“All right.” Damon relented. "Salute.”
We toasted Damon, who threw back the shot. So did Graham. I made through half of the glass and coughed. Graham laughed, and Damon flashed me a good-natured grin.
“When did you get engaged?” Graham asked.
"Not long ago. I'll share the story later." Damon watched us together, his stare more than a little unnerving. "I'm glad I ran into you tonight."
“Why’s that?” my husband asked.
“We should talk.”
I gripped the wine stem fierce enough for it to crack. More than enough innuendo rolled in Damon’s tone, but Graham ignored it. He smiled at Damon.
“Of course. We will, but not now.” Graham took my arm. “Let’s say hello to Lee. Please, excuse us.”
Damon didn’t like being brushed aside. His smile never dropped, but menace dripped from his body. I seized Graham as we walked away.
“Are they all like that?”
I didn’t voice what I meant—scary, intimidating, fierce—but Graham understood.
“Worse,” he said. “Damon’s not that bad.”
Not that bad. “He looked angry that you blew him off.”
“He’s always pissy.”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried?" I asked.
“Tonight’s not about him.”
Graham somehow kept his movie-star smile as we bumped into another guest, a man in his forties, Alan Riscoff, the head of major software company. Hand around my waist, Graham introduced me to a sea of tech giants and politicians. Their names rolled off my shoulders like rain. Finally, we met the mayor. He shook Graham’s arm vigorously and thanked him for the generous contribution to his campaign. They talked business for a while, Graham hinting heavily that his ridesharing startup needed support from the local government.
Mayor Lee patted his shoulder. "It won’t be a problem."
I reeled as Graham led me to yet another table. When we found our seats, a man I recognized from the occasional paparazzi photo splashed on Manhattan Weekly, asked how we met.
“Well,” said Graham. “It was in Vegas.”
Wry grins flashed around us. He couldn’t disguise that our wedding was a drunken decision.
“I let her go once," he continued in a husky voice. "It was the biggest regret of my life. When I saw her again, I didn’t want to make the same mistake.”
Graham almost tricked me into believing it was real, but of course, it wasn't. I wanted genuine affection. I longed for it, but all he gave me was this camera-ready facade.
I stood. "Pardon me for a few moments."
Graham’s gaze raked my back as I walked away. I skipped the restrooms, walking clear across the ballroom to the outdoor terrace with heated lamps. People were scarcer there because of the weather, but I relished the stinging cold. Unshed tears burned at my lash line.
Wind tore through the area, knocking a drink from a table. I watched it roll beside a man’s foot, who kicked it aside. My eyes traveled up a pair of charcoal gray slacks and a matching jacket, which wrapped a broad frame that I recognized as my ex-fiancé.
Ice tinkled against glass, the only sound on the deserted veranda. Ethan drained his drink and dropped it on a table glowing with an LED candle. He joined me under the heat lamp, the reddish glow illuminating his face.
He’d healed. The rift between us hadn’t.
"Are you here to threaten me?"
Ethan shook his head.
I didn’t believe him. "Get it over with. Tell me you’ll set fire to my dad’s restaurant."
A surprising amount of humanity shone from his gaze. His deep blues met mine. He opened and closed his mouth. He didn’t look well. Little details painted a picture of Ethan’s last few weeks. Sleepless nights. Wrinkled clothes. Stubble-covered jaw.
“Naomi, I need you.”
Shock zipped up and down my spine. Since when did Ethan need anyone? Ethan’s brazen vulnerability and softened voice stunned me into silence. His eyes were bluer than I’d ever seen.
"I miss you," he said.
Bullshit. "You miss bullying me. Sometimes I think I exist to be tortured by men."
“Has he hurt you?”
I shot him a look. “A lot less than you have.”
Ethan absorbed that for several moments. "Did he help you get the apartment?"
"I did that on my own. Like I’d risk involving anyone else. You’re—you’re a—"
"—monster," he finished for me, his lips tugging into a humorless smile. "Maybe one day you’ll pick a different word."
"Prick," I snarled. "Bastard. Cheat."
Ethan flinched at the last one as if it wounded him. The strangeness of it reeled me. How many times had I hurled that at him? He never cared. Never showed an ounce of regret.
Until now.
"I’m sorry."
Did he mean it? "It’s too late."
Ethan reached out to touch me but pulled his hand away, as though thinking better of it. "We can work through this."
"No, we can’t. You suffocated me. I had to get out—to breathe for one second—because you’d never let me."
"If I’m too intense, it’s because I care about you. About us."
I opened and closed my mouth, trembling. "Shut up."
"It’s true."
"All you do is threaten me and make me sick. I hate you. God, I wish—I wish I could pay you back, but I can’t. I could never hurt anyone like you have."
"I didn’t know you were suffering. You never said a damned word."
"I said plenty," I growled. "You just didn't care."
"Oh, really? Who picked up the bill every time your father was ill? I did. Who threatened the oncology team after they denied him the clinical trial? I did. Who gave you a ring? I did."
The self-doubt trickled in, confusing me.
"Naomi, I love you."
What?
He was lying. I searched his eyes for proof but found none. Instead there was vulnerability. Longing. Everything I wanted to see years ago, but it was too late.
I shoved him. When he only managed to look even more hurt, I seized his jacket. "You wouldn’t know love if it kicked you in the face."
"I’m a harsh man, but I’m not heartless."
Really? "You called my father and lied to him."
"I let him believe what he wanted." Ethan sighed, his eyes dipping as though from shame. "There’s something else. I didn’t cheat on you."
"Excuse me?"
"I never cheated. I only wanted you to think I did." He gently covered my hands with his. "Sorry."
"No."
I stepped away from him, the blood draining from my face.
"No, you’re lying."
Was he?
All those restless nights pacing Ethan’s empty apartment flashed through my mind. So did those jaded silences when I interrogated him with questions. He never fessed up to cheating, but he never denied it, either. Wave upon wave of shock rolled through me.
"I never touched another woman but you." He made a cross on his chest. "Swear to God."
All those hours I spent crying over him. I stared, hating the sight of him. "Why would you let me think that?"
Ethan shrugged, a hopeless gesture that seemed out of place on his powerful frame. "Because it hurt you, and that was proof that you cared."
A line of nausea crawled up my throat. "You put me through so much misery for nothing. Do you realize how twisted that is?"
"Love makes us do crazy things."
Hearing the word love from Ethan’s lips was bizarre. "If you believed that’d drive me into your arms, you couldn’t have been more wrong."
"We’ve been together five years, Naomi. Would I have been with you that long if I didn’t have feelings for you?"
I willed myself to feel anything but total disbelief.
He sighed heavily and raked his hair. "Another thing."
"I don’t know if I can handle more."
Ethan took my shoulders as though bracing me f
or the next part. His eyes scanned mine. "It’s about your dad."
"What—what about him?"
"I convinced him to give the trial a shot."
"Prove it," I growled.
"Here." He grabbed his phone and swiped through it. "That's your dad's signature on the medical release form."
I zoomed on the document, spotting my father’s looping cursive. I didn’t know what to say. My fingers padded the screen as I searched for a forgery, but everything looked real.
He did it.
He fucking did it.
Ethan put away the phone as I succumbed to tears. A sob broke from my chest. He pulled me close. How did he become a decent human being overnight? His vileness faded to the background as joy filled me with warmth. He’d done an incredible thing. Something truly selfless. Finally.
My dad had a chance, and that was everything. I didn't pull away when he stroked my hair. He cradled my face and wiped my tears.
"Look at me," he said.
I did.
For the first time in months, I saw him without hating him. "Thank you."
A smile staggered across his face. "No, thank you."
Lights stringing over the terrace suddenly bloomed, throwing the darkness into sharp relief. A woman snapped one photo after another.
Graham stood beside her.
Graham
Where the hell did she go?
My shoulder cut into the crowd gathered near the stage. Dinner service started with a flurry of waiters serving the first course. People slowly headed to their seats. The organizer of the event tapped into a microphone. He was due to speak any second, and thank my company for its sponsorship.
Walking away from my table in search of my wife was sheer madness. Photographers would capture my empty seat and spark a wave of rumors about our “tumultuous” marriage, which was more accurate than they could imagine.
I squeezed into the hall leading to the bathrooms, eyes skipping over a man leaning casually against the wall.
Damon pushed off and shook his head. "You've been dodging me all night."
“Not at all.” I feigned a puzzled expression and walked with him. “Been too busy wrangling my wife.”
"I know what you mean," he said gravely.
“Have you seen her?”
“No,” Damon said, his tone darkening. “We need to talk.”
Blowing him off a second time was tempting fate. Diplomacy was best when dealing with these people.
“Sure. What’s up?”
"I should ask you the same." Damon uncrossed his arms. "Vincent sent me."
I thought back to the cold voice on the phone. It never said where or when, just that he'd send someone. The fact it was my cousin grated me.
My distant cousin, Damon, was an interesting man. Scars circled his wrists that he’d never explained. There were some things you didn’t ask. As soon as we met, the warning flashed in his eyes—don’t ask about my scars.
So I didn’t.
I pulled him into a deserted corridor. "I was extremely reluctant to call."
He nodded, not pressing me to elaborate. "What can I do for you?"
"My wife wants her restaurant back. It’s one of Ethan Blackwood’s. Belonged to her father—Loretti’s?"
"Never heard of it."
I wasn’t surprised. "He’s her ex."
"Yeah, I know," Damon said.
The younger, olive-skinned man went quiet for a full minute. I’d never met anyone who could fill a room with weight without uttering a word.
His intense stare slowly lifted. "It’ll be hard."
Translation: It would cost me.
"I don't care. And my wife never finds out about this."
"Of course."
Damon didn’t ask questions about that, either.
"And don’t go overboard." I couldn’t spell out what I wanted. "Just get it done."
"Understood."
We shook hands and changed the topic to his new engagement. That was the first time he smiled.
* * *
I searched the sea of heads for Naomi’s glossy waves. My frustration with her reached its boiling point. Instead of kissing ass, I searched for my wayward wife.
I nearly waylaid a server as I walked down the hall, and then I passed a terrace. Heat lamps pulsed with faint, red light, illuminating two silhouettes. One was a man’s. The other—
"Fuck me."
I yanked the door leading outside, and a gust of cold air blasted me. The man wrapped his arms around the woman, and she returned the gesture, linking her hands around his neck. They swayed on the spot, faces tipped near each other.
I should leave.
But I didn't. Something about them dug a knife into my heart. He brushed her hair and cupped her cheeks. She raised her tearstained face toward his, and the blade twisted because she smiled.
I slammed my fist on the light switch.
A string of lights exploded over the terrace, and Naomi blinked at them. She still held Ethan. That bastard locked her in his embrace. She smiled at him. Actively sought his company. God only knows what else they’d done.
The smile slid off her face. Ethan’s was still intact. He glowed with triumph and stepped aside from my wife, whose guilt stabbed my gut with nausea.
Ethan walked to me, his tone scathing. "You’re interrupting."
Rage ravaged my insides like live snakes. Naomi collided into my body before I reached him.
"Graham, don’t listen to him." She yanked my jacket, forcing my gaze to meet hers. "He wants you to make a scene! Don't give him the satisfaction. We didn’t do anything."
"Don’t lie to the man. He knows what he saw."
I spun on him, my hatred so hot that everything flashed red. Naomi shoved my chest before I was aware I’d lunged at him.
"Get inside," I roared.
"But—"
"For once in your life, listen to me. Go."
I’d deal with her later.
Breathless and upset, Naomi gave Ethan a look of the deepest loathing before she walked out. He watched her leave, eyes locked on her ass. When she disappeared, Ethan blew a long sigh.
"Man, she is something. Isn’t she?" He fixed his hair as though I’d caught them fucking. "Well, you know what I mean. You had her first."
There it was. The whole reason we were there. "What the fuck did you do now?"
"Nothing we haven’t done before," he quipped.
I grabbed his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Ethan turned out of my grasp, smirking.
"For the life of me, I don’t understand you." Bitterness edged into his voice. "You met Naomi once. Five years ago. Why does she matter to you?"
"Why does she matter to you?"
Ethan smiled. "I took your girl, expecting her to be an average lay, at best. Only to have her blow my expectations. Time and time again…"
I clenched my fists and counted to ten. I’d already arranged for something to happen to him. Patience. My breathing slowed and my ears filled with my heartbeat.
"…as the weeks pressed on, I thought I'd get rid of her when you finally showed up. Then a year flew by, and I realized – I don't want to give her up. Ever."
"Then we have a problem."
"Yeah, I suspect we do. I’m not walking away." Ethan slowly paced, a sliver of anger lashing out. "We were together for five years. You had four days."
"She’s mine. I have the law behind me. You have nothing."
"Go to hell," he spat.
I refused to believe this sadist loved my wife. "I’m done with this conversation."
I headed to Naomi, who watched through the glass.
"Graham. I am dead serious. Hand her back tonight. I’ll let the fact that you fucked my fiancée slide."
"You’ll never talk to her again."
"Oh, we’ll do more than talk. In six months, we’ll get married. Then kids, couple years down the line."
Not a chance in hell.
The door swung open, and an exasperated N
aomi ran outside, "Graham, come on!"
"Face it. She and I shared things you don’t know." He turned toward her, his eyes shining with memories. "Like getaways to Thailand. Making love on a sunset-lit beach."
The location meant something to her, because she stared at him with a fresh dose of hurt. Tears slid down her cheeks.
Ethan swung toward me. "You’ll never understand what we have."
"Nothing," Naomi cried. "We have nothing!"
"If that were true, you wouldn’t be so upset." He headed to the exit. "I’ll be back."
She pushed my chest, pleading with me to keep it together. I couldn’t register anything but his loathsome face.
“Don’t worry.” Ethan winked at her. "He won’t touch me. He’s my brother, after all."
"What?"
Ethan turned to me. "Go fuck yourself."
"Brother?" Naomi mouthed the word as he left. She gaped at him until the door swung shut. "Brother?"
I ground my nails into my scalp. "He’s not lying."
"You must be joking." She looked horrified. "Oh my God. How did this—why didn’t you tell me!"
"I don’t want to talk about him. Ever."
"Too damned bad!"
She stalked toward me, her eyes still red. She was lovely even when she cried, but she couldn’t soothe my wrath. I’d go inside and kill him. I didn’t give a shit about the hundreds of witnesses or my startup’s reputation. None of the dozens of business deals I struck tonight mattered except getting even with that prick.
I grabbed the door.
Naomi blocked me. "Don’t!"
"Why do you care about him?" I screamed.
"I don’t give a damn about Ethan, but I don’t want you going to jail." She shoved me, angry. "Why did you lie to me?"
"Because I wasn’t ready to talk about him with you."
"Oh," she said. "Oh, I get it. This is a pride thing."
She crossed her arms, venomous.
"Don’t start with me, Naomi. You have no idea—"
"—Exactly! I had no idea!" Naomi’s scream of fury abruptly dissolved into shaking sobs. "Five years, wasted. Wasted."
"I’m sorry."
"Meeting him wasn’t an accident." She searched my gaze as though hoping I’d prove her wrong.
But I couldn’t. "You’re right."
The Marriage Debt Page 11
