Fashion Jungle

by Kathy Ireland

  Dane.

  He knew every hacker in the area.

  The guy wielded power with too much enthusiasm and aggression for Everlee, but he’d always been a friend.

  Besides, he owed her a favor, didn’t he? Because of his new club, her husband had come home three nights over the course of the last two weeks, intoxicated, smelling like whiskey and perfume. And now this.

  With a sigh, she picked up her cell and called Dane’s number.

  “Everlee.” He said her name the way he said everyone’s, with expectation, as if he knew she was about to ask him for something. “I’m in a meeting, what do you need?”

  “He changed his passwords.” That could have come out a lot smoother. “And I just… I’m being a paranoid wife, I know that, but we’ve always shared everything and—”

  “I’ll send someone tomorrow morning, but you’ll owe me.”

  “Ha. Are we sure about that? Since it’s my husband who’s been paying a thousand dollars just to step foot inside your club?”

  Dane added, “I give him ten percent off for being such a faithful customer.”

  “You’re the devil.”

  He just laughed. “People see what they want. They believe things the same way. How about I just do this as a favor from a friend?”

  “No catch?”

  “A slight catch, nothing huge. But if you find anything suspicious, come to me. Let me deal with it. Especially in your condition.”

  She almost dropped the phone. “Ex-excuse me?”

  “One minute.” It sounded like he was talking to someone, and then a door clicked shut. “I’m in my office with the doors closed. And I said a woman in your condition. I didn’t stutter.”

  “How do you know? I haven’t told anyone!”

  “I know everything, Everlee, don’t patronize me with stupid questions. Around seven weeks along, am I right?”

  Hot tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Yes.”

  “You let me know if you need anything else. The last thing you want is to endanger the baby with stress. Whatever you find, I want. And if it’s too much to deal with, if your concerns are validated, you come to me. Only me.”

  A golf ball of emotion lodged itself in her throat. “Dane…”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you know?”

  His sigh was long, exhausted. “I need to get back to my meeting.”

  “Dane!”

  “Deep breaths, for the baby. I’ll send over a script for that nausea, too.”

  He ended the conversation.

  She stared at her phone in shock.

  Something didn’t add up.

  Dane keeping tabs on her made no sense.

  They were friends, had always been so because of Danica, but for Dane to know that Everlee was pregnant meant that he either had people following her or her apartment was bugged.

  That was ridiculous, though. He would have no reason to do that! She set her phone down on the desk and reached for the remote to flip on the TV.

  And nearly fell out of her chair when she saw that Brittany was front and center with Ronan of all people.

  Divorce?

  Dread trickled down Everlee’s spine.

  No. They were just going through a rough patch, she and Frederick. He was her everything, her dream guy. This was what happened when you got married and lived with someone for so long. You could easily turn into roommates, passing ships in the night. She just needed to remind him why they were so good together, why they had fallen in love in the first place.

  Starting tonight.

  All they needed was time, right? Time.

  And she had exactly six hours to make sure he walked in that door and looked at her the way he used to.

  Everlee’s feet ached, and she’d had to use the restroom at least five times in the last hour—but it was done. She’d had Amazon deliver enough groceries to last a week and had looked up one of her favorite butternut squash soup recipes. It had some calories, but she figured if they were going to reconnect, why not have it happen over food? She opened a bottle of Prisoner red blend and let it breathe, only panicking a bit over him noticing her not drinking. Then again, if she had one sip and quietly spit it back into the glass, would he even notice? Maybe she would just tell him she still wasn’t feeling well.

  The salad was made.

  And the dining room looked perfect. She’d lit some candles and set out the dinner to look like they were eating out at one of their favorite restaurants instead of dining in, and because Everlee knew Frederick’s busy schedule, she’d texted a few times to confirm that he was actually coming home.

  Five minutes.

  She’d managed to squeeze into her old size-two leather mini-dress. It hugged every curve and was a little tight across her waist, which helped to hold in the small pooch she’d started to acquire over the last two months.

  It was hardly noticeable, but because she was so thin, she knew she was on borrowed time. The last thing she needed was to end up on Page Six with speculation about a burrito baby or a real bun in the oven.

  She put on a coat of fresh lipstick, arranged her hair in the reflection of the oven, then slid her sore and swollen feet into a pair of Louboutins just as the doorknob turned, and Frederick made his way into the apartment.

  “Smells good,” he commented. “Did you order in?”

  “No,” she yelled back, a grin on her face. This was precisely what they needed. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Sure, he had been coming home smelling like someone else, but that was because she hadn’t been giving him attention. And now that she was, everything would be fine. “I cooked!”

  He rounded the corner. His eyes drank her in as he leaned against the wall. “You? Used the kitchen?”

  Heat seeped into her face. “It’s not rocket science.”

  “To you, it usually is,” he said in a teasing voice. “It really does smell good, though.” He pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to her. “I haven’t seen this dress in a while…” She beamed as he ran his hands down her curves, resting on her waist. “You fill it out better than you used to.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Warmth filled her chest.

  “Do you want it to be?” he asked, his lips turning upward. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m just saying I notice little things about your body. Technically, that’s a good thing.” He pulled her in for a kiss, one that tasted like fresh mint.

  As if he were trying to cover something up.

  She kicked that thought out of her head and kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. She ignored the pain that started to trickle where her heart used to beat strong and happily. She had no choice.

  “Mmm, what did I do right? I think I deserve to know so I can do it again,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’re wearing a tight dress, cooking…” Frederick’s voice lowered, making her belly flutter. “I like it.”

  “Good.” She bit down on her lip as a sharp pain struck her abdomen. She reached for a glass of water and drank a few sips before answering. “It’s all for you. I wanted to make you feel special today. We haven’t seen each other much, and—”

  He burst out laughing. “You’re cute. We see each other every day. We sleep in the same bed. But I love that you want more…”

  “Always,” she said quickly. “I’ll always want more of you.”

  “Hmmm, seems to me like you should follow through with that better when your husband comes home after a long day of work.”

  Wait. What?

  Her smile froze. “I’m always here when you come home.”

  “No…” He leaned over and sniffed the soup on the table. “I’m saying sexually. It’s like you’ve turned into this giant prude. I swear, last week, I almost asked you if you were cheating.”

  “What?” she said, a little breathless. “Why would I ever cheat on you? That’s ridiculous!” Where would he ever even get that idea? Especially since he was the
one coming home smelling like another human!

  “Hey, hey.” He cupped her face with his hands; she searched his eyes. “I’m just saying you’ve been off lately. I thought maybe there was some other guy I didn’t know about, not that I’d blame you. We both know monogamy isn’t realistic.”

  Her heart stilled in her chest as his words descended between them like a choking, cruel fog. “Well, when you’re married, it is.”

  He just shrugged and dropped his hands like he didn’t want to argue about it. “Should we eat?”

  “Frederick?” Was she really going to ask this? Was she going to go there? Her blood pressure skyrocketed, she could feel it in the way her head spun, the way her mouth felt dry, and how everything in her body hurt.

  “What?” His expression was utterly innocent.

  “You haven’t been… you know…?”

  He chuckled. “Why would you even need to ask? I’m the one who’s home with my wife at eight at night, enjoying a wonderful dinner she cooked. I’ve been giving you space because it seemed like that’s what you wanted.” He gave her an incredulous look and then winked. “Wow, you even had French bread brought in?”

  For the first time in her marriage, she didn’t want his wink. She didn’t want his laughter or his sarcasm. She wanted to have a real conversation, even if it meant they got angry, even if it meant space for both of them. But she wouldn’t get that from him—she never had, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  Frederick grabbed a piece of bread and broke it off, then sat at the head of the table while she slowly walked to the chair next to him and reached for the bread.

  He gave her a judgmental look, his eyes darting from the bread to her face.

  “What?” Everlee lifted it to her mouth. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re beautiful, and I would hate for that beauty to fade just because you gained too much weight to wear anything in your closet.”

  She dropped the bread back onto the plate as a heaviness settled on her chest. “I’m a size two.”

  “You used to be a zero.”

  Were they really having this conversation? This wasn’t the plan. Dinner was supposed to be about reconnecting, laughter, holding hands. Not dietary restrictions because he happened to notice that she was gaining weight!

  “Well, you know,” she said, flashing a fake smile that made her want to burst into tears. “They say strong is the new skinny.”

  He smirked at her. “You know who says that, right?” He grabbed another piece of bread. “Girls who like to eat.”

  “Girls have to eat to live, we aren’t robots,” she said frostily. “Look, I wanted to do something nice for you. Could we not talk about my body as if I’ve gone off the deep end because I’m up one size?”

  He just took another bite and reached for his wine. “I have to go out tonight.”

  “But you just said—”

  Frederick’s eyes zeroed in on her, and then he stared down at the soup and reached for his spoon. “It’s for work.”

  “You’ve been doing that a lot lately… working.” Her voice was quiet, passive. It was as if she were watching someone else’s story, not hers. When had she ever let him speak to her like this? When had it become okay? When had things shifted? Her emotions were all over the place.

  Slurp.

  Slurp.

  It was like her ears were hyper-aware of each noise, the sucking, the sound of the chair scraping across the floor, the news in the background, even Frederick’s swallows—all like a bomb ready to go off.

  He dipped his bread into the soup.

  Another slurp.

  Her body jerked with each sound, and anger twisted in her gut that he would sit there and judge her small body while he ate whatever he wanted and screwed whomever he wanted.

  Jumping to conclusions again.

  “Frederick?”

  Slurp. “Yeah?”

  “Who are you working with tonight?”

  He stilled. “New model, the one that looks like Brittany—or at least the hair. I’m taking her to a few clubs to meet some industry people. It should take about two hours. She’s underage, so it’s more of a ‘here’s some water and say hi to the person who can make you a star if you play your cards right.’”

  He didn’t need to explain it to Everlee.

  She knew all about that game.

  Because twenty years ago, she’d been the one on Frederick’s arm as they played it.

  “Are you sleeping with her?”

  Frederick dropped his spoon into the bowl, scattering soup all over the tablecloth she’d chosen to drape over the dining table so it would look classy. “Are you serious right now?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without yelling, without crying, without blurting everything out to him or worse, without getting down on her hands and knees and just begging him to love her again.

  “No.” His tone was gentler as he put his hand on hers. “I love you, only you.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Come on.”

  His words were so empty. Words without meaning were almost more hurtful than words that held cruelty. She’d rather feel something.

  “What?”

  “Let’s go.” He pulled her to her feet and then turned her around and unzipped her dress, jerking it down past her hips.

  No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to fight and then have sex.

  They were supposed to talk and laugh, and he was supposed to tell her that she was beautiful and that he loved her. He was supposed to love her, no matter what.

  Tears, ever-present tears sprang to her eyes as he slid the dress down her body. “This is what I want to come home to next. I want to feast on you.”

  She shook in his arms.

  This wasn’t right.

  They were married.

  But that didn’t give him the right to touch her. Did it?

  “See? You needed this as much as I did.”

  What he didn’t know, and what she’d never say, was that it didn’t feel consensual, not then—maybe not for a long time.

  A very, very long time.

  Images of the ‘me too’ movement flooded her line of vision. One thing they never included? How it didn’t discriminate. Women were bullied even in their own relationships, weren’t they?

  Everlee forced the bad thoughts away as his mouth touched her skin.

  And then her lips.

  Wrong. So wrong.

  She let him kiss her with her hands pinned at her sides, her heart cracking. Inside, she was screaming.

  She pretended again that all she wanted was to have sex with her husband next to the soup she’d spent hours making.

  She pretended that her body didn’t ache in all the wrong places.

  She pretended that she enjoyed herself when all she wanted to do was sob.

  And when he left to go back to work…

  She pretended to smile as she walked into the bathroom to take a shower—and saw blood.

  Only this time, it wasn’t from his shirt.

  It was all hers.

  He was back. Dane’s anger wasn’t something that he could control, not when it came to the people he loved—those he needed to protect. He watched from the lobby window of the building as Aaron walked by for the third time. The guy wore a black Yankees hat, jeans, and a blue T-shirt that had seen better days. He stopped once directly in front of the door and looked up as if he were trying to get a better view into the office.

  Dane held up his phone and snapped a photo of the creep, and then flicked off the light.

  “Hey!” Zoe called from her office. “What was that for?”

  “All done for the day,” he said as cheerfully as he could, which meant his voice sounded like metal getting run over by a train. “Get your things.”

  “Please,” she said in that bossy voice he loved so much. “Use your manners, or I’m going to work all night and make you sleep in
a chair!”

  “You’re welcome!” he fired back. “For picking you up from work so you don’t have to be scared.”

  Her stilettos pounded against the cement floor as she made her way down the hall and faced him. Her white crop top kissed the brown suede skirt she wore; it made her look downright lickable.

  Which was always a problem when it came to Zoe because he would never force anything physical. No, he wanted her to come to him.

  Begging.

  Promising.

  Loving.

  Sacrificing.

  Surrendering.

  Zoe stopped, arms crossed, glaring. She was magnificent, wasn’t she? Brown skin, warm, green colored eyes, and enough fight in her to make him want to provoke her daily and then kiss and make up over and over again in an endless cycle. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “Sure.” He grabbed her jacket from the rack and then handed her the hanging purse. She turned like she always did when he helped her put her coat on. The funny thing about Zoe was that she didn’t realize they were already acting like a couple, already working together seamlessly. Beautifully.

  He needed her.

  She needed him.

  It had always been that way, and part of him knew that his sister had given her blessing. That was why he’d kept the list. Because every girl in their group had to sign off on it before she could marry her dream guy. It was a pact made out of the dreams and imaginations of fourteen-year-old girls with stars in their eyes; young ladies who still believed that love was the rule and not the exception. That if they just worked hard enough, they could have a happily ever after.

  That one day, their prince would come.

  Dane was more devil than prince, but that didn’t make his heart any less human, did it? Maybe it was the last part of him tethered to his humanity, the fact that he’d given it to Zoe for safekeeping so he didn’t destroy it with his own darkness or with what he did for a living.

  “I’m not arguing with you.” Zoe’s shoulders slumped.

  With a frown, Dane walked around her and started massaging her shoulders. She leaned back against him, her eyes fluttering closed. “Something I can help with? Other than being your own private security detail late at night and taking you back to the apartment you own? With the man you love?”