Blood, Sweat, and Desire, page 4
My wife doesn’t understand what this is about, this ridiculous challenge, but I do. I will never let him win.
The rest of the group takes their turns, each drawing a name and revealing their partner for the night. The tension in the room reaches a palpable crescendo as the last name is drawn.
"All right, everyone," Rachel announces, raising her glass. "To fate, and to new experiences."
The clinking of glasses punctures the air like a pact made in blood. I glance at Emily and she smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and I wonder if she knows what she's gotten herself into.
10
Anonymous
The salty sea air teases my nostrils as I stand alone in the parlor, gazing out the open patio doors at the churning ocean below. An unnatural stillness has settled over the rented sprawling estate, a temporary reprieve before chaos inevitably descends upon this place.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into flesh, as a familiar restlessness rises within. The urge to act, to do something—anything—to shatter the fragile peace threatens to overtake me. I tamp it down through sheer force of will, knowing now is not yet the time. Patience. I must have patience.
The ornate furnishings of the parlor mock me with their opulence, gaudy symbols of wealth and status that mean nothing in the end. We're all just meat and bone, flesh and sinew. Mortal. Fallible. Corruptible.
Voices drift in from the foyer, muted laughter and idle chatter. My lip curls at the sound. Fools, all of them. So unaware of the snakes in their midst, of the darkness that lurks within each soul. If only they could see as I see. Know as I know.
Compulsion rises once more, writhing beneath my skin, demanding release. I squeeze my eyes shut against the urge, digging fingernails into my palms. Not yet. Your time is coming.
The chatter grows louder as the group makes their way into the parlor for the evening's entertainment. I paste a smile onto my face and turn to greet them, a perfect mask of congeniality hiding the rage and madness simmering below.
Let the games begin.
Then she glides into view, a vision in crimson silk that clings to every curve. Rage and desire war within me as I watch her work the room, charming everyone with a coy smile or sultry glance.
Mine.
The beast within snarls its claim, fighting against the bonds of civility and reason holding it back. Not yet, not yet, the frantic mantra pounds through my skull in time with my racing pulse.
“Darling, you’re staring again.”
A hand closes over my arm, the contact jolting me from my fixation. I turn to my side, brows raised in knowing amusement. My lips peel back from my teeth in a parody of a smile as I struggle to rein in the madness churning inside.
“Just admiring the view,” I say, tilting my head toward the open patio doors. The excuse is weak, but it is accepted with an easy chuckle, and my arm is released to grab a drink from the chef’s passing tray.
Idiot.
If he only knew what was right in front of him, the viper’s nest he’s blindly wandered into. But he won’t see, not until it’s too late. They never do.
Finally, she glances up, meeting my eyes from under thick lashes, a secret smile curving her lips. Triumph and possession flash in her eyes, a glimpse of the monster lurking beneath the veneer of beauty and grace.
Two predators circling each other, ready to strike.
11
Emily
Shadows dance across oak-paneled walls of the parlor as a fire crackles in the fireplace. Plush armchairs and a sofa form a cozy circle, and the familiar faces of my friends come into view as they file in from the patio outside, drinks in hand and laughter on their lips.
Rachel smooths her dress, sinking into the sofa beside Jack with a contented sigh. Her long curls tumble over bare shoulders. I catch Jack watching her, and a surge of anxiety swells up in my stomach.
I glance away and busy myself with stoking the fire. The flames cast a warm glow over the room, chasing away the chill that has crept into my bones.
Sarah and Lucas tumble into an armchair together, a tangle of limbs and giggles, Lucas’s glasses askew. Whatever reservations Sarah had about this weekend, seem to have gone out the window. Ava may be the one with the blossoming drinking problem, but Sarah has a long and storied history of uncharacteristic decisions under the influence. Since our college days, there has been a joke that liquor turns her into someone else entirely. Even she can’t deny it.
I try not to judge Sarah and Lucas for being handsy. Sarah had a baby nine months ago, and it’s no secret the transition to motherhood hasn’t been an easy one for her. I would like to believe that motherhood will come more naturally to me, but I cannot assume that either. Time will tell.
Will was the first to say that Sarah needs this weekend more than anyone, and something tells me he likes this side of her, that he enjoys watching her come out of her shell.
Beside Sarah and Lucas, Ava plunks down in a chair with a huff, downing her drink in one go. Her eyes are foggy, and she spits out snarky words like bullets.
“So, who’s up for a little game of musical chairs?” Ava drawls, words dripping with sarcasm. Rachel shoots her an icy glare, but Ava just cackles in response, the sound grating on my nerves. I try not to judge her either; I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a widower, especially at her age. Nor can I imagine what it would be like to be here alone, with all of us couples. I know she misses Brian. We all do.
Ava looks at me as though she senses what I’m thinking, so I keep my face neutral and peer into the fire, listening to the trivial chatter and laughter of my friends with half an ear. My thoughts drift back to Will, wondering when he’ll make an appearance, and a flush creeps up the back of my neck at the thought.
I know I shouldn’t let my mind go there. It’s an arrangement born of one too many drinks and bored thirty-somethings. It’s absurd, but Rachel posed this as a weekend to shed the masks of our everyday lives, something Jack and I are used to. It's just a silly game, I tell myself.
No one will get hurt.
I cling to that promise like a lifeline, watching the flames dance, waiting.
But the fire does nothing to stop the cold that has taken hold inside me.
I glance up as the door to the parlor creaks open, my heart skipping a beat. Will stands in the doorway, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame, a glass of bourbon cradled in one hand. His eyes find mine from across the room, a slow smile curving his lips, and I feel something inside me shift, as though a part of me rearranges itself to accommodate this new desire.
“There you are,” Rachel says, her voice edged with impatience. “Come join us.”
Will strides into the room, settling into the armchair beside mine. The spicy scent of his cologne reaches me, and I fight the urge to inhale deeply. Our arms brush as he sits, and a spark of electricity races up my arm at the contact.
“My apologies,” Will says, not sounding particularly sorry. His knee presses against mine as he takes a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass.
His gaze feels dangerous, so I stare into the fire, doing my best to ignore his intense presence next to me. My heart slams against my ribcage as the anxiety over what we've arranged, what Jack might have planned, and whether I can trust him, builds.
“Shall we go over the rules again?” Rachel asks, breaking the tension.
I can't help but fidget as I turn to look at Lucas and Sarah. "Maybe we should reconsider," I say.
Rachel's eyebrow arches in skepticism as she directs her gaze toward me. "Are you sure you want to back out now?"
"I'm just tired," I explain with a yawn, "and it seems like you guys are only just getting started. I don’t want to be the reason Will loses.”
A collective groan echoes in the room. "We get it," Ava sighs. "You're exhausted. You need your beauty sleep."
"Come on now, Rach has planned this getaway for weeks," Lucas says, pouting. "I'll put on a pot of coffee—it's not every day we all get to spend time together.”
Guilt floods my chest. "Okay. Fine."
"Good," Rachel says curtly before taking a sip of her drink. “Remember, what happens here stays here,” she stresses. “No one will ask about what goes on behind closed doors and if anyone wants to stop, they are free to do so without any hard feelings. There are plenty of rooms available to retreat to if necessary.”
Her gaze pins mine, and I give a stiff nod in agreement.
“Does everyone understand?” Rachel presses.
Nods of consent ripple through the group, and satisfaction softens Rachel’s features. She lifts her glass, the ice clinking. “To a fun weekend with good friends.”
“To a fun weekend,” we echo, and the chill slips from my bones, warmth suffusing my limbs as I chance a glance at Will. His eyes crinkle at the corners as we clink glasses, bourbon sloshing over his fingers, and anticipation curls low in my belly.
Later, Will tilts his head toward me, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. “So, Emily, Jack's forever complaining that you're always working...but surely you find time for a little R&R every now and again…”
His words hang in the air, heavy with suggestion. I glance away, searching for something safe to say. "I enjoy reading… mainly business books."
“Is that so?” Interest lights his eyes, blue as the ocean stretching beyond the windows. “I’d love to discuss strategies for negotiating acquisitions.”
My lips curl into a smile. “I’m always happy to talk shop."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rachel laughing at something Jack has said.
“Excellent.” Will shifts closer, and I catch another whiff of his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot. “I have to say, I’ve always thought your success in venture capital is quite inspiring. Not many women make it to the top in that field.”
"Years of tenacity and hard work," I say, my pulse skittering under Will's loaded admiration. "It's not for everyone, but the rewards are worth it."
"That I can see," he says, his eyes lingering. “You seem like the type of woman who knows what she wants and won’t stop until she gets it.”
I take a sip of my bourbon to hide my smile. “Maybe.”
The flirtation in Will’s tone is unmistakable, his knee nudging against mine, and I find myself leaning into his touch. A new excitement thrums under my skin at the prospect of where the night might lead.
Jack’s gaze flickers to us for a moment before he returns his attention to Rachel. I feel my husband pushing me toward this, though I’m not sure why. He couldn’t care less about the money, so I know it must be a test. Part of me feels infuriated, the other part hurt and betrayed. We’ve always tested others, never each other.
I suppose he wants these people out of our lives for good, and he sees this as his golden opportunity. He’s trying to prove a point, and so far, it’s working in his favor.
An uncomfortable heat rises up my neck as guilt mixed with confusion settles in. But one look at the hunger in Will’s eyes erases any doubts, replacing them with a rush of something else. What, exactly, I'm not sure.
The weekend, it seems, will be full of surprises.
12
Emily
A crash rings out, and we spin to see Ava careening through the parlor, an empty glass in her hand. A wave of bourbon splashes against the hardwood floor.
"Whoops!" she titters, barely keeping her balance before she topples over.
Sarah jumps up. "Ava, I think you've had enough."
"Nonsense!" Ava waves away the suggestion, her eyes glassy. She takes a wobbly step forward and knocks into the end table, sending an antique vase plunging to the floor.
Rachel groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Ava, sit down before you hurt yourself."
"Why don't you make me?" Ava growls, swaying slightly, with one hand clutching the back of an armchair for support. “It’s not like any of you really care, anyway. You don't care about me—or about Brian—or that he's rotting in some grave. All you care about is your stupid little game!"
I stand and reach for her arm. "Ava, stop. You know that's not true, and you don't mean—"
She whirls around, eyes blazing. "Don't touch me! What do you know about thinking clearly? You selfish, heartless bitch!"
I flinch at the venom in her tone, hurt slicing through me. We may have all had too much to drink tonight, but there's no excuse for such language.
“You barely even called after Brian died!” Ava shouts. “Remember? No? Well, I do! And so does everyone else. Your work was too important—”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but the words won’t come. We all like to think we’ll be there for our friends in a time of need, but life is not exactly that convenient. There was a big deal I was working on, and I couldn’t let my team down. If I dropped the ball, it wouldn’t have just affected me, it would have impacted everyone. “I—”
Will grips my elbow lightly and shakes his head. “Let it be.”
I can’t help but feel embarrassed at being called out, and I can see that everyone is waiting for an argument that I don’t really want to have.
“Come on,” Will says, nodding toward the door. “Let's get some fresh air—it might do us all some good."
I hesitate, torn between the chaos in the parlor and the prospect of escape. In the end, the hurt and anger simmering inside win out. “Yes, fresh air sounds lovely.”
Will leads me down the hall and the stairs and then out the large glass doors onto the patio. The crisp night air washes over me, cooling my flushed skin. I take a deep breath, the tension easing from my shoulders.
“I’m sorry about that,” Will says. “Ava has had a lot to drink. She didn’t mean what she said.”
“I know.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve all had a bit too much tonight. Things will look better in the morning.”
But as the words leave my lips, I sense this isn't true. The facade is crumbling, fractures threatening to shatter the foundation of our friendship.
Still, I force those worries aside and focus on placing one foot in front of the other as Will guides me along a winding stone path through manicured hedges and topiary, the shadows deepening with each step. I’m sure it’s the bourbon and the wine, but a forbidden intimacy bubbles up within me, like my stomach is filled with thousands of fluttering butterflies.
I glance at Will from the corner of my eye, noticing the predatory gleam in his eyes, the hungry set of his mouth. Heat pools in my belly, anticipation quickening my pulse. He’s a businessman, and good businessmen can smell weakness a mile away.
When Will stops in front of a marble bench, I’m almost relieved. My heart is galloping, palms sweating profusely. Yet there's the thrill of it, too, an intoxicating mix of trepidation and longing. Suddenly, I miss Jack, and I regret trying to make him jealous.
Will turns to face me, eyes shimmering in the pale moonlight. “Do you trust me, Emily?”
The question catches me off guard, but I do not waver. The truth is, I don’t trust anyone, except maybe Jack, but even now I feel misgivings creeping in. “Yes.”
A sly grin plays on Will's lips, as though he already knows the truth. He moves quickly, pushing me with a firm hand onto the bench. His body is atop mine before I can make a move. I take in a sharp breath, my hands finding his biceps.
Will's hot breath caresses my ear, sending an electric current from my head to my toes. "Good," he rumbles, relishing in his power over me. "Because we're about to have some real fun."
Fear courses through me as I realize this isn't part of our game. It's too late—Will has me pinned, and under his gaze I’m not putting up half the fight I should be.
"Now," he whispers wickedly, fingers tracing along my thigh. "Which part of you should I break in first?"
13
Emily
I struggle to push Will off. "Not funny."
"No?" he grins. "My apologies," he says, but he doesn't look sorry.
He searches my face and then rolls off me, giving me space to breathe again. I sit up, straightening my dress with trembling hands.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Will says softly. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face. “I just wanted to see if you put your money where your mouth is—if you really trust me.”
"I wasn't scared," I scoff, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Will sighs as if skeptical but doesn't press me on it. We sink into silence, the only sounds the rustling leaves and waves crashing in the distance. My pulse gradually slows, an odd mix of disappointment and relief swirling inside me.
“I guess there’s a part of me that wants to see if you’ll tell Jack.”
“Why would I?”
“You tell me,” he says. “All I know is I’m sick of this stalemate between us.”
I don’t know if Will is talking about him and my husband or between he and I, and I’m not sure I want to.
After a long moment, Will clears his throat. "It's a beautiful night." His eyes drift to the inky sky, scattered with stars that shine like diamonds on black velvet.
"It is," I agree quietly. My anger fades, and I'm left with a kind of peace that frustrates me, because I don't know what it means or where it's leading me.
Will's eyes meet mine again, pale blue in the silvery light of the moon. "Do you ever wonder if there's something more out there?"
I squint at him, not following the sudden shift in conversation. "More than what?"
"More than this." He gestures vaguely at the garden, the house, the lives we've built. "More than the daily grind and keeping up appearances."
A bitter edge creeps into his tone. "Always wanting something we don't have."
His words strike a chord and I look away, a pang of sorrow piercing my chest. After six years of marriage, there are still moments when I feel adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity with Jack. Perhaps it's the alcohol talking, but I can't help but wonder if we're still on the same page, if we still want the same things. “We’re not the same people anymore,” he says.
