Aubrey was standing at the railing of Ian’s penthouse patio, enjoying the view of Scarsdale. It was filled with well-appointed homes, lush trees, and other assorted greenery, along with quiet streets.
Wonderful if you didn’t look too close.
"Something wrong?" Ian had come up behind her, put his arms around her.
"Nothing," Aubrey said.
But her mind was preoccupied with how to turn the tables on Ian. They might not ever have an equal relationship, but Aubrey had to find a way to get the upper hand in the things that mattered most to her. She was tired of the balancing act in her relationships with men.
Knowing when to support them.
Knowing when to scold them.
Pretending that nothing they did was offensive.
Being grateful for any consideration they offered.
It was hard, because Aubrey was caught between the world that Ian promised and the independence that promised nothing tangible for her. Was self-reliance worth it if you were less than successful? Aubrey was doubting herself.
Afterall, her psychiatry practice had been built with another man’s money. Her marriage relied on another man’s money. How would she do it all on her own?
Aubrey made a silent vow to herself. She would lie low for now, pretending to be the frivolous girl Ian wanted. The girl who could write a book to make her man look credible. The girl who was distracted by shiny objects such as diamond necklaces.
She would watch, she would wait, and she would gather the strength to face whatever choice lay ahead. For now, she would play the part he desired, but not without picking her battles to assert herself in the relationship.
"Let's go away for the weekend," Ian said suddenly, kissing her on the neck. "Just the two of us, no one else."
He thought he was being seductive, but to Aubrey, it felt like a trap. How excited should she be? There was that balancing act again.
He talked about going to Kennebunkport. How nice it was in the summer. He would book a room with an ocean view. They could sleep late, shop, and find some quaint, romantic restaurants.
With anyone else, it sounded wonderful. But with Ian, it felt like a lot of work to appreciate whatever he chose for her to eat, do, or wear.
"Ian, I have patients scheduled," Aubrey began, her voice hesitant. "I can't just abandon them on such short notice."
"Cancel them. You’re shutting down your practice anyway. "They'll understand. You're allowed to take time for yourself, for us."
"Can't we plan it for another time?”
"When I make plans for us, Aubrey, I expect you to appreciate my thoughtfulness.”
"Excuse me for a moment, Ian," she said. “I need to freshen up.”
“I’ll be here waiting.”
In the bathroom, Aubrey had to put herself in the frame of mind to deal with Ian, to stand up for herself without pissing him off.
Upon returning, she found Ian standing next to a bucket of champagne.
He had on his mask of apology. She wore a mask of complicity.
What a pair they made.
"Aubrey, I'm sorry," he said, taking her hand and pressing a velvet ring-size box into it. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was going to wait until we went away for the weekend to give you this. You know, bended knee and all that. But I’m afraid I ruined it. So take this now as my apology.”
Aubrey opened the box. She felt faint. She sat down on one of the chaise lounges.
“Is this what I think it is?
“Yes, Aubrey, it’s an engagement ring. Well, the promise of marriage when you’re free. We can spend a weekend in Kennebunkport to celebrate. See? I’m always thinking of you.”
The ring was set with a flawless, five-carat, high-clarity diamond; the band was platinum.
“Will you marry me?”
Aubrey, in shock, surprised herself and tried on the ring.
She stood. Her body leaned into Ian’s embrace, finding the warmth and strength she didn’t expect to feel. But then, Ian was a chameleon; his changing emotions put her off-balance most of the time. That’s how he did it. Clever.
As his arms wrapped around her, she knew this ring was an unbreakable bond, a guarantee that he possessed her completely.
He had bought her the ring, and she had accepted it.
“Shall we make a toast? My personal assistant can replan the trip this weekend as a honeymoon. I know we’re both entangled legally in marriage, but this ring is a symbol of our love, our life together. Aubrey, tell me you’ll marry me.
How should she answer? The balancing act again. How happy should she be? How reluctant?
The lady doth protest too much, me thinks.
And so Aubrey said yes, and let Ian carry her into the bedroom to seal the deal. To consummate their union.
He was going to make love to her instead of fucking her. Is this what she had to look forward to? He might as well be Foster.
Ian gently caressed her entire body as he removed her clothing, each touch accompanied by a light kiss and a murmur of appreciation. Did Ian get a manicure?
After undressing her, it was Ian’s turn to disrobe. He carefully took off his clothes and laid them neatly on a chair. What was this?
Ian joined her in bed. The softness of the bedclothes beneath them emphasized the hard lines of Ian's muscular frame as he moved with her, trying to arouse her with care and attention.
Aubrey felt nothing.
The feeling Ian created was intimate. Beautiful. Soft.
Boring.
He treated her gently, easing his cock into her as if he might break her. He was guiding his erection into her in soothing waves—with no chance of rocking the boat. He reached into the nightstand to get some lube. It helped his erection glide smoothly into Aubrey’s slit.
He murmured sweet nothings in her ear as he made love to her. He was on top, yes, but without taking charge. As he reached his climax, he grew quiet, like he was holding his pleasure in, like he didn’t want to intrude on Aubrey’s dignified composure.
After he came, he rolled off Aubrey and went to the bathroom to clean himself, and then wiped up the wet spot left on the sheets.
How considerate.
"Look at me, Aubrey," Ian whispered, his voice husky. Sexy.
Obediently, she looked into his gaze. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. “I love you, Aubrey. You know that, right?”
Aubrey looked at the brilliant ring on her finger, smiled sweetly, and said, “I love you too, Ian.”
But as she nestled into the crook of Ian's arm, the glint of the ring was a reminder of the complexities of their relationship—a beautiful romance with visible stings attached. And though she loved lying in the comfort of Ian’s arms, she was on full alert that his mood could change any minute.
How much of herself was she willing to sacrifice for this relationship? He was manipulating her. Controlling her. How long before he chipped away at every part of her that meant something? She had to keep him in check if she wanted to keep him at all.
But was it up to her? She knew Ian well enough that he would no longer make any compromises.
By healing his mental health issues, she had created a monster.
Aubrey grew restless in Ian’s arms. Something was bothering her. She turned over to face him.
“Answer me something, Ian. You didn’t do anything to save my practice, did you? I mean like, talk to your father and ask him to let me keep seeing the workmen?”
“What?” Ian exhaled. “Why would I do that? Your life is with me now as the wife of Ian Henshaw III. I can’t have my wife fooling around with some rinky-dink psychiatry practice. Do you realize the responsibility you have? You’re going to be on my arm at a White House dinner in the future, and you have to prepare.”
Another woman would be thrilled to be on the arm of a man like Ian. Yet all Aubrey could think about was how Jennifer had dumped Garson to get out of a predetermined life. Why was it so difficult for Aubrey? She was as young as Jennifer when she married Foster. And yet, there she was, about to make the same mistake again.
Aubrey sighed.
Ian recovered.
“What about that book you were talking about?” he asked. “Maybe you could fool around with that. It would look good for both of us if you were a published psychiatrist. It would give us an edge as a power couple. What do you say, bestselling author? I’ll pull some strings. Hire someone to ghostwrite it.”
“That sounds great, Ian. I’ll get started.” And just like that, Aubrey was back in the game. She could agree to Ian’s plan and work on her tell-all book the entire time. She laughed to herself. Ian would be patient zero.
She would go along with the engagement; it would take at least six months to finalize a divorce with Foster, even though she had the upper hand. She imagined that Foster would give her everything she asked for. Of course, he would be in the book too.
It would be another few months for Ian to arrange his dream wedding.
It was a small victory, but Aubrey took it. It gave her plenty of time to get a book proposal together. And if Ian wanted her to have a ghostwriter, she would hire Jennifer and let Ian foot the bill. This situation was improving, and Aubrey finally had something to show for it.
Aubrey rested her head against Ian’s chest, gazing at the ring on her finger. It felt heavy. Heavy with obligation. Heavy on her heart. Heavy with a loveless marriage.
It would take about a year, she thought. Maybe a little more. Enough time to disentangle herself legally, to build momentum for her book, and to write Ian out of the picture.
“You’re very good at thinking ahead,” Ian said lazily. “That’s what I like about you.”
Aubrey smiled to herself. If only he knew.
“I’ll start outlining the book tomorrow,” she said aloud. “Just rough ideas. Themes. Case studies.”
“Good,” Ian replied. “I’ll have my assistant send you a few names. Writers. Editors. People who know how these things work. You’re not going to write about me, are you?”
“Of course not,” Aubrey said, not missing a beat. “But I’d like to keep control of the voice. Authenticity matters.”
Ian chuckled, self-indulgent. “As long as it makes us look strong.”
Us, she noted. Always us. As long as she obeyed him she would be fine, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Aubrey was thinking. “Ian will be furious when he finds out the book is based on how he treated Hope. And how he is now treating me. With this shift in the narrative, I will have Jennifer reach out to Hope for an interview. Tell her it’s about revenge on Ian. See where that gets me.”
In the meantime, she would hang on his words, sleep with him as needed to keep him at bay. It would be mechanical sex, no different than sleeping with Foster for the appearance of their marriage.
Aubrey and Ian both slept well that night. Ian, thinking he got what he wanted, and Aubrey, thinking she knew how to get away from it.