Innocence (3 page)

Watching her reflection in the glass windows of the shops she passed, she realized she had no regrets. The young woman looking back at her was a big city girl. Her apartment was only a walk away from the boutique where she worked and the neighborhood was a better one than she would have been able to afford.  But seeing as it was let out by a relation of Marcus Ubeli, and he was willing to put in a good word for her, she got it for astonishingly little, furnished, with no down payment required. When she asked who owned it, he said it was his cousin.

Standing now in front of her door, picking up her mail, she threw a glance at the door to the other apartment. Whoever this cousin was, she was rarely at home in the adjacent apartment, where Marcus claimed she lived. At least it was quiet.

Cora turned the key and stepped into the darkness with a smile. She breathed deeply the smell of lemony cleaner and florist flowers. She knew before she flicked on the lights the apartment was spotless and picture perfect. The housekeeping, which was included, always happened Cora was out; often she returned home to crisp new sheets and cabinets stocked with food, drink, toiletries. And Marcus always left her a bouquet of flowers.

Marcus is a perfect gentleman, she told herself an hour later, as she put in her earrings in front of the foyer mirror, waiting for Sharo to knock on the door. Sometimes Marcus sent his employee to pick her up; he got caught up in meetings sometimes but didn’t like to be late for their outings. Sharo was a decent stand in, taking her to a restaurant, where they would serve her a glass of wine, and Marcus would always arrive soon after, smiling and full of compliments to her beauty.

A perfect gentleman,
she thought again. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her, just put his arm around her to keep her warm whenever they went on long drives through the park, or to his favored private club on the edge of the city. And when he took her to more dangerous parts of town in order to show her a friend’s restaurant, he would loop her arm through his as they walked from the car into the building, and stay at her side all night. She felt safe with him.

He was generous, too. The roses in the foyer were a gift from him. The dress and necklace she wore were other gifts. She always blushed when she got a gift—it seemed too much.

Once, telling her that he had to miss a date because of business, he told her to go into a shop and try on some of the wares. Sharo had followed, a silent shadow who saw everything, and said nothing. Everything she touched, whether she liked in or not, arrived in large shopping bags at her apartment the next day.

She certainly lacked for nothing. Indeed, sometimes it seemed that she was given too much attention. Once in a while, returning home from work in the evening, she would be coming down the street and get the feeling that she was being watched. She’d look over quickly, and there would be the sleek tip of a car, just turning out of an alley, or parked on the street. Its windows were tinted, but she could just imagine the smooth head of Sharo, waiting patiently and following her movements with a steady stare.

It’s just a coincidence,
Cora thought to herself as she got ready for her evening out.
You’re making up something to be worried about, things are so perfect.
Standing in the small room that served as a foyer in front of the door, she faced the mirror one last time.

Tonight was important. Marcus had been busy lately, working early and late and all hours in between, so that she barely saw him for weeks unless he was worn out. Their last date had been three nights ago, at a new restaurant called simply Nectar. His car had met her after work and taken her straight to the place, despite her protests that she wasn’t dressed for the occasion. The night started with champagne in the car, and ended with them both on the top of the building, looking down over the world while the band played softly for the few late customers.

“This is beautiful,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” Marcus wasn’t looking at the city. “I think I like you in your work clothes.”

She half-frowned. “You owe me for this, Marcus Ubeli.” She rarely spoke so freely to him, but tonight she was relaxed. His mouth quirked—the closest thing to a laugh he had—and she went on. “Dragging me to this fancy restaurant, plying me with champagne… I’m barely fit to ride on public transport in these clothes.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he had said. “I’ll buy you a dress.”

She had blushed; she always did. And his face, usually so serious under the dark hair, had held a little half smile. “I’d buy you all this if I could.” He swept his hand over the city, glittering below them like a box of jewels. Cora had giggled. She knew he was teasing.

“You mean you can’t?” she smiled back. “Mr. Ubeli, what will we do with you? You’ve been working so hard.” She had looked up at his dark features, at the slates under his eyes, evidence of long, long nights.

“I’ve missed you, kid.” He said. Two fingers came to stroke her cheek. “I can’t believe I have someone like you.”

Then they both stared at each other. These words were like nothing they had ever spoken to each other, and stunned them both. For a moment they were silent, looking down at the city. Then Cora spoke up, haltingly.

“You’ve been great too. You’re kind, more than generous. You’ve treated me like a princess. I came to the city with such big dreams, but… every girl dreams of a life like this. You’ve made it come true.”  She looked up at him there, knowing that her cheeks were alive with the heat of the moment and the cold of the wind. His fingers were still there against them, but still as if any movement more than breathing would shatter it all.

“Cora,” he whispered, and she strained to hear, for the wind nearly took his words. “I want…”

“What?” she had whispered back, but there was no answer. In the silence she had shivered a little, and then he was there, folding her into his chest, suit jacket and satin handkerchief pressing into her cheek. And he had been warm, so strong, and nothing could take her away from his shelter, or his heat.

“I want to keep you safe,” he had said. “I want to hold you, like this…”

“Shh…” she had said, and closed her eyes. They had stayed that way for a long time, till after the band stopped playing, and the waiters swept up, and finally they went back down to where Sharo sat in the car with a fist over his mouth to keep from yawning. She had kept her head on Marcus’ shoulder all the way home, as the light on the car window softened with dawn.

Cora looked up again to the mirror in the foyer. Marcus had kept his promise. The dress had arrived that afternoon, with a note:
Wear it, and we’ll call it even.
She had grown used to opening gifts in the weeks that he had been preoccupied with work, but this one made her gasp as she lifted it from the tissue—the fabric was luminous grey and covered over with clear beads that glinted like city lights. A small box accompanied it. It opened to showcase a necklace. The setting was shaped like tear, two diamonds and another stone, a large red one she could not recognize.

So she found herself standing in the dim light of the little foyer, allowing herself one last look in the mirror before her escort knocked on the door and whisked her away to Marcus. The dress was lovely, soft and grey, like the stuff of clouds. The tiny beads twinkled, even though the only light in her dark apartment came from the cityscape outside her windows. She had turned out the lights in preparation to go out, and now saw her reflection in stark shadow and dulled light.

Still, her eyes were shining, and the jewels at her ears and neck flashed in the light of the city. She smiled. A happy, but pale face smiled back. She touched her cheek with cold fingers. So white, as if she’d been frightened. Patting them sharply to give them some color, she breathed in the scent of the roses…

A knock sounded behind her, and she jumped out of her skin. Grabbing her clutch, she turned to the door and checked through the peep hole, as Marcus had instructed her.
City instinct,
he had told her.
Don’t trust you know what’s beyond your own front door.

The head outside the door was bent. Frowning, she waited for it to straighten so she could see a face. It certainly wasn’t Sharo; his head was shaved. The one she was looking at had a full head of hair, brown and a bit tousled, though wet as though it was raining on the streets.

Finally, the head raised. She went cold as she recognized the face from that night at the dive, the night that ended with her on her back for brief seconds in a car, and then a brief chase through the streets, and, finally, the empty club where she had met Marcus.

She backed away from the door, fright closing her throat, and though she knew he hadn’t seen her, she still wanted to run to her bedroom and hide, like a child, under the bed. Instead, she retreated to the kitchen, grabbed her phone, and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Shaking, she dialed. It was a number Marcus had given her if she needed to reach him. No one ever picked up, but she had never left a message before without Marcus or Sharo getting the information.

“Hello,” she whispered in the bathroom, “this is Cora.” Her voice was probably shaking, but she gave every detail as carefully as she could, speaking slowly, like a small child. Then she hung up and waited.

Twenty minutes later, she thought she could hear another knock on the door. Phone in hand, she didn’t move. Again, a knock. Then the phone rang, breaking the silence and nearly causing her to scream. She answered it with a half-strangled,

“Hello?”

Sharo was at the door. It took three tries for her shaking self to undo the lock, and when she did, he came in before she asked him, ushering her to a couch with a strong hand, flipping on lights as he did. He poured her a drink and assured her Marcus was on his way. Darting out again, she heard voices in her foyer, and looked up in fear.

But it must have been one of Sharo’s acquaintances, because he was back with her quickly, a certain look on his face that told her that he was cautiously pleased with something.

“You okay?” In his deep voice and dark eyes, there was something of concern.

“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

“Two of my men was outside the apartment, and I think he may have spotted him. They think he may have spotted them, and dived down into city transport. They’re still on the trail.” There it was again, a look of quiet smugness that suggested Sharo was sure he’d have his hands on the man soon. “You’ll never see him again.”

“He didn’t do anything,” she said. “Just scared me, that’s all. How— how did he find me?”

But Sharo’s face was now impassive, and he was suddenly no longer willing to speak. A few minutes later, Marcus arrived, and she was comforted, complimented and even cradled again. All the while Sharo watched, and Cora felt the silent, knowing glances between the man and his boss.

“Why don’t we stay in tonight, babe. Go order Greek; Sharo will pick it up for us.” She left the room reluctantly, feeling the eyes of two men on her. When she returned, they were standing close to one another, both faces were hard and strained, though she had heard no raised voices. As quiet as she was creeping back, she only heard Marcus mutter “Don’t let it happen again,” before he turned back to her, a cold but gracious host.

“Give Sharo the number so he can get the food.” As the bald man left the room, Marcus added, “I don’t want any delivery boy knowing where she lives.” The quiet fury on his face made her pause halfway to the couch, even when he put out his hand to call her to him. She remained where she was.

“Marcus,” she asked when Sharo had gone, “who is this guy?”

“I told you, kid. Just some dick off the streets who saw a goddess he can never touch and can’t get wise.” With a sigh he seated himself on the couch, staring off into nowhere, his face turned to stone. Finally he relaxed, started breathing again.

“Come here,” he said, and held out his hand again. Slowly she moved forward, took it, allowed him to pull her down onto the couch. He cradled her as he had when they had first met, arm around her, her head against his suit jacket. “I don’t want you scared,” he whispered, his lips right near her face, “Don’t think you aren’t safe. Nobody, I mean nobody,” she felt him tense up, angry, “touches my girl.”

They sat in silence for a time after this, and as the clock ticked the tension left his body. Cora could feel his breathing soften. She held herself very still, like a moth trapped against a lamp; feeling the danger, unable to break away. “You’ll be okay,” she heard him murmur, “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

Looking back, she didn’t know why it happened, but suddenly she saw the gleam of the black car, the shaved head of Sharo. “You already don’t,” she said sleepily, lulled by the rise and fall of the chest underneath her. Eyes almost closed, she was drifting when a sharp word pulled her awake.

“What?” His voice mixed with the doorbell; she pulled away.

“It’s okay,” Marcus said, his hands steadying her, “it’s only Sharo.” He mistook her anxiety and she let him, body still taut and held away from him, even though she was still so close her hair spilled over his suit. “Cora,” he repeated, and she relaxed. He seemed to have forgotten her foolish, whispered words, or dismissed them as naïve.

And this shocked her more than the fact he was having her followed. As he went to answer the door, her eyes followed, her heart pounding with something like anger. He thought she was clueless! He didn’t think she knew.