Isabella
“Grayson?” I pick up the phone while I study the naked picture, now viral on Facebook.
In it, my husband lies flat on his back with a naked woman over him, all the important places blurry so as not to get censored.
Dammit, this time Xavier has gone too far. Either that, or my husband really is cheating on me which I refuse to believe.
“Izzy, hun? You there?” My husband sounds worried.
Good because I am so pissed I can barely spit. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Shit. Listen, I can explain. It’s not what you think. I was set up.”
“I know. This has got to be Xavier. We need to contact the police, the district attorney, and the FBI.” With the phone on speaker, I throw warm clothes into a suitcase. I’ll just buy anything I forgot once I get home to Minnesota.
“Honey, there’s no proof. We can’t just assume it’s him. He’s been out of our lives for what, a year now?”
There’s some logic to what Gray says but we both know Xavier will go to any length to get to us. I have no idea how he got this close but we’re all in danger.
“Where was Slate? Your building security? How the hell did someone take that picture?” This is all rhetorical because I already know how.
Xavier is a fucking genius with shit like this. Last time he bugged our home, our office, and inserted a GPS tracker under my skin. If anything, the madman has been off his game.
My husband sighs deeply. “Please, hun, don’t worry. I’m looking into it. I’ll be home soon.”
Is he friggin’ serious? “Okay, I won’t. Love you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
I finish my packing, open my computer and book the next flight to Minnesota where fifteen shotgun-carrying uncles will protect me. Like last time, Grayson will follow, and we can plan our next move.
It feels good to finally take action as I wait out front of the mausoleum for my Uber. Of course, Skye’s awake but rubs her eyes, about to crash. When she does, it won’t be pretty and I pray people on the plane have headphones.
If only I had the pink helmet but it’s still in the limo.
When a dark van arrives, I slide open the door, surprised to see another baby sound asleep in the back. After I put Skye into the car seat, the driver turns, and motions me into the front.
Her dark ponytail swishes when she tosses her head in the direction of my mansion. “Nice house.”
“If you like that kind of thing…”
I must sound bitchy because she raises her brows and makes a face as she backs out of my long driveway. “JFK?”
“Yes, please.”
After about a mile of silence, we pass the house of my nearest neighbor and I try to explain my attitude. “Sorry, the house is a sore subject. I’ve christened it the mausoleum because I’m so damn lonely in it. My husband works long hours in Manhattan and I miss him.”
My driver’s about my age. She’s dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and has a big open smile, not at all like the people around here. “What about getting out and meeting people? Churches? Clubs?
“You ever watch Housewives of New Jersey?”
“No, but I saw the Atlanta one, once.” She chuckles. “Not my thing.”
“They film it nearby.” I point out a twenty-bedroom, rectangular building and take on the voice of a tour-guide. “Ladies and gentlemen, in that McMansion, a Saudi prince lives with two wives and a mistress. And if you’ll quickly look to the right… a wife is cheating with at least two men, while her husband is out of town.”
We drive by another home with over two million in curb appeal. “That one belongs to a sixty-year-old divorcee with a live-in boy toy.”
The driver smiles, takes her eyes off the road for a second, and glances over. “So, what’s your story?”
“I’m done with this.” The weird thing is, by saying it out loud, I better understand why I want out but I’ve already said too much. What if she works for Xavier?
On Route Seventeen, colorful neon signs advertise everything under the sun, from oversized men’s clothing to Maseratis.
She passes a long line of trucks in the middle lane, then takes her eyes off the road for a second to ask, “What about the baby’s father?”
Before I can come up with an appropriate response, she prattles on. “Never mind. I understand. Mine left me penniless. He’s a lawyer. Damn good one, too. I got shit. Fucking men. But I’m going to school online. Not going to let him beat me down, you know?”
With just an occasional uh-huh from me, I get her whole life’s story and soon enough, we arrive at JFK.
“Best of luck.” I kiss her on the cheek, hop out of the Uber, and grab Skye.
Because of first class, I’m ushered straight through security, and heave a deep sigh of relief outside my gate. I pace in front of the plastic chairs and jiggle Skye. When she fiercely fights those drooping eyelids, I have to smile. Gray does the exact same thing.
Grayson.
Soon to be my ex-husband if he’s as pissed as I think he’ll be.
But dammit. He needs to take my worries seriously. Xavier is getting closer. I can feel it. Maybe once I get some sleep, when I have some family to watch the baby, I can focus and prove to him our nemesis is back.
While I wait, I pick up my cell phone and… oh shit. I should’ve deleted that image. And now, like a train wreck about to happen, I can’t tear my eyes away. The woman on top of my husband is thin and beautiful. Blond, like me, but a lot prettier. She’s got these huge eyes, red lips and so put together, I feel like that country song, I Got a Girl Crush. In it, the singer wants to be the woman who her man has fallen in love with.
If Xavier wants to make me feel like shit, he’s doing a great job.
Still, you’d have to be an idiot to believe the shot was real. Grayson’s eyes are wide, his mouth tight, and with fists clenched at his side, he’s ready to kill. I just wish he’d wake up and smell the coffee.
When Skye begins to fuss, I discretely hide myself under a blanket and nurse in a corner. I’m so tense it takes a while for the milk to flow. A somewhat annoyed Skye scrunches her brows, sucks harder, and shoots me this look that seems to say, what the fuck, mommy?
Our plane is delayed because of storms so I walk her up and down the aisle until we’re both exhausted. Finally, an airline employee announces they’ll start boarding families with small children first.
I grab my carry-on and head us to the gate.
“Isabella? Thank God. Stop!” Gray shouts from behind me and I ignore the oh-so-familiar tone and quickly pass my ticket over the scanner.
“Excuse me, miss, is that man calling you?” The attendant points but I refuse to turn. Instead, I rush through the tunnel to the plane.
Thank God, I made it and sit.
Suddenly, there’s a big commotion and a steward comes up to me with two big guys in tow. “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to come with me.”
“But…”
“Ma’am? This will only take a second to clear up.” The first man has a grim, flat face that won’t take no for an answer so me and Skye are ushered off the plane and into a small room near the gates.
While I wait, I hear the last boarding call for my flight and my heart sinks. “My baggage…”
The second big man with a buzz cut and a beard smiles, but not friendly-like. “We’ll take care of it. Can I see some ID?”
I open my leather wallet, show him my driver’s license, and I swear, he squints at it for at least a minute.
It’s absolutely ludicrous and I can’t help but get an attitude. “What is your problem?”
“Is this your child?” He points at my, thanks to him, wide-awake fussy baby.
“Of course, she’s mine.” Of all the idiotic questions…
“Do you have ID for her?”
“She’s a baby for goodness sakes. She doesn’t need a passport. I’m not traveling internationally.”
“No need to get all worked up, ma’am.”
“Worked up? It’s the middle of the night, I have an infant, and I just missed my flight. You haven’t begun to see worked up. When I tell my husband…”
I stop right there because the door opens and one very pissed off husband walks in. “Thank you, officers. I’ll take my wife home now and see to it she gets the medicine she needs.”
“Hold on a sec. What did he tell you?”
The man pats my husband on the back and shakes his head sadly. “Good luck, Mr. Patten.”
When they leave, it’s just me, Skye and him in this room with white tiled walls, plastic seats, and a blue plastic table.
Steel eyes bore through me and his jaw ticks. “You don’t get to walk out on me without a conversation.”
“Oh yeah? Watch me.” I swivel on a heel but he turns me back and places the baby carrier carefully at my feet.
“Isabella. Look at me.”
I do, and of course my stupid heart shatters into little tiny pieces and tears drip out of the corners of my eyes which I angrily wipe away.
I manage to croak out, “I want to go home. We’re in danger and you refuse to admit it.”
His voice cracks and tears pool in the corners of his eyes. “I fucking love you, babe. Dammit. I’ve been trying to take care of Xavier without upsetting you.”
I hug him tight. “You idiot. Why didn’t you tell me you believed me?”
He cups my cheeks. “Why do you think I have you locked up so tightly in New Jersey?”
“I didn’t know…”
“My God, Izzy, for a genius, sometimes you can be clueless—”
“Me? You’re the one that’s holding back. How about you let me in on what’s going on? Whatever happened to us being a team?”
“Yeah, you’re right but let’s not argue, okay? Let’s straighten this out where it’s warm and sunny.”
“Your private jet?”
“Damn right.” He grabs the baby carrier handle with his left hand and his right goes to the center of my back.
Outside, in the street, the limo idles.
“Hey Slate.”
“Hey, Mrs. Patten. All set?” He opens the door and settles the baby into the car seat. I climb in behind, followed by Gray.
Bahamas, here we come.