by Stella Rhys
I was all for it. But I hadn’t mentally prepared to see Sofie Winter. She hadn’t attended any of our functions since the night that I had broken into Gabrielle’s apartment – the night that Gabrielle had gone missing. My stomach went instantly cold when I caught sight of her, polished as usual and wearing her million-dollar smile despite looking visibly thinner, aged. Guilt weighed in my stomach as I opened my arms to welcome her embrace.
“Don’t laugh, Lara, but I actually cried when Sloane told me about the news!” she giggled girlishly. “I’ve always loved you and Jackson together. You were made for him. We all thought he was perfect already but when you came along, he was complete.”
“Sofie,” I exhaled with a trembling smile. My eyes welled and I told myself it was because of her kind words, not because of my nagging fear that it had been me. That in my wild, blind rage that night, I had somehow led to her daughter’s death. No, no, no. That thought existed only in the dark place that I’d managed to escape for the entirety of Ibiza. I wanted to stay out of that place. Forever. Pulling away from Sofie, I forced myself to smile wide. “This calls for some drinks, doesn’t it?”
I was on an empty stomach so thankfully, the first round of champagne cured my nerves. Over Moët and carpaccio, we spent the evening talking about Jackson instead of my dress. After two rounds, we were all rosy-cheeked and laughing. Emily Rocha asked for the story of how Jackson and I met and squealing with delight, Sloane told its censored version.
She had brought me to one of Sofie’s big galas and had gotten quickly too drunk, leaving me to fend for myself, which proved difficult once Dane McNulty found me. He had introduced himself and immediately begun talking about a new building he’d purchased in SoHo, asking me if I wanted to see it. It had been an upscale clothing store beforehand and several nice pieces were left behind. He had a feeling I’d look great in them with “that incredible body.” Needless to say, the way he spoke to my breasts made me uncomfortable, so I wound up recoiling and excusing myself, wandering out into the hall of the posh restaurant and up a winding marble staircase.
I found a half-naked Jackson in an empty room up there.
I froze and stared, unable to tear my eyes off of the strange man with the perfect face and perfect body. It felt like a daydream. I barely processed his stammer about why he was changing into a different tux. It felt as if I was actually blushing to death so I wound up running out. He chased after me, apologized, and then insisted he get me a drink downstairs – as if seeing his ripped body in grey boxer briefs was some sort of traumatizing experience for me.
“Whew. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I met Jackson like that, but I definitely wouldn’t have run away,” Emily fanned herself. “I can say that because I love Erik with all my heart,” she added hastily.
As Sofie cooed something about me being “darling,” I eyed Sloane – the only other person who knew that I wound up having sex with Jackson in the back of his car that night. It had been dirty, carnal, like nothing I’d ever done in my life. Fear had pulsed in my stomach the entire time he’d grasped fistfuls of my dress, piercing me with a hot, hard pleasure I’d never felt before. I was twenty-two at the time and until then, had only experienced unremarkable sex. I’d never so much as spoken to a man who looked like Jackson, nor had I slept with someone I’d only just met. I’d never experienced a real orgasm let alone two in one go. But in that first night with Jackson, I crossed all of those things off my list.
Even the nicest girls have a nasty side, Sloane had told me. It just takes the right man to bring her out.
I had a feeling that was true. My first time with Jackson had been unabashed and wild, but only because it felt right with him. It wasn’t in my nature to do such a thing with anyone else. I wasn’t that open. But with Jackson, I had felt an instant pull. A connection in the way he spoke and moved. He had lost his father in the same way I’d lost mine. He resented yet missed his brother in the same way I did my sister. By the time we touched for the first time – his hand on the curve of my waist – it had felt as if I’d known him for ages. It felt as if his hand belonged there.
With a happy sigh, I leaned back, letting Sloane take my bejeweled hand in hers. “Look at where we are, Lara,” she murmured, resting her head on my shoulder. “We couldn’t even dream this life in middle school. We didn’t know it could be this beautiful.”
It was true. In middle school, we had fantasized about moving to New York and finding rich boyfriends. We invented stories of where they would work and what kind of parties they went to. But we were from a small, dead town named Margaret, population three thousand twenty-four. Our imagination only went so far. We couldn’t imagine the true luxury of being with our boys – the shining penthouses in Chelsea, the glittering galas under eighty-foot ceilings. The connections to anything we could possibly want – courtside seats, private shopping trips, flights to Mallorca on a gleaming G6. We had a million times more than we ever thought we would.
Giggling, Sloane planted a kiss on my cheek. “I love you. And I love us. You, me, Caleb and Jackson. One big happy family.”
Champagne bubbling through me, I sighed with content, clinking my crystal flute against Sloane’s. Surrounded by friends, celebrating my engagement to the love of my life, I was absolutely certain that I’d never ever been happier.
Chapter Eight
I was walking out of my first bridal appointment on Monday when I bumped into Dane McNulty and his leering grin. Or rather, he had come up from behind me to say hello in his way.
“Miss Future Kinsley,” he said, putting his hand on my lower back. I instinctively stiffened. “Just me, sweetheart,” he grinned when we locked eyes.
Oh great. Even worse than a random stranger trying to touch me, I stretched my lips into a convincing smile. I loved my life with Jackson but one of the few downsides was the fact that I spent at least twenty percent of my time being pleasant for people I disliked. Dane topped that list of people, mostly because he gave me, as my mother would call it, the heebie-jeebies. He was handsome in a over-polished, cologne model kind of way. But his eyes were a predatory grey and every time he flashed that I’m-mentally-undressing-you smile, I wondered if the line on his cheek was an odd dimple or a terrible scar. He was all kinds of disconcerting.
“How are you, Dane,” I asked, barely able to manage an upward inflection to my question. I didn’t care how Dane was and I wished that kissing wasn’t a customary hello in the world of Jackson’s friends. I winced as I felt Dane’s mouth linger too long on the hollow of my cheek. I flashed an overly sweet smile as I manually removed him from my body. He smelled like scotch. Barely noon and he had already been drinking.
Running a hand over his slicked back hair, Dane took me in from head to toe. “Better now,” he said, his eyes sliding down the front of my saffron maxi-dress. “How are you, beautiful? Heard you all had a great time in Ibiza without me.”
I didn’t say anything. He hadn’t been invited for a reason. Jackson generally tolerated Dane because many of his friends still liked him, and Dane did in fact have very envious connections. But since the invasion in our home, it seemed Jackson had lost all patience for appeasing others. All he wanted was to please himself. After all, life was too short.
But since I didn’t want to explain that Jackson’s near-death experience had spurred him to trim Dane from his life, I kept my mouth shut. I knew Dane would force our conversation to continue anyhow.
“In case you’re unaware I did Jackson a big solid recently. You should tell him it’s a bad look to accept my favors and then leave me out of plans with our friends. But eh, I’m sure he’ll make it up to me by the time we do the Hamptons for Labor Day.”
“Sure. Maybe,” I said flatly, certain that that was probably not the right response. I was used to feeling awkward around Dane, but usually because of his lewd comments, not his feelings of rejected friendship. Smirking, he pressed on.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in wretched
Midtown East?”
I barely wanted to answer. “Bridal appointment.”
“Mm, of course.” Dane slid his hands into his pockets, slightly swaying as he eyed my neckline. “I’m sure Jackson’s having you pick something obscenely tight.” His grin spread slowly as I pursed my lips into a line. I had no response because he wasn’t wrong about Jackson’s preference for skintight dresses. Silent and annoyed, I watched him break into a laugh. “Christ. You let him get away with everything, don’t you?”
That rubbed me the wrong way. “What are you talking about?”
“You know. The man can do whatever he wants.”
“Again, what are you talking about.”
He smirked casually. “Oh fuck me, I’ve said too much.”
I glared, knowing well that he expected me to grovel for an explanation. But since I refused, I flashed Dane that deliberately fake smile again. “Right. Well, always a pleasure.” I started past him but he stepped in front of me.
“You know, I always meant to tell you this little something but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.”
I stopped, jaw tightening as I anticipated some deeply vulgar compliment. “What, Dane?” I asked, allowing my tone to for once convey my impatience. Dane delighted in it, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Do you want to hear it, sweetheart?” he wet his lips.
“Honestly, no. Not really.”
“Oh,” he feigned surprise, finally letting me go. “I guess he was right then,” he called after me. “Sawyer told me never to tell you.”
I stopped in my tracks, wondering when my heart had had begun to pound. Hating myself for the satisfaction I was providing, I turned back to face Dane. “What about Sawyer?” I asked reluctantly, my pride aching. Dane’s face was so smug now that I felt my fingers actually twitch with the need to slap it.
“Fuck, Lara. He’s gonna kill me, but I have to say it,” he said with a grin, his expression barely trying to match the phony regret of his words. “I was with Sawyer awhile back – we met this group of Brazilian girls at a party and went back to their hotel at night, fucked them, yada yada.” Satisfaction twitched on his lips as he watched me wince. I didn’t want to hear this part of the story but it was every bit like Dane to force others to hear about his sex life. “Fuckin’ great night. Sawyer took the brunette, I had her friends. I think it was three of them, but I don’t – ”
“You can skip this part, Dane,” I said between my teeth. He had to be wasted. He was always disrespectful but never to this degree.
“Right, right. Fast-forward then.” Dane ran his thumb along his lower lip, savoring my curiosity before dropping whatever bombshell he had. “I fucked them, left their room – and guess which pretty little thing I saw in the hallway? Lyle and Sofie’s Winter’s daughter. Poor girl, they still haven’t found her. What’s her name again?”
My body went cold but my cheeks were aflame. “Gabrielle,” her name barely choked from my lips.
“Yes. Gabrielle. She was wearing this lacey black dress, ended right about here.” Dane reached to draw a line on my upper thigh. I pushed him away, my eyes stinging. I didn’t anyone to know about Jackson’s affair but if I could pick the last person I wanted to know about it, it would be Dane. “You wanna take a guess who I saw open the door for her?” he laughed, following me as I stormed past him.
“No, thank you,” I muttered bitterly, tears brimming my eyes as I tried to speed past him despite my heels. He kept up effortlessly.
“So you already know about their affair and you’re still marrying the guy,” Dane marveled. “Christ, and here I thought you couldn’t get better.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stormed down Park Avenue. The knot in my throat felt like I’d swallowed a ping-pong ball. Dane knew. Dane and Sawyer both. I had hoped to forget the affair like it never happened but as it turned out, there were still others in the city besides Jackson and myself – others who knew about the ugliest thing to ever unfold between us.
Dane pretended to offer comfort. “Hey, don’t cry. At least you know for sure that he isn’t still fucking her,” he snickered.
The dark joke twisted my stomach. “Please just go, Dane,” I exhaled, fighting the knot in my throat. I was sure he couldn’t say anything worse at that point.
“Fine, I’ll go.” Clucking with mock sympathy, Dane rubbed my back and kissed my cheek. “But I don’t want you to cry, sweetheart, so try to take comfort in the fact that this is yesterday’s news. No need to dwell on something that happened two fuckin’ years ago.”
Chapter Nine
Two years ago.
I had frozen on the sidewalk and watched Dane walk away as I processed his last few words.
The fight about Jackson’s smoking habit. The trip to Italy with Sloane. That was five months ago, when Jackson told me the affair first started. I’d thought the infidelity lasted only three nights in the downtown W. Three nights over the course of four months. It had taken every painstaking fiber of my being to forgive him for that short but shattering period of time. Jackson had been weak and I had been forced be strong. Strong enough to take him back and get past those terrible four months.
But now I knew the truth.
He had first slept with Gabrielle long before that. Almost two years ago. Had she even fucking been eighteen yet? I was horrified, blindsided and betrayed by the man I loved for the second time.
In the dark of our bedroom, a near-empty bottle of Bordeaux on my nightstand, I stared at nothing. I had tried to convince myself that Dane was lying but then I thought about Sawyer. I remembered how he’d acted strangely in Ibiza, right before Jackson’s proposal. “I know a lot of things,” he had said, drunk and morose. “Things that you’d want to know.”
He was referring to Gabrielle – to that night with Dane two years ago.
My heart twisted as I thought about Sawyer forcing Dane to keep his mouth shut. It was for my sake. I was friendly with everyone in Jackson’s boys club but Sawyer was an actual friend to me. With both Jackson and Sloane prone to overdrinking at parties, he was my savior – my replacement date-slash-best-friend with whom to laugh and dance when everyone else was too drunk to get out of their seats anymore.
“Lara?”
The light flicked on and my dark gaze moved toward the door, where Jackson stood.
“Babe?” he frowned. “What are you doing?”
“You slept with Gabrielle two years ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I ran into Dane McNulty on Park Avenue today.”
Jackson tensed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And he told me that he saw you at the W with Gabrielle Winter – two fucking years ago, Jackson,” I snarled, my voice reedy as I pulled the words out of my tight throat. I swallowed hard, furious with the remorse creasing Jackson’s brow. It was the same one as last time and I wanted something new. I wanted him to look broken, devastated, like me. “What the fuck, Jackson?” I ripped my body out of bed. “What do you have to say for yourself? You said it started with Gabrielle when I was in Italy with Sloane but that was this fucking February, Jackson, and now I’m hearing that you first fucked her two years ago?” I shoved him away when he came to me, so hard that he stumbled backward. “What the fuck was she, Jackson? Seventeen?”
“Eighteen.”
“Fuck you!” I screamed. I was wild, unhinged. “Don’t you fucking dare act like this is hurting you, this is hurting me. This is humiliating me. I believed you. I believed everything you said. That you’d never hurt me again, that you loved me – ”
“I do love you, Lara, please just fucking listen to me for a second,” Jackson pleaded firmly. Tears blurred my vision as he held me tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to count like that, Lara. That night two years ago – that was the year the fund had that fucking disastrous January, we were down three percent, I was stressed the fuck out and I didn’t want you to see me looking like a wreck at home so I booked a hote
l room to just cool off for a few hours. All I wanted was to smoke without you getting mad at me. And before I could even get to my room, I ran into Gabrielle and her friends in the bar downstairs. They were all drunk, they started flirting with me and I – fuck, I don’t know, I thought they were all twenty-one since they were drinking!”
“Please!” I fought out of Jackson’s grip to wipe the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “Like that makes it any better that you fucked her that night!”
“I didn’t fuck her that night, Lara! I… I got drunk, okay? I was stressed out, I had just spent millions of dollars renovating the apartment for us and suddenly business fucking nosedived. So I got drunk and I let her flirt with me and I… let her come up to my room. We drank together, we talked together, and we…”
“If you didn’t fuck, what did you do?” I demanded. Jackson’s jaw flexed. My lip curled at his stone expression – like he was preparing for my wrath. My heart slammed against my ribcage. “What did you do, Jackson?”
“I let her suck my cock.”
“You son of a bitch!” I thrashed against him, pained cries escaping my throat as he gripped my forearms, trying to hold me still.
“I’m sorry, Lara, it meant nothing, I swear to fucking Christ! I barely remember that night,” Jackson rasped as I fought him. “I’m sorry. I wish we could pretend this never fucking happened.”
“How?” I screamed, tearing myself away from him. “How do I know you aren’t lying again? How do I know it meant nothing if you did it again later? How am I going to fucking marry you when you have no idea what you’ve done to me? I can’t even begin to fucking describe the hurt right now, the – ” The knot in my throat stole my last words. Tears drowned my eyes as I stood there, speechless, too wounded to fight. Though when Jackson tried to come near me, I pushed him back. When he tried again – I shoved him harder.
“What can I do, Lara?” he asked, desperate. “What can I do? If you tell me what to do to make it right, I’ll do it. Okay? I’ll do it because I need you, Lara, you’re my wife.”
