by W. Winters
“About last night …” I start and he finishes.
“I figure I won’t address it unless she needs to be reassured that there is no judgment from me?”
I’m slow to nod, considering his expression.
“Her coping mechanisms are,” he says and breathes in, “apparently compatible with yours.” The grin against his cleanly shaven face is humorous. I huff a laugh, picking up the mug to take a drink.
“Apparently so.”
“Do you think she’ll need reassurance?” he questions in a more serious tone.
I consider him, and the situation before answering. “I think she needs more reassurance that it was all right to cry, more so than anything else. I think she needs to know that whatever happened back then, is okay to put in the past.”
Damon nods, pulling a stool out from the counter to sit beside me. “So, listen. I did some research last night on Ella’s father like you asked me to.”
“Did you find anything that could be helpful?”
“There were some records of her father’s abuse, all sealed and don’t ask me how I got them.”
I nod and tell him, “I won’t ask Silas either.”
“Good. But the records only contained statements and evidence of his abuse toward his first wife, not his second. She tried to press charges once, but they were dismissed on the grounds that she was mentally ill and filed a false report. When she died by suicide, no one questioned it at first.”
“Suicide? I thought—”
“Evidence came to light years later on that. The allegations that Ella’s mother was responsible. It wasn’t suicide, it was murder.”
“Do you have the records of what the evidence was?”
Damon nods his head. “I can send you the file, but keep it to yourself.” He meets my eye. “It was also sealed and it looks like …” He struggles with what to say next. “Whoever sealed it didn’t want it found, is all I’m going to say.”
“So whatever he did to his first wife, he might have done to the second?”
“Potentially, although she never hinted at abuse herself and she certainly had a reason to speak up when she was tried for murder. She also … died by suicide in her cell before the trial was over.”
“Suicide. Ella’s mother committed suicide. Do you think there’s a genetic—”
“Ella’s on antidepressants. But more than that … with what’s in that file, I would be surprised if her mother really killed herself.”
My friend shrugs off his jacket, getting off his stool to hang it up by the door. “The court cases mostly focused on Ella, from what I can see. It’s like she was used as a distraction in some ways.”
“To garner sympathy for her mother?”
“No.” He frowns. “Sympathy for her father.”
“That’s … interesting.”
“Everything that’s documented is odd. Half of it doesn’t appear to even appear to be legally relevant.”
My gut churns. “How old was Ella?”
“The trial lasted two years and started when Ella was only seven.”
Damon grabs a mug and gets his own cup of coffee, stirring in some sugar. Then he goes to the fridge and adds milk before coming back and taking his seat. “Cases involving the wealthy are generally pretty calculated.” He tests his coffee, then looks over the mug at me.
“Anyway, I thought I should mention it since you asked me to look into … whether he’d hurt Ella or not, or rather the extent of it.”
“What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
The air turns stale between us as we each drink in silence. Glancing at my phone, I turn on the security app and check to see Ella, still sleeping soundly in bed.
“You’re not supposed to have that anymore.”
I peek up to find Damon tipping his coffee mug toward me.
“Do me a favor, and pretend like you didn’t see.”
He doesn’t respond to that request, although he doesn’t comment on it anymore either. “How are things going between you and Ella?”
Damon did just watch us fuck last night, I contemplate reminding him just to fuck with him. But there’s more to it and we both know that. I don’t know what to tell him. I have feelings for her. Obviously I do. But I’ve also been gentle with her, too much perhaps. I’m aware that she’s still grieving and coping with things that have happened to her as well as how she’s handled them. It’s heavy. With her, it feels easy, but everything surrounding us is troubled.
“She said she’d live with me,” I tell him.
His brow shoots up higher than they did when he first walked in. The surprise is genuine on Damon’s face. “You’re moving in together?”
“Only under the parameters of our current relationship. And we also hadn’t exactly decided one way or another on where we’d live.”
He snorts, almost spilling his coffee in the process. “What are the parameters?” He uses one hand to make air quotes around parameters. “That you’ll just have your power exchange and never ever fall for each other?” There’s an air of sarcasm that coats his guess.
“Something like that.”
“Bullshit. You and Ella, moving in together, and it’s not something more? I don’t buy that for a second, Zander. You’re really going to try to pull one over on me?”
“I’m not pulling anything over on you. That’s all we talked about. We didn’t talk about a romantic relationship. We’re a little too old for boyfriend-girlfriend titles don’t you think?”
As if everything I’ve done with Ella hasn’t felt romantic to the core. Even when I’m punishing her.
“Sure,” Damon says with obvious doubt. “No romantic relationship. Got it.”
I don’t want this conversation with Damon. She isn’t ready. There’s no reason this should even be a conversation.
If I start talking about how I really feel, about how serious this could get, then it’ll be real, and then there will be no turning back.
Ella
Kelly’s thin, arched brow hasn’t budged an inch and it doesn’t escape me that her gaze is firmly fixed on Zander’s ass.
I scold, comically, “You’re shameless.”
Her murmur is just as humorous. “And you’re fucking that hottie?”
My lips pull up as Trish laughs into her glass and the waiter comes by to drop off our appetizers. Ruze has an impeccable variety, from spring rolls and buffalo cauliflower, to steak tartare and caviar.
I’ve always loved this place. It’s laid back, with garage doors that stay open and let the breeze in. If I had to describe the style I’d say it’s botanical boho somehow mixed with a brewery. It’s high end and expensive as fuck to attract and keep the clientele … well, the rich and famous.
“The rumor mills were true then?”
“Kind of sort of, maybe.” I shrug and pop a bite-size crostini with crab into my mouth so I can’t say any more. We talked about heading to his place later this week. It’ll be the first time I’ll see it. He’s unpacked and settled in now and if I’m honest, that makes me nervous.
I’m not sure I want to leave. I’m not sure I want to give up my lifestyle because it’s something he isn’t sure he wants.
“So … what’s the deal for real? We know he was fired.”
“How the hell do you know that?” I question and my tone is harsher than I anticipated. Trish’s widened eyes are evidence that she’s taken aback. “Sorry,” I whisper and lean forward, snatching another bite from the plates.
“Is it serious?” Kelly asks, choosing a few pieces of deliciousness and sorting them on her small plate.
“How can it be if he doesn’t even have a job?” Trish says, piling on.
I don’t consider Trish’s sentiment emotionally, only logically when I answer, “He has income and it’s not like I’m after anyone for their money.”
Trish doesn’t bother hiding that she’s staring, lifting the martini glass to her lips.
“Well, honey,” Kelly s
ays and tilts her head, reaching for a spring roll, taking her time to dip it in the accompanying sauce, not looking me in the eye, “it’s not his money that we’d be worried about.”
There’s a bit of a chill in the air all of a sudden. “How did you know he was fired?”
“You know how people talk.”
“Well, what else are people saying?”
Trish answers first. “That he’s broke but into you.”
Broke. In social circles, the word broke is blood in the water. “How broke?”
“Just not … not someone who could afford your lifestyle.” Chewing the inside of my cheek, I let her comment sink in. I’ve never really cared to talk about money. There’s a knot of guilt that twists in my stomach when I consider the hand I was dealt. I was born into wealth and then everything was left to me when my father was buried and I was only sixteen years old. The cherry on top is that Kam took over everything, keeping me safe, wealthy, and guiding me through a chaotic world of parasites who were after any cent they could suck from me.
I settle on a simple truth. “I hadn’t thought much of it.”
“I mean it’s not like you need Mr. Moneybags, but it’s just something to consider.” Her tone reflects the high society’s guide to staying elite. In other words, don’t marry someone who could be after your money.
“I don’t plan on ever getting married again.” I decide on another comment to keep my friends, as well as the rumor mills, away from the subject of Zander’s bank account. “We’re fucking and enjoying each other’s company. But this bill,” I say and gesture to the meal. “He’s paying for it and for all the nights we’ve been out.”
As Trish’s expression turns concerned, Kelly states she’s getting this tab since Trish got the last.
“How?” she asks bluntly and is rewarded with a jab in her ribs from Kelly’s elbow.
“Ouch!”
“The fuck is wrong with you,” Kelly hisses in a murmur.
I can only laugh, although that sick feeling remains. Before I can answer Trish, she changes the subject.
“There are other rumors too. Like Kam isn’t really your conservator and it’s a cover-up. You went to rehab.”
I don’t say a word, but my eyes are locked on Trish’s. “Don’t worry, my love, there are so many rumors no one knows what’s really going on … but the biggest rumor is that you tried drinking and fucking your way through mourning, and it ended up with a rehab hangover.”
“Your social being quiet since you came back is throwing people off, though.” Kelly’s comment once again holds a tone. She’s good at saying things without actually saying them. The hidden message: I better start posting and filling people in so they stop talking.
“You haven’t seen anything, have you?” Kelly asks and Trish answers, “We know Kam isn’t showing you the articles. But trust us, it’s a good angle.”
“What are most people saying?”
“You took a trip down to a private resort. A few do think you went to drug rehab. No one really believes the conservatorship is real. There’s a seal on it and since Kam knows the judge and Kam’s been telling everyone to mind their damn business and let you enjoy some sunshine … really people are just wondering if you’re mad at them. You’ve never been quiet before and most people miss you.”
“It’s just us who know, right?” Trish questions although I’m sure Kam has filled her in.
I nod.
“And what about that hunk over there?” Kelly asks.
Peeking over my shoulder, I catch sight of Zander just as he was glancing at me. Butterflies stir and when he winks at me, I blush violently. It’s a sin what this man does to me.
With a simper I tell them, “He’s my secret. Anything else out there is PR.”
Kelly questions, “So the bit about him getting fired because you were fucking?”
I laugh into my drink, some cucumber mocktail the waitress whipped up. “Well, sometimes PR does reflect the truth.”
“Mostly people are just happy to see you back and happy that you might be seeing someone else. Like, that’s the chatter. You’re back from wherever, you’re sober.” She looks at her mocktail and playfully clinks it with mine. “And that you’re fucking around again and causing all sorts of problems with your security team that you hired to keep people the hell out of your life.”
Trish nods with a half smile. “It’s a good spin on it, I think.” Then she asks me, “If we take a pic, can I post it?”
“Selfies with our mocktails?” I lift my drink in pose.
“Girl gang, bang bang?” Kelly offers the caption.
“Fuck yes.”
“Will Kam be all right with that?” Kelly asks and I shrug, quickly popping a cherry into my mouth before saying, “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“And what about Playboy?” Trish’s question brings my gaze to hers. “Can I get him in the background?”
Another one of him in the background?”
“You know what they say …” Kelly says in a singsong voice.
Spotted once could mean anything or nothing. Spotted twice together means everything.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing the word out with more excitement than I anticipated I’d have.
I wonder when he’ll see. Who’s going to tell him. I want to know what he’ll think of it the most. Maybe I should be more careful, but it excites me that they’ll know he’s something to me.
“Don’t tell him you asked me,” I whisper to them.
“Feeling cheeky?” Trish murmurs as she applies a fresh pat of powder to her face.
Shrugging, I tell her, “He looks good.”
“He looks damn good,” she agrees and snaps her compact closed.
“Smile,” Trish says as she snaps a photo. I pop in another cherry garnish just as Trish says, “Wait, one more.” Back in position, with a cherry at my lips I pose humorously and then pull it out to smile.
“Hell yes,” Trish says and grins. “Check them out.”
“Oh, post both those,” Kelly suggests.
For a moment, there’s nothing but an easy happiness, like nostalgia and old times. A row of hot guys in the background at a bar, one of them I’m enjoying the best sex of my life with. Delicious food at an exclusive local restaurant, with damn good company. Not everyone has as good of girlfriends as I do. With secrets that always stay just that—secret.
“I’m still mad at Kam. Not wanting you to post. I miss your daily rants.” Trish’s admission is spoken beneath her breath as she types out the caption on her phone. “Done. Posted.” She nudges Kelly with her teeth sinking into the bottom of her teeth, placing her phone with the screen facing down on the table.
“I bet every comment is going to be about the cherry and Playboy in the background,” Kelly surmises, her gaze pinned to her phone. She barks out a laugh not ten seconds later. “Told you,” she states, pushing the phone in my direction.
She is so fucking him.
Omg that cherry *laughing emoji*
Our girl is back
BangBang is right! We see you ladies!
Check out who showed up in the background.
The comments filter in with tags to gossip columns and celebrity outlets, dozens by the minute. There’s a flip in my chest and anxiousness I hadn’t anticipated.
“Come on,” Kelly says, shifting her weight to the other hip. “This has to make you smile.”
“It does, it does.” I force my tone to be more upbeat. “Just … just wish I could post it too.” I don’t know why I lie. Maybe it isn’t a lie. Ever since the other night, there’s been a churning in the pit of my stomach. Like I sent something into motion.
“You’re the one who pays Kam. If you want to post, post.”
“I agree with Trish. Tell your man over there to get you a phone and just come back. You are back. So … if anyone says shit online, block, block, block, block, block.”
“I get why he doesn’t want me to … Just the thought of being hammere
d with questions and seeing that video or pics of us …”
“Kam can filter that out. He has his team.”
“I know … I don’t know why he is so damn adamant.”
“I think it’s time you put your foot down.” Kelly’s seriousness takes me aback. “Or I can put my foot down for you.”
Trish has far more compassion, but she doesn’t hide the fact that she has her qualms when it comes to my PR. “Everyone failed you; you paid them, and they failed.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” My comment sobers the mood too much, too quickly. “I do want to keep up with everyone again. It’s just, I feel like I should be careful … maybe. I don’t know. It’s … it all feels different.”
“Look, I didn’t want to say anything but the way they handled James’s passing was shit. That fixer bitch was dumped from Conntelex.”
The temperature of my blood plummets at the mention of that company. They’re the most sought-after company for “fixing” situations, images, for planting rumors even. I know Kam still has them on retainer.
“Cynthia, right? Like literally the day you woke up from … your fall,” Trish says, lowering her voice. I didn’t fall, I jumped, but I keep that correction to myself. They know what happened. She just doesn’t want to say it. “That next morning, she was fired.”
“It wasn’t her fault that I—”
Kelly’s small hand lands on mine. “She handled it poorly. Every step of the way. She was supposed to fix it, and her choice was to ignore it in the hopes it would blow over.”
Trish huffs, shaking her head as she taps her phone against the table.
I fumble with how to express anything at all from what happened that night. “I wasn’t in the best mindset—”
“You shouldn’t have been. You paid people to protect you. And they failed you.”
Kelly adds in a whisper, “Even Kam.” When my eyes reach Kelly, riddled with shock that she’d talk about Trish’s brother like that, she’s quick to add, “It wasn’t his job and I don’t blame him. He was relying on the fixer. What the hell was her name?”
“Cynthia. I’m sure it was Cynthia,” Trish states slowly, and then adds, “Even Kam will tell you he made a mistake and he wishes he could take it back.”
