Part XI: I Can't Stop
"...I can´t stop
I can´t stop
I can´t stop
I can´t stop..."
~ "I Can't Stop" - Flux Pavillion
Saturday
May 17, 1923
Gatsby watched as she poured herself a cup of tea and dismissed Crawley. Rebecca had been quiet since they'd left the party, but there was a bubbling happiness to her. Had Gatsby not seen her with her lover, he'd have almost thought that she was happy with the night she'd had with him. Watching her now though, Gatsby could see she was happy and it angered him beyond all reason that she wasn't happy with him.
Rationally, Gatsby knew he was a hypocrite for feeling the way he did. He'd offered Rebecca nothing to be happy about. In all the time he'd known her, only once had he kissed her and that kiss hadn't been anything noteworthy. She'd come to him on their wedding night wearing a nightgown that would have driven any hot blooded male insane with passion and lust. As much as he had tried to forget that night, Gatsby was grateful he hadn't because every detail was etched into his memory. He could remember the way her long blonde hair had fallen in soft curls around her shoulders, the way light had shimmered off the satin and lace negligee she'd worn while she'd stood before him bravely. French perfume had permeated the air and just thinking about that memory let Gatsby smell the perfume again. She'd been a beautiful, willing bride and he'd turned her away. He'd pushed her away first and had told her not to return to him again. He'd scared her away and he had no one else to blame but himself.
Now, knowing that she was in the arms of another man, Gatsby felt feelings he could only describe as anger and jealously. His feelings were irrational to him. He was angry that another man was bringing her pleasure and he was jealous that it wasn't him. The realization that he wanted his wife nearly took the air out of Gatsby's lungs. The physical attraction that he'd always felt for her was simmering just beneath the surface and he could feel it creeping up low in his body.
Staring at her, Gatsby knew it wasn't hard to be attracted to a woman like Rebecca. Her curves were soft and her lips looked more than kissable. When she bit her bottom lip, it only made him ache inside more than he ever had before. It only made him wonder if in private she was noisemaker or a woman who kept quiet when she was on the cusps of passion. Her thin waist and generous bust would easily entrance any man. The curves to her hips gave her whole body an hourglass shape that many women would kill for and her delicate ankles turned him on for some reason that he didn't know. Just looking at Rebecca, Gatsby could see why any man would go after her. She was beautiful woman with a husband who neglected her to the point of abuse.
He couldn't blame her for seeking the love and affection.
Every woman needed those things and she'd sought it out elsewhere when it was clear he'd never give her those things. He may have married her, but he had no claim to her. In the three years they'd been married, he'd never done anything to gain her loyalty or honor. He'd given her nothing and in return, she'd tried to give him everything. It hurt to acknowledge the truth, but Gatsby knew he had to. It was the only way he'd ever be able to fix things between them. Divorce simply wasn't an option because of what Mary had done. Maybe if Mary hadn't fallen with child, the Harper family could have withstood the scandal of their oldest daughter divorcing her husband, but they couldn't and Gatsby had a feeling that Rebecca knew that was the truth as well.
Nick had tried to talk to him earlier, but he hadn't listened. He could see now what Nick was trying to tell him. Everything he wanted was already before in the form of Rebecca.
The house, the gaudy furniture, Daisy…
Everything was in the past and he needed to let it go. Instead of pining after a woman that he could never have, Gatsby knew he should have spent the past three years building a life with Rebecca. A startling thought entered his head and he wondered if he hadn't been so obsessed with Daisy, would they have had children by now? Would there be some sweet blue eyed little girl fast asleep in the nursery with her baby brother nearby? Would they have had three children back to back or would they have waited?
It almost hurt to think about as Gatsby realized how much time he'd wasted pining for Daisy. Three long years, he'd spent wishing for a woman that was never his to begin with. For those three years, he'd neglected Rebecca. He'd humiliated her and abandoned her more times than he could count and with each moment, Gatsby's resolve strengthened.
He wanted to be the husband Rebecca deserved.
He didn't want to watch her skip from man to man looking for what he could, should and would easily give her. Gatsby knew they had feelings for each other. He knew they did. Rebecca wouldn't have married him if she hadn't had any feelings for him. He was sure of that. Gatsby could only hope that he hadn't destroyed most of the feelings she had for him with all his behavior and neglect. The feelings they both shared could grow into something beautiful. It would take time, patience and lots of persistence, but he would do anything to prove to Rebecca that they could be happy together.
It was her voice that finally drew him out of his planning as she sat down with her cup of tea.
"You've been quiet," she commented. "Is something the matter?"
"No," Gatsby said as he clenched his fists in his lap. "Nothing at all."
It was taking all his self-control to resist the urge to lash out and figure out exactly who the man had been with his hand between her legs. Never had he wanted to cause another man so much pain in his entire life. Not even Tom Buchanan had ever tested his self-control like Rebecca's lover was doing now, Gatsby mused as he continued to watch her.
Rebecca arched a brow at him. It was clear from the look on her face that she didn't believe him, but she let his lie slide. Gatsby wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want to talk about their problems or because she simply didn't care. Either option was logical, but Rebecca was hardly ever logical to him. She was like a complex puzzle that was constantly changing and he liked that about her. The complexity once kept him on his toes and kept him intrigued…it still did.
"Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked her quietly as she sipped her warm tea.
"I did," Rebecca said with a soft smile as she stared into the fire that one of the maids had started earlier in the fireplace. "I liked getting to see different people and meeting them. I was especially interested in Mr. Ares Patrick. Who is he? He rather came out of nowhere."
Gatsby couldn't help the way his spine felt chilled. Ares wasn't a man for any woman to get involved with and he couldn't help but pity the poor girl who married the sadistic, pigheaded son of a bitch. It was common knowledge to most men in their circles that Ares liked to inflict pain on the women he took to his bed. Their pain became his pleasure in the most disgusting and depraved ways. Gatsby made a note in the back of his mind to never let Ares be alone with Rebecca. He hadn't like the way Patrick looked at her earlier in the evening and he would make damn sure that she never was around the pig again.
"Ares Patrick is a man from New Orleans," Jay told her quietly. "He's not someone you want to be friends with Rebecca. Don't trust him."
"But you're friends with him," she reasoned with another arched brow in his direction. "Surely, he's not that bad."
"Ares Patrick and I aren't friends. I can't even describe his character. You're my wife and you don't need to hear the particulars about a man like him. Just trust when I say that he's not someone we'll be entertaining in any capacity," Gatsby said as the fire crackled. "Ares Patrick is the last man I want in my house."
Rebecca nodded and looked down at her saucer and tea cup, "I will be sure to let Crawley know not to let Mr. Patrick into the house should he show up on the door step. I trust that is agreeable?"
Gatsby didn't say anything more but watched her as they lapsed back into silence. The snow white gloves that she'd worn earlier in the evening were gone as was the diamond bracelet she'd been wearing. The necklace and earrings were still on her person and they sparkled in the dim lighting of the room. The black dress she wore was beaded and sparkled as well. Watching her, Gatsby could see the almost angelic like quality about her appearance that drew so many people in. Her blonde hair had been styled back into an elegant up-do and a few soft wisps of curl were at the base of her neck. The urge to reach out and touch the soft, smooth skin of her neck and wrap his finger around that teasing curl was almost overwhelming to Gatsby.
The whole idea of touching her and making her his was overwhelming, but he wasn't turned on in the slightest about taking a woman against her will. No, when he and Rebecca finally did go to bed together, Gatsby wanted her to be in the heights of pleasure. He wanted her to experience pleasure unlike anything else she'd ever experienced before. He wasn't sure how much she'd learned about sex, but he wanted to teach her everything he knew and so much more. Gatsby wanted to teach her just how much pleasure their bodies could bring them and the hundreds of positions that they could do that would bring them that pleasure in varying degrees.
Even more so, Gatsby wanted to explore every inch of her body. He wanted to know every part of her in great detail. There was so much he wanted to do and as the many images his mind conjured up of them together in the throes of passion, Gatsby could feel himself hardening. Just the thought of Rebecca naked made his blood boil with desire. All of a sudden, Rebecca stood up and returned her tea cup and saucer to the tray that had been set out.
"I'm going to retire for the night," she announced before she moved towards the door. "Goodnight."
"Rebecca," Gatsby said as he stood up and she stopped.
She turned back and looked at him with curiosity as he walked towards her slowly. Within seconds, he was standing in front of her and Gatsby couldn't help himself as he raised a hand and cupped her cheek. Tension was visible in her features and when he touched her, Rebecca's whole body stiffened. Her skin was smoother than he ever imagined it to be. The urge to close the space between them and kiss her was the strongest it had been all night. Removing his fingertips from her skin was nearly impossible, but Gatsby forced himself to do it. The feeling of her skin lingered on his fingertips as his whole body felt like he'd been plunged into an inferno of desire.
"Y-y-y-yes?" she asked in a shaky voice. Her eyes never met his. Instead, her eyes focused on something near the floor.
"You looked beautiful tonight," Gatsby said.
His words caused her to look up and he could see she was fighting with herself about something. He wasn't sure what but eventually, Rebecca gave him a small smile and turned the door knob.
"Goodnight," she repeated before disappearing.
"Good…can't even being to describe this night," Gatsby mumbled to the empty room before walking towards the whiskey decanter and pouring himself a generous amount. Collapsing down into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier, Gatsby loosened his bowtie as he rested his head back and tried to erase the images of Rebecca and her lover from his mind.
Friday
May 23, 1923
Despite it nearly being June, the weather had taken a nasty turn. Rebecca stood in the music room as she stared out at the dismal weather wondering if she could use the weather as an excuse to beg off from attending Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Pratt's party. It wasn't that she was tired or anything, Rebecca just didn't want to go and socialize with others. Mrs. Pratt's parties were often long and tedious on a good day. She couldn't imagine how this party would any different from the rest but Mrs. Sloane insisted it would be earlier in the week when they'd met for tea in New York. Realizing that she'd faithfully promised Mrs. Sloane to be there, Rebecca sighed and turned away from the window.
Walking slowly from the library to her rooms, Rebecca quickly summoned Tilly to begin getting ready for the party. Fighting every instinct in her that screamed at her to go back to bed, Rebecca was grateful Tilly arrived quickly before she could convince herself not to go to the party. A bath was quickly drawn as Tilly prattled on and on about the staffing service and the gossip that was going around. Tuning out Tilly was easy as Rebecca let the young woman attend to her.
A little over an hour later, she was ready to go. Checking herself in a mirror, Rebecca couldn't help but look at the woman in the mirror and feel like she barely knew who was staring back at her. The pretty cream colored dress with black lace and fringe complimented her figure perfectly as did the pearl necklace and earrings she wore. Standing in front of the mirror was a beautiful woman and the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the country. She looked the part of the person she was supposed to play but Rebecca couldn't help but feel like she was losing herself in the part.
She knew that people changed as they became older. Experiences shaped them and life changed them but she didn't think she'd ever change so drastically. The girl she'd been when she'd married Gatsby was so different from the woman looking the mirror now. The woman in the mirror had sought out revenge and ruined a man to do it. The girl that Rebecca had once been would have never done such a thing. The woman in the mirror had been carrying on an affair with a childhood sweetheart for months and Rebecca knew that as a girl, her sweet beliefs in romance would have forbid her from every considering such an action. The knowledge of how much she'd changed shocked her and even though time and time again she'd acknowledged her changes, they still shocked her. Rebecca wasn't sure she'd ever come to terms with who she was becoming and she couldn't help but dislike the woman in the mirror.
"Ma'am?"
The deep, rough voice of Crawley forced Rebecca out of herself reproach as she turned to look at the man.
"Yes?" she asked.
"The car is ready for you whenever you're ready," the butler answered in his usual tone of indifference as he stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Thank you," Rebecca said as Tilly came forward with a light coat and gloves. It only took a few moments to slip her coat and gloves on and for Tilly to adjust a hat on her head. With one last look in the mirror, Rebecca took a deep breath and turned away. Crawley held the door open for her before closing the door behind Tilly. The maid scurried off as Rebecca walked down the halls towards the front door. Descending the steps and reaching the entry hall in record time, Rebecca was shocked to see Gatsby standing with an underfoot man. He was dressed in a light grey suit and a dark grey dress coat. His appearance was impeccable as always with his hair slicked back and his face cleanly shaven.
"Now don't forget that the car will need to be cleaned after we get back," Gatsby said to the young man. "Tell Brighton that I want all the cars washed tomorrow if possible and the insides cleaned as well. Summer is coming and I don't want people to find any kinds of faults with us, Harrison. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Gatsby, sir," the young man answered looking nervous.
"Good," Gatsby replied as he turned around and smiled at her.
"Has business come up in New York?" Rebecca asked him as she watched Harrison nearly trip over his feet to get the front door for them. The doors opened and sight of rain made her frown.
"The Pratt party is today," Gatsby told her as she turned to look at him. "We'll be late if we don't go now."
Rebecca watched as Brighton appeared and quickly opened the door to the Rolls Royce. Rooted to the spot, it took a moment for her to process everything happening around her. That Gatsby was coming with her shocked Rebecca. Gatsby never volunteered to do anything with her and she couldn't help but wonder again what he was after. The paranoia inside her mind began to churn with questions as to what Gatsby was after and why he was coming with her. Just as Rebecca could feel a headache coming on from her mind feeling like it would burst because of all the questions spinning around in her head, a gentle hand touched the center of her back. The touch nearly caused her to jump as she looked up to see Gatsby's own piercing blue eyes staring down at her.
"Have you forgotten something? I can have Crawley call the Pratt's, tell them something has come up and that we'll be late if you've forgotten something."
His words were soft and caring to her ears and Rebecca so desperately wanted to trust in his words and actions. Gatsby had been nothing but caring and attentive to her for the past months. It almost made her feel guilty about seeing Matthew, but she couldn't bring herself to believe in his actions. Gatsby had played her once just as he was doing now and Rebecca would be damned if she let him take advantage of her feelings for him again. Stepping away from him so that he couldn't touch her, Rebecca shook her head and began walking towards the car. A footman appeared at her side with an umbrella so she wouldn't get wet as Brighton laid out a rug before the car door so her feet wouldn't get wet. Before Brighton could help her into the car, Gatsby appeared at her side and offered her a gloved hand. Having no choice but to accept, Rebecca let her tiny hand slip into his. Even though the gloves, Rebecca could feel heat from his body pulsing in her flesh and she cursed her body for having any kind of reaction to his touch.
Just as Gatsby was about to slip into the car himself, Rebecca stopped him as she turned and looked at him. Standing under the umbrella held by Harrison, Gatsby didn't look surprised in the least by her preventing him entering. He simply stared at her before reaching out and taking the umbrella from Harrison. Dismissing Harrison and Brighton, Gatsby looked calm and collected. It only served to infuriate Rebecca more as she fought to control her need to yell at him.
"I don't understand why you're going," she finally said sounding as bitter as she felt. "You've never cared to go before not even when outright asked. Why are you going now?"
"You're right," Gatsby replied shocking them both as he looked at her. "I was never a very good husband or fiancé. I wasn't even fair at it. You care for me like no one else ever has and you'll always be far better than I ever will. However, there is one thing that I can strive to be."
"What is that?" Rebecca asked trying to hide the tremor in her voice as she tried to stop her hands from shaking.
"I can work on being a better husband to you and the best way to start that is by spending time with you. I…I want to spend time with you Rebecca and I want to go to this fundraiser with you. If you don't want to go, say the words and I'll send you on the way without me," Gatsby told her softly. "Just give me a chance to prove to you that I can be the man you thought you married because that man is still inside me and you deserve him more than anything else in the world."
No words could come to her lips as she stared at him in shock. Rebecca wasn't sure what she could say to Gatsby, but all she could think about was that for the first time in a long time she believed in his words. Something about the way he was looking at her and the tone of his voice made her believe him and dare she even mention that she trusted his words. Sliding over in the car, Rebecca let Gatsby slip in beside her. Harrison reappeared to take the umbrella and Brighton came back and picked up the rug for later. Settling back into the seat, Rebecca closed her eyes as she breathed in Gatsby's masculine smell. Her stomach twisted in knots as she sat next to him and Rebecca couldn't help but wonder what had just changed between them because of Jay's words.
Benjamin Pratt and his wife, Eleanor, lived at a modest estate in East Egg. Rebecca stared out the window as Brighton pulled the car up to the steps of the modest sized home. Made of gray limestone with many windows, the Pratt's house was simple but elegant. A servant came and opened the door to the car on her side. Slipping out, Rebecca was pleased to note that the rain had stopped as she took in the sights of Pratt Manor. While it wasn't the most beautiful house or the most impressive, Pratt House was still pleasing to the eye.
Gatsby exited the car from behind her. He said something to the servant before he smiled at her offered her the crook of his elbow. Knowing it would cause gossip among many people if she didn't accept, Rebecca dutiful placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Climbing the seven stairs to the door, Rebecca glanced around her as they were shown into a marble entry hall with a black and white theme. A maid quickly came and took their coats as the butler appeared to lead them to the drawing room where the party was taking place. Walking through the halls, Rebecca smiled seeing all the different paintings on the walls. She loved artwork and seeing it made her wish she'd had her own chance to decorate her home. Gatsby had given her permission to change whatever she wished but it wasn't the same. Gatsby's house had never felt like a home.
Reaching a set of double doors, the butler opened them and announced their arrival to the party present. The drawing room was large and spacious with red and gold furniture spaced throughout the room strategically. Large windows filtered the sunlight that was just beginning to reappear after the rain. The light reflected off the shined dark wooden floors that were mostly covered in Persian rugs. Their hosts were quick to greet them and Rebecca forced a smile to her face. The Pratt's drawing room was the last place she wanted to be for the day and attending to conversation was already beginning to feel like a chore. Mr. Pratt and Gatsby quickly joined a small group of men that had shown up with their wives as Mrs. Pratt guided her towards the group of women.
Looking around, Rebecca could clearly see that Mrs. Pratt had invited the elite people of society. The best food was being served on Mrs. Pratt's best plate sets and the room had been clearly made up to show off the vast wealth of the Pratt family. Nearly half of all the invited guests had come and Rebecca could already see men and women mingling together. Mrs. Pratt guided her to a small group of women that consisted of Mrs. Vanderwaal, Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Sloane and Elizabeth. Sitting down next to her sister on one of the many settees, Rebecca looked around the group and tried to listen attentively to the conversation around her. It proved to be quite a challenge as she looked around the room. She watched different groups of three or four people talking together in hushed tones.
Everyone was elaborately dressed in the latest fashions with expensive jewels and accessories. Women sat gossiping about the latest scandal in the papers while men sat with each other and spoke about stocks and business. Footmen stood on hand waiting to be called for something or to take an empty tray back to the kitchens as other footmen served hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Through the haze of richly colored dresses and outrageously expensive jewelry, Rebecca watched as the men crowded around Gatsby on the far side of the room. Gatsby stood with his own glass of champagne by the mantle of a fireplace. Where he was, people seemed to gravitate towards him like they couldn't stop the pull he had on them.
They all wanted to talk to him and greet him. He had an aura about him that just drew people in and she was one of its many victims. People couldn't help themselves when they met Gatsby. He was like a hurricane that came in and people didn't stand a chance. They both loved and hated Gatsby. His power knew no bounds and his influence over New York was unbeatable. He made Tammany Hall look like child's play compared to what he was capable of. Everyone in New York from the smallest child to the oldest man knew who Gatsby was. He was a celebrity in the eyes of the papers and the law didn't care. Gatsby had everyone in his pocket whether it was politicians, judges, gossip columnists, teachers, professors, law enforcers…anyone.
Men wanted to be him and envied him for what he could do to other. Rebecca knew that Gatsby was ruthless when it came to people who double crossed him or did something they shouldn't have done. A few phone calls was all it took for Gatsby to destroy a man and his family. People of society knew what kind of power Gatsby could wield and they didn't cross him. People were afraid to and Rebecca didn't blame them. The flip side to everything though was that people needed Gatsby even if they didn't want to admit it. Gatsby was something people aspired to be. Whether they liked it or not, they'd made Gatsby into an icon and they glorified him as everything they wanted to be. People went to Gatsby when they needed or wanted something. He was the bridge between the underworld and the rich peoples of New York. They might not realize it but she did. Rebecca could see everything painted out before clearly and she strangely wasn't sickened by the idea of people using others to get what they wanted from life. Perhaps at one point it would have nauseated her, but that was a long time ago when she, Mary, and Elizabeth had been in the nursery and their idea of the real world was their little school room next to the nursery. So much had changed and she had changed too. She understood the world and could see it for what it really was. Her innocent beliefs and her youthful ideas had been transformed and molded into reality.
Watching everyone before, Rebecca knew that no one, including herself, was completely innocent. Everyone wanted something and did things to get what they wanted. They had all done things that they weren't proud of and they had all lied, cheated, stolen, blackmailed, used and abused things and other people to get the things they wanted. It was a simple norm of their circles and it was accepted. She and Gatsby were a part of that circle. They were the same at the core and they fit the very description of everyone at the party.
They'd lied, cheated, stole, blackmailed, used others and abused things to cope with life and get what they believed they wanted. They weren't different and the realization left her almost breathless as she watched Gatsby break away from the group of men that had congregated together. A waiter appeared with a silver tray and two champagne glasses. Gatsby took the two champagne glasses and started walking towards her.
The sound of Mrs. Sloane's voice nearly caused Rebecca to jump as she turned her attentions back to the conversation at hand.
"Are you alright?" Elizabeth whispered to her and Rebecca nodded.
"Yes. Are you?"
Looking down at her younger sister, Rebecca could see dark circles under Elizabeth's eyes and her fair complexion looked pale.
"Just tired," she whispered back. "Mother has been quite overwhelming."
"I can imagine," Rebecca snorted as Mrs. Sloane turned her attention towards them. An older woman, Margret Sloane was a leading matriarch in society and one of the biggest gossips New York had ever known. With five daughters all successfully married off to wealthy husband including a foreign Duke from Sweden and a Marquis in England, Mrs. Sloane was frequently offering her connections to help other women to find suitable husbands for their unwed daughters.
Katherine Harper and Mrs. Sloane happened to be close friends and Rebecca knew for a fact that Mrs. Sloane had her heart set on being the one to arrange a match between Elizabeth and another man. It would only give Mrs. Sloane something more to boast about but Rebecca didn't care. Elizabeth was tamed, well-mannered and could easily take on someone like Mrs. Sloane. Elizabeth would speak her mind and Rebecca had taken great pains to insert herself into the situation so that she could always be with Elizabeth and help her through whatever she needed.
"You don't have any children do you, Mrs. Gatsby?" the older woman asked with an arched brow.
"No, I don't," Rebecca smiled. "Has your daughter, Beatrice, had her child yet?"
"Not yet," Mrs. Sloane smiled back. "She's due in August and she's barely been married a year. God will bless her with a son soon if we're lucky. It's all the Marquis talks about."
Rebecca felt the jab just as Mrs. Sloane meant for her too. She and Gatsby had been married quite long enough that should have had at least one child, but they didn't. Knowing Mrs. Sloane, Rebecca knew the old woman was fishing for a piece of gossip to spread around about why the great, powerful and wealthy Gatsby didn't have a child.
"There you are, darling."
Gatsby's quiet voice rang out in the pause of conversation as he approached them. Carrying two flutes of champagne, he stopped at her side and handed her the glass of bubbling alcohol.
"Mr. Gatsby!" Mrs. Pratt smiled. "We're so delighted that you could join us!"
"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Pratt," he smiled back.
Rebecca raised the glass to her lips in relief as she closed her eyes.
"I was just asking your wife when we could be expecting a little one to join the family," Mrs. Sloane said as Rebecca's eyes flashed open quickly. "After all, we're all so curious to know when the next Prince of New York will arrive."
"I'm sure Mrs. Sloane that we'll be blessed soon enough," Gatsby replied with a slight smile as he raised his champagne glass to his lips and Rebecca felt faint as she held her glass to her lips and took a long, deep gulp of the alcohol.
She couldn't help but wish it had been something stronger as Mrs. Sloane began shooting off question after question at Gatsby. Anger grew inside her as she listened to Gatsby answer each question with a polite smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
Rage.
That was the only feeling Rebecca could identify as she stormed through the house. She'd been suppressing her rage at Gatsby since his words to Mrs. Sloane at the party. It had been slowly building inside her and she felt like she was going to combust. Throwing the French doors open to the patio outside, Rebecca quickly descending one of the twin staircases. It was a miracle that she didn't slip on the wet marble as angrily paced around the pool trying to calm herself down.
The more she thought about his words, the angrier she became.
"The audacity of that man," she mumbled to herself. "He's so lucky I didn't tell Mrs. Sloane right then and there that we will never have a child together…ever!"
"They say talking to one's self is the first sign of insanity or something like that."
Rebecca swung around as she looked at him with blazing eyes.
"Why would you say that to Mrs. Sloane?" she nearly shouted at him as she pointed a finger. "Everyone knows she's New York's biggest gossip! Now the whole world will just be waiting to know if I'm with child and everyone won't stop asking until I do have one!"
"I don't see what the problem is," Gatsby replied calmly as he stood at the edge of the pool with his hands casually in his pockets.
"Don't see what the problem is?" Rebecca echoed as she marched towards him. "You don't see what the problem is?"
"No," Gatsby told her in the same calm voice he'd spoken with earlier. "I don't."
Rebecca barely knew what happened next. The palms of her hands met Gatsby's chest and the sound of splashing water followed. Looking down at the pool, Rebecca watched as Gatsby surfaced a moment later spitting water out.
"You had the opportunity to be in my bed," she told him heatedly. "I even went to you on our wedding night and offered myself to you. You turned me down! You told me never to come back to your rooms and as a dutiful wife, I obey."
"You're angry at me because I soothed Mrs. Sloane?" Gatsby said as he tread water. "We had to pacify her somehow."
"I'm angry at you because you told her you hoped we'd be blessed soon! I don't want you anywhere near my bed and I certainly don't want you warming it!"
"Of course you don't!" Gatsby yelled back. "You don't me anywhere near your bed because you already have a man in it!"
The color drained from Rebecca's face as she watched Gatsby swim towards the edge of the pool. He hoisted himself out and slicked his hair back that had fallen into his face. Even sopping wet, Rebecca could see his handsome features ablaze with anger and annoyance.
"You didn't think I wouldn't know?" Gatsby whispered to her as he stood in front of her. "Nick and I saw you at the Hart's party and you're lucky it was only me and him that saw you."
Any retort died on Rebecca's lips as she looked up into Gatsby clear, blue eyes. She could see anger in his eyes, but also jealously and it surprised her. She'd never figured Gatsby to be the jealous type, but from the look in his eyes, Gatsby was most certainly jealous.
"You're one to talk," she snarled. "What have you given me? Love? Affection? Care? The only thing you've given me is an empty house and a marriage that leaves me thinking everyday how much I'd like to slit my wrists. Matthew—"
"So that's his name? Matthew?"
Her spine stiffened as she realized her mistake. She'd given Gatsby a name to go off of and without a doubt he'd be like a dog with a bone until he found out exactly who Matthew was. When he found out exactly who Matthew was…there was no telling what Gatsby would do to him. She had no idea what Gatsby was capable of doing when in a jealous rage.
"What happens in my bed is none of your business," Rebecca hissed to him. "You never cared. Why should you care now? I don't think you do. You just want to everyone around you to be miserable."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her mid-step.
"That's where you're wrong. What should happen if you fall with child? By law that child legal will bare my name. And should that child resemble his father? You and I both know all the repercussions that would happen should that child's lineage ever be revealed. You and I both know that those whispers would forever follow that child around. There would be nothing you or I could do to protect him or her. Nothing, Rebecca. So, if you are sleeping with another man I have a right to know."
Swinging around, Rebecca grabbed the closest pillow off a lawn chair and threw it as hard as she could at Gatsby.
"What about your bed? What about Daisy Buchanan? What if she fell pregnant with your first born? What would you do then? Leave me for her? Convince that buffoon, Tom Buchanan, to let her leave him for you? She available, you know? I made it so! Tom Buchanan is broke and poor and Daisy probably would leave him in heart beat for you and all your wealth! She warmed your bed for months. What makes you so much different than me? Maybe I want my bed warmed and maybe I want anyone but you warming it!"
Before she could turn and storm away, Gatsby reached out and grabbed her wrist in a tight grasp.
"Daisy wasn't what I thought she was."
"Then what was she?" Rebecca challenged bitterly.
"She wasn't the woman I thought I wanted. Yes, I could have left you at any time for her, but I haven't and I won't," Gatsby whispered to her softly.
His words made her body stiffen as Rebecca turned her face up to look at him.
"Why? How can I trust your words?"
"Because the woman that I do want just pushed me into my own pool," he told her softly with an amused smile. "I thought Daisy was everything but I realized that in fact the woman that I truly want has been right under my very nose the whole."
His words were met with silence as she breathed heavily. Turning and walking back to the house, Rebecca ignored Gatsby as he called her name. Tears blinded her vision as she quickly went to her rooms. His words were too much to take in and they were cruel. She didn't know what he was playing with her for but his words and touch made her whole body ache painfully as she ran up the stairs. She would give him whatever he wanted as long as he didn't say any kinds of words like the ones he'd spoken earlier. Gatsby didn't love her or care. He'd made damn well sure of it after he married her and the heartbreak from it had nearly killed her. Opening and slamming the doors to her rooms behind her, Rebecca slid down the doors as she finally let herself cry.
It was like Gatsby was taking great pleasure in torturing her with his sweet words and gestures when Rebecca knew the truth. Deep down, Gatsby would always love Daisy and she would always be the second choice. Now that Daisy was gone, Gatsby was playing some kind of sick game with her and Rebecca wanted no part in it. Hugging her knees to her chest, Rebecca ignored the sounds of footsteps outside her door, the sound of soft knocking and Gatsby gently calling her name. She'd fallen under his spell once and Rebecca refused to fall under it again, in anyway. The only problem was that deep down, she knew she still had feelings for Gatsby that were slowly coming back to bloom under his sweet gestures and even sweeter words.
Sunday
May 25, 1923
Gatsby paced his library in an agitated state. He knew he'd said too much after the Pratt's party. The look of shock on her face had been enough for him, but there had also been a look of fear in her eyes that startled him. After hours spent pacing, Gatsby knew the truth.
Rebecca thought he was playing her for something.
She didn't trust him and he didn't blame her. He'd given her no reason to trust his sincerity. Any smart woman would expect him to be playing her for something and Rebecca was a smart woman. Gatsby just wasn't sure how he could prove to her that he wasn't playing her for anything. Ever since he'd told her that she was the woman he wanted to be with she hadn't come out her room. Tilly had reported to him on Saturday that she'd spent most of the day sleeping in bed. When he'd asked Tilly if that was normal behavior for Rebecca, the maid had confirmed after much probing. She'd also confessed that Rebecca regularly skipped meals that were sent up and sent them back, untouched. Hearing of Rebecca's behaviors, Gatsby recognized them from someone else he knew.
His own mother had often spent hours in bed and didn't eat. She'd slip into a catatonic state and would become unreachable for months on end after the still born birth of her daughter. Gatsby wasn't sure for how long Rebecca's behaviors had been going on for, but he didn't want his wife to share the same fate as his mother. The depression had eventually killed his mother in the end, shortly before he'd run away. Her death had devastated his father beyond belief, leading to his father slipping into his own depressions and killing himself. A knock on the door drew Gatsby out of his musing as he called out for his intruder to enter. Nick smiling face was shown in by Crawley and Gatsby couldn't help but feel both annoyance and relief that Nick was there. Crawley quickly left them with instructions to bring back tea.
"Crawley said that you're pacing a hole in the rugs up here," Nick smiled as he settled down into a chair.
"Pacing helps me think, old sport," Gatsby replied quietly as he rested his elbow on the mantle of the fire place. "I need to think today."
"May I inquire about what?"
Before Gatsby could say anything, a knock on the door sounded. Gatsby bid the maid to enter and she scurried in with a tray of tea. Watching her quickly lay out the tray and pour Nick a cup, Gatsby turned back and walked towards the many windows that overlooked the gardens.
"Has Mrs. Gatsby been well?" Nick asked as he raised his tea cup to his lips. "I haven't seen her recently."
"She hasn't come out of her room since Friday," Gatsby confessed quietly. "It's my fault. I can't blame her for anything."
Nick quickly put the tea cup and saucer down as he stood up. Walking towards him quickly, Nick had a fierce look on his face as the faced each other.
"Did you confront her about the affair?" he demanded. "What did you say, Gatsby?"
Another knock at the door sounded and Gatsby swung angrily around. Striding towards the door, he yanked the oak wood door open with a scowl and came face to face with a frightened Tilly.
"What?" Gatsby all but barked at her.
"Y-y-y-you w-w-wanted me to tell you w-w-w-when Mrs. Gatsby w-w-w-was leaving her room, sir," Tilly stuttered. "She's gone down to meet the Earl of Kettlemore. They're in the parlor together, sir."
Gatsby stared at the maid for a good long minute before returning back inside the library.
"Where are you going?" Nick asked as Gatsby grabbed his suit coat and slipped it on.
"To meet an Earl," he replied as Nick's face paled. "Apparently, the man is here to see my wife and I want to meet him."
"Jay—"
"I'll be back in a few minutes, old sport," Gatsby continued. "Just stay here."
Rebecca stared at Matthew sadly as she held the most recent letter from his mother in her hands. The contents only confirmed her worst fears and nightmares. Matthew was leaving for England at the beginning of June.
"So…you're leaving on the first?" she asked trying to keep her voice from breaking.
"I'm sorry," Matthew said softly as he came to sit down next to her on the settee. "I wish it wasn't so soon and I had more time to spend with you. I wish it wasn't all so sudden."
Furiously blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, Rebecca held the letter back out to him with a sad smile.
"We both knew this letter was going to come someday," she whispered. "We both knew Matthew that this wasn't going to last forever. We can't lie to ourselves anymore and pretend that this…thing...could go on without consequence or end. All good things come to an end, my love, this is one of those things."
Her finger tips ghosted faintly over his cheek and Matthew's hand held hers.
"I am going to miss you more than anything in the world," Rebecca continued softly. "I just want one last night with you. That is all I want."
A smile graced Matthew's lips as he moved to press a kiss to the palm of her hand.
"Any wish milady that I can grant, I will," he murmured. "I'll send my car to Nick's house every night until I leave. Just slip out the back with Tilly's help and I promise to have you back before any realizes you're gone, I promise."
"It's doesn't matter if Gatsby knows I'm gone," she told him. "He knows about us. He saw me with you in the garden at the Hart's party. I have no secrets to hide from him. As long as he doesn't know who you are, we have nothing to fear."
Just as Matthew was about reply, the door opened and they jumped apart. Looking over her shoulder, Rebecca felt faint seeing Gatsby striding into the room.
"Jay!" she said, not knowing what to do. She couldn't deny that he looked handsome in a grey suit with a dark navy vest and tie. His hair was slicked back and his blue eyes met hers. She felt a chill pass through her as he approached them and she silently prayed to God that Gatsby didn't shoot Matthew in the middle of her parlor room…if he even knew who Matthew was.
"Mr. Gatsby," Matthew said as he stood up. "I don't believe we've had the honor of meeting before. Matthew Spring, Earl of Kettlemore."
"A pleasure to meet you," Gatsby replied with a rare smile as he offered the Earl his hand. "I haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance before. The staffing service alerted me to your being here and I thought I'd come down and meet you. Any friend of Rebecca is always welcome in our home."
Matthew shook Gatsby hand and Rebecca couldn't help but be grateful she was sitting. She was sure she would have fainted dead away if she'd been standing.
"Your accent…York I'm presuming?" Gatsby said as he cocked his head to the side.
"You have quite a good ear," Matthew smiled. "My estate is located in York. I was just telling Rebecca that I'll be leaving for it soon."
"We'll all dreadfully miss him," Rebecca added quickly. "Why don't you both sit down? I'll order some tea."
"Don't worry about the tea, sweetheart," Gatsby told her with a soft smile as he sat down in one of the twin chair opposite the couch. "I already informed Crawley that we'd want a tray delivered. It should be here any minute."
Silence descended upon the room and Rebecca shifted uncomfortably. She watched as Gatsby crossed his legs and stared hard at Matthew. Both men were locked in a staring match and Rebecca wasn't sure what to do.
"Matthew has been visiting from England," Rebecca said quickly. "His mother was our neighbor before she went to England and married Matthew's father. He used to visit New York in the summers to see his grandmother. That's how we know each other, I guess you could say he was darling childhood friend of mine."
"You've been in New York for how long?" Gatsby asked the Earl with a smile.
"A little more than a year," Matthew replied. "I had business to take care of here and I've been enjoying the company of old friends for a while now. It's been hard to take myself away, but I've been summoned home by business and my mother's begging. I was here to say goodbye and make sure your wife promised to keep in touch. She's a lovely letter writer and I'm sure my mother will want to be kept up to speed on all the gossip and scandals revolving around New York."
Just as Gatsby was about to reply, a knock came at the door. Bidding for the person to enter, Rebecca looked over her shoulder to see both a maid and Crawley enter the parlor. Crawley held the door open for the young woman as she walked in with a tea tray and set it down on a table.
"A business associate is here to see you Mr. Gatsby, sir," Crawley said in his usual tone of indifference. "I showed him to the library where Mr. Carraway currently is."
Looking up at the ceiling, Rebecca couldn't help but send up a silent prayer to whichever angel had sent the business associate to call on Gatsby.
"Well," Gatsby said standing with one of his rare smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Kettlemore."
"The pleasure was all mine," Matthew replied as he stood up and shook hands with Gatsby.
With a few last words, Gatsby left them alone in the parlor. Letting out the breath that she'd been holding, Rebecca turned to look at Matthew who had moved. Standing by the window, she couldn't help but smile at him as he looked at her expectantly.
"I don't think he knows who you are," she sighed.
"Small blessings," Matthew replied before looking back outside, "Feel like a walk?"
Gatsby stood in the library with his forearm resting on the molding around the window. After briefly meeting Matthew Spring, Earl of Kettlemore over tea, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he knew the man from somewhere. Something about the Earl was familiar to Gatsby and he didn't understand.
"Ares is in town to stay," Wolfsheim said. "Little bastard apparently is looking for a northern wife. None of the southern belles down south appease him."
"Better lock up the women in your family, Meyer," Gatsby replied as he stared at the window watching Rebecca walk with the Earl up and down the many paths. The Earl walked with his hands behind his back and Rebecca walked closely next to him. They ended up reaching a small circular wrought iron table with matching white wrought iron chairs. A white table cloth covered the table and it looked like tea and cookies had been set up in the shade. Watching them closely, Gatsby couldn't help but clench his fists as he watched the intimate way in which the Earl pulled Rebecca's chair out for her. She smiled at him a smile that Gatsby hadn't seen grace her lips in a long time. The last time he'd seen her smile at him like that was on their wedding before he shattered her fragile heart. The Earl took his own seat as Rebecca poured tea. The sounds of Wolfsheim's conversation with Nick faded in his mind as Gatsby watched his wife and the Earl with interest. He couldn't tell what was being said, but whatever the Earl and Rebecca spoke of was distressing to her. He watched keenly as they spoke for nearly fifteen minutes. Staring at the back of the Earl's head, Gatsby tried to think of where he'd seen the man before. Something about him was familiar but he didn't know what it was.
Gatsby had been close to giving up when the Earl reached for Rebecca's hand and kissed it.
He'd seen the back of the Earl's head at the Hart's party…
He'd seen the man in the ballroom…
He'd seen the Earl when that man had been kissing Rebecca in the gardens….
"That son of a bitch!" Gatsby roared. "That fucking British prick! I'll kill that fucker!"
Nick nearly choked on the tea he'd been drinking as Gatsby continued to yell swear words.
"That goddamned bastard has a pair of balls if he thinks he can set foot in my house! Just wait till I cut them off and hang them off my goddamned mantle! That will teach that miserable, good for nothing, cocksucker something! Just wait till I get my fucking hands on his throat! It's one thing to make love to another man's wife! It's a whole different thing to come into his house and fucking kiss her and have goddamned tea! Where the fuck is my gun?"
Wolfsheim chuckled as Nick shot up and was instantly as Gatsby's side.
"Don't shoot the Earl!" Nick urged. "We've already been through one World War. We don't need a second one because you're shooting British aristocrats."
"I know we don't need another war!" Gatsby thundered as he searched through his desk. "I was in the first one and so were you! Or did you forget?"
Finding a revolver, Nick paled as he watched Gatsby load three bullets into the chamber. Spinning the chamber and locking it into position, Gatsby marched towards the door with both Wolfsheim and Nick hot on his heels.
"Shooting Matthew will only upset Rebecca," Nick tried to reason as Gatsby yanked the door open and walked down the hall.
"I'd let him go boy," Wolfsheim advised with a smile. "Gatsby is ready to pop and you don't want to get in the middle of that."
Shaking his head, Nick continued to follow Gatsby as he quickly walked from the corner library room of the house towards the grand staircase. Nearly tripping, Nick continued to try and reason with Gatsby.
"Jay! Think with your head! You're letting your rage control you!" Nick yelled as he caught Gatsby wrist before he could open the French door that led to the patio outside and the gardens beyond. Pausing, Gatsby turned to his friend and pointed a finger.
"I could and can understand her having an affair," he hissed. "I could, should, and will forgive that. God knows that I've been a horrible husband. I've done things far worse than she has, but I can't abide her just inviting that fucker here! I won't have her lover in my house, eating my food, and sipping on my fucking tea like the goddamned British prick that he is. Besides, if he even thinks about touching my wife in my house, I'll shoot him in the cock! Know what that's like? Ask Meyer's cousin, Abe."
Wolfsheim winced and cupped his own genitalia, "Poor Abe still can't get an erection. God bless his poor pecker."
Ignoring Wolfsheim, Nick looked at Gatsby hard.
"You did the same thing to her, Jay," he said quietly. "You brought Daisy into her own home and Rebecca didn't shoot her. Don't shoot the Earl."
Looking down at the revolver, Gatsby paused for another moment as he held the gun. Without a word, he handed the gun to Wolfsheim. The other mobster accepted the gun, the smile never leaving his face.
"I hate when you're the voice of reason, Nick," Gatsby said quietly before he sucker punched Nick in the ribs. Nick doubted over in pain while he held his sides. Groaning, he clutched the wall for support as he looked up at Gatsby angrily.
"Sorry, you—"
Before he could finish, a familiar figure rounded the corner.
"What on earth are you two doing?" Rebecca called as she quickly walked towards them. Nick held his aching ribs as Gatsby slicked back his fallen hair. Wolfsheim had the gun conveniently hidden behind his back as she stopped to stand in front of them with an arched eyebrow.
"You've never seen two men fighting?" Wolfsheim questioned with a grin.
Rebecca looked between the three men before shaking her head.
"Lord Kettlemore is gone and dinner will be served at seven. Both of you gentlemen are welcomed to stay," she told them with a sigh. "I'm not feeling well and I'll be taking my meal in my room. Good day, gentlemen."
All three watched her go and Wolfsheim let out a sigh of relief as he took the revolver out from behind his back. Opening the chamber and taking out the bullets, Meyer handed the gun back to Gatsby with a smile.
"Your wife always does have perfect timing," Meyer chuckled.
Gatsby didn't reply as he turned and clasped Nick on the shoulder.
"Sorry about that, old sport," he said. "How's your ribs? You want some ice?"
Wednesday
May 28, 1923
The rain pounded on the roof above him as Nick sat on the couch reading a book. His mind wasn't fully engaged as he tried to decipher the words on the page. Gatsby reaction to Matthew's presence in his house earlier in the afternoon hadn't surprised Nick too much. The fact that Gatsby had been willing to shoot Matthew Spring for sleeping with Rebecca only made Nick smile. Gatsby had been more than willing; in fact the man had been more than happy to kill the Earl. If anything, Nick thought that it showed that Gatsby did have some feelings for Rebecca and that those feelings were strong.
A knock sounded on his front door and it was late. The rain outside pounded down on the roof as Nick wondered who could be calling so late. Closing his book and setting down on the table next to him, Nick stood and walked to the door. Not bothering to look through the peep hole, he opened the door. A wet Elizabeth Harper stood on the other side of the door looking fearful and scared.
"Elizabeth…what are you doing here?"
"Can I come in and talk to you?" she said tearfully. "I have nowhere else to go."
"Of course," Nick said as he stood aside so Rebecca's youngest sister could come in. Elizabeth's dark hair looked nearly black from the water as she stood in his entry. The light, soft pink coat she wore was completely soak and her shoes looked like they had been thrown in the mud. Before Nick closed the door he looked out his door hoping to see a car or something, but there wasn't anything. Closing the door, he turned back to Elizabeth standing in his entry hall, shivering.
"You walked here?" Nick asked as he watched her shaky hands try and unbutton her coat.
"I-I didn't have a choice," Elizabeth stuttered. "I couldn't take the car. My parents arrived back in New York this morning unexpectedly. If I took the car, they'd notice something was wrong and they'd ask questions."
Walking to her, Nick covered her hands with his and quickly undid the buttons of the coat. Stripping her of the wet fabric, Nick shook his head seeing that her dress was also completely soaked through. Elizabeth looked down at her wet dress and whimpered.
"Do you have a blanket?"
Nodding, Nick guided her to the warm living room. He was grateful he had the foresight to start a fire. Hanging her coat, Nick turned his back around so Elizabeth could take off her wet clothing. The sound of clothing rustling and buttons being snapped brought a memory he'd long tried to suppress to the surface.
…The weather had been unseasonably warm for early April with the wind blowing warm. Sitting on the back lawns of Ashby House, Nick couldn't have been more thankful for the secluded area that Elizabeth had chosen to have their picnic at. They'd had a clear view of the bay but the area had been private enough that they wouldn't have had constant interruptions.
"Where are Lord Kettlemore and Rebecca?" Nick had asked as he'd watched her set out the lunch the cook from Ashby House had packed for them.
"They went to New York," Elizabeth had smiled at him. "There's an exhibit that Rebecca wanted to go see. Matthew is taking her and I believe that they're staying for dinner too."
Nick nodded and he turned to look out at the bay. The day had been beautiful and the afternoon air had been warm enough that he'd had taken off his suit jacket. Elizabeth had worn a knee length dress that had thick straps over her smooth, creamy shoulders. The soft blue dress she wore was pretty and Nick couldn't have help but feel something. He'd had spent many weeks getting to know Elizabeth. She was always at Ashby House when he was and they just gravitated towards each other like the plants did to the sun. She was sweet and charming just like Rebecca was, but there was something more to her. It had been growing in the months they'd been spending together. With Matthew and Rebecca often sneaking away to do their own things, Nick and Elizabeth had been left to their own devices. Talking had become their chief source of entertainment and it didn't take long for them to discover they had many mutual likes and dislikes.
Nick had been surprised to learn that like him, Elizabeth had a talent for writing. She'd shared with him her many journal of poetry and little short stories she'd written down. She'd confessed to him while she like shopping, poetry was her love. They'd had sat in the library for many hours in the winter months going through different poets and play writes. Elizabeth was a true Shakespearian at heart just as much as he was and she adored Wordsworth, Keats and Byron. She favored the Romantic Movement above any other movement in English poetry. Besides poetry, Nick had also discovered that Elizabeth was fluent in French and Italian. He'd had spent hours listening to her read poetry in French and plays in Italian. Her voice was unlike anything he'd ever heard and it drew him in. Each word drew him in unlike anything else before and each smile she gave him left him more entranced.
That afternoon something had changed between them. The air was charged in a way Nick had never experienced before with another person. Everything she did and said had tempted him. Her manners and her smiles drew him in like a dying man for drink of water. Lying under that secluded willow tree and listening to her share her own poetry with, Nick had closed his eyes and pushed out the entire surrounding world until it was just him and her, alone with nature. Each word of hers washed over him like a wave and he took it like a breath of fresh air. Each word was rich like honey and sweet like candy. Her soft voice melted his soul like butter and in the still air; Nick had lost himself in her words.
When she spoke about her lips having never received a kiss, Nick had impulsively sat up and kissed her. He hadn't even known what had happened until his lips had touched hers. Soft and plump, her lips had tasted like the strawberries she'd just eaten. It had been a kiss unlike anything Nick had ever experienced. It had lasted for only a second and when he'd pulled away, her eyes were still shut and her lips still parted. She hadn't run away from him and she had rejected his advances either. Leaning down again, Nick had cupped the back of her neck and had pressed another soft kiss to her lips.
The second kiss surpassed the first, if it was possible.
Elizabeth was more receptive to his kiss and kissed him back with equal passion. Her silky, smooth hands had dropped the book as she cupped his cheeks. A burning feeling had filled him and Nick had wondered if the air was hotter than before. His blood was rushing through his body and his pounded in his chest as he kissed. When oxygen finally became a necessity, Nick had broken the kiss. Heart pounding, blood racing and panting like he'd run a marathon, Nick had looked at her and Elizabeth had only to nod to give him permission.
Poetry of a new kind had been made that afternoon under the long branches of the willow tree. Shielding them from the view of the rest of the world, Nick had made sweet love to Elizabeth. What she'd lacked in experience, Elizabeth had made up for in passion and enthusiasm. Each kiss had been like fireworks going off in his body. Her blue dress and his shirt had been the first things to go followed by everything else. Elizabeth's skin had glimmered softly in the sunlight that had broken through the tree top. She'd been like an angel to him with each gasp and moan as he'd pressed warm, hot kisses to her neck and shoulders. Her fingertips had traced over his skin leaving burning paths everywhere they'd touched. The passion he'd experienced with her had been unlike anything he'd ever had before. Under the willow tree, Nick had taught her about passion. He'd taught her how with a few simple touches he could send her into the stratosphere of pleasure. Listening to every breathless gasp, soft moan and cry of pleasure had only made him crazier with desire. Each sound only had made him want to possess more of her and be with her. Each touch only brought them closer together and each shared breath made them one.
That afternoon he'd taken her gifted innocence under that willow tree and he'd given her the first of many tastes of passions. He'd taught her how to become a woman and he'd made her one. Together they'd become a man and a woman in the most basic sense of living. The world and the rules of society had slipped away from them and in the secluded shade of the willow tree with its long sweeping branches that touched the ground; Nick and Elizabeth had become one. Nothing could touch them and with each stroke of his hips as he pushed into her, the world faded away more and more. The cliffs of pleasure had quickly approached. They built and built until nothing stopped them from plunging over the high cliffs. Nick hadn't been prepared for the pleasure. Falling from the cliffs of pleasure…nothing compared to what he was feeling. There were no words to describe the pleasure afterwards…nothing. He could only say that it was like floating on a cloud or in the water and being completely at peace. His whole body felt unlike anything it had ever felt like before after his heart slowed down and his breathing returned back to normal. Nick could only imagine that he was the closest to heaven he'd ever be in his lifetime. Elizabeth had stayed in his arms afterwards for nearly hour until she'd pulled away from him. Her leaving his arms had been like being dowsed in cold water as the world came rushing back to them. Nick could see worry etched in her eyes as she quickly looked around for her clothing.
"We shouldn't have done that," she whispered to him. "We shouldn't have…"
"Elizabeth," he said softly as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder blade, but before he could say anything else Elizabeth pulled away from him.
"This shouldn't have happened Nick. I'm so sorry. Oh, God! I shouldn't have kissed you. God, we've already had such a scandal with Mary in the family. I'm so silly! Please, please, don't tell anyone about this. My family will be ruined if you do! Please, promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone," she had begged him on the verge of tears….
The memory of the day passed over his mind and Nick couldn't help the chill that passed over him. He'd kept his promise to Elizabeth and hadn't breathed a word of their liaison to anyone. Nick hadn't even told Gatsby what had passed between him and Elizabeth. No one knew about their brief time together and Nick always planned to keep it that way. The months he'd spent getting to know Elizabeth and the afternoon they'd spent together in the garden was something he always planned on taking with him to the grave. Her dress was laid down next to the coat by the fire and Nick turned to see her wrapped up in a blanket.
"Tell me what's wrong," he whispered to her softly. "Tell me, Elizabeth."
She walked slowly back towards the couch and sat down shakily. Nick followed her as dread filled inside him. Her coming words scared him because he didn't know how to comfort her or what he could possibly do or say that would take away her pain and fear. Crouching down in front of her, Nick reached for her chilled hands and held them tightly in his.
"Tell me," he urged her quietly. "Tell me what's wrong, Elizabeth."
"You're the only person I could go to," she choked through tears. "I can't tell anyone else. Please, you have to help me!"
"Anything," he told her softly as he held her trembling hands. "Tell me what is wrong. Tell me so I can help you. I'll do whatever I can to help you. You know that. Tell me…"
Nick watched as she fought back more tears, "You can't tell anyone…you…j-j-j-just can't. Promise me."
"I promise. Now, what's wrong?"
"I'm with child. Nick," she said. "It was that afternoon under the willow tree."
Nick felt all the air leave his lungs. Elizabeth launched herself into his arms as she sobbed harder and he wrapped his arms around her automatically. He didn't know what to say as a knock sounded on the door followed by the door being opened and closed.
"Nick, old sport, have you seen—"
Gatsby stopped seeing them together. Nick could see his eyes flash with anger as Gatsby took in the sight before him.
His sister-in-law's clothing by the fire as he, Nick Carraway, held the woman in nothing but a blanket.
