Deception (Infidelity #3)

“Bryce, tell Adelaide the name of your companion.”

“Alton,” Bryce said, “it makes perfect sense. A relationship with Chelsea Moore justifies my trips to California. I can substantiate that we were together.”

Chelsea Moore? What trips to California?

“Though you weren’t,” Suzy added.

“No, we weren’t,” Bryce confirmed. “But we can make it look like we were.” He shrugged. “She’s not bad looking and since she and Alexandria were roommates for four years, we have a plausible reason for not telling anyone about our relationship.”

I lifted the wine glass to my lips and drank until every drop was gone. Placing the glass upon the table, I stared Bryce’s direction. “That girl? She’s a prostitute? My daughter was living with a prostitute?”

“It isn’t really prostitution,” Suzy said. “It’s companionship, a relationship…”

My chest became tight. The answer was right before us, but I couldn’t let him do this to my daughter. “No.”

Everyone looked my way. “No,” I repeated. “Bryce, you can’t do that. Not to Alexandria. It’ll kill her to think you slept with another of her best friends. Trust me, I know. This isn’t right. I don’t want my daughter living with that kind of pain.”

His eyes shone as his lips fought the unavoidable need to move upward.

The wine in my stomach seemed to curdle as his cruel intentions suddenly became clear. “You little bastard!”

“Laide!” Alton and Suzy said in unison.

“You little piece of shit,” I continued, glaring toward Bryce. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? It isn’t just about an alibi. You want to hurt Alexandria. She’s with another man and you have your feelings hurt, so instead of manning up, you’re hitting her where you know it’ll hurt.”

A mask of serenity covered what should have been Bryce’s smug expression. He was the poster child for innocence. He had always been the boy who never did wrong, but was always wronged. The poor young man who’d been unjustly accused. His continence was perfected.

Maybe he wasn’t just like his father. He had his share of his mother inside of him too. She’d taught him well how to wear the mask and only show the world what was intended for them to see.

“Adelaide, that’s enough!” Alton bellowed. “We have more important concerns than Alexandria’s hurt feelings.”

I stood, confident that I didn’t give a flying fuck what happened to Bryce. The codicil said that if the wedding didn’t occur, all interested parties would have the chance to profess their claim to their rightful share. I was a Montague. My claim was set. If I had anything to say about it, the young man at the end of the table would be the one to suffer—he and his pathetic excuse for a father.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve done everything I could to follow my father’s wishes. I have nothing to fear.”

Alton’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell? You read the will before we married. You know what’ll happen if they don’t wed.”

My pulse quickened at my misstep. I turned toward my husband. “What I meant was that I have faith in you, dear. You took care of the original charges against Bryce. You’ll make all of these other charges go away and then make that dreadful girl follow suit. By the time you do, even Alexandria will no longer care that he’d sought companionship in another of her friends. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to convince Alexandria that Bryce’s heart is still hers.”

“This arrangement can’t last a year,” Alton said to no one in particular. “Just long enough to convince the lawyers to drop the charges.”

“And then her usefulness will be done,” I added.

“And then what? I’m here alone?” Bryce asked. “Hell no. I’ve paid for a year. Besides, I can’t have two ex-girlfriends disappear.”

“Not disappear, sweetheart,” Suzy said. “Paid to go away. It’s worked before.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Before? Do you care to explain that?”

Marcus? She was talking about paying off Marcus, her ex-husband, I convinced myself.

Right?





DESPITE OREN’S ARGUMENT to the contrary, my priorities were in line.

My testimony before the Senate committee was complete. I’d emphasized the points I’d set out to highlight. I’d talked with Senator Carroll, tried to get a feel for Severus Davis, and even learned more about the progress he’d hoped to achieve in our negotiations. I’d also introduced myself to Grant Higgins, the senator from the great state of Georgia, as well as the junior senator from Oregon. Now, the Senate Finance Committee’s decision was in their hands.

The ruling could come down as early as tomorrow. I’d planned to stay in DC and face the committee as they justified their decision.

I’d like to say that I was confident the committee would call for the rewording of the bill, and that they would back our side—the side of Senator Carroll and others who understood the future ramifications in store in the event of overtaxation of domestic businesses.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t trust Higgins, Davis, or the swing votes.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my time on the chance that my presence in the hearing room would turn the tide.

It may have taken me years and obvious failure, but I had a new priority. After listening to Charli’s voice, full of emotion and confusion, as she told me about her cryptic conversation with Chelsea, I knew my presence in New York was more important.

As she spoke, I heard the distraught voice of Jo. I recalled how my days and nights of traveling upset her. Despite the experience of my childhood, seeing my mother’s disappointment and sadness when my father would choose work over her, I’d done the same thing.

I had been responsible for putting the same sadness in my wife’s eyes that I’d witnessed as a young child, and na?vely, I hadn’t made the connection. At that time, I’d believed my work superseded all else—Demetri Enterprises needed me. Just like the company had needed my father. Unwittingly, I’d fallen into Oren’s footsteps, wearing the same shoes and making the same mistakes.

Of course, back then, I hadn’t seen my choices as mistakes. After all, I’d been told and conditioned to believe that real men didn’t make mistakes. Every action and decision was a conscious choice. Everything had a purpose.

Like he was in so many other things, my father was wrong about that.

Real men did make mistakes. We made decisions for the right reasons, to accomplish the right outcomes, that in the end harmed others—ones we loved. Even though our choices weren’t made with malice, that didn’t lessen the pain they inflicted.

The real lesson, the one my father forgot to teach me—or maybe one he never learned—was that it wasn’t about making mistakes. They were part of life. It was about repeating them. That was where the real men became separated from lesser men.

Character wasn’t about perfection. It was about wisdom and the ability to learn and change.

If I were to talk to Oren, my father would tell me to stay in Washington and face the committee as they read the ruling. I could hear his voice echoing in my head. I’d followed that advice in the past. If I chose to do that again, I was the one who hadn’t learned. I’d made that mistake before. I didn’t intend to make it again.

That was why, late Thursday night—or very early Friday morning—essentially, a day before I was meant to be back in New York, I was riding the elevator to Patrick’s apartment, to the woman I loved. In her voice I heard her pain and holding her in my arms would trump Demetri Enterprises every time.