by Nadia Lee
Finally, she blinks and turns to me, the movement more of an automatic response than something conscious. I sense a tiny tremor under my palm, and frown.
“Do you need to lie down?” I ask in a low voice.
“No,” comes her barely audible croak. She shakes her head. “No.” This time it’s stronger, but her voice remains hoarse. “Sorry. I think I’m just caught up in the excitement of the moment…” She gives me a smile designed to make me think she’s all right when she’s anything but. I recognize it because I often used the same smile with Nonny after our parents were gunned down. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Hosting an event of this size at the Sterling mansion has been a bit…taxing.”
“Maybe you should just sit here and rest for a few minutes.”
“Probably a good idea.” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Gosh, I’m so embarrassed. I’m the host, after all.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Vodka, please.”
Hard liquor seems like an odd choice, but I don’t say anything, too unsettled by her reaction to probe. It’s like she’s a stranger.
Chapter Six
Elliot
I watch my wife climb the stairs. A small part of me wants to join her, wrap my arms around her and make sure she’s all right, but another part of me wants to stay away so I can stew over our last seven days.
She confounds me. She doesn’t run, she doesn’t hide and she doesn’t try to get sneaky reinforcement from Grayson or Keith or anyone else. She bears Nonny’s virtual ostracism with patience, far better than I’d be able to. She responds to me with honest passion. I know how girls play those games, and I can spot a fake ten feet away. And I know my wife isn’t that great of an actress when it comes to sex.
She stands tall, with her shoulders pulled back and her chin high, but when she thinks she’s alone her body seems to bend a little, like an old tree under the weight of its own branches. And every time, I want to reach over and hold her up so she can remain tall.
But I don’t, because I remind myself why I’m upset…why I can’t take everything she says and does at face value…then become furious at both of us. We could’ve had something special and wonderful. In spite of what she might think, I want to be the one to hold her up, share her burdens.
One of the women around me says something inane, and I return my attention to the group and laugh because everyone else is laughing. It’s either that or be rude, and I prefer not to create unpleasantness at Elizabeth’s events. Her causes are worthy and deserve my support, even if it costs me a few IQ points.
My eyes find my wife again and I see that she’s gotten herself a drink and a nice, empty bench. Elizabeth soon joins her, and I turn away, oddly relieved that she’s not alone up there.
“Is it true?” one of the women asks breathlessly.
Given that she’s looking at me expectantly, I guess she’s been talking to me. Too bad I wasn’t paying attention. “Is what true?” I say, not bothering to hide that I wasn’t listening to her.
She rolls her eyes. “About your wife having been a stripper.”
Imbecile. I snort. “I expected better of you. Does she look like a type to strip?”
“Not really,” another one says. “She’s hot though. If she played for my team, I’d go for her.”
“She doesn’t. Besides, she’s married, and only wants me.”
The couples around me smile, and a few of the women titter like sparrows, probably thinking I’m being overly possessive.
But I know it’s true. Of all the ways a woman can betray a man, Belle would never commit adultery.
Suddenly the tittering stops, and my skin prickles with awareness. I feel my wife’s presence before I see her. I turn and put an arm around her to show everyone they can shove their pointless speculations up their collective asses. I can sense the stiffness in her muscles, and it makes me tense. Still, I put on a big, affectionate grin. “There you are, beautiful. Feeling better?”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
“You need a drink,” one of the women says.
“You know, you’re exactly right. I was looking to get some vodka.”
Vodka? I do a double take. Given her history with alcohol, she would never want something that strong. She didn’t even drink champagne on our wedding night.
Then I remember she was with Elizabeth, and vodka is my sister’s drink of choice when she’s stressed.
“Of course, Belle,” I say smoothly, leading her away from the avid gaze of the couples. I lower my head. “What happened?”
“Elizabeth wants some, and I couldn’t find any on the second floor. They only had wine and champagne.” Belle touches my arm lightly, then yanks her hand away as though she’s just realized what she’s done.
My chest tightens, and I swallow.
She looks away. “Um. I think she saw something that upset her, although she won’t say what. If you want, you can go find her.”
“Got it. I’ll take the vodka to her.”
“Great.” She hesitates, then gives me a quick glance. Before she looks away, I catch a glimpse of pain in her eyes, and I feel like I’m being flayed.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” she says. “See you at dinner?”
I nod. “Don’t forget we’re in public. Smile and look happy.” Don’t let me see you in pain.
“Right. Happy.” She puts on a fake smile, tilting her head to make sure I see it, then walks away.
Damn it. I rub my face, exhaling roughly. She can make me feel like scum so effortlessly.
I order two glasses with four fingers of vodka at the bar and take them up to the second level. Elizabeth is easy to spot. She looks like a queen in that white dress. She doesn’t look upset now, but she’s always had great composure. If it cracked, even momentarily, whatever shook her must be bad.
I sit down and hand her a drink.
“Where’s Belle?” she asks.
“Bathroom.” From up here, it’s easy to scan the people on the first floor. I take a sip of the alcohol. Vodka isn’t my choice of poison, but I can drink it if it’ll get her to talk. “So what happened?”
She starts to gulp it down, then catches herself and takes a couple of dainty swallows instead. “What do you mean?”
“Belle told me you didn’t look so good.”
“Did she?”
“Elizabeth.”
She shrugs delicately. “It’s nothing. All of a sudden, I just felt faint. I’ve been working really hard on the event, and I think it just caught up to me. And the whole thing with Grandpa’s paintings and all… I haven’t been sleeping well, and…” She smiles brightly. “I’m just tired. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
I squint at her. I believe about half of what’s coming out of her mouth. She might be saintly, but she is also excellent at glossing over things, especially when they’re distressing.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m telling you the truth. Besides, if you have the time and energy to worry about me, you should worry about your wife.”
“What do you mean?” Did Belle say something?
“She looked lonely…and a little bit miserable up here. Kind of unusual for a woman who just came back from her honeymoon.”
The soft words put me on the defensive. “Don’t.”
“Are you upset about the articles saying she was a stripper?”
Elizabeth’s making me feel like I kicked a puppy. I take another drink of the vodka.
“You’re such a hypocrite. You released a sex tape, and you’re the one who wanted to marry a stripper in the first place.”
“It’s not like that,” I bite out. Elizabeth has no idea what’s going on between us, and I’m not telling her.
Elizabeth nurses her vodka. “Sometimes we get blinded by emotion and push too far, say and do things we shouldn’t.” Her voice is low, but her words are perfectly clear. “By the time you realize you’ve crossed the l
ine, it’s too late. And you’re never able to take it back and fix the damage you’ve done to the relationship. So consider if it’s worth destroying what you have with Belle before you step over that line.”
The vision of my wife walking away from me flashes through my mind…then her standing alone in the penthouse we share, looking so tired and alone. Suddenly I’ve had enough. “It’s not about the articles. I knew what I was getting into, and I’m not a hypocrite.”
“Then what?”
“Her secrets.” I clamp my mouth shut.
Elizabeth regards me. “That bad?”
“Yes, and I’m pissed she didn’t tell me. I’ve given her chances.”
She finishes her drink. “Maybe she couldn’t. People think our family has everything because we have money and connections…but we can’t just do whatever we want, and we certainly don’t have everything. Imagine how much harder it is for someone with so little. And the stress… If she messes up, she isn’t just risking herself but a younger sister who depends on her.”
I look away, not wanting to hear her tell me what I already know but don’t want to admit.
Elizabeth continues, undeterred, “She might’ve had good reason to keep things to herself. As shocking as it may sound to a man of your ego, it might not be about you at all. I think she genuinely cares about you.”
My wife has told me she loves me. Repeatedly. And she tried to over the last six nights, even though I covered her mouth so I didn’t have to hear it and have it lance through me again.
“Did she try to talk to you about…whatever it is?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah. After I found out.” I try to soften my tone for my sister’s sake, and fail.
“So you didn’t let her explain.”
“What’s the point?”
“Unless you honestly don’t care, you should give her a chance to share her side of the story before it’s too late.”
“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”
“If you wait too long, she may not want to anymore. Who wants a love so shallow that it doesn’t come with a bit of trust?” With a long sigh, she stares into the empty glass in her fragile hands. “I have to go downstairs and mingle. Make people feel good about helping those less fortunate than we are.”
I nod, relieved that this conversation is going to be over.
She squeezes my shoulder. “Just…don’t be too stubborn and turn her tender feelings for you into pain. Because the next stage will be indifference.”
My knuckles turn white around the glass. It’s a wonder it hasn’t shattered.
“Don’t give me some bullshit relationship advice you read from Cosmo, sis,” I say, trying to dismiss the panic her words have brought on. Of all the outcomes I’ve considered, Belle’s indifference isn’t one of them.
She tilts her chin. “It’s not.”
The thinly veiled pain in her words makes me snap my head her way. For a second I think I see something shattered and bleeding in her gaze, but she blinks and it’s gone. I look harder, but her face is composed, serene and calm, and the alcohol has given her cheeks a light glow.
“See you downstairs.” She kisses me gently on the cheek and walks away.
I watch her make her way through the crowd. People stop her to say hello, and she responds, her face lit up with a sweet, welcoming smile. She’s at ease and relaxed as Nate Sterling comes over and puts an arm around her waist. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and when he dips his head, she whispers something in his ear, which makes him grin fondly. It is as though she didn’t say any of the things she just told me.
The idea of my saintly sister having any kind of strong emotion for stuff other than saving the world is preposterous. I have to be projecting my own feelings onto her.
My eyes search the crowd for my wife. What’s her breaking point? She’s feisty—a fighter underneath the delicate appearance. She wouldn’t…
What if she’s already reached the point of no return?
What the hell is wrong with me that I’m freaking out like this? It isn’t me who screwed up. Belle fucked it up, and there’s no reason for her to feel she’s been treated unjustly.
Except…
Elizabeth said Belle looked lonely and maybe a little miserable, and I know my sister’s right. And I know I’m the chief reason.
But loneliness and misery aren’t indifference. So that means I haven’t pushed my wife too far.
Yet.
* * *
Annabelle
The bathroom is huge and luxurious, dark marble with gleaming gilt faucets. It’s obviously designed with guests in mind: two big sinks and several stalls with doors that reach all the way to the bottom of the floor. The toilets are Japanese and high-tech like nothing I’ve ever seen, with covers that raise and lower themselves automatically, the seats heated.
When I come out of the stall, I bump into the one person I prayed I would never see again—Annabelle Underhill. She’s as gorgeous as ever. Her face is expertly made up, expensive rubies around her throat and on her ears. Dark brown curls frame her heart-shaped face, and a red chiffon dress hugs her toned and tanned body. The eyelashes seem even longer than I remembered.
She puts a tube of lipstick into her clutch and gives me a sideways look in the mirror. “Well, well, well. Don’t you clean up nice?”
I ignore her and wash my hands.
“Didn’t anybody teach you any manners?” She smiles, then gasps. “Ohhh, right. They must have stripped them off you at that job you used to have.”
It’s a stupid thing to say, but the blatant mention of the asterisk-marked portion of my past stuns me. Nobody at the party has breathed a word about it, and I’m certain they’ve all seen the lurid headlines, if not the actual articles.
“I knew Elliot could be wild, but I thought he would choose somebody with a more stabilizing influence.” The smirk she flings at my reflection is extra catty. “After all, opposites do attract.”
That pulls me out of my shock. “That can’t be right, or you’d be married to the Dalai Lama.”
She snaps her clutch shut and faces me. “You think you’re so clever?” Hateful condescension twists her face. “Yeah, I guess you do. So you know Elliot doesn’t need to stay married to you to get what he wants, right? He just needs to be married.”
Her triumphant viciousness leaves me dazed. As my brain kicks in again, I gape at her. How does she know this? Elizabeth swore that only her brothers, father and stepmother know the truth behind my fake marriage to Elliot. I haven’t known her for long, but I’m certain she isn’t the type to lie.
“Surprised?” Annabelle flutters her eyelashes at me. “You shouldn’t be. Everyone knows.”
My throat constricts for a moment, but I manage to say in an even voice, “Everyone?”
“Everyone who counts.” She gives me a smarmy, used-car salesman smile.
I rally myself. I’d rather bite my tongue until it bleeds than let her see how she’s upset my equilibrium. “So you can count. I was wondering. Well, at least I’ll be going home with a hot, young husband tonight.”
“You’ll never satisfy a man like Elliot.”
“Apparently you didn’t either. Which is why he passed you off to his father.”
Her eyes flash. “Elliot enjoys slumming, but at the end of the day, a man wants a lady by his side.”
“A lady who hasn’t married his father, surely.”
“Always so naïve. If that were true, we wouldn’t have been fucking in a closet after the ceremony.” She smirks. “What? You didn’t know? Oh yes, it’s true. He’s always wanted me.” She strokes her chest, breathing shallowly as though she’s turned on by the memory. “He’s just too stubborn to admit it to himself. He’s always been stubborn.”
To hide how shaken and sickened I am by the revelation, I start drying my hands.
“Give it up and leave him,” she continues. “I don’t want to have to hurt you or your sister, but”—she shrugs—“you’ve led such an inter
esting life. I would hate to release all those little nuggets, but I will…one by one if you’re too dense to understand what I mean.”
Fury sears my cheeks, and I itch to slap her. “Don’t you threaten me.”
“And why wouldn’t I? Who you gonna tell?” Annabelle leans closer until our noses are almost touching. “Elliot?” she whispers. “He’ll never believe you.”
My misery is nearly complete because I know she’s right. He won’t even listen to my explanation about Mr. Grayson. Why would he believe anything I say about Annabelle Underhill?
After a long moment she pulls back. “That’s what I thought. Well, cheer up. It’s not like there’s no way out of the situation. All you have to do is divorce him. No…big…deal.”
She leaves. I brace my hands against the edge of the vanity and try to drag in air through my mouth. My head throbs like Annabelle’s just slammed the back of my skull against the wall, and my stomach roils.
If Annabelle Underhill follows through on her threats, I’m screwed. Nonny will never forgive me, and Elliot will grow even colder and more distant.
Why did I ever think I would have a fresh new start? Fresh starts are for the lucky few. I’m not that fortunate.
Chapter Seven
Elliot
Where is Belle? She’s been gone for too long. She isn’t in the dining hall, and I remember how pale and withdrawn she was earlier.
I walk toward the ladies’ room and spot Ryder, who’s in a black tux that fits him perfectly. Despite the fact that we’re half-brothers, we look nothing alike. I often joke that I’m the handsomer guy. In reality, he is one disgustingly good-looking bastard. He takes after his mother—the almost-black hair and arresting blue eyes combined with a face that people gush over in breathless wonder. Underneath the pretty mask is a decent brain as well. He’s monetized his appearance quite effectively, much to our father’s fury.
A small throng of people has gathered around him—can’t be helped, since he’s the biggest thing in Hollywood right now. The moment he spots me, he extricates himself and walks over. “Didn’t know you were planning to attend,” he says.
