Public Secrets

Someone had put out a cigarette on her Oriental rug. But worse than that, worse than the broken Baccarat vase or the missing Limoges candy dish, were the drugs.
She’d found a group, people she’d never met, cheerfully snorting coke in the guest room she hoped would soon be a nursery.
Drew had promised it would never happen again.
“You’re just pissed because Marianne didn’t come.”
Hadn’t been invited, Emma corrected silently. “It’s not that at all.”
“Since she got back in town you’ve been spending more time with her over at that loft than here, with me.”
“Drew, I haven’t even seen her for nearly two weeks. Between my work and our social life I haven’t had time.”
“You’ve always got time to bitch, though.”
She jerked back. Furious, she shoved his hand aside before he could grab her again. “I’m going up to bed.”
She pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the calls and laughter. He caught her on the stairs. The bite of his fingers told her he was every bit as angry as she.
“Let go of me,” she said under her breath. “I don’t think you want a fight here, in front of your friends.”

“Then we’ll take it upstairs.” He squeezed until she yelped, then dragged her the rest of the way.
She was prepared for an argument. Indeed, she relished the thought of a good screaming match. When she walked into the bedroom, she snapped.
They were using her antique mirror to cut the coke. Four of them bent over her vanity table, giggling and snorting in the white powder. The old perfume bottles she’d collected had been pushed aside. One lay shattered on the floor.
“Get out.”
Four heads popped up, and she was eyed with owlish grins.
“I said out. Get the hell out of my room, get the hell out of my house.”
Before Drew could stop her, she had grabbed the closest person, a man about twice her weight, and had dragged him up.
“Hey, look, we’ll share.”
“Get out,” she repeated, shoving him toward the door.
They moved quickly enough then, filing out. One of the women stopped long enough to pat Drew’s cheek. Emma slammed the door behind them and rounded on her husband.
“I’ve had enough. I’ve had all I’m going to take, Drew. I want those people out of here, and I won’t have them coming back.”
“Won’t you?” he said quietly.
“Doesn’t it matter to you? Doesn’t it matter at all? This is our bedroom. Christ, Drew, look at my things. They’ve been in my closet.” Enraged, she picked up a heap of silk and linen. “God knows what they’ve stolen or broken this time, but that’s not the worst. I don’t even know those people and they’re in my bedroom doing drugs. I won’t have drugs in my house.”
She saw him swing back, but the movement didn’t register. The back of his hand connected hard enough with her face to send her sprawling. She tasted blood. Dazed, she lifted a hand to her split lip.
“Your house?” He dragged her to her feet. Her shirt tore as he heaved her away. She landed hard against the bedside table. Her beloved Tiffany lamp crashed to the floor. “Spoiled little bitch. It’s your house?”
Too stunned to fight back, she cringed when he advanced on her. The roar of the music drowned out her scream as he picked her up again and threw her on the bed.

“Our house. You bloody well remember that. It’s as much mine as yours. It’s all as much mine as yours. Don’t you ever think you can tell me what to do. Do you think you can humiliate me that way and get away with it?”
“I wasn’t—” She broke off, drawing her shoulders up as he lifted his hand.
“That’s better. I’ll let you know when I want to hear you whine. Always get your way, don’t you, Emma? Well, we won’t let tonight be any exception. You want to sit up here all alone. That’s fine.” He picked up the phone and ripped it out of the wall. “You just sit up here.” He threw the phone up against the wall before he strode out, slamming and locking the door behind him.
She sat curled on the bed, breathing hard, too numb to ache from the cuts and bruises. It was a nightmare, she thought. She’d had other nightmares. Painfully, she remembered the slaps and shouts she’d lived with for the first three years of her life.
Spoiled little bitch .
Was that Jane’s voice, or Drew’s?
Shivering, she reached out. The little black dog from her childhood sat on the pillow. Curling her arm around him, she cried herself to sleep.

W HEN HE UNLOCKED the door the