Page 56 of The Image of You

I signed off and went for a shower so I could be ready to drive Ally to her place.

We were quiet when I picked her up and drove in the opposite direction of my loft. I pulled up in front of the small building where she lived, leaving the engine idling, at a loss for what to do next. She surprised me when she hesitantly asked if I would come upstairs with her. I shut off the car and went to her door, offering her my hand.

Inside, she punched in a code to open the security door. Then she quoted the code for me. “If you come over, you don’t have to wait to be buzzed up. And there are visitor spots around back.”

I followed her to the elevator and wrapped my arm around her waist as we rode up.

Inside, I looked around curiously. It was small, neat, and tidy. Everything was precise and in order. It didn’t feel like her. It felt empty. Like a stage.

She shrugged, knowing what I was thinking. “It’s not my place. It belongs to Ronald. I live here, but only until I don’t have to anymore. I’ll be finished paying off my debt to him soon, and I’ll find a place I like to live.”

I withheld the urge to tell her again that I would pay him whatever monetary debt there was so she could be free of him right now. I knew she wouldn’t accept it, and this was something she insisted on doing herself.

Wandering over to her desk, I picked up a frame and studied the picture. Ally as a child, looking happy, held by a man with red hair and a friendly face.

“My dad,” she murmured sadly.

I picked up another picture, a teenage boy with his arm around her, laughing.

“Ollie?”

“Yes. That was about a week before he died. Elena took it while we were visiting her.”

There were only two other photos. One was Ally and Ollie with Elena. She was an older woman—tall, regal-looking, with brilliant white hair, sparkling green eyes, and she had her arms wrapped around them.

The other photo was set off to the side, and I glanced at it, recognizing her mother and Ronald. It was obviously a staged photo, looking very proper, their expressions lacking in any real emotion.

I shook my head as I turned away from the desk. They were missing so much of life. Missing out on knowing a wonderful woman who, despite everything, still wanted to be loved by them.

Ally was watching me closely.

“Do you want to give me some things I can take home with me for this weekend?”

“That’s a good idea. I can take a cab to your place after the event.” She grinned. “You don’t have to wait up—I have a key.”

I chuckled. As if I wouldn’t wait up for her. “Go get what you need. I’ll wait.”

She chatted as she got her things together, reappearing quickly.

I decided not to tell her I would be there tonight. She would worry about it all day. I glanced upward, listening to the renovation noise overhead. I wasn’t sure she’d get any sleep as it was, and I didn’t want to add to the problem.

I knew I couldn’t sit beside her, hold her hand, and show the world she was mine—yet. But I could be in the same room, and hopefully she would draw strength from my presence. I knew her first instinct would be to protect me, tell me to stay away, but I couldn’t.

So, I remained quiet, took her small bag, kissed her deeply, and promised to see her later. We had plans for the entire weekend together.

I could only hope they would still be in place when she saw me and my donation piece tonight.

* * *

Later that evening, people were milling around everywhere. I tried not to fiddle with the collar of my shirt, failing miserably at times. The suit felt so constrictive, the tie heavy around my neck. I wasn’t used to dressing up, but I knew it was expected.

It was less decadent than the last dinner I attended—more about the cause it was for and not for show. Still elegant, but the flowers were simple, the settings held fewer glasses and cutlery. The room was brighter, and there were lots of pictures of the children from the ward and their stories. I made a mental note to ask Sean if there was a favor he could call in from a friend and have a story done about the work they did. I’d be happy to provide new images.

Striding up to the bar and ordering a scotch, I did my best to ignore the looks I was getting from many of the women in the room. There was a time I would have met their stares with my own, perhaps deciding, long before the evening was over, which one would accompany me to a hotel when the event was over. But those days were past me, and now there was only one set of eyes I longed to meet and have their approval. I made my way back over to where my donation was on display, playing the part required, answering questions, feigning interest in their comments about the piece. There was only one opinion I cared about.

Then she walked into the room—a vision in a deep blue dress that swirled around her legs, showing off her shapely calves. Her hair was swept up off her neck, curls escaping around her face.

I knew what that hair felt like wrapped in my fist. How her neck tasted under my tongue and how those legs felt wrapped around me. I wanted to feel it all again.