BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance

by Glenna Sinclair

  With a sigh, I slowly lowered myself to my knees. I gathered the stuff closest to me, then turned over the drawer to pile it back inside. But there was something wrong with the drawer. I leaned back against the counter and stared at it. There was a corner of the drawer’s bottom that was sticking up at a weird angle. And underneath it, the edge of a plastic bag was sticking out.

  I tugged at the bag and pulled it free. My heart sank when I saw what was inside.

  It was a bag of pills, long, narrow pills that said Xanax on one side and had a large two on the other. I just stared at it for a long time, telling myself that it was Aurora’s, that she hid it here to keep any of the maids from knowing that she was taking them. And that idea seemed likely when I tugged at the corner of the drawer’s false bottom and found more drugs. There were half a dozen baggies like the one with the Xanax, but they held pills of all colors and sizes. And there was a tiny envelope filled with a white powder and another with an amber-colored ball inside. I had a good idea that the powder was cocaine. I wasn’t quite sure about the amber ball, but suspected it could be something like meth or crack cocaine.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My first instinct was to call Nicolas. To confront him and demand to know who these drugs belonged to. They couldn’t be his, right? They had to be Aurora’s. But the stuff on top of it was all Nicolas’. I’d seen him use these combs and the hairbrush. And he joked about the shampoo samples he took from hotel rooms he’d stayed in, a habit he developed early in his career that he couldn’t seem to shake. Would he really put his stuff in a drawer with a false bottom? Did he know about the false bottom? I hadn’t noticed it, but I didn’t open these drawers every day like he did. Shouldn’t he have noticed?

  I wasn’t sure. But there was something wrong about this. The Xanax bothered me the most. This was the drug the police said Nicolas killed Aurora with. That he slipped it into her drink. Finding a bag here, in his house, didn’t seem good. Was it proof that Nicolas had done what they said? No. But it didn’t seem to scream innocence, either.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  “Oh, Dios mio!”

  I quickly slipped the bag of Xanax under my hip as Constance came into the room, one of my insulin syringes in her hand.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “The drawer fell and this stuff was hidden under the bottom.”

  “Oh, cojeme!”

  “Constance!”

  I couldn’t believe that word had come out of her mouth. I had never once, in all the years I’d known Constance—and I’d known her since I was a toddler—heard her swear. And that word…did she have to choose the worst swear word out there?

  “This is not good,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest as though she was having pain there. “If the police find this—”

  “The only way they could do that would be if one of us said something.”

  “What are we supposed to do? We can’t just put it back.”

  “Why not?”

  Constance shot me a dark look. “Because we’d know it’s there.”

  “By accident.”

  “But we still know. You can’t put it back.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  Constance shook her head, her eyes moving almost wildly over the pile of drugs resting now in my lap. She stooped down and picked up the drawer and the false bottom I’d popped out. She studied them both like an answer might be written on them. There obviously wasn’t. She set them on the counter and began gathering the other items—the combs and tissues and over-the-counter pills—and tossed them back into the drawer, popping it into its space in the counter without the false bottom. The she grabbed a hand towel and gathered the baggies still resting on my lap. I pulled myself carefully to my feet, sliding the baggy of Xanax into the pocket of Nicolas’ bathrobe that I’d put on when I got out of the shower.

  “What are you going to do with all of that?”

  Constance carefully tied a knot into the towel to keep the baggies from slipping out. “I’m going to give it to Adam. He’ll know what to do with it.” She set the towel on the countertop and began opening drawers and searching through them. I stepped back as she moved around me to get to the drawers behind me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure there isn’t any more.”

  “Why would there be?”

  Constance shot me that don’t-be-stupid look that was growing more and more familiar to me these days.

  “You don’t think these are Nicolas’, do you?”

  She didn’t answer and that was answer enough. I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched her. She must have felt my gaze because she said, “Give yourself that shot while you’re just standing there, doing nothing.”

  Like a child who doesn’t know how to stand up to her mother, I grabbed the syringe she’d set on the corner of the sink and bared my hip, injecting the small amount of medication into the fatty area just behind my hip bone. It burned—I don’t know if it was something about the insulin or just my fear of needles, but it burned every time. I pressed the needle against the counter to bend it so no one would accidentally poke themselves and left it there.

  I wasn’t going to help Constance search through Nicolas’ things. It seemed like a terrible violation of his privacy. I mean, it was only sticks of deodorant and extra toothpaste that Constance probably bought and deposited there herself, but it still felt like an intrusion. Instead, I grabbed the slacks and blouse I’d been wearing last night when Nicolas invited me into his room and slid them back on. I managed to get the bag of Xanax into my pocket just before Constance came into the room, that overburdened towel in her hands.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “No,” she said, the word short and clipped. She clearly didn’t like being questioned.

  “Have you ever found anything like that here before?” I asked, unable to resist.

  “A few times.”

  That got my attention.

  “When?” I demanded.

  Constance just shook her head. “I have to go call Adam. You should probably go wash your hands and put on some clean clothes.”

  I jumped off the bed—as gracefully as my swollen belly would allow—and grabbed her shoulder before she could leave the room.

  “When did you find drugs in here? When Aurora was here?”

  “No, Ana.” She turned toward me, sadness in her eyes. “I know you like him.” Her eyes jumped to the bed behind me, to the sheets that were so disarranged that they told a story that I might have been ashamed of if it hadn’t been so good. “But there are things about him you don’t know. The sooner you have those babies and get out of this house, the better.”

  “You used to talk about what a great man he was. You said he was the kindest person you’d ever worked for.”

  “I did. And it was true, back then, before he married that woman. But it doesn’t mean he was a saint.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  Constance touched my cheek lightly. “I love you like you were my own, mija. But this is something that you should hear from him.”

  “Constance…?”

  “Go wash your hands. You don’t want to get any of this poison in your bloodstream. There’s no telling what it might do to the babies.”

  She walked away, leaving me alone with words that left a heavy stone tied around my heart.

  Chapter 19

  I lay in bed almost a week later, the bag of Xanax in my hands. Constance hadn’t said another word about the drugs and Nicolas hadn’t mentioned it. Not that I’d seen much of Nicolas. He was working a full day, from dawn until late into the night, sometimes only coming back to the house for a shower and a shave before he went right back to work. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but then I was afraid I did.

  What if everything Nicolas had told me was a lie? Was it possible he was a drug addict? Was it possible he lied about Aurora’s addiction, covering for his own actions? It d
idn’t make sense, to be honest. It never really had. The Aurora I met was so different from the woman Nicolas talked about.

  There was one meeting, not long after our first, when Aurora seemed a little off. We met at her country club where she was waiting for a tennis partner to show up. I remember she called me in a hurry that morning, asked me if it would be okay if we met during my lunch hour.

  “I have a meeting tonight and then I’m flying to Paris in the morning for a photoshoot for this movie we start filming in a few months. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No,” I said, thinking how glamorous her life seemed. I always wanted to travel, and she mentioned Paris like it was just a nuisance she couldn’t get out from under.

  “I can’t imagine what you think of me,” she’d said, almost as though she could read my thoughts. “Here I am planning to have a child and I can’t even clear a moment in my schedule to talk to you about the doctor who’s going to do all the medical stuff for this.”

  “It’s fine,” I remembered saying.

  “Fine,” Aurora sighed. “That’s a word I don’t hear often. It’s blasphemy in this house. Can you believe that?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Blasphemy to say ‘fine’? It just didn’t make sense. But Aurora was often saying things that didn’t make sense. There was another time, just a week or so before the implantation appointment when I asked if Nicolas would be at our next meeting—I think it was the day I was to sign the last of the paperwork—and she told me he was with his friend Bill. And then she laughed almost hysterically.

  “Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just agreed with her that it was ridiculous and she changed the subject.

  Aurora was a beautiful woman who was used to getting everything she wanted when she wanted it. She knew how to flirt, how to be charming, how to be everything a man needed her to be. But she never really learned how to act around women. It was that, the latter, that I assumed was the reason for some of her odd behavior.

  Was I wrong?

  I leaned over and shoved the bag of Xanax into the nightstand drawer, still not sure what I was doing with it. I needed to get rid of it, but I wasn’t sure how. They were always running those little things on television telling people not to put unused medication down the toilet because it was getting into the water supply. But I didn’t know how else to get rid of it. I could give it to Adam, but I was afraid he would recognize the significance of it as much as I did. Some part of me that still whole heartedly believed that Nicolas was innocent didn’t want to run the risk that Adam, one of Nicolas’ oldest allies, might turn on him given the opportunity. I wasn’t really sure Adam would, but even the smallest doubts sometimes grew into huge, unignorable truths. Nicolas needed all the support he could get right now.

  But I couldn’t just keep it. What if the police came to search the house again?

  The last time, it was such a mess afterward that Constance was still complaining about it. Drawers dug through, plants turned out of their pots, books taken from their shelves and left piled on the floor. Nicolas’ laptop was still in the police evidence locker, waiting to see what might happen with the district attorney. If they came again, Constance might force the whole group of them to commit hari-kari. But they might also find the Xanax and that would definitely not be good.

  I closed my eyes, my hands restlessly moving over my belly. One of the babies immediately kicked, forcing my hand to bounce a little.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I said softly. “I won’t let anything happen to your daddy.”

  Almost as though he’d heard me, Nicolas tapped on the door and stuck his head inside. “You asleep?”

  “No. Come in.”

  He looked absolutely exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and a slope to his shoulders like he was carrying an incredibly heavy weight. I slid out of the center of the bed and pulled the sheet back, making room for him.

  “You just get in?”

  “We had to shut down production because of some issue with the cameras. I spent about an hour with the actors and then decided I’d earned an early night.”

  “Of course you have. You’re the boss, you know. You get to decide when everyone goes home.”

  “Yeah, well, from your lips to the producer’s ears. He wants this movie wrapped in two months.”

  “Isn’t that pretty quick?”

  “Yeah. A movie of this scope usually takes three months, sometimes more, to complete. But this producer wants it ready to release next spring, and there’s still the editing process, the music score, and half a million other things that go into a finished movie.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  Nicolas curled up next to me and lay his head on my belly. “I think he expects I’ll be on trial about then, so he wants the movie to come out while that’s happening so he can capitalize on my name being in the tabloids.”

  “That’s morbid.”

  “No. That’s Hollywood.”

  He lifted my sleep tee, running his hand over the lower section of my belly. The babies responded, one of them doing some sort of roll just below where his head was. Nicolas laughed.

  “You think he’s trying to run away from me already?”

  “I think he’s turning over to say hi.”

  Nicolas sighed. “I like that idea.”

  I ran my hand over his shoulder, too aware of the tension that was living there. I wanted to do something to make it go away, to make him feel better. But I didn’t know what.

  He ran his hand over my lower belly again and whispered against my belly button like it was a direct link to the babies, “I can’t wait to meet you, my sweet children.”

  “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

  He pulled away as though I’d said he was a rotten father and should never be allowed to see his children. He climbed off the bed and headed for the door.

  “I should let you sleep,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment the day after tomorrow. Will you be able to make it?”

  He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “What time?”

  “Nine, I think.”

  He turned and looked at me, his eyes moving to my belly where it was still exposed. There was a line of bruises along my hip, places where I’d given myself my insulin shots. His eyes fell on those, and he studied them for a long minute, clouds rushing through his eyes like a storm coming in. Then, he turned and left the room without answering my question.

  ***

  “The baby’s look good,” Dr. Bishop said. “All the measurements are right where they’re supposed to be at this age. The internal organs look good. And the movement…well, I guess you know how well they’re moving.”

  “I do,” I said, smiling more from relief that everything was okay than with amusement at what he’d said. I knew that things were going well, but there was always that little voice at the back of my mind that kept listing all the complications that could come with a multiples pregnancy, especially when gestational diabetes was thrown in.

  “I’m sorry your husband couldn’t make it,” the nurse said.

  “He’s working on a new movie. He couldn’t get away from set.”

  Which wasn’t completely true. He’d left a note on my door that said he thought it might be better if I went to the doctor on my own because of the paparazzi. He didn’t want them getting wind of what was going on. Which was also why I couldn’t leave the house through the front door anymore and why Adam made me lie down on the backseat of the SUV whenever we drove out the back gate.

  That was all Nicolas needed right now, the press getting hold of the information that he had a pregnant woman living in his house. A pregnant woman who was carrying his and Aurora’s twins.

  “Did you want to know the sex?” Dr. Bishop asked. “A lot of my expectant mothers want the sex put into an envelope so they can have one of these gender reveal parti
es.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought about it.”

  Actually, it was all I’d thought about these last months. I was convinced, once upon a time, that it was a girl. But now that I knew I was carrying twins, I wasn’t as positive. Maybe two girls? Or a boy and a girl? It could have been any combination since the fertility doctor implanted four embryos, so the chances that they were identical twins was less than zero.

  I wanted to know. I just wasn’t sure Nicolas wanted to know. Or wanted me to know. And I’d been afraid to ask.

  “Let’s put it in an envelope,” Dr. Bishop said, patting my arm lightly. “That way, if you decide you want to know once you get home with your husband, you can look together.”

  “Thank you.”

  The doctor and nurse left a moment later, leaving me alone to re-dress. It was something of a struggle trying to put back on the dress I’d worn because it had to be zipped up the back. I hadn’t thought of that when I chose it because Constance was there to help me. But she wasn’t here now. I was alone except for Adam waiting outside in the car.

  I managed to get it on and slipped out of the exam room. The nurse seemed to be waiting for me. She handed me a plain white envelope and smiled. “Congratulations,” she said sweetly, too sweetly.

  “Thanks.”

  I started to move around her, but she stepped into my path.

  “I’ve been following all this stuff in the news about Nicolas. People can’t seem to decide if they think he killed his wife or not.”

  I glared at her as I again tried to move past her and she blocked me.

  “I’m sure the press would love to hear about the surrogate he’s got parading around town as his wife.”

  “I never said I was his wife.”

  “But you’ve never tried to persuade us otherwise.”