Bared to You

Thank you, Eva. For everything.
Yours, G
A Dear Jane brush-off. It had to be. Otherwise,
he would’ve given me the keys after work on the
way to the gym.
There was a dull roaring in my ears. I felt dizzy.
Disoriented. I was frightened and agonized.
Furious.

---

I was also at work.
Closing my eyes and clenching my fists, I pulled
myself together and fought off the driving urge to
go upstairs and call Gideon a coward. He
probably saw me as a threat, someone who’d
come in, unwanted and uninvited, and shook up
his orderly world. Someone who’d demanded
more from him than just his hot body and hefty
bank account.
I shut my emotions behind a glass wall where I
was aware of them waiting in the background, but
I was able to get through the rest of my workday.
By the time I clocked out and headed downstairs, I
still hadn’t heard from Gideon. I was such an
emotional disaster at that point I felt only a single,
sharp twinge of despair as I exited the Crossfire.
I made it to the gym. I shut my brain off and ran
full-bore on the treadmill, fleeing the anguish that
would hit me soon enough. I ran until sweat
coursed in rivulets down my face and body, and
rubber legs forced me to stop.
Feeling battered and exhausted, I hit the
showers. Then I called my mother and asked her
to send Clancy to the gym to pick me up for our
appointment with Dr. Petersen. As I put my work
clothes back on, I mustered the energy to get
through that last task before I could go home and
collapse on my bed.
I waited for the town car at the curb, feeling
separate and apart from the city teeming around
me. When Clancy pulled up and hopped out to
open the back door for me, I was startled to see
my mom already inside. It was early yet. I’d
expected to be driven solo to the apartment she
shared with Stanton and wait on her twenty
minutes or so. That was our usual routine.
“Hey, Mom,” I said wearily, settling on the seat
beside her.

---

“How could you, Eva?” She was crying into a
monogrammed handkerchief, her face beautiful
even while reddened and wet with tears. 
“Why?”
Jolted out of my torment by her misery, I
frowned and asked, “What did I do now?”
The new cell phone, if she’d somehow found
about it, wouldn’t trigger this much drama. And it
was too soon after the fact for her to know about
my breakup with Gideon.
“You told Gideon Cross about…what happened
to you.” Her lower lip trembled with distress.
My head jerked back in shock. How could she
know that? My God…Had she bugged my new
place? My purse…? 
“What?”
“Don’t act clueless!”
“How do you know I told him?” My voice was a
pained whisper. “We just talked last night.”
“He went to see Richard about it today.”
I tried to picture Stanton’s face during 
that
conversation. I couldn’t imagine my stepfather
taking it well. “Why would he do that?”
“He wanted to know what’s been done to
prevent information leaks. And he wanted to know
where Nathan is—” She sobbed. “He wanted to
know everything.”
My breath hissed out between my teeth. I wasn’t
sure what Gideon’s motivation was, but the
possibility that he’d dumped me over Nathan and
was now making sure that he was safe from
scandal hurt worse than anything. I twisted in pain,
my spine arching away from the seatback. I’d
thought it was 
his
past that drove a wedge
between us, but it made more sense that it was
mine
.
For once I was grateful for my mother’s self-
absorption, which kept her from seeing how
devastated I was.

---

“He had a right to know,” I managed in a voice
so raw it sounded nothing like my own. “And he
has a right to try and protect himself from any
blowback.”
“You’ve never told any of your other boyfriends.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who makes national
headlines by sneezing, either.” I stared out the car
window at the traffic that boxed us in. “Gideon
Cross and Cross Industries are global news,
Mother. He’s light-years away from the guys I
dated in college.”
She spoke more, but I didn’t hear her. I shut
down for self-protection, cutting off the reality that
was suddenly too painful to be endured.
Dr. Petersen’s office was exactly as I
remembered. Decorated in soothing neutrals, it
was both professional and comfortable. Dr.
Petersen was the same—a handsome man with
gray hair and gentle, intelligent blue eyes.
He welcomed us into his office with a wide
smile, commenting on how lovely my mother
looked and how like her I was. He said he was
happy to see me again and that I looked well, but I
could tell he spoke for my mother’s benefit. He
was too trained an observer to miss the raging
emotions I suppressed.
“So,” he began, settling into his chair across
from the sofa my mother and I sat on. “What
brings you both in today?”
I told him about the way my mom had been
tracking my movements via my cell phone signal
and how violated I felt. Mom told him about my
interest in Krav Maga and how she took it as a
sign that I wasn’t feeling safe. I told him about how
they’d pretty much taken over Parker’s studio,

---

which 
made 
me 
feel 
suffocated 
and
claustrophobic. She told him I’d betrayed her trust
by divulging deeply personal matters to strangers,
which made her feel naked and painfully exposed.
Through it all, Dr. Petersen listened attentively,
took notes and spoke rarely, until we’d purged
everything.
Once we’d quieted, he asked, “Monica, why
didn’t you tell me about tracking Eva’s cell
phone?”
The angle of her chin altered, a familiar
defensive posture. “I didn’t see anything wrong
with it. Many parents track their children through
their cell phones.”
“Underage children,” I shot back. “I’m an adult.
My personal time is exactly that.”
“If you were to envision yourself in her place,
Monica,” Dr. Petersen interjected, “would it be
possible that you might feel as she does? What if
you discovered someone was monitoring your
movements 
without 
your 
knowledge 
or
permission?”
“Not if the someone was my mother and I knew
it gave her peace of mind,” she argued.
“And have you considered how your actions
affect Eva’s peace of mind?” he queried gently.
“Your need to protect her is understandable, but
you should discuss the steps you wish to take
openly with her. It’s important to gain her input—
and expect cooperation only when she chooses to
give it. You have to honor her prerogative to set
limits that may not be as broad as you’d like them
to be.”
My mother sputtered indignantly.
“Eva needs her boundaries, Monica,” he
continued, “and a sense of control over her own
life. Those things were taken from her for a long
time and we have to respect her right to establish

---

them now in the manner that best suits her.”
“Oh.” My mother twisted her handkerchief
around her fingers. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
I reached out for my mother’s hand when her
lower lip trembled violently. “Nothing could’ve
stopped me from talking to Gideon about my past.
But I could have forewarned you. I’m sorry I didn’t
think of it.”
“You’re much stronger than I ever was,” my
mother said, “but I can’t help worrying.”
“My suggestion,” Dr. Petersen said, “would be
for you to take some time, Monica, and really think
about what sorts of events and situations cause
you anxiety. Then write them down.”
My mother nodded.
“When you have what will surely not be an
exhaustive list but a strong start,” he went on, “you
can sit down with Eva and discuss strategies for
addressing those concerns—strategies you can
both live with comfortably. For example, if not
hearing from Eva for a few days troubles you,
perhaps a text message or an e-mail will alleviate
that.”
“Okay.”
“If you like, we can go over the list together.”
The back-and-forth between the two made me
want to scream. It was insult to injury. I hadn’t
expected Dr. Petersen to smack some sense into
my mom, but I’d hoped he would at least take a
harder line—God knew someone needed to,
someone whose authority she respected.
When the hour ended and we were on our way
out, I asked my mom to wait a moment so I could
ask Dr. Petersen one last personal and private
question.
“Yes, Eva?” He stood in front of me, looking
infinitely patient and wise.
“I just wondered…” I paused, needing to

---

swallow past a lump in my throat. “Is it possible for
two abuse survivors to have a functional romantic
relationship?”
“Absolutely.” 
His 
immediate, 
unequivocal
answer forced the trapped air from my lungs.
I shook his hand. “Thank you.”
When I got home, I unlocked my door with the
keys Gideon had returned to me and I went
straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary,
who was practicing yoga in the living room to a
DVD.
I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the
distance from my closed bedroom door to the
bed, finally crawling between the cool sheets in
just my underwear. I hugged a pillow and closed
my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left.
The door opened at my back and a moment
later Cary sat beside me.
He brushed my hair back from my tear-streaked
face. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”
“I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a
fucking note card.”
He sighed. “You know the drill, Eva. He’s going
to keep pushing you away, because he’s
expecting you to fail him like everyone else has.”
“And I keep proving him right.” I recognized
myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran
when the going got tough, because I was so sure
it was all going to end badly. The only control I had
was to be the one who left, instead of the one who
was left behind.
“Because you’re fighting to protect your own
recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my
back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around
me and tucking me tight against him.

---

I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t
realized I needed. “He might’ve dumped me
because of 
my
past, not his.”
“If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you
two will find each other eventually. At least I’m
hoping you will.” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I
want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-
up crowd. Show me the way, Eva honey. Make
me believe.”

---

F
riday found Trey sharing breakfast with Cary
and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s
first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary
and I was genuinely thrilled to see the intimate
smiles and covert touches they gave one another.
I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t
appreciated them at the time. They had been
comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been
superficial in a fundamental way, too.
How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t
know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul?
That was the dilemma I’d faced with Gideon.
Day 2 After Gideon had begun. I found myself
wanting to go to him and apologize for leaving him
yet again. I wanted to tell him I was there for him,
ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I
was too emotionally invested. I got wounded too
easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing
he wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified
that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only

---

tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and
pieces he decided to share with me.
At least my job was going well. The celebratory
lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency
landing the Kingsman account made me
genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a
positive environment. But when I heard that
Gideon had been invited—although no one
expected him to show up—I returned quietly to my
desk and focused on work the rest of the
afternoon.
I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up
some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner
with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food
guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I
expected sleep to offer me a break from the
endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopefully
long into Saturday morning.
Cary and I ate in the living room with
chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said
dinner was great, but I couldn’t tell. I snapped out
of it when he fell silent, too, and I realized I was
being a less than stellar friend.
“When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going
up?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You
know how it is with male models—we’re tossed
around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand
out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone
famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing
since those photos of you and me were plastered
everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your
relationship with Gideon Cross. You’ve done
wonders for making me a hot commodity.”
I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”
“Well, it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they called
me back for a couple more shoots. I think they
might just use me for more than five minutes.”

---

“We’ll have to celebrate,” I teased.
“Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”
We ended up hanging out and watching the
o ri g i na l 
Tron
. His smartphone rang twenty
minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking
to his agency. “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen, tops. I’ll
call you when I get there.”
“Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.
“Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so
trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You
wanna come?”
I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m
good right here.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“All I need is mindless entertainment. Just the
thought of getting dressed again exhausts me.” I’d
be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and
holey old tank top all weekend. As much as I hurt
inside, total comfort outside seemed like a
necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been
a mess lately, but I’ll get it together. Go on and
enjoy yourself.”
After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and
went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by
the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the
roses Gideon had sent me the previous weekend.
Petals fell to the countertop like tears. I thought
about cutting the stems and using the flower food
packet that came with the bouquet, but it was
pointless hanging on to them. I’d throw the
arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of
my equally doomed relationship.
I’d gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I
had with other relationships that lasted two years. I
would always love him for that. Maybe I’d always
love him, period.
And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

---

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged
as he yanked the comforter off of me.
“Ugh. Go away.”
“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and
in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.”
Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was
shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely
clung to his hips. As far as wake-up calls went, he
was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”
“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re
not on your feet.”
“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”
He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look.
“We need to go shopping.”
I buried my face in the pillow. “No.”
“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a
‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in
the same sentence. What the hell do I wear to
something like that?”
“Ah, well. Good point.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the
‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so
sure.”
He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops
and find something sexy, classy, and cool.”
Growling a token protest, I rolled out of bed and
padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to
shower without thinking of Gideon, without
picturing his perfect body and remembering the
desperate sounds he made when he came in my
mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I’d
even started hallucinating black Bentley SUVs all
around town. I thought I spotted one damn near
everywhere I went.

---

Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced all over
the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side
thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques
before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the
way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his
autograph, which tickled me more than him, I
think.
“Told you,” he crowed.
“Told me what?”
“They recognized me from an entertainment
news blog. One of the posts about you and
Cross.”
I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for
someone.”
He was due at another job around three and I
went with him, spending a few hours in the studio
of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering
it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and
made my weekly call to my dad.
“You still happy in New York?” he asked me
above the background noise of dispatch talking
over the radio in his cruiser.
“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no
one.
His partner said something I didn’t catch. My
dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw
you on television the other day. Some cable
channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t
leave me alone about it.”
I sighed. “Tell them watching those shows is
bad for their brain cells.”
“So you’re not dating one of the richest men in
America?”
“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly
diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a
call on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I
have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”

---

“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”
“Always. Bye.”
I killed the call and went back to my former spot
to wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lull, my
mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now?
What was he doing?
Would Monday bring me an inbox full of photos
of him with another woman?
Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of
Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal
estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the
seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring
the serene vista of rolling meadows and green
woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I
realized I was working on Day 4 After Gideon. The
pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dull
throbbing that felt almost like the flu. Every part of
my body ached, as if I was going through some
sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned
with unshed tears.
“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.
I glanced at him. “Not really. Gideon won’t be
there.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do
have some pride you know.” I watched him drum
his fingers on the armrest between our two seats.
For all the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d
made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d
teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect
fashion sense going with something like that.
He caught me looking at it. “What? You still
don’t like my tie? I think it works well with the emo
jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”
“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear

---

anything.”
It was true. Cary could pull any look off, a benefit
of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that
could make angels weep.
I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are 
you
nervous?”
“Trey didn’t call last night,” he muttered. “He
said he would.”
I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just
one missed call, Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean
anything serious.”
“He could’ve called this morning,” he argued.
“Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He
wouldn’t have forgotten to call, which means he
just doesn’t want to.”
“The rat bastard. I’ll be sure to take lots of
pictures of you having a great time looking sexy,
classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the
female mind. It’s a shame Cross won’t see you
today. I think I got a semi when you came out of
your room in that dress.”
“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-
glared when he laughed.
The dress had seemed perfect to both of us
when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden