Tony knew that there was one remaining couple in the dining room. As he was about to reply, Claire spoke, "Oui, merci." Her French was Americanized, but French nonetheless.
Once the waiter departed, Tony said, "My, Claire, you continue to amaze me. I see you're trying to show me the new, independent Claire Nichols." When she didn't speak, he continued, "You don't need to work so hard. I've been observing you from afar and am already impressed."
"Tony, my goal isn't to impress. My goal is to show that I don't need your observation. I'm doing quite well on my own."
"I believe you have surpassed my expectations, once again."
"And for the record, I was independent before our encounter."
"Yes," he paused. "I can see how you would think that." He sipped his wine. "Now tell me, what was the point with the change in venue?"
"There was no point. I've eaten here before, and I thought you'd enjoy the cuisine."
"I see." He continued to sip the wine. "That's good. I was afraid you were trying to manipulate our visibility-"
Before he could continue, the maitre d' approached their table. "Excusez-moi, but your table, it is ready."
"Merci," Tony replied as he stood. While Claire gathered her handbag, Tony politely helped her with her chair.
As they walked through the empty lounge, Tony nodded to the pianist and reached out to direct Claire's movement. His fingers contacted the warmth of her exposed back, and he fought the urge to explore below the draping material. Oh, it wouldn't be an uncharted expedition. He knew every inch of her body, but it had been too long. Leaning down, placing his lips near her ear, he inhaled her scent. With every ounce of restraint, he kept his lips from contacting her skin. Instead, he said, "I'm glad visibility wasn't your goal for this evening. I would hate to disappoint you."
As they stepped from the lounge into the dining area, Claire's neck stiffened and she gasped. Meeting him eye to eye, she boldly asked, "What have you done?"
He smirked, "I wanted to spend time with you, without the diversion of others."
"Where are the other people?"
"I believe they accepted an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant. After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the food and your company."
"You bought out the entire place?"
He suddenly feared she'd run. Keeping a calm facade, he answered, "Yes, Claire. Shall we sit? I believe you requested this central table."
Overwhelmed with relief as she settled upon the cushioned seat, he gently pushed her chair under the table. Before they could resume their conversation, the waiter was present, delivering their wine and glasses to their new location. It may only be one person, but they both knew the importance of appearances. Once he was gone, Tony lifted his glass of wine and proposed a toast. "To you, the only person in this world who can keep me on my toes."
Taking a sip, he watched intently as Claire waged an internal war. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed watching the battle of wills behind her eyes. As she began to take a drink, he laughed at the outcome. She'd just lost and he'd watched it all.
"I hope you're amused." She placed the glass back on the table without drinking. "I believe I'm getting a headache. We'll need to postpone this dinner for another time."
As she began to push herself away from the table, his heart raced. Tony wouldn't allow her to leave, not now, not after so much time. He reached across the table and covered her hand. Summoning his most gentle touch, he explained. After all, that was what Catherine had said to do-to have faith. Let Claire decide. She couldn't decide if she didn't know his intent. Sheepishly, he implored, "Claire, I'd like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you're stunning. Now, if we're done with this ridiculous posturing, I'd like to talk with you for a while."
"This wasn't meant as posturing!" Her tone was hushed and harsh. "I assure you, my head does hurt."
"I have missed you terribly." He didn't intend to say it so bluntly, but he had to let her know. "I have missed your voice, your strength, your smile, and mostly, your eyes. My God, Claire, you have the most amazing eyes!"
"Stop it."
"Excuse me?" Had she just ordered him to stop talking? Didn't she realize how hard this was?
"I said, stop it!" The emerald fire intensely burned. She continued, "The last time we spoke in person, I begged to go with you back to your home, our home in Iowa City. As I recall, you offered me a psychiatric institution, so why would I be interested in listening to your drivel today?"
His mind spun. Explain yourself-that was what Catherine had said. He tried. "Well, first, because you accepted my invitation."
"I accepted your invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We are done!"
"My dear, it isn't that simple." His tone was flat, leaving no room for debate. He wasn't going to argue the concept, no matter how ludicrous it was. She was his forever. Done wasn't an option.
"It is." Yet he heard the uncertainty in her voice, until her next emphasized word smashed his world to smithereens. "Anton."
The floor fell from the room. Or perhaps it was the ceiling that fell. Tony wasn't sure what just happened, but as prepared as he had been for the evening, nothing could have prepared him for that. Straightening his neck, he fought the red. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "My name is Anthony, but you may still address me as Tony."
"That's very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think that, as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?"
He fought to stay seated. It was like coming out of the effects of the poison: he clawed to reach the surface-the place where his world was intact. Those two words-Anton Rawls-spoken by Claire, ripped away the veil separating his past from his present. With a semblance of calm, he asked, "Where could you possibly have come up with such a story?"
"Why, Anton, it was in your box of confessions."
What the hell was she talking about? His voice gained strength with each syllable. "I assure you, I have no idea what you're saying."
"The information you sent me in prison."
Before they could continue, a waiter appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in front of them, he asked if they were interested in hearing about the specials. Concurrently, they answered, "No." The waiter apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the table. Tony worked to process her words. Box. Confession. Prison. He squeezed the menu tighter.
Claire's voice pulled him from the whirlwind of questions. If she knew that, what else did she know? "Are you saying you didn't send me a box of information?"
Looking her in the eye, he confirmed, "I can assure you, I did not send you anything while you were in prison, and speaking of prison, congratulations on your early release." He made no attempt to suppress the sarcasm that saturated his final statement; he was too busy processing.
"Thank you, I promise that I was as surprised as you must have been."
Tony harrumphed as he took another drink of his wine, wishing it were bourbon. Once, he emptied the glass he poured another. After a hearty drink of the second glass, the calming effects began to settle his nerves and he replied, "That, my dear, is debatable."
He concentrated on the menu as Claire mentioned entrees that she'd enjoyed. Slowly, the tension began to subside as they superficially chatted about the options. Tony worked to control his thoughts and actions and salvage their reunion dinner. Her information, knowledge, and depth of that knowledge would all need to be assessed. Of course, he hadn't sent her information in prison. But if not him-who? That wasn't even the question; Tony knew whom. The question was why?
As he ordered their meals in French, he noticed Claire smile. He'd meant to surprise her with her entree for it was the one she'd mentioned; however, it was obvious that she understood everything he and the waiter had said. Once they were alone, he tested his theory. Speaking in French, he said, "I see that you've broadened your language portfolio."
Also in French, she replied, "Yes, I decided to capitalize on my gift of time."
He smiled. How could he not? She was talking casually about prison, as if it had been a vacation. He leaned forward. "Claire, how's your headache?"
Taking a sip from her glass, she smiled. "I believe the wine is helping."
"That's good. Tell me about San Antonio."
If he expected her to be surprised by his knowledge of her activity, she disappointed him. Then again, he suspected that she knew he was watching her. Claire didn't miss a beat. She immediately began talking about sunshine, books, and relaxation. They fell into easy conversation. He remembered the Red Wing and talking with her for the first time. Even then, she'd impressed him with her confidence and knowledge. Her strength hadn't waned over the last year and a half. It emanated from every pore of her being, like an aura that pulled him nearer. She possessed knowledge, of language and of him. It intrigued, as well as frightened him. What would she do with her new power? Could he stop it? Did he want to? As the dinner progressed, her smile became less forced and her tone rang with the occasional laugh or giggle. It was music to his ears, and he didn't want the evening to end.
Neither one of them mentioned his birth name or the box again. The subject had been closed-temporarily. Tonight was about reconnecting. Maybe it was about something else. Tony wanted her to see that he was still in control; after all, he'd manipulated her plans. However, there was no doubt that her revelation created a shift in their game.
He couldn't wait to continue the play!
This POV was originally written at the request of my amazing readers and appeared in the Goodreads Group: The Consequences Series Group Reads, Therapy, and Hugs. That version has been tweaked and edited for Behind His Eyes Truth. The "Dream" scene in Truth has been interpreted in various ways. My initial intention was to show that from Tony's POV it wasn't what many have claimed it to be; however, like the rest of my story, his intent is still your decision.
Thank you for joining me on this dark and insightful journey.
~Aleatha A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is a reality.
-Yoko Ono The luxury of the upscale condominium escaped Tony's notice. Nothing mattered, other than making his way to Claire. Since their dinner the night before, he'd been unable to concentrate on anything or anyone else. As the elevator moved upward toward the fourth floor, Tony closed his eyes and envisioned his ex-wife. He remembered the white dress, the way his hand touched the skin of her back, and the slight whiff of perfume as his lips neared her long neck. He recalled the fire in her eyes as she called him Anton. Though he had tried to hide his reaction, Tony knew he'd failed. Claire saw him as others never could. She knew that her declaration affected him, and she knew when a subject was closed.
The woman he'd shared a meal with last night was more like the Claire Nichols he'd watched from afar-the one before his acquisition. Sometime during his refining process, she'd muted qualities that he now longed to explore. She was different. He could see it in the pictures, but more vividly in person. For the first time, he wanted to know the real Claire Nichols-the one who could stare him down, and the one who would attempt to manipulate their dinner plans. Tony didn't just want to converse with that woman: he wanted to know her intimately. The woman he created knew his wants and needs; did he truly know hers?
As he neared the door of her condominium, he pushed away his carnal thoughts. Tony wouldn't do what he'd done before. He'd had his reasons, but they were done. She'd paid her price, or rather her family's price, for their past sins. Now it was time to move on. Tony needed to help Claire see that for herself.
After they'd parted ways last night, Tony started to call Catherine-he almost did-but he decided he needed more information. Perhaps the contents of that box would help him understand why Catherine sent it. Then, during the night, the revelation hit him: Claire's new knowledge was the stepping-stone he needed. That box would facilitate a path to her understanding. First, he needed to know what Claire knew. He also needed to emphasize that her newly acquired knowledge was private. Their roles may be evolving, but some rules would never change. Private information could not be divulged.
Tony went to her condominium to learn and to experience. Besides learning her level of knowledge, he couldn't go back to Iowa without spending more time in her presence. He hoped that a more private setting would bring out the woman with the fire in her eyes. He wanted to see those flames, feel the heat, and inhale her smoky aroma.
Before knocking on her door, his surroundings registered. He'd definitely waited too long. Claire was becoming established in Palo Alto. It was a double-edged sword. Negatively, she was making a life without him; however, the positive aspect was that she wouldn't likely disappear from him again. Phillip Roach's watchful eye guaranteed that. The private investigator was how Tony knew that Claire was currently home and her roommate was out of town.
With his knuckle ready to strike, Tony took a deep breath. What if Claire refused to talk to him? A rush of anxiety flowed through him. Why hadn't he thought of that before? She could refuse him entry. No, he reasoned, Claire wouldn't do that. Exhaling, he allowed his hand to rap on the door.
The voice from within rang with unabashed glee as the door opened. "Did you forget your key?"
Her happy, carefree expression morphed before his eyes. The dazzling smile disappeared and her neck straightened. He watched as his presence registered. The fire he loved in her emerald eyes ignited, as she worked to contain her swirling emotions. Watching that spark, seeing it before him, filled every empty space of his existence. The last fifteen months had been pure hell. He wanted that spark back in his life. Tony would move heaven and earth to make Claire understand that she belonged to him.
Reining in his desire to pull her into his arms and elicit another type of spark, Tony replied, "I don't have a key, but I'd be glad to get one. Just tell me where to sign up."
Her stance straightened and her tone hardened. "How did you get up here? You can't be on this floor without a key."
Trying to keep the conversation light, he requested entrance. "Perhaps you could invite me in and we can discuss it?"
"Tony, why are you here?"
He smirked, "If we're playing one hundred questions, I admit defeat. May I come in?"
After a prolonged silence, during which her eyes never left his, Claire took a step back and nodded. He tried to contain his relief as he walked into her foyer and glanced around. "My, Claire, you're living much better than I expected. When I first learned of your release, I pictured you destitute."
"I'm sure you enjoyed that scenario. I'm sorry to disappoint."
He snickered. "Disappoint? On the contrary, your ingenuity is to be praised." Although he hadn't foreseen an alliance between Claire and Amber McCoy, Amber was obviously helping Claire make a life-without him. His heartbeat quickened. Without him was not acceptable.
Her words brought him back to reality. "Tony, I'll repeat myself at the risk of being redundant. Why are you here, and how did you access my floor?"
"I gained access by the security guard on the first floor. He tried to call you, but you didn't answer. I explained that we're old friends, I'm leaving town, and since I had recently talked with you, I knew you were home and expecting me-"
The ringing of her phone interrupted his explanation. After glancing at the screen, she said, "This is security. I'll tell them I don't want you here, unless you quickly tell me why you're here." The phone rang again.
He didn't hesitate. He was inside her new home and didn't want to leave-not yet. "I want to know more about your prison delivery."
She didn't respond, at least not to him; instead, she answered the phone and decided his fate. With each word his body eased-she told the security guard that he could stay. While she spoke, he drank in the woman before him: casual and comfortable, with her dark hair pulled back, wearing soft slacks and a big shirt. There was a wide neckline that exposed a shoulder revealing the strap of a camisole. It was a stark contrast to the woman in the white dress, yet equally as sexy.
When she finally turned back to him, he noticed the determination in her voice. "I have plans today. Please make this quick."
His cheeks rose and his breath quickened. The aroma of shampoo and jasmine filled his senses. "Yes, I see you're dressed for business. What do they call that, business casual?" While she debated her response, he lowered his voice and added, "I'm not complaining. I always found the casual Claire as sexy as the one who rocked designer dresses."
Claire crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled. "Please, I have lunch plans, and I'd like to change. Question what you want and go."
Lunch plans? With whom? He'd seen pictures of her with Harrison Baldwin. Could that be whom she was planning on seeing? While these questions and many more ran through his head, he managed to ask, "Do you only entertain in the entry, or may we sit?"
"We may sit," she replied, and began walking toward the living room. As they sat, her next sentence caught him completely off guard. "I know you enjoy coffee. I'd offer you some, but the last time I got you coffee, it didn't work out so well for me."
To his amazement, he found her brazenness titillating. "God, Claire you're something else. I can't imagine anyone else joking about that."
"Well, see, you misinterpreted. I wasn't joking. I'm actually still pissed as hell."
"Good for you." He leaned toward her. She didn't look away. He loved her tenacity! "Your ability to admit your displeasure is refreshing. It encourages me to be honest, too."
"Honesty? That would be an invigorating change."
He worked to maintain his expression and keep his tone soft. "You should know that I'm sorry."
The battle once again raged behind her eyes. Would she voice her thoughts or stay quiet as she had when they were married? He waited. Her volume raised exponentially with each phrase "What? You're sorry?" It was as if she filled the room with her presence. "Well, Tony, I believe I need a little clarification. Tell me what exactly you're sorry about. I'll gladly give you a few options."
She suddenly stood and paced about the living room, her chest heaving with each exaggerated breath. When she neared the large windows, the sunlight muted her features. Tony much preferred having her close to watch her emotions unravel, and at the same time he yearned to calm her, seize her shoulders, and make her forget what she was about to say. He couldn't; she deserved to tell him exactly what she thought. He prayed that after she was done, they could move forward.
Finally, she spoke, "First, you're sorry for invading my privacy for years, years before I even knew you existed. Second, you're sorry for kidnapping me, isolating me, controlling me, and manipulating me. Third, you're sorry for lying to me, pretending you cared, and, oh yeah, marrying me. Fourth, listen carefully, Tony, this is a big one. You're sorry for framing me for attempted murder, resulting in incarceration in a federal penitentiary." She sat back down and once again crossed her arms over her heaving breasts.
One doesn't deal with people as successfully as Anthony Rawlings without understanding confrontation. If he chose to retaliate, this scene would escalate to a place he didn't want to go. As he fought to allow her this release, she added, "I would prefer the words, but you are welcome to say one through four, if that's easier for you."
Tony leaned closer. Avoiding his stare, she looked down at her trembling hands. Had her speech caused her hands to shake, or was it him? His fight for control evaporated into a need to reassure. From the very beginning of his acquisition, hadn't he asked for honesty? Though her words were painful to hear, they were her version of the truth and she'd delivered. When her green eyes finally peered at him from below veiled lids, he watched the tension fade.
Tony gently reached for her hand and spoke softly, "I am deeply sorry for one and four." He rubbed her hand with his thumb. "I did provide you with an alternative destination for number four."
Claire exhaled audibly.
"I'm not proud of two, but three would never have happened without it." His tone deepened and slowed. "I am not, and never will be, sorry for three, and for the record, I never lied about loving you, or pretended to love you. I didn't realize it at first, but I have loved you since before you knew my name." He bowed his head, kissed the soft skin atop of her hand, and continued, "And you forgot our divorce. I'm sincerely sorry for that. Had I known you would be released so soon... we could still be married." Placing her hand once again on her knee, he touched the fourth finger of her left hand. "You could still officially be mine."
Her wedding rings came to mind. This wasn't the time to bring up that she'd sold them. While he waited for her to respond, his gaze went to the table. Laying on the shiny surface were two phones. Before Tony could comment, Claire reached for the smaller phone and slid it into her camisole between her breasts. He closed his eyes and gently shook his head. "If I didn't want to see that phone before, I sure as hell do now."
"It's my work phone," she answered too quickly.
"Oh, I was unaware of your employment."
"Really? I guess I forgot to inform you or your spies."
"Claire, I want to show you that I can change. Have as many damn phones as you want. Two seem excessive, but go for it."
"Thank you for your permission. I don't need it. I can have fifty phones if I want."
Tony nodded. Her spunk seemed to be without bounds. Why had he not allowed it to shine before?