Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
Irritation pricks my chest like a persistent needle. I feel like strangling someone as I do my best to tune Annabelle out. She’s been talking endlessly—ever since she magically recovered from her fainting spell, which she staged right before we had to leave. Nothing makes theatrics end faster than an unsympathetic audience threatening to desert the scene. Her husband might play the part to humor her. Not me.
Apparently unaware of my mood, she keeps placing her hand on me, and I keep removing it. Married women aren’t my type, no matter how eager, how easy. Neither is sex in the back seat of a limo.
Annabelle Underhill’s a beautiful woman…if you consider black widows pretty. Her brown hair and tanned face are professionally done, her body professionally toned, and her glass-cold eyes hold disdain as she continues with her verbal diarrhea.
“It’s disgusting how Elizabeth walks around, head held high and that holier-than-thou smile. Like people donate because of her,” Annabelle sneers. “Take away the tax deductions and nobody’s going to give a damn about those people. We all know the only reason they’re poor is because they’re lazy and stupid.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“What?” she says.
“I didn’t expect you to feel that way.” It’s not like she’s covered in priceless jewelry and silk for her diligence or intellect. She married money—a man old enough to be her grandfather. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have enough self-awareness to feel shame or, better yet, just shut her mouth.
“I don’t let my true feelings show,” Annabelle goes on, “because I need the invitations.”
Meaning: she needs the connections in case her husband dies—or divorces her for a fresher, more nubile woman. She’s still young enough to marry money for a third time.
“And I’m sure Elizabeth’s doing the same thing. She was always such a calculating child, even back when I was her mother.”
I almost forgot. Annabelle used to be Elizabeth’s second stepmom. Lots of bad blood between the two of them.
“And did you see how she was clinging to Nate?”
Elizabeth wasn’t clinging to Nate Sterling, but she was standing awfully close to him the entire evening—annoyingly so. She put her hands on him more than once, and he did the same, his hand always at her elbow or at the small of her back. Made me want to break his wrists.
I don’t know Nate personally. I only know what my head of security dug up. Nate is a member of the Sterling family of the Sterling & Wilson fortune. With his older brother in charge of running the company and making evermore obscene amounts of money, Nate does other things that bolster the family’s image, like charity work. For a man born with a platinum spoon covered with diamonds, he’s clean and upstanding—no drug use, no messy women problems, nothing that could be used to bend him to someone’s will.
Annabelle’s dark gaze seethes with jealousy, and I almost laugh. She’s upset a young, rich guy like Nate is beyond her reach. But then, he was never someone she could aspire to. I remember hearing that Nate and Elizabeth are planning to marry, except they haven’t done anything resembling an engagement…or ever had any sort of romantic entanglement, as far as I can tell.
As a matter of fact, until five years ago, Elizabeth went out with other men in her social circle. Then abruptly, she stopped dating them…and started showing up at social events only with Nate, which is annoying enough.
But his sudden proposal in the sitting room?
Marry me.
Motherfucker.
I was looking for someone to foist Annabelle on after she fainted, slowly collapsing to the floor in a graceful crumple that she must’ve practiced for months in front of a mirror. Although I had no intention of playing a role in her little theater, I wanted to make sure somebody would watch over her, mostly so she wouldn’t do something ill-advised like crawl naked into Nate’s bed. I don’t give a shit about her, but I respect her husband, Stanton, who’s a good business associate. I don’t want her doing anything to embarrass him.
Instead of finding a member of the Sterlings’ staff, I caught voices coming from a room, its door ajar.
I started to walk past it, not wanting to interrupt a private conversation. But I heard Elizabeth’s soft sigh, the kind she used to let out when I stroked her.
Stopping, I looked. She and Nate sat on a couch, her back to him. He was rubbing her shoulders, his fingers kneading her bare flesh under the dress. Instead of pushing him away, she tilted her head, giving him a better access.
The tableau sucker-punched me, and my jaw grew tight.
Did she just fucking moan?
He placed a kiss at the base of her neck, on the small bump of bone. It was all I could do to not knock his teeth out. Or bloody his nose.
“Marry me,” he said against her skin.
Instead of laughing in his face, she placed a hand over his, the rock on her right index finger sparkling. “Nate, I would’ve brought Tolyan if I…” She trailed off, her gaze colliding with mine.
Nate lifted his offending lips off her, then asked in a calm “I’m a great host” voice, “Is there something you need?”
To punch your face. “Annabelle Underhill fainted, and I was looking for someone to watch over her. I have a flight I can’t miss.”
Subtle reproval fleeted through Elizabeth’s gaze. Well, too fucking bad.
Once Annabelle realized I wasn’t staying and Nate was going to have his housekeeper look after her, she opened her eyes and declared she was well enough to travel.
She’s also well enough to put a hand on my thigh. She has to be the most tone-deaf woman I’ve ever encountered. I grip her hand, about to fling it away. The only thing keeping me from crushing her bones is her gender.
“She’s going to get Nate to marry her…”
Elizabeth didn’t say yes when Nate said, “Marry me.” She brought up another man—
“…the little whore.”
The pronouncement grates on my nerves. Not necessarily because Elizabeth isn’t one, but because someone like Annabelle doesn’t get to say that about her.
“Of course, she has to find someone,” Annabelle adds.
Has to?
I’ve never heard a whisper that Elizabeth had to marry, not even from the most gossip-loving socialites. What does Annabelle know?
Wait, wait, hold on a minute. I’m dealing with a self-absorbed, melodramatic bitch who’ll say anything for attention. I shouldn’t take her too seriously.
Besides, what she’s saying doesn’t match what I saw between Elizabeth and Nate.
I would’ve brought Tolyan…
A woman who needs to marry doesn’t bring up another guy when an eligible bachelor offers himself.
Unless Tolyan is even more eligible.
Who the hell is this Tolyan guy, anyway?
“Do you know anybody named Tolyan in our social circle? Maybe around Nate’s age?”
Annabelle blinks at the abrupt shift. “Tolyan? Never heard of anyone with that name. Why? Is he somebody important?”
“Not really.” If she hasn’t heard of him, he doesn’t belong to the “right” class, regardless of marital status or age. I’ll have to look into this mysterious person on my own. “What did you mean when you said Elizabeth had to marry?”
Annabelle pulls her hand out of my grip and places it on my shoulder, leaning so close that I can smell the Bloody Mary on her breath. “Julian laid down the law to all his kids when his father died. You’ve probably heard of him. Thomas Reed? A very famous painter.”
I have, but not for the reason she thinks. Ten years ago, Elizabeth told me about her grandfather—how she dreamed of becoming an artist like him. Liar.
“Yeah, well, ol’ Tom did portraits of his grandkids as they turned eighteen. Really nice ones, from what I heard. His works are worth millions, you know. Anyway, Julian somehow ended up with all the paintings. I was surprised the old man didn’t leave them to his grandkids. I mean, he adored them, and they sucked up to him all the time. So you can imagine their disappointment.
“Anyway, Julian decided Elizabeth and her brothers could have the portraits on three conditions.” She ticks the points off. “One, they need to marry within six months. Two, they need to stay married for at least one year. Three, all five of the siblings need to do it. If any one of them doesn’t come through, the deal’s off, and nobody gets their painting.”
I shrug. “They could just wait until he dies.” I can’t imagine people like Elizabeth and her brothers jumping through inane hoops to get their hands on some portraits.
“Not if they want those particular paintings. Julian swore he’d destroy the portraits if they didn’t comply.”
I’ve heard Julian can be a dick, but this nudges him into ultra asshole-ville. “How do you know all this?”
She shrugs. “I have my sources. And I can totally see Julian pulling something like that. He’s a complete bastard.”
“Yet you married him.”
“And divorced him.”
She flashes me a smile that she seems to believe is sharklike. Sadly, it shows too many teeth, and she has a lipstick smudge on one incisor.
I decide not to comment. She’ll find out soon enough anyway. “If you hate Elizabeth so much and want everyone to know what kind of…whore she is, why don’t you make the deal public? Then she won’t have a chance with Nate. Men don’t like being used.”
“Oh, I have my reasons. And I know I’m right. Why else would her brothers Ryder and Elliot marry? They’re, like, the most notorious playboys, ever, screwing women left and right even up to a few weeks ago. But suddenly—like, overnight—they’re in love and in a rush to marry? I don’t think so.”
I think about it. Maybe they fell for somebody in that lightning-strike fifth of a second. I know it’s possible.
I don’t tell Annabelle, though. She wouldn’t understand—she’s only ever fallen for money.
“This isn’t just about control and embarrassment. There’s the money angle to it, too.” She rubs her hands together like a fly sitting on a pile of shit. “Do you know those paintings are great investments? Just look how artworks appreciate over the years. My husband bought a few in an auction, and…”
She launches into a long, boring story about her husband’s art collection and how much it’s worth now, but my mind is on other matters. If people like Elizabeth and her brothers are getting married to get their hands on these paintings, they must be worth something enormous, even more than what Annabelle’s claiming.
I declared my intention to strip Elizabeth bare because I recognize her reputation is what matters most to her. At the time, however, I didn’t know how.
Now I do.
A pressure point. How will she react if I get the paintings?
She struck my most vulnerable spot after causing me to believe she loved me as I loved her. This will be the least I can do to even the score.