Twisted Marriage (Filthy Vows Book 2)

by Alessandra Torre

  “That was years ago, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tell it to me.”

  There was road construction ahead, a group of men bent over a brightly-lit hole in the ground. Easton put on his blinker and slowed. I cleared my throat and started the joke. “This old couple was celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The wife asked the husband what he wanted as a gift. And the man said he wanted a blowjob, that he’d never had one.”

  “The guy was married fifty years and had never had a blowjob?”

  “I think it’s a generational thing. I don’t think they gave blowjobs back in the fifties. That was when they slept in separate beds. Look, the guy wants you to turn right.”

  “If I turn right, I have to go all the way around on Fulton. It’s a one-way.”

  “Well, it’s blocked off.”

  He turned with an irritated scowl and I grabbed the dash as the Range Rover bounced over a huge pothole.

  “Okay, so what did she say?”

  “She told him that she’d always been afraid to give him a blowjob because she thought he wouldn’t look at her the same way. When the man heard this, he gathered her in his arms and told her that they had been married for fifty years.” I warmed to the story, drawing out the vowels as I painted the picture of the joke. “She was the mother of his children. She’d nursed him through cancer treatments. There was nothing she could do to cause him to lose respect for her.”

  I paused to point at the detour sign. “So she immediately moves one of their paisley-print couch pillows onto the floor and gives him a blowjob.”

  “Oh, this is the Goodwill Hunting joke. The one she tells in the bar.”

  “Would you shut up and let me finish? It’s not the Goodwill Hunting joke.” I glared at him. “Anyway, she finishes the blowjob and wipes off her mouth, and he says, ‘Thank you, honey. That was amazing.’ She settles back in her recliner and they continue to watch the news.”

  “Hilarious joke.”

  “A half-hour later the phone rings and the old man picks up the receiver and says hello. After a beat of time, he pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs it back up. His wife waits for an explanation. After several minutes pass, she asks him who it was.” I paused for effect. “Her husband shrugs and says ‘How would I know, cocksucker? It was for you.’”

  Easton took a moment, then laughed. “Funny.”

  “It is funny,” I protested, a little miffed he hadn’t found it more so.

  “Aaron’s mom told that joke?”

  “Oh my God, in front of the entire wedding party. Becca turned white with embarrassment.”

  He paused. “So, uh, you’re the cocksucker in this scenario?”

  “I’m the cocksucker.”

  “Literally and figuratively.”

  I laughed and he braked at a stop sign, then leaned toward me, cupping the back of my neck and pulling me toward him. Navigating around the veil, he kissed my lips. “I love you and I will always respect you.”

  “Thank you.” I kissed him back, then settled into the seat, thinking over everything he’d said. “So, if I wanted to, you’d be okay with doing something like that again?”

  “Yeah. And if you don’t like the idea of the club’s website, we can try something else.”

  I chewed on the inside edge of my cheek. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  Easton was right. We had to go all the way around on Fulton, then back north, and twenty minutes passed before we pulled up to the guard shack of Chelsea’s neighborhood. A security guard waved us forward, then approached the car. E rolled down the window.

  His gaze flitted from Easton to me and zeroed in on my veil. His face hardened. “I take it you’re here for the Pedicant event?”

  “Yep.”

  “Name?”

  “Easton and Elle North.”

  “Do you have any animals, weapons, or noise-creating items?”

  “Uh… no?”

  The man peered at him. “It doesn’t sound like you’re certain about that.”

  I leaned across the armrest. “I don’t understand why it’s any of your business if we have any of that stuff. You’ve never asked me that before.”

  “We’ve had multiple complaints from our residents about Miss Pedicant’s… event. We are keeping order best we can.”

  “Oh my God.” I sat back into place.

  “We don’t have anything like that,” Easton said.

  “Please give our regards to Miss Pedicant, along with a reminder that the association noise ordinance goes into effect at ten p.m. In fifteen minutes.” He held out a pass, which Easton tossed onto the front dash.

  The iron gate before us began to move, a slow and arduous process that seemed to take even longer than usual. I waited until E’s window was up before I spoke. “What was up with that? Asking if we had animals? What if we’d brought Wayland?”

  “Or your can of pepper spray.” He grinned.

  “I wonder how many people she invited, if they’re already getting complaints.”

  “Well, you know what this neighborhood is like. They’ve had it out for her ever since she moved in.”

  “Yeah. I told her she should have bought the house on our street. Half our neighbors are too deaf to hear anything.”

  “Shit.” E came to a stop at the intersection before her street. “Look.” He pointed to a row of cars parked on the side of the street.

  “What? You think those are for her?” I craned my neck forward, trying to see the end of the line of vehicles. “No way.” We were a quarter-mile from her house, if not more. There was no chance the parking was backed this far up.

  “Does that answer your question about how many people she invited?”

  Ahead of us, a car was stopped in the middle of the street. As we watched, partygoers in skimpy black outfits crawled into the back.

  “I think it’s a shuttle.” He spun the wheel to the left and pulled out, going around the vehicle, which ended up being a hearse.

  “She’s really sticking to the funeral theme, huh?” I glanced in the side mirror, watching as the long car began to follow us.

  “Looks like it.” He turned down Chelsea’s street, where the parked cars clogged both sides of the road. “I’ll drop you off out front.”

  “I have her garage opener. She said we can park there.” I bent forward and opened my purse, looking for the small fob.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure that will work.” He nodded toward Chelsea’s driveway, which was a parking lot of cars. “Just hop out here. I’ll park, and then come and find you.”

  I leaned over and brushed a kiss on his lips. “See you inside.”

  I opened the door and was hit with loud music and the smell of fireworks. As I stepped out, a fissure of blue and gold shot into the sky behind her house, illuminating the palm trees in color before exploding overhead with a deafening pop. From behind the majestic home, a crowd cheered and the music resumed. I adjusted my veil and closed the door, stepping across the golf-course quality lawn and onto the driveway, following the sounds of the party and steeling myself for what might be inside.

  13

  Amid belly dancers and a naked Brad Pitt ice statue with excessive genitalia, someone called my name. I turned, looking over the sea of black-clad bodies, and searched for a familiar face.

  I didn’t see anyone I knew, the group a mix of late twenty and thirty-somethings, half of who were wearing the same veil I was and all who were a lot drunker than me.

  “Elle!”

  It was Aaron. I felt a wave of relief at the familiar face and worked my way through the crowd toward him. He crushed me against his chest in a hug. “Elle Bell.”

  I pulled away enough to look up at him. “Who are all these people?”

  He shrugged. “You know Chelsea.”

  Yeah. The girl had never met a stranger she didn’t befriend, and managed to effortlessly maintain her connections for years after creation. “Where’s she at?”

  He said someth
ing, but I couldn’t hear it over the band, who kicked into a Katy Perry song on the other side of the pool. “What?” I leaned closer to him.

  He placed his hand on my hip and spoke into my ear. “She’s the only one wearing white. You’ll see her.”

  “Hey, HEY!” Chelsea collided into us with the grace of a bowling ball. She flung her arms around both our necks, kissing Aaron on the cheek before doing the same to me. “You’re late,” she accused.

  I shrugged. “Traffic.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She began to jump in place. “Let’s dance!”

  Aaron held up his hands and stepped back. “Unless it’s a two-step, I’m useless. You guys have fun.”

  She shimmied up to me and I laughed, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Fine. But I need a drink first.”

  “I can help with that,” Aaron offered. “Chels, you want another Malibu and pineapple?”

  “No, I’m good.” She grinned up at him. “Find us by the stage?”

  “Sure.” He held her gaze and my blood chilled at the warm smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. This couldn’t be what it looked like. They were roommates. Maybe the last two weeks had brought them closer as friends, but this couldn’t be sparks between them. Not after a decade of friendship. Not after what had happened in my bedroom between Easton and Aaron and me.

  He stepped back and was quickly swallowed by the crowd, who swelled across the pool deck in dangerous proximity to the glowing red depths.

  “Did you see the trapeze artists? And just wait—at midnight is when all of the excitement will really start.” She high-fived a passerby.

  “Oh yeah. The guys at the gate wanted me to remind you of the neighborhood noise ordinance which is starting, like, now.”

  She waved her hand dismissively as she climbed the stairs down to the pool deck. “They came by once already. There’s nothing they can do, short of fining me. If someone calls the cops, I’ll turn it down a smidge, but for now…” She shrugged.

  I needed her attitude toward things. That laissez-faire approach would probably kill half the knots in my back. Oh, our cell phone bill is overdue? Fuck them in a forest of unicorns. It’s all good. But that sort of attitude only worked for people like Chelsea. Fun, happy, fat allowance and salary from daddy, Chelsea. I’d managed to control my envy over her money during the course of our friendship but it still stung at times.

  “Are you hungry? We have steak kabobs on the grill and finger food platters out.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Oh! Your listing appointment with the mafia! How’d it go?” She zeroed in on me, and I hesitated, struggling with what to share in this noisy and crowded place.

  “It went well. They signed the paperwork—or rather, I signed their paperwork…” At her confused look, I waved off the story. “Nevermind. It’s good. I got the listing!”

  “And that’s… good? Right? We’re happy?”

  “Yes, very happy,” I assured her.

  “You have to tell me everything. Play hooky one day this week and let’s do a pool day. This outfit has made me realize how pasty I’ve gotten.” She swung her hips to the beat, and I focused on her outfit, noticing the all-white getup that was way too conservative for Chelsea to ever wear anywhere, much less a party.

  “Yeah, what’s going on with all of this?” I twirled a finger over her outfit. “The death of your slutdom?”

  “I’m turning over a new leaf. Celibacy.”

  “Celibacy?” I repeated, unsure if the loud music was screwing with my hearing.

  “Yep. The Chelsea that you know and love is growing up.” She beamed at someone across the party and gave an enthusiastic wave.

  “Why?” I folded my arms across my chest, unnerved by the sudden tilt of this very reliable axis.

  “Stop being so SERIOUS, Elle. This is a party!” She sang along with a line in the song and grabbed my hand, pulling me deeper into the crowd.

  I followed, unsure of what to say. I danced with her and when Aaron handed me a drink, I guzzled it and tried to ignore the way his gaze moved to her face and lingered there. I had seven years of history that proved Aaron and Chelsea were miles deep into the friendship zone. There was no way that right now, that would be changing. It couldn’t be. Because if it were… then Easton and I had made a monumental fuck-up.

  Police lights bounced against the white brick of Chelsea’s house. I cupped a drink against my chest and watched as a trio of Chippendale dancers gave their information to a female cop who couldn’t stop smiling.

  Apparently, Monroe County had a noise ordinance as well as Chelsea’s neighborhood association, so she’d been in violation of both jurisdictions. The neighborhood president had shown up a half-hour ago in golf shorts and house slippers, a thick stack of papers in hand, just in time to see the conclusion of the vibrator race. He had dressed down Chelsea as if she was a child, then vowed to have her kicked out of the neighborhood by Monday—a proclamation that had triggered a low “oooooooo” from the crowd, as if we were in high school and someone had been called to the principal’s office. Then the police cars had pulled in, and all of the crowd had scattered.

  “Well, that was fun,” Easton said, lifting a beer to his lips. “Can’t say I’m too surprised.”

  Me either. I wasn’t sure if it was the noise, or the fireworks, or the boatful of male strippers that pulled up to Chelsea’s dock, but the cops had come in full force, their sirens barely audible over the beat of the band’s bass.

  “Think she’s going to jail?” Easton glanced at me.

  I shook my head. “Nah. I think this is minor stuff. Code violations and noise issues. Plus, Aaron said she had two attorneys in his guest house, waiting on call.”

  “Wow.” He chuckled, then finished off the final sip of the beer. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “Chelsea is insane.”

  “This party is insane. The death of her slutdom? How long do you think this celibacy kick will last?”

  “You know her better than anyone. You tell me.”

  Yeah, I knew Chelsea as well as I knew myself. Which is why this party—one she organized without a single call to me for help—was a giant red flag. Something was horribly wrong, and I was afraid I knew exactly what it was.

  14

  I squirted makeup remover on a cotton ball, then dabbed it across my face. From outside, I heard Easton call Wayland’s name, then yell it with a fierce level of severity that would most likely be ignored. I yawned as I slid the cotton ball over my eyelashes, then my lids, tossing the black and blue ball into the trash before moving to the next eye.

  Easton yelled again and I glanced at the clock, extra mindful of the noise after tonight’s mild brush with the law.

  In all of the excitement, I’d never gotten another moment alone with Chelsea, and I felt unease at the pivot that she was taking. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe this “funeral” was just like the wedding dress she’d worn to Vegas, or the veganism diet she’d attempted and abandoned. Maybe this celibacy was an excuse to throw a party and would be tossed aside within the week.

  The back door slammed shut and I turned to see Easton approaching the bedroom, Wayland cupped against his chest like a baby. Only… this baby was one hundred and forty pounds and licking the side of his face as if it were coated in peanut butter. Easton made it through the door of the bedroom before setting him on the floor. Wayland immediately bounded onto the bed.

  “You need to get your son in line.”

  “E—” I protested. “Get him off the bed.”

  Wayland rolled on his back, then thrashed at the sheets. Easton bent over him and gave a low warning growl.

  “STOP,” I warned him. “You’re going to get him all riled up.”

  “I think it’s too late for that.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. “Wayland, down.”

  Wayland rolled to the opposite side and beat his tail against the headboard. I returned my attention to the mirror and heard a
loud thump as Wayland was pushed to the floor.

  “There.” Easton leaned against the bathroom’s door frame. “Order restored.”

  I worked at my right eye. “How much did you talk to Aaron tonight?”

  “Not much. Chelsea had him running around a lot. Why?”

  I chucked the cotton ball and ran the sink, pulling a washcloth off the top of the stack and holding it under the water. “I feel like there’s something going on between him and Chelsea.”

  He pulled at the knot of his tie. “Like what? You think they’re hooking up?” He said it as if it was no big deal, as if that wouldn’t be a monumental event that would change everything about our joint friendship.

  I hesitated. “Do you think they’re hooking up?”

  “No.” He pulled the tie loose from his neck. “Are you still wearing those thongs?” He cocked one brow and ran his hand underneath the hem of my dress. “Damn, you are.”

  “Babe, focus.” I squirted a dollop of face wash onto the cloth. “This is serious.”

  “Okay, I seriously don’t think they’re hooking up. Aaron would tell me. And Chelsea?” He tossed his tie toward the closet. “Don’t you think she’d rent out billboard space to announce that to you?”

  He had a point. I rubbed the soapy rag over my face, scrubbing at the areas where my blackheads liked to hide. Chelsea would definitely tell me if she did anything with Aaron. Just like, I’m sure, she assumes that I would definitely tell her if I did anything with Aaron.

  But I hadn’t. I’d kept it a secret from her.

  Maybe she was keeping this a secret from me. But why? At least I’d had a reason.

  I bent over the sink and splashed water on my face. Easton’s watch clunked against the counter, followed by his wedding ring. I turned off the faucet and reached for a towel. “I just felt like there was something between them. Something new. A chemistry.”

  “You worried he’s going to tell her about us?”

  “I’m worried that I should tell her about it. What if they started dating? She would need to know that.” I got busy with my toothbrush.