Chapter Twenty-One

Annabelle

The non-stop buzzing of my phone wakes me up. I look at the clock by the bed. It’s a little after two.

I cringe. I can’t believe it’s this late. Now I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

I look at the screen. It’s full of texts from Nonny.

Is it true?

OMG were you really a hooker like they say?

Did you strip for real?

Suddenly my blood chills. There are more, all from my sister, and I google my name. There are hundreds of hits, most of them about my work as a stripper and a high-price escort. The lurid headlines stare in my face.

“Billionaire Elliot Reed Marries a Hooker” is the theme for every single one of them.

The articles are worse. They speak of “unnamed sources close to Annabelle Key” who told them everything. I was apparently a great stripper and an even more fabulous escort. Many speculated on which of the rich and powerful I’ve slept with and what attracted Elliot to me. Most imply it’s sex…or maybe I’m pregnant, like Ryder’s wife Paige.

I drop the phone on the bed as my heart pounds, sweat slick on my palms.

How in the world did this get out?

Annabelle Underhill’s sneer pops in my head, but I dismiss it. She doesn’t know anything about me. There’s no way she could’ve leaked all this information.

Caroline.

My former roommate is the only one who could’ve sold me out, spinning the information so I would end up looking as horrible as possible. She was determined to capitalize on my marriage to Elliot.

Bile rises in my throat, and I click my teeth together. I grossly underestimated how far Caroline would go…and how much interest the media would have in me.

I pull myself together and get up. I need to tell Elliot in case he hasn’t seen this mess yet. He deserves to hear it from me.

As for Nonny, I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. This is the kind of thing I wanted to keep her away from. But now that’s going to be impossible.

But first things first.

I go downstairs. Elliot is seated in an armchair by a couch and watches me approach. He is in the same white V-neck shirt and dark shorts from earlier, his feet bare.

“We need to talk,” I start, my voice quavering. Then I stop, unsure how to proceed.

He doesn’t say anything. But he keeps staring, his gaze unreadable. Cold spreads over me, and I shiver.

“Have you seen the articles?” I ask, my stomach knotting painfully. His somber expression and the heavy, steady look remind me of the time when my dad told me he lost everything—that his company was a sham.

“Yes.” His voice is so soft. “Is that all you want to talk about?”

What does he mean?

Panic unfurls in my chest. Is this about Dennis? He threatened to act against me if I didn’t stop his company from investigating him again, even though I have no control over Omega Wealth Management. If he did contact Elliot… God only knows what he might’ve told my husband. At the same time, Elliot is a smart man. He wouldn’t believe everything my ex told him. Or would he?

“What do you mean?” I lick my suddenly dry lips. I feel like the floor’s shifting underneath my feet.

“Is there anything else you’re hiding?”

“Elliot…I can’t tell you what you want to know if you don’t explain.”

He takes a long breath. “Who is Larry Grayson and why has he been paying you every month for the last thirteen months?”

Shock freezes me, then my knees shake. How does my husband know about him? Did Mr. Grayson try something with Elliot? “He’s…” A lump lodges in my throat, and I swallow, trying to get it to go away. Apprehension beats in my chest, and I clasp my hands together for courage. “He said he worked for an insurance company. He came to see me in Vegas to make sure I got money from my father’s life insurance policy.”

“Insurance companies don’t generally pursue beneficiaries.”

I flinch at his hard voice. “I know that now. It isn’t every day I’m a bene—”

“Why did he get you the job at the strip club when it was obvious you were bad at it?”

Elliot knows everything. I close my eyes for a brief moment. “I needed a job…and he said you needed a wife.”

His gaze sharpens. “He knew that?”

I drop my gaze and look away. “Yes.” I’m too humiliated to look at him. Now that he’s questioning me, I see starkly how naïve and silly I’ve been.

“And you didn’t think it was important to mention that?”

I spread my hands. “What I thought was that it was ridiculous. Why would a guy like you want to marry a stripper? It didn’t make any sense.”

“A guy like me?”

“He showed me your picture. Unless you were some kind of psycho, there was no reason why you couldn’t marry somebody more respectable.”

“Did you know he was the one who ordered the cake for my birthday?” Elliot asks.

My head snaps up. “What?”

“It’s true. My PI verified it.”

“No, no way.” I start shaking. “I had no clue. I swear! I was just doing a favor for my roommate because she said she couldn’t lose the job, and it would pay well.”

“Can she vouch for you?”

I start to nod, then stop. Caroline wanted money from me, and she was furious that I told her to take a hike. She wouldn’t hesitate to make up whatever story she feels like to spite me. In fact, it would probably give her pleasure to do so.

Elliot stands, his lips curling into a cruel line as he comes closer. He gets close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. His hand grips my jaw and tilts my head so I’m looking directly at him. My breathing roughens with pain. “Is anything you ever told me true?”

“Elliot, I didn’t know!”

“Did you tell Grayson the real reason I had to marry?”

“No!”

“Maybe you didn’t have to because he already knew.”

“He must have, because I didn’t know! Elliot, please!”

“Why did you meet with Dennis despite all those sob stories about your shitty past with him? If he’s that awful, why have coffee with him?”

I wrench away from him. “Were you spying on me?”

“No. I didn’t have to. I was helpfully informed of the fact.”

My thoughts spin out of control. “He wanted to meet. He was upset about his job.”

“Then he should’ve talked with his coworkers, not you!”

“He was upset because he thought you somehow got Gavin to redo his background check! He’s worried about his job!”

Something flickers in Elliot’s dark eyes, then it vanishes, leaving emptiness behind. “And why is that your problem?” He comes so close I can see every speck of color in his irises. “His father killed your parents.”

My eyes prickle with tears, and I blink them away. The knot in my belly grows bigger, and the memories of my ugly past cut deep once more, leaving me bleeding inside. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I get to blame Dennis. He didn’t pull the trigger. He isn’t responsible for what his dad did, just like I’m not responsible for mine.”

“Very understanding of you.” His face a cold, unyielding mask, Elliot slowly pulls back, then turns away.

Panic surges within my chest. I feel like I’m going to burst. “Wait!” I say.

“Do you have more to say?” he says without turning to see me.

“I…” I stop, suddenly feeling clumsy and foolish. I don’t know what to do to make him not turn his back on me like this. “Elliot…”

He waits for a long—a very long—moment, then lets out a soft sound of derision. “I thought not.”

The words are a mere whisper, but they feel like a death knell in my head.

He walks off from me toward his office, each step taking him farther away.

The door closes behind him with an ominous thunk.

* * *

Elliot

I try to work for the rest of the afternoon. There are lots of things needing my attention, but I can’t focus. My body’s jittery with anger and nerves and all the “what ifs”.

What if my wife’s innocent?

What if she’s in cahoots with Keith?

What if Annabelle Underhill is trying to destroy my marriage because her marriages have fallen apart?

What if Dad’s behind all this? Maybe he’s paying Paddington to lie to me…

Then I shake my head. The more I think, the more desperate I become. I want to believe that what my wife and I have had since the disastrous dinner has been real…that she hasn’t said “I love you” to manipulate me.

At the rate things are going, “I love you” is going to end up my most hated phrase.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” comes Nonny’s loud tear-stained voice through the door. She must’ve just returned from school.

Belle murmurs something—she’s talking too quietly for me to catch what she’s saying.

“You’re saying Caroline lied?”

I pause. The name is familiar. Then it hits me. It’s the roommate, the one who came instead of Belle that time. She had dollar signs in her eyes and a smile that said she’d do anything for a few crisp hundred dollar bills.

And she told me she had Belle sub for her because she got sick.

Even if Grayson ordered the cake, he couldn’t have known it would be my wife inside it. So Caroline must’ve helped him. Otherwise it’s simply too much of a coincidence.

Nonny’s almost hysterical now, louder and shriller. “So she didn’t lie? You really…stripped and slept with men for money? And then told me you were waiting tables and cleaning bathrooms?”

I crack open the door and watch the two. They’re so intent, they don’t notice me. Nonny hasn’t even dropped her backpack. Her hands are wrapped tightly around the shoulder straps, her body hunched against impending bad news. My wife, on the other hand looks exhausted, her delicate shoulders slumped, her face pale.

“Nonny, I did wait tables and I clean bathrooms. I didn’t lie to you.”

“You just didn’t tell me everything! How am I going to go back to school tomorrow? You have no idea how it feels.” Nonny’s face is so red, not even the light layer of makeup can hide the dull flush on her cheeks.

My wife hugs herself. “I’m sorry. The stripping was just that one time, and I have never slept with anyone for money. You know me better than that.”

“I don’t know what to think.” Nonny wipes away tears.

I shouldn’t interfere. This is between the two of them.

Belle’s body language spells defeat. I hate seeing the anguish twisting her face, but I’m too messed up in the head right now to offer a word of comfort.

A small, petty part of me says I should be happy that she’s hurting because I’m hurting too. But all I feel is a throbbing ache in my chest, and there’s no satisfaction. I’d much rather she feel my pain—and understand how she’s gutted me.

Nonny buries her face in her hands, and I can’t stop myself. I’ll be damned if I let the kid become collateral damage. “Nonny,” I say.

Her head snaps my way. Her cheeks turn even redder. “Elliot.”

I gesture at Nonny to come into my office, and she obeys without a fuss. I shut the door. She takes a seat on a couch, her mouth pressed tightly. Her shoulders are practically touching her ears. “If you’re going to yell at me for talking to my sister like that—”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.” She relaxes about a quarter millimeter. “Okay. So…?”

“Those articles…” I inhale harshly, buying myself time to gather my thoughts. “They’ve exaggerated your sister’s past. A lot. She was never a prostitute.” I don’t know why I’m defending my wife to Nonny. I should be furious with Belle.

She digests that, then lowers her head. “But she did strip. For guys.”

“Yes. That’s how she and I met, and there’s nothing wrong with stripping. She did it to provide for you.”

“I didn’t ask her to.”

“But you couldn’t take care of yourself,” I point out.

“I could have gotten a job! I could’ve provided for us!”

“On minimum wage, working less than twenty hours a week? And gone to school? And done well enough to get into a decent college?”

She looks away.

I sigh. As teenagers go, Nonny seems easy to deal with, but I don’t have any experience with this kind of mess. “The kids at your school can’t make you feel bad unless you make a big deal about it. Do you know how much crap gets published about me? But this is Hollywood. Nobody really takes that stuff seriously because we all know most of it is bullshit. But if you fly off the handle, get angry or embarrassed, then people are going to wonder if it’s true after all. So. Keep your chin up and just shrug if anybody comments. Make them feel stupid for believing what the tabloids write even for a second.”

I can see her thinking it over. She swallows, then nods. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” I mentally give myself a half-hearted pat on the back for averting a total disaster, but somehow the image of my wife’s dejection just moments ago won’t go away.

Once Nonny leaves, I make a call.