“I’m not done. I have more rounds to go,” I protested.
“No more games tonight. I need to feel you inside me.” She let go of me and started toward the bungalow door, peering over her shoulder at me with a beckoning glance.
I followed after her, because I needed that too.
The rest of my confessions would have to wait.
11
Elizabeth
Fucking fathers.
I could write a thesis paper on douchebag dads, and that was just based on the experience with my own. Now there was Weston’s to add to the list. At least mine had never done anything criminal. Not that I knew of, anyway.
I’d been naïve and ignorant not to consider that Weston had good reasons to not get along with his parents. I’d looked at the family portrait, not realizing there was dust and cobwebs hanging on the frame. Not understanding the reason for the pointed pinpricks made from darts thrown at the perfect face of the patriarch. I owed my husband an apology for that. Later, when he was able to hear it.
I did know that all men weren’t like this, that there were good men in the world—men who didn’t prey on weaker people. Men who didn’t put themselves above everyone else.
Men who wanted their children and loved them and attended to them. Were part of their lives.
I believed that Weston was a good man. Everything he’d shown me about himself, his character, led me to believe that he was decent through and through, even if he didn’t see it about himself. I was sure he would even make a good father—a feeling so strong inside me that it made my ovaries squirm and plead to do their biological job. Someday.
Someday.
If we made it through this, and more and more I was thinking that we would, we would make it to that someday. We would settle together and eventually raise children. Raise a family. Prove to each other that we didn’t have to follow in our parents’ footsteps.
But we weren’t ready for that yet. Especially with the walls still between us, walls I could feel crumbling down. I could sense the last of Weston’s secrets coming out of him. Like a magician pulling a string of handkerchiefs from a hat, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had kept divulging round after round of secrets in our game the night before.
It had just already been so much. Not for me—for him. I wondered if he even knew how deep these scars ran through him, how badly the betrayal from his father had damaged him. I’d been coming to terms for a long time where my dad was concerned, and I still felt like I was barely getting a grip on it. Weston, the way he kept it all bottled inside, I wasn’t sure he’d even scratched the surface of his pain.
So I’d cut him off. I’d put the confessions on pause and brought him inside where I could comfort him with my body. I’d held him while he stretched out over me, wrapping my legs around his hips, taking every bit of anguish that he gave me.
It had drained him, and this morning he’d slept past his normal waking time. He didn’t even stir when the waiter brought breakfast. So I’d thrown on a robe and curled up in the wicker armchair next to my sleeping spouse with my iPad.
We had sort of had an unspoken rule for our entire honeymoon to not get on the internet. We were leaving the real world behind, after all. But alone and curious I looked up everything I could find about King–Kincaid and the scandals they’d been implicated in. There were quite a few articles about several different improprieties, but the major headlines pointed to a loan-bundling scheme not unlike the housing default crisis of the early part of the century. Though he repeatedly stated he was only following orders, the blame of this scandal was mostly placed on CFO Daniel Clemmons who had twin adult autistic children, both unable to function outside the home. His wife cared for them full-time.
No wonder Weston felt guilty about it. It was terrible.
I wondered if Weston also realized that Daniel had done what he’d done willingly. That he’d also known it was wrong. My gut said that Weston did understand that, and likely his need to support the Clemmons family while Daniel was in jail had a lot to do with Weston feeling like they were in the same boat—that they were all a sort of club of orphans who’d been destroyed by the bad business choices of their fathers. Perhaps his monthly contributions made him feel less alone in that betrayal.
God, it must have been such a heavy weight for him.
After I’d read everything I could find on the subject, and I wearied of the tight, heavy feeling in my chest, I did a casual check up on all things Dyson Media. There wasn’t a lot that I wasn’t already up to date on, but I did find a few interesting things.
“What’s got your attention so riveted?” Weston asked.
I glanced over to find him sitting up against the headboard, his arms stretching up above his head, showing off his toned torso. It was distracting, but not so distracting that I’d forgotten what I’d been so intensely focused on.
“Did you know that France just changed the regulations regarding pricing structures for children’s media?”
Weston rubbed a hand over his scruffy chin. “I feel slightly embarrassed to say that I didn’t know that.” He was mocking me.
I didn’t care. I was too excited about this. “They did. And because they did, everyone’s business structures are going to have to change if anyone’s going to make any money. Do you think Darrell knew this? Do you think that’s why he sold off the children’s portion of Dyson Media? I’d chalked it up to him making a malicious decision, but maybe he was actually acting based on insight.”
“I don’t see that there’s anyway you could really know without asking him.”
“Mmm hmm. And remember the guy who was rumored to take over as chief programming director? Marc Laurent?”
“Vaguely,” he said, his brows knit into a frown. “Wait, are you working? Because I thought this was our honeymoon.”
“Just for a second. You were sleeping.” I grabbed the iPad and jumped onto the bed, moving up next to him.
“Hell yes. This is what I like to see. Put some porn on that thing. We can watch it together. Be my first.”
I felt my cheeks heat but didn’t respond. “Word was that Marc Laurent was going to take over as the programming director. It was all but announced. Everywhere. I was totally behind that move. Actually looking forward to it. The guy had great recommendations. And his resume? It was insane. He was beyond well-qualified, he’s like a god in the French business world.”
“Right, right. Then Darrell hired some nobody instead. Right?”
I’d already fussed to Weston about that several times, as part of my ongoing rant about how my company was being run into the ground while lining my cousin’s pockets. “Exactly. But look.” I tilted the iPad so that he could see the screen to read the headline: Famed Television Executive Caught Up in Child Pornography Scandal.
“Holy shit. Marc Laurent is a pedophile?”
“Innocent until proven guilty, but he’s at least embroiled in a pretty major uproar. You think Darrell might’ve found out about that early on? And didn’t want to be tied to it when it went down? It would have caused our stock to tank, I’m sure.”
“Again, I can’t guess what the guy was thinking. But it’s possible. It’s possible he made two really good decisions. Or, he just got really lucky.”
I put my back against the headboard next to Weston and dropped the tablet in my lap. “One time is coincidental. But twice?”
“Are you starting to change your mind about what you think of your cousin?”
That was going a bit too far. Darrell had iced me out and blocked me from the company on too many occasions for that. But, to be fair, he didn’t really know much more about me than I knew about him. “I just wonder if there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“There’s more to me than meets the eye under this blanket,” Weston teased. “If you’d put the work away.”
“Your breakfast is waiting,” I said. It was already cold, but I thought I should at least mention it to the guy.
; Before he could decide if he wanted to eat it now or let it get even colder, my phone rang. “Well, speak of the devil,” I said. My phone’s ID showed the number was French, and it was one I’d long since memorized—the day he took over my father’s company, in fact.
“Darrell. I was just thinking about you,” I answered.
“Likewise,” he said. Well, that was never good. But in this case, I was hopeful that since my marriage, he was planning on looping me in more on the decisions he was making overseas. He was probably calling to break the Laurent news, so I could praise him on a job well done. Or just to lord it over me that he clearly had inside connections I was not yet privy to.
“If you’d like to set up a time to talk, I’d love to chat when I get back from my honeymoon.” I winked at Weston. “But we’re a little busy.”
“Oh, I’d say so. We have been very busy indeed. And I’m not so sure you’re going to want to wait on this chat. How much do you actually know about this so-called husband of yours, anyway?” More than Darrell knew, that was for sure.
“Look. I’m well aware of what went on at King-Kincaid. And I fail to see how that has any bearing on my future with Dyson Media.” Annoyance made my voice sharp.
“Call me after you open the email I just sent you, and tell me then just exactly what your plans for the future are, won’t you?” I rolled my eyes and navigated over to my inbox. A link popped up on the same business gossip site that was reporting Marc Laurent, only this one had a different headline: Dyson Media Princess Fairy-tale Marriage Shattered By Double-Timing King.
I only clicked on the headline out of curiosity. Both Weston and I were famous enough in our circles to have a gossip spread about us now and then. Most of it was easily dismissible. I was ready to scoff at this.
He’d promised he hadn’t cheated, after all.
“Go on,” Darrell said, the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll wait.”
The new page that loaded came with pictures of Weston walking into a brownstone somewhere in Brooklyn, from the looks of the neighborhood. There are several shots of him in different angles coming and going. Then a picture of a woman carrying a toddler walking out the same door. “Less than two weeks after their nuptials, Weston King seems to be stepping out on his new bride, Elizabeth Dyson. Does he have a secret family no one’s talking about?”
I rolled my eyes, not interested in continuing on. There wasn’t even any proof the woman came out of the same door that Weston did. There were probably a lot of apartments in the building. This was fake news. Clickbait. That was all.
Until Weston saw the page over my shoulder, and said, “I can explain.”
I looked back at the screen. Studied the pictures more closely. It was the outfit that Weston had worn the day he’d left me in the hotel. And the toddler…it couldn’t be. But those dimples were unmistakable.
I scanned the rest of the article. “…a senator’s daughter…love child with Weston King.”
My stomach dropped.
“Darrell, we can discuss this after my honeymoon. I have nothing to tell you or anyone else right now.” It took every single ounce of determination I’d inherited from my father to say it in a crisp, professional voice. Because inside I was boiling and twisting in knots. Twisted, boiling knots.
When I hung up, I turned to my husband.
“It’s true?” It couldn’t be. But my heart was hammering, and my mouth suddenly felt like it had so much cotton in it that it could barely open.
“I was going to tell you.”
I jumped off the bed, suddenly needing to be away from Weston. From the man I’d so arrogantly thought I knew only moments ago. “Tell me…what? That you have a secret life? You’ve had a super-secret wife and kid? A secret other family? You said you didn’t betray me! You said you didn’t cheat!”
“No!” He moved to his knees, and his adamant tone made me hopeful that I had this all wrong. “No, I didn’t cheat! I don’t have a secret wife. I don’t have a secret other family. Just a secret kid.”
“Just a kid!” I could feel my eyes widen, could feel my blood vessels opening as indignant adrenaline surged through my body. “You have a kid?”
“Yes. I do. A son. He’s two.”
“You have a two-year-old son and you didn’t think that maybe I’d like to know?” My voice cracked. I was surprised, most of all. And outraged. And hurt.
“I was going to tell you,” he said hitting the bed emphatically with his palm.
“When?”
“I…” He faltered, but went on. “I was going to tell you today. After last night, I was ready. Before we left—before we went home—you would have known. There was the game we were playing and, and…I just wasn’t ready to—”
I cut him off. “You know what I wasn’t ready for, Weston? I wasn’t ready for the entire internet to know more about my husband than I do.” He started to protest, but I put my hand up, stopping him from saying whatever it was he wanted to say. “Did it never even cross your mind that maybe I should have known this before we exchanged vows? We had plenty of time during our engagement for you to mention him, or were you too busy pining for Sabrina and arguing about not getting a maid?”
Sometimes I got mean when I got mad. It was a trait I’d inherited from both my parents.
“First of all, I never pined for Sabrina, and you know that.” His stern glare dissolved quickly. “And I only found out I had a kid on the day of our wedding.”
“You only found out you had a two-year-old child on the day of our wedding? I don’t understand.” I was pacing now, making long, wide arcs around the bed as I rubbed either side of my temple with my index fingers.
“Callie came to me in my dressing room.”
“Callie is the senator’s daughter?” My belly ached with the familiar way he said this stranger’s name. “Are you sleeping with her now?”
“No.” Then he said it again, louder. “No! I don’t even know her. I hadn’t seen her in almost three years, I’m telling you. She just showed up.” He was talking fast and frantically, as though he thought I could disappear at any moment. He wasn’t wrong. “I thought she was there for the wedding, and she dropped by my dressing room—”
“An ex drops by your dressing room on your wedding day,” I muttered. “Only you would think that could be innocent.”
Never mind that mine dropped by the honeymoon suite. We didn’t have a child.
He scooted on his knees closer to me. “I was a wreck of nerves thinking about marrying you. All of my thoughts were tangled in you. All my feelings. Everything. Then half an hour before the wedding she shows up—Nate let her in, I think—and she dropped this bomb on me. I didn’t have any time to react. Didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to do anything. I had no one to tell—”
I stopped abruptly, leaning forward. I placed both hands on the bed. “You should have told me!”
He reached for my wrist but I pulled away before he could grab it. “I know! I was going to. I wanted to. I did, I really did. You were the only person I wanted to tell and I’ve been dying not to share it. But then you dropped this new bomb about France. About moving to France, Elizabeth, and here’s Callie who’s just told me that I have a kid, and that the only way that I can be part of his life is to actually be in his life. A kid that I might love, and I probably do love so much, and I haven’t even met him yet. And on the other hand there’s you—this woman that I already love with everything that I am and couldn’t imagine a minute of my life living without, and now I have to choose? I didn’t know what to do, Lizzy. I didn’t know what to do.” There was torment and exasperation in his voice, in his body. In his movement, as he ran his hand through his already tousled hair.
My chest squeezed and pinched, my breath knocked so far out of my lungs it took a moment to speak. “You love me?”
His head tilted to the side, his expression ridiculously soft and warm. “Isn’t it the most obvious thing in the world?”
“Maybe. I
didn’t know, though. You never said.”
“I guess I didn’t know how to tell you that either. I’ve never told a woman I love her before.”
I could’ve guessed that about him. But hearing it confirmed made my heart skip and ache all at once. “Well, you picked a fine time to mention it. And by fine time I mean a really terrible time. I don’t even know how to deal with those words right now. I’m still trying to deal with this other thing. And I’m mad at you, you asshole! You hurt me by not telling me this.” I sniffled, tears close. “But for what it’s worth, I love you too.”
He smiled, just enough to let that amazing dimple show. “Yeah, that was definitely obvious.”
Even now he could be such a fucking charmer. “Whatever. So I wear my heart on my sleeve. Not a bad thing.”
“One of the things I love most about you, actually.”
“Weston…” A sudden urge to cry crept up along my spine, but I tamped it down. Barely. Wondered if he could hear every bit of confusion and anguish inside me.
“Lizzy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted that.” He held a hand out in my direction then dropped it, his fist folding tightly. “I want to hold you right now. So bad.”
It was tempting. I wanted that too. Wanted to crawl up into the bed and kiss him and let him apologize to me in earnest. Wanted to hear him tell me he loved me a million more times before it became real.
I shook my head. “Fuck. What about Darrell?” We’d worked so hard to make this marriage look believable. “He’s aware of the situation already, clearly. What will happen to my claim on Dyson? This makes our marriage look as false as he always suspected it was.”
“Tell him that you married a guy who has a kid from a previous relationship. There’s nothing unusual about that in this day and age.”
He was trying to reassure me, but I was spinning. “It’s unusual when the bride doesn’t know anything about it. It’s going to look like I know nothing about you! I feel like I know nothing about you.”