Chapter Four
Liam
I sit across the table from Brittany, doing my best to pretend that everything is okay. Inside, however, I'm alternating between sadness and rage. Sadness that my marriage is about to end and rage – well – for the myriad of reasons my marriage is about to end.
The night is cool and it's drizzling outside. Which is perfect for the mood I'm in. I look out the windows and see the lights of the Space Needle in the distance, the soft rain outside casting a halo around the structure as it juts upward into the dark sky.
“You okay, baby?” Brittany asks.
“Fine,” I say and take a sip of my wine.
“You just seem a little – off.”
I shrug. “Just a lot on my mind.”
We're sitting at a table near the windows inside Savato's, a wonderful Italian restaurant that I've been coming to for years. It's where I took Brittany on our first date. And now, it will be the place I end things with her. I figure it gives a nice symmetry to our whole relationship. Closing the proverbial circle, so to speak.
It has been a few weeks since my meeting with Adam. I had him put together a nice, thick file for me to reference as needed. It has all the pertinent information and facts that he'd managed to gather together – along with copies of the emails that I'd discovered on my own.
In those few weeks, I'd already made all the necessary arrangements. I want this to be as quick and clean as possible. I'm not an over-sentimental kind of man, but I'm not going to lie – this hurts. It hurts like a son of a bitch. I love Brittany with everything in me and I tried to give her the best life possible. I doted on her and catered to her every whim. Her every need and desire. Her happiness and contentment were the only things that mattered to me and I did everything in my power to ensure she had both.
And what I get in return was lies. Deception. Unfaithfulness. For years, she'd played me like a fool and I never saw it. My love for her blinded me to all the terrible shit she was doing behind my back. To the fact that she was using me. Taking advantage of the lifestyle I had provided for her. Took advantage of my trust.
“Care to talk about it?” she asks.
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she actually couldn't care less about what's on my mind. It's something I never noticed before, but once I started to uncover the truth about Brittany, I started paying more attention to her behaviors. And as I did, it hit me that she was simply playing a role – the role of the dutiful, caring wife. She says and does all the right things, and always acts like she cares. She's good at her role, I’ll give her that.
Of course, I'm always so consumed with work and trying to make her happy that I've been blind to the fact that she's been playing a part. That she has a second life completely separate from the one we'd built together. At least, the life I thought we'd built together.
Clearly, the only thing we'd built was a house of cards. And now, it was about to all come crashing down.
Brittany sips her wine and sits back, giving me a small smile. Even though outwardly, she looks like she's focused on me and is being attentive, I can see that her mind is clearly somewhere else. Probably with her lover. Probably recalling the things they do together when I'm not around. It's morbid and serves no actual purpose, but that doesn't stop me from wondering if she's ever brought him into our home. Fucked him in our bed.
Part of me still loves the woman sitting across from me. Still sees her as the sweet, soft, college co-ed I met all those years ago. And yet, another part of me hates her. Despises her for the deceitful, unfaithful, money-grubber she's become.
The tension and sense of expectation in the air between us is thick. She can obviously tell that something is up with me and it's making her nervous. She's great at hiding it, terrific at playing things off and pretending that everything is okay.
But then, I suppose she's had a lot of practice at leading a double life. At hiding things from me. There are always tells though. Subtle clues that give her away. Things I hadn't noticed until recently – things I really hadn't thought to look for because I believed in our marriage. Believed in her.
Obviously, I'm a bigger idiot than I ever thought.
“So, Savato's,” she says, clearing her throat, and giving me a wide smile. “It's not my birthday. It's not our anniversary. What's the special occasion?”
I take a sip of my wine and set the glass back down. “I suppose you can call it the start of a new chapter.”
“Oh?” she asks. “What sort of new chapter?”
A busboy arrives before I can answer the question and clears our dishes. Our waitress, Maggie, arrives right behind him, her smile bright. She's a sweet girl who is very good at her job and normally serves us whenever we come in.
“And how was your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?” she asks cheerily.
“Excellent,” I say. “As usual.”
“My veal was kind of on the dry side, to be honest,” Brittany says, not even looking at the girl. “Not up to your usual standards, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that,” Maggie says quickly. “Let me go get Wes –”
I hold up my hand and cut a quick glare at Brittany. “It's fine, Maggie,” I say. “Really, everything was excellent.”
She looks at Brittany – who rolls her eyes – for a moment and then back at me uncertainly. I give her a smile and a small shake of the head. It's one of Brittany's tells. When she is nervous and feeling uncertain, she always finds something to complain about. When we're out for dinner or another occasion, she tends to be rude and dismissive of people she considers to be beneath her – like waitresses.
She's always been like that. Honestly, that probably should have been a red flag for me. In my opinion, treating somebody like they're a second-class citizen because of their occupation or because they haven't been able to enjoy the advantages you have, is reprehensible. And, it shows a lot about a person's character. Shows you who they really are.
But again, it's one of those things I've always been blind to because I was so head over heels in love with her.
“Well, is there anything else I can get for you?” Maggie asks, her face still a mask of uncertainty. “Cappuccino? Dessert?”
“No, thank you, Maggie,” I say. “We'll just finish our wine. You can bring the check whenever you're ready.”
She looks from me to Brittany and then back again. Perhaps sensing the tension in the air between us, she just gives me a nod and then turns on her heel, walking briskly away. Brittany looks at me and I can see a mild trace of irritation in her eyes. But, always the master of her expressions, the look is quickly gone, replaced by the feigned good cheer she'd forced onto her face all night.
“I was actually interested in a piece of their tiramisu,” she said.
I shrug. “We're just about done here,” I reply. “Besides, I'm sure you would have found something to complain about and wouldn't have really enjoyed it anyway.”
She looks at me, slack-jawed for a moment before composing herself again. Her face tightens up and a small frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, but as quickly as it appeared, it's gone again. Although her expression isn't nearly as warm as it had been earlier, at least she doesn’t look like she's been sucking on lemons.
“What's going on with you tonight, Liam?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. Picking up the bottle of wine, I pour the last of it into my glass and set it back down. Never taking my eyes off my wife, I pick up my glass and take a long swallow of the merlot. Brittany shifts in her seat and avoids my eyes, her discomfort growing by the second.
“So,” I finally say, setting my glass down on the table. “Why don't you tell me about Travis Waltham.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she can't quite suppress the look of shock that crosses her features. She gets herself back under control in the blink of an eye, but for that one moment, her mask slipped, and I saw all that I needed to see.
“I – I don't know what you're talking about, honey,” she says sweetly. “I don't know who this Travis Waltham person is.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “No clue?”
She shakes her head. “None,” she says. “What's wrong, baby? You seem really tense. How about we go home, and I make you feel all better?”
That's another of her tells, I've come to learn. When she feels put on the defensive or wants to worm her way out of something, Brittany never fails to use sex as her weapon of choice. It's difficult for me to say no. Even now, with this dark blend of rage and pain boiling in my gut, I want nothing more than to take her home and fuck her.
Brittany oozes sex appeal. Tall and thin, she's got the kind of body that makes men do stupid things. Her long blonde hair is lush and thick, and her cornflower blue eyes can seem bottomless. It's easy to get yourself lost in them. She's a stunning, sexy woman who never fails to draw attention whenever she enters a room.
And in the bedroom – well – let's just say, the woman knows what she's doing.
As much as I'd like to take her home and bang her senseless, I know that it's not going to change a thing. After getting off, the problems are still going to be there. She and her lover will still have conspired to either steal my company or bleed my bank accounts dry. And they'll still be fucking each other – while fucking me over at the same time.
No, as much as I'd like to give into the lust that still fills my heart whenever I look at Brittany, I'm not about to let her get out of this simply because she's a great lay.
“Are you really going to sit there and pretend that you don't know Travis Waltham?”
She shakes her head again. “I really don't, baby,” she purrs. “Why don't we go home –”
I sigh and reach down into my satchel, pulling out the file Adam had prepared for me. Brittany eyes it with trepidation as if it's a bomb ready to go off. And I suppose, in her case, it is. I flip open the folder and take out the sheet of paper that happens to be on top – one of the emails I'd discovered.
I look Brittany in the eye and then back at the page and start to read from it.
“Travis, baby,” I start reading her own words to her, “L is leaving town on business tomorrow. Can't wait to spend the week worshipping your glorious cock. Can't wait to feel it deep inside of me. You always know how to make me cum so hard and so good, baby. Looking forward to being your fuck-bunny for a whole week! Love and kisses, Brit.”
I set the paper down in the folder and pick up the next as I watch the color drain from her face. She looks at me with her blue eyes, wider than I've ever seen them. Those eyes I used to love staring into, shimmer with tears as her body trembles. She raises her shaking hands and covers her mouth as the dam of her resolve breaks and fat tears begin to roll down her smooth cheeks.
Feeling vindictive and like I want to grind her down even more, I start to read the next email. “L is gone for a few days and you know what that means, baby,” Brittany wrote. “In case you don't, it means that we are going to spend every minute of every day fucking each other's brains out. I can't wait to have you fill me up. Have you in my mouth. I can't wait to do all those dirty things you make me do – things I never thought I'd do before. Just to whet your appetite, I'm including a photo for you to get yourself off to until you can have the real thing. Love and kisses, Brit.”
I set the page down and pick up the next but look up at Brittany. Her face is streaked with tears and she's trembling so bad, it's almost like she's having a seizure.
“Stop,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Just stop. I don't need to hear any more.”
“You sure?” I ask, my voice hot with anger. “Because I've got hundreds and hundreds more we can read together if you still can't quite recall who Travis fucking Waltham is.”
Brittany looks up at me, her eyes still leaking tears. “I'm sorry, Liam,” she says. “I never meant to hurt you –”
“Spare me,” I cut her off. “I know everything, Brittany. I know that you and your boy toy here were trying to steal my company. I know that you were going to embezzle millions from me if you couldn't pull that off. I. Know. Everything. Which also means, I know that you are not sorry for shit. So please, you can spare me the tears.”
And as if on cue, the tears dry up. Brittany sits up a bit taller in her seat and her body magically stops trembling. She looks at me through narrowed eyes and the soft, gentle woman I'd fallen in love with all those years ago is gone. In her place is somebody I don't recognize. Somebody harder. Someone infinitely crueler.
Now that the need for pretense is gone and she no longer has to play her role, the real Brittany is free to come out. Seeing her – the real her – for the first time, I have to say, she is not very attractive. And once again, I'm forced to ask myself – how could I not have seen through her facade sooner? How could I have been so blind?
And the only answer I can come up with is that it's because I was in love with her.
“I haven't been happy for a long time now, Liam,” she spits.
“You've been plenty happy to keep spending all of my money on your shopping trips.”
She shrugs. “I called it the putting up with Liam tax.”
“Oh, you have a name for it,” I say. “How sweet. I'm flattered.”
“You're never around,” she says. “And it got to the point that when you were around, I was wishing you weren't. You just don't do it for me, Liam.”
“And I suppose Travis does?”
“In more ways than you can ever imagine,” she says, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “He satisfies me in ways that you never could. Travis is a real man – unlike you.”
I chuckle and drain the last of my wine, setting the glass back down on the table. I look up at Brittany for a long moment and am surprised to find that when I look at her – at least, this new version of her – all the love I'd had in my heart is gone. As I look at her now, at this new woman sitting before me, all I feel is contempt and disgust.
Like I said, I'm not overly-sentimental to begin with, but this is actually going to be a lot easier than I had initially thought.
“Well, since we've gone and skipped ahead to the portion of the program that calls for the hateful verbal barbs that are designed to be hurtful,” I say, “we can go ahead and get down to brass tacks.”
She chuckles. “Brass tacks?” she says. “Since we're going to divorce, obviously, I'll be taking half of everything. That's how the law works, sweetie.”
I narrow my eyes and give her a predatory smile. “That is how the law works, you're right,” I say, “if you're not smart enough to have a prenup.”
I slip the prenuptial agreement we'd both signed out of the folder and set it on top of the emails, letting her see it with her own two eyes. The prenup provided her with a generous alimony payment in the event of divorce as well as a few other perks.
I'm now determined that she isn't going to get any of it. I had my lawyer draft up a new document, one that she is going to sign before we leave this restaurant. It's a document that relinquishes her claim to any of my money or properties. I am done with her and I'm done supporting her lifestyle.
“Forgot about that, didn't you?” I ask.
She shrugs as if she's not concerned. “I'll challenge it in court.”
“No, you won't.”
“Oh, I won't?” she asks, a small chuckle escaping her. “Then you obviously, don't know me very well.”
“If we go to court,” I say, “you and your boyfriend both are going to prison for a very long time.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I just told you that I know everything, Brit,” I say. “I know about your plan to steal my company or if that fails, to drain my bank account.”
I didn't think it was possible, but her face blanches to an even whiter shade than it was a moment ago. I can see the thoughts and emotions cycling through her as she looks at me, the disbelief in her eyes, as well as the anger that's smoldering within them.
As if a thought seems to suddenly occur to her, Brittany's eyes narrow and she looks at me with the same sort of contempt and disgust on her face that I feel for her.
“You had somebody investigating me,” she says – not a question.
I nod. “I did,” I reply. “I suspected you were having an affair. All the rest of the information about your would-be criminal enterprise was unexpected. I'm glad to have it though. What you two were in the process of doing is a very serious crime, Brit.”
“I cannot believe you had somebody spying on me,” she hisses. “You son of a bitch.”
I laugh out loud and shake my head. “That's rich,” I say. “You're the one cheating on me. You're the one trying to steal my company and all my money. And yet, somehow in your twisted brain, I'm the son of a bitch here? Priceless, Brittany. Priceless.”
I notice that patrons at a few of the tables surrounding us are looking our way, although they're pretending to not eavesdrop. Personally, I don't care. I brought Brittany here because I figured she'd make less of a scene in public and I'd rather avoid the drama – but if she does, she does. I'm not going to worry about it anymore. She's not my problem. Or at least, she won't be once she signs the decree.
Besides, having witnesses when this all goes down can only be a positive thing. Once we're done here, I'm leaving Seattle and I want to be sure that when I go, she's still intact, whole, and completely unharmed. Knowing what I now know about her, I can see her drumming up some abuse allegations just to squeeze more cash out of me. As long as I leave here, with her in unharmed in plain sight, I'm golden.
“I hate you,” she seethes. “I've hated you for a long time.”
I shrug. “That doesn't concern me anymore,” I say. “The only thing that concerns me right now is ending this sham of a marriage.”
“Happily,” she says. “But, you will abide by the terms of the prenuptial agreement.”
“Have you not listened to a word I've said?” I ask her. “I have evidence that you and lover boy were trying to orchestrate a crime. I've already spoken with my lawyer and she assures me that there is a very strong case to be had here. If you push me, Brit, I am going to nail you to the wall. I'm not going to hold back and both of you are going to wind up in prison. And not the cushy Club Fed kind of prison either. I don't know about your boy toy, but I've got a real strong feeling you wouldn't do well inside. I hear they don't take kindly to haughty, snooty bitches like you.”
“Go fuck yourself, Liam,” she sneers, drawing the attention of nearby patrons again.
I chuckle as I pull a document out of the folder and slide it across the table to her. “You say the sweetest things,” I say. “This is a decree, drawn up by my lawyer, in which you relinquish your rights to any of my money or my properties. Once our divorce is finalized, you'll go your way with what you brought into the marriage and I'll go my way with what I brought.”
She shakes her head. “You can't do this,” she says. “You know I don't have anything. You know I didn't grow up with money.”
“Not my problem, Brittany,” I say. “Maybe you should have thought about all of that before you tried to fuck me over. You, of all people, should know that I'm not somebody who takes kindly to being stabbed in the back. You, of all people, should know that if you take a shot at me, you better kill me because I will destroy you if you don't.”
Big, fat tears roll down her cheeks again and this time, I'm convinced they're real. They're not tears for the destruction of our marriage though. They're tears of self-pity. Tears of a woman who knows she rolled the dice and just crapped out. The tears of a woman who knows she has lost everything.
The tears she's shedding aren't because she's sad our marriage is over. She feels sorry for herself.
“Just to prove that I'm not a complete monster,” I say, “I'm giving you the condo downtown. I'm not going to force you to live on the street. I mean, I should, but I'm not going to. Sign the decree and the condo is yours. After that, your life is up to you.”
“Oh, gee, thanks,” she spits. “So fucking generous. After all the years I've given you –”
“Years I was apparently sharing with this Travis asshole,” I cut her off. “Don't sit there and pretend you don't deserve this. Don't sit there and act like you've been some noble, loving wife. You've enjoyed a lavish lifestyle at my expense and apparently, everything I tried to give you still wasn't enough. Travis is the only one I know you've been fucking. Who knows how many others there were or still are.”
“How dare you,” she sneers. “I'm not some cheap whore.”
“No, you have very expensive taste,” I say. “And you should be grateful I'm giving you the condo out of the goodness of my heart. So, sign the fucking paper and let's be done with this.”
“What in the hell am I supposed to do, Liam?” she hisses at me, very conscious of the people stealing glances at her.
I shrug. “What do I care?” I ask. “Maybe lover boy can start paying for your lavish lifestyle. That's for you to figure out. I'm done supporting you.”
Taking a pen out of my pocket, I set it down on top of the paperwork and look at her expectantly. She looks at the decree and then up at me, something akin to panic in her eyes. She really has no idea what she's going to do once she signs that paper and our marriage is over.
She had grown accustomed to a certain way of life. She was used to being pampered. Doted upon. Having her every whim and desire catered to. And I'm getting the impression that ol' Travis isn't going to be able to continue that way of life for her. It makes me want to laugh, but I remain respectfully silent.
“Sign the paper,” I say. “Or go to prison. The choice is yours.”
She picks up the pen but hesitates, looking at me. “Please, Liam –”
“Sign it,” I say, “or I'll have my lawyer get in touch with the authorities and turn over all the evidence I've collected. Either way, this free ride is over. Find somebody else to pay your way through life because I'm fucking done with it. I'm done with you.”
The tears rolling down her face unchecked, she signs the paper and slides it back to me, unable to meet my gaze. I slip it back into the folder, stand up and throw a wad of cash down on the table. Giving her one last look, I turn and walk out without another word. There's really nothing left to say between us.
As I step out into the cold and wet Seattle evening, I feel relieved, angry – and a little heartbroken. It's done. It's over. And as I have my car take me to the heliport, I lean back in the seat and let the complex and deep wave of emotions washing over me pull me under.