by Kim Karr
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
I explained to him the situation, and it took him a long while before he spoke again. Even when he did, he still looked annoyed. “Tell me something about yourself. Lets try things you like to do when you’re not working.”
“I like to sightsee and explore new places. I like to shop, but mostly I window shop. And I really like to be outside.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I like to do all those things. See how easy that was. Now, tell me about your place?”
I took a bite of my toast. “Right now I’m living in a two bedroom in Soho with a girl I met at work. Her boyfriend is a photographer and he’s spending a year in Europe building his portfolio, so she wanted some help paying the rent.”
He set his fork down, pushing his plate aside. “Where did you live before?”
I played with my food, not really wanting to answer that question, but I could feel his gaze growing more intense, the longer I stalled. And I too pushed my plate forward, and then looked over at him. “With a photographer I’d met on a shoot in California.”
James leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair in what I thought might be agitation. “Was this photographer your boyfriend?”
“Not exactly. We dated, but we were never exclusive.”
The flight attendant came and took our plates and glasses, resulting in a prolonged silence.
Once we were alone again, he said, “You understand I’m not like that. That you’re mine, and I don’t share.”
This was a huge leap we’d taken. “I do, as long as you understand the same.”
Very matter-of-factly he said, “I do,” and then he smiled and reached over to slide his palm over my hand again. Warmth traveled through me, sending pleasure throughout my chest. It was a giddy feeling that I couldn’t explain to myself if I wanted to.
“So I take it moving out won’t be a big deal? I should be able to pay your roommate what’s left on your lease and have the movers there on Monday without any problems.”
My eyes widened. “We haven’t talked about where we’ll live.”
“We haven’t talked about a lot.”
“I know.”
His brow furrowed. “Well, this one is a no-brainer. We certainly can’t both live with your roommate, now can we?”
I shook my head. He had a point.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll live at my place. You can do whatever you want to make it feel like yours.”
There wasn’t really much I could say to that, but there was one thing. “You don’t have to pay for me. I have my own money.” Although in truth, I doubted I had enough in savings to buy out my lease.
Those furrowed brows deepened. “You’re my wife, Lindsay, and I take care of what’s mine.”
That didn’t sit right. There was so much he had to learn about me. “And I have always taken care of myself.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing you have me now.”
That’s all he said, and then he pulled me close to him and closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until we landed, where he had a car waiting for him, with his own driver, of which he informed me was now my driver too.
This transition was certainly going to be a bumpy one for the both of us.
Arriving back in New York, our first stop was my apartment. My roommate wasn’t home. As I went about packing some things, James poked around, asking me questions about photos placed here and there, or various items strewn around. Once I felt I had enough things to last the first part of the week, I left a note for my roommate to tell her I’d be gone for a few days. I’d call her later this week to explain.
There was a fire in James eyes as he took my suitcases. I knew it was satisfaction because he’d gotten me one step closer to his place.
His place.
I’d known he must have lived somewhere glitzy, but when Hal, his driver, and it seems mine now too, pulled the Mercedes in front of a very handsome, palatial, pre-war building, located directly across from the entrance of Central Park Zoo, I turned to him in shock. “You live here, on Fifth Avenue?”
He laughed and stepped out, reaching for my hand. “No, baby, we live here.”
I looked up before I got out of the car and counted sixteen floors, then my gaze lowered to the canopied entrance and doorman. I had no idea until then just how wealthy James was, and honestly even then, I hadn’t fully understood the vast of it. The one thing I did know was that everyone was going to think I was a gold digger.
Slowly, I took his hand and stepped out, still staring at my new home. “What floor?” I managed to ask.
“Fifteenth,” he answered.
Well, at least it wasn’t the penthouse.
“It’s a two-story,” he added.
That’s when I thought I was going to be sick right there on the ultra-clean sidewalk of the Upper East Side.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “It was my uncle’s. He died a few years ago. He never married, and had no children, so he left it to me. There are three bedrooms, a library, and a terrace. You’re going to love it. And if we have more than two kids, we can always convert the library.”
And then I really was sick.
Chapter 5
One Down, Too Many to Go
James
The night wasn’t exactly filled with endless pussy. In fact, it wasn’t filled with anything—at all.
No groping.
Or heavy make out session.
No dick sucking.
And no tit fucking.
Lindsay and I spent the evening talking, and alternately rushing her to the bathroom, where she continued to throw up, over and over.
I knew I couldn’t have knocked her up already. We hadn’t even had unprotected sex yet. Shit, I didn’t even think we consummated the marriage the night we got hitched. I’m pretty certain we both passed out.
No, the reason was worse than that. Her nerves were getting the best of her. And I didn’t like that one damn bit. In fact, I hated my world seemed to overwhelm her.
And then was the little issue that I was used to getting what I wanted. When I wanted it. No, wasn’t a word I used to. And yet Lindsay kept saying it over and over. I’d said she would get used to living here. She’d said, “No, I don’t think I will.” I’d said that we’d go to the bank on Monday and put her on my checking account and get her a credit card. She’d said, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Once she finally fell asleep, my preoccupation with her no’s meant I hardly slept.
I glanced at the clock. It was eight fifteen in the morning. Shit, I’d promised one of by best friends, Phoebe St. Claire, that I’d meet her for a run at nine. There was no way I was up for that.
I picked up my phone and dialed her number. Phoebe and I had been friends for a long time, and more importantly, she was real. She didn’t adhere to the whole debutante image that girls like her were reared in. Her family owned a chain of hotels that were on the brink of bankruptcy and she had recently taken the helm. It wasn’t a pretty spot to be in, but she was doing her best to navigate her way through it.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Don’t kill me but I have to cancel.” My voice was scratchy, uneven.
She sounded like she was still sleeping. “It’s fine, but is everything okay? You don’t sound well.”
I opened the drawer beside me and pulled out a cigarette. I’d had one earlier as well. “Let’s just say I did something completely unlike me and I’m trying to figure out what to do about it,” I answered in a whisper, and then flicked the white tip with my lighter.
“Okay, you have my mind working overtime. Care to elaborate?”
I drew in a sharp breath and inhaled.
“Are you smoking?” she asked incredulously.
“Just one or two. I needed to take the edge off.”
She sounded alarmed. “Okay Jamie, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I had been clean for five years. Ther
e was a time when I lived off blow, marijuana, and a long string of women. But then I almost overdosed one summer, and that was my wake-up call. I still drank, but I hadn’t done drugs, of any kind, since, and I never smoked anymore because it only made me crave something stronger.
I got out of bed and went into the hallway. “Phoebs, I don’t want a lecture.”
“I’m not going to give you one. I’m just worried about you.”
I sat on the top step. “It’s just a cigarette.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” she insisted.
I heaved a heavy sigh. “Friday night after the benefit, Avery and Theo were going to Provocateur, so I went along with them.”
“Go on.”
“Yeah, so I met this Victoria’s Secret model there, and you know how I have a thing for models.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” she said in a clipped tone.
“Well, sometime that night we all got on a chartered flight to Vegas and when I came back to the city last night, I was married to Lindsay, the model.”
“Married!” she practically screamed it. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Not so loud,” I whimpered into the phone.
“You have to go back and get it annulled,” she demanded.
“I know that, Phoebs. The problem is Lindsay doesn’t want to.” And neither did I, but I didn’t mention that, not over the phone.
“Is she insane? You just met.”
“She wants to give it a try.” I left out the part where I did too. Phoebe would be lecturing for days if I added that.
“Did you tell her no? Go find her and tell her no. Do you know where she is?”
Silence.
“Jamie?” she drew out my name. She was the only person in the world I let call me that.
“Yeah, I know where she is. She’s in my bed right now.”
“Then go wake her up and get yourselves back to Vegas.”
Phoebs was smart and I knew it was time to lay it all out. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure I want to either. I’m getting sick of all the parties. All the women. Maybe settling down isn’t a bad thing.”
“Jamie, settling down is great. But with someone you love. Not someone you just met.” She was trying to sound logical.
“Have dinner with us this week. Meet her and you’ll see. She’s perfect for me,” I suggested.
“Sure, I’ll have dinner with you both. But you really need to think this through.”
“I have, and I’m taking her to meet my family today.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Yeah, well, when I canceled on my mother yesterday, she rescheduled the family picture for today. Guess she’ll be surprised at the new addition to the family.”
Phoebe gasped. “Your mother is going to blow her lid, Jamie. You can’t do that to her. You have to warn her.”
“Nah, I can’t deal with her right now and we have to be there at noon. Speaking of, I really need to get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, Phoebs,” I said.
“Love you too,” she said back and hung up.
I sat on the stairs, taking one last drag of my cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray I’d brought with me. One down, too many to go. This was going to get old fast. Was Lindsay going to be under fire the entire time? I knew she was. I really hated that for her.
Phoebe was right about my mother, she was going to flip. But, unlike my friends, I also knew no amount of preparation was going to change that.
My mother had insisted I show up today for the annual family Christmas card photo, and I had every intention of doing so, with my new wife.
It might have not been winter yet, but I knew the ice queen would emerge and no amount of fa la la las was going to keep her from rearing her judgmental head.
I thought about getting Lindsay naked in the shower under the guise of wanting to help clean her up, but then fucking her once we got under the spray. Hey, I was desperate for her, but then I heard her throwing up again, and knew that was wrong.
Besides, I had to warn her. But even as I thought it, I knew that would never be enough to truly understand my mother.
I should have just canceled.
Chapter 6
Smile For the Camera
Lindsay
The first thing I thought as the car pulled up in front of the Ashton residence was that we could have just walked the half mile from Fifth Avenue to 16 East 69th Street.
It was raining, but with an umbrella I was certain the five minutes it would have taken to get there wouldn’t have caused too much havoc to either our hair or clothes.
The second thing I thought was, Holy Shit! The stunning brick façade must have stretched at least thirty feet wide. And looking up, I counted three, maybe four floors. It was without a doubt, one of the exclusive mansions located in Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
Wow. Okay.
If I thought adjusting to the fact that James lived in a co-op worth more than twenty-five million took some getting used to, this place blew his out of the water. I felt like I was on a roller coaster ride across billionaire row that was never going to end.
Then again, I should have known. James had, after all, just explained to me in the short car ride over here that his mother was a Vandermore. Before that, I had no idea his family held the same social status as the Rockefellers.
James got out of the car and held his hand out to me.
Staring up at him, I was struck mute. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and visibly fit, which was especially noticeable in the designer black suit he was wearing. It fit his body to perfection.
When he raised a brow, I looked away and my gaze landed on the house with all its windows again. I was about to enter his world, and suddenly I felt more terrified than I had in a very long time.
James stood patiently waiting for me.
I took a breath and then reached out to him. Our eyes locked in that moment, and my pulse was racing as I slid my palm over his upturned one.
Stepping out of the car, for a moment, and only one, I forgot everything but what it was like to be lost in his beautiful eyes.
The rain was light, but still James opened an umbrella.
I was wearing a sweater dress, but it certainly wasn’t casual my any means. James had insisted the family personal shopper run over this morning and bring a selection of items appropriate for the Ashton family photo. By then I was no longer in meltdown mode, and after eating a piece of toast, I felt up for the task.
I knew this was important to him.
After trying on more than a dozen different dresses, all varying shades of off-white, James insisted on the very last one I’d put on. With its halter neckline, column body, and just above the knee length, the cashmere creation was my favorite too.
The dress was simple yet elegant, and I think that’s what I liked most about it. It was my style, and I felt comfortable in it. I might have grown up wearing second-hand clothes, but over the past couple of years I’d acquired a rather nice wardrobe, some pieces purchased, some compt.
Still, nothing I had was anything like that one.
It was a designer from Paris, and I had no idea how much it cost, but I knew it must have been a lot. There were no tags, and I knew better than to ask.
The stylist paired it with a pair of nude booties and a light coat, and then James gave me a diamond bracelet with matching earrings that he’d asked her to bring.
The dressing me part didn’t bother me at all. I was used to that from all the photo shoots I’d been on. But when James gave me the diamonds, my palms turned clammy as my heart rate increased. Overwhelmed and thrown by his generosity, I started to melt down all over again.
It took half an hour before the stylist could finish getting me ready.
“Ready?” James asked, reminding me we had somewhere to be.
I drew in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “Ready.”
He led the way through the small courtyard to the glossy front door surrounded
by flowers and shrubbery, and once under cover he closed the umbrella.
It wasn’t winter yet, but the temperature had certainly been dropping, and yet the flowers were still in bloom. They must have been receiving some extra attention.
James turned the knob. But before he stepped inside the house, he stopped to dip his head, and his dark eyes went liquid with heat. “I don’t want you to be nervous. It’s a photo and lunch, nothing you haven’t done a thousand times.”
The statement was true enough, but I had a feeling it was going to be nothing like I had ever done.
James pushed open the door and we stepped into a massive foyer with a black and white checked floor. A large ornate gold table sat in the middle of it. The table had fresh cut flowers on top of it and a gorgeous chandelier hanging above it.
There were two equally as large rooms off of the foyer, although I wasn’t certain what they were, and a marble staircase with a black banister separating the areas.
“Come on,” James grinned, “Everyone should be upstairs.” His smile didn’t tempt one from me, but I did force myself to breathe.
He strode up the stairs with my hand in his and when we reached the top, it took me a few moments to scan the large space. I had never seen anything as extravagant as that. The parquet floors were covered with Persian rugs, the furniture was trimmed in gold, the fireplaces outlined with scrolled designs. The draperies were gold, the walls were white and the ceilings extremely high. The French provincial décor fit the dynamics of the room perfectly.
A thin woman with blonde hair pinned up in a chignon stood from a chair near an opened door that led to a terrace, and pulled her reading glasses from her face. She set them down, along with her book, and blinked a few times. “James,” she said.
“Mother,” he returned.
Both of their voices lacked any warm emotional infliction, and that’s when I knew she had no idea I was coming.
Then very nervous, I tried to smile. She did not. James ushered us toward her, The closer I got, I could see she was a beautiful woman, and I saw where James got his heart-shaped mouth, and his deep colored eyes, too.
