... My Torturer Unmasked ...
As part of my rehabilitation I’m trying to make amends to everyone I hurt including Marissa Ferguson, the woman with whom I’m falling in love.
She’s heard my apology but is now looking at me with skepticism.
“I don’t blame you for being suspicious,” I tell her, “all I can say is I was one person back then, and I am a different person now.”
She stares at me so long I become embarrassed and feel my face turning red.
“They say embarrassment can’t be faked—by even the greatest actors. I believe you, Mr. Knightly, but why did you wait so long to come to me?”
I groan inwardly. This is the one question I hoped she wouldn’t ask. But I need to follow through on my resolution to be brutally honest—despite the personal cost to me.
“I could answer that question, Marissa, but it would embarrass me.”
“But you’re already a deep shade of red—I can’t see how you can be any more embarrassed.”
She’s right. It’s more my pride that’s holding me back—well that, and the fear of forever alienating her.
“I’m waiting,” she whispers.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I sigh.
“The truth is I‘ve been watching your nightly newscasts and I admire you greatly.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Go on.”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, I’ve always been attracted to you—even long before I did that so-called expose of your charity work.”
She takes a deep breath and stares at me.
“You have a strange way of expressing romantic feelings, Mr. Knightly.”
“I know. It was childish—seeking negative attention, I guess.”
“Sort of like a little boy dipping a girl’s pigtail in an inkwell?”
This was definitely becoming brutal. “Yeah, I guess it was exactly like that. I’ve always had a hard time expressing my feelings.”
“Would you call yourself socially awkward?”
I nod, and hang my head in shame. Her friends are not far off and look ready to pounce at a mere word from her.
“You seem to have vast discrepancies in your character, Mr. Knightly.”
I can only stare.
“And what brought about such a change in you?”
“An intervention by a friend. He insisted I retreat from the world and face my demons. He helped rehabilitate me. I owe him my life.”
Her eyes grow moist. Such huge, soft brown eyes…I could easily fall into them and never get out.
“A friend like that you should always keep close to your heart.”
“I agree,” I croak.
She seems to come to a decision. “I forgive you, Cole—may I call you, Cole? Mr. Knightly seems so formal.”
“Of course, I’d be honored.”
Her dignified bearing and educated accent seems so familiar. I feel as if I’m in a dream. But then I remember her friends.
“Oh, I’m sorry—I’ve kept you away from your friends too long.”
She grasps my hands warmly. “Wait here a moment while I speak to them.”
She is gone a few minutes. I can see the interplay of gestures and expressions—the suppressed protests and Marissa’s calm reassurances.
As she leaves to return to me, I see their bewilderment and curiosity.
Marissa’s expression, however, is sunny. “They’re a bit confused and bewildered. It’ll take some time for them to come to terms with things. I told them you apologized and we made up and are now friends.”
“Are we?” I blurt out.
She loops her arm in mine. “We are, and I think we should celebrate with a drink—I’d like some champagne.”
As we walk toward the bar I shake my head in wonderment. “This is beyond my wildest dreams, Marissa.”
She smiles mischievously, “Well, you have been my secret admirer for some time—that has to win you points—and speaking of winning points, I want you to try to impress my father.”
I panic at the thought of having to go through a similar reconciliation with Blaine Ferguson.
She pulls me toward a knot of men and singles out one tall, distinguished gentleman.
“Daddy, I want you to meet Cole Knightly—and I don’t want you to be angry, Daddy—he apologized profusely, and now we’re friends.”
“So, no pistols at twenty paces?” he chuckles.
“Puhlease, Daddy—be nice!”
The older gentleman turns to me with a warm smile crinkling his features and speaks to me in a familiar voice:
“Well, we meet socially at last, Mr. Knightly. But may I call you by your first name? It’s more friendly-like.”
I recognize my torturer.