Chapter Six

Elliot

Thirst wakes me. The room’s dark, and the house is completely quiet. I lie there, blinking. I don’t want to turn on a light and disturb my wife.

She sleeps facing me, one leg thrown over mine. Long lashes lie in a fan against her pale cheeks, and she looks impossibly young, her rosy mouth soft and vulnerable. She doesn’t seem twenty-two.

There were shadows in her eyes earlier, and I wonder what caused them. It was probably something I screwed up. I seem to be a complete fucking idiot when it comes to dealing with this particular woman. If anybody saw how I fumbled, they would never believe I made my fortune at the age of twenty-one using nothing but brainpower.

Still. I hope she has a good time with Amandine and Gavin on Friday. I’m determined to make it awesome for her.

I leave the bed, careful not to jostle her, and pad over to the bar in the corner of our suite.

It’s out of water. Shit. Forgot to restock.

Sighing inwardly, I make my way down to the kitchen. As I pull a bottle from the fridge, something moves in my peripheral vision. I turn; there’s a small lump on the couch that looks suspiciously like a curled-up body.

What the hell?

Sucking down the water, I go to the living room. I turn on the recessed lights by the wall-mounted TV. The lump twitches, and my gaze collides with the bleary eyes of my teenage sister-in-law.

“Nonny. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”

If she were younger, I might’ve thought she didn’t want to sleep in her room or had a bad dream or something.

“Why are you up, Elliot?” she mumbles, adjusting her pillow and twisting away from the light. “Oh shit, did I fall asleep?”

“You went to bed after dinner. What the heck are you doing out here?”

“Um.” The throw slips down as she moves, and I see the phone clutched in her hand.

“Ah. Texting with some hot guy?” I keep my tone teasing and light, hoping it’ll encourage her to talk. If she’s into some guy, I need to find out who he is and make sure he isn’t an asshole. If he is, he’ll be gone faster than bad fish.

“No, no.” She flushes. “Nothing like that.” Her fingers pick at the throw. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t mean to nod off out here.”

“Right.” I prop my elbow against the back of the couch and rest my chin in my hand. “You are a terrible liar.”

“I had to stay awake.” Her voice grows small. “Just in case.”

“In case what?”

“Um.” She wrings her hands, twisting the throw. “It’s a little strange.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Or maybe a lot strange.” She bites her lower lip.

I let the silence stretch.

“Anna’s been really stressed since the dinner,” she blurts out. “You know, when your mom put alcohol…”

And just like that, my gut clenches like I’ve been kicked.

“I don’t like it when she’s stressed. She shouldn’t be, you know. She’s married now, and you’re so good to her.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I’m anything but good to her, but Nonny’s too young and innocent to know any better.

“But she…” Nonny clicks her teeth. “I…I was just worried.”

Shadows too dark for someone her age fill her eyes. Does she know something that my PI couldn’t find out? Something as harrowing as the rape my wife suffered?

I reach over and squeeze Nonny’s hand. She’s probably still groggy from the interrupted slumber, and I know she hasn’t been sleeping well and her defenses are low. This is a sneaky ass move, but I can’t help myself. “Did something happen?” I keep my voice low and coaxing. “You can tell me. Sharing might help.”

She looks at me, her gaze uncertain and troubled. “You can’t tell Anna. She’ll be totally upset.”

“I won’t.”

Her throat works, then she looks down. “When I was eight, I saw her fall down the stairs in our house.”

“That’s…an unfortunate accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident. It was late at night, and she just stood at the top of the stairs and…threw herself down.”

Cold knots in my gut. “What?” I lean back with a shaky laugh. “Maybe you were mistaken.”

She looks at her hands. “I thought that too, but she got up, went back upstairs and did it again. I watched.”

Clammy fear clutches my heart. It wasn’t a suicide attempt, most likely. Hanging or jumping off the roof is a more common choice. “How old was she?”

“Fifteen.” Nonny’s voice is so small I almost don’t hear her.

Sudden nausea roils through me, and I wish I hadn’t drunk all that water.

“She was really stressed out around that time.”

Probably because she found out she was pregnant. Nonny doesn’t know that though.

“She was gaining weight,” she adds. “She was angry all the time, and she told me I was being annoying. I apologized, but it only made her angrier.” She looks up at me earnestly. “I probably was annoying. I can ask a lot of questions and get nosy and stuff.”

Her defense of her sister shakes something inside me. “Then what happened?”

She shrugs. “I tried to stop being annoying. And she got better.”

The explanation breaks my heart. It’s not her fault, but she has no idea. And it’s not a story I can tell her either. It’s my wife’s to tell.

“She went to Europe later that summer, and it was good for her. She came back more relaxed and happy. She even lost the weight.” Nonny drops her gaze back to her hands again. “But I worry when I screw up or when she’s really upset. Our old apartment was sort of bad, but I liked it that there weren’t any steps inside. She probably doesn’t do it outside when somebody could see her. But here…” She takes a quick look at the steps leading to the master suite.

I put a hand over hers. “Nonny, it’s not your fault. And I’ll make sure to watch over your sister.” I force a reassuring smile for her benefit. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. It’s kinda weird.”

“So next time you’re worried, just let me know, okay?”

“Thanks, Elliot.” She throws herself at me, and my arms close around her slight frame. I feel like a total shit, especially for the utter trust she has in me. She has no idea how bad I am for her sister.

“All part of the service.” I pat her back. “Now why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep?”

“Thanks.” She grabs her pillow and goes.

I sit there, elbows resting on my knees and face buried in my hands. No way I can sleep now. I feel so vile and shaken, I feel like I’m going to throw up if I see my wife now.

For the first time in forever I hurt for a woman who’s in my life. She’s lost so much, but never given up. In the past two years she’s carried the burden of taking care of herself plus her teenage sister. I don’t know if I could’ve been that mature about it. When I was in my early twenties, I was too gleeful about the possibility of showing my father he had no hold over me to give a damn about anything or anyone. I worked hard and partied harder.

A stripper wife is supposed to be easy, fun and temporary. That’s why I wanted one in the first place. But my particular stripper is turning out to be anything but, and I don’t know how to handle her. I know I’m fucking everything up.

Selfish bastard. That’s what I am. And for the first time in my life, I hate it.

I don’t know how long I sit in the living room, staring at the staircase. I can almost imagine my wife as a teen, tumbling down the stairs, her unprotected body hitting each step, and my stomach roils. The soft light coming in from outside tells me it’s probably almost dawn. I have to fix this. I can’t keep doing what I’m doing and hurting her.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table where I left it last night. Elizabeth’s smiling face pops up on the screen. It’s got to be something important for her to call this early. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

“Oh good. You’re up.” Her voice is crisp.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Guilty conscience?”

“What?”

“I’ve been debating whether or not to tell you this. It’s really none of my business, and I don’t want to look like I’m ratting anyone out, but…”

“What is it? I won’t repeat it.”

“I slept on it. I really tried to view things from your perspective, but I just can’t. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and more emotional about things like this.”

I sigh. “Spit it out.” It isn’t like my half-sister to go on and on before getting to the point. She knows I prefer straight shooting.

“You are the most insensitive uncouth barbarian ever.” She doesn’t speak loudly, but her voice doesn’t have its usual pliant softness.

I agree one hundred percent with her assessment, but I’m not sure she’s come to the conclusion for the same reasons I have. “Did I forget to send your foundation a check?” My assistant mails one every quarter. It’s for a good cause, and I enjoy supporting Elizabeth.

“Who is Gigi?”

My shoulders tense. “You mea—”

“The only Gigi I can think of was Albert’s wife. That gardener Dad employed for a while?”

“Huh. I didn’t know her name was Gigi.”

“Oh my god.”

“What? I’m just saying.” I’m not used to dealing with this Elizabeth, one who disapproves of me this thoroughly. Even when I released the sex tape, her censure held a hint of affection.

“Do you know your wife’s name?”

“Of course.”

“Then why aren’t you using it?” Confusion clouds her voice. “Why are you introducing her as Gigi?”

Damn it. I don’t need an inquisition from my half-sister, which is only making me feel worse. Not that I don’t deserve it, but I don’t have to like it either. “It’s a perfectly nice name,” I say tersely.

Silence stretches. “You’re kidding, right?”

I run my hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Elizabeth?”

“You remember what you told me I needed? Back on your birthday?”

I do. I told her she needed a husband who would care for her like the princess that she is, because she’s a woman and is going to have wants beyond just sex. I even mentioned shooting any asshole who didn’t treat her right. The memory of our conversation lodges in my mind like an uncomfortable lump. “What about it?”

“If the man I marry to fulfill Dad’s condition deals with me the way you deal with your wife, will you be okay with that?”

I rest my face in a hand. “No.”

“Then don’t be a hypocrite. Treat your wife well. Annabelle is a nice girl, and I hate seeing her cry.”

The vise around my chest tightens. “She cried?”

“Yes. We had coffee yesterday. The poor thing was upset about the dinner, I told her not to worry about it. Then she cried. Not dainty, pretty crocodile tears like your other women would’ve pulled either. It was an ugly cry, honest and painful to watch.”

“Why did she cry?” Elizabeth isn’t the type to just let someone cry without getting to the bottom of the story.

“You won’t call her by her name. You also didn’t tell her why you were marrying her. When she realized I knew about the temporary arrangement, she thought we were laughing at her behind her back. Just imagine the humiliation! You should’ve told her the truth or not bothered at all.”

I close my eyes. Elizabeth is right. I wanted a stripper for fun and to embarrass Dad. I should’ve at least tried to be more considerate when I realized my wife was different. Having what an asshole I’ve been and how it’s affected my wife so plainly laid out… “I fucked it up. From the beginning. Everything. Just fucked it up.”

“Yes.”

My saintly half-sister must be really upset to agree with me so readily. Usually she says something encouraging.

“So fix it, Einstein,” she continues. “You’re the genius.”

“How?” I have a few ideas, but I want to hear hers.

“First, for god’s sake, stop calling her Gigi. That’s the surest way to make a girl feel cheap. I’m pretty sure she thought you were trying to recreate some ex-girlfriend named Gigi.”

“What?” Of all the possibilities, that never once crossed my mind.

“For such a smart guy, you can be awfully dumb.” Elizabeth’s voice is tart. “And you never romanced her, did you?”

My silence is an answer enough.

“I knew it. Look, romance your wife. Take her someplace nice and pamper her. Make her forget about her worries. Just you and her, get it?” Elizabeth sighs. “Every woman deserves at least one grand romance, Elliot. I’m not saying do what Mark did because that would be overkill…and I’m not sure if Annabelle is into that kind of stuff. But she deserves some heartfelt romance from her husband. And if you can give it to her, I’m sure she’ll make you happy.”

I swallow a small lump in my throat. “When did you become a love expert?”

“I didn’t. She mentioned you’re giving her a million dollars. Do you know that Ryder offered Paige at least ten times that amount?”

“No. How do you know?” I ask, stunned by the revelation. As close as I am to Ryder, he never mentioned it to me.

“I overheard. The benefit—or curse—of staying at his mansion.” She sighs. Elizabeth is currently in exile from her own house because it’s in the same neighborhood as Dad, and Tiffany apparently wants to come over every day for “girl talk.” “Annabelle put too little value on herself, don’t you agree? But I’m sure asking for more never crossed her mind. She just wants to be okay and have some kind of future for herself and her sister. A woman like that… She deserves more tenderness from you.”

It hurts to hear what I already knew in my heart spelled out so clearly. Shame burns in my gut. I’m such a fucking pond scum rat bastard.

“Plan a getaway. Surprise and pamper your wife. I’ll stay at your place and watch Nonny,” Elizabeth offers.

The shame intensifies. She isn’t too crazy about my place because she knows that’s where I filmed the sex tape…even though I’ve replaced the couch and rug.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Thank me by making her happy. I know something went bad in your life around the time you sold the company, but whatever it is, it has nothing to do with Annabelle. And she needs somebody on her side, don’t you agree?”

I tense. “What do you mean?”

“I looked her up.”

A mild sound of annoyance spills from my throat.

“Don’t be mad. It’s impossible not to, given the things we have to protect. I suppose you already know about her father.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know she has enemies.”

The definitive tone in her voice makes me pause. “Why do you say that?”

Elizabeth sighs. “Her father wrecked the lives of almost everyone in the town she grew up in. She left with nothing when her parents were murdered. I’m sure she has no one to turn to, and that’s a terrible position to be in, being punished for something she didn’t do.”

I grind the heel of my palm against my forehead. Damn it. If I were thinking more clearly, I would’ve realized that as well.

Elizabeth is right. What Annabelle Underhill and my dad did has nothing to do with my wife. “Thank you,” I say again.

“You’re welcome, although I suspect you already knew. You just didn’t want to face it in your typical bullheaded way because you’re young and male.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” I say in a token protest.

“But still young. Don’t do something just to flip the bird at Dad or whoever hurt you before. It’s not healthy. Remember—your enemies are at their most miserable when you’re happy.” She yawns.

“Go back to sleep,” I say. “You sound tired.” I’m certain her idea of “sleeping on it” meant she was up all night tossing and turning, thinking about what my wife told her.

“Will do. Love you, Elliot.”

I hang up and toss the phone on the table, then stare at the dark screen. Why am I still letting Dad and Annabelle Underhill fuck with my head? Why am I letting what they’ve done turn me into a man I don’t like?

It’s entirely too much power I’m giving them.

Since I promised Marlin, I will help Annabelle Underhill…once. I’ll get her a top-notch divorce attorney who can take her case. But after that, I’m excising her like a cluster of tumor cells.

As for Dad…

Fuck him and his conditions and games. He can give me that snide smirk only because he thinks losing Annabelle Underhill to him has hurt me. But he doesn’t know that my anger doesn’t stem from my love for her. No, that died the moment she betrayed me. My bitterness comes from his pettiness and my own blindness. I saw little signs, but didn’t sit down to process them properly. If I had, I might not have been so surprised at their engagement or subsequent marriage.

But he also knows what he’s done is super dickish, which is why he won’t dare breathe a word about it. So let him stew in private shame if he’s capable. I don’t care.

If I let go of my past baggage, what I need to do becomes clear. Simple, even.

It’s about time I get started.