by A. R. Torre
There had been no such conversation. But between all my lies, there was a knife of truth—a rumor like that could absolutely kill Neena Ryder’s future standing in Atherton. I met her eyes, confident that she was intelligent enough to understand the threat. “Now, I’ve got to find William. Do you know where he is?”
“No.” She pulled self-consciously at the top of her dress. “I haven’t seen him.”
Ha. Why didn’t I believe that? “Well, it was good to see you. Let’s grab lunch sometime?” I extended an arm and gripped her generous chest against mine, giving her a parting hug. I inhaled her new fake-blonde curls, searching for the scent of William’s cologne in the strands.
She pulled away sharply before I had a chance to finish. “I’d love that. Next week?”
“Anytime,” I cooed. “I’m always around.”
She stepped back and gave an awkward wave. “Well, until then.”
I stayed in place and watched as her too-high heels clipped across the lobby. She hesitated at the elevator, then pushed into the ladies’ room. I let her escape, then settled back into my seat.
I was closing in on her, and William was not the sixty-year-old horndog that Ned Plymouth was rumored to be. We were a team, William and me. We were a team, summer was our fucking season, and a sociopathic blonde with boundary issues wasn’t going to bring down my house.
NEENA
Now
“Blackmail, Dr. Ryder, is a felony. Are you aware of that?”
“I wasn’t blackmailing anyone.” I took a sip of the coffee, then struggled to swallow the burned liquid.
“According to Ned Plymouth, you were. This is a copy of the check that Ned gave to you, and here are text-message transcripts that prove his case.” Detective Cullen slid the pages toward me, rearranging them as if they were place settings on a table. Satisfied with the layout, she pulled her short-bitten nails back.
The damn text messages. I’d always preached at Ned to delete all evidence, advice that he had obviously ignored. Had he also kept the naked photos I’d sent him? The salacious texts detailing my so-called fantasies? I flipped through the pages, half expecting to see them there.
But no, these printouts were all about my leaving. The text where he called me psychotic. The one where I told him I’d slit his throat while he slept. My demand for him to rewrite my recommendation letter and make it better.
The woman tapped on one text message. “I must say, Neena—I think a jury would find these very interesting. These texts paint a different picture than your polished exterior.”
Well, Ned could push a girl into violent territory. I’d like to see this woman fake arousal with Ned’s flabby body on top of her, his sweat dripping onto her face, his ugly mug grinning down at her. It had been exhausting, all my moaning and praise. Exhaustion that had needed compensation, and naive Ned had thought a new salary and an Hermès handbag would be enough.
He’d never even planned on leaving his wife. That’s what he told me, his voice dismissive, his attention back on his computer, our meeting already done in his mind. But I hadn’t seduced Ned Plymouth for an extra six figures a year, and being a long-term mistress had never been part of that plan. I deserved more, and the seven-figure check he’d given me at termination had proved it.
“And then there’s this.” She rearranged her collection of photos until the check with Ned’s angry scrawl glared up at me.
Ah. There it was. A million dollars. Could I have gotten more? Probably. Ten years ago, I would have taken it and run. Left Matt and used that money to start a new life with a wealthy husband. Ten years ago, a million dollars would have been all I needed. Now, it wasn’t enough. William Winthorpe would have given me more. William Winthorpe would have made me queen of Atherton or paid ten times that amount to make me go away.
William Winthorpe had been the right mark, targeted with a well-oiled execution, but I had made the horrible assumption that I was the smartest person in this game.
PART 3
JULY
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
CHAPTER 19
CAT
I sat in one of four Adirondack chairs halfway down our long front yard. Blue lanterns were hung between the trees, stretching all the way from us to the gate. I kicked up my feet on a bale of hay and watched as William and Matt stood on ladders and worked to position a giant HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY sign across the drive. To the right, on the landscaped lawn, the staff prepared the croquet sets and stage while A/V teams laid the wiring for the speakers and lighting. While the club covered brunch, our house always hosted the evening watch party for the Atherton fireworks.
“Mrs. Winthorpe.” A landscaper approached, cords of wood hanging from both shoulders and hands. “We were going to set up the firepit, if it doesn’t bother you.”
“Are you kidding?” I nodded to the stone enclosure before me. “Please. I’m dying for some warmth.”
Crushed shells crunched down the drive as Neena approached, a bottle and two glasses in hand. “I must say, you guys certainly take your parties to a whole new level. You’re making our front-porch flag look really pathetic right now.”
I waved off the compliment. “You should see our Halloween setup. And Christmas. But don’t worry—we’ll give you Thanksgiving.”
“Gee, thanks.” She sat next to me, passing me a glass and working at the wine cork. “What do you do for big holidays like that? I know you aren’t big on cooking.”
It was a jab at me and not her first. There had been several pleasant comments, all designed to point out my rudimentary cooking skills. I ignored it and held out my glass, holding it steady as she poured the red wine. “We always go to the Hawaii house for Thanksgiving.”
She stiffened. “Oh. I wasn’t aware that you had a place there. I’m surprised you don’t spend your summers there.”
“You see what it’s like for William. It’s hard for him to get away for any length of time. We sneak over there when we can. We’re heading there for my birthday, in two weeks.” I almost added a bit about needing some alone time but swallowed the temptation.
“Wow.” She poured her own glass, being generous with the portion. “You guys live the life. I could never leave work like that. You never know when someone on the team might need me. Plus, Matt’s workload is crazy year-round.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She hadn’t seemed too concerned about her team when she’d been fighting for a spot on the wine board. And Matt’s workload? I could set my clock by the time he pulled in their driveway each night.
“So, it’ll just be the two of you in Hawaii?” She crossed her legs, and I noticed her new Uggs, a shade darker than mine.
“Yep.” I took a sip of the wine. At this point William would feel obligated to invite them. Neena’s inquisitions about our activities were typically followed by a hurt silence, which he would fill with an offer to participate. Screw that. This was my chance for some much-needed one-on-one time with my husband. She could take her uncomfortable silences and gorge herself until she puked.
“Mrs. Winthorpe.” Another man arrived, more firewood in hand, and I smiled in response to his greeting. The two stacked in tandem, creating a complicated pyramid of logs.
“I’ve never been there. Are you taking the plane?”
“Yep.” I ignored the blatant hint for an invite and watched as William hammered his end of the sign into place. God, he was a sexy man. Smart and strong. In his T-shirt and faded jeans, he looked like he belonged in a Hugo Boss ad. On the other side of the drive, Matt swatted at a fly.
A match was dropped into the center of the logs, and the kindling ignited, a crackle starting. As the flames licked up the wood, she glanced at me. “How many neighbors normally attend this?”
I propped my boots on the edge of the pit, anxious for the warmth of the fire. “Around a hundred. We have viewing stations set up on the upper balconies, but most families prefer the lawn. They’ll arrive around six, and the show is at nine.”
&nb
sp; She studied the barbecue grills, which were set up to the left of the driveway, just past the golf-cart parking area. The caterers had been smoking meat since morning, and the smell drifting off their smokestacks was mouthwatering. “Do you have enough food?”
“Oh yeah. We’ve done this for eight years now. It’s one of our favorite events. You should see all the kids that show up.” My voice shuddered a little, my composure wavering, and I brushed a bit of ash off my jeans, hoping she hadn’t picked up on the slip.
She did, her next question hesitant as she extended the bottle of wine as if it might help. “Have you guys ever thought about having children?”
I took the merlot and topped off my glass. “Sure, at times.” All the time, especially on a night like tonight. Family events were both a blessing and a curse. A reminder of what we didn’t have, paired with the joy that children can bring. We had the perfect house for kids. I could host midwinter pool parties in the basement grotto. Movie nights in the huge theater. Constellation sleepovers on the massive balconies. I swallowed a deep sip. “What about you guys?”
She didn’t flinch. “Of course, early on. But Matt had prostate cancer just out of college, which killed that possibility for us.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You could adopt,” I suggested, sounding exactly like every nosy and insistent parent I hated.
“We didn’t want to. Honestly, we’re happy without kids.” She studied me, and this was it. My turn. She’d been open with me and would expect me to be the same way with her. “Are you?”
Of course we were happy. We didn’t need children to be happy. But William wanted children. I wanted children. And while he was building our life financially, it seemed as if I should be building it with babies—a job I was failing miserably at. “We’re not interested in getting pregnant right now.” The lie fell as smooth as the wine. “Like you guys, we like our life as it is. Kids . . .” I felt a frown pull at the edges of my mouth and hoped it didn’t come across as grief. “Kids would change everything in our life.”
Change everything. Inside my chest, my heart broke at the words, all the fantasies I’d ever had pushing to the forefront of my mind as if assaulting me with their strength. William, spinning our little girl into the air. A boy with his soulful eyes and my crooked smile, tearing across the deck and cannonballing into the pool. Sunday mornings, a pile of us in the bed, then chocolate-dotted pancakes.
“So, you don’t want kids.” She tilted her head, considering the concept. “It has nothing to do with . . .”
“No.” It had nothing to do with my scarred ovaries, their surface littered with cysts, their reception to sperm . . . what word had the doctor used? Hostile? It had nothing to do with failed surgeries or hormone treatments, my percentage of conceiving just high enough to keep adoption talks off the table. I knew what William wanted—a baby with his bloodline. A surrogate was the next option, and I’d put off that step for as long as I could, desperately hoping my body would give me this one thing. I wanted him to see me pregnant. Cup my swollen belly. Hold my hand during labor. I wanted to be a mother, and having another woman birth my child seemed like a broken equation for our future family.
“Huh.” That was all she said. Huh. As if she knew the truth. As if she saw my weakness.
I watched as William came down the ladder and fought the rising paranoia that he had told her about me.
“I’m sorry.” I apologized for the fifth time and frowned, my hand on my stomach. “I’ve just got to go lie down. But seriously, thank you guys for all your help tonight.”
“It was fun.” Neena stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I squeezed her back, then moved toward Matt.
“I hope you feel better,” he said gruffly, giving me an awkward side hug, then quickly retreating back.
“Sure we can’t send some of this leftover meat home with you?” William offered.
“Well . . .” Neena glanced at the buffet table, still piled high with food.
“He’s joking.” I stepped in before she had a chance to take William up on his offer and stretch out this night by another half hour. “We donate it to the homeless shelter. The staff are already packing it up for delivery.”
“Just don’t eat anything else,” she cautioned. “You don’t want to make that stomachache worse.”
“Thanks.” I leaned into William’s chest. “You guys have a good night.”
There was another round of goodbyes and well-wishes, and I fought the urge to slam the door behind them, waiting until they were in their new golf cart and halfway down the driveway before I closed the door. I glared at William. “Do you have to invite them to everything?”
He frowned. “You’re the one who asked them to come over. Remember? When we were at Morton’s.”
“I invited everyone in the neighborhood. And honestly, I would have skipped over their invite if Neena hadn’t painted a request across her tits with steak sauce.”
He sighed, setting the alarm and heading to the kitchen.
“And I thought they’d show up at six, like the rest of the neighborhood. They’ve been here since one.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost eleven. Why on earth would you invite them to watch movies with us?”
“We always watch Jaws on the Fourth of July.”
“Right. When the guests leave at ten. Not after sitting and discussing the freaking Canadian economy for ninety minutes. Plus, we always watch Jaws. Not you, me, Neena, and Matt. I swear to God, we need to bail on this friendship. They’re obsessed with us.”
William opened the door to the wine cellar, stepping in and reaching up for a bottle.
“I don’t understand why you aren’t sick of them,” I said.
“Matt’s a good guy. He isn’t like the rest of the pricks in this neighborhood. If I have to listen to one more discussion of the architectural review board election prospects, I’m going to hang myself. Plus, I work with Neena.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I have employees, too. And you know what? I’m not hanging out with the maids on the weekends. There’s a reason you’re supposed to separate business and pleasure.”
He shoved the bottle back into place and pulled out another. “Why are you so against her? Things are improving at WT. I’ve told you that. I need you to root for this.”
I frowned. “I’m always rooting for the companies. But even if the team is making progress with her—it doesn’t mean Neena and Matt have to dry hump our legs every other day of the week. I feel like I never get time alone with you anymore.” I adjusted the thermostat in the cellar, making it a degree warmer. “And did you notice that the Plymouths didn’t come?”
“Who?”
“Ned and Judy Plymouth, from Plymouth Industries.”
He moved his focus away from the wine and to me. “Why would they come?”
“I invited them. Stopped Judy in the club last week and invited her personally.” And, not to be bigheaded, but a personal invitation from Cat Winthorpe was paramount to an Oscar nod. I’d spent ten years building that clout, and the pasty-faced woman had flushed appropriately, gripping my arm with red-nailed talons, and assured me that they would come. I hadn’t mentioned Neena and had been almost giddy at the thought of seeing her and Ned’s reaction to each other. The anticipation of it had overcome any annoyance at her presence, and I’d stayed glued to her side, ready to watch their interaction. My excitement had slowly fizzled into disappointment at the realization that the Plymouths weren’t going to show. His wife had been practically frantic to attend, so Ned must have been the stumbling block. Maybe he’d heard we hired Neena and was worried she’d attend.
“I don’t understand what the Plymouths have to do with anything.” William turned away from the rack and headed toward the door. “But look—I’m sorry I invited them to watch Jaws with us. Are you still in the mood for it?”
I scoffed, flipping off the light. “Always.”
“Then let’s go scare your panties off.”
I
stopped him before the entrance to the theater room and pulled him into my arms for a hug. He didn’t fight the gesture or ask me about it. He wrapped his arms around me, a protective blanket of security, and gave his insecure wife the long moment I needed.
On the screen, the end credits to Jaws rolled. I lay back against William’s chest, a cashmere blanket over our bodies, and tried to push Neena from my mind.
He ran his fingers over the top of my head. “You want to do another?”
I shifted into a more comfortable position and remembered the way she had hugged him goodbye, gripping him for a moment longer than was necessary. “Sure. Which one?”
He lifted the remote, scrolling through our July Fourth movie list.
I watched the familiar names roll by. “Independence Day,” I mumbled.
He clicked on the link, and I turned to him, unable to hold back a final Neena question that had been bothering me. “Did you tell her about my cysts?”
He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tightening of his chest muscles underneath me.
I shifted to get a better glimpse of his face. “You did,” I accused.
“I didn’t tell her why we hadn’t had children, just that we have been trying.”
“Oh, right. So you didn’t mention that it was me and not you?”
His silence answered the question. I propped up on his lap and turned to meet his gaze. “That’s something personal, William. It should have stayed between us.”
“I didn’t mean—it just came out. We’re both dealing with that. Her with Matt, me with—”
“Oh my God, stop.” Any minute and the tears would come. “You can’t—” The image of them together, complaining over their infertile spouses. Talking about the missed opportunities and the children they yearned to have. Two fertile individuals, both married to such sad excuses for a spouse. Had they considered the easy option, the one that would have been painted so clearly before them?
