“Love?” Shawna didn’t sound skeptical. She seemed to want to confirm she’d heard Sherry correctly.
“I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how I feel. Like I’ve already fallen in love with him. We spend several nights a week together, and that doesn’t include the fact that we talk at work and text each other multiple times per day. I do wonder if so much contact is overkill, because I don’t want to smother him, but he clearly enjoys our conversations as well. At least, he hasn’t run off yet.”
One corner of Shawna’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “Well, falling in love can happen at any time. You know my story. It happened to me.”
She had fallen for her husband, Ryan, after spending only a couple of days with him.
“So you understand. That’s how I feel,” Sherry said. “And it’s not one-sided. I think Alex feels the same way. Maybe he’s not in love with me.” She laughed self-consciously. “But there’s something between us. Something strong that makes me miss him when we’re apart, for even a few minutes. I want to be with him all the time.”
A smile slowly spread across Shawna’s lips. “You know what, I’m happy for you. If anyone deserves to be happy with the right man, it’s you.” She lifted her glass. “I wish you a long and happy relationship. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Sherry bumped her can of soda against her friend’s glass.
She shouldn’t do this. She should mind her own business and go home. But that wasn’t what she did. Call it curiosity or some sort of sixth sense, but there was something odd about Alex’s abrupt departure from the hospital.
After delivering the rest of the flowers, Sherry decided to find out which room Heather was in, which was fairly easy to do. Having volunteered at the hospital numerous time, the staff knew her, and there was no other patient at the hospital named Heather with Castleman’s disease.
Sherry exited the elevator and walked down the hallway toward the patient’s assigned room. At the door, she peeked through the rectangular window and saw a blonde woman asleep inside. A series of machines in the room monitored her vitals and displayed the results for medical staff.
Sherry’s heart went out to her. Even in sleep, the strain the disease had taken on her body was obvious. She looked thin and frail, face drawn and pale, long hair limp and unwashed.
Sherry stepped away from the door and bumped into one of the nurses. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.
The nurse, a middle-aged black woman with a thin build, smiled. Sherry recognized her from previous visits. Her name was Helen.
“No problem. Do you know her?”
“No, I don’t. She’s a friend of a friend, and I just wanted to peek in and see how she’s doing.”
“It’s been rough, that’s for sure.” Helen pursed her lips and shook her head.
“I don’t know much about Castleman’s disease. Do you think she’ll be here much longer?”
The nurse winced. “Of course, you know I can’t discuss a patient’s medical status.”
“Of course not! I meant in general. What’s the norm?”
Helen let out an audible breath and glanced in at Heather. “Hard to say. It varies by patient. We don’t know a whole lot about the disease, and unfortunately, by the time the doctors figured out what was wrong with her and she arrived here to see a specialist, it had advanced aggressively. The disorder attacks the lymph nodes and other organs and for lack of a better phrase, shuts them down. I will say, what’s working in her favor is that she has a good support system, and that matters in cases like these. Her friend and her husband come by to see her frequently.”
“Oh. I didn’t know she was married. I know her friend, though.”
“They’ve both been good about coming to see her regularly. They’re her only visitors. I don’t think she has anyone else. Frankly, if I had two good-looking men like that coming to see me almost every day, I would stick around, too.” Helen laughed softly and nudged Sherry.
“You’re terrible, but I know what you mean. So her husband’s a looker, too?”
“Oh yes, honey.” Helen fanned herself with one hand. “He’s beautiful, from somewhere in South America. Colombia, I think. Yes, that’s it. He’s Colombian.”
Sherry went still. “Her husband is Colombian?” That wasn’t so crazy that her husband could be Colombian, like Alex, could it? Sherry’s pulse ticked higher as she waited for the reply.
“Yes, and he’s quite the looker. With thick, dark hair and hazel eyes. Ooh. He doesn’t smile too often, because you can tell he’s upset about seeing his wife in this condition. But when he does, it’s like the sun comes out.” She sighed and looked heavenward. “I pray I find a man like that for myself. Actually, I’ll take either one of those fine men. The Black one or the Spanish one. They’re both delicious.”
Sherry’s thumping pulse slowly transformed into a full-blown panic attack. Helen couldn’t be right. “Are you sure that the Colombian is her husband?”
“I’m very sure. He’s in here almost every day. Well, in the past couple of weeks, not as much as he used to be, but still fairly often.”
“There must be some mistake,” Sherry said softly. Dismay seeped into her veins like poison.
The nurse watched her strangely. “There’s no mistake. That’s her husband. We all know because he’s very devoted to her. They both are. But especially him.”
Sherry cast a glance inside the room once again and stared at the sleeping woman. Heather was Alex’s wife, not his friend? He and Heather were married? She suddenly felt dizzy and reached out a steadying hand to the wall.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
Sherry swallowed hard. She was going to be sick. She was going to be violently ill and throw up the contents of her stomach all over the hospital floor.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said in a shaky voice. “I…I didn’t realize they were married.” She swallowed hard again.
Helen’s eyes turned sympathetic, as if she’d guessed the reason for Sherry’s odd response. “Yes, I’m afraid so. They’re married,” she said quietly.
“Thank you for the information.” Sherry backed away. “I…I need to go.”
She darted down the hall on legs as stable as soft rubber. When she reached the elevator, she jabbed the down button and the cabin came right away. Two doctors nodded at her as she walked through the open doors, but she didn’t acknowledge the greetings. Instead, she went to stand at the back and rested her shoulder against the wall.
Oh god, oh god. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. No wonder Alex had fought so hard to keep their affair a secret.
All this time, he’d been playing her for a fool.
12
Just do it.
Sherry sat on the sofa in Alex’s living room, stiff as an iron rod and contemplating her next move. After leaving the hospital, she had run errands and stopped at home to change into jeans and a blouse. The entire time, she’d simply been going through the motions, numbed by the revelation that Alex was married.
During the past few hours, she’d wondered if the nurse could have been wrong. Surely there was a misunderstanding. But Helen had been so certain, and then there was the fact that Alex was very devoted to Heather. Sherry had initially thought his frequent visits demonstrated what a good and devoted friend he was, but now she had to reconsider everything she’d believed about their relationship.
The pain in her head had only magnified on the way over to Alex’s condo, and when she saw him, she hadn’t known what to say or do. She’d kissed and hugged him as usual, perhaps clinging a bit too much as fear of loss gripped her. Fortunately, he didn’t notice, but she paid close attention to him. She’d studied him as he talked, wondering how she couldn’t have seen who he really was.
He’d certainly changed from the time they started this relationship. The grim exterior had been replaced with a more affable personality, closer to the man she’d met when she started working at Newmark Investors a couple of years ago. Othe
rwise, he seemed the same.
Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d seen only what she wanted to see because she was so desperate for a relationship. Had she been blinded by her attraction to him?
“Would you like some wine?” Alex called from the kitchen.
He was in the process of making dinner, and the scent of spices filled the air. Normally, the aromas would tempt her appetite, but eating was so far from her mind that she questioned if she could ever tolerate food again. They planned to go to a movie later, an indie film, and one of the rare moments they both agreed because their tastes were so different. She preferred comedies and he preferred dramas. She didn’t look forward to the movie, either.
“No, thanks.”
Sherry couldn’t see him from here, but she heard movement in the kitchen, utensils banging against pots and every now and again the sound of the faucet running as he washed his hands or vegetables. She looked at the room, beautifully decorated in warm tones, with splashes of color in the chair cushions and fake flowers in the middle of the glass coffee table.
Did Heather have a hand in decorating this place? Of course she did.
Sherry walked over to the bookcase that spanned an entire wall, filled with hardcover books and pictures and knickknacks. He read widely, or he and Heather did—nonfiction and commercial fiction like thrillers—with books written in English and Spanish.
She scoured the photos, which she’d only paid cursory attention to before. Most were scenic shots from trips he’d taken over the years, but one frame contained a photo of Alex, Rashad, and Heather, and they appeared to be in Colombia, based on the architecture of the buildings. This was the only photo of her on the shelves. Had he simply wiped out all evidence of her existence to perpetuate his adultery?
Sherry’s chest hurt, and she blinked back tears, clamping both hands over her mouth to suppress an anguished whimper. Why hadn’t he told her? This explained why he was such a private person and not a soul at work knew the truth. He needed to hide that he was a married man with an ill wife so he could carry on his affairs.
Nausea bubbled in her stomach. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Sherry rushed down the hall to the full bath and shut the door, leaning back against it. She took two huge, quivering breaths and waited. Nothing happened. She didn’t throw up.
She sank onto the toilet lid and stared at the wall. She needed to independently verify his marriage. Maybe Helen was wrong.
With that idea in mind, she rummaged through the vanity drawers and checked the medicine cabinet. She found the usual items for men—shaving equipment, a box of condoms, and over-the-counter drugs. Nothing incriminating. No evidence of a woman anywhere.
Not satisfied, she left the bathroom and paused in the hallway to listen as Alex continued moving around in the kitchen. He’d turned on some music, and the sounds of a man singing in Spanish in a mellow voice floated back as he worked.
Sherry carefully crept down the hallway to the spare bedroom, which she had never entered before. She left the door ajar so she could hear if Alex started coming down the hall.
At first glance, she didn’t see anything damning. The sparsely furnished room contained only a bed and a table with a lamp on it. Sheer curtains covered the windows, and a van Gogh print hung on the wall.
She went to the closet and swung open the double doors. She flicked on the light and her heart plummeted. Women’s clothes and shoes filled the walk-in closet. She froze in the doorway, shocked. He’d moved all Heather’s personal belongings in here. How callous.
“What are you doing?”
Sherry spun around to face Alex. A frown marred his brow. They stared at each other. “Are you going to make me ask?”
His jaw tightened. “Ask what?”
“Who do these clothes belong to?”
“Sherry…”
Cold with the knowledge that her heart was about to be shattered, Sherry shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Do these clothes belong to your wife? Is Heather your wife?”
His eyes pleaded with her. “I can explain.”
No, no. Up until that moment, she’d held out hope that maybe she was wrong. This was all a big misunderstanding easily cleared up with a logical explanation she’d simply overlooked. All he’d had to say was no, but he hadn’t.
“What is there to explain? You’re married, Alex. You’re married, and we’ve been sleeping together for the past few weeks. And even worse, your wife is lying in the hospital sick, and you’re using me and probably other women to satisfy your twisted lust because she’s no longer available. What happened to the words for better or worse, in sickness and in health?”
His eyes widened. “There are no other women, and if you let me explain, you’ll understand what all of this means.”
He took a step forward, and she sidestepped away from the closet door so she wouldn’t get trapped in the interior.
“There is nothing to explain,” she said slowly.
“My relationship with Heather is not what it seems. Yes, she’s my wife, but in name only.”
Sherry laughed shrilly. “Oh well, that makes it okay, then. Carry on cheating on your wife, but you won’t be doing it with me.” She barged toward the door, but he stepped back and blocked her path. “Get out of my way, Alex.”
“Not until you hear me out.” He held up his hands, hesitant to touch her but determined to keep her from leaving.
“What could you possibly say to make what you’ve done okay? You lied to me! You’re not a free man.”
“In the traditional sense, I am free, but technically, no. Heather and I got married because of her illness. She’s been in and out of the hospital for the past couple of years. The first few months were crazy, and we thought she would die—me and Rashad. We didn’t know what to do or how to help her. I don’t remember who got the idea of getting married first—me or Rashad—but we thought it would work because she needed better treatment. I married her and put her on my insurance so she could get the care she needed.”
Sherry folded her arms across her chest. “And I’m supposed to believe what you say?”
“It’s the truth!”
“Even if it is, that doesn’t matter to me. You’re married, and you kept that information from me. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
His chest moved up and down in a fast rhythm. When he spoke next, he used a calmer, lower voice. “I didn’t set out to lie to you. Everything happened so fast between us. We were just supposed to have dinner, and then…and then, in the parking lot, we kissed. I’m not proud of what I did, but I took my chance. Do you know how often I’d fantasized about making love to you? When the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t not take it.”
“That still makes you a disgusting liar.”
Alex winced. “You have become the most important person in my life. I know that I’m important to you, too. We can get through this.”
“You and me, we, are not going to do anything. You are going to stick to your vows or whatever you promised Heather, and leave me out of it.”
He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“What I said is not up for debate.”
“I’m not letting you go.”
“You don’t have a choice!” Sherry marched toward the door, fully intending to bypass him, but he grabbed her wrist. She tried to jerk away. “Stop.”
He grasped both of her arms. Desperation flashed in his eyes. “Listen to me. I was wrong, yes. But Heather and I are not in love. We’re not a real married couple.”
“I. Don’t. Care. You kept your marriage from me and turned me into a woman who’s sleeping with a married man. You should have told me everything. Instead, you took the choice away from me as to whether or not I would be okay with this arrangement.”
“I can’t abandon her,” he said. “That’s not the kind of man I am.”
“I’m not asking you to abando
n her. That’s not the kind of woman I am. I’m not giving you an ultimatum, Alex. I’m telling you that we’re done.”
“No,” he said in a deeper, harsher voice. “This can’t be the end. Not for you and me. Not for what I know is between us.” A fierce light entered his eyes. “I love you.”
Her stomach clenched in agony, and she had the sudden urge to burst into tears. “Don’t say that.”
His expression softened. “It’s true.”
“Don’t! You want to pretend your marriage doesn’t matter, and I can’t. Don’t you remember what I told you the night we had dinner at La Tavola? Trust, Alex. Trust is the most important part of a relationship for me. I can’t trust you now. I don’t care about your feelings for me, and I don’t care about your reasons for what you did.” Her voice thickened as she struggled to get the words out. This had to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. Even harder than accepting the pain of knowing her boyfriend of eighteen months had been cheating on her with someone else. “We’re done. Leave me alone. You’re married. Be with your wife. Your friend-wife. Whatever arrangement you have. Leave. Me. Alone.”
When she pulled away this time, he didn’t stop her. She rushed past him out the door, eyes filled with tears and heart demolished by the soul-crushing pain of betrayal.
13
He didn’t want to be here, pretending to care what these people thought so he could get their business. Alex ran a hand along the inside collar of his tux and then took another sip of beer.
The Johnson Foundation was one of the largest private charitable foundations in the world and made a difference in the lives of many around education, healthcare, and children-focused causes. But he should have bowed out of the invitation to the highbrow reception because he simply wasn’t in the mood. He only came because Rashad had insisted they attend, pointing out the event was a good opportunity to meet people with whom they could expand their clientele.
A Powerful Attraction (Quicksand Book 1) Page 7