Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  “Mom?” Rolling her eyes and wiping her hands on her face, Michelle wrestled her swirling emotions. She wished her mother would get to the point.

  “Just sit down,” Sophie retorted.

  Despite the urgency sprinkled into her tone, Sophie continued moving about as if Peter were not sitting there, infuriating Michelle even more so. She closed her eyes, seeking some infinitesimal measure of peace, something that would stretch her patience a bit more, only to be bombarded with mental images of Armand and Brianna, then her mother and this man. Images morphed into a compilation of kissing, touching, and thrusting, and she wanted to beat the shit out of everyone in the picture. Her thoughts were jumbled, adding to her frustration, as fire coursed through her limbs.

  “Gawd! Just answer the damn question! Who is that?” Michelle screamed, pointing at Peter.

  “Michelle Kaye! I understand that you’re upset, but I will not allow you to speak to me that way. You give me the respect and decency I deserve.”

  Michelle imploded as her temper escalated. “The respect you deserve? Are you kidding me? Twenty-three years! Twenty-three gotdamn years you lied! So save that decency and respect speech for someone who doesn’t know you auctioned off your kid!”

  Sophie froze, dropping the glass she held in her hand. It shattered as it hit the floor, cracking the silence. She looked at Michelle with eyes so big that Michelle could see each word of the rebuttal her mother opted not to speak marching around her cornea. Peter looked sheepishly at Sophie, too embarrassed to face him.

  Tiring of her mother’s shenanigans, opting to deal with Peter directly, she charged toward him as he stood with his back pressed against the island. Noting his bare feet, loosely buttoned shirt, and the ruby tint of her mother’s lipstick on his lips, she wagered that this visit was not his first.

  “Who are you!”

  Peter shifted uncomfortably under her intense stare. The shock of having witnessed the events transpiring in front of him, and perhaps a twinge of fear, forced the pink in his cheeks to spread all over his face. Peter drummed his fingers on the island’s marble surface, not certain if or how he should respond. Rattled and very uncomfortable, Peter threw a quick glance in Sophie’s direction, hoping to absorb some moral support, only to find she was no longer standing there.

  “Umm . . . I am a friend of your mother’s.”

  “Direct your questions to me!” Sophie appeared by Peter’s side, catching him before he slipped off the stool, startled by her sudden proximity. “He is my guest and has nothing to do with any of this. Leave him out of it.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Michelle fumed. “Maybe you should have kept your tongue out of his mouth! Or better yet . . . kept him out of you!”

  Sophie gasped, grabbing the neck of her blouse with one hand and slapping Michelle across the face with the other. She pulled her hand back into her body, cupping it near her chest, surprised at herself. Never before had she struck Michelle in such a manner.

  Michelle touched her face, where her mother’s imprint burned a deep red, not quite willing to believe her mother had hit her. She smothered the need to defend herself as the ache of her soul bubbled up, saturating her anger. Hot tears dripped from the corners of her eyes.

  “What is wrong with you people? You’re all so fucked up!”

  “Michelle, I . . . I . . .” Sophie did not know what to say. Things had gotten completely out of hand.

  “I asked you one question.” Michelle stood just out of Sophie’s reach.

  Sophie, no longer upset, released her words gently. “Michelle, this is complicated.”

  “The question was simple.” Michelle kept her eyes on her mother even as tears continued filling them, wetting her cheeks. “I needed an answer, Mom.”

  Their discourse drifted into deeper waters, and everyone in the room felt the change. The residue of her mother’s betrayal resonated with each syllable she uttered. “After everything you’ve taken from me, why couldn’t you give me that?”

  “Michelle, I am so very sorry. I cannot undo—”

  “I hate you,” Michelle interrupted. Sophie reached for Michelle’s hand, but she jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Backpedaling toward the open door, Michelle swung her eyes toward Peter for one last look when something caught her eye—a small, shiny something on the island, in between the stools where she remembered seeing her mother and this friend when she first arrived. Curious, she paused, squinting to determine what she was seeing.

  “You cannot be serious!” she exclaimed as she realized what it was. “A ring? You gave my mother a ring?” Michelle tried to steady herself as the room began spinning around her.

  Peter raised his hands as he attempted to excuse himself. “Perhaps I should leave and let you two talk.”

  “No, no, I’m leaving,” Michelle barked, stumbling again toward the door.

  “Michelle, wait. We need to talk about this.”

  Braking just beyond the door’s threshold, Michelle turned to speak, looking Sophie directly in her eyes. “I need some time. Space to clear my head.”

  “Sure, as long as we can deal with this. I don’t like the way things have been between us. How long do you need?” Sophie questioned, hope floating around her words.

  Michelle stood in the doorway, finding it increasingly difficult to look at the woman she loved with everything she had, the woman who had been more than a parent, but had been an excellent friend. Michelle never would have guessed that the malice and disdain reserved for her father would ever shine in her mother’s direction.

  As impossibility stretched and transformed their dynamic while she stood, the painful truth oozing steel into her veins. Michelle was ready to go, but before she exited, she wanted to do for her mother what Sophie had failed to do for her: answer her question.

  “Four weeks.”

  Sophie dropped her head. “Oh, Michelle . . .”

  Michelle closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 20

  Sophie watched her daughter disappear around the corner of the house into the fading light of day. Her departure, inked with a touch of permanence, hurt Sophie more than anything ever had. That was her Number One, her eldest daughter, and for the first time, she feared that the bond she had once shared with her was gone forever.

  “Luce?”

  She faced Peter, her eyes leaking with shame. She could not discern his thoughts from the expression he wore. This was the worst possible way for Peter to discover some of the horrible things she had done. Michelle’s admonishment forced her into a conversation she was not sure she wanted to have with him.

  “Peter . . . I know what you’re thinking.”

  Drawing a short breath, with a raised brow, he replied, “I doubt that very seriously.”

  “Peter, I don’t want to talk about any of this.”

  “I understand that, but—”

  “I need some time alone,” she interrupted.

  “I understand that, and I will honor your wishes, but if you plan to see me again, I’ll need an answer from you.”

  Sophie sighed deeply. These questions were certain to be her undoing. “What is it, Peter?”

  “Is Michelle your only child?”

  Relieved, Sophie quickly answered, “No, she isn’t. Michelle is not my only child.” As she spoke, fragments of the last conversation she’d had with Lewis sprang to mind. That night, when you didn’t bother coming to the hospital, I gave birth to twins.

  “Michelle is a . . . twin.”

  Sophie looked back out toward the open French doors where Michelle had stormed out.

  Tears began to fill her eyes when a figure suddenly appeared at the base of the porch. Fear gripped her heart; shock emptied the scream erupting from her throat. She couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was. It was not possible. They had buried him.

  Peter grabbed her as her body sank to the ground, her eyes glued wide with panic. “Luce, are you all right? Luce?”

  So
phie could not respond. Her lips wouldn’t form any words. Mumbling, she attempted to answer him. “He just . . . I . . . he . . . did you . . . he . . .”

  “Luce, look at me.” Peter tried to get Sophie’s attention. “Luce, hey, can you hear me?” Grabbing a mini flashlight from his pocket, he shined it in her eyes, examining her pupils. “Luce, does anything hurt?”

  The soft-white beam from the flashlight hurt her eyes a tad but helped to bring Sophie out of her stupor. Still feeling a bit panicked, she looked back at the bottom of the porch where she thought she saw Lewis, but she found the space empty. Nestling herself in the breast of Peter’s shirt, she allowed her body to return to its normal state.

  “Luce, are you okay? What happened?”

  “I don’t know, Peter. I am just glad you were here.”

  “Me, too. Come here.” Peter squeezed her tightly, and she rested there in his arms, sitting on the floor of her kitchen.

  She had not been completely honest, but it was not the first time. Besides, she could not tell Peter that she thought she saw the ghost of her dead husband without sounding a little cuckoo. “I am sorry if I scared you.”

  “It’s fine, Luce. Really. This has been a lot for you. Maybe you are feeling overwhelmed by it all.”

  “Maybe.” Sophie wished that were true, but she feared something more dire was happening. She was losing her mind, literally. Lewis had been showing up in random places around the house, always outside but present still. It freaked her out each and every time. She didn’t feel guilty about choosing to save her own life, so why was the universe punishing her? Why was Lewis haunting her?

  Chapter 21

  Brianna removed every article of clothing hiding her physique. Stripping until she donned nothing but her birthday suit, she dropped to the ground, creating a static electric map of her body’s dimensions across the floor of her bedroom. She didn’t flinch as the thick, ruby-red carpet fibers tickled her bare backside. Only the work of her lungs negated her mannequin-like state. Knowing Armand would not dare enter into the room after their sexual tryst had been uncovered, she felt free to be as she was—nude.

  Vulnerable and exposed, Brianna struggled with her personal discomfort, her inner turmoil, desiring to somehow force herself to mirror the sentiments on an emotional level, to get to the truth of who she was in the present, gain some clarity and perspective on things. Something twisted and ugly had driven her into the arms of her sister’s fiancé, and she needed to label it, not only for herself, but for Michelle, whose pain-stricken face lit the darkness like a constellation in the night sky.

  Special microfiber eclipse curtains covered the bedroom’s only set of windows, installed by Armand at her request, preventing any natural light from seeping in. The annoying red flash of the useless digital alarm clock in the far corner served as the only source of light. Usually the rhythmic flash would help her relax, but not tonight. The twentieth-century relic aggravated her. It, like everything else in the room, belonged to Michelle. Her guilt would not allow her to unplug it or change anything aside from the curtains over the window. Absurdity notwithstanding, given the erroneous nature of her involvement with Armand, Brianna felt obligated to deal with the minor irritation.

  This moment did not mark the first time she had contemplated her motivations. She had not had any luck before, but this time would be different. It had to be. Things had been strained between her and Michelle. If there was any chance at mending fences, the truth in its entirety would be a basic requirement. I don’t know wouldn’t be sufficient.

  Concentrating on her breathing, Brianna tried to turn her mind into a blank canvas to allow her thoughts to flow in a more natural manner. The darkness in the space embodied the loneliness she felt. Logic dictated that some deep, resounding, unrequited love must exist between her and Armand for something this trifling to have happened, but that was not the case. His loyalty to Michelle was never in question. Brianna did not desire that from him. Her relationship with Armand had honest beginnings. She couldn’t really isolate when it had turned a corner, but she accepted that it had. Perhaps if she could determine what he gave her, she could find some other way to get it.

  The catalyst for all of this seemed to be the unraveling of their respective families. Michelle’s insistence on finding the truth stripped Brianna of everything she could call her own—her parents, her sense of security, her self-confidence. Michelle left her world without color, merit. Brianna could not function without a sense of purpose or some direction for her life. The truth had caused her world to implode, and it could not be repaired. Maybe Brianna could have handled it all better if she had more time to adjust, but Michelle was relentless.

  Armand was not revenge, more like a consolation prize, if there could be one. Brianna needed someone to confide in, and Armand lent his ear, sharing his heart with her. Michelle hadn’t even bothered to offer her assistance. Their blossoming bond flamed out in the midst of all the revelations. Michelle was not the same Michelle she had grown to know in the last couple of months, but Brianna supposed she was not the same person either. Who would be, after all they had been through? Brianna felt the brunt of the responsibility and rightfully so, but it was not entirely her fault. Once their parental search concluded, the closeness Brianna felt with Michelle, her eagerness to bond, had evaporated into the air.

  Sophie’s stellar performance as the regretful mom was not strong enough to erase the image Brianna saw when she looked at her, the woman who had sold her for five million dollars to a guy without even bothering to learn his name. Brianna had been fortunate that Frank and Lisa were decent people. The fact that she could have been auctioned off into the lucrative world of sex trafficking was not lost on her.

  Brianna had been guarded before her world turned upside down, and the level of trust she required to be transparent did not exist between them. The people that raised her, Frank and Lisa, were not Stateside, but even if they were, she didn’t know if she wanted to talk to them. They had enough lies circulating between the two of them to put the Central Intelligence Agency to shame. She wanted to reach out to a few of her line sisters, but she felt awkward. The Brianna they knew was gone, and she hadn’t figured out how to get back to her.

  She was relieved when Armand made it clear that he was available. She knew she wouldn’t have to explain what had transpired between her and Javan. He was there and saw him for himself. The craze in Javan’s eyes, it was as if he were some other person, possessed with a rage beyond his control. Armand never asked her anything about that night. Everything he had to say was in his eyes. She appreciated that about him.

  The sexual nature of their bond happened almost accidentally. They had been talking one night, as usual, discussing her therapy session, laughing about her suspicions about Dr. WonderBra’s clandestine meetings after work, when the tension between them squeezed itself into something more profound. The pull was magnetic. When their lips met, she knew she could not go back. Things would be different. The sudden rainfall between her legs was proof.

  Armand left immediately, leaving her to deal with an avalanche of emotions the innocent kiss ignited. Things escalated over time, but they had been very careful until today. Armand met her at the door of the house, grabbed her, and kissed her like he had something to prove. The moment was so intense they didn’t even venture beyond the doorway. By the time he started to resist, momentum had catapulted them past the point of no return.

  Brianna was not thinking of anything beyond what was emerging between them in that instant. Stopping never entered her mind. For her, nothing existed but the two of them. Michelle, her parents, the pieces of her life she tried to salvage, those things were fantasy. Brianna had vacated her body and delved into the act. Anyone could have replaced Armand to that extent. Michelle’s arrival had quickly put things into perspective.

  The cracking in her voice clawed at Brianna’s heart. She knew that sexing Armand was an awful thing for her to do, but the urge was stronger than her r
esistance. With him, she shed her zombie motif. She felt alive, even if the feeling couldn’t stretch beyond a few minutes. She hungered for it like a junkie chasing a high. She kept opening her legs to him, tasting him until he became her preferred flavor. She auditioned to be the star in his private porn, and he hired her for the role.

  Much to her surprise and delight, he needed her as much as she needed him. Brianna knew she should regret this, but the truth was, she didn’t. She hated that Michelle was in pain and hoped that they could find a way out of this with everyone intact, but if not, it didn’t matter much. She had nothing left to lose. Michelle had her mother, the life she lived with her, her career, and she still had Armand. Brianna was all alone. She had nothing.

  Fluttering in her belly forced her into an upright position. Instinctively, she placed a hand on her stomach. She might not be alone after all. No time better than the present to make good on her promise to Dr. WonderBra. Crawling to the bed, noting how tender her breasts felt, she reached for her cell. Pressing 6-4-2-2-4, unlocking her phone, she quickly found Dr. Baxter’s number and hit TALK before she changed her mind.

  “Dr. Baxter? Evening. This is Brianna. I need to make an appointment.... I’m sorry, are you busy? I feel like I’m interrupting something. The sooner, the better. Tomorrow afternoon would be fine. Thank you.”

  That was weird. She had definitely detected high levels of anxiety in Dr. Baxter’s voice, although he insisted that he was fine. The usually long-winded Dr. Baxter was polite but short. Something was definitely going on, but that was none of her business and not her problem. One thing did seem particularly crazy, though: she could have sworn she heard her mother’s voice, but how could that be possible? He didn’t even know her. Nah, she must have been hearing things, and that was even more reason to see him. Better yet, she figured, she’d better call Dr. WonderBra too. She would want to hear about this latest crash into madness.