The next day when I step off the elevator to head toward my apartment, I immediately sense something is wrong. It’s the silence. Even after only a week I’ve become accustomed to the growing sound of whatever definitely-not-my-taste in music Simone has playing on the other side of the door. Today that sound is missing. Perhaps they’ve gone out to run an errand, or play, or something.

My key slips in the lock and I push the door open, looking around as I enter.

“Hello?” I call out, tilting my head to listen for a response.

“We’re in the kitchen.”

It’s Simone’s voice…but it isn’t. There’s none of the tirelessly optimistic cheerfulness that I used to find so irksome, but now look forward to hearing. It sounds flat and subdued.

I feel an abyss start to grow in my stomach, getting deeper and deeper as I make my way into the kitchen. Everything inside of me collapses like a sink hole when I see who she is sitting with at the kitchen island.

My mother.

Both of them turn to me with contrasting expressions on their face. Simone just looks completely numb, as though she barely even sees me. My mother has a subtle hint of a smile.

The empty hole inside of me is suddenly filled with anger. How dare she come into my house, interfere with my family and start God knows what sort of shit storm?

Before I can say a word, my mother turns back to Simone. “Thank you for allowing me to visit with Stuart, dear,” she says graciously. I have no doubt that every word, every action is meant for my benefit only.

“Of course,” Simone says, giving her a brief, absent smile.

“And about...” she pauses for effect, “the other thing. I’m so sorry, but trust that it stays between you and me.”

All of a sudden, the pit inside of me opens up again, sucking in the fire and creating an acidic burn that tears right through my gut.

She didn’t.

She wouldn’t have.

Simone gives me one brief almost scared look the smiles at my mother. “Thank you, Miranda.”

My mother reaches out a hand to pat her on the shoulder as she slides off the stool. The whole effort seems awkward coming from her. She was never really one for displays of overt affection.

“Archer,” she says, finally acknowledging me in a suspiciously amicable tone. I just glare at her. Instead of reacting, she turns back to Simone. “I’ll just say one last quick goodbye to Stuart.”

Simone just flashes that brief, troubled smile and turns to watch her head down the hall. I have the sense that it’s mostly to avoid making eye contact with me.

Damn you, Miranda!

At this point, I can’t even bring myself to call her Mother or Mom or anything else that might signify a relationship. What mother would throw her own son under the bus this way? All because of a stupid loan?

I just stand there not wanting to say a word until that woman is out of my apartment.  Simone slides off the stool, still avoiding eye contact as she pulls a glass out of one of the cabinets and fills it with water from the Brita pitcher she pulls from the refrigerator. Is she avoiding making a scene until my mother is gone as well? My mind races with how to paint this in the best possible light.

Why didn’t I show her the video?

I wanted to wait to find out who it was from. I didn’t want to embarrass her with it. I had no intention of using it so why ruin things by dredging it up?

Miranda makes her way back from Stuart’s room and pauses, taking in the scene in the kitchen.  Simone is still facing the counter. I’m standing rigid as a statue. There is a definite chill in the air and I’m sure she’s sucking it up, letting that icy pleasure run through her cold, hard veins.

“Well, good evening,” she says to neither of us in particular. We don’t bother responding. As she passes me, she raises one eyebrow as though to say I told you so. I just return a hard stare that lets her know, in no uncertain terms, that this isn’t over between us.

Not only will she not be getting the loan…I’m going to destroy her.

I don’t relax until I hear the door close behind her. Once I hear that click I rush into the kitchen, setting my briefcase down on the island as I come around to confront Simone.

“Listen, I don’t know what she told you, but I have a very good reason for not telling you about the video. I was just waiting until I had all the facts, namely who sent it to me and why.”

Her brow wrinkles in confusion then she turns to look at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “What?” she asks as though she didn’t hear me.

“The video of you and—yes I had a copy as well, but as I said, I had my reasons for not telling you about it. Whatever it is my mother told you, I need you to—”

“She didn’t tell me.”

I stop, taking a moment to let that statement register in my head. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

I’ve broken at least a few of my cardinal rules: never be the first one to speak, and never give anything away.

She turns to face me and leans against the counter letting her eyes slide down me. I can see the two steps back she’s mentally taking in her opinion of me. “She only told me that she had a copy. She thought I had a right to know about it.”

The last sentence is cutting, even in the flat tone of voice Simone uttered it.

My mouth works to correct the damage done, but my brain keeps it firmly shut. Instead, I close my eyes and exhale, setting my brain straight so I don’t fly off at the mouth again.

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t,” I hear her voice say.

My eyes flash open, suddenly angry. “You’re not even going to give me a chance to explain?”

She just deadpans me, those beautiful eyes staring at me the same way they would a boring slice of bologna. Then a tiny light begins to flicker in them and her mouth sets into a fine line. I don’t know whether or not to be worried or hopeful. At this point, I just want the world to stand still so I can catch up.

She walks past me to one of the drawers in the kitchen that isn’t used for utensils or anything important. In fact, I can’t remember what it’s used for, having never used this kitchen for actual cooking, at least not before last night.

She pulls out a large envelope and as soon as I see the logo splashed across the front, the bottom comes out from beneath my feet.

She tosses it on the island between us and it slides my way, coming to a stop before it falls to the floor. The name on the front practically screams at me: Knickerbocker School for Boys.

The envelope itself is a perfect advertisement: ivy covered buildings, lush trees, rolling hills and perfectly landscaped walking paths with groups of WASPy offspring—with just the right amount of diversity tucked in here and there to satisfy any P.C. quotas—happily enjoying their privileged lives. Their privileged lives well away from their overly burdened, overly social, overly important parents.

“It came yesterday,” she says, still in that flat tone, though I catch the subtle hint of bitterness. “Yes, it had your name on it, but I was curious. After all, I am Stuart’s guardian.”

Again the lack of emotion in her voice stings far more than the worst sarcasm. At least that would show some passion, some anger and outrage and betrayal. Now, it seems as though she just feels nothing.

“I was surprised when it came, but I figured it was just something they sent because you probably wanted to convince me to send him there before…well, before we…” she lets the sentence die, her eyes falling to the ground with it. They quickly rise back up to face me. “Now, I don’t know what to think. What else have you been holding back, Archer?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly finding my voice. “I promise you, Simone. This?” I wave my hand at the envelope that betrayed me. “You’re right, it was an idea I had long before you and Stuart came to live here. Before the marriage.”

I walk to the island and lean in, staring hard at her so she sees the truth in my eyes. “I have no intention of sending Stuart away, not to that school, and not anywhere else. I want him here with us, you and me.”

She just stares back at me. It’s only the slight wrinkle above her eyebrows that gives me any hope. “So that arriving here yesterday is just a coincidence?”

“Of course!” I practically yell.

It’s a lie. I do know why they sent it. It’s because I haven’t called to inform them that I’m no longer interested in sending Stuart there. With this marriage, and the video, and the issues with Excelsior and the REITs and most importantly Simone, that little bit of housecleaning fell by the wayside. The interview was schedule for a month from now, so it seemed like a complete non-priority.

Until now.

She just stares at me, her face completely unreadable. “So you have no intention of sending Stuart to that school?”

“Absolutely none. Once upon a time, yes. But that was in the past.”

Again, she stares at me. The seconds tick by and I wonder what’s going on in her head.

“So if I were to call them up right now, they’d tell me the same thing?”

I keep my expression neutral. It’s a test and I know it. I rapidly play out the various scenarios in my head based on whether I answer yes or no. If she calls and gets an answer she’ll know I never cancelled the preliminary, and very tentative, interview with the school. On the other hand, this late in the day the office probably won’t even answer. It’s already well past five o’clock. Even if they did answer, whose to say they’ll actually give out that information to her, a perfect stranger? Hell, she may not even call, simply taking my word for it.

However, if I say no, then she’ll assume keeping Stuart here with me isn’t a priority. That everything that happened over the past week was just an elaborate ploy to keep my mother from getting guardianship. Worse, she’ll think I was using her, maybe even just for sex.

I’ve built my success on taking gambles like this, where the odds are very much in my favor. I’ve also learned how to bluff my way through difficult situations.

“Is that what you need to do to trust me?” I ask, turning it back on her just to hedge my bets.

“I do trust you, Archer. At least I have recently, and I still want to. I want the way we’ve been the past few days to be real, not some ploy to win me over and take Stuart away.”

“It is real, Simone. Trust me.”

She just stares at me and sighs. “I’m not going to call them, because I do trust you. I trust that even if you once upon a time had ideas about sending Stuart away, you dismissed those thoughts once we agreed to marry. I trust that the two of us didn’t come second to whatever else you were dealing with so that canceling that interview slipped your mind. I trust you enough that I’m not going to call them, but I do want to hear it from you.”

I watch her and see nothing but the truth written all over her face. She won’t call because she does trust me. That’s all I need. Tomorrow, first thing I’ll take care of actually canceling it. For now, I need to salvage what I can.

“Yes, Simone, they would tell you the same thing. I cancelled the appointment for them to interview Stuart.”

This time when she stares at me, there’s a change in her face. A small smile comes to her lips and I feel the relief set in…just before her eyes tell me a different story.

“I already called. About thirty minutes ago, when Miranda first came by to tell me she had dropped the challenge for guardianship. I knew something was off since she said she had told you about it yesterday. Which I thought was odd, since you didn’t mention anything about it last night. But I guess I can just add that to the list of things I can’t trust you on.”

“Listen, Simone—!”

“Stop.” She puts her hand up and closes her eyes. She takes a few deep breaths and I prepare for the anger. When she opens her eyes again, they are blazing. “I’m going to leave—”

“Simone!”

“—but I’m leaving with the assumption that you didn’t fuck me as part of this…I don’t know what, this con? I always figured you were cold and ruthless, Archer, but I never would have thought you’d stoop to this level.”

She heads toward the hallway. I reach out to grab her arm. I’m damn sure not letting her get away this easily, not without a fight.

She wrenches free and now her face is full of rage. “I’m taking Stuart and we’re going back to my apartment. If I thought I had the slightest chance against you when it comes to guardianship over the estate, I’d challenge you for that, but I suppose I’m stuck with you on that count.”

“You don’t get to just walk out of my life like this, Simone. Not without giving me a chance to explain.” I take her wrist this time, holding on.

“You mean giving you a chance to think of another lie?” she spits, whispering out the shout so Stuart can’t hear. She looks down at my hand and laughs bitterly, as she pulls it violently out of my grip.

“I guess we don’t need this anymore, now that your mother has at least found her conscience,” she says, and pulls off the gold band on her finger. She flings it at me, then storms off before I can argue any further.

I watch her tear down the hallway until she enters the bedroom I gave to her, slamming it behind her. My eyes fall to the wedding ring lying on the ground, taunting me with my own lies.

I took a gamble, and lost.