When Matthew was in my house, not looking very happy to see me.
“What am I doing here?” he asked, clearly recovered from his shock. “What are you doing here, Nina? Is Calvin here?”
“No, not that it’s any of your bus—”
“Eric said you probably weren’t coming when I talked to him last week.”
“Eric doesn’t keep track of my social calendar,” I replied, perhaps too haughtily. “He and Jane invited me a few days ago. My plans changed.”
Matthew glanced from side to side, then took a step toward me. “Well, they need to change again. You have to go back.”
I frowned. “What? Absolutely not.”
“Nina, I’m not kidding. Get your shit and go. This is too important. I—”
“You what?” I demanded, suddenly unable to hide my irritation.
This was why he was so dangerous. Not just because he made me feel things I had no right to feel, but because when I was around him, my filter seemed to disappear completely. And that was going to get me into trouble.
It also no longer mattered. “This is my family’s estate,” I rattled on. “I don’t know why you think you can order me off it, but you can’t. And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here anyway?”
He said I was the one who evaded questions, but he did it too with ease. “I thought it was Eric’s estate,” he corrected me. “He inherited it, right?”
“Actually, my mother did.” Why did men always think they knew better? Even this one? “My mother. Or, she will, once they are finished with probate. Eric just heads up the board of trustees.”
The explanation sounded as pedantic as it felt. What did it matter which part of my family supplied the money for which part of its holdings? The point was, it was my family. And this cocky, overly self-assured know-it-all still hadn’t explained his unannounced presence here.
Matthew was silent for a long time, as if he were evaluating my response. Lord, the man never did stop investigating, did he?
“Well?” I prodded.
He pulled his hat lower over his face, like he was trying to hide his expression. “I was invited too,” he said again. “I just thought I’d come a little earlier than the bigger party.”
“An entire day earlier?” The actual barbecue for Eric’s clients wasn’t until tomorrow.
“Do we really have to argue about this, Nina? Yes, Jane and Eric invited me too—we are actually friends, in case you forgot—”
“I did not forget,” I bristled, but he just kept going.
“Eric thought I would have a good time.”
“And you really thought it was appropriate to spend days with my family given that you’re trying to lock one of us up?” I lowered my voice, stepping closer in case anyone heard us.
Mistake. His scent of ink, sweat, and the light cologne he favored swept past my nostrils. I crossed my arms to keep myself from reaching for him.
“Us, Nina? Really? Since when do you care if your husband gets put away? Or have you had a change of heart?”
My entire body seized up at the sudden defensiveness in his voice. “How could you possibly say that to me?”
He raised a black brow. “I don’t know. It’s been a few months. Maybe that last time did it for you. One last ride on the horse, so to speak, before you went back to your perfect life. Maybe in the end you don’t really want me to bust it wide open.”
At my side, my hand twitched with the need to slap him. Lord, when he got like this—stubborn, with the uncanny ability to stab at every insecurity I had—I really just wanted to take every bit of frustration out on him.
“I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing.”
Matthew examined me for a moment more, then sighed. “Shit. You’re right.” He pulled off his hat, ran a hand over his brow, then put it back on. “I’m sorry. I had no right.” He shook his head. “Look, I couldn’t say no. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“Opportunity for what?”
“Observation.”
He quieted again, apparently waiting for me to piece things together. When I didn’t immediately, Matthew blew a long breath through his teeth.
“Nina, part of learning about a particular suspect is exploring the people around him.”
And then, of course, everything clicked. “You’re here to investigate, aren’t you?”
His chest dropped as he exhaled. My own tightened. I was right.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly, looking around for potential eavesdroppers. “I am. Calvin’s into some deep shit, but the investigation is at a standstill. He and his known associates are cockblocking my office’s attempts for interviews. I have to get at the people who know him another way. And before you offer anything, you know I have to figure this out on my own.”
“So, what, you’re going to dig into the rest of my husband’s life?” I asked. “His family and friends, go snooping around all our private lives instead of just allowing me to give you what you need in the first place?”
His jaw was clenched so tightly, I wondered what he wasn’t saying. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself more of that than me.
“Nina, it’s sort of the gig. You knew this was going to happen.”
“I didn’t know you were going to dig for evidence around my family home—”
“Shh,” Matthew interrupted as a kitchen staff member came scurrying through with a tray of beverages. “This isn’t the time or place.” He shook his head. “Goddammit. I really wish you had told me you were coming.”
“I don’t have to run everything by you, Matthew.”
“Oh, really?” He clearly did not believe me.
“Yes, really,” I protested, finding I had to stop myself from stamping my feet. Good lord, as much as I loved him, the man really did bring out the worst in me.
I opened my mouth to argue, but found I couldn’t. It was odd—of the two of us, you would think that I’d be the one to maintain propriety. But no, as usual, I found all I could think about was flinging decorum out the wind in order to do all number of things with this man. Argue. Fight. Kiss. Fuck.
Yes, fuck. The word, one I hardly ever uttered, suddenly seemed poised on the tip of my tongue. Matthew’s eyes dropped suddenly to my mouth, like he could sense it there. His brow furrowed in that way that made me want to kiss him and smooth it out. He looked torn between wanting to drag me into a closet and toss me out of the room.
“Nina.”
“What?”
Matthew removed his hat again, the same straw fedora he was wearing when I had seen him at the Grace. Memories of the way it had tumbled to the ground made me shiver. And from the way his left brow rose knowingly, he could see exactly what I was thinking. Damn this man. I loved him, but I also hated the way just his presence seemed to remove every barrier I had. When we were alone, that transparency was liberation. But out here, it was treacherous.
Finally, the tension in his shoulders released. They were such fine things—I admired the shape of them more than he knew. Broad, but not too broad. Svelte enough that he fit into the lean cuts of his favorite Italian suits with ease, though the power he nurtured at the gym each day couldn’t quite be hidden beneath wool and gabardine.
“Fine,” he said at last. “You’re right. This is your home—I have no right to kick you out. But I can’t leave either.” He shook his head. “I’m an investigator, Nina. We need some information, and this is a good place to listen.”
“But Calvin isn’t coming,” I protested.
“No, but a lot of his business associates are. Most of them won’t know who I am.”
“I don’t know,” I demurred. “You were in the news, weren’t you?”
That irritating half smile appeared again. “Keeping tabs on me, duchess?”
I didn’t reply. Eventually, the smile disappeared, and he just shrugged.
“I’m willing to take the chance that most of these penguins don’t memorize face
s any more than they remember the names of their servants, especially after a few martinis. I can test the waters without Calvin around to poison the well.” He tipped his head. “Unless you’re going to do that for him by telling people who I am.”
The way his tone suddenly sharpened again cut me to the quick.
I took a deep breath. “Matthew, of course I won’t.” Darting another look from side to side, I continued: “In fact, I could help you…”
He paused. But a second later, the shake of his head told me he was sticking to his guns. When our eyes met, his mirrored the guilt that seemed permanently lodged in my stomach.
“No, doll,” he reminded me. “On my own.”
We stared at each other for a long time, the sad reality of the situation settling between us. What I wouldn’t give to be able to take his hand and guide him out to the patio. Introduce him to the crowds of people who, yes, might look down their noses at first, but who would eventually come to love him just as much as I did.
A pipe dream. Especially since if he ever uncovered what I thought he might, we’d be finished anyway. Husband or not.
“So, your daughter. She’s here too?”
I swallowed and nodded.
“Can I meet her?”
I looked up in surprise. “Are you going to interrogate her too?”
Matthew’s brow furrowed. “What? Absolutely not. I only—”
“Because she’s a child,” I said. “It’s going to be hard enough for her to see her father dragged through the mud. I won’t have you doing it to her too.”
“Nina—” he started to argue, then stopped himself. “Everything I’m doing is for you,” he said finally.
“Don’t lie,” I whispered. I noted he didn’t say us.
He relented. “Okay, maybe not everything. But I can save you, baby. If you’ll let me. You just need to trust a little bit.”
Trust. What did that feel like? And how could you trust another when you couldn’t even trust yourself?
I breathed. “It’s fine. I usually spend most of my time here at the stables anyway.”
Matthew nodded. “All right. And if anyone asks, I’m a friend of Eric’s from law school.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll stay away from you. You stay away from me. And that includes—”
“Mommy?”
We both froze at the sound of my daughter’s voice echoing across the marble. We both took immediate steps away from each other and turned. Olivia stood in the hall, a large towel wrapped around her small body, goggles in hand.
“Mama, who is this?” she asked as she approached.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, Matthew strode forward and extended his hand as he squatted in front of my daughter.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve made a proper introduction. I’m Matthew.”
Matthew. For a moment, I was riddled with jealousy. That was my name for him. He’d told me so himself. No matter that it was his given name, the one on his birth certificate, the one anyone on the planet could call him if they liked. For some reason, I resented anyone else but me using the full, deliciously formal version that I had somehow claimed as my own.
Even my daughter.
I shook my head. Ridiculous. I was absolutely ridiculous.
“I’ve seen you before,” Olivia was saying as she shook his hand solemnly. “You walked my mother home one night. You had a hat like that, but it was gray.”
Matthew’s full mouth crooked to one side as he looked at the fedora in his hand. “Good memory.” He tossed the hat back on his head with a rakish tilt that made my heart skip and Olivia bite back a grin.
“My name is Olivia. Patricia says I have a good mind for faces.” She tipped her head at him as he stood. “That’s my nanny. She says I’m an elephant. I never forget.”
“Patricia is right,” Matthew said. “How about names? Are you good with those too?”
I watched with awe as Olivia stuck out her chin, almost as defiant as I myself felt with this man. Did he have that effect on all women he challenged, or just us?
“Depends,” Olivia said.
“On what?” Matthew asked.
“On whether the name deserves to be remembered.”
“Olivia!” I put in. “That was very rude.”
“Ah, let her be, Nina. We’re just getting to know each other,” Matthew said as he tipped his hat up so the afternoon light revealed his entire chiseled face. He pointed to it. “See this, my little elefantessa?”
Olivia laughed outright. I started. It wasn’t a sound I had heard in a very long time.
“What?” she asked. “Your face?”
“Yeah. This ugly mug.”
Matthew grinned. The giggle grew louder. I pressed a limp hand over my heart.
“I promise you that by the end of this weekend, you’ll never forget it or my name. And if you do…that’s an ice cream on me, kid.”
The whites of my daughter’s teeth shone through her full-faced smile. “Is that a bet?”
Matthew nodded. “No, it’s a deal, kid.” He stuck out his hand again. “Shake on it.”
Olivia eyed his hand again, but smiled wide enough that two dimples touched the corners of her cheeks.
“Shake,” she murmured as she took part in the ritual.
“Olivia.” I cleared my throat, finally able to locate my voice over the thump of my heart. “I think you can leave Mr. Zola alone now. He’s here to see Eric and Jane, not us.”
Her gaze shuttered and turned to me as she pulled her hand away. “Mama, do you have to go to the stables right away? Can’t you come for a swim at least once this weekend?”
Next to her, Matthew’s eyes bugged out. It was clear the idea of me in a swimsuit had produced the effect.
I should have said no. I should have continued with our plan. Maintained my distance while he kept his.
Really, I should have done as he originally demanded and taken Olivia home. But instead, I smiled at my daughter, enjoying the way Matthew swallowed heavily.
“Yes,” I said. “I think I will come for a brief dip. Let me just go upstairs and change.”
Chapter Sixteen
“It’s just a swimsuit,” I told my reflection for the fourth time. “Everyone wears them.”
Everyone except you.
Lord. My internal monologue was really getting out of control.
I’d been in this room for forty-five minutes and I’d changed in and out of these two bits of fabric four times. Every time I turned to leave, I’d come right back and strip it off in favor of another sundress. And then when I got to the door, Olivia’s eager, surprised face and the flash of lust on Matthew’s would turn me on my heel. Back on went the suit.
“It’s a suit,” I muttered. “You’re not Lady Godiva. You’re still dressed, for God’s sake.”
And it was true. The white bikini was tasteful. Unremarkable. No more revealing than anything others would wear. Yes, the floor-length white cover-up I wore over it was sheer and open, but it was still floor-length. Beyond that, I’d pulled my hair back in a neat bun at the top of my head and kept my jewelry to its quiet minimum with only my wedding rings, a pair of diamond studs, and the small pendant around my neck that had been a gift from my father when I graduated high school.
“No one will notice anything,” I told myself through my teeth. I blinked. I was lying. And terribly too.
Because the truth was, this was more of my body anyone in my family or circle of friends had seen in ten years. I would walk down to that patio and they would all stop and gawk. Gin-soaked comments would be made, like: “Aren’t you the cute little showgirl?” or “My, my, who are we trying to impress?”
I’d become the one thing I’d tried never to be: a spectacle.
Anxiously, I toyed with my necklace as I turned from side to side, examining myself. I had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Daily sessions with a trainer on top of spinning classes, Pilates, and Barre kept everythi
ng perfectly tight along with the balanced, carefully allotted calories Marguerite provided. I might have been thirty and a mother, but everything was still, for the most part, where it had been for the last decade. And I intended to keep it that way, thank you.
Sometimes I had to remind myself I was still only thirty. Only half of my childhood friends were even married, and even if they were, many still lived like they were ten years younger. Lounging around in the smallest scraps, their bodies waxed, polished, and, yes, artificially inflated in some parts. Never too lavish. Never cheap. But always on display for their husbands, their lovers. Always there for someone’s pleasure, even if it was just to look.
I, on the other hand, had been prim and proper to the point of eccentric. Everyone believed me when I said it was for my daughter. For my family. That I had a role to fill. No one questions statements like that when they’re coming from a family like mine. The de Vrieses didn’t just follow the rules of propriety—we made them. And so, if the granddaughter of Celeste de Vries intimated that it was improper for a young mother to wear a string bikini, no one whispered a word against it. No one wondered if the expensive cover-ups hid more than just maternal body. No one checked for bruises.
No one had ever bothered to look beneath.
Until him.
I pulled the sheer fabric aside. There was a shadow of one bruise still lingering on my thigh, but it was practically gone now. The worst was the one on my inner thigh, but I could keep that hidden if I just kept my legs together.
I chuckled. That sounded like an admonishment I would have received from Grandmother before coming out.
A lady keeps her legs crossed, Nina.
I shook my head. I wasn’t a lady. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
With a bit of defiance, I grabbed my lipstick off the vanity and held it up. I had thrown another tube of this at Matthew in the middle of the street…and then replaced it the following day. Never in my life had I worn this color until I met that man, and I hadn’t worn it in over two months. Not since I had last seen him.
I shook my head. I shouldn’t. Really. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I found myself drawing the deep crimson carefully over my pouted lips. If I was going to make an entrance, I might as well do it. And if the stubborn man insisted on being here this weekend, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Maybe I should…but I was starting to learn that when it came to Matthew, I had very little control.
The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2) Page 17
