Unraveled by Her Read Online Free PDF Page A

that I know all about her dark descent into an S&M fantasy parlor.
    Bite your tongue, Miranda, until you’ve discovered what the fuck is going on.
    “I’ll do my best,” I say.
    She lights up with the kind of enchanting glow she probably routinely projected in order to charm the guests at her legendary Hartwell Castle parties. I hate it—and her.
    “About time, Miranda. Now start with the following . . .
    “ ‘My dearest Robert, There is no easy way for me to say this, but please don’t try and find me, because I never want to see you again as long as I live.’ ”

Chapter Three
    My hand is paralyzed in midair.
    “Please don’t force me to write this to Robert, please. I just can’t do it. I can’t!” I burst into tears at the utter nightmare in which I’m trapped.
    “Just do it, bitch!” Tamara grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me so hard that my teeth chatter.
    “Stop it, Tammy!” Georgiana says, yanking her off me, and for a second I wonder who in the relationship is the dominatrix and who is the submissive.
    She puts her arm around me, and I practically choke on the sweet and sickly scent of violets. The unwelcome assault on my senses serves to stem my tears, and suddenly I have an idea that I hope will stall her in her tracks and buy me some time.
    “Now that your eyes are blue, Georgiana, do you still love the color violet so much?” I say, attempting to sound genuinely curious, when all I really want is to grab Tamara’s Glock and shoot her in the heart—if she has one, that is.
    “Always,” she says.
    “Because you have violet eyes?” I say.
    “Oh, the real reason is far more interesting than that!” she says, her eyes alight at my question. Terrified as I am, I suddenly flash back to Palm Beach, strolling by the shores of the Atlantic with Robert, and telling him, “Much as I love it when you spank me, whip me, dominate me, Robert, I love just talking to you almost as much.”
    And he gave me his Robert Hartwell King of the World smile and said, “Unique as you are, Miranda, I can’t help but think of Napoléon’s finest seduction tactic: ‘Give me the ear of a woman and I have that woman . . .’ ”
    At first, I was insulted that he’d pigeonholed me as a silly, susceptible woman, but then I remembered my ghostwriting experiences and was forced to admit to myself that he was right. It isn’t just women who are seduced by conversation, but men, too—especially when someone asks them about themselves.
    Lucky for me, Georgiana is no different and is clearly delighted at the chance to hold forth about herself.
    “Bring us some tea, Tammy,” she says, as if we are at afternoon tea in the Palm Court at the Plaza.
    As Tamara skulks toward the small kitchen, Georgiana takes both my hands in hers, looks deep into my eyes, and, in a husky whisper, says, “You may think that I’m drawn to violet and violets because of my violet eyes, Miranda. But that isn’t the truth . . .” She pauses for a long time, presumably for dramatic effect, while I sit there and feign interest in what she is about to say.
    Tamara deposits two cups of tea in front of us.
    Time to fling the tea in Georgiana’s face?
    I’d love to, but I can’t risk it. She’s so much taller than I am that it would probably miss her face and spill all over her chest instead, which wouldn’t do much damage at all. There’s no way I could overpower her and Tamara all on my own, and I have to accept that reality, much as I kick against it.
    As Georgiana gushes on with her story, I force myself to drink my tea without gagging at her self-involvement. At the same time, I’m glad that I’ve succeeded in diverting her from her plans, if only for a short time.
    “So why do I love violet and violets so much, Miranda? Let me tell you . . . I was fifteen years old, as innocent as the day is young, and in New York on vacation. In fact, I wish I still had a snapshot of myself that hot August morning. Me skipping