Come Undone

  Come Undone

  The Cityscape Series: Book One

  Jessica Hawkins

  Copyright © 2013 Jessica Hawkins

  www.jessicahawkins.net

  The Cityscape Series: Book One, Come Undone

  Cover Photo © iStockphoto.com/VikaValter

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  “What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street,

  but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through the mountains.”

  - Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire

  PROLOGUE

  OLIVIA COULDN’T QUITE REMEMBER the first time she saw Bill, just that one day he was there. They worked in the same office building, thirty floors apart, and often met in the courtyard by the fountain; him for a cigarette break (a habit she would soon break him of) and her for a stolen moment of sunshine.

  During their brief encounters, she would test the waters with a glance here, a touch there, and found her herself both relieved and disappointed at the lack of art involved. Over time, her feelings for him grew fonder and she came to look forward to their frequent meetings. She liked that he didn’t ask too many questions, and he, well, he was smitten.

  One day, about six months into a developing friendship, Bill asked her out. She peered at him from behind dark sunglasses and declined. He was undaunted by her refusal, which she admired, though it also made her uneasy.

  That night she dreamed of him. He kissed her with gentle reverence and made love to her in the dark, where his touch was as real as if he’d been there in bed next to her.

  When Olivia awoke the next morning, she started as the dream, which felt more like a memory, flooded over her. She thought of it all morning until, when they met the next day, she asked him to dinner.

  CHAPTER 1

  EVER SO SLOWLY, I touched the tube to my parted lips and glided on the Ruby Red. I had always lacked the patience for lipstick and only used it for special occasions. Next came a translucent lip gloss that left threads of goop as I smoothed my lips together. I drew back slightly from the mirror to admire my work.

  Perfectly coiffed hair, teased and styled into a long bob, floated just at my shoulders, every shiny brown lock suspiciously cooperating. In the trash laid the scattered teeth of yet another broken comb. I’d wrestled especially long with my tangles tonight, but looked particularly posed as a result; so much so, that if one thing were to tremble, everything else would come tumbling down. Or so it seemed. In that moment, I caught Bill’s gaze in the reflection, his normally mild eyes watching me intently. I quickly forgot that feeling of unease.

  “You look good,” he said, admiring my emerald green dress.

  “Your favorite color,” I mused.

  “Because it matches your eyes.” A mascara smear on the mirror caught my attention, and I picked at it with my fingernail. “Do we have to go tonight?” he asked.

  “What?” I’d successfully chipped off the mark, but now I was faced with the messy smudge of a fingerprint.

  “Tonight. Let’s stay in.”

  “Everyone’s going to be there.” I tossed the lip products back into the drawer and wiped the counter with my palm. “People pay good money for these tickets, babe.”

  “Whose idea was this again?”

  “Andrew’s firm got tickets for their clients. Not everyone could make it, so he invited us.”

  “But,” he began; a quick glare in his direction silenced him. He held up his palms in defeat, and I turned back to my reflection.

  I checked my eyeliner one last time to make sure it was even. “I talked to my father today. He’s going to be in Chicago for a night next month and wants to have dinner.”

  Bill groaned in response and slumped in the doorway.

  “What? You don’t want to go to the ballet, you don’t want to have dinner with my father . . . . It’s only one night.”

  “And you’re so thrilled when my parents drive in.”

  “Touché.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and pushed a gold stud through my ear. “Well, you don’t have to come, but I know he’d like to see you.”

  “Sure he would, where else does he get free legal advice?”

  “Oh please, he has plenty of corporate lawyer friends.”

  “Not for work, Olivia. For his divorce from Gina. Lawyer friends don’t put up with that shit, they charge you for it.”

  “Well, get used to it, ‘cause he’s not going anywhere. I’m sure if you ever need advice on how to win over girls half your age, he’d be happy to help.”

  “Half my age?” he repeated as he sauntered up and encircled my waist. A lank piece of brown hair fell over his eye, and I noted that he was overdue for a haircut. “Are you trying to get me locked up? I’d say I’ve got my hands full married to a twenty seven-year-old.”

  “Bill,” I whined, swatting his hands away. “You’re going to wrinkle my dress, and I’m finally ready.”

  “Yes, darling,” he said with a sly smile, backing away. “I’ll pull the car around.” I followed him out of the bathroom and then pivoted back quickly, grabbed a hand towel and wiped the smudge away.

  ~

  We arrived at the performance minutes before curtain. Teetering in my heels, I clung to Bill’s arm as we scoured the crowd for familiar faces. Sophistication perfumed the lobby, as if it had been bottled and sold to Chicago’s elite. Smartly dressed women carefully stepped down scarlet-carpeted steps, passing beneath elaborate chandeliers that cast shadowy corners.

  “There they are,” Bill said. From behind, my two best friends, registering at just a few inches over 5 feet, could almost be sisters. Gretchen, in a revealing pink dress and boosted by spiky heels, gestured wildly to the group around her. Her long platinum hair bounced in signature curls with each exaggerated movement.

  Next to her, Lucy dodged Gretchen’s flailing limbs, anticipating her every movement. She wore a boat-neck black dress, and her short brown hair was fashioned into a perfect chignon.

  Her boyfriend, Andrew, stood off to the side, wringing a program. Upon spotting us, he grinned toothily and beckoned us over. “Sorry, Gretch,” he interrupted. “Everyone, this is Lucy’s other best friend, Liv Germaine, and her husband Bill Wilson.”

  “What, now I’m the other best friend?” I joked, shaking hands with someone whose name I never caught. “I only introduced them, you know.”

  “Liv and I grew up together,” Gretchen explained.

  “Sorry,” he said again. “And Lucy and Liv met in college.”

  Lucy looked up at me with big brown eyes before hugging
me. “Look, we’re the same height now,” she said, showing off uncharacteristically high shoes.

  “I don’t know, shrimp,” Bill said. “Liv’s still got at least a couple inches on you.”

  “Anyway,” Gretchen interjected impatiently. “The plane lands, and I rush to the station, just barely making the train. Since it’s now one in the morning and I’ve been traveling for fourteen hours, I immediately pass out. When I wake up, the – what are they called – stewardess? – she says, ‘Welcome to Chile!’”

  “Chile!” one of the women cried.

  “I’d gotten on the wrong train, slept through the entire ride and ended up in Santiago.”

  Everyone laughed, and I politely joined in, though I’d heard the story twice before.

  “To make matters worse, it was fifty-something degrees outside, and I was wearing shorts and a tank top.” The man next to me guffawed loudly, and I cast a wary glance in his direction. I noticed he was the only one who had been introduced without a partner; Gretchen’s lure was cast.

  “Oh, I think it’s time,” Lucy squeaked, just as the lights began to pulse. The group dispersed as we made our way to our designated seats.

  The single man sidled up to Gretchen, looking thoroughly regaled. “So, what do you do that you can take off to Chile whenever you like?”

  “Entertainment PR,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

  “Hook, line and sinker,” Bill whispered, reading my mind. Gretchen turned and shot us a dirty look when I giggled. “Uh oh, Windex is mad,” he said with a playful smile. At that her face softened, and I knew it was because she liked Bill’s nickname for her. When I’d introduced them, he’d said hers were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

  Once we were seated, he leaned over so only I could hear and asked, “Are you familiar with the tale of Odette and Prince Siegfried?” I arched an eyebrow at him, and he passed me a program. “Swan Lake. Just another love story gone wrong.”

  “Oh,” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my face. In the three years we’d been married, I’d never heard him mention the ballet.

  “My parents took me once as a teenager,” he explained. “They thought since I took ballroom dancing, I would like it.”

  The lights dimmed, and Bill sat back, shifting to get comfortable. His long legs knocked against the seat in front of us multiple times before its occupant turned to raise her eyebrows. I suppressed a laugh just as the composer lifted his arms.

  Before long, the stage was awhirl with white tulle, hard muscles, prettily pink slippers. And those pink slippers, which curled and arched and lengthened unnaturally, seemed perfectly untouched; everything about the ballet appeared smooth and blemish-free, from the dancers to the patrons. The graceful precision was one thing, but I was floored by the flawlessness of the performance. I wished everything in life were so clean. When the curtain fell for intermission, I clapped gleefully with the crowd.

  We spilled into the lobby, excitedly reviewing what we’d just seen as we maneuvered. Bill and Andrew left to get drinks as Gretchen, Lucy and I broke away from the others, struggling to keep close through the bustling crowd. The room was brimming with people, and I hoped that Bill wouldn’t be in line the entire intermission.

  “I can’t believe my mother let me quit ballet when I was seven,” Lucy lamented once we’d found a semi-open spot. “I could have been a star.”

  “I don’t think it’s as easy as that,” I offered.

  She shook her head. “Liv, I could have been a professional ballerina.” Gretchen and I laughed at her sincere expression. “Fine, don’t believe me,” she said with frustration. “I’m going to the restroom.”

  “Oh, me too,” Gretchen chimed. “Livs?”

  “I don’t really have to go,” I said. “I can wait here for the guys.”

  I craned my neck above the crowd to search for the bar, where I expected Bill would loom over everyone. My gaze lingered on different people, noting how their stiff, deliberate movements countered the elegance of the dancers on stage. To me, they not only seemed like strangers, but like aliens. Or maybe I was the one who didn’t belong.

  As a teenager, the abrupt divorce of my parents had left me feeling out of place. It had rattled my concepts of home and familiarity. Since then, I’d never figured out exactly where I was supposed to be. Large crowds always heightened that insecurity and left me feeling vulnerable. I had the unfortunate ability of feeling spectacularly alone in a crowd, even when surrounded by friends and family.

  I had the sensation of being watched seconds before I met a man’s unfamiliar pair of eyes across the room. They were dark and intense, narrowed in my direction as if he were trying to place me. Everything slowed around me as my heartbeat whipped into a rapid flutter.

  Our gaze held a moment longer than it should have. My body buzzed, and my pounding heart echoed in my ears. It wasn’t his immense, tall frame or darkly handsome face that struck me, but a draw so strong that it didn’t break, even when I blinked away.

  I jumped at a hand on my arm. I’d been holding my breath for those stretched seconds, and it rushed out of me now, disjointed and erratic. I shifted for the passerby and spotted Bill winding toward me through the crowd. When I looked back, my breath caught in my throat.

  He loomed closer than necessary. Something about the lean in his posture was intimate and easy, yet the space between us was physically hot, igniting fire under my skin. I had to remind myself to breathe. My cheeks heated, and I helplessly bit my rouged bottom lip as I took him in; hair blackest black, short and unruly but long enough to run my hands through. His suntanned complexion appeared natural from time spent outdoors. Strong carved-from-marble facial features were softened by long unblinking lashes. Involuntarily, I drew a sharp breath at the magnitude of his handsomeness.

  A woman’s voice cut into my consciousness and he turned, giving me the opportunity to regain control. In one swift movement I ducked away, exhaling audibly. Bill and Andrew were there then, shoving a glass of wine at me as I moved to shield myself with their bodies.

  “Where are the girls?”

  “You like Pinot right?”

  “What do you think of the show?”

  I made a noise, the result of an attempt to speak as the room spun with words and images.

  “I’ll take that!” Gretchen’s voice called suddenly.

  “The line for the bathroom isn’t bad if you have to go,” Lucy said. I flinched when she touched my shoulder. “Liv, are you - ”

  “I think I will go,” I said, backing away. I only just saw her puzzled expression as I turned to struggle through a crowd dense enough to suffocate. Or so it felt in that moment.

  ~

  I could not remember what he looked like. Our exchange was a mere moment, but I had felt the shift. Only the interruption had restored my senses, allowing me to break away.

  After, as I sat in the theater, the velvety red seats that I had not much noticed before pricked at my exposed skin, causing me to shift uncontrollably. Because each time I sat still, his heat enveloped me again. As hard as I tried, I could not remember what he looked like. I could only feel him.

  I forced myself to focus on the second half. A bewitching Odette mournfully enthralled the crowd as her story unfolded. Why did it feel as though she watched me between sequences?

  Back in the lobby, in the most unobvious way I knew how, I scanned the crowd for a clue or hint as to who the man might be. To both my relief and disappointment, I did not see him again and tried to forget the feeling while we dined and drank into the night.

  ~

  The heavy door of our Lincoln Park apartment threatened to slam behind me, but at the last second, I caught the knob and eased it shut. I yawned as I hung up my coat and slid out of my pumps. Bill flipped on the television set in the next room as I sorted through the mail, tossing half of it into the trash. On the brown polyester couch his mother had given us some years ago, I found him in his boxers, languidly watching replays of the
basketball game he’d grudgingly missed.

  Three glasses of red wine coursed through my veins. I stripped off my emerald dress in one sinuous motion and let it drop onto the floor. When he didn’t look up, I shimmied over and settled myself onto his lap.

  “Hi,” I said in a sultry whisper. His hand righted a stray strand of hair as he glanced between the screen and me. I wet my lips and kissed him full on the mouth. I’d been humming with electricity since intermission and was impatient for human contact.

  “Well, well,” he said when we broke. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “It’s late. Take me to bed,” I pleaded with a scrunch of my nose. His eyebrow rose and his mouth popped open as if connected by an invisible string. He looked about to protest and then relaxed as he thought better of it. In an uncharacteristically graceful motion he stood, with my body secured to his, and carried me to the mattress. Fingertips tenderly caressed the outside of my thighs as he hovered over me.

  “Shit,” I said, just as his face dipped. I sat up in a panic. “I forgot to pick up condoms.”

  “It’s fine.”

  My brows furrowed. “It is not fine. You know I’m not on birth control.”

  “Come on, Liv, just this once.” He sighed, annoyed, even though we’d never done it without one.

  “Nope.” A friend of mine in high school had tried birth control and ended up ten pounds heavier and horribly moody. The day she slapped another student, I swore off of it forever.

  “There’s one in the kitchen drawer,” he said finally, rolling his eyes. I slid out from underneath him and shuffled to the kitchen. I rifled through the cluttered drawer until I found one in the back. “Liv,” he called impatiently.

  I grabbed it, checked the expiration date and ran back, jumping onto the bed. “I’m sorry babe, where were we?”

  Frown lines faded as he propped himself up on long, wiry arms. I touched his pecs, trailing my fingers down to a soft midsection while goosebumps sprang to attention across his skin.