by J. J. Bella
As Elena clattered out on long, six-inch heels, Brittany peered down at the tiny girl, hating how lost and bright-eyed she looked—as if she couldn’t comprehend the monsters, swirling around her. Drawing a towel around her half-naked form, Brittany leaned down, looking at her, hunting for something to say.
“Do you—do you like television?” she stammered, hating how foolish she sounded.
“I hate it. Mom always makes me watch it when she’s doing her nails. Blech,” Lea responded, tossing her hand in front of her face.
“Well, what would you like to do?” Brittany asked.
“I don’t know. Daddy’s not here?”
“Not here, no,” Brittany murmured, pressing her lips together. She’d never pictured herself as the mothering type, had always avoided babysitting gigs and her friends with kids, hardly able to toss a ball with one without feeling she was making a misstep.
Walking into her bedroom, she felt Lea following her, running her fingers along the wall. Brittany began to change, drawing her eyes away from Lea, and donning a white sundress. As she turned back, she watched as Lea’s eyes were drawn toward a sketchbook and paints she’d purchased the previous day, on her credit card binge. Reaching forth, she lifted the paintbrush with a flourish, pretending to paint a portrait across the white walls.
“Are you an artist?” she asked.
“Kind of. I’m in training to be,” Brittany answered, easing onto the bed and watching Lea with curiosity. “Do you ever paint or draw when you’re at home?”
“Mom’s not into it,” Lea responded, continuing to paint an invisible painting.
An idea began to cultivate in Brittany’s mind, then. Tilting her head and gazing out at the sunny city below, she said: “Well, why don’t we go outside now and do a bit of drawing?”
“You’d give me something to draw on?” Lea asked, incredulous. Her pretty mouth dropped open, revealing bright, pearl teeth.
“Of course.”
Brittany prepped a bag for them, filling it with a sketchbook, several pencils, and books for hard surfaces. Guiding them toward Prospect Park, she held onto Lea’s hand and listened to her tell her stories of school, of her friends, as Brittany glared at any passersby, suspicious they would harm Lea in some way. In charge of a child for the first time ever, she rose to the task like a lion.
They spent the afternoon in the park, drawing people and trees and flowers, and giggling together, drawing their heads close to discuss lines and shadings—things Brittany could show Lea, which Lea was fascinated by. When their lines drew tired, their faces grew freckled and sunburnt, Brittany guided Lea back to the penthouse, stopping briefly for an ice cream cone and then guiding her toward the elevator. The pages they’d drawn together were tucked safely in her bag.
When they entered the penthouse, Paul stood gruffly from a dining room chair, gazing at them both as if he were seeing them for the first time. Lea rushed forth, wrapping her arms around his waist and squealing out: “Daddy!” He lifted her, spinning her exactly once, and then delivering a robust kiss on her cheek. Glancing toward Brittany, he looked curious.
“And where were you?”
“We were at the park, Daddy. Brittany’s an artist. She knows how to draw!” Lea said, tossing back to the tile below and reaching into the bag to show him both her and Brittany’s drawings.
Slowly, as Paul interacted with his daughter, a smile stretched across his face. Brittany hung about awkwardly, sensing his pleasure, and loving watching the two of them together: how he toyed with the curls on her head and gave her little, silly compliments, which made her giggle. When she raced toward Brittany’s bedroom to grab another passel of pencils, Paul reached toward Brittany, tapping her on the shoulder. “You’re good with her,” he murmured.
It was as if he didn’t want to get too close. As if he wasn’t sure what he would do. The tension between them had grown once more, after a depleted few days, after the exhaustion of the wedding party. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then spoke: “She dropped her off when she knew I wouldn’t be around, didn’t she?”
“Something to that effect, yes,” Brittany affirmed, shifting her weight. “I’m sorry—“
“Don’t be,” Paul said, his voice soft. “I’ll call Elena later on. Ask her what her plan is. But it seems you don’t have much of a problem being with her…?”
“It’s been a surprise, actually. A welcome one,” Brittany said, tossing her blonde hair behind her ears anxiously. Why was he looking at her with such dark, earnest eyes? “I’ll take her for as long as she’ll have me.”
Without waiting for him to say thank you, Brittany tossed forward and joined Lea in the bedroom, drawing alongside her and wondering if there wasn’t something between her and Paul, after all.
Chapter Eleven
“It can’t be real.”
This came from Elena, who hissed it across the dining room table at Jack. Jack sipped his orange juice slowly before flashing a bright, square-toothed smile toward her. “And how on earth are we going to prove that, darling?”
“It just makes me so sick. The fact that his parents have clearly bought into it, even though we haven’t heard the name ‘Brittany’ before now. The fact that he’s just placed in the CEO position, because he found some bimbo on the street. He’s going to get all that inheritance, Jack, when you’ve been slaving at the company for years and years—without proper payment.”
Elena slipped from her chair and eased toward him, placing herself at the edge of his lap. She stared into his eyes with cold, calculating irises, then positioned her hand atop his shoulder, easing her nails into his skin.
“If you wanted that money so much, you should have stayed with him, darling,” Jack said then, his nostrils flaring. “Because as you can see, we’re in over our heads here.”
“You know for a fact that he cheated on me,” Elena burst out, enraged.
“Oh, sure. He cheated on you, and you definitely didn’t have an affair with your fitness trainer. We’ve all heard the stories, Elena.”
Jack and Elena had met years before, when Jack had first joined the board of Le Montaigne software. They’d spoken long nights about their mutual hatred toward Paul Le Montaigne, about Jack’s feeling that he would surely be made CEO, rather than Paul, the heir. They’d ultimately fallen into one another’s arms, resentment fueling their sex-fest. And then, they’d marched together—each day ensuring that Paul got to see his daughter as little as possible, and spreading falsehoods about him through the company.
But it hadn’t been enough.
“If that little bitch allows him to get custody of my child—“ Elena boomed.
“You know you’re only in it for the child support payments, Elena. Don’t be crude. Say what you mean,” Jack said, rising up from his chair and knocking her to the side, causing her to scoff.
“I just never connected to the girl how you’re meant to,” Elena said, swiping a bottle of gin from the far liquor cabinet and pouring herself a morning drink, her elbow quivering as she made the motion. “How they say you’re supposed to, I mean. When you become a—“
“A mother?” Jack said, easing his arms into his suit jacket. “Darling, I wouldn’t call yourself a mother, so much as an egotistical lunatic.”
Elena’s nostrils flared with distaste. Tossing the first of her many gins down her throat, she demanded: “Why on earth do you stay with me, then, Jack?”
Jack took three long strides forward, wrapping his arms around her still-thin waist. He inhaled the gin-ness of her breath. “I know you’re the only one who can help me bring this asshole to his knees, Elena. We’ll fight together, now, to expose him. We’ll use the kid if we have to. There’s nothing that’s coming between us and that money, Elena. As far as I can see, it’s ours for the taking.”
Elena quaked with laughter, then. Bubbles of alcohol pulsed through her brain, causing her to bring her hands to Jack’s face, to bring him forward, to plant a kiss on his pointed, dry l
ips. They were united for a single purpose. And when they dove into the never-ending puddle of Paul’s inheritance, only then would they be free.
Chapter Twelve
Paul collapsed in the back of the private car, glancing up at Jose, who was scarfing a medium-sized burrito from the local taco truck. Sauce dribbled down his chin.
“Sorry, boss,” Jose said. “It’s just I’m so hungry. I’ve been driving around your new wife and your daughter all day. From the museum to the park to the bridge to…” He trailed off, rolling his eyes. “The girls, it’s like they’ve known each other for ages.”
Paul shifted in his seat, feeling a moment of pure joy rise within him. He’d never seen his daughter bond with anyone, outside of their father-daughter relationship, as she’d always been shy, caught in her own world. He hated that he was stuck at work so often, especially in these first few days, as his father was showing him the “ropes,” so to speak, of being the CEO. While there, he had the feeling that Jack’s eyes were upon his back continually, making notes on his every move—anything to report to Elena when he returned home. It was driving him mad.
Back home, Jose dropped Paul on the sidewalk in front of the high-rise and then skirted down the road, his burrito still hanging between his lips. Paul sauntered into the building, giving a smile to his doorman, and then swept up to the loft, finding Brittany and Lea stretched out across the living room floor, both drawing a bouquet of flowers Brittany had picked up from the florist.
It was a gorgeous scene: this beautiful, blonde stranger, who Paul had to remember, every single day, was his wife, and his daughter, similarly blonde, yet smaller, fine-boned. She leaped into the air to hug him, causing his heart to burst against his chest.
“Looks like the two of you had another spectacular day,” Paul said, holding his daughter close and gazing into Brittany’s eyes.
Brittany gave him a soft smile back. As she collected the papers on the ground, Lea spoke with him excitedly, telling him all the wonderful things she and Brittany had done that day, all the things she’d learned. As Paul reacted, finding himself begin to crumple from all the anxieties of the day, the doorbell rang.
“One moment,” Paul said, adjusting his suit jacket and marching toward the door. With a firm motion, he opened the door to find Elena on the outside, her arms crossed like swords over her chest.
“Paul,” she boomed.
“Elena.”
“I’m here to collect Lea,” Elena said.
“You said you wouldn’t be doing that till tomorrow.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. Care to call the lawyer about it?” Elena entered, snapping her fingers toward her daughter. “Come on, Lea. Grab your things. We’re out of here.”
Without a moment’s pause, Lea raced to her room, looking dutiful, perhaps understanding that making a mistake in front of her mother meant something akin to disaster. After she disappeared, Brittany rose up, giving Elena a soft wave of her hand, as Paul continued to lace his eyes up and down her, wondering what smarmy comment she was going to say next.
“Enjoying newly married life, are you?” Elena asked then, pointing her eyes directly toward Brittany.
“Absolutely,” Brittany whispered, shifting uncomfortably.
“I remember it well, those first few days with Paul,” Elena said. “You know, it occurred to me, that I don’t know how the two of you met? Was it here in New York?”
Brittany stuttered slightly, looking aghast. Paul mopped up the awkward silence. “We met at a coffee shop. She was in the corner, reading Faulkner, and you know—I just can’t get enough of southern American literature.” He winked toward Brittany, hoping she would play along.
“And then, it was magic from there?” Elena said, her voice all sharp edges.
“Of course.”
Not willing to give her another moment of digging, Paul and Brittany busied themselves in the kitchen, pouring glasses of wine, without offering one to Elena, and then waved goodbye, each of them giving Lea a kiss on the forehead. With the final clip of the door, Paul reached forth and gripped Brittany’s thin-boned shoulder, sighing heavily.
“Jesus. You’ve done so much for me the past few days.”
“What else was I going to do?” Brittany asked, laughing slightly. Her eyes shone with the pleasure from the compliment.
“Well, I’d like to take you out. Go put on something fancy. Meet me out here in 30 minutes. You deserve it.”
Paul asked Jose to drive them uptown, where his old friend from prep school had recently opened a high-class French restaurant. As Paul was one of the most important people in New York, he was immediately given an intimate room, for him and his new wife. He watched, with a tinge of jealousy, as his friend Pierre kissed Brittany’s hand in greeting, making her blush.
Did Paul want to make her blush? Did he want to make love to her? Was it his right, despite already saying this was a marriage of convenience?
She did look stunning. She’d chosen a dark yellow dress, which dipped far down her breasts, showing immense cleavage. Blinking up at him from over the menu, she asked him a question about wine, which he answered without fully comprehending it. He was lost in the sea of her deep brown eyes.
“Have you missed your old life at all since you came to live with me?” he asked her then, for the first time considering her feelings.
Brittany hesitated, drawing her eyes to the table. “That’s a tricky question. I definitely don’t miss being broke. And I can’t wait to go back to class…”
“But living with me. Has it been—“
“It’s been good,” Brittany said, her voice meek.
He wasn’t certain he truly believed her. But as the night stretched forth, he found himself asking her more intimate questions, drawing closer to her, learning about her family and her past. In return, he showed her a bit of his personal side as well—about how he’d been burned by Elena, all those years before. About how he’d rather spend an entire year on a boat than ever go back into an office again (but that he was committed to showing his parents that he respected their wishes).
By the end of the first course, they were holding hands across the table, gazing half-drunkenly into one another’s eyes.
And by the end of the night, they were kissing upon their terrace at home, their bodies pressed tightly together. Easing his hand down the small of her back, Paul brought it over the perfect crest of her ass, trying to memorize her form. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her slim body, then began to remove her dress, working slowly, evenly, so as not to frighten her. Her gorgeous body, with those pert breasts, that slim waist, revealed itself, and he pressed her against the side of the terrace, wrapping his lips around her nipples and gliding the tongue across the hard point. She gasped, drawing her hands over his head.
Parting the perfect, pink pussy lips, he pressed his fingers into the dark wetness between her legs, watching her face as it changed to one of complete and utter pleasure. After a long moment, she reached forth and removed his belt, undoing his pant button and easing his thick staff into the air—gasping at its incredible size. Falling to her knees, she wrapped her tongue around the edge of it, then proceeded to give him a soft, earnest blowjob—coiling her tongue around and around its girth.
Suddenly, Paul wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her from his cock and raising her into the air. He carried her, like a child, to his bedroom, slipped her against the mattress, and then tugged the rest of his clothes from his body. He made love to her, then: slipping his dick into the softness between her legs, and feeling her pert breasts against his muscled chest. Crying out for him, she eased her nails into his back muscles, closing her eyes, as his rapid motions into the deep caverns of her body caused her to orgasm, over and over again.
Chapter Thirteen
Brittany sat, half-dazed, at the breakfast table—hours after Paul had left for work. She still smelled his cologne across her skin, could still taste his tongue along hers, and felt her heart hammer
ing in her chest with confusion. The previous night had been gorgeous, making her think, for only a second, that she and Paul might have a romantic future. Perhaps her marriage wouldn’t be a sham, after all.
But when Paul had woken up that morning, he’d been distant, dark, his eyes skirting past her. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her. And then, the door had slammed, alerting her that he’d left for the day without saying goodbye.
Perhaps she was stuck in a loveless marriage, void of purpose and meaning. And perhaps she’d have to face it forever.
Seconds later, the doorbell blared. Bursting up to get it, she felt, for the first time, that there’d been tears on her cheeks—drying in the sunshine of the breakfast nook. Tossing them toward her ears, she reached for the door and then opened it, finding that man she’d been speaking to at the wedding. What was his name?
“Hi,” he said, giving her an earnest, welcoming smile. He reached forth and shook her hand. “I’m a business associate of your husband’s. Don’t know if you remember me.”
“Oh. Of course,” Brittany said. She opened the door wider, allowing him to enter. “It’s—“
“Jack. Jack Pritchard.” He sat at the breakfast table, reaching toward the fruit bowl and then taking a large bite of apple, making her shiver. He seemed at ease, able to trample her with his ego. “If you don’t mind, a few of the members of the board wanted me to swing by and confirm a few things about your marriage. Of course, Paul’s confirmed this as well.”
Sitting at the table, Brittany stretched her fingers wide and nodded, thinking she wanted to get this maniacal man out of her house as soon as possible. “Sure. If Paul’s confirmed it.”
