The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2)

by Nicole French

  II

  Paesaggio

  Then

  Chapter Nine

  August 2008

  A bird was chirping at the window. Not a pigeon or sparrow, which wouldn’t be particularly notable for New York City. This one had a higher cheep, a pretty little warble that whistled through the air, chipper and light as the summer breeze on the balcony outside Nina’s rooms, left open through the night while she tried to sleep through nausea and heartache.

  She turned on her pillow to find the bird hopping along the sill of the open window as if dancing to its song. It was yellow—a goldfinch, maybe. Pretty and bright. Impossible not to notice.

  “Hello,” Nina murmured.

  The bird cocked its head skeptically.

  “I know,” Nina replied. “I barely recognize myself these days either.”

  At the sound of her voice, the bird emitted another dancing song, then flew away, leaving Nina alone again with the ambient noise of cabs, pedestrians, and the general roar of the city twenty stories down. This morning felt different, she realized, than the last forty-two or so. Vaguely, she wondered why.

  She still wasn’t used to this apartment. Of course, Nina still wasn’t used to much of anything about this situation. The fact that a small part of her trust became available upon her marriage had been a surprise to everyone, something her grandfather had set up for future progeny before they were even born. Everything else was off-limits—married or not—for another ten years at least, according to the board.

  But immediately after that surreal day at St. Mark’s, the executor of Grandfather’s estate had pulled Nina and Calvin aside and handed them the deed and keys to a penthouse on Ninety-Second and Lexington Avenue. Calvin had swept them up with the glee of a child finding an extra toy at Christmas. Nina had simply blinked and nodded. And they had moved in directly after their “honeymoon” weekend on Long Island, during which Nina had spent most of her time trying not to vomit.

  Normally she found this space oppressive, like the whole building was weighing down on her despite the fact that they occupied the entire top floor. But this morning, everything seemed lighter. It took her a few moments to realize what was different. But when she did, she laughed out loud for the first time in weeks.

  She wasn’t feeling sick. Her head wasn’t about to burst. Her ankles didn’t feel like swollen lead. And the sweaty threat of losing last night’s dinner wasn’t lurking in the back of her throat.

  Nina rolled to her back and used the moment to peer around the room, which she had barely noticed before, too busy dashing for the bathroom or sobbing into her pillow. The decor was hopelessly old-fashioned, like it hadn’t been touched since its pre-war days. Between the brass fixtures, mahogany four-poster, blush-colored carpets, and heavy, flower-sprigged drapes that matched the wallpaper, Nina rather felt as though she were trapped in a thirty-year-old soap opera.

  “It will all have to change,” she muttered.

  Strip the sprigged wallpaper and trash the matching drapes. Lighten everything with a fresh coat of white, including the box-molded ceilings. Yank the carpets and install new floors, maybe parquet. All but a few pieces of furniture could be donated, or perhaps put to use in one of her other family members’ equally over-decorated homes.

  It would be fresh and minimalist, the hardwood furniture replaced with simple, luxurious pieces. And then there would be art. Beautiful, glorious art to take advantage of the high ceilings and natural light pouring in through the tall, original lead-paned windows.

  She found she could imagine it all quite clearly.

  She also found that she didn’t particularly care. For this place, no matter what she did to it, was unlikely ever to feel like home.

  “You’re awake.”

  And just like that, the rush of her first morning in three months without immediate nausea faded. Nina sat up and found her husband standing in the door to the suite, which she hadn’t even noticed had been opened. “I am, yes.”

  Calvin looked the same as ever in a pair of creased chinos and rumpled button-up that made his slightly stocky body look shorter than normal. He said he had made use of their new joint bank account to hire a stylist, have several new suits made up, and trade his Third Avenue barber for someone at the Plaza, among other things. His graying hair was now a bit more chestnut, but other than that, Nina couldn’t see any discernible differences in his appearance. A stylist couldn’t stop crumbs, stains, and a predisposition toward wrinkles.

  “Not sick this morning?” Calvin strode in, his tasseled loafers leaving heavy footprints in the carpet.

  Nina shook her head. “No, thankfully. Yesterday was only in the morning too.”

  Calvin nodded curtly. “So Cook said when I got in last night.”

  Nina frowned. “Cook?” Even her grandmother didn’t call her staff simply by their positions.

  Calvin shrugged. “Whatever her name is.”

  “Marguerite has been really wonderful so far,” Nina replied. “And since you like her chicken parmesan so much, perhaps you can tell her.”

  Calvin’s eyes narrowed, but Nina was careful not to betray any other sign of her disgust with the way her husband ate slabs of cheese-laden chicken he rather resembled at times. As he sat down on the edge of the bed, his beady gaze traveled over Nina’s body. He did that sometimes, with the same kind of attention some men used to check their cars for scratches.

  Nina didn’t like it. At all. But when she had asked him what he was looking for, he had snapped at her so virulently that she never asked again. More and more, it seemed that something was boiling just under the surface of the husband she had initially considered so placid.

  So, she tried again to strike a lighter tone. “Well. How was our ‘honeymoon,’ darling?”

  It was meant as a joke. After their “honeymoon” in the Hamptons had gone awry when Nina’s morning sickness had taken over the entire thing, Calvin had scheduled an actual trip to France and England—for work, he said, despite the fact that he used her black Amex to book everything.

  “Hilarious,” he said. “People kept asking me where the fuck my wife was.”

  Nina frowned, confused. “You actually told people it was your honeymoon? You said this was a business trip to secure investors.”

  “Well, originally I thought you would be going on it with me, so I didn’t think it would hurt to tell the hotels we were newlyweds. Which just made me look like a scammer when you decided not to show and embarrassed me all over again. Cost me a fortune to reschedule all of that, you know.”

  His hand, which had been gesturing wildly as he spoke, settled on her shin with a clap over the blanket. Nina fought the urge to move her leg, but didn’t. She had a feeling it would make him that much angrier. And, after all, it was just her shin.

  Instead, she sighed and sank back into her pillows. What else was there to say? One month into this sham marriage, and she was already weary, explaining away every perceived slight Calvin had. “What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly. “It’s a damn rag.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled the comforter down, baring Nina’s thin white nightdress to her knees. She resisted the urge to press her hands over her chest. The material wasn’t sheer, but somehow, she still felt naked under Calvin’s roving gaze.

  “Two weeks away, and you swell up like a balloon,” he said. “Just look at you. How is having a trophy wife going to help me secure investments if she’s nothing worth showing off?”

  Nina followed his gaze to her stomach and set her hand over her navel, trying not to let the words sting. At just over four months along, the small bump was clearly evident, as were the changes in her breasts, which were double their usual size. She felt swollen and ripe, like a peach that could bruise with the lightest touch. And maybe, if it were with anyone else, she might have actually enjoyed it. If it were Peppe sitting beside her, she would have already pulled him down to explore these new sensitivities.

  But the prospect
with Calvin only made the nausea return.

  “You’re still kind of pretty, you know.” His voice had changed, a ragged attempt at a purr instead of a snap. The hand on her shin rose and began to float up her leg, over her body.

  Goose bumps rose up and down Nina’s arms.

  “That hair. This skin.” His finger ran over Nina’s shoulder and toyed with the strap of her chemise.

  Wait. No. This was wrong. It wasn’t what they had agreed to.

  Friends, Calvin had said just days before they entered the church. We’ll live as friends, I promise.

  “Calvin,” Nina ventured as his hand pulled the strap down. “What are you doing?”

  He leaned in close enough that she could smell the sweet and sour residue of a Bloody Mary on his breath. Someone had been out to brunch.

  “They said no,” he said as he pulled the strap back up, then down again, hypnotized by its progress. “At breakfast today. At every fucking meeting I went to in Paris, London, Manchester, Edinburgh. No, no, no, no, no. They didn’t believe I was part of the family. I told you we should have had more press at the wedding.”

  Nina didn’t respond. She happened to know that her grandmother had personally requested most local newspapers not cover their wedding, and Nina had not argued at all. While the rest of her family had traditionally enjoyed the benefits of Vanity Fair profiles, large Style section features in the Times, or at the very least, a mention in the Post, her marriage was not something she had wanted to publicize.

  “And Celeste, of course, was conveniently unavailable every time I tried to call,” Calvin continued. “Everyone said they’d wait for you to make a move.” He grimaced, yanking on the strap now so that it dug into her skin. “Honestly, it’s just property, not interior design. You don’t know shit about this in the first place. But how am I supposed to become the next Trump when I’m handicapped by your idiotic trust limitations?”

  Again, Nina stayed silent, fighting the urge to slap his hand away from her shoulder. This tone, this unreserved resentment was new. She honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  She had heard Calvin complain about his failed business ventures before. Just as she knew of his plans to replicate what honestly sounded like a slumlord model of purchasing decrepit properties around New York and raising the rents until the poor tenants could be evicted. She didn’t know much about real estate, but it didn’t sound like a very nice way to make money.

  She also knew it wasn’t working for him.

  “In a month, though—maybe less—you’ll look like a cow,” he continued, still mesmerized by the strap pinched between his thick fingers. “No one will want to fuck you, and that’s half the charm, isn’t it? So I should probably take advantage of it now, don’t you think?”

  He pulled the strap far enough that the top of her nightdress began to fall with it, baring some of her new décolletage.

  A sinking feeling grew in Nina’s stomach. “I’m sorry. Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Women always do that. Apologize for things when they aren’t the slightest bit fucking sorry.” Calvin scowled, but his hand didn’t move. Instead, he pulled the strap down farther, enough that the fabric threatened to topple over her nipple.

  “What do you think I mean? We’re married, aren’t we?”

  Nina jerked. His hand fell from her arm, but instead of giving her space while she pulled her nightdress back into place, he slipped it under her sheets to grab her thigh. Skin to sweaty skin.

  Nina squirmed. “Calvin!”

  “Don’t be such a fucking prude, Nina,” he snapped as his hand tightened. “The jig is up, isn’t it? Considering the state I got you in, I don’t think you’re really in a position to pretend you’re all that modest.”

  “Calvin,” Nina tried again, stilling like a deer staring at headlights. Did that mean he was the semi? “Calvin, please stop.”

  “I’m tired of this little game.”

  “Tired of what game? We had—I thought we had an arrangement. We have separate bedrooms, and—”

  “Did you really think I was going to marry you and not act like an actual married couple?” Calvin snorted as his hand moved up her thigh, gripping even harder. “That’s part of the perks, isn’t it? You might be ruined goods, but I’ve never been too good for the bargain shelf. Especially when I can’t get anything else I need.”

  “What—what are you talking about?” Move screamed a voice in the back of Nina’s mind. But for some reason, her body was stone.

  The hand on her thigh crept upward.

  “This whole marriage was supposed to set me up for life. No one would give me the time of day without my child fucking bride. The one with the de Vries pedigree.” He practically spat the words. “But I’m on an allowance from dear old Grandma. I have to ask for fucking pocket money from my child bride. Well, if I can’t get what I want out there, I might as well take advantage of it in here.”

  Nina gasped as Calvin’s hand shoved underneath her nightgown, a blunt intrusion against her thin silk underwear.

  “Calvin! What are you doing?!”

  Suddenly, Nina was all action, finally in her right mind. She sprang off the bed and to the other side, breathing only slightly easier when there was a king-sized mattress between them. She yanked her robe from a chair beside the bed and wrapped it tightly around her body, ignoring a desire to jump straight into a hot shower.

  “Look,” she managed. “I don’t know what you thought this was. And I’m sorry if I misled you. But I wasn’t expecting us to…you know…”

  “Fuck?” Calvin snarled. “Come on, princess. It’s not like you’ve never done it before.”

  Nina gulped. “You said the plan was to remain strictly platonic!”

  “Plans change.”

  Calvin stalked around the bed, and, suddenly, Nina wished dearly she had run the other way, toward the door. As it was, she was trapped in the corner, with nowhere to go unless she scampered back over the mattress like a monkey.

  And maybe she might have if she hadn’t been stymied by a sudden wave of nausea flinging her back again.

  In a few surprisingly quick steps around the bed, Calvin cornered her against the chair. A ribbon of sweat broke out across Nina’s forehead as she tried to fight the rising tide in the back of her throat.

  “You won’t put me off forever, you know,” Calvin said as he curled a hand around Nina’s wrist. “Those hoity-toity assholes in suits might, but you won’t. I won’t fucking have it.”

  Nina looked down at his hand, then back up at her “husband.” She snuck a glance down the hallway.

  “The butler isn’t here. None of them are.” One of Calvin’s light brown brows quirked upward as he leered down her robe, openly examining her cleavage. “I told them to leave for the day.”

  Nina gasped. “You dismissed our entire staff for the day without telling me?”

  Calvin shrugged. “You sure think you’re something of a mistress, don’t you? You’re a child, Nina. And that’s exactly how they all think of you.”

  “If I’m a child,” Nina snapped, “then what does it say about you that you want to sleep with me?”

  His other hand found her cheek with a sudden, ringing smack. Her skin burned, her neck throbbed with the sore reflex of being hurled to the side.

  “You will never talk to me like that again!” Calvin roared. “I have to take all their fucking belittling outside this house. I won’t have my wife doing the same. You will respect me!”

  He grabbed her other wrist and shoved her against the wall so her head thumped hard against the plaster, enough that there would be a sizable knot there later.

  Every cell in Nina’s body tensed. Every muscle seized. She wanted to fight. Wanted to yell, run, punch, kick. But at the same time, a sensible voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was a pregnant woman trapped in a corner with nowhere to go. And something in Calvin’s eyes told her he could potentially do far worse to her and her unborn child.

/>   Think.

  “A-all right,” Nina whispered. “All right. Let me. Calvin, please let me help you. What—what can I do to help? Is there anything I can do to make it better? Call those men? Get you the meetings you need? I’ll tell whoever you want that we are married. I said I’d help. I will.”

  His small eyes flashed like beady peppercorns in a mashed potato face. His vodka-tinged breath was hot on her neck. Nina’s stomach roiled.

  “The princess wants to help her pauper ‘husband,’ eh?”

  “Calvin, p-please. Just tell me what I can do.”

  He stared at her hard for a long time. Then, at last, his iron grip dropped. Nina’s arms fell, and she rubbed her sore wrists as Calvin pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and shoved it at her. Nina took it. It bore a list of crossed-out names that she recognized as board members of the De Vries Shipping Corporation. Many were on the board of her trust as well. Including her grandmother.

  “I need seed money for some properties in Brooklyn and Newark,” Calvin said. “Five million to start. If I put that down, others will follow.”

  Nina gasped. “That’s—that’s a lot of money.” She couldn’t imagine her grandmother would ever agree.

  “There’s a lot more than that in your trust, and you know it, princess. They’ll make an exception for your new married venture. You just have to ask.”

  “Calvin, I don’t know…”

  As quick as lightning, one of his hands found her wrist again while the other slipped back between her legs.

  “All right,” Nina breathed as she clamped her thighs together. “All right, I’ll call them today. I-I promise.”

  He removed his hands and examined her, as if to see whether she was telling the truth. But instead of stepping back, he leaned closer. Nina stilled. They had kissed once at the altar. Never since. But right now, soaked in a sheen of vodka and canned vegetables, Calvin’s thin lips hovered just over her own, breathing heavily—with anger, frustration, or lust, Nina couldn’t tell.