by Nadia Lee
“Why I pay him the big bucks,” Elliot says.
Pete chuckles, then asks me questions about my comfort level with certain types of strategies, how much risk I want to assume and other things that I’ve never considered before. I don’t even try to pretend I can be the kind of sophisticated, moneyed investor he’s probably used to dealing with.
No, I can’t afford to lose the principal. I’d prefer that my money keep up with inflation, at least. I have a younger sister—fifteen—who’s going to go to college, and it’d be nice if I could help pay for that.
Pete casts a quick glance in Elliot’s direction when I mention Nonny’s college tuition, but then he’s back to his questions. He’s undoubtedly wondering why I’m worrying about it when I can just ask my rich husband.
Someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Pete calls out.
It opens, and a face I never thought to see again pops into the office.
All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I struggle to breathe. The blood in my veins chills, leaving me shaking. The room tilts, and I grip the armrests.
A warm hand on my bare arm anchors me. Elliot’s concerned face fills my vision. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just a little, um, dizzy spell.”
His eyes narrow, but I can’t think of a better cover story.
I blink a few times, then cast another glance over my shoulder.
I haven’t imagined it.
Dennis Smith is here. In L.A.
* * *
Elliot
Dizzy, my ass. Something else is up with her.
The intern is visibly pale, but he recovers, comes over and places a packet of paper on Pete’s desk. “The documents you requested.”
“Thanks, Dennis.” Pete turns to her as though he hasn’t noticed anything odd between the intern and my wife. “Have you met Mrs. Reed? They just got married.”
“No, I haven’t.” A slight twitch in Dennis’s hand betrays him as he takes her in. He hides it from Pete’s line of sight, but not from mine.
“Then say hello. Mrs. Reed, this is my intern Dennis Dunn.”
Her head tilts. “Dennis Dunn?”
The skin under the intern’s left eye tics.
She stands, her motion abrupt and inelegant. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” Blindly, she reaches for her purse.
“I’ll show her where it is,” Dennis says, a little too eager.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “She knows where it is.”
She turns even paler. I tense, ready to catch her if she faints. The intern’s mouth thins briefly, but he nods with a smile that looks like he’s trying to hide food stuck between his upper incisors.
Dennis opens the door for her, and she stumbles past him, somehow keeping her chin up.
Since I have no intention of letting the man out of my sight, I make a bit of pointless chatter about the market while we wait, making sure to include him in the conversation.
After a few minutes, my wife comes back to the office. Her mouth is set in a vague smile, but she’s still stiff. I signal Pete. He dismisses Dennis, and he slinks away, his gaze on the back of my wife’s head.
Breathing noticeably easier, she finishes answering all the questions Pete asks. She acts pretty well, but I’m attuned enough to her now not to buy the show.
After the meeting’s over, we leave with further congratulations from Pete. I put a hand to the middle of her back and feel an almost imperceptible tremor.
I wait until we’re in an elevator. It’s after lunch, and nobody else is inside with us. “What’s wrong?”
She drops her eyes to my loafers. “Nothing.”
“Then why are you acting odd?”
“I’m just…” She turns her head toward me and gives me a pat smile. “It’s just overwhelming. I didn’t expect to have to find something to do with the money so soon.”
I cock an eyebrow.
“I haven’t thought about what to do with the money at all. It won’t be mine for a year anyway.”
“Do you know that intern?” I ask point-blank.
She steps away from me, but it doesn’t hide the flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s get something straight. I don’t like it when people lie to me.” I lean closer, so our noses are almost touching. “Who is he? Somebody you gave a lap dance to when you were working as a stripper?” That shouldn’t bother me. I know her past, but it makes me want to grind my teeth anyway.
“No!” She recoils. “He’s someone I knew back home. We just didn’t end well.”
I narrow my eyes. “An ex-boyfriend then.”
She sighs. “Yes. An ex. I just never expected to see him again, okay? We all have that one relationship we’d rather forget.”
That hits a bullseye, and this time I look away. Maybe her reaction wasn’t so extreme. I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to maintain even a semblance of calm if I were to see the ex from the one bad relationship I’d rather forget.
Still, the sense of unease refuses to leave. I wrap a hand around her waist and pull her closer.
Her body stiffens.
I rake my teeth over my lower lip. A sudden urge to make her as pliable as she was last night beats through me. I want her eyes glazed with a painful hunger only I can sate. My free hand wraps around the bar behind me as I stare at the mirrored doors. Her gaze is fixed somewhere beyond our reflections. Josephine did well to pick out the dress. It emphasizes the hourglass figure, the body that begs to be thoroughly fucked. Anna—
Gigi, I remind myself. The name still feels unfamiliar in my mind, and it takes me a fraction of a second to orient myself before using it.
I know she wants me to call her by her real name. If I were a better man I would. But I’m not.
And I will never call her Annabelle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabelle
I’m grateful for the reprieve of the silent drive to Elliot’s home. His physical proximity, my fitful sleep last night and the unexpected encounter with Dennis churn my emotions. My nerves are shot from tension, my pulse erratic.
One minute at a time.
I can’t let events overwhelm me, push me until I’m out of control. Outwardly, I’m a married woman with a husband to lean on. The reality is I’m more alone than ever before. Nobody’s going to support me if I falter.
Elliot’s hand is loose and careless as it rests on the steering wheel. He’s acting entirely too casual and chill. If I was just slightly less in tune with his mood, I probably wouldn’t catch it, but I can feel the tension winding around him. And the crooked grin on his face holds a brittle edge.
I tighten my grip on my purse. I should’ve known he wouldn’t buy my explanation about Dennis.
I still don’t know what to do about my ex. It’s one thing if we’d just happened to run into each other. It’s something else for him to be at a firm that’s managing my money. I don’t think he’ll do anything unethical. On the other hand, we’re both still hurt and angry and resentful of each other, and Dennis apparently had to leave Lincoln City just like me and Nonny.
My phone pings with a new text. I fish it out of my purse to take a peek.
My phone doesn’t recognize the number, but I know immediately who sent it.
We have to talk.
I keep my expression carefully neutral, but the last thing I want to do is “talk”. Dennis and I have a history far too ugly and violent for something so innocuous. Isn’t that why he changed his last name to Dunn?
I’m about to tuck the phone back in my purse, but then it hits me. He has my number. It had to have come from the client file…which undoubtedly means he knows how to reach me in other ways. I don’t want him showing up in the neighborhood, especially when Nonny’s around. She’s never talked about our parents’ deaths, and I hope with all my heart that her mind’s blocked out the event…even though a part of me suspects she remembers everything. She was thirteen at t
he time, old enough to know exactly what was going on.
I would do anything to protect her from reliving that trauma.
No time today, I type. I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be like in the next few days. I hit send.
Make time.
I scowl, then turn my head so Elliot won’t notice my expression. We’ve just married, so it’s hectic. I’ll send you a time when I’m free as soon as I know.
“Who’s that?” Elliot asks in a deceptively mild voice.
Sudden guilt knots in my belly, like I got caught cheating or something. “Nonny. She’s wondering what’s for dinner,” I say, wincing inwardly at how bad that lie is. She’s never texted me about dinner before.
Elliot shrugs. “She can have whatever she wants.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Another text: Don’t tell your husband about me.
I grip the phone so hard, I’m afraid I might crack the screen. He has no idea what’s really going on between me and Elliot, and he’s probably worried about Elliot doing something to negatively affect his tenure at the firm. Don’t worry, I reply, then create a new text for Nonny. Elliot says you can have anything you want for dinner. What are you in the mood for?
She doesn’t respond. I check the time. She has five more minutes before a break.
Finally a text comes. Veggie pizza. No mushrooms. I frown.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“She wants a veggie pizza, no mushrooms.”
“We can do that. I like pizza.”
“You…do?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t like pizza? Although I prefer mine with pepperoni.”
“But that’s so…normal,” I blurt out. “I thought you’d eat, I don’t know, caviar pizza or something.”
He laughs. “That actually sounds pretty gross.”
“You don’t like caviar?”
“I do, just not on my pizza.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, squirming under his amused regard. “Either today or tomorrow, I need to go back to my apartment and get my car.”
“It’s already in the parking garage, but it’s probably better if you don’t drive it.”
“I can’t be without a car.” Another text pops up on my phone screen. Don’t avoid me. My stomach knots. As if I could.
“Of course not. You can drive the Mercedes.”
The huge diamond on my finger catches the sunlight, fracturing it brilliantly. “I really prefer my own car.”
Dennis texts me again. You owe me that much.
My lips thin. That’s too convenient and simplified a view of our tangled family background. We’ll meet as soon as I sort out my calendar. Stop harassing me.
Apparently unaware of my mood, Elliot makes a vague, noncommittal noise that says the discussion’s over as far as he is concerned.
I too am through with talking. He thinks he can just exert his will, and I’ll do as he says. The deal calls for my body for his use. I’ll honor that because I agreed—I need the money, the freedom it’s going to provide me with—but I’m not giving him any more control.
* * *
Annabelle
After changing into a comfortably loose gray skirt and an oversized, pink off-the-shoulder T-shirt, I spend the rest of the day going over the course catalog from the local community college. It’s too late for me to enroll for the current term, but I can start next year. I’ll probably complete about a semester’s worth, and then some, before the divorce proceedings start. It gives me a little sense of satisfaction. I’ll be that much closer to getting the four-year degree I want.
“You finished with that?” Elliot asks. He’s in a pair of gray lounging pants and a black V-neck shirt that molds to his perfect physique. Veins stand out on his arms, his muscles the kind you can’t get unless you work at it. His hair stands in spikes as though he’s run his fingers through it. Unlike his previously neat style, it makes him look utterly touchable, like he’s just rolled out of bed.
The thought of bed warms my cheeks, and tremors ripple over me like a phantom breeze. I deliberately shove it out of my mind. I’m not going to think about sex at all, no matter how scrumptious he looks. I close my old laptop and push it aside on the dining table. “Yes.”
He takes a seat to my left. It’s close enough that I can get a faint whiff of aftershave and something else that’s uniquely Elliot. My muscles soften at the decadently sinful smell. Even though I’ve only known him for so little time, I can pick that scent out anywhere, any time.
“We need to have a reception,” he says. “I’ll leave the planning up to you.”
I blink. “A reception?”
“For our wedding.”
“Yeah, but…it’s already over.” Our simple and efficient courthouse ceremony. A perfect reflection of our relationship.
“It was expected that I would elope or do whatever the hell I wanted with the wedding. But a reception is also expected for a few close family members and friends.”
“Do you want me to plan a family dinner?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” He shrugs carelessly.
“Who am I inviting?”
“My family, plus whoever you want.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But hold off on sending the invitations to my parents as long as you can. The reception should be in a week, but their invitations should go out two days before. At the earliest.”
I gasp. “That gives them no warning at all.”
“Precisely.”
“How about your siblings? Elizabeth and Ryder and…” I trail off helplessly. I have no idea who his siblings are. Haven’t even met them. It strikes me then how little I know about Elliot. He’s my husband—albeit for a year—but I know less about him than I did about my high school boyfriend.
“Invite them ASAP…along with Blake and Lucas, although I’m pretty sure they won’t come.”
“Who are they?”
“Blake is the oldest and my half-brother. Lucas is my twin.”
Oh, right… The genius twin who created the company with Elliot. I hope he’s wrong, about Lucas at least. I want to meet him. “Okay. I’ll need to see what venues are available that soon.”
“We can hold it here. There’s plenty of room unless you have a long guest list on your side of the family.”
I shake my head. “Nobody, really.” My parents were both orphans. That was how they bonded—the need for somebody to fill the void and complete their lives.
And they single-handedly destroyed my friendships with everyone I knew in Lincoln City. Even as I resent—and sometimes rage at—what they did, I can’t really hate them for it because they were my mother and father, and we had some beautiful moments together. I still struggle with reconciling the fact that they ruined countless lives but were still loving parents.
“Then it should be easy,” Elliot says.
I nod. “By the way, are there any other appointments I’m required to go to?”
The eloquent dark brow arches.
“Like today. I don’t know what you have planned, and unless I know what my schedule’s going to be like, it’s hard for me to structure my days.” My words fall smoothly from my lips although I’m really thinking about the meeting with Dennis. His impatience is strange. He should want to avoid me as much as I want to avoid him.
“No.”
I nod. “Great. Thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Annabelle
Dinner is a surprisingly simple affair. Even after Elliot said pizza was fine, I had my doubts. People like him should be into fancier things, the kind that can reinforce my belief that he and I are fundamentally too different.
Instead he’s too damn normal. We even eat at the coffee table with some show on the huge screen mounted on the wall, and Nonny has sparkles in her eyes, something I haven’t seen much since our parents’ deaths.
“Don’t you have homework?” I ask as I clear the table.
“Yeah.” She makes a face. “Algebr
a II. Ugh.”
“Why ‘ugh’?” Elliot props the side of his face in his hand, his elbow dug into the cushion at the back of the couch.
“It doesn’t make sense. And it’s not like I’m ever going to use it.”
“You’re going to need it to look good on your transcript at least, especially if you want to go to college.” Even as I point that out, I cringe inwardly. Math isn’t my forte, and I can’t really help her with advanced algebra homework. What’s going to happen is she and I will struggle through it and eventually have a somewhat less vague idea about how it’s supposed to work.
Nonny wrinkles her nose, and Elliot taps the tip with his index finger. “Your sister’s absolutely correct. Let me take a look. Maybe I can help.”
“Really?” She shoots a quick look my way. “Is that okay?”
He turns his head toward me. A small frown on his face pops up, then vanishes. “If you’d rather do it, I can get the dishes.”
“No, it’s fine.” He’s the genius who made his fortune when he was barely twenty-one. I’m only going to look silly as I fumble through the textbook. I flush and actually shuffle my feet a bit. “I’ll clean up.”
I gather the plates and take them into the kitchen. Nonny pulls out her textbook, and Elliot moves over to sit next to her. It’s a little surreal to see them with their heads so close together.
Nonny isn’t terrible at math, but her teacher this year isn’t all that good at explaining concepts. It doesn’t help that she turns to me to explain things that neither of us really understand. It’s been another source of frustration.
I watch them work on a problem. Smart people who get it quickly and naturally can be impatient and even unkind to those who aren’t as gifted as they are. Elliot probably never had to tutor kids for spending money.
“You’ve almost got the idea, but when you have variables laid out like this, you want to move things around so that almost everything is on one side of the equals sign. Then you isolate one variable and you can solve for it. Like this.” There’s a pause as he makes rapid marks on a piece of scratch paper. “See? So, here are the steps…”
Elliot’s calm, confident voice washes over me. He watches Nonny work on a problem, then corrects her and explains why it isn’t right and how she can avoid making the same error next time. She nods and jots down some notes.
