Part X: Summertime Sadness

"...Oh, my God, I feel it in the air

Telephone wires above sizzlin' like your stare

Honey, I'm on fire I feel it everywhere

Nothing scares me anymore..."

~ "Summertime Sadness" - Lana Del Rey

Friday

May 9, 1923

The last notes of the song echoed throughout the music room and Rebecca removed her fingertips from the keys. The music faded and Gatsby clapped quietly from his spot in the chair closest to her.

"You play wonderfully," he told her with a soft smile.

"Thank you," Rebecca said.

She was unsure of what to do or say next. The whole night was turning into a confusing twist and she was silently counting down the minutes until she could beg to retire. Gatsby had been charming and polite all night and it was unnerving to her throughout dinner. He'd asked her about her charities and the work she did within the city. He had seemed genuinely interested in knowing about everything she did in her spare time. Not knowing what to do, Rebecca had told him everything that he wanted to know. It had surprised her when he'd told her if she needed anything to tell him and that they'd host a fundraiser or something to help raise money for whichever charity needed help. Never in the length of their entire relationship had Gatsby ever taken such an interest in something she thought was important. The whole dinner had been confusing and she'd been grateful for the opportunity to retire to the music room.

She had hoped that her playing would build up the silence between them again, but it had done no such thing. Instead, Gatsby had tried to introduce different topics into the breaks between pieces. He asked her opinion on things that were happening in the city and he'd asked her about music. He wanted to know her favorite pieces of music and her favorite composers. He wanted to know if she approved of the music room and the piano itself. What had startled Rebecca the most was when Gatsby had told her if she didn't like anything in the house; she was more than welcome to change it. Whether it was a painting or the furniture in the parlor, anything she didn't like could be changed. It had taken her all her self-control not to tell Gatsby that she hated the whole house and that everything needed to be changed.

Going through the sheet music, Rebecca quickly found another piece to play. Before her fingers could touch the keys though, a knock came from the door. Gatsby swung around in his seat with a scowl firmly in place on his lips.

"They better have a good reason for interrupting," he said to her quietly before calling out for the person to enter.

The door opened and Crawley stepped into the room with his hands behind his back looking as calm as ever.

"What is it, Crawley?" Gatsby asked. "If it's someone on the wire, tell them I'll call back later. I'm in the middle of something important."

His words made Rebecca's heart pound in her chest as she stared at Gatsby. He'd never refused a phone call. Whatever he wanted from her must have been something quite serious and it unnerved her. Along time ago, she'd have been flattered that he turned down a business call for her, but she wasn't a naïve child anymore. She was a woman and the veil of innocence had been lifted from her eyes long ago.

"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Gatsby, sir," Crawley said. "Mr. Meyer Wolfsheim is here requesting an audience."

"You'll have to tell Meyer to come back later," Gatsby said as he put his hands in the pockets of his dinner suit. "Whatever it is, it can wait till tomorrow."

"I'm not here to see you, Gatsby."

All three of them looked over to see Meyer standing in the doorway. The older man wore a dark navy suit with a soft blue tie. His hat was in his hands and a sly smile was on his lips.

"Meyer," Gatsby said as he looked over at the older man. "Quite late for an evening call, old sport."

The smile on Meyer's lips grew, "As I said before, I'm not here to see you, Gatsby."

"Then I'm at a loss to know why you're here."

"I'm here to see Rebecca…Mrs. Gatsby," Meyer grinned and the whole room became still. Crawley's expression remained the same as did his posture. He showed no outward signs that Meyer's words surprised him. However, Gatsby looked confused as he looked from Meyer to Rebecca.

"What do you want, Wolfsheim?" he finally said after a few moments of nearly unbearable silence. Rebecca watched as Meyer's grin grew even more and a gut feeling told her it had everything to do with Tom Buchanan.

"Why don't we go to the library," Meyer suggested. "Let's talk business."

It took a moment for Rebecca to register that Crawley had left the room and Gatsby was staring at her. She slowly stood up from the piano bench all the while wondering if her legs would give out on her if she took step. The hem of her golden dress brushed across the rugs as she fought the urge to pick at her nails. The beaded dress shimmered in the light as did the antique diamond earrings she wore. Without a word, Rebecca walked through the music room to the door that Gatsby was holding open for her. She passed him and followed Wolfsheim to the library in silence.

The new library was nearly identical to the library that Gatsby had destroyed in March. A fire burned low in the large fire place and gave a soft popping noise at random intervals. Sitting down on the couch that was across from the fire, Rebecca watched as Gatsby sank into the chair next to the couch with an annoyed look on his face. Wolfsheim closed the door behind himself and Rebecca couldn't help the anxiety building in her chest as she watched Wolfsheim walk over to them.

"What's going on, Meyer?" Gatsby demanded as he looked up at his business associate.

"I thought you'd like to be here to celebrate," Wolfsheim grinned.

"Celebrate what?"

Meyer turned to her with a smile and Rebecca could feel it in her bones that Wolfsheim was about to reveal their plans to Gatsby. She watched as he reached into his breast pocket and procured a thick envelope. With each step he took towards her, Rebecca could feel her heart beat a little faster.

"A job well done, Mrs. Gatsby," Wolfsheim said as he held the envelope out to her, "You rival men that I know with your…skills. Enjoy the benefits of your hard work. The deed to Buchanan Manor and the money we agreed on that you nephew will inherit. I'm only sorry it took so long to get this to you. We had a few legal snags to get through, but now the deed is free and clear as is the money. You're now the proud owner of the mansion across the bay."

Rebecca tried to steady her hand as she took the envelope from Wolfsheim. It felt heavy in her hands and guilt crept into her mind as she stared down at the envelope in her hands. She barely heard what Wolfsheim said next but it was some kind of goodbye. Her hands continued to tremble, but Rebecca couldn't stop it. She was holding everything she ever wanted in her hands, but it wasn't enough. The pain was still inside and the knowledge that revenge did nothing to help her pain was frightening. It registered in the back of her mind that a warm dinner jacket was draped around her shoulders, but Rebecca didn't care.

Tears clouded her vision and she fought valiantly to stop them from falling. It took her only a moment to realize that Gatsby knew what she'd done and the haunting thoughts of what he'd do to her filled her head. The sound of a door closing caused her to look up and she watched as Gatsby locked the door of the library and pocketed the key in his dinner vest. Rebecca couldn't help the fear that flashed through her heart again. A voice in her head taunted that Gatsby was locking the door so that no one would witness her murder when he killed her. After all, she had been the reason that Daisy was now long gone. She couldn't help but come to the conclusion that Gatsby blamed her for Daisy's leaving even if it had been months.

Watching Gatsby, Rebecca quickly stood up trying to put as much distance between her and him. The dinner jacket fell from her shoulders and fell down to the ground. Stepping back till her back bumped against the back of a chair, Rebecca could feel her whole body trembling as she reached behind her and grasped the chair. Her body felt like it was a wire that was being stretched tightly. It was only a matter of time till the wire snapped and judging by the rate of her pounding heart, Rebecca was sure that it would be soon. No matter how much she willed herself to stop shaking, she wouldn't. Every part of her was on high alert as Gatsby walked towards her slowly. His face was calm and relaxed as was his body. A hand was casually slipped into his pocket and no tension existed in his body it seemed.

Gatsby picked up the black dinner jacket that had fallen to the floor and slowly walked toward her. Rebecca felt light headed when he stopped in front of her. She couldn't help but close her eyes as she waited in anticipation of the first blow Gatsby was bound to give her. Instead of feeling his fist connecting with a part of her, Rebecca's eyes flashed open when she felt the dinner jacket being put back over her shoulders. The fire crackled somewhere behind her as she continued to clutch the envelope in her hands. Gatsby's hand gently moved to cup her arms and he slowly guided her towards the couch she'd been sitting on earlier.

Sinking down shakily, Rebecca was startled even more when Gatsby sat down next to her. His hands covered hers and the feeling of him touching her sent a shock of energy through her system. She couldn't help but feel grateful that she was sitting because the light headed feeling became stronger.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Gatsby whispered softly to her as he reached into his vest and took out the key. Rebecca watched as he took the key and pressed it into her hands. The cool metal touched her skin and she clutched it tightly in her hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Rebecca," Gatsby repeated softly again as he caressed her hands. "I locked the door so that no one can interrupt us. I won't hurt you…you can believe and trust that, Rebecca. Now, tell me what deal you made with Wolfsheim."

Rebecca couldn't look up at him as she stared at the envelope in her hands. She barely registered Gatsby's movements or the tear that slipped down her cheek. It was only when the tear dropped to the envelope did she look up to meet the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Gatsby was crouched down in front of her and his hands still covered hers.

"Our deal…our deal," Rebecca began, but stopped. Gatsby's clear blue eyes stared back at her but fear crept into her heart and mind again. He might have promised not to hurt her but Rebecca felt fear. She believed him when he said that he wouldn't hurt her, but the idea of trusting him and telling him what happened between her and Wolfsheim paralyzed her with fear.

"Rebecca…you can tell me," Gatsby encouraged softly as he lightly squeezed her hands. The offer was so tempting but Rebecca quickly yanked her hands out of his and stood up. Her mother's voice screamed in her head to walk, not run. The jacket fell from her shoulders as she quickly walked to the doors. Her hands were shaky as she tried to hold the envelope and put the key in the lock. Tears clouded her vision as she tried to put the lock in the key.

Arms wrapped around her from behind and familiar warm hands covered hers. Gatsby's hand guided hers to the lock and the key slid in effortlessly. Together, they turned the key and before Rebecca could yank the door open, Gatsby's hand left hers and rested against the door. He prevented her from leaving and the feeling of light headedness returned and she could feel herself taking short gasps of air. Her legs gave out under her and she could feel Gatsby's arm around her waist as she sank down onto the floor.

She'd experienced grief with Matthew, but the grief that was filling her heart in that moment wasn't like anything she'd ever experienced before. Holding the physical proof that proved she had destroyed Buchanan was triggering something inside her that she could hardly contain. It was like all the grief that she surpassed and all the feelings that she'd spent years pushing down were climbing back up. Strong arms wrapped around her pulled her close. Sobbing, Rebecca buried her face in Gatsby shoulder hoping that the pain would somehow go away. Her whole being hurt in ways she'd never experienced before. Not even Matthew's words of comfort did anything to help her. Clenching her eyes shut tight, Rebecca tried to control the tears that fell, but it only made her sobbing worse. Her shoulders shook violently, but the warm hand that held her to Gatsby's body never left her spine nor did the hand that cupped the back of her head. Giving into her grief, Rebecca let the barriers down as she sat on the floor of the library with Gatsby.


Saturday

May 10, 1923

It was late the next morning when Rebecca woke. The memories of the night before came flooding back to her and she instantly sat up. The familiar surroundings of her room comforted her as she pushed the heavy blankets of her bed back. She was dressed in the same silk dress that she'd worn the night before and she found her soft silk slippers on the floor next to her shoes. Standing up, Rebecca stretched quickly and looked out at the bay. The sun reflected off the water and looked like thousands of diamonds were sparkling. The view was so peaceful that a small smile came to her lips. Standing and looking out her window, the world seemed to slip away from her and the worries she'd felt passed. Rebecca had been so lost in the view that she didn't hear anything until Gatsby spoke.

"How do you feel?"

His voice nearly caused her to fall in shock as she turned around and looked at him. He looked just as tired as she felt and the haunting memories of him holding her in the library came back leaving an unpleasant feeling in her body.

"Fine," Rebecca said frostily.

She wasn't going to let one night change anything between them. She would figure out what Gatsby was after and she wouldn't let her guard down in the process. Leaving herself vulnerable to him wasn't a mistake she was ever going to make again and she certainly wasn't going to let him use her emotional breakdown from the night before to his advantage. Gatsby didn't look convinced that she was fine, but he nodded anyway.

"Tilly is running you a bath," he told her quietly. "I also took the liberty of ordering a lunch tray for you. You didn't eat much last night and you're probably starving."

An awkward silence took hold and Rebecca wasn't sure what to do. Never had Gatsby been in her room and she couldn't help but feel like he had invaded her space. He must have sensed her discomfort because he cleared his throat which caused her to look at him with a raised brow.

"I hope you enjoy your bath," Gatsby said quietly. "I also hope that you feel well enough to come down to dinner this evening. The staff is at your disposal, Mrs. Gatsby. Anything you need…just let them know."

Rebecca could only nod and watched as Gatsby turned. He walked into her sitting room and bent down to grab his silver fob watch from a small table near the rosewood settee that was from the 19th century. She spotted a white pillow and folded blanket on the settee. Rebecca was shocked at the idea that Gatsby had slept in her sitting room and she continued to watch him as he picked up his dinner jacket. He folded the jacket over his arm and left her rooms without another word.

"Ma'am?"

Rebecca turned to look at a nervous Tilly with a slight smile. The young maid gave a small smile back and bobbed a curtsy.

"Your bath is ready," Tilly said with a hint of excitement. "Mr. Gatsby ordered you a tray and it'll be ready for you after your bath if that's agreeable ma'am."

Rebecca nodded and without a word walked into the large dressing room. The white porcelain tub was full of hot water with steam coming off the surface. Standing still and letting Tilly unbutton the back of her abused evening gown, Rebecca looked at a mirror and was shocked to find her necklace and earrings from the night before gone. Looking around wildly, Rebecca easily spotted the glittering diamonds on the vanity.

"Mr. Gatsby wanted you to be comfortable last night when he put you to bed," Tilly said quietly. "I helped him with the earrings, but he took off the necklace on his own. He said that we were supposed to just leave the jewels there and let you put them away where you wanted."

Tilly pushed the straps of the dress over her shoulders and the silky material fell to the floor around her feet. Rebecca barely noticed as she walked over to the vanity. Reaching out, she let her finger tips brush over the cold diamonds of her necklace. A note was folded over the diamond earrings in Gatsby's distinctive hand writing. Picking it up with a shaky hand and quickly opening it, Rebecca felt herself sinking down onto the vanity stool as her eyes passed over the words on the page.

Your envelope is in the safe. I didn't think you'd want something so important to you kept out in the open. I wasn't sure where you wished to put your diamonds and so I left them out.

-Jay

Setting the letter down, Rebecca couldn't help but feel angry at Gatsby. He was confusing her and it was infuriating. Standing up, she tried to push away the thoughts that were swirling around in her head. She wanted to enjoy her bath. Rebecca didn't want to spend any more time trying to figure out what Gatsby was doing because it would only exhaust her in the end and leave her with no questions answered.


Tuesday

May 13, 1923

Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed and let the letter in her hands wash over her mind. She recognized the elegant script as belonging to the Countess of Kettlemore. She knew that one day Matthew would have received a letter from his mother begging him to come back to England but she hadn't thought that the letter would come so quickly. Nor had she expected the emotional reaction she was experiencing to happen.

It was taking all herself control not to cry because she didn't want him to go. She didn't want Matthew to leave her alone in the world. Even if the thoughts she was having made her selfish, Rebecca didn't care. Matthew had wormed his way into her heart and she didn't want to have to give a piece of her heart away and let it go across the ocean. She wasn't sure if the rest of her heart would stay together if Matthew did leave. Scanning the letter again, she stared at the words and fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

"You're leaving at the end of the summer?" Rebecca whispered as she set the letter down on the nightstand next to Matthew's bed.

"You and I both knew this was coming sooner rather than later, my darling," Matthew told her as he reached out for her hands. "I know it's not fair, but I have to go, Rebecca."

Forcing a smile on her lips, Rebecca watched Matthew. He looked tired still from his operation, but according to his housekeeper he looked better. Color had returned to his cheeks and Rebecca couldn't help but be grateful for Matthew's good recovery.

"You look tired," Matthew said softly. "Is everything alright?"

His words caused her to look out the window to the sunny day outside. His words were true and she was tired. Gatsby was quickly becoming exhausting and she didn't know what to do. For the past five days, he'd been attentive and there was something that she couldn't figure out. She'd spent hours trying to figure out what he wanted from her but she kept coming up empty. He hadn't said anything about her breakdown in the library and she couldn't help but feel grateful and apprehensive. Rebecca couldn't shake the feeling that he was tucking her breakdown away somewhere in his memory for someday when he needed to humiliate her or blackmail her for something. It seemed like something Gatsby would do to her, but this new tactic of his was killing her. She felt like she was being lulled into a sense of false security and any minute he was going rip the rug out from under her feet.

"Everything was fine until you told me you're leaving. I don't know what to do or say Matthew," she told him quietly. "I don't know what you want me to do or say. I know that I want to go with you, but it's all dream Matthew."

A gentle hand cupped Rebecca's cheek and she turned to look at Matthew's bright blue eyes.

"I want you to go with me too," he murmured. "I would want nothing more in the world, but you and I both know that the scandal that would come of it would be too much for us. Our families would feel the effects of our recklessness and here the Harper family wouldn't be able to recover for the scandal. Your parents and Elizabeth would be ruined."

"Which is why I called it a dream," Rebecca whispered. "Besides, you deserve someone better."

"I want know no one but you, darling Becca. You're perfect for me and no one else can match what I feel for you."

Hearing him call her by her childhood nickname brought tears to Rebecca's eyes. She quickly dropped his hand and stood up. Matthew still believed that she was a sweet and starry eyed girl but in the end, it wasn't true. Rebecca could see herself for what she truly was even if Matthew couldn't. She was vengeful and held grudges. She took pleasure in seeing people destroyed and she was always in the game to win it. The sweet girl on the outside was a stark contrast to the flawed young woman on the inside. She wasn't perfect like Matthew believed her to be. With every passing moment, Rebecca could see herself as the complete opposite of Matthew's description. She was manipulative when she needed to be and sweet as honey when it suited her. With Matthew, the good characteristics came out, but the fact that he couldn't see her flaws bothered her. She wasn't as innocent as he thought she was.

"I'm not perfect, Matthew," she told him quietly. "I'm not perfect and I don't want to pretend to be. I've done things that I am not proud of. I'm manipulative and I can be cruel. I hold grudges and when people wrong me…I have a thirst for vengeance. I want to see those people suffer. Once upon a time, I was a sweet girl, but please, understand that I've grown up and I have flaws just as you do. I'm not perfect so please, don't say that I am. You wouldn't think of me as perfect if you knew what I did."

Matthew looked confused as he watched her, "What are you talking about? What did you do?"

Taking a deep breath and sitting down in the chair not far from Matthew's bedside, Rebecca clasped her hands in her lap. She knew it would easier for him to leave if he left knowing the real her. It hurt that she might lose Matthew's good opinion of her and possibly his love but she had to tell Matthew the truth. She needed to tell someone what she'd done because her conscious weighted heavily on her. All she'd believed was that if she destroyed Buchanan it would make her feel better about Mary's death. In reality, Buchanan's fall from grace did nothing to ease the hurt and only left her feeling conflicted.

"Tom Buchanan, he's left New York," Rebecca started quietly. "It wasn't by choice though, Matthew."

The confused look on Matthew's face faded and was replaced by a look of realization. Rebecca watched as he slowly shook his head and looked up at the canopy of his four poster bed.

"You and Elizabeth had something to do with it. She was giddy the day the news came about Buchanan. Your sister couldn't stop smiling when news broke about how Tom had lost his estate and nearly all of the family fortune," he said in a monotone voice. "You both had something to do with that."

"Tom was the father of Mary's son," she told him hotly. "I never told you who the father was, but Tom Buchanan is the father of Thomas. He abandoned Mary and his own child. He was able to leave town like nothing happened! He didn't have to do anything but make sure his name never reached the papers and thanks to his aunt, it never did. Instead, that aunt let my sister take the fall for everything! He was just as equally to blame for what happened to Mary as she was. Mary was thrown out of our house and Tom got to continue on bedding women without check. My sister was alone when her son was born and in the end, Tom married Daisy and my sister killed herself. So, when I had the opportunity to make Buchanan pay for what he'd done, I took it! Meyer Wolfsheim's sister also fell prey to Tom Buchanan. Together, we came up with a plan to get Tom Buchanan to gamble everything away. It worked and Tom fled New York because Elizabeth revealed what happened in Chicago. So you see, Matthew I'm not perfect. I won't pretend to be because I'm not sorry for what I did. I'm sorry that everything happened and I wish I could change things, but I can't. I feel remorse, but given a second chance, I would go back and do it all over again."

Rebecca could feel her heart racing in her chest as she breathed heavily. Every part of her was screaming to get up and leave. She didn't want to hear Matthew's response because she knew he'd be disappointed in her. She'd told him what she'd done but she didn't want to hear anything more. Standing quickly, Rebecca left the room without a second glance. She could hear Matthew calling her name over and over again, but she didn't stop as she raced through the house towards the front doors. A footman was there.

"My things," she snapped. "Quickly!"

Her whole body was tense and the feeling from the night before was growing in her chest. It was all she could do to keep herself together as the footman returned with a maid who was carrying her coat. Slipping the jacket on, Rebecca let the maid help her put a glove on each of her shaking hands. Not bothering to put on her hat, she turned just as Brighton opened the front door for her. She walked past him and down the stone steps towards the car. Brighton barely had a chance to open the door before she was climbing in. Sinking back into the leather seats, Rebecca blinked her eyes in a valiant attempt not to cry. The car pulled away from Ashby House and Rebecca couldn't help but pray that Matthew would find it in his heart to forgive her.


Wednesday

May 14, 1923

"The Hart's are throwing a party," Gatsby said over breakfast the next morning. Rebecca had barely been paying attention to anything as she continued to push her food around her plate with her fork. The warm summer air had come in and instead of having breakfast inside, Gatsby had suggested that they have it outside on the terrace that overlooked the bay. Rebecca hadn't protested to his suggestion. Her mind was still swirling with what had happened the day before with Matthew and she wasn't sure she even cared to eat. A voice called her name loudly and she jumped.

Looking up, she met Gatsby's worried eyes. It took only a moment for her to realize that he had been speaking to her and she'd ignored him.

"I beg your pardon," Rebecca said as she set her silverware down. "Please, say that again."

"The Hart's are throwing a party," Gatsby repeated as he looked at her. "I saw Mr. Hart yesterday and he said to expect an invitation in the mail."

"I have not received anything in the mail yet. Should I accept the invitation?" she asked as she watched Crawley stopped as set the mail down on the empty silver mail tray that was set out each morning.

"That is entirely up to you," Gatsby told her as they watched Crawley sort the mail and separate it to the correct side of the tray. Rebecca's stack was considerably thicker than Gatsby's. The moment Gatsby dismissed Crawley, Rebecca reached for her stack and picked it up. She could feel Gatsby's gaze on her as she discarded different envelopes. The majority of them were from the different charities she supported inviting her to different functions and luncheons that were held to raise money. The second to last one was the invitation from the Hart's that Gatsby had spoken of, but the last one was puzzling to her. The envelope was address to them both and she recognized the handwriting easily.

Not bothering to use the letter opener, Rebecca tore open the envelope and read through the letter invitation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Pratt have invited us to a luncheon next week," she said tossing down the letter and picking up her tea cup. "It's a silly thing for the new charity Mrs. Pratt is starting. Something about helping destitute women or something like that. It's in the afternoon so I'll just beg off that you're busy and I'll go."

"If the invitation was for both of us, I'll go."

Rebecca paused in adding sugar to her tea and looked up at Gatsby with an arched eyebrow, "You'll be bored. Besides, it's just a bunch of women sitting around gossiping. Hardly something you'll enjoy, I'm sure."

Stirring in her sugar, Rebecca picked up the invitation from the Hart's and used the letter opener to open it. Scanning through the contents of the invitation, Rebecca tossed it aside also and brought the tea cup to her lips.

"What day is the Hart's party?" Gatsby asked reaching for his own mail.

"The seventeenth of May," Rebecca replied after she swallowed. "You'd think Mrs. Hart would know that it's customary to give a bit more notice party. That would mean the party is this Saturday at eight o'clock. I feel like I should simply decline because of how late this is arriving."

"The Hart's were never good at party planning," Gatsby said as he put his mail back down. "I didn't see that we have any engagements this weekend."

"We don't."

Rebecca watched as Gatsby gathered his mail and stood before tucking the paper under his arm.

"I leave the decision up to you on whether or not we attend the Hart's party," he said. "I have an appointment at lunch today. I won't be home till probably late in the afternoon, but I will be here for dinner."

Rebecca nodded and looked away from him. She had nothing further to say to him and in all honest, Rebecca wasn't sure how to act around the new Gatsby.

"Rebecca," he called quietly and she looked up at him from the letter she was opening. He stood in the doorway of the French doors that led into the house with a similar look of concern on his handsome face from.

"If the food isn't to your satisfaction tell Crawley. You've barely ate anything the past few days for breakfast and you bare at anything today. If you don't like it, don't feel like you have to eat it," he told her. "You can change your mind."

"I'm not hungry," Rebecca said as she sat up in the chair more. "Besides, there isn't anything wrong with the food."

Gatsby looked at her like he was trying to gauge if she was lying or not. After a few seconds, Gatsby didn't look convinced, but nodded.

"If you feel hunger or faint before lunchtime just ask for a tray. I'll tell Crawley to make sure the staff has something on hand for you to eat. If you need anything just let Crawley know and the staff will get it for you. I'll see you at dinner. Have a wonderful day."

Gatsby left before Rebecca could say another word. His actions continued to confuse her as she looked back down at the barely touched plate of food in front of her. He'd never said anything about her eating habits before. Not even when she'd been engaged to him or when he'd been courting her had he ever said anything. To hear him asking after her well being was surreal. Slumping back into the chair, Rebecca could feel a headache coming on as she rubbed her forehead. Between telling Matthew what she'd done to Tom Buchanan and Gatsby's puzzling behavior, Rebecca had never felt so conflicted and confused in her life.

She was conflicted in her problems Matthew. It had only been a day since she'd told him the truth but she was regretting it. Telling him what she'd done had been the right thing to do but she wondered if it would have been better to say nothing at all. The truth of what had happened with Buchanan had been eating at her when he'd called her perfect. Telling him that she wasn't perfect had been relieving and horrible at the same time. Rebecca wanted Matthew to know that she had flaws and exactly what those flaws were, but at the same time she didn't want to disappoint him. He was putting her on platform and she wasn't sure that she could live up to that platform.

Disappointing Matthew was one of the last things she'd ever wanted to do. Fleeing his house before he could tell her off for what she'd done had been the only option before her at the time. Rebecca wasn't sure she could ever face Matthew because she couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. She'd rather live her life without having to face Matthew again and if that made her a coward, Rebecca didn't care. She cared for Matthew, she truly did but she wondered sometimes if he was in love with a younger version of her. Rebecca couldn't help but wonder if he loved a younger, more innocent and loving Rebecca Harper because Rebecca Harper and Rebecca Gatsby were two very different women.

Knowing he was leaving soon made her heart ache all the more but deep inside, Rebecca couldn't help but feel grateful that Matthew was leaving. They weren't the same young fools they'd been in 1915 when Matthew had gone off to war. She hadn't experienced life like she had now at twenty three. The fifteen year old Rebecca Harper had been sweet and loving but she hadn't lost her sister to suicide. She hadn't experienced an empty, loveless marriage like the one she was currently trapped in. At fifteen, Rebecca Harper had been bright eyed and full of hopes and dreams of love. She hadn't been vengeful and bitter nor had she been so easy to dismiss her principles or beliefs in the goodness of people.

Matthew wasn't the same young man either. He'd been gone away to war barely a boy, but Matthew had come back a man. She could see it in his eyes and she knew that he'd horrors that could barely be put into words. Rebecca could see it when he sometimes gazed off and looked like he was a world away. Pain would sometimes reach his eyes but he quickly hid that pain away. He was hurting like she was and found comfort in her arms. Rebecca knew she couldn't give Matthew the love he wanted but she could give him the comfort he so desperately needed. They used each other for what they so desperately needed.

Realization struck her hard as she stared down at her tea cup. It wasn't that she and Matthew were different people and had changed because of the circumstances of their lives. No, she was scared and worried because Matthew was the only person she truly trusted and cared for. He was the one person that she didn't want to lose. Losing Matthew would be a pain unlike anything she'd ever experienced and her heart wouldn't be able bare it. She'd told him the truth about Buchanan because he was the only person who could understand outside of Wolfsheim and Elizabeth.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca knew that Matthew would leave and she was dreading the day that would come and take him away. She didn't want him to go and for the first time she understood what her father had once told her about the world and fate being cruel. Life wasn't fair and she was certain once Matthew took the small candle light that lit up her dark life, she'd sink into the welcoming darkness forever cherishing her time with him. Standing up from the chair, Rebecca walked away from the breakfast table with a little more peace but she still felt confusion over Gatsby.

Gatsby's behavior puzzled her and confused her. She wanted to trust in his kindness but the last time she'd trusted in her feelings for him it had burned her. It had left her with a crippling wound and a broken heart that was still fragile. Her mind tortured her saying that the only reason Gatsby was being kind to her was because Daisy was gone. Daisy was gone and no one was warming Gatsby's bed. The thought of even being in Gatsby bed made her blush. It wasn't a place she wanted to be and it wasn't even something she wanted to think about.

Rubbing her forehead again, Rebecca went off in search of her housekeeper and hoped that the business of the household would distract her from the headache that was threatening to take over her mind from trying to make sense of her own life which was slowly beginning to resemble a disaster.


Saturday

May 17, 1923

The Hart family lived in the most fashionable part of New York in a massive townhouse that Rebecca doubted could even be called a townhouse. It was more like a mansion than anything else. The outside was made of grey stone with black iron accenting certain areas. Cars were lined up outside the front doors as guests were dropped off. Comfortably wedged in the back of the car between Gatsby and Nick, Rebecca could see clearly out in front windshield as Brighton inched them closer and closer to the front doors where the Hart's were greeting their many guests.

"The best of New York all comes out for this," Gatsby said to Nick. "The Hart's will invite anyone and everyone to these parties, old sport."

"So they've taken over your job of throwing parties?" Nick chuckled.

"Mr. Hart has a drinking problem and can't afford not to have these parties," Rebecca told Nick. "He needs these parties to keep up appearances within society. It's the only way people will tolerate him and his wife, Lilia. They have three girls that are in their young teens and will need suitable husbands soon. It doesn't matter where you go in the world Nick, the marriage market is vital to everyone."

"I'm surprised Mr. Hart can even afford this party though," Gatsby added. "Hart is up to his ears in debt, old sport."

"Hart has been borrowing money like it's going out of style," Rebecca said as she turned to look at Gatsby. "I thought you knew that."

"Of course," Gatsby smiled. "Who do you think he's asked for a loan on several occasions?"

"Please, tell me you haven't given that drunken fool money," she hissed back at him.

"I don't give out money to men that I know can't or won't pay it back," Gatsby assured her. "I charge high interest."

The car pulled up to the steps leading up to the Hart's townhouse. A servant dressed in a footman's garb stepped up and opened the door. Gatsby was the first to get out and quickly turned back around to help Rebecca. Knowing that they were in public, Rebecca let her gloved hand slip into Gatsby's bare hand. He let her slide out of the car and once she was standing, Gatsby tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. The action struck Rebecca as strange because he never touched in public or private. Sometimes on rare occasions he'd offer his arm if they were at a crowded party and she was continuously being bumped but usually he wore a look on his face like she was an inconvenience to him. Instead, Gatsby simply gave her a gentle smile as Nick exited the car. The footman closed the door and Brighton inched forward so the car behind them could pull up. In mild shock, Rebecca let Gatsby take control and guided them both up the stone steps to the Hart's front doors. Passing the threshold, the stood in the receiving line for nearly ten minutes before they finally reached their hosts.

Mr. Charles Hart was an average looking man with grey dark hair. His grey, wide set eyes and expanding waist line reminded Rebecca of a gnome that Matthew had described to her from his gardens in England. Next to her husband, Mrs. Lilia Hart was much more youthful. The woman had aged gracefully so far in contrast to her portly husband. Slim with dark luscious curls, Lilia retained much of her beauty that she'd been known for as a younger woman. The Hart's young daughters were not yet allowed to attend parties but Rebecca couldn't help but hope that they looked like their mother.

"Mr. Gatsby! Mrs. Gatsby," Mr. Hart boomed with a smile. "Thank you so much for coming. We're delighted to have you in our home this evening."

"Thank you for having us tonight, old sport," Gatsby replied with a soft smile. "I'm sure Mrs. Gatsby and I will have a wonderful time. You always have enjoying party."

"We aim to please," Mrs. Hart smiled. "Champagne is already being served as well as other drinks so please, help yourselves."

Rebecca simply smiled back as she felt Gatsby begin to walk towards the double doors that led to the ballroom.

"Mrs. Hart always reminds me of a horse," Gatsby whispered to her and Rebecca couldn't help the near giggle that escaped her lips. He was right as she looked over her shoulder to see Mr. and Mrs. Hart greeting Nick. Mrs. Hart while beautiful did resemble a horse when she smiled.

"She does indeed."

Nick quickly joined them and they slipped into the large, overcrowded ballroom. People dressed in all sorts of colors with different colored jewels, feathers and pearls were all around them. Joined together in small groups all over the ballroom, almost everyone greeted Gatsby as they passed. They paused plenty of times as someone drew them into conversation. The conversation passed by Rebecca so quickly that she barely remembered half of what she said.

Senators, writers, Wall Street big shots, billionaire publisher, bankers, gangsters, governors along with film stars, Broadway directors, government officials and socialites were all together in the Hart's ballroom. She recognized some from Gatsby's parties but others she had no idea. Gatsby, however, seemed to know many of them by name and greeted them with a charming smile and warm words. Many asked Gatsby about their parties and every time, Gatsby simply smile and say that he didn't know if he'd ever host such parties again. For the most part, Rebecca ignored much of the conversation and let Gatsby do the talking.

Her mask was firmly in place the whole evening and her acting skills were perfection as they made their way through the crowd of people with Nick. Everyone told her how lovely she looked and complimented her on anything they could think of that would gain her favor. She looked like she was having a good time and enjoying herself but Rebecca couldn't help but feel like something was missing. She felt distracted and disconnected from everyone in the large room. She wasn't sure why but she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl back into bed. Just as she was about to tell Gatsby that her head hurt and she wanted to go, someone called his name.

"Mr. Gatsby!"

Gatsby stopped and looked over his shoulder. Rebecca couldn't help but look over her own shoulder too. It was easy to see the man who had called Gatsby's name as he sauntered up to the group.

"Who is he?" Nick whispered from his place next to her.

"Ares Patrick," Gatsby answered as the man in question stopped in front of them. "I didn't know you were in New York."

"New Orleans just couldn't hold my interest," Ares said as he offered Gatsby his hand to shake.

Rebecca watched with trepidation as Gatsby shook the younger man's hand. Never had she heard Gatsby or Wolfsheim mention an associate by the name of Ares Patrick. If the tension in the air was anything to go on, Rebecca was sure that Ares Patrick wasn't a friend. Gatsby's posture was tense as the hand shake ended.

"Nick," Gatsby said as he politely turned to look at him. "This is Mr. Ares Patrick of New Orleans. Mr. Patrick, my good friend, Mr. Nick Carraway."

"A pleasure," Ares smiled. "I'm always charmed to meet a friend of Mr. Gatsby's."

"It's nice to meet you as well Mr. Patrick," Nick said as he shook hands with the man.

Ares' eyes turned to her and Rebecca was given a good look at the man. Patrick was a tall man with dark piercing green eyes. Gatsby stood taller by a few inches, but they were both formidable men. Thick dark hair covered Ares' head and was parted neatly to the side. Sharp cheek bones and a roman nose with plump kissable lips made up his classically handsome face. Something about him drew Rebecca in as his eyes landed on hers. Ares Patrick held her gaze for a moment, but it felt like he was seeing inside her.

"Mrs. Gatsby," he said in deep baritone voice. "Mr. Wolfsheim didn't lie to me at all."

"What would Mr. Wolfsheim lie about?" Rebecca questioned.

"He told me that Gatsby's wife looked like an angel. I'm sure heaven is missing its most prized possession," Ares smiled. Rebecca could help the chill that passed through her.

"You have quite the way with words Mr. Patrick," she smiled back despite the chill the man gave her. "They're like a sweet that has far too much sugar in it."

Ares gave a deep chuckle, "Your wife is delightful, Gatsby. I must be going but it was pleasure seeing you again."

Mr. Patrick departed and Gatsby relaxed a little. Nick said something to Gatsby, but Rebecca wasn't listening. Near the French doors she spotted the tall figure of a man she knew well. Broad shoulders that she'd held on tightly to in the heat of pleasure and a narrow waist that she'd wrapped her legs around countless times. His striking blond hair and height made him as easy to find as Gatsby. She couldn't help the warm feeling she felt on the inside as she watched him chat with another man. He was dressed handsomely in tuxedo with tails like every man in the room. Every man in the party wore a snow white dress shirt, cream colored vest and white bow tie but something about the way he wore it made her body tingle. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look so handsome.

As if sensing she was in the room, Matthew turned and looked directly at her. He raised his glass towards her in acknowledgement and a small smile came to his lips. Nodding towards the French doors to the left of him, Rebecca watched as he excused himself from the conversation and walked towards the doors. He paused for a moment and looked at her before he stepped out into the summer night air. Getting the message that he'd clearly sent to her, Rebecca knew what she had to do.

"Please excuse me," she said quickly to Gatsby, Nick and two other gentlemen who had joined the group. "I'm just going to go see a friend. I'll be back soon."

Not waiting for a reply from any of the men, Rebecca weaved her way through the crowd towards the open French doors that led to the vast gardens outside. Stepping out onto terrace, she looked over her shoulder to see that Gatsby's back was to her and he was still conversing with the two men. Nick though was staring right at her with a knowing looking. Pressing her index finger against her lips, Rebecca turned and spotted the tumbler that Matthew had been holding when he'd stepped outside. It was sitting on smooth stone at the very top of a set of stairs that descending down into the gardens.

Rebecca heard her heels click and clack against the twelve stone steps as walked down them. The noise from the party faded as she slowly walked down the twisting and turning path that was leading her deeper into the garden. The full moon above her lit the way and helped her to see in the darkness. Just as Rebecca was about to give up and return to the party, strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Matthew whispered into her ear.

Turning in his arms to look at him, Rebecca couldn't help but smile. His familiar scent toyed with her senses and the familiar warmth she always felt between her legs when he touched her hit her head on like a train.

"You aren't an easy man to find," she whispered back to him. "I was beginning to think you had me on a goose chase."

"I'm insulted you'd ever think that," he teased her before he lowered his head to hers. His lips were close to her when she looked away. Kissing him wasn't what she wanted in that moment.

"Darling?"

Looking back into his confused blue eyes, Rebecca couldn't help the lone tear that slipped down her cheek.

"You must hate me," she whispered.

"I don't hate you," Matthew chuckled as a smile lit his lips. "All I want to do is kiss you. It's all I've wanted to do for days."

"How can you want to kiss me after everything I told you?" Rebecca asked desperately. "You should hate me after everything I did. It was so…there aren't any words to describe what I did. How can you even smile now?"

"Because I understand why you did it," Matthew told her softly. "I understand it. You never gave me a chance to finish our conversation. Let me finish this now without interruption."

Rebecca clasped her hands in front of her nervously and nodded as Matthew's hand moved away from her body.

"I understand why you did it," he said again as he cupped her cheeks. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you. Despite what you said, I know you're not perfect. It's your flaws that make me think you are perfect. We all have a dark side to us, darling. The war proved that to me and I know now my own darkness lurks within. I know you have flaws and I can't blame you for wanting to hurt someone who hurt your family. I'm in no place to judge you and I don't want to judge you. You telling me what you did…you trusting me enough…Rebecca, that's all I want. All I want is for you to trust me and know that I'm not just your lover. I was first your friend and I will always remain your most devoted friend. Even when I leave for London…all you have to do is write a letter calling me back to you and I will move heaven and earth to do so. You're the only woman I want and I wish to God I'd begged you to wait for me. I wish I had every day. I love you and I don't care about anything beyond that. I could never hate you, you must know that."

Tears fell from Rebecca's eyes as looked up at him sadly, "Take me with you to London."

"You know I can't do that, darling," he told her softly. "You know I would if I could in a heartbeat, but I can't. There's nothing more in the world I wish I could do. My darling, we do have one thing that no one can take away from us."

"What is that?" Rebecca asked tearfully. "What could that possibly be?"

"Memories," Matthew whispered as he rested his forehead against hers. "I will always carry the memories I've made with you to the grave. Memories that no one else but me can see and memories of our time together are so precious to me that they're worth more than all the jewels in the world. All I want is to steal as many memories as I can with you in this lifetime. With the time we have left…make memories with me, darling."


"Have you seen my wife, old sport?"

The choice of words caused Nick to look up. He'd heard the same words come out of Tom Buchanan's lips last summer and now, a concerned looking Gatsby stood in front of him. Gatsby used his height to an advantage as he scanned the crowd inside Lilia Hart's ballroom. The party had been in full swing for hours and at some point, Rebecca had slipped away from them and was missing.

"I'm sure she's around her somewhere," Nick said trying not to show he was nervous. He'd seen Matthew Spring leave earlier and he'd watched Rebecca leave the party minutes after Matthew had. He knew that Rebecca was more likely than not still with the Earl. Looking around the room with Gatsby, Nick knew that Gatsby would eventually find out about the other man in Rebecca's life.

"I'll go check the gardens," Gatsby said off hand and Nick couldn't help but swallow nervously. If Gatsby found Matthew and Rebecca together locked in the heat of passion…Nick wasn't what Gatsby would do. He could just imagine Gatsby beating Matthew Spring to death. He wouldn't put it past Gatsby. Nick had seen Gatsby angry on only one occasion but he could understand why Rebecca had told him she tried to avoid an angry Gatsby.

Following Gatsby outside to the large Terrace that held many table and chairs, Nick watched Gatsby look around for a moment.

"I always hated Hart for how he designed these monstrosities he calls a garden," Gatsby huffed, "This damn thing is split into three levels. It's a pain to try and navigate this damn thing in day light but it's the only place that I haven't checked. Mrs. Hart told me she saw Rebecca leave the party nearly an hour and a half ago for the terrace. She's probably somewhere in the gardens."

Nick felt trepidation as he followed Gatsby down the many winding paths. He knew that if Rebecca didn't want to be found, Gatsby probably wouldn't find her. They searched the first level patios and shaded paths and second level. Nick was sure that in the daylight, the Hart gardens were beautiful but Gatsby had been right. It was hard to see in the dark and the many paths were complete loop. Nick could understand how people would get lost and confused with the lay out. Standing on the second level terrace, Nick looked out at the grounds.

"The garden covers nearly six acres of land," Gatsby said before he took a long drink from the champagne flute he'd been carrying around. "Hart likes to show off."

"Who does that remind me of?" Nick teased.

"I claim that I was under the influence. I wasn't myself."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes before Nick spoke up again.

"Who is Ares Patrick?" he asked. "He seemed to know you…you didn't look happy to see him."

Gatsby swirled the liquid in his glass, "Ares Patrick is a very large player in New Orleans. He owns nearly half the gaming hells in New Orleans and prostitution rings in the state of Louisiana. He's a nasty son of a bitch."

"Do you do business with him?"

"I religiously avoid trying to do business with him, but the New Orleans market is a big one. In order to get into that market, Wolfsheim and I have to talk business with him. Believe me when I say that I'm not looking forward to anything involving Ares Patrick. He's not exactly the kind of man you want to acknowledge was at your dinner table. "

"You're expanding?" Nick asked trying to change the subject.

"Exploring," Gatsby corrected. "Exploring new revenues for business. You can't have all your fingers in one pie, Nick. You have to have multiple sources of income. That's the problem with people today. They're investing everything and putting all their eggs in one basket."

"So, you're exploring with Patrick," Nick said as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Unfortunately, but with any luck it will only be a day. One day is all it will take to convince Wolfsheim that we don't want to do business with that bastard," Gatsby replied. "Well, let's look at this last level."

Just as they were getting ready to descend the steps to the third and final level, Gatsby stopped and Nick could see what had caught his attention in the shadows below them. It was so dark out, but Nick could make out the face of the woman. It was Rebecca in the arms of a man. She was against a stone wall and the top of her dress was around her waist. The man she was with was pressing kisses against her skin, but he quickly returned to kissing her lips. The only thing they could see was the outline of the man but Nick knew without a doubt it was the Earl. The kiss broke and Rebecca's head fell back against the stone. Her eyes were clenched shut and her hands in tight fits as she held on to the man's dinner jacket. Her left arm was wrapped around the man's waist and Nick could see more as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The Earl's left arm was wrapped around Rebecca's waist and it was obvious his right hand was between their bodies.

Looking away, Nick stared at Gatsby as he stared at his own. His fists were clenched tightly as he held onto the glass of champagne. Anger was clearly written across his features and his whole body looked tense.

"Jay, you can't blame her," Nick said softly. "She…she's lost and we do things that we don't really mean to do when we're lost."

Gatsby didn't say anything as he stared at Rebecca. Nick could see the tension in body growing at each silent gasp Rebecca gave into the night. A hoarse gasp came from below them and heavy breathing. Nick knew what had happened and hoped that everything was over as he looked at Gatsby.

Gatsby tipped back the rest of the champagne in the nearly empty flute he had been carrying with him. Without a word, Nick watched as Gatsby turned away and walked back towards the party. The tension was still clear in his body and Nick couldn't help but to wonder if Gatsby finally understood what Rebecca felt in seeing her husband with Daisy Buchanan.