The Consequence

by Giana Darling

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered into my hair once we were settled.

  “We hurt her so badly,” I breathed, completely wrecked by my puking and the crying jag.

  “We did,” he acknowledged. “It was awful but it is over now. You let her have her freak out and she doesn’t get anymore. This life that we’ve fought for does not include her bullying or her bitterness.”

  “Sin,” I protested but he stopped me with a finger to my lips.

  “No, Elle. We didn’t fight for this relationship only to have it poisoned by her every single day. We did a bad thing, a really fucking horrible thing to someone that we both cared for but it is done. We cannot keep retreading that path or we will never be happy.”

  God, he was so right. I knew it, but it didn’t seem right to be so incandescently happy when she was so miserable.

  “We aren’t good people,” I said, because I needed to acknowledge it.

  “We did a bad thing,” he repeated. “So, maybe we aren’t the best people but I do not really fucking care. I would rather be a villain with you than a good person with anyone else.”

  We sat in silence for a long time after that. Distantly, I could hear Alexander, Candy and Cosima cleaning up in the kitchen.

  “Where did Seb go?” I finally asked.

  “After Elena,” he explained.

  “Good.”

  “We’re going to be fine, my siren. Even if it was just you, me and this baby, I would make sure that we were the happiest family in the world. But we are not alone. We just had a whole group of people happy to congratulate us on our new house, on our baby and our new life together. We’re going to make it through this and I am going to give you a happily ever after. D’accord?”

  “Je te crois,” I murmured back, because I believed him, even if it was hard to imagine it in the moment.

  Chapter Seventeen.

  I was beginning to wish that Sinclair wouldn’t read The New York Times anymore.

  “Fuck,” Sinclair cursed as he slammed the paper down and reached for his phone. “Fuck!”

  “Sin?” I asked, uncurling from the deep chaise lounge we had on our upper level deep.

  We were drinking our morning tea - Sinclair had decided to forgo coffee as well in a show of moral support - and enjoying the beautiful late winter morning sunrise over Brooklyn. We both loved the dual view of the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges and it was the perfect way to begin every morning. Sinclair had made the pot of herbal tea, wrapped me in a blanket and brought me up the stairs to present me with the only breakfast I could stomach, a thin slice of extremely toasted bread.

  I had just finished and we were idly discussing the party he was planning in celebration of my gallery showing in two weeks when something in the paper turned him instantly on to beast mode.

  “What the fuck?” Sinclair bit out into the phone. “How the hell did this happen, Margot?”

  I listened to the one sided conversation with my lip between my teeth.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you? Was it you who tipped them off about the Paulsons too? Bullshit, M, Elena showed up here last night fucking livid, putting her hands on Elle who is fucking pregnant, as you well know, saying that you told her about the baby. So forgive me if I don’t believe you when you say that you had nothing to do with the Paulsons or this new article.”

  I zoned out after that in favor of leaning forward to snag the offending paper of the little table it lay crumbled on.

  Faire Developments CEO and son of Mortimer Percy, New York State’s Governor, has a torrid affair with longtime girlfriend’s sister.

  Okay, yeah, I could understand why Sinclair was furious.

  The article went on to state some of the intimate details of our affair; how we met in Mexico, the subsequent reveal that Elena and I were sisters, our continued affair and finally, how we were now living in sin in Brooklyn. It also mentioned that I was an upcoming artist with a gallery showing in two weeks.

  “Fuck,” I echoed.

  “I’ll deal with this,” Sinclair said, suddenly crouching in front of my chair. His face was harsh with contained fury but it was his eyes that slayed me, filled with panic. “Fuck, this is too much for you to deal with right now.”

  I reached out to take his head in my hands. “Sin, please, I am okay right now. It sucks that someone felt the need to out us to the press as if we are some reality program but at least everyone knows now, right?”

  Sinclair did not laugh at my lame joke.

  “Honey, seriously, I am okay. It might mean that some people might not come to my showing but that’s something that I can live with. I’m worried about what it means for you.”

  And I was, the Dogwood deal was hanging by a thread and Sin still hadn’t found the person who had released the information about Mr. Paulson to the press.

  He sighed. “I think this will be the end of that.”

  “No,” I said immediately. “You can’t be serious? Paulson would really pull out of the contract because of gossip? Can he even do that?”

  “It isn’t only Paulson but the investors he brings to the table and they all follow him because they share the same sensibilities,” he explained.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He leaned forward to press a hard kiss to my lips. “Enough of that. We aren’t doing this to each other. I do have to go though. I know it’s a Sunday but I need to manage this.”

  “I understand.”

  He nodded again and gave me another kiss, this one with tongue so that I was panting slightly when he moved away.

  “Later,” he promised.

  I nodded and watched him walk away. I stayed in the chaise until I was sure I had given him enough time to get ready and leave before I got up to do the same myself.

  It was hard to forget how opulent the Paulson’s apartment was but the massive chandelier in the foyer seemed even bigger than the one in my memories. I waited there while Gus, the butler, went in search of his mistress.

  I was nervous. It could turn out to be a massive mistake to show up unannounced and somehow beg for them to continue to honor Paulson’s deal with Sinclair but at this point, when Sinclair was so uncharacteristically resigned, I knew I had to risk it.

  “Giselle, what a surprise,” Terry said as she swooped into the room.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. She wore her signature hoop earrings and her huge hair was out to there in teased curls. It was still mid-morning but she was already decked out for the day in a leopard print blouse and black cigarette pants. She looked like one of the Pink Ladies from Grease and I loved it.

  “Terry,” I greeted, still smiling. “I hope I’m not intruding but I brought you and Paulson a gift.”

  Her eyes widened with joy before she could subdue herself. I watched her bite her red painted lip and struggle with what to say.

  “Oh fudge, I can’t be mad at you. It’s not like you’re involved in this whole sordid mess anyhow, right? I mean, I told Pauly right from the get go that Daniel Sinclair was not the type of man to play in gossip but you know men, they get so angry and so stubborn that it’s hard to convince them of anything.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  She laughed her awesome hyena laugh at my dry tone and came forward to wrap me in her heavily perfumed arms. “I missed you, girl.”

  “Same here, Terry,” I murmured into her cloud of hair.

  “Okay, okay, before I get mushy and ruin my makeup, let us go get Pauly. He is just about to go into the office so you have good timing,” she said as she linked our arms and led us down the vaguely familiar hall to her husband’s office.

  “I read about the whole affair thing in the paper this morning. Horrible stuff having your personal life displayed like that.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “Anyone who sees you two together though will no that it was no tawdry thing, don’t you worry, hon.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered as we pulled up to the door and Terry knocked perfunctorily before lea
ding us inside.

  When we entered, Paulson was sitting behind his palatial desk talking on his Bluetooth and I had a déjà vu moment. He immediately hung up and glared at his wife.

  “What is she doing here, Teresa?”

  “Don’t Teresa me, Pauly. Giselle is our good friend,” she warned.

  “A good friend who is dating a man that I am not certain I should trust at the moment.”

  “Excuse me, Paulson, but Daniel Sinclair is not the kind of man to play games, especially when they would hinder more than help him. He is intelligent and fair, you know him well enough to know that as fact,” I said, my voice strong despite his glower.

  When he didn’t respond, I squeezed Terry’s hand and let go in order to take the awkwardly large brown wrapped canvas out from under my other arm.

  “I came here to remind you of his goodness but also to remind you that we are just as vulnerable to gossip as you, as evidenced by the article in the paper today about us. Sinclair and I live a BDSM life-style too. We understand and accept the sanctity of that kind of relationship, especially how easy it is to misconstrue. I’m sorry that happened to you, Paulson, but if I may, I have some advice. People know your secret now, the only thing you can do is hold your head high and own it, otherwise people will always judge you and do it easily because you let them shame you.”

  I waited a beat for my words to sink in before I placed the canvas before me and ripped off the front of the paper. “This is my gift to you, regardless of how you choose to proceed with Sinclair.”

  They both stared at the large-scale painting I had revealed to them. There were no faces, only the broad chest of a man sitting behind his kingly desk, his legs spread beneath it to accommodate the woman on her knees under the desk, her pert ass balanced on the knife-like edge of her high heels.

  It was a subtle rending of a bold power exchange. There was dominance and affection in the hand that lay on the women’s shining dark curls and power in her submission as she serviced him, knowing she was giving him pleasure.

  I loved it. It was one of my favorite paintings in my collection but I wanted them to have it.

  Finally, Terry cleared her throat and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I always admired your work, knew you were freaking talented, lady, but this is beyond perfection. I couldn’t love or appreciate it more.”

  I smiled slightly but my eyes moved to Paulson when he cleared his throat.

  “You understand that there is grace in such a thing,” he said gruffly. “Beauty in it, even though I’m not a man who gets beauty much, ’less it’s Teresa. This is a gift of beauty, and I will honor it, Giselle, just as I will honor my deal with your man.”

  Relief passed through me, making me shudder from the surreal thrill of it.

  “Thank you,” I breathed out.

  “Thank you,” Paulson boomed in his usual radio announcer voice. “Now, should we call that man and get him over here to share a celebratory drink?”

  “We should,” I said as Terry jumped up and down clapping.

  When Sinclair arrived, I was sitting on a gold brocade couch with Terry drinking sparkling apple juice while she had champagne. Paulson sat straight but oddly comfortable in an antique wooden chair that looked like something from a torture chamber.

  Sin came immediately to me, lifted me into the air and planted a deep, long, wet kiss on my lips. By the time he pulled away, my legs were wrapped around his waist and both of my hands were twisted in his hair.

  “Hi,” I breathed against his mouth.

  His hands flexed on my bottom. “I love you so much. You have evolved into such a beautiful fierce woman, Elle. Exactly like a swan.”

  I blushed like crazy under the praise and butted my forehead lightly against his. “I can be fierce for you.”

  “Evidently,” he chuckled.

  “Care for a drink, Sinclair?” Paulson asked, his voice tinged with humor.

  Sinclair pressed one more kiss to my lips before he swung around to sit on the couch beside Terry with me in his lap. “That sounds about right, Paulson. I’ll have what you’re having. We seem to have similar tastes.”

  They shared a moment of meaningful eye contacted before they both laughed, Sinclair more subdued than the other man’s bellowing chortle.

  “So,” Terry said when they had recovered and Sinclair was nursing scotch on the rocks. “Who do you think leaked your story?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not much of a mystery,” Sinclair said with a wince. “Elena showed up at our new place last night because a colleague of mine discovered that Giselle is pregnant.”

  Both of the Paulsons gasped and then expressed their heartfelt congratulations, which we both accepted with a smile.

  “She was less than impressed and it wasn’t the first time that she threatened to tell the media about us but I think it was the final straw,” Sin continued to explain.

  “Well, damn. I know it must be hard on her, but love is love, things happen and family is the end all be all right?” Terry said, her nose scrunched again in disapproval.

  “It could be argued that if family is the end all be all, then I wouldn’t have done what I did,” I pointed out softly.

  I was willing to move past our indiscretions and wrong-doings but I didn’t want to forget them or underplay them.

  Sinclair placed a kiss in my hair.

  It was Paulson, though, who offered the best advice I had heard so far. “She comes around or she doesn’t. She’s hurt but if she had handled things differently, you all could have healed together, found a way through that didn’t ruin your family. She chose differently and that’s on her.”

  His words settled the last pieces of sharp-edged grief digging into my happy heart and I closed my eyes as they shift and smoothed out.

  “Happy,” Sinclair both asked and reminded.

  “Happy,” I agreed, nestled on his lap with people we admired, his business deal saved and a baby on the way.

  Yeah, I was definitely one of the luckiest people in the world.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  After weeks of no communication, the esteemed Governor of New York and his wife invited Sinclair and me for a formal dinner at their estate upstate.

  To say that I was nervous would have been a gross understatement. My stomach rolled and bucked like a rabid stallion as we made our way through the beautiful country roads of Suffolk county. There wasn’t anything left in my belly but a few saltine crackers Sinclair had forced down my throat that morning but it was just enough to make me gag a few times behind my hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  He did.

  “We can still cancel,” he offered for the twelfth time that day.

  “No, we can’t.”

  I didn’t want the Percys to have any more reason to hate me. Yes, I had stolen their son from a perfectly adequate mate while I myself was just a bohemian artist with loose morals whose greatest asset was her breasts, but no one would ever love their son more than I would and I was determined to make them see that.

  “So stubborn, my siren,” Sin scolded, but his hand squeezed my thigh tenderly. “I just don’t want you to set unrealistic expectations. My father is a kind man but he doesn’t take an interest in anything outside of politics so he will probably leave you be. You know my mother, she will be looking for any reason to speak down to you, to belittle our relationship.”

  My heart clenched. I knew he was right but our love was still so new, so unbelievably unbelievable that I didn’t have the emotional fortitude to weather much more censure. It was impossible for me to reconcile the moral wrongness of our relationship with the absolute rightness of our connection.

  It seemed that everyone wanted to condemn us and as a person who had spent her life trying to avoid conflict, to stay firmly out of any kind of spotlight, it was wearing thin on my soul.

  I linked my fingers through Sinclair’s and immediately felt soothed.

  “We can do this,” I said.

  He ran a thum
b over the back of my hand. “We can do anything.”

  “You are so cheesy,” I teased, even though his words warmed me.

  “Only with you.” He shot me a small smile before looking back out the window. “I want to tell them that you are having my baby.”

  My tumultuous stomach heaved painfully. “What?”

  “I don’t want to hide,” he said, mulishly. “We’ve done that. I want the world to know I own you, my siren. I’ve told you this before.”

  “Sin, I really don’t feel comfortable telling your parents.” I felt more than uncomfortable. I was terrified by the thought of it.

  “When do you plan to tell them? When our child is two, twelve or thirty six?”

  “Don’t be deliberately cruel.”

  “Et tu? I am not the one who refuses to acknowledge our unborn child.”

  Guilt and anger coursed through my veins like hot lead. I opened my mouth to say something but the sight of an enormous brick mansion secured behind beautifully constructed wrought iron gates distracted me.

  It was exactly the kind of place I expected the Governor of New York and his socialite wife to live in, from the gabled windows to the perfectly symmetrical hedges lining the drive. As if I wasn’t nervous enough already, my heart leapt into a sprint.

  “Putain,” I cursed under my breath.

  Sinclair chuckled softly before parking in the cobbled driveway that looped around a central water feature. I waited, mostly because I was frozen with anxiety, for him to open the door for me.

  “Giselle,” he said, after gently helping me out of the car and pushing me back against the closed door.

  His voice came to me like I was underwater.

  “Giselle.”

  It was the warm stroke of his thumb across my cheekbone that stirred me. I blinked up at him owlishly.

  He smiled tenderly. “You look beautiful and I am very much in love with you. Have I told you that today?”