An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  As the doors to the elevator start to shut, a hand slides between, forcing them to reopen. Dennis walks inside and hits the “close” button.

  My breath catches for a moment—not in a good way—at the sight of my ex-boyfriend. His sandy hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his pale gray eyes are shooting so much anger that if we weren’t in public place, I’d fear for my safety. He’s been insisting that I need to make my husband back off or some such nonsense. For some reason, he’s convinced his trouble at the firm is due to me and Elliot. I drag in air through my mouth and consciously unclench my hands. The elevator has a security camera. Dennis won’t do anything rash.

  Even as I reassure myself, I feel a growing unease in the pit of my stomach.

  “What the fuck is it going to take for you to do what I asked?” he spits out.

  “Elliot hasn’t done anything to jeopardize your internship here,” I say, staring straight ahead to the reflection in the brushed steel doors. He is standing with about a foot of space between us. To anyone looking, we’re just polite strangers or acquaintances sharing a car going down. “I want to help you, but I can’t make my husband undo something he didn’t do. You need to talk with your HR people if you think they’re unfairly singling you out for another background check.”

  Dennis doesn’t want anyone to dig into his past because he lied. He even changed his last name to Dunn to avoid the taint of his father. Mr. Smith was Dad’s partner in the Ponzi scheme.

  “This isn’t over, Annabelle.” Covetous fury blazing, his eyes rake over my clothes and the huge diamond on my finger. “This is far from over.”

  He gets out on the first floor, and I let the elevator take me further down to the underground parking. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up as I navigate the gray, concrete area full of cars. Every sound makes me jump.

  I’m being crazy. Dennis isn’t going to run down the stairs to the garage to harass me. Stuff like that happens in movies, not real life. What’s more, there are cameras here too.

  But I still take out my keys and, in a self-protection move I saw on a video once, clench them in my fist so that three of them stick out between my fingers like claws. And when I finally climb inside my Mercedes and lock the doors, I sag in my seat.

  Wrapping my hands around the steering wheel like it’s a lifeline, I take a few deep breaths. After a moment, my pulse returns to normal. A car door shuts with a loud thud a few spaces from me, and I jump.

  I put a hand over my thundering heart and see a young, slim woman getting out of a Ferrari. She has a huge hat and a pair of sunglasses that covers most of her face. Her long, wavy brown hair hangs loose over her shoulders, and she moves with the entitled arrogance of a woman used to having money. The height, body type and attitude all remind me of Annabelle Underhill—and her threat.

  She’s declared war, and I can’t just sit and wait for her to drop a bomb on me.

  I press my knuckles against my teeth, my gaze unconsciously following the woman disappearing into the waiting elevator. I don’t have the kind of resources or power to fight somebody like Annabelle Underhill, which means I need an ally or two. And, of course, Elliot is the logical choice.

  Oh how I want to ask him for help. But I’m not entirely sure if he’ll believe me without any evidence, and the possibility makes my chest ache until I tear up. It took a week before Elliot was ready to listen to me about Mr. Grayson. I don’t know if I can afford to wait that long or survive another week of my husband’s brooding skepticism. Even now Annabelle Underhill is planning to screw me somehow, and I don’t want another thing for Nonny to be angry with me about.

  If not Elliot, who? Traci is out of the question. It’d be like throwing two eggs at a rock, and I don’t want her getting in that bitch’s crosshairs when Traci’s just getting her life together.

  Elizabeth.

  I actually gasp. Elliot’s half-sister is so sweet and nice that it’s impossible to imagine her saying no. On the other hand, she and I aren’t really close enough that I can impose on her like this. But I have nothing to lose by asking, do I? At the very least, she can listen and maybe offer some advice.

  My mind made up, I dial her before I lose courage.

  Elizabeth answers on the third ring. “Hello, Annabelle.” Her voice is so, so soft. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks.”

  “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

  “Just focus on getting better,” she says, her voice full of gentle concern.

  I clear my throat. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Of course not.”

  “There’s something I’d like your advice on.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I wish there was a bottle of water in the car. “It’s about something that happened at the dinner.”

  “Oh?” There’s an alertness to her tone now. “What about it?”

  I tell her about Annabelle Underhill’s threat. Elizabeth listens without interruption or comment, but I know she’s paying attention to every word out of my mouth. She is so quiet when I’m done that I almost wonder if the line’s been cut.

  “Did you tell Elliot?” she asks finally.

  “Um… No. Not yet.”

  “You should.”

  “I’m not sure…” I bite my lower lip, feeling like a disloyal idiot. “I don’t know if he’s going to believe me without proof.”

  “Annabelle, your word should be more than enough.”

  “Should be, but… It’s complicated. I’m sorry, but it’s hard to explain.” I slowly sink deeper into my seat, my body folding on itself. Now I wish I hadn’t called. “Can you help?”

  “Of course. But for now, I want you to wait while I look into what she’s really up to. Don’t do anything rash. My guess is, she wants to rattle you to see if you’ll undermine your own position. If she really had anything, she wouldn’t have gone after you that way.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  I nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Got it. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But you know…” She sighs. “You have to learn to open up to Elliot. He can’t help you if you don’t tell him.”

  “I’m worried that he won’t help even if I do tell him.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. He’s surprisingly protective of the people he cares about.”

  “You know our marriage isn’t like that.”

  “Isn’t it? I see how he looks at you. He cares about you more than you think. Don’t let his colorful reputation put you off.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I say, almost in reflex, but I’m not really sure if she understands what I’m going through. No matter how hard I exercise my imagination, I can’t picture the man who wouldn’t believe every word out of her mouth and wouldn’t throw down his life for Elizabeth. She just naturally arouses a protective instinct in people.

  “I’ll call when I come up with something. And I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant experience at my event.”

  “Elizabeth, please don’t misunderstand. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  “I know. But I should’ve been more…selective.”

  We end the call. Staring at the concrete wall on the other side of the windshield, I wonder if I’m paying the price for being less than cautious and deliberate with my decisions since my parents’ deaths. Right now it feels like everything that’s happening is for a reason—my past.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elliot

  It doesn’t take me more than four quick laps to come up with a way to disgrace and humiliate Annabelle Underhill and get her to stay the fuck away from me and mine. It is so simple that it’s almost laughable. I just need a little time and a few items to pull things together.

  After a quick shower, I go to my office and call the front desk to speak to the supervisor of secu
rity at my building. The man is quite accommodating when I explain the situation.

  Why, of course you can have the footage. Of course we’ll be more than happy to email it to you. Terribly sorry that you’re dealing with a stalker. Would you like us to blacklist her, should she try to harass you and your wife again?

  I’m nothing if not gracious in the face of such cooperation. I thank the man, telling him I would love it if they would ensure Annabelle Underhill never enters the building again. It’s been distressing to my gentle wife, who isn’t used to such viciousness from people, you see.

  Once that’s done, I reach out to Elizabeth for another piece I need to put my plan in motion.

  “Elliot! Just the person I was about to call,” she says.

  My eyebrows rise. “What’s up, sis? Need more funds for the poor?” She does hit me up often, and I give generously in support. She’s my sister, and I admire what she does to help those who are less fortunate.

  “Actually, no…although I won’t refuse if you want to write another check. It’s about your wife.”

  I’m instantly focused. “Information about her fall?”

  “No, it’s something else. She called me half an hour ago to tell me about Annabelle Underhill. She wanted my help.”

  For a stunned moment, I can’t process what she’s saying. Then the gears in my brain finally start rolling. “Damn it.”

  I run a palm down my face. The fact that Belle turned to my sister—but not me—cuts deep. I tell myself we haven’t had a chance to talk, but I know that’s a lame-ass excuse. She’s had plenty of chances to lay it out and ask for my help.

  A beat. Then Elizabeth says, “You know about what happened between them at the dinner?”

  “Yeah. Paige told me.” Suddenly unable to sit still, I get to my feet and start pacing, the phone glued to my ear.

  “Paige? How did she know?”

  “She overheard.”

  “Well, at least it was her and not somebody else. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to ask you to give me all the photos from Saturday.”

  “For what?”

  “To create a narrative to destroy the bitch, what else?”

  “Okay. I’ll send you all the digital copies, but that’s not the main problem.”

  I say nothing. I know what she’s thinking.

  “Elliot, maybe…you should show your wife you’re the one she should lean on. Not that I object to helping her, but you are her husband. You should be her first choice.”

  “She won’t do it. She doesn’t think of me that way.”

  “You two were so happy when you left for your honeymoon. What happened?”

  I hesitate, then give her a short summary about how I lost it when I found out about Belle’s connection to Grayson…who’s working for Keith.

  “Good god. I had no idea… Why didn’t you give her a chance to explain?”

  “I gave her plenty of chances to come clean before I knew about all this. She could’ve told me then, and I would’ve believed her because it would have been her telling me. But when truth comes from a private investigator, it’s not the same.”

  “Maybe she had a good reason for not saying anything. Sometimes we do stupid things out of fear…or love.”

  Love. Belle used to tell me she loved me, and it only added to my sense of betrayal when I found out. The love she professed seemed so manipulative—something she tossed out in case she needed cover to protect herself when I learned everything. But I realize it wasn’t any of those things, and I want that love back…even though I’m certain I’m not worthy of it anymore.

  “When I finally gave her a chance to make me understand it from her perspective, she told me, but…” I dig my free hand into my hair. “The damage had been done.”

  Elizabeth is quiet for a moment. “Maybe things went wrong from the beginning. Did Annabelle Underhill give you guys trouble before or after your decision to take her to honeymoon?”

  “Before.”

  “How strongly did you nip it in the bud?”

  I clench my teeth. I didn’t, because I owed her uncle.

  My silence is answer enough. “So from your wife’s point of view, you didn’t eviscerate Dad’s Wife Number Three the first time, and she’s coming back to cause trouble again. What’s she supposed to think?”

  “I didn’t encourage her, but I couldn’t turn her away, either,” I say. “She asked me for help, claiming that her husband was physically abusing her.”

  “What? Stanton beats her?”

  “She showed me the bruises on her arms.” Elizabeth’s gasp fills my ear, and I go on. “Trust me, if it hadn’t been for that I wouldn’t have been so patient with her.”

  “I never suspected… I mean, Stanton’s always so…gentlemanly. Did you confront him about it?”

  “No. She just wanted the name of an attorney who could handle her divorce, since she claimed she couldn’t get anybody to help her. So I referred her to the Sterlings’ lawyers.”

  “Good god. I never heard about any of that.”

  “Well…” I pause, my eyebrows tightening. How can Elizabeth be ignorant of something like this? She’s too well connected, too well liked. People talk to her, include her in gossip even when she isn’t interested just because they want to share with her. They’re lucky she isn’t an undercover NSA agent.

  “I’ll send you what you need,” Elizabeth says. “But I also want you think about what I said. I know it’s only for a year, but it could be a very good year if you let it.”

  “I know.”

  And it could’ve been more than a year. I realize that I’ve been subconsciously dreaming of more, and that’s why I have such extreme depths of feeling concerning Belle, why I flew off the handle at the possibility she would betray me the way Annabelle Underhill did.

  But my past is mine to bear. If I’m not careful, it’ll tear us apart.

  First… I need to take care of the problem of Annabelle Underhill. I text Paddington: Tail Annabelle Underhill. I want to know what she’s up to.

  He responds: Anything in particular you’re looking for?

  Anything that relates to me or my wife. If she so much as sneezes in either of our directions, I want to know about it.

  That done, I stare out the window, thinking about Belle. Her actions prove she meant it when she rejected my offer of a fresh start. But then, why wouldn’t she? Words are cheap. And from her perspective, I haven’t done anything to show her I can make her happy, that I’ll be there for her no matter what.

  I’m going to need something better than “Let’s start anew” to put my relationship with my wife on the right track—a grand gesture that will put me at a risk as much as her should our marriage fail. My palms slicken at the thought. Betrayals early in life have made me cautious, and now I’m always careful to insulate myself. But that path will mean Belle and I are already finished.

  I can’t accept that. I won’t.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Annabelle

  When I arrive home around five, Nonny’s in the dining room, working on her homework at the table. Her biology textbook and notes are spread out, and I hesitate for a moment. The only sign that she notices me is a slight pause of her pencil, then she resumes jotting answers on a worksheet.

  “I’m home,” I say lamely.

  She says nothing.

  O-kay. I inhale slowly. “I should change…unless we’re going out for dinner?”

  “We’re not.”

  “What are we getting?”

  Her expression goes scrunchy, like she just bit into a lemon. “Thai.” Since she loves Thai food, the facial histrionics are for my benefit.

  I press my index and middle fingers against the throbbing points on my temple and jaw line. She really ought to be over it by now.

  Sighing, I drag myself up the stairs. Once in the walk-in closet, I immediately dump my purse on the shelf built specifically for purses and toe off my shoes, which feels like hea
ven. I’m just not used to wearing pumps for hours on end. My toes look red and squished, and god, the balls and arches throb like mad. I strip and get into a loose sleeveless black cotton dress that ends right below my anklebones. It has a side slit on the right that goes up to my knees.

  As I start to leave, I catch my reflection in the mirror inside the closet. I look overly tired and maybe even a little bit defeated, my eyes uncertain, my cheeks colorless. Dismayed, I pat my face a few times. Who the hell is going to give me a job? I wouldn’t want to hire a girl who looks as fatigued as I do.

  “One day at a time” has been my mantra ever since my parents were gunned down. Every day that passes is one day closer to the end of The Crappy Phase Of My Life. Surely the rest of my existence can’t continue like this.

  Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Maybe the cold will jolt me, help me get my head right. I need to gird my loins if I want to get through dinner without losing it. As it is, I’m strung tighter than piano wire.

  When I hear the bell, I make my way down. Elliot heads out of his office to the door, yanking the Bluetooth piece from his ear and shoving it into a pocket. He’s in a blue shirt and black shorts, his feet bare. From the closed-off expression on his face, he’s had a less-than-great conference call. It still shocks me that he’s in such demand that he dictates his own terms and decides who he’s going to work with. When you’re brilliant and rich, you don’t have to hustle like the rest of us mortals.

  He hands the guy a few crisp bills and brings the food in. When he notices me, he changes course and places a kiss on my mouth. It’s such an everyday gesture, the kind any husband would give his wife along with “Welcome home.” The sweet normalcy of it startles me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. Any semblance of normalcy is good, because my life is anything but.

  Meanwhile, Nonny helps to spread the food out on the table—pad Thai, crispy pork with kale, tom yam goon, and a few other dishes I don’t recognize but look yummy nonetheless. She also grabs plates, since the delivery place didn’t send any disposable ones.