by Imani King
“No, just surfing the internet,” I said, trying to play down my concerns, the way that I wanted to cry with the stress of keeping my father off of the streets. “You know, nothing exciting.”
I rolled onto my back and off of Gigi, my eyes closed and a smile on my face. Ever since we’d gotten married, the two of us had been having sex like we were the last two human beings on the planet—and I certainly wasn’t complaining, at least not about the sex. Gigi was an animal in bed, an absolute firecracker, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was having a hard time keeping up.
“You’re certainly giving me a run for my money,” I said, my voice breathy. Despite our lovemaking having a singular purpose in conceiving an heir, the two of us never let that stop us from enjoying our time together. Gigi was a fantastic lover, and even though she confessed to not having an abundance of partners, she always knew exactly what to do to make me see stars.
Normally after sex she’d at least have a smile on her face, but today something seemed off—no, not just today. Gigi had been acting strange ever since I walked in on her with her laptop.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
She didn’t look at me, her gaze cast out toward the window, her expression thoughtful and distant. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, something that she just refused to tell me anything about. Was she having second thoughts about the deal? Was it something I had done?
Worry infested my thoughts. I wondered if that deep down, Gigi really didn’t want any of this—didn’t want me. I heaved a sigh, running my fingers in my hair before turning my gaze back over to her as she sat up, her arms crossed over her breasts, protecting them from my gaze, keeping me at a distance.
“Everything all right?” I asked, unable to mask my frown.
“Fine,” she said curtly, not even sparing me a glance. I felt a cold sensation in my stomach, and I knew that something wasn’t right. “Couldn’t be better.”
I grazed my fingers over her bare shoulder. “You’re sure? You look like you have something on your mind.”
“Yeah, Dorian. Don’t worry about it, I’m just thinking,” she said, this time sparing me a glance and a half-smile. The more she assured me that everything was fine, the less fine it felt. She wasn’t telling me something, and it bothered me to no end. We’d only been married a short time, but I’d felt a bond growing between us ever since the moment we’d kissed, a connection that I actually wanted to strengthen.
“All right, then,” I said as I pulled the covers off of myself. “I’m going to get myself something to drink. Do you want anything?”
“No… thanks.”
It would have felt better if she’d yelled at me.
“Right,” I sighed, getting out of bed. I threw my robe on over my naked body, glancing back at her as she continued her pensive staring out the window. Her thoughts weren’t here, with me, and it made me nervous.
I left the bedroom, wrapping the belt around my waist as I let the door softly click closed behind me. Everything was so silent as I walked through the living room and to my overly spacious kitchen. I visited this place so infrequently that I almost felt like I was a stranger in someone else’s home. I glanced out at the late morning sun, watching it glint off the tall mirrored towers that made up all of downtown.
I remembered why I never came here as the silence drew in around me, why I always surrounded myself with countless faces I’d never remember by the next morning—I was afraid of being alone. And for the first time since I actually met Gigi, I felt alone again. I sighed, grabbing my water and heading back toward the master bedroom.
Just before I reached the handle, the soft ding of my elevator made me stop short. I turned my head, drawing my hand back as I went over to investigate.
My maid was only here every other week since I used the penthouse so little, and there were only a handful of people in the world who even had a key—none of whom I wanted to see right now, especially my mother. The woman I found, however, was definitely not my maid, and certainly not my mother.
“Hi, baby!”
Harmony Van Holden was a stunning bombshell of a blonde. Long legs, a perfect hourglass figure, and tits that could sink a ship if she ever had a mind to show them off to a busy helmsman. She and I had known one another since we were in our preteens, and she had even been my first kiss—among other things. Harmony was an heiress to the Van Holden fortune, and growing up, everyone assumed we’d end up together. They were dead wrong. The instant I had my hormones in check, I realized how empty headed she really was. And of course, there were the older men I caught her sleeping with on the side…
“Harmony,” I said, frowning as I noted the rather ostentatious—if stylish—trench coat that covered her up from her neck to her knees. “You don’t have a key to my penthouse.”
“I missed you,” she said, her voice taking on a whining tone as she protruded her lips in a pout. “Didn’t you miss me, sweetie?”
“Can’t say that I have… How did you get a key to the elevator, Harmony?” I asked, raising my voice just a bit. I wasn’t exactly amused by where this was going, especially with Gigi in the other room.
“Didn’t you give me one?” she asked, a coy smile on her lips as she tried to walk farther into the penthouse. I put myself in her way, looking into her eyes.
“That was almost ten years ago. You need to leave.”
“But I just got here, baby! Don’t you want to catch up? For old time’s sake? Have a little fun?” she grinned and bit her lip. I could smell the vodka on her breath. “You still have all of those rooms, right? I just miss those days when we’d fuck in each and every one of them.”
“Harmony—” I started to say, but as I opened my mouth she darted past me, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.
“Oh, Dorian, I’ve missed this place!”
“Harmony. Give me the key and leave. You should not be—” I couldn’t finish before she spun toward me, pulling the lapels of her trench coat wide and shrugging it off of her shoulders with a flourish.
Harmony stood in all of her glory in the middle of my living room, wearing a sheer, black lace babydoll, her bountiful breasts barely contained by the just-as-sheer cups of the lingerie that did nothing to hide her familiar, puffy pink nipples. Just below, the bottom of her babydoll hid a skimpy, matching thong, the crotch of which was practically see-through and damp.
“Do you really want me to go, sweetie?” she asked, her voice dipping into a sultry purr as she took a few steps closer. “I know how lonely you are up here by yourself. I’ve thought about you so much over the years…”
“You mean before or after you fucked half the fortune five-hundred?”
“That’s no way to talk to a girl who’s trying to do you a favor. Your mother said you still had feelings for me,” she said with a pout.
“My mother put you up to this?” I asked, my brow furrowing as rage swept up to replace confusion. “She told you to come here?”
“Aren’t you glad she did, though? I can’t stand the thought of you all alone up here by yourself, moping and frowning when you get into one of your moods.” Harmony came closer, reaching out toward the belt of my robe to start to untie me. “I know just how to fix this.”
I pushed her hand aside and took a step back, putting some distance between me and my horny ex-girlfriend.
“Leave. I won’t ask you again,” I said.
“That didn’t sound like asking, baby. I like it when you get all demanding.”
Harmony giggled and once again tried to close the distance between us, lunging once more for my belt before I pushed her away. I almost couldn’t believe that my mother would stoop this low—almost. By now, she would have found out about my and Gigi’s pre-nup, bribed some lawyer at the firm we’d used to get her hands on the contract and learn all about our little agreement.
“Harmony, we are not doing this right now,” I said, getting angrier the longer she kept up her little game. I w
as not in the mood for one of my mother’s schemes, not with Gigi acting the way she was. “Pick up your coat and—”
“What’s going on?” came Gigi’s voice from the door to my bedroom. “Who’s this, Dorian?”
“Who am I?” Harmony asked, turning her head to look at Gigi in one of my spare silk robes. “Who the hell are you? And what’re you doing in my boyfriend’s penthouse?”
“I’m not in your boyfriend’s penthouse,” Gigi said, her eyes narrowing. “You’re in my husband penthouse. And mine.”
The way she claimed me, and the space we shared together, made my heart leap for just a moment. But then I saw the look on her face, the hot simmer of her anger, and dread washed over me instead.
“Gigi,” I began, but a cold look from her cut my forthcoming apology short. I elected for an explanation instead. “This is Harmony. Harmony and I used to date a long time ago, and Harmony is very drunk. She was just about to leave, weren’t you, Harmony?”
The confused look on my drunken ex’s face would’ve been comical, if it weren’t for the load of shit I was definitely about to catch for all of this. Without a word, I bent down and snatched up Harmony’s coat from the floor, shoving it into her hands and guiding her to the elevator doors. Just before they opened, I halted her, holding out my hand.
“Give me the key, Harmony.”
She pouted, digging in her coat pocket and handing me a silver and gold cardkey before turning away from me and stomping into the elevator.
“Can’t believe you’d say no to this,” she said as the doors closed. “So what if you’re married? I’ve fucked married men before. Call me when you change your mind, Dorian.”
I sighed, rubbing the palms of my hands over my face as I walked back toward the living room where Gigi was waiting for me, her arms crossed over her chest and her face a mask of anger and annoyance.
“We had a deal, Dorian,” she growled.
“Yes, I’m aware of the deal,” I shot back, going on the defensive. She couldn’t honestly think that I was actually going to cheat on her while she was in the next room, could she?
She scowled, though it was less menacing than I’d expected. “I meant the part of the agreement that I came up with. The one where you don’t stick your dick in every floozy who walks through the door. Remember?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, utterly incredulous that she’d accuse me of cheating when she’d been the one all this time acting like she was a million miles away. For all I knew, she was talking to some boyfriend over the internet when I’d walked in the other day.
“Of course I remember. I’m not the one acting all suspicious lately, Georgia.”
I should’ve shut my mouth. I should’ve just let this all go. But all the women in my life were screwing with me, it seemed, and I wasn’t going to get played for a fool. Not by the only one out of the whole lot of them I trusted.
Gigi glared at me silently for a moment, her mouth open. Then her cheeks darkened and she took a step back like just being in my presence disgusted her.
“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this! After what I saw…”
I snorted. “Do you really think that I’m stupid enough to just fuck some woman out here while you were in the next room?”
“Then what was she doing here, Dorian?” Gigi asked, fixing me with a heavy stare. I thought I saw something other than anger there for a moment, something closer to fear. It shouldn’t have made me happy, but it did. It made me damn happy to think maybe Gigi still gave a shit about me.
But before that look could come to fruition, she waved her hand. “You know, I don’t even want to hear it. You can sleep in another room tonight, Dorian. This one’s taken,” Gigi sniped, turning her back on me and marching back into the master bedroom and slamming the door so hard I heard the glassware in the kitchen clink.
I stood out in the living room by myself, staring at the shut door and wondering if I could have handled that situation any better. I sighted, sitting down on one of the couches that littered the room, my head in my hands.
I wasn’t sure I could explain to Gigi what had happened, or if she’d even give me the chance while she still thought I’d brought some woman into the penthouse after less than a month together. It looked bad from where she was standing, and maybe I could fix it in time, but at that moment, I couldn’t find any silver lining in this raincloud.
And how would she react to knowing my mother was the one who’d set it all up? She was already insecure after what happened at Aliments the day of our wedding. What if she wanted to bail?
I couldn’t let that happen, not just because of the money involved, but because I didn’t want Gigi to go. In fact, screw the money. That wasn’t what this was about anymore.
Not to me, anyway. And I hoped against all hope that it was the same for her.
“Ms. Devereaux?”
The voice over my phone sounded very familiar, but the peaceful and calm nature and my still-groggy head made it hard to place.
“This is she,” I said cautiously as I sat up in bed, my hand almost reflexively searching for Dorian’s warm body next to mine, only to be disappointed. The memories of our fight a few weeks ago were still fresh, souring my restful feelings. Even the joy of finding out that I was finally pregnant wasn’t enough to pull me out of this mood.
There was no big celebration, no happiness—instead, I just threw the positive test onto Dorian as he slept and went about my day. In hindsight, I could have been a bit more cordial. We’d—or rather, I—set an appointment for an ultrasound in a few weeks and rather loudly relayed the information to Dorian. It very well could have been the hormones, but I was fairly certain I was still just that mad, and it’s not like Dorian had taken any steps to calm me down. After our fight, he was distant. It reminded me of how long I waited for him to call after his grandfather’s funeral, only to be disappointed.
“May I ask who’s speaking?” I prompted after too many moments of silence lapsed.
“This is Mrs. Lambert. I was… hoping you might come by today and speak with me.”
My heart stopped for a moment. Why was Dorian’s mother calling me, of all people? Hadn’t she insulted me enough?
“I can’t say I enjoyed our last talk, Mrs. Lambert,” I said.
“I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Mrs. Lambert replied. “Knowing I have a grandchild on the way has given me some clarity.”
I touched my stomach, comforting myself with the life growing inside me. “How do you know about the baby?”
“Dorian told me, of course. Do you really think he would keep something like this from his mother? Clearly you barely know him…” Mrs. Lambert replied. “It’s of no consequence. What is done is done and we must make peace. I would like you to come and see me at my home in the next hour. I will be waiting.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond. The sound of the phone being put on the receiver jarred me from my thoughts, my heart hammering as I began to worry about all the possibilities of how this meeting could go wrong.
I arrived at Mrs. Lambert’s house in a little under forty-five minutes, with my heart practically in my throat. Why in the world was I doing this? It was probably just another chance for her to turn the knife, and I didn’t need that… Especially with the way things were going at home right now.
Everything turned out to be exactly as I feared, and yet much, much worse.
Dorian’s mother stood quietly, dressed impeccably as usual. She was officially the last person on the planet that I wanted to see. A pit opened in the bottom of my stomach and my blood started to boil all at once as I caught sight of her crooked grin. What little hope of civility I might have had was gone in an instant. I knew that this was going to get bad.
“Ms. Devereaux,” she said, her tone overly sweet with a smile that looked too well-rehearsed. “How wonderful that you could join us.”
“What’s going on here?” I asked, frozen in the doorway as I watched the soon-to-be-d
eceased Mr. Lambert laboring to breathe, his bulging eyes locked onto me.
“I’d like to discuss some business changes that I’ve made…”
“I’m not sure why I’m here for that. If you want to talk business, talk to Dorian,” I replied.
“I’m not talking to Dorian, because these changes involve you, Ms. Devereaux.”
I narrowed my eyes at the two of them. If I had been confused before, then I was absolutely dumbfounded now.
“You don’t have any power over me,” I said.
“I’m afraid you’re right, dear. Thankfully, I have something even better. Are you familiar with district Judge Thompson Watts? He’s truly a wonderful man.”
“Never heard of him,” I replied quietly.
