Trophy Wife

by Alessandra Torre

  “I can’t be nice?” he asks shortly.

  * * *

  I glance from him to Drew, and if the tension in the room was any thicker, we'd all suffocate. I try to laugh, the sound coming out wrong. “Did I do something wrong?” He knows about Drew. He must have found out about Drew.

  * * *

  He steps forward. “How unhappy are you?” He grips my wrists and pulls, turning me to face him. “Are you unhappy?”

  * * *

  I bristle, yanking my arm away and stepping toward the door. “Does it matter? I wasn’t aware that anyone cared about my personal happiness.”

  * * *

  “It matters if you are planning on killing yourself.”

  * * *

  His voice is so quiet, so deadly serious, that I pause in my exit, turning to face him. He stares at me, his face grim.

  * * *

  “Killing myself?” The thought is so absurd that, this time, a genuine laugh comes out. “Why would I do that? To save you both the trouble of dirtying your hands?”

  * * *

  He blinks, confusion stealing over his face. Oh … he is good. Wide eyes, an innocent face. He has the whole act down fucking pat. I continue on, my words spilling out uncontrollably. “I know everything. How you two came to Sammy’s specifically for me. How you knew everything about me before you ever stepped inside. How you’re planning on killing me!” I finally run out of words, gasping for breath, tears starting their embarrassing streak down my face.

  * * *

  His face pales, and I’d look to Drew, but I can’t pull my eyes from his. “Candace … that isn’t … you think we’re going to kill you?”

  * * *

  “Don’t give me that innocent face,” I hiss. “Did you guys think I was stupid? Did my low GPA put a giant ‘Here is a Dumbass’ sign above my head?”

  * * *

  “So … you’re not suicidal?” Nathan seems stuck on this topic, ignoring my questions, color beginning to return to his face, an improvement that irritates me. He shouldn’t be comfortable; he should be at least half as confused as I am.

  * * *

  “No, I’m not suicidal!” I snap. Part of me is pissed that they place enough self-importance on their own impact to think it would drive me to take my own life.

  * * *

  Drew pulls out a stool and sits, looking up at me. “The questions you were asking Nathan … about your father’s care … it was because you thought we were going to kill you?”

  * * *

  I raise my chin defiantly and cross my arms, saying nothing.

  * * *

  He shakes his head, bewildered. “Why?”

  * * *

  I don’t want to answer his questions. I want, for once in this fucking life as Candace Dumont, to get some answers. “Why don’t you start by telling me the truth?” I look back at Nathan, who steps forward, his arms crossing over his chest, his unease gone, my dominating husband back in control.

  * * *

  “I don’t owe you full disclosure. There are things you don’t need to know.”

  * * *

  “Bullshit!” I yell the word, startling him, and he shoots me a stern look, anger stealing over his face.

  * * *

  “No one is planning on harming you, I can promise you that. We aren’t murderers. What even gave you that thought?”

  * * *

  I don’t answer, biting my lower lip and considering my options. Is this the moment? The time when I show my cards? There is a risk in me showing all of my cards. It would give them an opportunity to craft lies around the evidence. It's too early for that gamble, especially when I can’t figure out his involvement in this mindfuck of my life. I’m at the precipice between a good decision or disaster. I glance, from Nathan to Drew, and pick the weaker of the two opponents. I move closer to him, taking the adjacent bar stool and sitting down next to him. “I'm about to walk out that door and say ‘fuck you’ to any agreement I've made. I need you to tell me right now what is going on and why I am here.”

  * * *

  He glances at Nathan, and I watch his eyes, watch unspoken words travel, and when he looks back at me, some decision has been made. “You asked me once why I am here.” He moves his stool a bit closer, his knee brushing with mine. “You have your father. I have my sister.”

  * * *

  I inhale. Not to be unsympathetic, but this sounds like a long story. I glance at Nathan, and the look on his face, the tight pinch of his features as he leans against the closest wall … it kills any comments. My father … his sister. I look back at Drew. “Is she sick?”

  * * *

  He shakes his head. “No one knows. We don’t know where Cecile is. She disappeared, four years ago. From this house right here.”

  * * *

  Cecile. The mysterious fiancée. Drew’s sister? It’s too much, my brain short circuiting, and I try to catch up on everything in the course of a breath. I shift slightly, not looking at Nathan, and lower my voice. “Did Nathan do something to her?”

  * * *

  There is a sigh of exasperation from Nathan’s corner of the room.

  * * *

  Drew glances at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in what is almost a grin. “Trust me, if I thought he had something to do with her disappearance, I would have strangled the truth out of him by now. No, Nathan wants to find Cecile as badly as I do.”

  * * *

  I risk a look at Nathan, and catch the tight nod. I exhale, my first clear breath in a week.

  * * *

  Drew continues. “You’re here for two reasons. The first is our ridiculous hope—if Cecile sees Nathan moving on—that she might come back.”

  * * *

  Nathan looks down, his arms crossing over his chest, and I see in the tight press of his lips, the first hint there may be something vulnerable that exists in him. I look back to Drew. “And the second reason?”

  * * *

  Drew explains. A decade ago, a ten million dollar loan from Nathan’s sister had been the funding that had launched his development business. One of his initial projects had been Casa Mar, a six hundred-room resort in Nassau. When Casa Mar finally sold out, Nathan set up a Bahamian account in his sister’s name, transferring fifty million dollars into it—his repayment for the loan, plus his gratefulness in interest. His plan was to give her the account number on her thirtieth birthday.

  * * *

  Nathan steps forward, his voice cold, the vowels flat. “She died four days before her birthday.” He spins my stool toward him, and leans in, resting his weight on the arms of it. “In a riding accident. You ask why we picked you?”

  * * *

  I lift my eyes to meet his.

  * * *

  “My sister was born on June 6, 1988. Her name was Candace Dumont.” He pauses, letting the information sink in. “You’re here because of the day you were born, and that passport that is coming in the mail. You will be, as far as that bank in the Bahamas is aware, the owner of her account, and I am planning on using you to make one hell of a withdrawal.”

  CHAPTER 39

  I sit by the pool, dawn stealing over the yard, the lights of Nashville coming to life in the distance. A firefly glows, zipping by, and I follow its path. The understanding of why I am here brings enormous relief. First, in the form of safety, my mind back-flipping happy they are not plotting to kill me. Second, it illuminates my escape. I am here for a reason. If I perform as expected, I should be allowed to leave without penalty. I am in the new position of being able to negotiate my release. At this moment, I have the upper hand.

  * * *

  The motion sensors come on, and I look over, watching Drew step down the path and stop beside me.

  * * *

  “What are you going to do, Candace? Leave him?”

  * * *

  I cross my arms, hugging my chest, the night air suddenly chilly. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  Putting his hand
s in his pockets, he turns and studies me. “He still loves her, Candace.” He shifts, his shoes crackling against the pavers. “Cecile. He is still madly in love with her. It’s why he is so cold with you.” He glances out at the view and I stiffen, the slight hurtful in its truth.

  * * *

  “He’s not cold,” I say quietly. Not always. There are times, when his hands are in my hair and his tongue is soft against mine, that he is fully and completely engaged. It is a female’s right to be possessive of those things that are hers. And he, as my husband, is mine.

  * * *

  Drew’s jaw tightens, his green eyes returning to mine. “I just thought you should know. For Nathan, the moment he saw her—he was done for. It’s one of the reasons he’s still looking for her. She still, four years later, has complete control of his heart. He will never stop loving her.”

  * * *

  I look away, needing the space, my mind trying to decipher what my heart feels for Drew. He’s speaking of Nathan, but I feel this is about us. And I can’t even think about that. I regret ever kissing him. With everything I’ve just learned, my purpose here, his sister … it feels like his seduction of me was a ploy, something to separate me from Nathan, to give his sister better footing, or some sick form of competition. I don’t know what it was, and maybe it was innocent, but I can’t deal with it, with us, right now. There should have never been an “us”, and now that I understand Nathan’s motivations, his behavior over the past two months is shone upon in an entirely different light. I push to my feet, ignoring Drew as I return to my room.

  * * *

  “Good evening.”

  * * *

  The sound of Nathan’s voice in my room is so foreign that it takes me a moment to place it. I turn from my place at the dresser, seeing him in the doorway, his tie loosened, shirt untucked. His hair looks like he has been running his hands through it all morning, his face lined, eyes tired. I feel a stab of sympathy and realize I’m already looking at him differently, my glasses rose-tinted with the new information.

  * * *

  It is the romantic side of me, the side who devours love stories, the side who still believes in soul mates and tragic love. That side is enamored by the fact that this man can still pine for the woman who crushed his heart. The man with the body of sin, who at the moment is scowling at me like I have taken his favorite toy and tossed it off a bridge. “Mark said you needed me?”

  * * *

  I stand and rest a hip against the dresser. “I have a proposition for you.”

  * * *

  He raises his eyebrows. “We went through that already. Two months ago. Our business arrangement has already been settled.”

  * * *

  “I’d like to renegotiate.”

  * * *

  “With what?” He moves closer, his eyes sharp on mine.

  * * *

  “With my name. It appears that I have sole control over the funds in that account. I am happy to help you access it, but I want something in return.”

  * * *

  “And what would that be?” He moves another step closer, and I forget how to breathe for a moment, the scent of him too familiar, bringing to mind too many memories of slick, bare skin and a hard, demanding cock.

  * * *

  “I want out. A divorce, or annulment, whichever is appropriate. But I need you to continue providing for my father. And I’d like a little bit of money to start fresh, somewhere other than Sammy’s.”

  * * *

  He frowns. “That’s asking for a lot in exchange for two months of your time.”

  * * *

  “And what was your original plan, after you got the money? Dump me with ten grand? Send my father back to the city hospital?” My body tightens in sudden anger. “You want to fuck with my life for three months and then toss me aside? I think that’s taking a lot considering what you are getting in return.” I reach forward to poke his chest and he grabs my hand, his grip tight on my skin.

  * * *

  “It’s my money, Candy. I’m just getting it back. I’m not taking something that I don’t deserve.”

  * * *

  “You haven’t answered the question,” I glare. “What was your plan for after you got the money?”

  * * *

  He releases my hand. “I wasn’t going to leave you. I was going to stay married.”

  * * *

  “What?” I say, baffled. “Why?”

  * * *

  “What Drew said earlier is correct.” He meets my eyes. “We’re hoping a wife may provoke Cecile to return.”

  * * *

  “Wouldn’t a wife make her less likely to come back?” I would certainly write off an ex who remarried, the wedding proof positive that he had recovered, and gotten over me.

  * * *

  He gives me a wry grin, a casual gesture that makes my heart stop and my knees weaken. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him smile when it wasn’t for the cameras. “You don’t know Cecile. She is very competitive, very possessive. The thought of me with a young, beautiful woman … it can’t hurt.” He shrugs. “I’ve tried everything else.”

  * * *

  “So you want to stay married?” The last few hours, my mind had been making plans for Life After Nathan. Staying married … it was a thought that had never crossed my mind.

  * * *

  “Yes. Assuming, of course, you are willing.”

  * * *

  I sit, wanting, more than anything, to put some distance between us. I can’t function properly when he is close to me, his scent too sexual for me to ignore.

  * * *

  I block out his sex appeal and force myself to remember that I am miserable as Nathan’s wife, the rules too constrictive, the control unbearably tight. I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do that. At least not with how things are now.”

  * * *

  He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

  * * *

  “The rules … how you are with me. I understand it now; you were keeping things from me and trying to keep me from having feelings for you … but I am miserable.”

  * * *

  He frowns. “Is it the sex or everything else?”

  * * *

  I hesitate. “Both, really. The sex …” I blush, despite myself. My face should be immune to blushing, especially in the area of sexual conversation. And Nathan certainly doesn't seem uncomfortable. I swallow. “The sex is great, at least for me. I don’t mind exhibitionism so much, but not in front of Drew—that bothers me.” I try to say the words casually, try to not give away anything more than what I intend. "And … that night." I shudder. "With that guy." I look up at him, my face resolute. "I will never do something like that again."

  * * *

  He nods, his eyes on mine, our gazes locked in a stare that I can't pull away from. "I'm sorry for that. I thought …" He shrugs.

  * * *

  "I'd love to know the rest of that sentence."

  * * *

  His eyes harden, my tone one I have never used with him. But things need to change, our playing field to level.

  * * *

  "There were two reasons for that. One was because it turns me on seeing your mouth wrapped around another man’s cock." His blunt words make me blink, the heat behind them causing a curl of desire in my belly. "Second, I did it to keep distance between us. To remind you that I was in control, and to stop you from harboring any illusions of romance."

  * * *

  That causes me to laugh, a short bark of disbelief. "Romance? Believe me Nathan, you have made that abundantly clear. I didn't need to suck a stranger's dick to figure that out."

  * * *

  He looks away. “I’m sorry.” His gaze returns to me. “And there won’t be anything happening in front of Drew. Now that you know everything, he’ll be moving on.” He chews on the edge of his mouth. “So you don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

  * * *

  Drew’s leavi
ng. A wave of relief hits me at the news, so many uncomfortable future moments, suddenly gone. No need to figure out our future, or lack of. No need to discuss what happened.