I stare out of the window and attempt to paint the Houston skyline but I can't focus. I check the time again. 6.04 pm. Aaron's plane landed nine minutes ago. He's out there somewhere but why the hell isn't he with me? I know it's irrational but I miss him.
I want him around me, on top of me, inside me. I want to curl up around him, legs intertwined, arms around each other, exchanging soft kisses and caresses all night. I'm wearing his jacket over my clothes but I think the scent is fading. It was the only one I was able to salvage before the housekeeper sent the rest to the dry cleaners.
I'm to meet his family today. He's been away all week. He left on Sunday evening and was supposed to return yesterday but he got delayed. We're expected at his mother's house in an hour. It's her 65th birthday. I found an excellent gift for Yvonne but right now I'm very irritated at her son. I want him and he's not here. I miss him so much my chest hurts.
The five days Aaron has been away on the West Coast are the longest we've been apart since he asked me to move in with him. These past three months have been the happiest of my life.
Our passion has been so strong that it scares me at times. We spend every spare moment wrapped around each other. The doorbell rings and interrupts my thoughts. Aaron, I think as I rush towards it only for my enthusiasm to be dashed midway. Aaron wouldn't ring the bell. He has a key. It's his damned house.
Maybe he lost it, I console myself as I open the door. But the locks are biometric. It's Randy, the guy Aaron put in charge of security because he took Codd with him. "We've brought your mail, Miss Heaton," Randy hands me a stack of envelopes and magazines.
"Thank you, Randy," I say as I close the door to hide my disappointment. I had forgotten all about the mail. I had asked him to fetch it from my place and completely forgotten about it. Where is Aaron? I check the time again. 6.05 pm. Only a minute has passed. I want to scream in anger.
I go through my mail. I haven't checked it in a week. I didn't subscribe to half the magazines I receive and I'm no longer interested in the others. I make a mental note to cancel them all. The rest of the mail is just as useless except the one from the cable company. I forgot to pay my cable bill. I put that one aside. Finally, I come to a brown manilla envelope. It's addressed to me in elegant cursive. As I tear it open I hear rotors thudding outside. Aaron!
I drop everything and fly up the stairs. I emerge onto the roof as he's climbing out of the helicopter. I keep running and fling myself into his arms. The dull pain in my chest disappears as I fill my lungs with his intoxicating scent. I bask in the warmth of his body and the rhythmic pounding of our hearts. His lips find mine and all's right with the world again.
He takes me into his arms and carries me inside but we never make it down the stairs. He takes me against the roof access door in a frantic and passionate session that leaves me quivering with pleasure and joy while a gallon of semen leaks out of my vagina.
It's 6.30 by the time we make it to the living room. "We're gonna be late," Aaron says. He takes me by the hand, "Let's go."
"Honey, we smell of sex," I protest.
"Let them get a noseful of that," he replies half-seriously.
That makes me smile. It would be so naughty but no. I cup his face, kiss him, and pinch his cheeks, "No. No. No. It's my first time meeting your family. That's not the impression I want to make. We can be late but we're gonna be clean. We'll take a shower first."
The shower turns out to be a bad idea. As soon as Aaron sees me naked he drags me out of the shower and bends me over the sink. I should stop him but I don't. Having him inside me is the best feeling in the world. I arch my back to give him a better angle for penetration then drive back to meet his every thrust. We climax simultaneously.
We shower relatively quickly. Dressing is also pretty easy for him. All his clothes are the same. He just adds a bowtie. It's 7.05 when we step out. "We're gonna be so late," Aaron complains as he takes my hand and leads me out.
"And whose fault is that?" I hit back.
"Don't blame me. Blame him," he points at his crotch.
"We could take the helicopter," I suggest.
He shakes his head, "Nope. Too vulgar."
"What do you mean," I ask?
"Mom doesn't live in the middle of Houston like I do. Hers is a nice quiet suburb. A helicopter is just too showy and noisy for such a place."
"I didn't know that."
"Sure you do. Ordinary people don't like it when rich assholes rub their wealth in their faces," Aaron says as he leads me to the elevator.
"Yes. We sure don't like it."
He sniggers at that. "My dear Elizabeth. You're no longer an ordinary person. You're a rich asshole. Just like me."
"No. I'm not," I protest.
"Yes, you are. You live in a penthouse worth more than many people make in ten lifetimes, you have bodyguards, a housekeeper, and you're chauffeured around in an armored van," he says as the driver holds the door of the van for us.
"All that stuff is yours not mine," I protest as I step into the van. I start seeing the irony as I take in the luxury of the interior. Aaron says something to the driver and then steps in after me.
"You were saying?" He asks as the door slides closed.
"All this stuff is yours, not mine," I reply.
"That's a weak cope," he counters. "You get as much use out of it as I do. That makes all the stuff I own yours as much as it is mine. And once we get married half of it will be legally yours anyway." That stuns me into silence.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asks.
I swallow, "No."
He taps his thigh. Wordlessly, I climb into his lap. "What's the matter my love?" he implores as his arms close around me.
"I'm… I'm..." I can't get it out.
"You're not ready for marriage yet?" he finishes. I nod slowly. He holds me close.
"I know. You already told me you needed 16 months before you make that decision. One down, 15 to go. I promised to wait and I will. As long as you stay with me I'll be happy."
"I will," I promise as I rest my head on his neck. I love him with every fiber of my being and it hurts that there's so much I can't tell him. I don't want to marry him before telling him about my real job. Walking into a marriage with a secret like that is just not tenable.
I wanted to tell him but Marjorie expressly forbade it. She told me I could only tell him that after we were married. The only other alternative is to wait until my contract with the agency runs out. I have fifteen months left on it. And I can't just ignore Marjorie's warnings and tell him either. As a spy, I'm subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Marjorie could easily have me court-martialed for insubordination if I disobeyed her.
But what scares me most isn't even the prospect of being tried by a military tribunal. It's the consequences. There have been two arrests at the museum since I started working there. Both suspects were connected to Taliban financing and I provided the information that led to their arrests in my reports.
If I got court-martialed, all their unhinged terrorist friends would know I'm the one who got their money men nabbed. I don't even know the traitor I outed at Strauss. I would have no idea who would be coming for me.
Marjorie knows this has me exactly where she wants me. "I told you not to get attached," I still remember her sneering. Part of me feels like she's torturing me on purpose. 15 months. In 15 months I'll be free and I can do whatever I want.
"We're here," Aaron interrupts my reverie. I check the time. 7.20.
"We got here pretty fast," I comment.
"Chuck found a shortcut. I may also have promised him a bonus if he broke speed limits and ran a few red lights," Aaron explains. I'm just taken by him. Looking at him always raises my spirits. I give him a brief but fierce kiss before climbing out.
Yvonne's house is a white colonial at the end of a cul de sac. The lawn is perfectly manicured and surrounded by a white picket fence. There are similar houses all around. Cars are parked along the driveway and all the way down the street. There's soft music and the sound of a hundred conversions filtering out from the house.
"Looks like the entire neighborhood came," Aaron says as he takes my hand.
"You grew up here?" I ask him.
"Yep. Skinned my knees on this very driveway 100 times."
"Sir," Chuck interrupts. "You left these." He hands us two gift-wrapped boxes. Aaron takes them both and leads me inside.
He pauses at the door, "Are you ready to meet the Wallers, my love?"
I nod, suddenly not trusting myself to speak. I'm gripped by a sudden fear. What if they don't like me? Aaron pushes open the door and all my fears are moot. All the heads turn in unison as we enter. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.
Aaron is soon swarmed by people angling to shake his hand. "Let me help you with that," a voice says.
"Long time no see Aaron," chimes in another one.
The crowd soon pushes me away. Nobody pays any attention to me. This stings even though a few moments ago I was uncomfortable with all the attention. It's like The Fat Duck all over again. Kissing my ass and trying to show off their brilliance, Aaron's words from that day on the ship ring in my head.
I try to get back to him but the throng is too thick. Some guy accosts me, "Wait, I know you." He's a complete stranger.
"I don't think so," I say as I turn away.
"No. I know you," the man just won't give up.
"From where?" I ask him.
"Here," he says insistently. "Aaron's girlfriend?" he asks. I nod.
"You're dead," he says. It's a statement.
"Very funny," I respond sarcastically then really get into his face, "Are you threatening me, Sir?"
"No. No. No. Please no," he protests.
I get very close and whisper, "Then get the fuck out of my face before I rip your balls off." He practically runs away. I try to get back to Aaron who is still trapped by the crowd. Then I get help from an expected source.
The comedian Blunderbuss appears from a side room and makes for the crowd. "Back away jackasses. Celebrity incoming! I'm drunk and I'm gonna puke on the first face I see," he roars in his distinctive boisterous voice. The crowd parts as if by magic.
When he spots Aaron he lets out a loud, "Aaron!" Blunderbuss spreads out his arms and runs in for a hug but then stops at the last moment and backs away slowly, his face the picture of disgust.
"Aaron! Dude!" Blunderbuss yells with all the seriousness in the world, his disgusted look growing more intense. "Your dick is hanging out!"
Did we? I wonder, mortified at causing him such an embarrassment. Aaron quickly jerks his head to check his crotch. Blunderbuss clouts Aaron on the chin and everyone bursts into laughter as his head jerks back up, including Aaron himself.
"Very funny Brandon," Aaron says as he punches his brother in the belly. Brandon is Blunderbuss! How come Aaron never told me? His stories about Brandon are always hilarious though. Turns out Brandon is America's number one goofball. And he wouldn't call his brother by his stage name. I beat myself up for never making that connection.
Blunderbuss doubles over and with an exaggerated groan says, "I love you too bro."
"Yea. Me too," Aaron gives his brother a hand.
A tall distinguished-looking woman walks over to the pair. She must be at least six feet tall. "Overgrown babies!" she spits as she grabs Aaron and Brandon by their ears and drags them away while they protest feebly. It's their mother. Aaron showed me a picture. The guests chuckle at this spectacle. The girl next to me doesn't.
Medium height, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, pretty as a picture. I wish I looked like her. She has one of those ageless faces. She could be 19 or she could be 50. There's no way to know. She looks like she just came from a fashion shoot. I decide to strike up a conversation, "You don't find the spectacle funny?"
She answers without looking up, "What's there to laugh about? Brandon getting Aaron into trouble for the 600th time? That fucking oaf embarrassed him in front of all these people. It's what he always does. Blunderbuss my ass!" The intensity of her retort shocks me. What's the story behind that? I look her over up and down and suddenly start to feel very threatened.
"So you know these people?" I ask.
"Yes," she turns to look at me then her eyes widen. She hides it quickly but I still see it. "I know you," she whispers. That's the second time I'm getting this tonight.
"I don't think so," I reply. "We've never met. I would remember." I offer her my hand, "I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Heaton."
She reluctantly takes mine, "Olivia Ayles," she sputters. Something Aaron said at the museum on the day he asked me out clicks, "Say hi to Lauren and Olivia for me."
"Your father is Nathan Ayles?" I ask Olivia.
"Yes," she nods cagily.
"I worked with him. At the museum. He was a great restorer. I'm so sorry that he lost his sight."
"That's very kind of you," Olivia sounds almost polite.
"Do you know the house? I don't know anybody else here and I would like to talk to Aaron."
She gives me a weird look. Fearful. "Come," she gestures and starts walking. She even walks pretty. Her steps are precise and dainty. She keeps glancing back at me. She leads me past the guests then into a hall and knocks on a door. "Come in," a strong female voice says from inside.
Olivia opens the door and enters first. I follow closely behind. Yvonne's eyes narrow and Brandon sits up in apparent shock and starts talking, "Bro, you're in big trouble."
"Shut up, Blunderbuss!" Yvonne rebukes him. She makes Blunderbuss sound like an insult. She turns to Olivia with a questioning look. Aaron stands up and places an arm around me. "Mother, this is my girlfriend. Her name is Elizabeth." Then he points, "Elizabeth, this is my mother, Yvonne Waller, my brother Brandon, and I see you've met Olivia."
Yvonne stands up, walks up to me, and hugs me. "Welcome to the family Elizabeth," she murmurs.
Brandon stands up as well, shakes my hand, then shakes his head. "You really do have a type, bro," he says as he engulfs Aaron and me in a crushing bear hug. "You're embarrassing your brother in front of his woman," Yvonne says sternly as she pulls Brandon off us by his ears again.
"Sorry, mom," he mumbles, wincing in pain.
"Olivia," Aaron calls to her as she's about to leave. He kisses me on the forehead. "Just a moment," he whispers and walks off. They exchange a few words in the hallway and then he returns.
"Check on Christine. She's taking too long with that cake," Yvonne addresses Brandon. "And entertain those people out there. That's your penance. No cake for you if they get bored."
As Blunderbuss is at the door, she adds, "And Brandon?"
"Yes?" he responds.
"No. Filthy. Jokes."
Brandon nods his assent and leaves, sufficiently humbled. Then she turns to Aaron, "And you, get lost."
"Mother..." he tries to protest. She just raises a finger and he stops. I try to follow him out the door.
"Not you, my dear," she says to me. I turn back, apprehensive. She's a formidable woman. Aaron told me she was a circuit judge. She went into retirement last year after her husband passed. She taps the cushion next to her and smiles.
"I don't bite, Elizabeth. Sit." I comply. "I'm sorry about that display. Zach was the doting parent. I laid down the law and baked cookies."
"Do you miss him?" I ask.
"Every day. I was married to him for 40 years and he didn't even have the decency to die in my bed. He drowned fishing. Sometimes I felt like he loved fishing more than he loved me."
"Why?"
"Just irrational jealousy."
"Oh." I like this woman. "You know, I think Aaron and Brandon were just fooling around. He's told me a lot of stories."
"I know they were. They've been pulling similar shenanigans all their lives. My boys are so different yet annoyingly similar. Aaron's too serious and Brandon is not serious at all. You'd think they would bring out the best in each other but no! They bring out the worst. Aaron ever told you how he got sent to boarding school?"
"He burned down the neighbor's house," I reply.
"Yes. After that bastard murdered his dog. Aaron loved that mutt Albert. He named it after Einstein you know? I was very happy to see the murderer's political career go up in flames. He made me send my boy away and then had the guts to wave at me in the morning. He's been holed up in that house since he lost the primary. They say to love your neighbor but Jesus will understand."
"Aaron told me he'd help him lose."
Yvonne titters, "My boy is a cold one. He's been sending old Prescott funeral arrangements every day for the past month."
"What?"
"Yes. He's been driving the old codger insane." Aaron's sister comes in then. "The cake ready?" Yvonne asks.
"Yes," Christine responds.
"Christine, I'm sure rumors of Aaron bringing home a girl have already reached you?"
"Yes, mom."
"Here she is." Yvonne turns to me, "Elizabeth, this is my daughter, Christine. Aside from being an apostate, she's pretty sweet, unlike those rowdy oversized toddlers she calls brothers."
I stand and hug Christine. "We're gonna be best friends," she whispers in my ear.
"That's enough gossiping for now girls. Let's go cut some cake," Yvonne cuts in. She takes us each in one arm and walks us out. Aaron is pacing at the entrance to the hallway, looking quite worried. When she spots him, Yvonne deliberately leans towards me and whispers, "Tell your boyfriend I know about his apostasy. He hasn't been hiding it as well as he thinks. And ask him to show you his collection of action figures. I am sure he's keeping it in a climate-controlled vault somewhere. Now nod and giggle." I do as I'm told and Aaron goes white. Yvonne really knows how to push his buttons.
The crowd bursts into the birthday song as Yvonne walks into the living room with Christine and me on each arm. We join in. She blows out the candles and cuts the cake. She takes the first bite and turns to Christine. I see the apprehension on Christine's face. Aaron mentioned that his mother is very stingy with her approval. Then Yvonne claps and Christine smiles. Yvonne gives me the second slice. It's great.
I stay by Yvonne all night. She introduces me to everyone. I meet an uncle, two aunts, and ten of Aaron's cousins. Yvonne is super fun. When Aaron comes to claim me, his mother chases him off. Brandon keeps the guests entertained all night and never utters a single dirty word. That has to be a record for Blunderbuss. At 10.30, Yvonne makes a speech.
"Thank you all for coming today. If I were 25 this would go till morning but I'm 65. My bedtime was an hour ago. Thank you all for coming and may God bless you." The guests start leaving and Aaron finally comes for me.
"Aaron, my firstborn," Yvonne calls sweetly. "Come here." She hugs him, kisses him on both cheeks, then takes my hand and puts it in his. "I'm sorry I stole your girl sweetie. Don't lose her again," She adds. Aaron looks very stiff throughout the whole interaction.
"What were you and my mother conspiring about?" Aaron whispers harshly as he leads me away.
"Nothing," I reply.
"Don't try that with me Elizabeth."
What the hell. "She wants you to take me to the climate-controlled vault where you keep your action figures."
He straightens, takes a deep breath, and mutters something under his breath. "Anything else?" he asks.
"She knows," I answer.
"Knows what?"
"About your apostasy. She said you're not hiding it as well as you think." He sucks in his breath again. I look up at him but he avoids eye contact. Chuck is not in the van. Aaron calls him and he comes running from behind the house. Chuck has some lipstick smudges on his lip. I think I recognize the shade but I can't be sure.
Aaron is uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn't even reach out to me. "What's the matter, honey?"
"Nothing," he sulks. Reviewing the night from his perspective shows it wasn't a good one for him. It must be why he's sulking. Yvonne totally bossed him around in front of everybody. In front of me. That can't be something Aaron is used to. His confidence is shattered. I know just what to do.
No one emasculates my man. "You're a man. Aaron. A grown-up man. A powerful man." The pep talk has little effect. The words seem to bounce off him.
I raise the privacy screen, undo his belt, pull down his pants and boxer shorts, and take him into my mouth. He's limp and stays that way for a while but some tender loving care gives him a raging boner. I lift my dress above my waist, slide my panties to the side, and lower myself onto him.
"Do you feel powerful now?" I ask him as I start riding him.
"Yes."
"Do you feel like a little boy?"
"No."
"Then fuck me, Aaron." That's all the motivation he needs. He turns me on my back and really gives it to me. I remember him yelling at Chuck to go home at some point. I have one orgasm after another. By the time he gives up his seed, I can barely walk.
It's almost midnight when we stumble off the elevator into the penthouse. I collapse on the couch. Aaron goes to fetch me a glass of water. The manilla envelope is on the table. I tore it open but never checked its contents. Idly, I pick it up.
There's a single photograph inside. I pull it out. It's Aaron and me. I'm showing off an engagement ring. The stone is a large green emerald. Weird. Aaron hasn't asked me yet.
The fog starts clearing from my brain. There are so many things wrong with the photograph. Aaron looks wrong. He's dressed wrong. He's wearing multicolored shorts and a green shirt. Aaron would never wear that. His entire wardrobe is black and white.
We're also at some beach resort. Aaron and I have never been to a beach resort. And I look wrong too. My boobs aren't that big. My skin has never been that tanned. My hair is not dark brown. It's raven black. I don't have freckles. And those eyes. My eyes are hazel, not green. Wait a minute, that's not me.
Aaron comes back with the glass of water. I show him the picture. His eyes narrow and his face changes. "Where did you get this?" he asks.
I show him the envelope. He just stares. I take back the photograph. "Who is this?" I ask him, pointing at the girl.
"Esme," he answers after a long pause.
"That's the name of your company, right? Esme Laboratories?"
"I named it after her."
"And where is this Esme?"
"She died."
"When? Where?"
"In Acapulco. 13 years ago. About four seconds after we took that photo, there was a shooting. We were caught in a crossfire. That's where I got my bullet wound. She died in hospital later that night."
"So you're telling me I'm a dead ringer for your dead girlfriend? Is that why complete strangers at your mother's party were saying they knew me? Is that what your brother meant when he said you have a type?"
He swallows and nods, "Yes."
That stings. I feel like someone just ran a serrated knife through my heart. I jump to my feet and before I know it I'm yelling. "When were you planning on telling me that? Do you even see me? Do you care about me? Am I just a vessel for you to relieve some fantasy with a dead girl?"
"Elizabeth..." he tries to plead but I don't let him finish. I just keep yelling. He tries to hold me but I slap him so hard my palm hurts.
"Elizabeth!" He finally yells. I've never heard him raise his voice before. It's like a thunderclap. It cuts through the crap and gets me to quiet down immediately. "Think, Elizabeth. Think about who sent that photograph." He points at it.
He continues, "Even I do not have that photograph. Do you know why?" I shake my head.
"The photographer got his head blown off as he was taking it. The bullet went through him and grazed my shoulder. A second one went through my abdomen as I tried to shield Esme. I failed. She died. I had just proposed. 11 innocent vacationers died that day and dozens of us ended up in hospital. All because some Michoacan and Guerrero cartel jerk-offs decided to have a gunfight in a tourist resort."
"So who do you think sent the photo?"
"Someone knew where to look for the photo or had it already because I don't. That someone also knew enough about us to send it to you and that someone obviously knows where you live. It can only be the CIA. Those bastards have been spying on me for years. I have it on good authority that Margaret Templeton has been in Houston for the past year and she's targeting me."
"Who is Margaret Templeton?"
"She's the number two at the CIA's Special Activities Division." The assassins... It's the Special Activities Center. They renamed it, I resist the urge to correct him. The gears are turning in my mind.
I'm wrestling with and rejecting the possibility when Aaron knocks the wind out of me, "Codd tracked her down to a dental clinic by the Sam Houston Parkway. She was masquerading as a dental hygienist but she was long gone by the time he got there."
CIA. Margaret Templeton. Dental clinic. Those words reverberate in my mind. I met Marjorie in a dental clinic off the Sam Houston Parkway mere months ago. Margaret Templeton must be her real name. My legs give out from under me.
Elizabeth, you were born for this. All lies. There were never any Chinese spies at Strauss Industries. Marjorie played me like a fiddle. Aaron was the target all along. I was sent here to seduce him and obliviously, I have accomplished my task beautifully.
What do they want from him? I wonder. Aaron's dad! The thought comes out of nowhere. Drowned while fishing? Very fishy. Did they off Zack Waller? Would Aaron have moved back to Houston if his father hadn't died? Would we have met?
I look at Aaron. The pain on his face is visible. There's an angry red welt on his cheek from my slap. I start hyperventilating. I feel like my heart is about to burst. Everything hurts. Oh my God, what have I done?