When the Caged Canary Stops Crying
Language: en
Tonight was the twentieth time Bennett brought a woman back to the penthouse. She was young—certainly younger than me—with bold crimson lipstick and a clinging black slip dress that left very little to the imagination. I sat on the corner of the linen sofa, watching them come through the foyer. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, they were already tangled together, mouths locked in a hungry, breathless kiss. He was supposed to be my boyfriend. Yet I had no right to object, no ground to stand on. Because in this house, I was simply an invalid. "You don't remember anything, Tess,"…