FRAUD: A Romantic Suspense Novel

by R. C. Stephens

  “Yes, but we spoke only two days ago,” she reminded me. “Is everything okay?” It seemed that despite our lack of closeness, her mom radar was working just fine.

  I guess I would be cutting out the small talk now.

  “Is it possible for you to take the kids for a sleepover tonight?” I held my breath, knowing she required more than the short notice I was providing.

  “It is short notice. Desmond and I have plans for tonight. I don’t think I can cancel.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip. I needed her to do this.

  “Mom, please. If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be asking.” My voice was pleading.

  “Is everything okay with Mark?” she asked, and my stomach sunk. Yep! Her mom radar worked perfectly.

  “Something came up. I think it’s best if the kids sleep by you tonight so I can talk to Mark about a few things.”

  “Oh. Something is wrong.” She sighed. “I told you not to marry that boy, Natalia. You’ve always been a bad judge of character.” My chest felt like knots were tied inside it. That wasn’t the first time she spoke to me that way. Only now she may be right. When I married Mark I truly believed we’d be forever. I was sure about him. I knew life could be difficult, but I thought he would navigate life by my side. How could I have foreseen us falling apart? Or him being mean and shutting down?

  “Thanks, I don’t know how to answer that.” How was I supposed to answer such a lovely compliment?

  She huffed into the phone, her frustration leaking straight into my soul. It was like that every time we spoke, her impatience and disappointment bleeding from each word. I was clearly a glutton for punishment.

  “Fine. I’ll take the children. It’s not like you let them see me that often,” she said with that snark of hers. “I’ll rearrange my schedule and ask Annabel to stay the night.” Annabel was her maid.

  “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate you doing this for me on such short notice.” I kept my tone sweet and friendly. What I really wanted to do was tell her she could be a little more sympathetic that I was in a bad marriage, drowning. I was reaching out for help. The last thing I needed was to have my miserable life rubbed in my face.

  “Just take care of whatever it is you need to take care of. I didn’t like how you looked the last time I saw you. Bags under your eyes, you look worn out. A woman your age shouldn’t look so worn down. I can tell you’re unhappy. You should leave him.” Mom’s image of how a woman should look: put together and well manicured. I didn’t fit that criteria apparently. If only it were that easy as to pick up and walk out on Mark.

  “Mom!” I snapped.

  “Don’t mom me, Natalia. If I can’t be honest with my own daughter, who can I be honest with?”

  Right.

  Mom and I shared different views on the importance of family and marriage. She never put me or Matt first. I wondered if my dad felt the same way, and that’s why he left her for his secretary, who also happened to be my good friend Rosabell’s mother.

  “Can I bring the kids over around five?” I asked, wanting the conversation to end.

  “Yes, and don’t feed them dinner. I’ll ask Annabel to fix them something nice for dinner.”

  “Thanks so much. I really appreciate this.”

  “Of course, Natalia. If you would ask for help more often, I would give it.” Her words hit me in the chest. I had been so angry after Matt’s death. While she was grieving her son and marriage, I was mad at her for not putting enough effort into mothering. I had shut my emotions off where she was concerned, and Mark had filled the void of family I needed. Years later I saw the error in my actions. Yes, Mom made mistakes, but she clearly felt remorse over them, and now that I needed her she stepped up to plate. If I planned on leaving Mark, I would need to lean on my family for support. It was something I had never done before. It wouldn’t be easy, but Matt wasn’t here to have my back, and I didn’t have much choice. Suddenly Hayes came to mind as I remembered how he told me his mother was too proud to ask for help. I’d have to tuck my pride in my back pocket even though I hated how she put me down with her words. That would be a battle for another day.

  “Thanks, Mom, I really appreciate your help.”

  She sighed. “Yes, good luck with whatever it is, and if you want to talk, I’m here.” Her words shocked me. In the past she was never there for me. Never offered a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen; maybe the tides were changing.

  “That means a lot.” Maybe she realized her past mistakes and wanted to make amends. But right now, I had my husband to deal with.

  “Bye.” She hung up the phone.

  I let out a cleansing breath and sat with my legs curled under me on the couch. Mom was a beautiful petite woman at five foot three. I got my height from Dad, and I was curvy. Mom would always be on my case about what I wore, what I ate, how I did in school. She was constantly putting me down, making me feel like I wasn’t the daughter she wanted. I never answered her. I was this easy kid who went with the flow even when my parents weren’t around. Now I wondered why I was like that. Why had I never raised my voice? Why had I never told her the way she spoke to me hurt my feelings? Why was I allowing her to make me feel this way as an adult?

  Shit! I remembered the day she came home and told me she caught Dad screwing Rosabell’s mom at his office late at night. She had been drinking, and she wasn’t much of a drinker. She accused me of choosing bad friends, as if it was Rosabell’s fault her mother was on her back on Dad’s desk. Things between Rosabell and I were strained our senior year because of it. It was only when Rosabell came up to me crying at prom, telling me how much she missed our friendship and how messed up her life was, that I understood how much she hurt too. Her mom had a revolving door of men coming into her life. None of them stuck. I wondered if that was why Rosabell found herself with Tom. He was such an ass. Treated her terribly. It made me wonder if maybe my own childhood messed me up too. Why didn’t I stand up to Mark more? Did it have to do with Mom’s verbal abuse growing up? My head felt twisted up.

  I picked up the kids from school and dropped them off with overnight bags at Mom’s place. I rushed home to cook dinner, wanting to make Mark something he would enjoy so we could have a meaningful talk. I couldn’t turn my back on him when he was hurting, no matter how much his behavior hurt me.

  I set the pork to simmer on the stove and hoped I wouldn’t mess up the carnitas I had planned for tonight. Mark loved food, so I figured cooking him an old fashioned Mexican meal was the way to his heart. I also prepared vegetables and nachos with guacamole as side dishes. I hoped the side dishes would complement the meal. I would find out when Mark came home.

  With the pork simmering on the stove, I took a quick shower and put on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. This wasn’t a night to seduce my husband. At eight o’clock sharp Mark came through the door.

  “Something smells really good.” His smile was wide.

  “Carnitas.” I grinned.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” He came up to me and hugged me. I tried hard not to feign offense at his words, but it was hard not to. Would he have been happier had I cooked like this all along? It was ludicrous. People weren’t happy in marriages because of food.

  He turned his head to look for the kids. “They’re at my mom’s.”

  “Really?” He cocked a brow.

  “Come sit.” I motioned to the table where I had the vegetables, nachos, guacamole, and store-bought salsa set up. I went over to the stove and poured the carnitas into a large bowl.

  “That smells good. This all looks really good. Thanks, Nat.” He sounded a lot like the old Mark, which was eerie because life happened, we had kids and full time jobs, I couldn’t cook like this every day.

  We sat for a quiet meal. I wanted him to enjoy the food and relax.

  “Wine?” I offered.

  “Please.”

  I poured him a glass.

  “This feels like old times. It’s nice,”
he said.

  I realized we had nothing to talk about. Somewhere along the way the kids and life and bills had become our only topics of conversation. Now I didn’t have anything else to say. He didn’t like my friends so I couldn’t update him about them, and he had his own friends who I didn’t really know. We had created separate lives for ourselves. The thought was both sobering and sad.

  “It is,” I agreed. I didn’t want to ask him about work, knowing it could be a trigger.

  We finished our meal. I didn’t want to offer him more than one glass of wine, because I wanted him to have a clear head. I left the dishes on the table and stood, taking him by the hand. “Come over to the couch.”

  He gave me his hand willingly, and we sat side by side. I took a deep breath.

  “What’s going on, Nat?” he asked, clearly sensing something was up.

  “I want to talk to you. I-I want to have a talk about the past. I don’t want to anger you. That isn’t my intention here. I just . . . our marriage is in trouble, Mark, and I love you. I want to save our marriage. You know how important it is for me to be a family.” Mark nodded. He looked a little uneasy or maybe unsure what my angle was, but he was calm.

  “I don’t want you to freak out when I say my next words. Like I said, I had my reasons for doing it.”

  He jerked his hand out of mine. “What is going on with you?”

  “I called Bella. Please don’t be mad. My intentions were good.” I spoke fast while my heart beat rapidly. I could feel him slipping away. Shit.

  He shot to his feet and gave me an incredulous look. “You had no right.”

  “I think I did. You’ve been in zombie mode the last few years. I’m drowning in our marriage, I’m lonely. I need to understand my husband. That’s why I did it.” I stood my ground, and Mark knew I wouldn’t back away.

  “What did she say?” he snapped. His dark eyes were wild as he looked back and forth.

  I told him exactly what she told me, and he paused and fell back into the couch, his head sagging between his shoulders.

  “Babe, let me be here for you. You were taught to keep things locked inside, but it isn’t healthy. Talk to me, Mark. What you went through . . . you were only a child.” My voice was soft and soothing while I internally prayed he wouldn’t lose it on me.

  “Stop,” he shouted, and I jolted.

  He stood again. “You shouldn’t have spoken to Bella. I am who I am, Natalia. I can’t change that,” he growled.

  “I want you to stop shutting me out of your life,” I said. I couldn’t go on talking about what the loneliness was doing to me because tonight had to be about helping him.

  “I don’t want to make you feel sad. I just . . .” He shook his head.

  “What is it? Say it, whatever it is,” I urged.

  “No!” he snapped.

  “Mark, you were a child when Consuelo died. You couldn’t have helped her, and your father clearly needed help. You were abused; that couldn’t have been easy.” Showing him I knew these intimate details about his family wasn’t easy. I had trained myself not to anger him, and now I was poking the bear head on.

  He looked at me incredulously. “Fuck!” he barked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Bella is a fucking liar. It wasn’t me in the water with Consuelo; it was Bella. That’s why she left. She couldn’t deal with it. She felt responsible.”

  I stood from the couch. What? Bella lied to me? I hadn’t expected that.

  “She said your dad left your mom seven years ago. Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked, because things weren’t making sense. I told Bella why I called. Why would she lie to me when I asked for help? She was a mother; she had a family. She must have understood my reasons for calling.

  He shook his head and pursed his lips.“Dad didn’t leave Mom. Dad is home with my mother. I just saw him there. Spent time with him. Fuck, Nat. I asked you not to call my fucking sister because she is messed up. Why couldn’t you respect my fucking wishes for once?” He stalked out of the room and straight out the front door.

  My heart dropped into my stomach. What had I done? I only made things worse. It never dawned on me that Bella would lie. And the stories she conjured up. Why would she do that? Or was Mark lying again? I thought back to the car park bill. He straight out lied to my face about staying in LA longer. Was he just a really good liar? My carnitas were coming back up my throat, and I ran to the washroom to vomit. I had been awake most of the night, feeling sorry for Mark. Now I felt confused. I splashed cool water on my face. My phone call to Bella led me to a dead end, and I only angered him more. Would he come home? I turned the television on and watched a Netflix show, but I couldn’t focus.

  I tried calling Mark, but he didn’t pick up. My mind was racing, and my heart was hurting. I trudged toward the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine that was open from dinner. There was half a bottle left; it would have to do. I took a long swig straight from the bottle and walked to my bedroom where I picked up my laptop and typed away. My story pulled me into another world. An older woman who fell in love with a younger man, and as I wrote I thought about him, Hayes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Natalia

  It was raining hard, the silver slits of rain looked like steel blades through my front window. Mom had called to say she would take the kids to school that morning. I called in sick. Something I rarely did—just because I worked for Dad didn’t mean I took advantage, instead I always liked to put in extra effort. I’d written all night, unable to succumb to sleep. The house was too quiet, too empty without the children and Mark. He’d never stayed out all night before. I felt empty as though my marriage might possibly be over. Maybe he was gone for good. I didn’t know if it was realistic, considering we still had two kids together. I was pathetic, not knowing what to expect from him. I hugged my mug of coffee and watched the rain fall, monotonous and gloomy.

  Staring blankly out the front window, I jolted as his old van pulled up the drive. He left his car wearing the same clothes from last night, and I watched as he made a run for the front door, the downpour soaking him in seconds. His hair was wet and sticking up in all directions, and his eyes were swollen as he crossed the threshold of our front door. I watched him as sadness enveloped me. It didn’t take him long to spot me sitting on the window ledge. Our gazes met and he paused. I wished I could read his thoughts. If he expected me to run to the door and beg him to love me, beg him to forgive me, he would be waiting a long time.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, surprising me. His voice was soft and soothing. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again and again as he made his way over to me and wrapped me in his strong arms.

  I broke down crying. I didn’t know if it was from his touch, or the soothing sound of his voice. Maybe it was the fact I craved to be held, loved.

  “Don’t cry, Nat. Fuck! I don’t want to see you sad. I hate that I make you sad. I don’t know what to do.” He held me firmly against his chest.

  I tilted my head up to look at him. “Where were you?”

  He paused, needing to think about his answer. I huffed and pulled out of his embrace.

  “I’m sick of this. Sick of all of it.” I turned away from him and walked deeper into the house.

  “Nat, I was at Michael’s house,” he finally said.

  “Michael?” I don’t remember him having a friend by that name.

  “Your parents’ friend, Michael. The one I worked for in the air conditioning business when I first moved to Florida,” he said as if I should know who Michael was. I did. I just hadn’t realized he was in touch with him.

  “You’re not friends with Michael, why would you go there?” I was fucking confused. My mind was in overdrive from lack of sleep.

  “I am. I told you I meet up with him once in a while for a beer.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should be close enough to spend the night at his house with him and Trudy.” Michael and Trudy lived in a mansion in South Beach. They were my parent
s’ friends growing up and about a decade younger than my parents which put Michael in his mid-forties. Dad stayed in touch with Michael. Mom didn’t continue her friendship with Trudy.

  “We are close. He always told me if I needed anything I could call him, and last night I needed marital advice. I wasn’t exactly going to call one of my single friends and ask them for advice or a place to crash.”

  That made sense.

  “Okay.” I had no idea where Mark was going with his explanation.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Nat. I love you,” he said.

  I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but that’s what came out. I blamed my lack of sleep on my mental state.

  “I’m serious,” Mark continued. “I want to work on our marriage. I want things to be better between us.”

  “How do you want to go about doing that?” I asked. “You hold things inside. I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re angry, you shut down, you snap at me.” The list went on.

  “That’s fair. I want to be more open with you, but I’m scared if I do you’ll flip the fuck out, that’s why I didn’t tell you about the credit card bills when I left for LA.”

  I huffed.

  Mark sighed. “I need to tell you some things.”

  Something about his defeated demeanor made my anger deflate, even though his previous comment about the credit card bills was worrisome.

  “You have my attention.” I walked to the couch and fell into it. My head throbbed and my bones ached.

  He sat beside me but didn’t look at me. His head hung between his shoulders, telling me he couldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Is it another woman?” I held my breath.

  His head snapped up, and he stared at me wide eyed. “What? No.” His tone was laced with such certainty that my breathing eased a bit.

  “Well, what is it then?” My patience was worn thin.

  “Would you relax?” He turned his head to look at me.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath.

  “I was in the water with Consuelo. I should’ve been able to save her that day, but I couldn’t.” He stared me straight in the eyes, his demeanor rigid, his eyes pained. I sucked in a harsh breath. “It’s something I’ve had to live with, or rather it’s something that has haunted me my entire life.” His dark gaze was shattered, my own chest ached with the depths of his pain.