Grayson's Vow (60)
“Women? Plural?”
Kira nodded. “There was one under him and one behind him using some sort of…” She shook her head and closed her eyes, obviously trying to shake the image from her mind. “God…” She put her face in her hands for a brief moment, taking a deep breath.
“I don’t need a full description. I get the gist,” I said. Jesus. What a pig.
She let out a breath. “There were lines of what looked like cocaine on the coffee table, half-empty liquor bottles everywhere.”
“Fuck,” I said, moving my hand through my hair, picturing Cooper, the golden boy in his tennis whites this afternoon.
“Cooper…disengaged when he finally noticed me, but he was drunk or drugged or both. I don’t know. He started off apologizing, but it deteriorated into him screaming at me about how he didn’t want a whore for a wife. He had actual whores for that. I tried to leave, but he pulled me and I fought him. We tumbled to the ground and he hit me, but I got away. Only as I turned to leave, he caught my ankle and I fell on the glass coffee table, breaking two of my ribs, banging up my face even more, and slicing my arm. It had happened so fast, but I was a mess. There was blood everywhere. Members of Cooper’s campaign team who had been in the other room came running. They got me out of there and called a doctor when we arrived at my father’s home.”
“Kira,” I said, my voice raw, my guts churning. I now fully understood why she’d been so insecure about sex. It wasn’t just about her father and his dismissal of Rosa Maria. It was even more personal—she’d basically been told her passion in bed was somehow inappropriate and disgusting. And she’d believed it. And who could blame her? It’d been her first experience.
Kira looked off into the distance again. “When my father got home and learned what happened”—her face screwed up as if she was going to cry again, but she regrouped with a deep breath—“he told me I’d ruined everything. And then he went into recovery mode: contacting the hotel staff, putting out the story that I’d gotten into trouble with drugs and went wild in case anyone else had seen me leaving the room or in case other staff talked about the cleanup. Of course, he wouldn’t hear of me calling the engagement off, but I was very final about that.”
“He threw you under the bus.”
She nodded. “Yes. Cooper’s campaign and status was more important than his own daughter. He suggested a trip to Europe to make it look as if I were in a recovery program and then upon my return, we could turn the story in our favor, making me look like a success. Can you see the headlines now? ‘Heiress turns to drugs, ruins life, but thanks to the love and devotion of selfless fiancé, turns life around.’ What a perfect love story. Of course, Cooper would look even more like a hero. His current campaign, and all future campaigns, would be even more successful with a story like that attached to him. And me, I’d be the fall girl, but all for a good cause.”
“Fuck,” I repeated, staring in disbelief. I could hardly wrap my mind around that type of public betrayal. How did she come to terms with it?
She sighed. “Well, as you can imagine, I wasn’t going to go along with my father’s plan to send me to Europe on a shopping expedition, but I did need to go away. Even returning to college here in California seemed too close. I wanted an ocean between us—very literally. I was devastated and needed to heal both physically and emotionally. I needed time to come up with a life plan. I remembered Khotso’s invitation to help with his hospital—an invitation I hadn’t been able to accept originally—and cut myself off from my father and Cooper. I took an extra day to have a full STD checkup and then flew to Africa using the very last of the money I had in my bank account.”
She paused for a few moments and I watched as her expression turned thoughtful. “When I got there, I felt so empty, so grief-stricken. But see…” Her eyes suddenly brightened, and my heart thumped. There it is, that light. “I worked with these women who had lost so much—they were rejected by their villages and their families because of the stigma of something they had no control over. Many of them had lost their babies. They were sick and traumatized and grieving. They had lost so much more than me. And yet…despite their circumstances, they were so strong, Grayson, so committed to healing, to hope, to moving forward. They inspired me to find that same courage within myself. People suffer all over the world every day. But people triumph all over the world every day too. And those beautifully brave women helped me reach for triumph as well. And though our situations were very different, I healed along with them.”
Reach for triumph. The words echoed in my head. How though? How is it possible in the midst of so much hurt? “You make it sound easy.” My voice held a scratchy note.
She shook her head. “It’s not easy. It takes work and faith and a whole heart full of hope. It takes letting the pain in too. Because what I learned in Africa as I went through the process, is that you can’t shut off one emotion without shutting off all your emotions. You have to feel the pain if you’re going to feel the joy. It’s just the way it works. So no, it’s not easy, but it’s possible. And now, all I want is for my father to leave me in peace, to allow me to figure out on my own what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
I understood now. I understood why she’d been willing to go to drastic measures to gain some freedom. I understood why she’d been willing to marry a stranger rather than ask her father for a single dime of his money—money that surely had any number of soul-stripping strings attached. She had chosen to split the money fifty-fifty, as if it was the only bargaining tool she felt she was worth. She had chosen me, and I suddenly felt gratitude that far outweighed the financial gain. “And what have you come up with so far?” I asked. What are your dreams?