Chapter 3 [The Stranger]

Emily's POV

His hand remained firm on my waist, preventing me from sinking completely into the mud.

The rain streamed down my face, my hair, the dress that now felt as heavy as lead on my body. But I couldn't look away from his eyes. Dark. Intense. As if he could read inside me just by staring.

Another thunderclap burst in the sky, and for a second a flash of lightning illuminated his face.

I saw.

He wasn't young. He didn't have the smooth skin and delicate features of the boys who appeared at high society parties. He looked to be in his mid-forties, maybe fifty.

His dark hair had silver threads at the temples, his face was marked, handsome in a way that wasn't trying to be handsome. It was the kind of face that came from years of life, of decisions, perhaps of regrets.

He seemed to be about my father's age.

But he wasn't my father. My father would never have held a stranger in the rain with that strength, that certainty.

"Girl." His voice came out deep, rough, almost lost in the noise of the storm. "Where do you think you're going? It's dangerous."

The word "girl" irritated me more than it should.

"Let me go." I tried to break free, but my heels sank into the mud and I almost fell again. He held firm.

"I'm not letting you go so you can fall."

"I don't owe you any explanation." My voice came out louder than I intended. "You're a stranger. I appreciate the help, but I need to go."

"Need to go where?" He looked at the dark lawn ahead of me, at the road that led to nowhere. "Into the middle of the road? In the middle of a storm? In that dress and those heels?"

"What do you want? An autograph?"

He didn't laugh. He just looked at me with those dark eyes, and for the first time I felt ashamed of the state I was in. The soaked dress, the smeared makeup, the eyes I knew were red from crying.

"You need to get warm." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Let me go." I tried again, pulling my arm. "I want to get out of here."

"You will leave here, but not like this." His voice didn't change tone. Calm. Firm. As if he were used to giving orders and being obeyed. "We're going back to the fashion show grounds. You dry off, change clothes, call a car..."

"Take me to get a drink."

He stopped.

His hands were still on me, but I felt his body go still.

"What?"

"Take me to get a drink." I repeated, and my voice trembled at the end, but I couldn't help it. "I don't want to go back to that place. I can't go back to that place."

He looked at me for a long second. The rain ran down his face, wetting the silver threads in his hair, dripping down his square jaw.

"I can't." He said.

"Why? Do you have somewhere to be?" I laughed, but it wasn't funny at all. "Got a wife waiting? A daughter? Is that it?"

"No."

"Then take me. Or let me go and leave. Leave me here."

I tried to pull away, but he didn't let go.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Then take me to get a drink, damn it!" My voice exploded, and I didn't even know where all the anger was coming from. "Take me to get a drink or let me go and go fuck yourself!"

He stood still.

The rain falling between us.

"I hate all men." My voice came out hoarse, broken, and I felt the tears coming again. "All of them. Every single one of you."

He didn't say anything.

He just looked at me.

And then, without a word, he released my waist and slid his hand down, wrapping his fingers around my cold ones.

His hand was warm.

Big. Calloused. Covered in dark hair.

"I know a place." His voice was low now, almost soft. "It's a few blocks away."

I raised my free hand to wipe my face, running trembling fingers over my wet cheeks, trying to erase any trace of what had happened.

"Take me." I said.

He squeezed my fingers.

And guided me off the lawn.

*****

The place was small, dark, with dim lights and wooden tables worn by time.

Nothing like the elegant bars Marcus would take me to when he wanted to impress me. This one smelled of old whiskey and cigarettes, and no living soul seemed to care about anyone else's existence there.

Perfect.

I sat on a bench against the wall and ordered a whiskey even before taking off the coat he had given me on the way. The waiter looked at him, and he nodded once. The whiskey came in seconds.

I downed half the glass in one go.

He sat across from me, arms crossed, watching me.

"Are you going to keep staring at me?" I asked, without looking at him.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk, wet, alone, and you just came down out of a storm like you were running from something." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"What happened?" I repeated, laughing without humor. "What happened is that I spent two years being an idiot. Two years believing in promises that were never going to be kept. Two years being the woman no one knew existed."

He didn't say anything. He just waited.

And for some reason, that made me continue.

"And today I found out I was nobody. I never was. I was just..." My throat closed up. "I was just convenient."

"What's your name?"

The question came suddenly, and I looked up at him.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to know who I'm drinking with."

I opened my mouth to say it. Emily. My name is Emily. But something stopped me. Something about that man, that night, that storm still raging outside.

"I'm not going to tell you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You're not going to tell me your name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because tomorrow this won't matter." I downed the rest of the whiskey. "Because tomorrow I'm going to wake up and everything that happened today will still be true. So no. You don't need to know my name. I don't need to know yours."

He was silent for a second.

And then he smiled.

It wasn't a big smile, one of those that show teeth. It was a small smile, at the corner of his mouth, as if I had said something he hadn't expected to hear.

"Alright." He said, leaning back in his seat. "Then let's do it this way."

"This way how?"

He picked up the glass the waiter had left for him and downed it in one gulp. "Let's become characters."

"Characters? What does that mean?”