Deception (Infidelity #3)

“Zio,” Angelina said as she stepped between her uncle and me. “You aren’t talking business, are you? I seem to recall a ‘no business at family events’ rule.”

“Tesoro, you know I’m the one who made that rule and we don’t break rules, do we, Oren?”

“No, sir, we don’t.”

So this wasn’t my opportunity for my elevator pitch. I wouldn’t be talking to Carmine Costello about the jewelry stores today.

I took another drink of my beer and grimaced. The liquid had warmed in the summer heat and the warmth of my grasp.

“Sir, a fresh beer?” the young girl who’d given me the first beer asked.

“Yes,” I said, nodding and handing her my warm brown bottle.

“Thank you,” Angelina called after the girl who’d hurried away to get me another drink.

When Carmine walked away, I pulled my wife close and whispered in her ear. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“What?”

“Having someone to bring you drinks?”

Her soft blue eyes fluttered in consideration. “Someone who is at your beck and call and does what you say without receiving gratitude?”

My neck straightened.

What the hell?

This wasn’t the place to start a fight. “What are you talking about?”

“Just now, you couldn’t even say thank you.”

“To her? That girl? It’s her job. Do you think people thank me for doing my job?”

“No,” she said definitively.

“You’re right, they don’t,” I confirmed.

Angelina looked around the room, her expression perfect, her smile big and happy. It was her eyes that told me she was mad. No longer soft, fire burned behind the color, darkening it to a molten pool of navy lava. “Not the question I answered,” she explained. “My no was in reference to your earlier question as in, no, I don’t think that would be nice. No sense subjecting anyone else to what I endure daily.”

What she endures?

“This is hardly—” I began, keeping my voice low.

Her smile was still too large as she kissed my cheek. “Of course it isn’t. The only time I ever see you is when we can’t talk. Excuse me, tesoro, I must help Bella.”

I fought the urge to tug her hand and explain that she didn’t need to help. That was why they had that young girl here. It could be that way for her too, but I didn’t reach for her hand. In a matter of seconds she was gone and the young girl was back with my beer.

“Here you are, sir.”

Taking it, I nodded, but before she walked away, I remembered my wife’s reprimand. “Thank you.”

The girl’s face lit up as if my words had impact. “You’re welcome.”





“RALPH, I WANT to see my father’s will.”

“Adelaide, this is unexpected. I didn’t have you scheduled…”

“I won’t take much of your time. I’m certain that Montague keeps you and your firm busy enough to warrant me a few minutes alone with the document.”

He ran a pen through his fingers, slowly twisting it as it weaved a course above one digit, below the next. More than likely he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. My mother detested nervous habits. She pointed out that they were signs of weakness. Something as simple as the bobbing of a knee showed vulnerability.

I sat statuesque, perched on the edge of the red leather chair facing Ralph Porter’s desk, my knees together and back straight. If some people thought they could intimidate me after twenty years with Alton Fitzgerald, they were seriously deluding themselves.

“You see,” he began, “we don’t just keep those kinds of documents sitting around. You can understand their sensitivity. If you’d have let me or Natalie know that you were coming, we could have pulled the will.” He feigned looking at his computer screen. “With the holiday coming, we’re very busy. I could have it for you on Tuesday.”

“No.”

His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I said no. I’m here today. My time, too, is valuable. Am I or am I not an heir to Charles Montague II?”

Ralph’s shoulders moved back and then forward. “Adelaide, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Perhaps if you just ask me whatever it is that you want to know, I can answer your question. The wording of these documents is legalese and confusing.”

Asshole.

He might as well say what Alton’s been saying for twenty years. ‘You’re too stupid to understand.’

“Despite public opinion to the contrary,” I replied, “I do know how to read.”

He shifted in his chair. “Now, Laide, that isn’t what I meant.”

“Mrs. Fitzgerald. Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“Yes, of course,” Ralph said, his thinning gray hair doing little to hide the crimson now seeping from his skin. “It’s just that we’ve known one another for most of our lives. I helped when Russell died. I worked for your father…”

“Yes, Ralph, you’ve been a great asset to my family, our company, and to me. Tell me why you don’t want me to see my father’s will.”

“I-it isn’t me.”

My neck straightened. “Mr. Fitzgerald cannot restrict who sees and doesn’t see my father’s will.”

“He can…”

I narrowed my blue eyes. “Legally, Ralph? Because if I don’t see that will and all of the codicils today, I will seek new representation. I will see my father’s will today or by court order. So if Mr. Fitzgerald’s request doesn’t have legal backing, I suggest you reconsider your answer to my next question.” I paused. “When can you have my father’s last will and testament and any and all codicils sitting on a table in front of me?”

“I-I need to at least consult Mr. Fitz—”

“No, you do not.”

“You don’t understand the position you’re putting me in—that you’re putting our firm in. If he learned that you—”

My cheeks rose as my head tilted slightly to the left. I may be in my early fifties, but between personal trainers and plastic surgeons, I’d done what my father had told me to do and kept the wrapping on the package appealing. My words dripped with Southern charm. “Then you have you your answer, Ralph.”

His eyes opened wide. “My answer?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald doesn’t need to learn a thing. This…” I motioned between us. “…will be our little secret.” I winked. “Isn’t that what old friends do for one another? We keep secrets. You see, I don’t plan on announcing to anyone that we had this chat, not as long as I get to see what I came to see.” My lips pursed. “But then again, if this becomes a big ‘ole fight, if I have to involve another law firm…” I contemplated. “There’s a new firm, Preston, Madden, and Owen, I believe…”

“Why?” he asked.

Continuing, I oozed charisma. “Now, Ralph, that right there is a question friends don’t ask one another. You see, a woman’s age, her dress size, and why she does whatever in the hell she sets her mind to do are all off-limits for friends. And we are friends, aren’t we?”

Nearly an hour later, clutching my purse, I paced back and forth in the small conference room. There were two windows that looked out to a small parking lot. The September sun shone bright and warm. After all, this was Georgia. Autumn may be on the calendar in less than three weeks, but rarely did we see the cooler temperatures until much closer to the holidays.

It was hard to believe I was thinking holidays when only last night I’d been ready to leave this world behind. As my manicured nails pinched the leather exterior of my handbag, I contemplated what I was about to read. Part of me feared that I might not understand it. I’d been told for so long how stupid I really was.

I tried to recall reading the original document after Alton’s and my engagement was announced. That was the last time I’d seen my father’s will, and as I recalled, I’d only seen the section and subsection related to our marriage and that of Alexandria and Bryce’s. My father was an incredibly wealthy man with many holdings. His entire last will and testament was ridiculously wordy.

My purse vibrated with an incoming call. I glanced toward the door I’d wanted to open for at least the last forty-five minutes. Ralph had told me that I could leave and return, but I refused. I was here and didn’t plan to leave without accomplishing my goal.

Another vibration.