Deception

by Aleatha Romig

  I didn’t argue. After my blouse was gone, Nox unbuttoned his shirt and eased it over his shoulders revealing his muscular chest. As my fingertips grazed his warm skin, he unlatched my bra. Skin to skin, our flesh united. His warmth pinned me to the mattress as his tone turned to velvet, coaxing and soothing, taking my mind from the past and keeping it in the present. Tenderly he filled me with more than hope for shadow-free tomorrows. In his arms I felt safe, as if my secrets were no longer burdens but links connecting and holding us together.

  Because in his capable hands, we fit perfectly together with no room for shadows.

  IT WASN’T MY normal gathering. Thirty thousand dollars a plate was steep, no matter how much money Demetri Enterprises was grossing. Nevertheless, I was here, dressed to kill in a custom tuxedo. One simply didn’t rent a tuxedo for such an affair.

  The convention hall was filled with white lights and Christmas decorations, creating a chic and festive atmosphere. Maybe it was because this was my first Christmas as a divorced man. Maybe it was that Lennox would be staying with his mother for the holidays. No matter the reason, I’d accepted the invitation to this fundraiser. My gift to myself.

  Merry fucking Christmas.

  When I received the invitation, I decided that attending the fundraiser was my chance to show my success in my own backyard, prove that Demetri belonged among the other names in attendance.

  I’d avoided most social gatherings, especially large ones, since my divorce. It wasn’t for lack of a companion. I could easily have someone on my arm. It was that I didn’t have the energy. My focus was the business. Angelina was better at the social graces. She could mesmerize a table of people with her stories and carry on a conversation with anyone about anything.

  In hindsight, I realized it was probably because she was starved for adult conversation. Though Lennox was about to graduate high school and Silvia was somewhere in her early twenties, conversations with them, in my opinion, weren’t exactly stimulating. That could be why I avoided those too.

  As I glanced at the growing crowd, I wondered with whom I would start. I may not hold a table captive with talk about the latest movie but I could talk business with the best of them. It was all I ever discussed anymore. Stocks and shares. The fluctuations of the market and the impending shitstorm as interest rates continued to fall.

  Conversation and networking were why I hadn’t brought a companion to this event. I could talk shop with the other men, put a face with the Demetri name, and make my mark in a legitimate business climate away from the chains that bound me in Brooklyn.

  I didn’t want, nor did I have the energy, to coddle a woman with small talk. I’d grown tired of doing that with Angelina, and I knew her. Indulging a relative stranger, even with the promise of sex afterward, was a nauseating proposition.

  The tart champagne constricted the muscles in my throat as I sipped from the tall fluted glass. I’d arrived in time for the cocktail hour. The time before the meal. The time to introduce myself and assess the multitude of opportunities. I scanned the room seeing the usual suspects as well as others I’d never met.

  I had a good idea who’d be present. The price tag alone made the guest list elite.

  It was then that I saw her.

  A vision across the room.

  Though it had been years since I’d seen her in Savannah, I immediately recognized Adelaide Montague. Even in my subconscious I avoided the name Collins.

  She was stunning, slender and petite, yet despite her small stature, in my eyes she was a glowing pinnacle surrounded by a sea of frivolity. The way she stood, holding herself as the regal lady she unquestionably was—well, it was mesmerizing. I tried to look away, tried to refocus on the crowd, on the business at hand, but I couldn’t. There was something about her presence that drew me closer. Overwhelming and enticing, she was beauty and class personified, and yet there was an aura of sadness around her that tore at my heart.

  Could I be the cause?

  I had to know.

  Three strides or was it five? I didn’t care, because once they were complete, she was looking directly at me. Blue eyes filled with a sparkle that broke through the sadness. In the eyes of an angel was a ravishing hunger. She captivated me by her complexity before she uttered a word.

  I wanted to know more. To know her thoughts and her dreams. To hear her sorrows and share in her joys. Somehow this beautiful lady before me was more complicated than any other woman I’d ever known. I longed to peel back her layers, knowing in my heart that her perfected exterior, as stunning as it was, paled in comparison to what lay beneath.

  “Hello.” The greeting rolled off my tongue as I reached for her small, soft hand, bowed ever so slightly at the hip, and lifted her delicate fingers to my lips. The faintest scent of perfume graced the air as her pulse beneath my touch thumped in beat with her racing heart. It was floral—jasmine and lavender. The aroma entered my breath, filled my lungs, and marked my memory for eternity.

  “I’m Oren, and you are?”

  Our gazes held steady. The dance of unfed hunger that swayed and moved beneath the surface of her stare wouldn’t allow me to look away. I didn’t want to blink, to close my eyes, or lose a millisecond of her presence. I wanted the vision before me etched in my mind forever.

  “Adelaide.”

  Her voice sang to me like a siren calling to a sailor from the depths of the ocean.

  With only one word, I knew that like the mythological creatures, this woman was dangerous. First, she was married. If I hadn’t known that already, it was glaringly obvious by the gigantic rock on her left hand. Second, I was confident that despite the success of Demetri Enterprises, she was out of my league. I was less than nothing to the likes of a Montague.

  Could fate change perceptions?

  For the first time in my life, I believed it could.

  Years ago, in a California bar, I’d heard the description of a frigid woman who’d made life unbearable. Like other opinions, I now knew that one had been totally erroneous. Adelaide Montague wasn’t an ice princess. She couldn’t be. During the few seconds that I’d held her hand, the fire that coursed through her veins created a spark that jolted my cold, dark heart back to life.

  “A most beautiful name for an even more stunning woman.”

  I expected her to shake off my compliment, to tell me that she was taken. I expected her tone to be dismissive, addressing me as the lower-class man I was. What I didn’t expect was for her cheeks to blush and her breathing to hitch. For a moment I stared, perplexed as to why this woman, who shouldn’t even be talking to me, was surprised by my acknowledgment of her obvious beauty.

  “Why do you act surprised?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Surely the man who put that ring on your finger tells you that daily? He’d be a fool not to see the gem that he has.”

  She didn’t respond, not directly. Adelaide Montague wasn’t the type of woman to bask in flattery. Instead, she asked about me, and what brought me to the event this evening. She spoke in earnest, genuinely interested in someone like me. Before I knew it, I was talking about things I’d only previously thought. I explained that this was my first Christmas as a single man in over twenty years. I talked about the solitude of my New York apartment and how I’d miss spending Christmas morning with my son.

  I’d never spoken those words aloud. Yet in the presence of a woman completely out of my league, I babbled on and on. Our conversation wasn’t one-sided. It was back and forth as Adelaide too contributed to the discussion. She spoke about her daughter, Alexandria, and how much she’d grown. At ten years old, she was becoming a young lady, not the small girl she used to be.

  We laughed about our children’s stubbornness. It was a trait I’d never before valued in Lennox that suddenly seemed humorous as she told the tale of Alexandria and a pair of shears. Apparently after an afternoon of refusing a haircut, her daughter had taken it upon herself to create her own style. The result was something so outrageous that Adelaide claimed to have
not seen it herself. Instead, a beautician was summoned and now her daughter had a flattering but short hairstyle.

  Topics came and went as we chatted. It wasn’t until a woman approached and whispered something in Adelaide’s ear that I saw the sadness that had been with her earlier return. For a time, she’d been happy. I knew it wasn’t just wishful thinking but fact.

  Her momentary joy blended with the lavender and jasmine settled into my senses. The intoxicating concoction invigorated me in a way that I hadn’t felt in years.

  With a return of Adelaide’s sadness, the chasm inside of me widened. Though I’d been harboring the void for years, I’d never realized its profound depth until for a brief moment in time it was gone. The money and success. The approval and adoration. All that I’d worked my life to achieve would never fill the emptiness. I knew that now, because for an hour it had been gone.

  Turning from the woman back to me, Adelaide was now a shell of the vibrant lady with whom I’d been speaking. Even the melody of her voice had changed, now melancholy and mechanical. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  How this lovely lady could thank me was incomprehensible. “Thank you, Adelaide. The pleasure was all mine.”

  “Fitzgerald,” she added, as if I didn’t know. “Mrs. Alton Fitzgerald. I must really get back to my husband.”

  Though her spirit had been taken by the words of the other woman, the departure of her being left me chilled and alone.

  For the rest of the evening, every now and then, I’d chance a glance in her direction. Never again did our eyes meet. She was consumed with her task at hand. Never again did she falter as she portrayed the attentive and dutiful wife at her husband’s side.

  I recalled the relief I’d felt when I’d heard she remarried. After all, even Collins himself had known they weren’t meant to be together. But as I watched Adelaide with Alton Fitzgerald, I looked for anything to indicate that she was better off with him than alone.

  I found nothing.

  IT WASN’T MY place to intrude in her life.

  Throughout my marriage I’d occasionally found solace in the arms of other women, but none of them had been married. Then again, I had been. In the eyes of the church a sin was a sin, yet somehow I’d justified it as warranted.

  Adelaide Fitzgerald was different.

  For the first time, I wanted another man’s wife.

  The desire consumed me.

  I knew that for me, hell was imminent. My list of sins was not limited to adultery. I fought against the chance of bringing Adelaide with me to the fiery pits… and then I justified my need. Instead of me dragging her to the depths of hell, I saw her as an angel, perhaps capable of granting me salvation on earth before my destiny commenced.

  Achieving my deliverance wasn’t easy.

  She lived in a fortress. Literally.

  It was Vincent’s favor from two years ago that proved my way in. The cameras that Charles Montague had commissioned were still operational. He’d since passed away and the contract with Demetri’s surveillance company no longer existed, but the cameras were still there.

  I wasn’t a wizard at technology. Finances were my forte, but I knew enough. I could watch from afar and see that Alton Fitzgerald traveled, often leaving his wife and stepdaughter alone with a multitude of servants. Though the cameras were throughout the house, I respected Adelaide too much to intrude. I simply used the information from the downstairs rooms as a way to gauge my approach.

  Our first chance meeting came the following spring, during one of her husband’s trips. I flew to Savannah, making it a point that our paths would cross.

  I wanted to see her, to look into her eyes and see the fire that I’d felt when I first held her hand.

  After that, the next move was up to her. Absolution was granted not taken. It was my angel’s choice if she’d give it to me.

  I’d sat across the table from some of the most dangerous men in the country, perhaps the world. I’d watched other men take their last breaths. I’d secured deals that were nefarious at best. And never had I been as nervous as I was waiting at a table in the restaurant that I knew she frequented.

  If she ignored me, or worse, pretended she didn’t recognize me, I planned to walk away. I’d chalk up our conversation to cosmic fate, a rare occurrence when stars aligned, and accept my damnation.

  Rarely did Adelaide’s schedule change. Twice a month she met other women for lunch in a private dining room at an upscale tearoom. With a large tip to the right person, I was seated just outside of her destination. She’d need to walk past me to access the room.

  Would she be alone, accompanied by friends, or perhaps flanked by a bodyguard?

  Doubts swirled through my mind as I sipped sweet tea and waited. Unfortunately, the restaurant didn’t serve alcohol. I could have used a stiff drink.

  The moment she entered the area where I sat, my lungs seized, hungry for a hint of jasmine and lavender. I couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d rented a sign, one of the ones with lights that flashed to indicate an arrow. If I had, the sign would have undoubtedly read, ‘heartsick fool’ as it pointed to me.

  Each step she took was focused, her eyes on the door of the private dining room. She’d almost passed right by me when her steps stuttered and her blue-eyed gaze locked on mine. Suddenly her hand fluttered near her neck and the color drained from her cheeks.

  “Oren.” My name floated in the air as a whisper, quickly swallowed by the din of the other diners.

  Nevertheless, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I hadn’t allowed myself to admit how devastated I would have been if she’d not remembered me. But she had, and my head was alive with the promise of spring as bees buzzed and birds sang.

  “Adelaide.” No other words came to mind.

  “How? How are you here?” she asked, but just as soon, she stiffened and looked both directions.

  “I’m not here to cause you problems.”

  “Then why?” Her question was again a whisper.

  I stood, my hands aching to touch hers. “Because I haven’t thought of anyone else since the night we met. Because I’ve dreamt of seeing you again, talking to you, hearing your voice and laughter.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. “I-I can’t. If anyone… If my husb—”

  I handed her a piece of paper that I’d kept in the pocket of my pants. “My number. I don’t know how this will work, but it’s up to you if you call me. I’ll be in town for two more days.”

  Part of me expected her to reject the offer.

  I believe there was part of her that knew she should. Her hand trembled as she slowly reached forward, taking the paper and tucking it in her handbag.

  “Yes. Mr. Demetri, it was nice to see you again.” This time her volume was louder, intentionally audible to those nearby. “I will certainly tell my husband you were in town. Unfortunately, he won’t be back for two more days.”

  The final words of her statement seemed to ring in my ears, reverberating off the walls. I smiled and nodded, all the time praying that I was inferring her reply the way she intended.

  THEY SAY THAT lightning doesn’t strike twice. I disagree.

  The next afternoon Adelaide Montague—the last name I chose to use—arrived in a cab and met me at a motel outside of Savannah. The location was her idea, though I doubted she’d ever been to such an establishment.

  That was the point.

  No one at the motel off of US 95, north of Savannah, would recognize her.

  “I-I’m not sure why I came here,” she said once she was in the room, her hand again fluttering near her neck.

  “I’m not expecting anything, Adelaide. I just wanted to see you again.”

  The hunger I’d witnessed at the fundraiser was camouflaged behind a shadow of fear. The thought that I was the source of terror tore at my insides. I longed to reassure her. Slowly, I took a step toward her.

  “I’ve never fe
lt an attraction to another woman,” I said, “like I do to you. Tell me if it’s one-sided. If it is, tell me no and I’ll walk away.”

  “Oren.”

  My name came out as a heartbreaking tune as it tumbled from her lips.

  “Adelaide, tell me no.” I inched closer.

  I reached for her hand, encasing her fingers in mine, and though they said it wouldn’t, lightning struck again. Electricity and energy flowed from her to me, and back. We were a circuit of power spinning wildly out of control. Soon we would combust.

  I stepped even closer, my chest just inches from hers. I longed to feel her heartbeat as her breasts heaved and she fought to breathe.

  “Last chance, Adelaide. Say no, or I’m going to kiss you.”

  “Kiss me?” she asked as if the possibility surprised her.

  “Yes, I’ve spent the last months imagining your taste and the feel of your lips against mine. You’re so close. I’m losing control. I need to know if my imagination was close to reality. Say no.”

  Adelaide lifted her chin, bringing her lips a whisper from mine. “I’ve never wanted to say yes more.”

  In a seedy motel in Georgia, the world stopped spinning and lightning exploded.

  My imagination paled to the reality of Adelaide Montague.

  “IT’S BEEN OVER two weeks,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest as I leaned against my desk and stared.

  “We need to tell Alex. She’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  I took a deep breath and stared down at Deloris Witt. Perhaps over the years I’d overestimated her abilities. In most things, most instances, she was unstoppable—Superwoman. If that were true, then this assignment, Chelsea Moore and Infidelity, had become her kryptonite.

  “I keep hoping you’ll have it resolved.”

  “It isn’t that easy,” Deloris said. “Chelsea’s doing what she’s supposed to do. She’s integrating into his life.”