a chance to reset some switches.”
“I can’t just take off. I have plans. There’s the luncheon with the ladies tomorrow.”
“Um…about that, Bri…”
Briana heard the hesitation in Heather’s voice, and her stomach sank. “They don’t want me to come, do they?”
“They asked me to talk to you. Some of the bitches think it might be a bit uncomfortable for you there.”
Briana snorted. “That’s so sweet,” she said, letting a little acid bleed through her tone. “They’re concerned about how I might feel?”
“Yeah. They’re probably afraid it’s catchin’. You know, The Big D.”
Briana heard the growl in her friend’s voice and almost smiled again. Count on Heather to always have her back. “It’s too bad we can’t be spontaneous together.”
“Yeah, twins kinda rule that out. I could use some ‘me’ time.”
“Maybe I’ll take your advice.”
“You should.” By her tone, she seemed doubtful. “Maybe an opportunity will come faster than you think.”
“Maybe…”
“I’m just sayin’, keep your options open.”
“Seems like my calendar’s going to be completely free,” Briana said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice she was far from feeling.
“You feel better? Any less anxious?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Heather.”
“What are friends for? Call me tomorrow?”
“I will.” As she hung up the phone, she wished she could be the person Heather wanted her to be. But how could she pick up and leave if there was even a chance Jonathan might want to talk? Seven years they’d been together. For seven years, she’d run the social side of his business. The man had never lifted a finger to make any plans, any arrangements.
He didn’t have her Rolodex.
When he called, she’d be cool. She wouldn’t answer the telephone on the first or even the second ring. Maybe after he’d asked to come back, she’d do as he’d suggested. See someone who could help her be a little less…obsessive.
God, that word again. She wasn’t that person, was she?
She just needed another chance, another shot at showing him she could be perfect enough.
Heather was right about one thing. Briana didn’t like things out of place. She knew she ought to be more concerned about the fact he’d cheated, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety that kept her heart racing and her palms damp.
Jonathan wasn’t in his proper place. She’d felt that most keenly the previous night when she lay down to sleep. Weight wasn’t distributed on her mattress in the way she was accustomed. She hadn’t had to fight rolling toward the middle. She’d been perfectly, wretchedly level.
No, Heather would never understand that she could forgive him fucking a whore in the middle of her clean sheets, but she couldn’t forgive him upsetting the balance in her bed.
After yet another sleepless night, Briana awoke feeling groggy, her head pounding. The house was spotlessly clean. Every closet was reorganized. Even the tools on the pegboard inside the garage had received her attention. Jonathan wouldn’t find fault with anything—if he ever came back.
She was beginning to doubt he would. He hadn’t called once. Wednesday had passed, which meant he’d been back to work for two full days and hadn’t needed her help with arranging a single luncheon appointment or dinner reservation. Perhaps he’d already hired an anal bitch to take her place.
Slowly, over the past few days she’d come to terms with the fact he wasn’t coming back. Which left her wondering what she should do next. Nearly paralyzed by the worries that flashed through her mind, one after the other, she’d worked like an automaton cleaning the house and working in the garden to exhaust herself enough she wouldn’t notice how silent the house was, or how empty her bed felt.
She’d tried to look at the bright side. She no longer had to clean up after Jonathan, but that left her with even more time on her hands. Then the niggling thought flashed that maybe she wouldn’t be able to hold onto the house once they divorced. What would he be made to pay in a settlement? They didn’t have any children; the time had never been right to begin the family he’d wanted.
There was only her. What judge would understand that she might lose her mind if she were forced to move someplace else? As soon as that thought occurred, she’d shoved it back into her subconscious, unwilling to face it. Not yet.
She had the morning’s dishes to do.
With the lemon-fresh scent of the frothy water soothing her, she slowly cleansed her coffee cup and dish, and then grabbed the spoon rest next to the stove and the magnets from the refrigerator to wash them, too. She pointedly kept her gaze from the window in front of her, not wanting to watch the driveway as she’d done compulsively for days.
When at last she had nothing left to clean, she let out the water, dried her plastic gloves and pulled them off, folding them before tucking them in their baggie beneath the sink. Then she washed the scent of the gloves from her hands, slathered on rose-scented hand cream, and slid her diamond ring back into place on her third finger.
As she held her hand up, the perfect stone caught the light shining through the window, refracting multi-colored rays like a prism.
The perfect ring for the perfect girl.
That’s what Jonathan had said when they chose the ring together before they married. When had he come to hate “perfect”?
A metallic clang sounded from outside, and she dropped her hand and curled her fingers tightly. The mail. Probably with a stack of bills. She hadn’t checked her household account to see whether Jonathan had added funds for her to pay them. Something she’d let slip.
She hurried to the door and opened it, watching as the mailman stepped off the flagstone pathway onto the sidewalk on his way to the next house. Reaching into the metal box beside her door, she lifted the lid and took out the envelopes, letting the lid drop with a loud clang.
As she turned back toward her door, she sorted through the envelopes. Nothing urgent. Advertisements for new credit cards, a coupon for a car wash…
A metallic clang sounded behind her again, and she turned, her brow wrinkling. Had a breeze lifted the lid?
Still, she couldn’t resist checking the box like Pavlov’s dog expecting another treat even knowing the routine had been somehow changed.
She swirled her hand inside the box, and her fingers touched on something. Withdrawing her hand, she found she held a postcard advertisement, but one unlike anything she’d ever seen.
The edges were pristine, not a single fray or bend. No postmark. On one side, the glossy side, there was a picture of a beach—a long scythe-like stretch of white sand that curved until it disappeared, sandwiched between a line of symmetrical palm trees and lapping azure waves. The jagged, vertical cliffs in the background were softened by lush vegetation draping their steep sides.
The palms, so straight and perfectly spaced, appealed to Briana instantly. So did the empty expanse of sand. When she looked closer, she saw a man standing in the shadows beneath one tree, wearing only a pareo knotted at his waist.
Even in the shadows, she could tell how perfectly made he was. His chest was smooth, his muscles well defined, and his waist lean and narrow with the knot in the colorful fabric resting atop one notch of his slim hips. His smooth skin was the color of coffee lightened with cream. His hair hung in dark ropes to his shoulders.
Her breath caught at the expression on his face—full lips turned up slightly at the corners, a chocolate gaze held wide and entrancing. His nose was narrower than she would have expected among features that looked Samoan or Hawaiian and flared only slightly at the end. He seemed to beckon her, to dare her to say “Yes.”
Reluctantly, she turned the card over. The texture on this side was slightly gritty and the same pale shade as the sandy beach. The lettering was in black and had the look of handwritten calligraphy. At the top was an embossed flower in deep, reddish orange.
Prepared to quickly skim the contents and flip the card again for another glimpse of the beach and the man, her gaze snagged on the greeting.
To Ms. Briana Neeson:
You are cordially invited to The Island, a place where your most fervent desires come to life with just one wish. At The Island, we cater to your needs…seduce you beyond your inhibitions…set you free to discover the woman you were meant to be. This invitation is given to a select few, and you’ve been chosen. Should you choose to accept this invitation, you agree that you are ready for a change, that you are freeing yourself to experience something you’ve never dared to dream, and in doing so, your desire to be fulfilled, to reach perfection will manifest deliciously…
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
This invitation will expire in twenty-four hours, Briana. You can contact us at 800-555-9860 to experience the fantasy of a lifetime. We’re waiting for your call…
Absently, Briana laid the other correspondence on a pewter dish on top of the foyer’s bureau and slowly closed the front door behind her. Although she knew the postcard was just a seductively designed advertisement meant to catch her eye, she couldn’t suppress the thrill that shot through her. As though the invitation spoke directly to her soul.
Before she had time to think twice and drop the card into the trash, she reached for the phone and dialed Heather’s number. She’d know what to do. She would tell her it was a scam, a lure to entice lonely women into giving up their credit card numbers and embarking on an adventure that could only disappoint.
However, Heather didn’t instantly discredit the postcard. In minutes, she stepped across the threshold, her hand extended for the invitation, which she read intently for several minutes.
Briana braced herself for disappointment.
Instead, Heather’s eyes widened as she lifted them to meet Briana’s gaze. “Let’s dial the number,” she said, excitement quivering in her voice.
And because this was the first time in days that Briana had felt a swell of something other than grief, she let Heather’s excitement sweep her along.
Before she knew it, Heather had taken down the details, handing the phone to Briana for her to give them her dietary preferences, bungalow versus hotel room, view of a beach or the island’s volcano, and so many other things that Briana’s head swam.
When she handed back the phone to Heather, she stood still, only half-listening as she realized she was seriously considering the trip.
Heather hung up the phone, turned toward her, and then let out a girlish squeal as she wrapped her arms around her and squeezed hard. “Girl, you have to do this. It’s perfect!”
Briana shook her head and pulled away. “This is crazy. You know that, right? I can’t afford a vacation like this.”
“Yes, you can. It’s only three days.” She shoved the paper she’d used to take down the details and circled the figure at the bottom. “That’s an all-inclusive price—airfare, hotel, and meals. Charge it to your credit card.”
“But I might need that money. Who says Jonathan’s going to keep paying the bill?”
Heather’s eyes narrowed, and then fell to Briana’s hand. “Sweetie, if you’re worried about cost, I have a solution for you.”
Before Briana could muster up another half-hearted protest, she let Heather slip the ring off her finger.
“I know this guy who runs a jewelry store. It’s not a pawn shop, not really, but he will hold the ring for a month before offering it up for resale. His commission isn’t outrageous.” She slipped the ring into her purse, and then grabbed both Briana’s hands. “You have to do this. Remember, we talked about you getting away? You’ve been living like a mole. I bet you haven’t been any farther than the edge of your lawn, have you?”
Briana nodded slowly. “But this is crazy.”
“You know what’s crazy? You waiting on that asshole to change his mind and ask to come back. You don’t need him. Not for a damn thing. You take this vacation. Let your island guide show you everything you’ve been missing—”
“Island guide?”
“You know that man on the front of the postcard?”
Briana nodded—he was the reason she hadn’t immediately consigned the card to the trash can.
Heather’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “He’s yours if you want him.”
CHAPTER 3
Briana fingered the lei that hung around her neck, thankful the scent of the blooms didn’t overpower the perfume she’d dabbed at her wrists the way the bright, red-orange hibiscus blooms overwhelmed her conservative sage-green-and-beige-patterned suit.
She still felt wilted from the heat that had risen from the runway as she’d deplaned and the fatigue from the long flight that slowly eroded her confidence.
That morning, as she said her farewell to Heather at the Dallas airport, she pushed aside her anxiety, letting her friend’s enthusiasm and her own breathless anticipation buoy her along. She ignored the fact her suitcase was mostly empty—at Heather’s urging—since she didn’t own a thing that went with an island adventure.
Defiant pride and a flight schedule that specified every step kept her in her seat for that first leg and kept her rushing toward the gate at LAX. Only when she’d landed at The Big Island and approached the little airplane with the slender twin propellers did her fears begin to gnaw at her gut.
She’d never taken a trip like this on her own. She didn’t really know what to expect, and Briana didn’t like surprises. So, what was she doing embarking on an adventure when she should be preparing for a fight over her home and laying plans for her suddenly wide-open future? Already suffering from unease at her unfamiliar surroundings, her anxieties compounded, one dreadful scenario overlaying another in her mind until she felt ill, her stomach knotting and her pulse escalating until she thought her heart would explode.
It was just a panic attack. She knew the symptoms well, having suffered from anxiety-driven terrors since she was a teen facing final exams after her father had abandoned her mother and her. Back then, she’d fought them back, using every visualization technique she could muster from library books.
Now, the image of the man standing under the palm tree, his bronze skin and dark, watchful expression was the one she chose to cling to, although it shouldn’t have calmed her. He should have scared her half to death; he seemed so foreign to her world. Still, she’d kept her seat on the plane and hadn’t run screaming when the heavy, hatch door closed on her final leg.
She could do this. It was just three days. She could stay inside her hotel room for the duration, staring at the things she’d brought to make her room feel familiar and homey to keep herself centered.
However, sitting in that plane with two other women who were travelling to Ka-le’a Island had brought her plummeting down the rest of the way. Slamming home the theme that played through her mind the entire journey—that she was completely out of her element. Completely set adrift. Alone. No way did she belong in their company.
For one thing, both wore clothing tailored to their bodies with expensive designer-brand accessories. Just the shoes the woman sitting nearest to her wore had to cost as much as Briana had spent on updating her entire wardrobe the previous fall.
Then there were their attitudes.
The smug confidence of the woman beside her had made Briana feel like an awkward kitten next to a sleek lioness. The other woman, with her dark exotic features and flamboyant clothing, set her teeth on edge with every loud complaint. She acted as though deferential treatment was her due.
Briana was completely discomfited and felt as ordinary as mud beside them both. She accepted a cup of coffee and a creamy éclair to refocus, definitely not because she was hungry. Still, she’d started to fidget, opening her bag to check its contents over and over.
So often, she must have annoyed the woman beside her because her gaze pinned her, her lips lifting in a grimace, making Briana so nervous she’d dropped the purse. When she’d leaned down to pick it up, the other woman bent as well, causing Briana to gasp and jerk up her head.
They’d bumped heads.
The woman’s smile as she straightened hadn’t reached her eyes and didn’t give Briana a hint of what she intended. She bent closer and pressed her full lips to Briana’s. When the woman’s warm, wet tongue slid over hers, taking crumbs and cream she didn’t know were there, Briana had sat frozen in shock, her heart pounding, not sure to this moment whether she or the other woman had returned the purse to her lap.
She’d spent the remainder of the flight with her hands gripping the armrests, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead and fighting the urge to gargle with Purel.
Still, she was honest enough with herself to acknowledge that she’d felt a tremor deep in her core. She’d been shocked, yes, but also terribly excited. That kiss, although likely intended as a mocking insult, had driven home what this getaway was all about—an illicit adventure.
