I continue to study him, how he’s dressed, the way his clothes bolster the swagger I’d fallen for. I could even smell his cologne—the two-hundred-dollar bottle of Mr. Wonderful. As was typical for him, he was wearing a baseball cap—Boston Red Sox. And as was also typical for him, he didn’t wear it right. It sat too far back on his head but that didn’t matter. He was still the hot and sexy Brazilian I couldn’t get enough of, and I could see why Maricel lost her shit at the thought of anyone else having him, even if in essence she really doesn’t have him herself. At least not in the way a wife should—and not in the way Gil needs.
I inconspicuously wrestle with the ropes at my wrist as I keep my eyes on the two of them. Maricel shows no signs of relenting her position, yet Gil speaks with her as though he can convince her to. He’s soft… gentle. The same way he’d been with me when I was dealing with problems in my marriage. I could see his words were causing her to take pause, even if she hadn’t intended to. I could also see how much she loved him—I was sure it was because she had no one else, and I was just as sure it was because she didn’t want to lose her meal ticket.
I free myself from one of the ropes and then move frantically to the other, hoping Gil can keep his crazy bitch-of-a wife occupied long enough for me to make an escape. I still can’t believe I’ve gotten myself caught up in this. And over what? Dick? No dick is worth my life. Okay, if I’m being honest, I have to admit it’s more than that. It’s for the promise of everything I never had. That’s how I ended up here. In Boston. In an apartment that isn’t mine. In a position I’ve only seen in the movies. There’s only one reason for it all—Gil. He was the lure, the promise of everything missing in my life. And he was the hope of a future that apparently I would never see.
I manage to release my other hand and then, with trembling fingers, I go for my ankles, easily untying the haphazard knot on the left, but struggling with the other. Dammit. I’d tied the knot at my right ankle tighter than I should have, and my fingers were not cooperating. I lift my head to determine Gil and Maricel’s proximity, hoping my presence has fallen to the background of their thoughts. When I’m confident I’ve been temporarily forgotten, I go back to fidgeting with the rope and cursing myself for being in this fucked situation. I never considered myself naive or gullible. I was always one step ahead; always analyzing and questioning things others wouldn’t think to. I was the one who advised other women on maintaining strength and clarity; not the one who fell prey to the games men played. At least that’s what I’d thought... until him.
I try to maintain focus on the two of them, and more importantly, on the gun. When it appears Maricel has relaxed enough to see reason, Gil reaches for the weapon. And, to my surprise, she releases it. I let out an audible breath, and then she glances my way. Hurriedly, I sit upright and place my hands behind me as though I’m still tied to the chair.
“Look at me,” Gil says to her.
Maricel slowly turns away and meets his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This is not Nia’s fault. It’s mine. Take this out on me. Not her.”
“You’d give your life for hers?” she asks, the stench of betrayal coating her words. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
The incredulity of her tone was irrefutable—she found it unfathomable that her husband could feel something for me that he’d never feel for her.
“I’m doing this for you—for us,” Gil says. “Do you realize what will happen if you do anything to hurt her? You go to jail—for the rest of your life. I don’t want that for you. I want you to be happy.”
A vulnerable expression flashes over Maricel’s face, but she quickly recovers, replacing it with the rage she’s displayed since my arrival. “You’re just saying these things so I can let her go. You don’t give a damn about me. All you care about is her!” She lunges for the gun in Gil’s