Black Lies

by Alessandra Torre

  “Now.”

  “I thought I’d just move into your house.” House was really the wrong word for it. Mansion. Fifty thousand square feet of space he barely used. A basement lab he had spent ten million dollars outfitting. He couldn’t move. Wasn’t possible.

  “It’s my house. I want our house. A place to build our future. A place you pick out.” He shifted into gear and tossed his phone into my lap. “Call Jill. Find out which realtor I should use, then get them on the phone.”

  Our house. I dialed Jillian and wondered how well this would go over with Lee. Maybe I was making a mistake.

  I bought my first house a week after my twenty-fifth birthday. Had a budget of three million dollars. Went crazy and spent four. Looked at twelve different homes before coming to the difficult decision of choosing one. With Brant, I expected even more of a production. It turned out to be ridiculously simple.

  In my prior, paltry price range, I’d had to make decisions. Did I want the outdoor kitchen or the sun porch? The indoor theatre or a library? An oceanfront office or spare bedroom?

  In Brant’s price range, every house had everything. And there were only three to choose from. The realtor offered a limo, but we drove Brant’s Aston Martin, winding toward the coast, the homes fifteen miles apart. Everything we could ever want for thirty million dollars.

  It was an easy decision. The first one was a palace of ostentatious details, hand-painted ceilings, and heavy velvet drapes. It screamed old wrinkly money, and came complete with maids’ quarters and an entire floor dedicated to formal rooms we would never use. It did have a ballroom, a huge expanse I envisioned using in a variety of ways, the foremost being a skating rink for our future children. But the consensus, a look shot between Brant and I upon our exit, was that it was a no.

  Windere was the second property, an estate high on the cliff, owned at one point in time by the Kennedys. It had four gated acres, nine bedrooms, tennis courts and an elevator that carried us the 42 stories down to the beach. It also came with a two-bedroom beach house, at the base of the elevator, a twelve hundred square foot gem with an attached spa and second pool. It had privacy, needed a staff of at least eight, and was a good half hour from Palo Alto, but it was comfortable. Modern. Us. It also had a six-thousand square foot basement. We were sold.

  “This is it.” Brant clapped the realtor, a small woman with a large overbite, on the back. “Good work.”

  “I have one more property to show you… in Santa Cruz… it’s a beautiful house…” Her voice faltered, and she looked to me for help.

  “This one’s perfect,” I echoed Brant’s opinion. Looped my arm through his and beamed up at him.

  “Draw up the contract.” He slid an arm around my shoulder, leaned down and kissed my mouth. “I love you,” he murmured, the realtor stepping away to give us privacy.

  “I love you too.”

  “First steps, right?”

  I grinned. “First steps. Baby steps.”

  He growled against my mouth. “Don’t say baby. I’m already wanting to see you pregnant, kids running through this house.”

  The light in my heart faded slightly, and I pushed myself up, stealing a kiss before the emotion hit my eyes. “Let’s get one last look at our future home.”

  Chapter 47

  “What’s going on?”

  I looked up from my place on the floor, mid-wrap of a picture frame. Lee stood in the doorway, hands out in confusion. He looked around the empty living room, half the furniture removed last week and sent out for consignment. I leaned back. “Frank?”

  A moment later, a shaved head stuck its way into the room. “Yes ma’am?”

  “Can you round up the guys? Take them to lunch? I need some privacy.”

  “Sure.” He nodded a hello to Lee and exited the room.

  I hopped up, setting down the frame, and brushed myself off. “Hey babe.”

  “What’s going on?” he repeated.

  “I’m moving. I tried to call you. Been trying to call you. You should get voicemail.”

  He looked around like he didn’t understand the concept, taking a few steps into the kitchen before returning. “Almost everything’s gone. When are you leaving?”

  “Friday.”

  “So, where’s your new place?”

  “Not far.” I stepped forward, wrapping my hands around his body, my body flush with his, his reaction immediate.

  He looked down, leaned over and pressed a kiss on my mouth. “Show it to me.”

  “Now?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You look like you could use a break.”

  I looked around, at my house full of half-packed boxes. A house that Frank and his team could handle. “Okay. Let me grab my keys.”

  We took the Defender, Lee’s hands familiar on the wheel. I was tempted to give him the vehicle, his love of it apparent every time he sat behind the wheel. Maybe later. Now it would only cause a fight. Questions from Brant. Too much confusion, too much rocking of the boat.

  A silent drive, the only words coming when I’d point out turns, give directions. I snuck glances at Lee as we drove down manicured streets, a world away from his part of town. His eyes moved constantly, his expression brooding. I knew this Lee. This was the insecure Lee. The one who grew hostile and irritable at my general life of luxury. The one who hated Brant with a fervor that scared me. Maybe today was the wrong day to show him the house.

  “I’m starving.” I reached over, looped my hand through his. “Want to grab lunch first?”

  “I’m not hungry.” He pulled his hand free. Down shifted. “Doesn’t your new place have food?”

  I looked out the window. Swallowed my response. This was going to be a disaster.

  I saw the hesitation in Lee’s turn as I pointed toward the new house, the slow stop of the Defender at the gates, the guard stepping from the small hut, seeing the two of us and waving, the gates starting their slow movement, unveiling the beauty that was Windere.

  His shift movement was delayed, the crawl down the driveway slow, the crunch of dead leaves audible in the absence of wind. When the truck came to a stop, before the six-car garage, he jerked it into park, turned off the key, and sat there, the engine dead, his hands on the wheel.

  “You’re moving in with him.” A dead sentence.

  “Yeah. You can come in. I want you to be comfortable here.”

  He chuckled. Dropped his hands from the steering wheel and looked at me. “I’m not coming in, Lucky. I didn’t know… didn’t realize. You should have told me.”

  “It’s just a place to live. It doesn’t change anything with us.”

  “It does. Your house… I was okay there. This place…” He tilted his head and looked up, at four floors of excess. “This place has its own guard shack for Christ’s sake. You think they’re going to let your side-fuck in?”

  “It’s fine, Lee. You can come and go anytime.”

  “Anytime he’s not here. Fuck that.” He let out a heavy sigh and turned in his seat. Stared into my eyes. “I’m never gonna be able to give you this. Shit, I’m never gonna be able to give you anything.”

  “I don’t need you to.” I shook my head. “I only need you to love me.” The words stuck on the way out, my mouth regretting them as they fell from my lips. He wouldn’t understand, he’d think it more than it was, the statement putting too much weight on our affair.

  “Love you?” He looked down, laughed softly under his breath before peeking back up at me. “Lucky, I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. I just never thought I could have you.”

  I lost a heartbeat, crawled over the center console, sitting in his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. Kissed his mouth in full view of the guard shack and a threesome of movers who I’d never see past next week. His hands slid down my body. Squeezed my ass while his mouth claimed my own. It had been the wrong statement for me to make, his admission one that broke my heart and made my year, all at the same time. I pulled off, breathing hard, my e
yes meeting his, and told a twisted version of the truth. “I love you too.”

  “All the good that does us.”

  “Come inside,” I begged. “You can christen it, fuck me in every room of the house. Make it yours.”

  His body tightened underneath me. “Hasn’t he already done that?”

  I smiled against his mouth. Took a final taste of his mouth. “Not in any way,” I whispered.

  “I take back any time I ever called him smart.” He wrapped his arms around me, shouldering the door open and carrying me out of the truck. Set me gently on my feet, his hand shutting the door while looking warily up at the house. “Rich prick,” he muttered, leaning back against my pull of his hand, his strides slowly taking him up the entrance steps, a mover passing us on the way, professional smile flashed at us both in turn. “Ms. Fairmont. Mr. Sharp.” The woman chirped, steps continuing, no pause in her stride.

  I felt the start in Lee’s step, pulled him fully into the house. “She thought I was Brant,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the woman.

  “You’re with me. He hasn’t been here. The movers will probably assume it,” I nodded at the room before us, a three-story entrance hall, with as many as four men actively unpacking before us.

  “Meaning I can fuck you right here and none of them will be the wiser?” He moved closer, pushing me against the closest column, the press of his body making it very clear where his thoughts lied.

  I giggled, pulled away from him. “Behave,” I mouthed, stepping away to tap the arm of the closest individual.

  “Yes, Ms. Fairmont.” The man turned, giving me a wide smile while nodding respectfully at Lee.

  “We’d like some privacy. Can you find Ann and have her clear the house of staff?”

  “Certainly.” The man scurried away, Lee watching him in amazement.

  “Does everyone do everything you tell them to do?”

  I stepped back against the column and pulled him back before me. “Kiss me.”

  His eyes hooded, he obeyed, returning the crush of his body to mine, his kiss hard and possessive, his hands blatantly groping me over the thin cotton of my sundress. “I guess that’s a yes,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Now, fuck me eight ways to Sunday.”

  “Yes, Ms. Fairmont,” he drawled, yanking down my panties with one firm hand. “With pleasure.”

  Chapter 48

  I know you don’t understand. I know you hate me. But you will soon find out Brant’s secret. I can’t keep it hidden. It won’t stay quiet, is screaming silently until the plug is pulled and its howl will fill the air. And once you find out, you will understand. You would have done the same thing.

  I’d spent almost two years on Lee. Breaking into his life. Removing all obstacles. Making him fall in love with me, forcing that love to squeeze from his pores and envelop his heart.

  I had succeeded. I had him fully in my hands. The only issue was, I didn’t know what to do with him at that point.

  You could only control, manipulate, a man so much before your leash of control broke. Especially a man like Lee. A man who grabbed at everything he could and wanted more. I could feel the twinge of my leash. The crackle of weakening threads as he pulled hard against my ties. Hard in the direction of Brant. His hatred for him grew the more Lee felt for me.

  Jillian was right. I was playing a dangerous game. And risking everything for my own selfish goal.

  Chapter 49

  2 MONTHS AGO

  The oceanfront guesthouse became our fuck den, far enough from the main house to be our own oasis. Sometimes Lee visited twice a week, sometimes twice a month, his appearance as sporadic as the sun. Lee’s stress at getting through the guards subsided the fifth or sixth time he pulled through our gates without a moment’s hesitation on their part, a friendly nod the only indicator of his presence.

  “Your guards suck.”

  “What do you mean?” I craned my neck back, my head in his lap, meeting his perturbed gaze.

  “I could be killing you in here.”

  I laughed. “Then I’d have been dead months ago.” I flipped the channel. Found ESPN and stopped. I’d watched more sports in the last year than I had my entire life. Brant read and invented in his free time, while Lee watched mindless games that had no impact on anyone’s life.

  “I’m serious. What’s the point of having guards if they just smile and wave at anyone who pulls in?”

  “I told you, they know who you are.”

  “Which is what? Your fuck buddy?” The bitter tone in his voice gave me pause. I muted the TV and turned, rolling onto my side and looking up into his face.

  “I’m not intimate friends with them, Lee. I told them to always let you in. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “Why aren’t they loyal to Brant? He’s the one who pays their salary. Pays everyone’s bills in this place. And where the fuck is he?” This was angry Lee. Moody, gets pissed off at anything and everything Lee. My least favorite version of him, a side effect of a passionate man. Brant never got mad. “I’ve been over here ten times, and he’s never been home. Does he even live here?”

  “You know he does.” I dropped my head back, stared at the ceiling and wondered how I got myself in these situations. How many more impossible questions Lee would have for me today. “Remember? That was a fight in itself.” I’ve fought with this man ten times more than I’ve ever fought with Brant.

  “Rich fuck.” He shoved me off his lap as he stood, my body falling from the couch, a hand catching me as I flipped up my head and glared at Lee. He paced to the window, hands on his hips, the pose accentuating every cut of his bare upper half. “I swear Lana, you better hope I don’t ever run into him… you send me down here like some fucking pool boy while he fucks you up there in that mansion—”

  “You hate the main house. That’s why we come down here.”

  “Has he fucked you down here?” He turned abruptly, the light dimming in the house as the sun moved lower. Stared at me with eyes full of hatred and hurt.

  “Please stop saying fuck,” I whispered.

  “Has he fucked your sweet little cunt in this house?” He stepped closer, emphasizing every word, his voice a snarl as it finished, his hands dragging me to my feet and lifting hard on my waist, his grip so hard it hurt, the lift carrying me to the granite island counter, where he deposited me, his hands pushing open my legs, his body taking its place between them.

  “No.” His hand captured my face when my answer came out, gripping me hard, his mouth following suit, crashing down on my lips with a neediness that ached.

  “Promise me.” His other hand came hard on my ass, dragging me forward, to the edge of the counter ‘til he held me fully against him, the soft material of his shorts doing nothing to disguise his arousal. I hated the way he could do this. His need instantly turned me into a raw cavern of want.

  “He hasn’t,” I gasped. “Please, I need…” I clawed at him, wrapped my legs around him, pulling at his neck to bring his mouth back to mine.

  “Tell me.”

  My hands fumbled at the top of his shorts. Reached inside and gripped him, his hold tightening on me the moment I had him fully in my hand. “This.”

  “You know what I think you need?” He pushed into my hand. “Is to be bad.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of lust. “Then make me bad.”

  “I’ll make you worse.”

  Then he fucked me. Right there on the counter. And I screamed my orgasm against the waves and the gulls and the wind. And forty-two stories above us, the colossal mansion on the cliff was silent and empty.

  Chapter 50

  Living together changes a relationship. Brant and I didn’t have the normal relationship issues. There were no dirty dishes to argue over. No laundry left on unswept floors. No, the traditional sources of strife were handled by our over-attentive staff of seven. But even without fights, our relationship changed, improved a
s a result of our addresses merging.

  If I had any doubt of my love, it disappeared with every morning I woke up next to this man. His focus best in the morning, when he woke me with gentle swipes of his fingers through my hair, soft kisses placed on the surface of my skin. I’d roll into his arms, and there we’d spend an extra hour in bed, blinking the sleep from our eyes as the warmth of coffee flooded our veins. Sometimes he read, my body curling into his as I fell back asleep on his shoulder. Sometimes we fucked, his hard-on impossible to ignore between us, playful kisses turned into much more by his hands. Mostly we talked. About his day or mine. About HYA events or BSX projects. About our future and whether we would have two kids or four. Private or public schooling. Stanford or Peace Corps.

  In the evenings, on the nights he came home, we cooked. Christine, the chef, acted as instructor, our skill growing with each dinner. My skill was implementation, Brant’s prep. We put on music; Christine kicked us off with general instruction, and then let us fail horribly.

  Sometimes he’d get home too late. I’d save him a plate of her creation and sit with him on the upper porch. Listen to the crash of the ocean and talk while I sipped wine and he ate like a teenager. His appetite was huge. I never knew that before we lived together. Never knew that he snacked constantly then ate large, as if he was burning a thousand calories a day, his taste in cuisine as varied as my own.

  He also worked impossible hours. Couldn’t recall half of his days when we sat down to talk. Lost track of time when steaks were on the grill. Loved, above all else, the sound of my orgasm. Wanted, above all else, to spend the rest of his life with me.

  The closer we grew, the more I wanted to really talk. About the secrets that lay between us. There was a way for us to have a real future. I knew it. Fuck Jillian and the things she had told me. I believed our love could carry us through it. I believed I could be the glue that held him together when his world fell apart.