I raise a hand to block his apology. “Not your fault. I’m the one who made the final decision.”
I take a long swallow of the scotch. My feelings are all jumbled. I feel like someone who was lost at sea and got tantalizingly close to reaching land, only to be carried away by the tides. But when I think about my grandfather’s portrait, I’m just…numb. And empty.
What is Paige going to do when she’s free of me? Ending our engagement won’t change the fact that she’s pregnant. And of course she’ll want the child taken care of. And that will require money…
Something’s been niggling at my mind, and it won’t go away. I try to relax, let the thought come…
The jacket. The one Paige was wearing knotted around her waist to cover up the blood-stain on her skirt.
It was a man’s jacket.
I pull out my phone and call the house. The housekeeper answers.
“Sue, there’s a man’s jacket in Paige’s laundry. Black, and too large for her. Can you check and tell me if the buttons have any particular letter or anything on them?”
“Hold on a sec.” A few minutes pass by, then she returns to the line. “Okay, I’m looking at it. Yes. They all have this big capital ‘R’.”
“Done like calligraphy, with the tail of the R in a kind of curlicue?”
“Uh huh. Like something out of a bible.”
I thank her and hang up.
Dad.
He doesn’t wear anything that cheap, but his chauffeur Perry does. Dad likes to have Rs on the staff uniforms. It makes him feel special, like he’s some kind of fucking royalty.
Paige avoided talking about who gave her a ride from the hospital. If it was no big deal, she would’ve told me. But she knows how things are between me and my father.
It is absolutely conceivable that Dad told her to do this. It’s not like he’s unable to offer her money. For I know, she could’ve released the sex tape herself because that’s what Dad wanted in return for some astounding sum.
Damn. This is so fucked up.
Even though Paige downplayed the money stuff in Samantha’s office, she could have had second thoughts. Or just gotten greedy. Buyers’ remorse is more common than people think. Just because they don’t tell you that they changed their mind out of fear of looking unreliable doesn’t mean they aren’t going to let their greed guide them.
I find that I’m breathing through my mouth. The scotch sits like acid in my belly, and my gut twists. Less than forty hours ago, I felt like the king of the world. I had a proper fiancée by my side, and my grandfather’s portrait was soon to be mine. Now everything feels ashen and dull.
Elliot gives me more scotch, then helps himself to some as well. “If you’re going to marry Paige in spite of everything, you two should present a united front. Unless you want to have people talking about your marriage forever.”
I grimace. He’s right, but I don’t want to discuss this crap anymore. “Bring the girls back in. I know you’re shopping for a bride.”
An easy grin pops on his face. “Don’t know if I want those same three. I’m not really seeing anybody my type.”
“Do you actually have a type?”
“Of course! Big tits and a nice ass, something to hold onto when I fuck her.”
I laugh in spite of myself. Good old Elliot. Never serious about women, and there’s something in his gaze that looks almost pained every time he thinks of marriage.
And why shouldn’t he feel awful? Marriage is a terrible thing. Just look at how it’s complicating my life, and I haven’t even exchanged vows with my fiancée yet.
I close my eyes and imagine what the ceremony is going to be like. But no matter how I try, I can’t picture anybody except Paige next to me.
Perhaps I should just go ahead. Like I told her, it’s only for a year, and it won’t be that hard to create a united front. I can start the process by ruining the son of a bitch who released that sex tape.
“Gotta go,” I say. “Good luck bride hunting.”
As I make my way downstairs, a topless woman is coming up. She pushes her tits my way. She’s a bottle blonde with dark roots showing. Her boobs are so plastic, she literally bounces back when she bumps me with them. “Where you going? You just got here.” She gives me an overly happy smile. “If you can wait just a few minutes, I’ll get off. And then we can go and get off.”
Despite all the artifice, she’s a good-looking woman. And if I’d run into her a month ago, maybe I would’ve said yes. But now I’m just not interested. She doesn’t have the softness or the natural curves that heat my blood.
And that’s another reason things seem hopeless. I can’t even interest myself in other women. I don’t know if it’s the promise I made Paige about being faithful so long as we’re together—I’ve never broken a promise to anyone—or something else…but a part of me broods in bitterness as I drive home.
Chapter Five
Paige
I should probably go to bed and get some rest, but I can’t seem to get my brain to cut off. I sit up after a while and make my way downstairs. Simon and Mom are leaving for Sweet Hope tomorrow. Instead of stewing in bed, I should spend some time with them. Mom is a night owl after all.
My hip is better as I walk to the guest-house where Simon and Mom are staying. Ryder’s magic ointment seems to be working.
As I walk through the massive garden, I can’t help but feel a slight bit of regret that I ended up ruining what could’ve been a nice moment. I know I did the right thing by airing out what’s been festering between us, but the part of me that prefers to bury my head in the sand would’ve been happier if we’d just made out and faked everything.
After all, our current relationship is fake. What’s one more bit of fakery on top of a towering cake of fakeness?
I ring the door at the guest-house. The light is on in the main living room. Despite the unpretentious name, the place is a mini-mansion with multiple suites and a full-time housekeeper. The door opens and reveals my mom in a housedress with a pink and yellow flower design. “Paige! I didn’t know you were still up.”
“Couldn’t fall asleep. Is Simon up too?”
She shakes her head. “Dead to the world. He was wiped out from sightseeing today. Ryder’s people did a great job of setting everything up so it wasn’t overly tiring, and we got to see a lot of what we’ve always wanted to see. But you know how Simon is. Doesn’t do well without his routines.”
I grin. Simon is such an influence in my life, but sometimes he reminds me of a child.
“And you?” She searches my face. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure. Fine.”
She frowns. I don’t think she buys that at all. But then I guess that’s what makes her a mother. “Want to take a walk?” she asks.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Oh, I can manage a midnight stroll. I’m younger than your father after all.”
That makes me chuckle. “Okay. Let’s go.”
She puts a hand in the crook of my arm. The garden is dark except for lamps set in elaborate knee-high wrought iron posts. We walk side-by-side on the pebbled path that winds through rose bushes and other flowering plants I don’t know the name of.