Bed of Lies

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Bed of Lies Page 10

by Shelly Ellis


  He was wearing a gray suit and blue tie. She knew that it was the European cut he preferred because it showed off the slim physique he had spent years perfecting in the gym and in track and field. A gold pendant with the Aston Enterprises emblem was pinned to his lapel. He squinted dark eyes at her, then blinked, as if he was seeing an apparition. His brown face creased into a frown.

  “Court? Is . . . is that you?” he asked again, taking a tentative step toward her.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” She pursed her lips and tugged at her leather satchel. “It’s great to see you, Shaun.” She smiled anxiously. “How have you been?”

  “How have I been?” His face morphed from amazement to thinly veiled fury. He laughed coldly as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, uh . . . let me think. I’ve been fairly good . . . considering how you left me standing at the altar five years ago.”

  C. J. lowered her eyes. She should have anticipated this, but she had been avoiding Shaun and the mess she had left behind for too long. “Shaun, I’m—”

  “Who sends someone a text fifteen minutes before their wedding, telling them they can’t get married? Huh? Who does that? Then, when I tried to talk to you . . . to ask you why you would do that, why you would walk out and humiliate me and break my heart, you refused to answer any of my phone calls or texts or e-mails.”

  “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” She took a deep breath and raised her eyes, feeling shame and regret curdle in her stomach. “I know there are no excuses for what I did. But believe me when I say I didn’t want to hurt you. I had my reasons, but—”

  “Finally,” he continued undaunted, taking another step toward her, “after basically writing you off for dead, I had to learn to move on. With a lot of counseling and prayer, I managed to do it. I started dating again. I fell in love with someone—a good Christian girl with a good heart. I was able to forgive you, Court.”

  “I’m . . . I’m happy to hear that.”

  And she genuinely was happy to hear it. She had wanted him to fall in love with someone else and move on. Shaun had been a sweet guy, an innocent bystander in the mess that had been her life back then. It pained her to know what she had done to him.

  “I forgave you, Court . . . but I can’t forget.” He glared at her and she saw so much rage in his eyes that she had to take a cautious step back from him. “I will never forget that mess you pulled.”

  She held up her hands. “Look, I said I was sorry. I know that I—”

  “Sorry? Sorry!” he yelled, making the receptionist look up and stare at them in shock. “You think that makes it better?”

  “No, I don’t. But I wanted to explain why—”

  “I thought we had something! I thought we were going to be together forever! I was prepared to pledge before God that—”

  “Pastor Clancy,” Victor called out, “not here.”

  C. J. turned to find her brother standing on the other side of the lobby, looking at them. He was even more immaculately dressed than Shaun, with his gold cuff links and Prada loafers—the best that Aston Ministries had to buy. His stony facial expression made them both fall silent. “Not here. This isn’t the time or the place. All right?”

  She watched as Shaun suddenly turned on his heel and stomped toward the glass doors. He yanked the door open before stalking off to somewhere unseen. Now badly shaken, C. J. turned to face her brother.

  “Welcome back, Court,” he said, before walking toward her. He wrapped his arms around her and she stiffly accepted his embrace. “We missed you,” he whispered into her ear. “Good to have you home.”

  “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Tea?” Victor asked as he strode into his sunlit office and she trailed behind him. She sat down in one of the leather armchairs facing the office windows that overlooked one of the property’s many gardens. “You used to always drink green tea. Is that still your thing?”

  Victor didn’t wait for her to answer him. He suddenly turned to a young man with flawless skin and sculpted cheekbones who waited silently near his desk. The young man had been standing there when she entered, looking ill at ease, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog with his tight-fitting polo shirt and khakis—not working in a ministry office.

  “Brian, can you get Court some green tea, please?” Victor asked as he sat down in the chair behind his immense desk.

  The young man blinked. “Oh! Oh yeah. Sure, I can do that.” He nodded, walked across the room and paused in front of the coffeemaker. He began to scan the Keurig cups.

  “Not there, Brian,” Victor said, his fake smile tightening. “The tea is in the cabinet overhead. Remember?”

  Brian blinked again, this time in confusion. “In the . . . in the cabinet?”

  Victor slowly nodded. “The teacups are there, too.”

  “Really, that’s okay,” C. J. said quickly just as Brian reached for the cabinet door handle. “I don’t want any tea. I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

  The young man paused and turned to look at Victor expectantly, as if to double-check with him that it was acceptable for her not to have anything to drink.

  “It’s all right, Brian,” Victor said. “Just shut the door behind you, will you? I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “Sure, honey,” Brian said before getting a censuring glare from his boss. “I mean, yes, M-M-Mr. Aston,” Brian stuttered. “I’ll . . . I’ll be right outside.” He then rushed to the office door and shut it behind him.

  “He’s new. Just started here a couple of months ago,” Victor explained.

  C. J. nodded.

  “It’s so hard to find good staff these days,” he said with a soft chuckle. He then adjusted a series of framed photos on his desk: one of his wife, Bethany, and the other of their son, Victor Jr.

  “Especially in the places where you look,” C. J. muttered, making Victor do a double take.

  “Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” she murmured, not wanting to get into it with him. She focused over his shoulder at the water fountain in the distance, not meeting his discerning gaze. “I didn’t say anything.”

  It was evident that Victor hadn’t hired Brian because of his office skills. Since she was a preteen, C. J. had heard rumors about her brother, Victor . . . how he snuck off to the city to dance clubs frequented by gay men, how he had dated men secretly for years, right under their father’s nose. His marriage to Bethany didn’t seem to stop his escapades. It only made him even sneakier, hence putting his boy toys on staff at Aston Ministries, Inc. She wondered how many young men who worked around the building had been recommended for a job by her dear, sweet brother, Victor.

  “Look, you told me to come here today. Why did you invite me here?” she asked. “Nice touch with the letter, by the way. You couldn’t send an e-mail like a normal person?”

  “You know me, Court. I like to do things with a flourish,” he said smugly, leaning back in his chair.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “My name isn’t Court. It’s C. J. now.”

  “Oh no, honey. You are Courtney Jocelyn Aston. That isn’t going to change . . . no matter how many times you change your name, move to other parts of the country, or throw on those cheap clothes,” he said, gesturing toward her outfit. “You can’t hide who you are, Courtney. You thought you could just disappear and no one would notice? You thought we wouldn’t ever find you after the stunt you pulled?”

  “I didn’t pull a stunt! I just didn’t want to go forward with a lie because Dad sanctioned it.”

  Her father had chosen Shaun for her and had basically bullied her into marrying him. He had seen him as a second son and was grooming him to eventually take over as reverend of the church and help Victor head Aston Ministries someday. She had known her father’s plans and the role he had expected her to play in them—and she wanted nothing to do with it.

  “You ran away from a church filled with three
hundred people, Court! You left that poor boy standing at the altar. You drove off in Dad’s Benz, which he still considers to be stolen, by the way. You didn’t think you would have to answer for your actions?”

  “I’d rather have run away than continue lying! I didn’t love Shaun. He deserved better . . . someone who really cared for him.”

  Victor snorted with contempt. “Oh please. Spare me the melodramatics!”

  “I’m not like you. I’m not good at pretending.”

  Her brother inclined his head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your assistant, Brian?” she spat out.

  C. J. watched as a myriad of expressions crossed over her brother’s face: shock, rage, maybe a little shame, then back to rage again. He rose from his chair and stalked around his desk so that he was standing in front of her. She sat upright, ready for anything.

  If her father judged her with silent condemnation, Victor had always been the enforcer. He knew how to break a person, how to hit you where it hurt.

  “All right, Courtney,” he said, snatching off her cap, making her hands fly to her head. He tossed it onto his ebony desk. “Let’s cut the bullshit.”

  He sat on the edge of his desk and smiled at her, though she wasn’t fooled. Victor’s body practically radiated the message, “If I could wrap my hands around your neck, choke you right now, and not get caught, I totally would do it.”

  “Do you really want to know the reason I asked you here today?” His smile widened. “I’ll tell you. Dad asked me to invite you. So, of course, the next question is, if Dad wanted you here, why not talk to you himself? The reason he gave me was pretty simple: He couldn’t stand to look at you.” Victor sneered gleefully. “Neither can Mom. They’re done with you, Courtney, or C. J., or whatever the fuck you want to call yourself these days! Your whole life you’ve been a spoiled little brat who’s never understood the meaning of family or sacrifice. Dad built this church from the ground up and all he wanted was his family’s love, support, and allegiance in that endeavor. But you were always willing to take and never willing to give back in return, weren’t you?”

  “That’s not true,” she said, clenching her fists in her lap. “I just didn’t want to—”

  “But they understand. Mom and Dad have accepted that you are what you are, Courtney. No one can change you. We get it now.” He held up his hands in capitulation. “But Dad does have plans . . . plans even bigger than Aston Ministries and we need to make sure you’re on board.”

  Here it comes, she thought.

  What did her family need her to do? What lies did they need her to tell this time?

  “He’s considering getting into politics . . . a run for Congress,” Victor continued. “The Republicans think he has a real chance with black voters and conservatives. We don’t want your active participation in the family or the brand anymore. But we do need to know that if any reporters come sniffing around, asking questions about rumors surrounding Dad, surrounding us . . . you know what to say.”

  “What rumors?” she asked with mock innocence. “I don’t know—”

  “Don’t play fucking games with me, Court!” he bellowed as he charged toward her chair and clamped his hands down on both arms. His face was only inches away from hers. His eyes seemed to catch on fire. Despite herself, she started to tremble. “I’ve had enough of your shit! You know what rumors I’m talking about. Keep your goddamn mouth shut! If any of the press calls you and asks you questions, you tell them you don’t know. You tell them we’re the perfect family. Understood?”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “Understood?” he repeated. “I want you to answer me with words. I want to hear you say it.”

  “U-u-understood,” she stuttered, feeling her throat go dry.

  Her brother abruptly pulled back from her, and she felt like she could breathe again.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” He put back on his pleasant façade, stood upright, and buttoned his suit jacket. “So, are you heading back home today? Are you going to stop in town?”

  She slowly shook her head and rose from her chair. She looked down at her hands. They were still shaking. “Uh . . . no . . . I’m heading back to Chesterton. I have to . . . to get back to work. I have an event to cover tonight.”

  “Well, drive safely.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She flinched without realizing it. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I bet you will, she thought before rushing to escape his office.

  She pushed open the door and immediately collided with Shaun.

  “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, and his face instantly hardened at her words. “I-I’m sorry for running into you, I mean. I . . . I . . . I have to go,” she whispered.

  She then ran toward the lobby, not looking back.

  Chapter 11

  Terrence

  Terrence gazed at the ballroom just steps beyond the entryway, where a hundred or so people sat at the banquet tables and danced on the parquet floor while the twelve-piece band played an acoustic version of The Commodores’ “Easy.”

  He took a slow, deep, steadying breath, then glanced at his brother, who stood at his side. Evan was shifting restlessly from one foot to the other and tugging at his tuxedo tie. Terrence wasn’t sure who was more nervous about tonight’s outing: him or Evan.

  “Are we all good?” Evan asked, shouting over the music and looking between Terrence and Leila. “Everybody’s feeling okay?”

  Leila, who looked dazzling in her ruby-red halter-topped, sequined gown, looped her arm through Evan’s and smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m fine, too,” Terrence said, though his heart was starting to race.

  He hadn’t been at an event this public since before the accident. He hadn’t been in a room with this many people, either. He felt hot and tense. Pinpricks of sweat were starting to form on his brow and beneath his armpits and it wasn’t just from the strain of balancing himself on his new sleek wooden cane. As his heart continued to pound at a breakneck speed, Terrence thought he might be on the verge of having a real panic attack. But he told himself to calm down and to practice the breathing exercises that Dr. Sweeney—or as he called her, Dr. “How do you feel about that?”—had taught him during one of their previous sessions. He was seeing her twice a week now, an intensive therapy regime that she thought was warranted considering his depression and—he suspected—his ability to pay all those billable hours. Terrence was slowly getting better, but he still had setbacks on occasion. He reminded himself that the voices of pity and judgment were only in his head; it was just a manifestation of his own sense of inadequacy.

  “Well, if we’re all fine, then I guess we should head to our table,” Evan announced.

  Leila nodded. Terrence nodded—reluctantly.

  Evan cleared his throat and took a step over the threshold into the ballroom with Leila on his arm. Terrence pulled up the rear, slowly walking behind him with his cane.

  “Hey, Evan! Hey, Terry, good to see you back, man!” someone called out as they passed by.

  “Hey, how’re you doing?” Evan called back, waving.

  Terrence forced himself to smile in greeting, then returned his focus to the back of Evan’s head. A few more people shouted out their hellos and well wishes as the Murdochs made their way to their banquet table. Terrence told himself those weren’t lingering gazes that he felt boring into him, or whispers that he heard coming from over his shoulder as he limped through the crowd of party-goers.

  People aren’t staring at your eye patch or your leg, Terry, he told himself. They’re just surprised to see you. You haven’t been out in a while. That’s all!

  But that didn’t stop him from exhaling with relief when he finally fell into the chair at their table and set aside his cane. Sitting down in a crowd of people, he felt a lot less conspicuous. He no longer felt like a spotlight was following him around the room.

/>   Once one of the waiters offered them a platter of hors d’oeuvres and another brought a platter covered with flutes of complimentary champagne, Terrence settled in even more. If before he felt only 20 percent like the “old, normal Terrence,” now he felt closer to 40 percent. When one of their tablemates made a joke, Terrence even laughed without forcing himself to do it.

  “Oh God,” Leila murmured thirty minutes later. Her eyes went wide with panic. “Ugh, I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “Are you okay?” Evan asked, frowning as she suddenly shot up from the table and shoved back her Chiavari chair.

  She nodded and tossed onto the tablecloth the linen napkin that was on her lap. “Be right back,” she garbled before clamping her hand over her mouth, raising the hem of her gown and racing in her high heels through the throng to the ballroom doors.

  “Is she all right?” Terrence asked. He lowered his half-filled champagne glass back to the table as he watched his future sister-in-law’s retreating back.

  “She’s fine. Just a little nauseated,” Evan said with a winsome smile.

  “Nauseated?” Terrence stared at his brother in confusion. That didn’t seem like something to smile about. Terrence furrowed his brows and glanced at Leila’s plate, where only a few skewers remained. “Was it the caviar deviled eggs? I thought they tasted kinda funny.”

  Evan quickly shook his head and leaned toward Terrence’s ear. “Leila’s pregnant,” he whispered.

  This time Terrence’s eyes went wide. “She’s pregnant?” he shouted.

  “Sssshhh!” Evan said, raising a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell the whole goddamn room!”

  Evan sounded angry, but Terrence knew that he wasn’t. His older brother was beaming.

  “Congratulations, man!” Terrence whispered, thumping Evan on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

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