Everything She Wants Page 2

  It wasn't until one day, after she had laughed at him for tumbling into a pond during a garden party, and he had retaliated by reading a tabloid in her presence that she had discovered that she was anything less than a beautiful princess. Nine year old Amy had seen a picture on the cover of the tabloid of her and her mother playing on a beach in Saint Barths. Excitedly, she'd grasped the magazine from his sixteen year old self and began to read. Orion had observed with a smirk on his face as Amy read the writer's suggestion that her mother "leash the Beast and put it back in its cage".

  It wasn't anything she did that had suddenly wizened him up to his cruelty - because even as a child, Amy had possessed an inner-strength and generosity that he couldn't help but admire. Sure, her features had briefly crumbled into something homelier than the less than pretty girl he'd known. But, it wasn't that break in her expression that had made him realize that prior to that moment, Amy had had absolutely no idea what the media was saying about her. She'd always defensively declared to him that she was "a pretty princess", but he'd thought she'd known and was fighting back against his teasing. He'd honestly believed that showing her that tabloid would be about as embarrassing to her as falling into that pond had been for him.

  For about two seconds, she'd let him see her heart breaking. A single tear, was all it took for him to never want to see that devastation on her face again. Two seconds of pain, and a single tear, and she'd looked up at him and must have seen the horror on his face. Amy had immediately schooled her features into a cool mask. Her smile was just so. Her brows were just so. Her head was tilted just so you could never quite catch a full on view of her facial features. That moment, when Amy had happily sought him out for company, and had excitedly grabbed the magazine from his hand, was the very last time he'd seen true joy on her face.

  He lied. He'd seen the expression twice more. She hadn't heard the bitterness in his throat and mouth as he'd proposed. In her happiness, she'd forgotten to hide the Beast, and had given him a glimpse of how truly beautiful she was. And on their wedding day, after she'd posed with the right smile, and the right expression, in the right angle to appear most beautiful, Amy had run into the bedroom she'd designed for them and had forgotten to be "the Regina of the Runway", and the "Swan of all Socialites." She had been a bride, welcoming her groom with open arms. And he had pushed her away.

  That night, only twenty minutes after they'd left their wedding reception, he'd told her in his coldest voice - because Amy's love would let her believe nothing less - that he would never touch her. That she was nothing but a means to an end for him. That she should be grateful he had married her. "Because who could ever love a beast, much less bed one."

  Orion closed his eyes, and pulled his hands away from her hair. Not once in the eleven months that they'd been married had he caught even one glimpse of the most beautiful version of Amaryllis. All he needed to do was pick up a fashion magazine to see the fashionista and model now known as Amaryllis Ashley. And any about-town features he could pick up showed the heiress, patron, and philanthropist Amaryllis Stewart-Brackenridge Ashley. It was nearly a year since he'd seen Amy, the girl he'd married. Though Orion knew he'd done nothing to deserve to see her smile, he had grown more bitter and more resentful because of its absence.

  Judging by the vitriol with which she'd told him off in the early hours of the morning, Amy had also grown bitter and resentful. But, she'd never shown it. No. Until he'd asked for a moment of her time, Amy had never let him see beyond the beautiful mask. And even when she'd spoken her mind, she'd kept her back to him and her body cloaked by the shadows in the darkened room.

  She shifted in her sleep, a pained moan escaping her lips as she attempted to move the arm that was pinned beneath her. Orion felt shame for what he had reduced such a beautiful woman to because of his hatred for her father. Amy deserved none of this. She deserved to sleep in her own bed. She deserved a husband who could love her. And if he could not give her his heart the way a husband should love his wife, the least he could do was wear a mask of his own. The same way she pretended to the world and to him that she was a happy woman, he could pretend to the world and to her that she was the love of his life.

  He hefted her into his arms, and in her vulnerability, he saw her face full-on for perhaps the first time in nearly a year. She wore no makeup. Her face was relaxed in sleep. Anyone seeing her now would know that this was no surgically created beauty. Time had made Amaryllis beautiful, but kindness and gentleness and love had made Amy stunning. The world paid millions to photograph the beauty their beast had become. What would they do if she ever truly smiled at them? He swallowed his shame and fear as he took her back to the bed she'd been sleeping in alone for the duration of their marriage.

  Orion laid her down in the spot he had slept in, and pulled the covers that he had thrown back over her, tucking her in snugly. He stole a kiss on her pale lips, noting the coolness of them and thinking that her stillness was almost unnatural.

  If he started tonight, to make up this past year to her, would she let him? He doubted it. Amaryllis had it in her head that he'd been cheating on her, and though she refused to divorce him, infidelity was the one thing she wouldn't forgive. He had lost her trust a long time ago, but he could try to regain it. Better she think he was cheating for now, than for her to know the whole truth.

  Chapter 4

  "Mr. Ashley?"

  "Yes. Who am I speaking to?"

  "It's Gloria, sir. Your housekeeper."

  "Right. Gloria. What can I do for you?"

  "It's Mrs. Ashley, sir." Gloria might have whispered the words, but there was anxiety in her voice. She sounded terrified.

  Orion looked up from the computer screen he'd been studying. "Amy? What about her?"

  "She won't wake up, sir!"

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Orion sat back in his chair and wiped his face. "She's just tired, Gloria. Amy went to sleep around four this morning. She probably just needs a few extra hours."

  "Nooo," the woman's voice trembled uncontrollably.

  Orion could picture her shaking her head on the other end of the line.

  "Mrs. Ashley is almost always up at seven. She doesn't sleep in, even when she doesn't sleep. And if she sleeps in, she always wakes up when I take her coffee. This morning, I shook her, and shook her, but she didn't wake up. So I gave her a few more hours. But she's not moving. I want to call an ambulance, but I don't know if I should, so I called you. She's so cold, Mr. Ashley."

  That got his attention. Orion glanced at the clock on the monitor. It was after twelve. He'd been working non-stop for five hours. Amy was a morning person. She'd quicker be up and about during the morning then nap in the afternoon, than the other way around. He remembered the coolness of her lips when he'd left her at six, and how she hadn't moved from her spot in the bed even after he'd returned for a shower at seven. By the time he'd left for the day, Amy hadn't even stirred from beneath the blankets. He might not know much about his wife's nocturnal habits, but even Orion knew that when he left for work in the mornings, Amy was always sprawled across the bed so that Gloria didn't know that he never slept with her.

  "My car! Front doors!" He shouted as he blazed past his secretary. "Did you call Jacob?" Orion asked, already racing past startled executives and their assistants. "Gloria! Did you call Jacob?" The elevators were taking too long. It would probably take him longer to run down fourteen flights of stairs, but he'd be doing something that would take him one step closer to Amy. Just as he pushed open the door to the stairway, the elevator dinged OPEN. He rushed inside, used his key to lock it for personal use, and pushed the button for the lobby.

  "No, sir," Gloria answered. "If anything has happened to Mrs. Ashley, I thought it would be personal and decided to call you first."

  "I'll be there in five minutes, Gloria. Call 9-1-1." Orion couldn't remember if his feet touched the ground after that. The elevator opened into the lobby, and he spilled forth like a bat out of Hell. His car
pulled up out front, and instead of waiting for his driver to open the door for him, Orion took the driver's seat and gunned the engine, leaving his baffled driver standing on the curb in front of the building.

  He must have been driving at a ridiculous pace. The stop and go traffic downtown almost sent him into cardiac arrest. His heart was far ahead of the speed his vehicle could go. After blasting his horn through a third stoplight, Orion jumped his Bentley up onto a wide curb before plopping it back onto the street. He didn't know at what point the officer began to chase him, lights and alarm blaring in slow motion to their rate of propulsion. He must have been going over a hundred miles an hour for most of the drive because though Orion didn't make the normally twenty-minute drive in five minutes, he pulled up outside behind the ambulance exactly eight minutes after he'd hung up on Gloria. Thankfully, the gates had been left open for the ambulance, otherwise he might have driven them down. Orion was halfway up the stairs when four police cars pulled up behind the Bentley.

  "Stop!" an officer shouted.

  "My wife!" and he was gone, disappearing into the cavernous house. He raced past the paramedics, the last to arrive, but now leading the way. "Amy! Amy!"

  It took two officers and his head of security Jacob, to drag him away from Amy's side. He watched, aging an eternity as the technicians worked on his wife.

  "Mr. Ashley, do you know if your wife took any-"

  "What? No! Amy's as healthy as a horse. Doesn't do drugs or anything like that. She might drink a glass of wine, but…" he shook his head. Why were they talking to him when they should be fixing whatever was wrong with Amy?

  "Sleeping pills," a small voice whispered. All eyes turned to the housekeeper. "Ms. Amy sometimes takes sleeping pills. She's good about putting them away, but they were on the edge of the tub this morning."

  "Are they still there?" one of the men asked.

  "Yes."

  Jacob kept his boss restrained as one of the paramedics went into the bathroom.

  When the man returned, his expression was grim. His voice was low as he recounted his findings to his partner.

  All Orion heard were words like: "thirty-day supply" and "new prescription"; "five days ago"; and "sixteen left". The final blow was the word "overdose."

  He heard his voice as if it was coming from inside someone else. "Amy! Amy!" The officers were speaking to him, but he couldn't hear past the blood in his ears. They held on to him, but he couldn't feel past the pain in his chest. Then he was on the ground looking up. And a haze of red became brighter and brighter until he could not see.

  He was lost to himself until the following afternoon when he awoke to find his wife whispering with a nurse at his bedside.

  Her first words once they were alone were hoarsely whispered. "You okay?" Unsteadily, Amy rose to her feet and peered down at him.

  He nodded, barely able to trust his voice. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here in a hospital bed. The last thing he remembered was seeing the paramedics working on Amy and knowing that the world had stopped turning.

  "You?" he croaked, his throat feeling as if it had collapsed onto itself.

  She bit her lip, but nodded. "I didn't take an overdose, Orion," she said. "I must have sleepwalked and taken more pills. The dosage is two per night as a mild sedative. I took more than I should have, but I wouldn't have tried to kill myself. I must have been walking in my sleep. Jacob said he saw me out on the verandah around nine o'clock in the morning, but I don't remember. The doctors think I was sleepwalking." If she said it enough, he might not hate her as much for having caused him a heart attack.

  It was a mild one, but it was a heart attack nonetheless. He could have died, and it would have been because of her. Considering that he already hated her, he must now be feeling an epic hatred for her. Especially after she'd refused to set him free.

  "What happened?" He licked dry lips.

  "The doctors will come and talk to you in a minute."

  She patted his fingers and he saw where needles were taped to the back of her hand. He rolled his eyes, forcing them to follow the tubes up to the clear bag on the wheelchair behind her. What he could remember of her words replayed in his mind. Sleepwalking. Sedative. Kill myself. If he'd had the energy, Orion would have wept.

  "I'm going to go now."

  With the little that he had, Orion clasped her fingers before she could step beyond his reach. "Stay." He licked his lips again. "Stay."

  Chapter 5

  Love Story No. 1

  By: Cassidy Sherriff

  Millionaire Orion Ashley and his wife supermodel Amaryllis Ashley were both hospitalized early yesterday afternoon. Sources close to the couple tell us that doctors believe the model that made fashion design house Hans Solomon famous, overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills. It wasn't until the housekeeper found her yesterday that her husband and the authorities were alerted. Witnesses say that when he received the news, Mr. Ashley - a known extreme sport enthusiast - broke bank robber Danny Michaels' 1983 speeding record in order to get to his wife's bedside.

  Ever since their engagement, the public has speculated as to whether or not the couple had indeed married for love. According to our source at 'the castle', Mr. Ashley promptly collapsed from a heart attack when he found out that Mrs. Stewart-Brackenridge Ashley may have overdosed. If that isn't love for you folks, then I don't know what is. A real Romeo and Juliet story. Or in this case, Beauty is 'The Beast'. Whichever story it is, we all know the fairytale romance that this couple has been unsuccessfully trying to sell us for over a year now is about to crumble into dust. Tune in for Part Two of this epic…

  The television clicked off.

  Feeling like a cement truck had rolled over him, Orion moved his head to the side to see who managed the remote control.

  Amy lay on her side on a hospital bed across from him, her body hidden beneath the sheets and a light cashmere blanket that she'd probably brought from home. She didn't know he was awake. Discreetly, he observed as she rummaged through an oversized purse and pulled out a book of crossword puzzles, and a pen. He watched as she tucked her right hand beneath her cheek and began to work on the puzzle. Not many people knew she was left-handed. He'd forgotten, because for all public appearances, Amy maneuvered as if being right-handed came naturally to her. You couldn't tell it was an act from the bold penmanship she used when she thought she was being observed. She never gave anyone a reason to criticize her. Yet, tellingly, she'd signed the marriage certificate using her left hand.

  He would bet anyone that if he disturbed her now, Amy would change the hand in which she held the pen. She'd change into the shell she presented the world, and he'd lose this vision of who she really was. That was the last thing he wanted right now. All he needed was to see that she was vital.

  The dry tickling in his throat grew worse. He tried to restrain it, but like a toothache in the middle of the night, the feeling became obnoxious and he inevitably coughed.

  Amy glanced up, saw that he was awake and was at his side in an instant, pressing a cool glass of water against his lips. Gently, soothingly, she combed her fingers through his black hair as he locked his hands over her wrist and finished the liquid.

  "What happened?" he gasped. Though he sensed that time had gotten away from him, his mind was a complete blank and he didn't know how much time he'd actually lost.

  She didn't dare frown. "What do you mean?"

  He'd heard the news report, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. "Why am I here?"

  Her expression masked, and she lowered her head to hide the fear in her eyes. How was she going to tell him? "What's the last memory you have?"

  He thought for a few moments. "I was working in my office on a new deal. It's worth about nine million dollars."

  "Nothing else?" she asked quietly. He'd mentioned the deal a few times between sleep and wakefulness - always talking about it as if it meant life and death for him.

  He thought harder. "No. Not
hing comes to mind."

  "I see."

  "Amy, why am I here?"

  The only sign of her upset was the sound of her swallowing the lump in her throat. "You had a heart attack, Orion."

  He'd heard as much on the television. "Why?"

  She shrugged. "Stress?"

  "Stress?" If she only knew. "I'm thirty-one. What kind of stress would give me a heart attack?" Tell me the truth, Amy. Did you try to kill yourself? What was left of his heart silently begged for an answer.

  Again she shrugged. "Work? Women? Only you know the answer to that."

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, recognizing he was getting nowhere on that track. "In that bed?"

  She glanced over at the other bed where her purse and the puzzle book remained. "It's a private room. You didn't want me to leave, so I traded them that bed for ten brand new ones."

  "For me?"

  Amy avoided that question as adroitly as she'd avoided a direct answer about the cause for his heart stopping. She plumped his pillow. "Do you remember speaking to the doctors?"

  "No," he answered, inhaling the oatmeal-vanilla fragrance of her favorite soap as she reached over him. "Thank you," Orion murmured when she was done seeing to his comfort.

  "Do you need more water? The nurse should be here in about fifteen minutes."

  "Water," he replied. He'd drink an ocean to keep her near.

  Silently, Amy poured him another glass of water. He almost laughed once he realized that she didn't consider regular American water drinkable. Amy was pouring out bottled water from some foreign spring. Orion had always suspected he was paying ten times the price to import Icelandic tap-water, but as long as Amy believed in the stuff that she had grown up on, he would continue to import it by the caseload. That she'd thought to bring him a bottle of the best water she could find said a lot about her concern for him. But then, he couldn't count on her concern as a measure of her affection. Amy fretted if a skunk got killed on the highway.