WORTHY, Part 2 (The Worthy Series)

by Lexie Ray

  “I think they camp outside of the Wharton compound and wait for me,” she replied coolly. “And there goes your tip for showing us to our table. Do you ask fucking Oprah Winfrey why the paparazzi follow her around?”

  Jane’s detached disregard for politeness made me keep my sunglasses on until we were seated. I ordered a salad — my appetite had been off since that wretched hangover — and tried to wait as patiently as I could for Jane to get to the point of why she’d wanted to invite me out to eat in the first place.

  She chatted about everything under the sun except the talk I was waiting for, poking at her phone all the while. I heard about her latest fling — the guy from the club was “so last week” — and the new clothes she’d gotten recently. I gave my limited input on where she should go on her next vacation — it was between sailing around the world and a spa retreat on some island I’d never heard of — and listened to her complain a little about Amelia’s latest charity event — something having to do with a themed party that required Jane to wear a flappers-era costume.

  “And I hate those shapeless shifts and those awful tassels,” she said, sticking her tongue out in disgust.

  Finally, though, I couldn’t tolerate the way my nerves jangled and stomach roiled. Maybe I was coming down with some bug or something, but I didn’t have it in me to continue with the small talk. I didn’t have the patience for it.

  “Jane,” I said gently, interrupting her ranting about the fact that the family needed to maintain two private jets so that she didn’t have to wait for Jonathan to return to Chicago with the one. “You told me we had some shit to discuss, if I remember correctly. This lunch is just a short break from my studies. I can’t stay out all day.”

  She paused long enough for me to realize — and feel guilty about — the fact that my interruption had been pretty damn rude. I waited nonetheless, not apologizing. She was the one who had dragged me out here. I genuinely had things to do, even if it was avoiding most of the people in my life.

  “There’s no easy way to say this,” Jane said after a while, taking a deep breath and clutching her phone. “So I’m just going to say it.”

  Even with that thrown out there, my sister-in-law went silent. I cast around for something to say — anything to say — but all I could do was wait. After what seemed like forever, I couldn’t endure one more moment of the painful speechlessness.

  “If this is about the dress, I can work out a payment plan,” I said.

  Jane cocked her head at me. “Huh?”

  “The dress,” I said. “Your dress I wore out with you and Brock. He told me I puked on it and he threw it away. I can pay for it.”

  Jane looked at me for a few long seconds before bursting out into laughter. I nervously joined in, not sure what I was laughing at but too tense to remain quiet.

  “Oh, Michelle,” she said, wiping her eyes before throwing back the rest of her drink. “You think this is about the dress? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even remember which one it was. Those are like a dime a dozen in my closet.”

  “It was the one with gold sequins,” I offered.

  “They all have gold sequins,” she said, waving at me dismissively. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. That’s making this even harder.”

  “Just say it,” I said. “Get it over with. You’re starting to freak me out.”

  “Okay,” Jane said, taking a deep breath. “Well, first of all, please don’t get mad at me.”

  That was a strange thing to ask, especially since I didn’t yet know how I could possibly have the chance to be mad at my sister-in-law. She hadn’t given me any fodder for rage that I could think of. Unless, of course, she was about to tell me.

  “All right,” I said slowly.

  “It’s just that, before I knew you, Violet was my friend,” Jane said. “It’s nothing personal.”

  Violet. Now there was a name I wouldn’t be sad to never hear again. Violet, the woman who Amelia favored over me as a wife for her son. Violet, the woman who’d crashed my wedding because she still felt like there could be something between her and Jonathan. Violet, the woman who’d had Jonathan before me, the Jonathan I still didn’t know. I’d felt sorry for Violet in the beginning, feeling for what must have been a terrible shock when I entered the picture. But the more Jonathan and I interacted with her, the less I felt that she was an innocent. Violet had tried to manipulate Jonathan into dumping me and continuing his relationship with her — even if he wasn’t the same person who’d asked her to marry him in the first place.

  Jane was right in the middle of taking my silence to mean the worst when I finally tuned back into the presence.

  “I hardly talk to her anymore,” my sister-in-law was saying, her face a mask of panic, but I shook my head.

  “I understand,” I said. “The world still turned before I started living in the Wharton compound, and I bet it’ll keep on turning when I’m not living there anymore. Be friends with whoever you want to be friends with. I don’t mind that you’re friends with Violet. Everyone needs friends.”

  “Are you planning on going somewhere?” Jane asked, suddenly curious.

  “I’m just saying,” I said, toying with my silverware and poking at a piece of iceberg lettuce on my plate. “As soon as Jonathan gets back from his tour of duty, we’re planning on going to the cottage for our honeymoon. In the future, maybe we’ll even want to get a condo or something away from the compound. I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. The only thing for sure at this point is the honeymoon.”

  “Okay, well, this might affect that,” Jane said carefully. “It’s just that sometimes Violet sends me texts — I don’t answer them half the time — and this time I thought there was something you should know about.”

  “Really, Violet doesn’t concern me anymore,” I said as Jane swiped at her phone. “She’s just not a threat. Jonathan isn’t the man she used to know, and she has to come to grips with that. It’s sad, really.”

  “I think she’s got something else in her grip,” Jane said, her face grim as she passed her phone over to me. “Scroll to the right.”

  I brought the phone up to my face, my eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to make out what I was seeing.

  The Eiffel Tower was the first thing I noticed about the photo. But below the glittering lights, as clear as day, were a man and woman kissing.

  The man was Jonathan.

  The woman was Violet.

  “What is this supposed to be?” I asked, looking up at Jane, but she only shook her head.

  “Scroll to the right,” she repeated, pointing at the phone.

  I did as she told me, finding another photo of Jonathan and Violet standing in front of the Louvre. This time, their kiss was even more passionate. I could swear I could see my husband’s tongue probing the inside of Violet’s cheek.

  The next photo was in front of a crumbling ruin — the Parthenon. That would make this photo in Greece, I remembered from my history books. Both Jonathan and Violet stared into the camera, their eyes smoldering. He looked different, somehow — younger, freer, with less worry and care. Like he knew exactly what he wanted, exactly who he wanted to be.

  “I don’t think I understand,” I said, swiping again to find yet another photo of Jonathan and Violet embracing in front of a landmark I didn’t recognize. They were endless, and I decided I had seen more than enough.

  “She’s been sending these to me ever since Jonathan left the wedding,” Jane said softly, her eyes wide and refusing to leave mine. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Michelle, or else I would’ve done so sooner. I swear I would’ve. Are you angry? Please don’t be angry with me. I’m entangled, here. I mean, Violet used to be my best friend, and now you’re my sister, and Jonathan’s my brother. It’s terrible, really terrible, and I’ve been struggling —”

  “I’m not angry with you,” I said quickly, cutting off her lament. “I’m just struggling to understand what’s happening here.”

  “What
’s happening is that Violet has been with Jonathan this whole time,” Jane said.

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. He went abroad to save his job and this family’s stake in their company. I saw him off at the airport.”

  “That’s one theory,” Jane said, then lapsed into silence again.

  “Are you going to enlighten me as to the other theory?” I asked, starting to breathe a little harder. What was happening? Was I going to wake up from some terrible dream? Was Jane going to lunge at me at some point to laugh that this was all some elaborate prank involving Photoshop?

  “I don’t know how much of this to believe,” my sister-in-law began, “because Violet has always been a little prone to exaggeration. But she’s been telling me that she was waiting on board the jet at the airport for a reunion that she and Jonathan had agreed upon before, um, at your wedding.”

  I shook my head again, more forcefully this time. “That’s just not true,” I said. “Jonathan and I love each other more than you can possibly imagine. He wouldn’t do anything like this to me — not ever.”

  “That’s one thing I don’t think you understand about my brother — or men in general,” Jane said. “They will do anything for pussy, and I mean anything. The Jonathan I used to know would’ve probably married Violet that night in place of you, bailed from the reception on a little ‘business trip’ of his own, and had something fresh for himself waiting on the plane.”

  “Stop,” I said, grabbing at the edge of the table and feeling like I was going to be sick. “That Jonathan isn’t there anymore. He’s a changed man. That’s not who he is.”

  “That Jonathan will always be there whether you like it or not,” Jane said. “I’m sorry to be real with you, but you need to learn to accept it. It’s a fact. Who knows what’s leaking through, what’s really going on inside that twisted head of his. My brother was not a good person. In fact, I — no. I can’t. It’s too terrible to put into words.”

  “What could you possibly have to add that isn’t worse than what I’ve already seen and heard?” I cried, drawing a few stares from other diners.

  Jane glanced around and bent forward, closer to me. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole loss of memory was just something he invented to keep himself from being bored. You know. Like a little game.”

  “No, I don’t know,” I said, realizing that I was speaking far too loudly for polite restaurant conversation, but not caring. “I don’t know what that would be like, Jane, because that is absolute insanity. It’s not possible. You don’t understand. What Jonathan and I have is real. It’s real. I know it is.”

  “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that,” she said softly, staring at me with the same blue eyes that Jonathan had. “I know that I can’t understand. You know me — can’t tie myself down to one guy, can’t let myself love. I know that I can’t judge that. But Michelle, honey, I’m just a female version of my brother. He’s exactly the same way. He bounces around from girl to girl, not caring who is who or what is what. He’s a pure hedonist, and I don’t think he even knows what a conscience is.”

  I looked at the phone I still held in my hand, looked at the way that Jonathan was kissing Violet. Did he kiss me like that? Had he ever? Was it possible that he’d been doing all of this just for the hell of it?

  I couldn’t believe that. I just couldn’t. He was my husband. He was my first and only. I loved him, and he loved me.

  “Open your eyes!” Jane commanded. “Look at what you’re holding. This is physical proof that he’s not a good person. What are you going to do about it?”

  “This can’t be real,” I said, shoving the phone back at her. “I just really can’t believe this, Jane. Maybe — maybe Violet knows Photoshop or something and made all of these.”

  “Honey, Violet doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground,” Jane said. “She definitely doesn’t know Photoshop.”

  “Well, she was a model,” I pointed out. “She probably knows people in the business who can do Photoshop of this quality. It’s not that hard anymore — technology is pretty amazing these days. She — oh, I actually feel sorry for her — she probably had these created so she wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

  Tears pity filled my eyes. Poor Violet. Maybe I should call a mental health facility. This was bordering on a dangerous obsession with my husband — one that I wouldn’t tolerate.

  “Michelle, look at yourself,” Jane urged. “You’re ignoring the facts. You know as well as I do that this isn’t just a simple manipulation in Photoshop. This is genuine. Maybe Jonathan didn’t have Violet waiting in his jet at the airport. I don’t know. But I do know that she’s been at least following him from city to city — and he obviously hasn’t been turning her away. These pictures are proof of that.”

  God, it made too much sense. It made so much sense I didn’t want to believe it. Why else would he practically refuse to call me? We rarely texted, and we hadn’t Skyped since that night — day, for him — when we’d talked each other to orgasm.

  I’d only seen his face that session. Was it possible for Violet to be on her knees in front of him, sucking my husband off while he watched me masturbate? Was he that level of kinky depravity?

  Were all of these excursions with different chairmen really the adventures he was having with Violet? Were they on my honeymoon, living it up?

  “I need you to see reason,” Jane was saying. “I need you to open your eyes to this reality and understand that something isn’t right. You told me yourself the first time we went out to lunch together after your wedding that you weren’t hearing from Jonathan regularly. Right?”

  “He’s busy,” I said brokenly, staring down at my untouched salad. “He’s been so busy with work.”

  “I’m sure he’s staying busy with Violet,” Jane remarked, making me push my chair away from the table with a loud scrape. Ever since my explosion, we’d been getting more than a few long stares. We had become dinner entertainment — the Wharton heiress and the freak of nature — and I was through with it.

  “What are you doing?” Jane asked.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “I can’t take this anymore.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged uselessly. What was there to do? “I don’t know. Call Jonathan, I guess. Ask him if everything’s all right. Tell him — God, I don’t know.”

  “Well, I think you’re moving in the right direction,” Jane said. “You should absolutely confront him. Tell him all about the pictures Violet’s been sending. Tell him you know everything.”

  “I don’t think I can do that,” I said. “I still don’t know what’s real. We’re married. We love each other.”

  “You sound like a broken record,” Jane said. “Something terrible is going on between Violet and my brother, and I can’t stand to see you getting burned. It isn’t right, Michelle. I want you to have all the knowledge you can possibly get. In these kinds of things, knowledge is the real weapon.”

  “I have to go,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  To my credit, I made it out to the sidewalk before I blew chunks into the gutter. The paparazzi waiting outside got some very juicy shots for their assignments, but I didn’t care.

  Nothing mattered except for the increasing possibility that Jonathan Wharton was playing me for a fool.

  Chapter Seven

  Everything was painted in a nightmarish fog. I only barely remembered the driver grabbing me and pushing me into the car, Jane practically diving in after me, before leaving the sea of paparazzi behind with a squeal of rubber.

  I remembered Jane holding what I thought was water to my lips, then choking as it burned down to my stomach and then some.

  “Vodka,” she told me. “To steel your nerves when you talk to that dick.”

  By “that dick” she meant Jonathan. It was strange to realize that, strange to realize that Jane had such vehemence toward her brother. I felt as if
I were someplace else. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? We loved each other. People who loved each other didn’t do this.

  The next time I took in my surroundings, I was sitting on the floor in Jane’s living area — the one that dripped pink chandeliers and featured a full-service bar. I clutched a glass of something alcoholic in my hand, but I couldn’t tell whether I’d tasted any of it yet. Jane hovered over me, seemingly worried and not tapping on her phone for once. I hated that phone. I hated the things it contained.

  “Michelle, I think it’d be good if you had a little something else to drink,” she cajoled me. “It’s not going to feel like this forever, and the good thing is that alcohol’s always there for you to dull the pain.”

  “Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need to be alone.” I looked down into the cocktail. It held no answers for me, and it gave me very little comfort. “I need to be alone so I can talk to Jonathan.”