I immediately make my way to Go’s office, determined to make him tell me what the hell is going on.
But I slow at the sound of someone speaking angry and clipped Spanish. Daniella, I think , but she’s speaking so fast and angrily, I can barely understand what she’s saying. Only a few phrases. But those few phrases are enough, because they include “Es verdad?” and “Marco” and “Mami y Papi” and “bebe.”
I’m only a little relieved when I finally make it to the now open office door, and find only Go in there. Standing still as a statue as he looks down at the lit up phone on top of his desk. He must be listening to his messages.
There’s a different message playing on his phone now. This one from a voice I recognize as belonging to Sophia. “How could you do this to me? Why did you let the world believe she was carrying your baby when it was really Marco’s? How am I going to go to work tomorrow? You’ve humiliated me, Rodrigo!!”
The message ends in sobbing.
“Nyla Weathers-Gutierrez has entered the office.”
I don’t realize that I’ve taken an unconscious step across the office’s threshold until the house announces me.
On the other side of the desk, Go abruptly stops pacing, his blazing eyes rising to meet mine. “Why did you do this?” he demands, his voice harsh with rage. “Why?!”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I know…
I know, even before I step further into the room that this is going to be ugly. And part of me wants to run. This feels like every conversation I’ve ever had before getting kicked out of a family combined, down to the “Why did you do this?”
But I stand my ground. I somehow manage to keep my voice from quavering as I ask him, “What’s going on?”
He flinches, and the look he gives me in that moment is so cold. Colder than anything I’ve ever seen. “Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to stand there and pretend you have no idea what any of this is all about? That you weren’t the one who leaked the truth about the baby to the press?”
He’s staring at me now, so devoid of warmth, I can’t keep the tremble out of my voice as I answer, “I’m not pretending! I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This is what I’m talking about.” He slides a tablet across the table.
I pick it up and find a story with a screaming headline: TECH BILLIONAIRE BABY SCANDAL. And soon I’m fighting the urge to vomit as I read sentences like “she barely knows him” and “she was drowning in student loans and was desperate for money” and “marrying her dead baby daddy’s brother might have offered her a way out” and a bunch of other incendiary statements, written just vaguely enough to avoid a libel suit.
“No, this isn’t true! None of it’s true. I don’t know how they got this information, but I didn’t give it to them!”
“No, you didn’t give it to this blogger. You gave it to RoTeku, who sourced it to this blogger.”
“Ro-who-a?” I ask, feeling like I’m in some kind of Twilight Zone episode where absolutely nothing makes sense.
Another skeptical look. “They’re my biggest competitors out of Japan. They tried to buy me out years ago, but I held on and GoBotics went for ten times as much when we sold last year. They’re still bitter and they’ll do anything to discredit me, but you already know that.”
“What? No! I’ve never even heard of this company. And it wasn’t me who told them about the baby, I promise you!”
“You promise me?” he asks. “Just like you signed that NDA, knowing I could sue you if—”
He broke off as if suddenly understanding something very basic. “But you knew I wouldn’t be able to sue you, because you signed that document after you leaked the story.” He curses, shaking his head. “It was the perfect play. I bet you were laughing the whole time I sat there, telling you about how great I was at reading people. And all that stuff about how you hate to lie—that was brilliant. You got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you? All you had to do was open your legs for a week, and now you get to go home to six figures in your bank account.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. This isn’t actually happening again. My body temperature ripples back and forth, going hot and cold then hot again, as memories crash down on me.
Mrs. Perez insisting it was me, and not her husband, who broke Sophia’s arm. Sophia backing her up. The whole family sticking to their story so well that I can still remember the moment the team at the hospital turned against me. The suspicion fading from the nurses’, social worker’s, and doctor’s eyes, and getting replaced by judgment. Judgment against me.
In that moment, I can feel them all looking at me again. The doctor, the nurses, the Perezes. All of them looking at me like I’m nothing but a liar.
All of them looking at me like Go’s looking at me now.
He mistakes my horrified reaction for a confession. “You didn’t think I knew about the transfer into your bank account, huh? Well, Jason flagged that before we left. I should have listened to him, but I liked you too much. But now this has happened, and I’m sure he and the investigator will have the whole story within a few days.”
“There is no whole story!” I insist. “I don’t know how that money got into my account, but I didn’t tell anybody that the baby’s really Marco’s. If you knew me, you’d know I never lie. I would never—”
“Really, because that’s not what your sealed report said,” he answered.
A beat as my heart iced over with shock. “You read my report?” I finally managed to croak.
“I was about to make you my wife and you had a report floating around that I couldn’t access by normal means. Of course, I read your report! And I’ll admit it gave me pause, but then Sophia said she thought it was a phase when I asked her about hiring you to consult on The Restraining Order bracelet.”
“What the fuck, Go! You talked to Sophia about me?” I nearly yell. “Sophia of all people?!?!”
Go’s dark eyes flash bright and hard behind his glasses. “I had the right to know who you really are.”
“And now you think you know me? Sophia and her parents lied about me breaking her arm! Her father did. I swear to you I’m not the girl in that report, and you know what? If I accepted money to put all your business in the street like that, I’d be woman enough to tell you. I’d be like, ‘Yeah, I did it. Straight up.’ I’m not the kind of sketchy girl who’d take money to betray your trust, and then lie to cover it up. In fact, I’m finding it hard to believe anyone would pay somebody that much for a story.”
He shakes his head, his face twisting into a bitter sneer. “Actually you undersold yourself. The Nakamuras are a ruthless family. They would have paid you ten times what you got to embarrass me like I embarrassed them when I turned down their offer after months of negotiations.”
“Go,” I say, barely able to keep my voice level. “I’m not your enemy, I’m your wife. And lying for money—that’s not me.”
He stops as if he’s actually considering my words. Actually beginning to believe I’m telling him the truth. But then he shakes his head and says, “You expect me to believe—”
“Yes,” I answer. “Yes, I expect you to believe every word I just told you,
because...”
My voice breaks and very un-tough girl tears threaten to pool in my eyes as I inform him, “I love you, Go. I know that wasn’t in the plan, but I do. And I’m a good person! A really good person, who despite a bad history of people calling her a liar decided to let you into my heart anyway.”
He jerks back as if my words have physically slapped him in his face. Then he grabs on to a chair, so tight, his knuckles go white. But it doesn’t seem to help much. He starts rocking back and forth, eyes lowered as he shakes his head. So agitated, I have no idea if he’s talking to himself or me when he says. “No! No! Lying! Lying! Look at the data! Lying!”
“I’m not lying, Go! I’m not a liar,” I growl back at him through clenched teeth. “I’m
the woman who tried to love you the way you deserve to be loved, without holding anything you’ve said or done in the past against you. But apparently, you’re not even trying to do the same for me—”
“That’s because you’ve been using me this whole time!” he suddenly yells at me. “You used me and you fucked me, literally and figuratively, and now you can’t even come straight with me about it!”
“That’s because I didn’t—”
“Not another lying word out your mouth, Nyla. I can’t trust you. I never could!” he roars. “Get out! Get out! Get out! I don’t want to fucking look at you anymore. Get out of my house, puta mentira, get out.”
I always stand my ground. Always. That’s the only way I’ve managed to survive with my soul intact up to this point. But I can’t stand there and keep defending myself. I can’t stand to have the man I decided to love call me a lying bitch in Spanish, because he really thinks I’d do something as heinous as this.
No…
I can’t stand my ground in that moment. I run.
Out of the house. Away from him and his terrible accusations. I run and run until I can’t run anymore. And when my legs won’t let me keep going, I break down crying at the side of the road, literally hugging a tree.
You did this to yourself. You let him in. You never should have let him in. You knew better, I think to myself as I cry. For the first time in ten years, I cry and cry and cry. For what happened with the Perezes, for Marco’s death, for the ultimately bad decision to open up my heart only to have it not just broken, but completely shattered by the man inside that robot house.
I cry and cry, and then I arrange for an Uber to take me to the airport.
14
Which is why I think Nikolai’s kidding when he texts me three days later to tell me Go is asking for me at the house’s front gate.
I’m back in Indianapolis. Living in one my boss’s guest bedrooms, although she is taking advantage of the long President’s Day weekend to visit her bestie in Alabama, along with her adopted son and two small children. However, it being the height of hockey season, her Russian husband Nikolai had to stay behind.
His English is a little touch and go at times, so I type back, What? Go? Like Rodrigo Gutierrez, the dude I married?
The only place I’d ever thought I’d see Go again was in court, and maybe not even there. For all I knew, he has a robot to handle all of his paperwork.
Da, Go you marry. he texts back. How would you like me to handle?
He gets his answer a few minutes later when I come down the stairs dressed in my black puffy coat.
“I’ll handle this myself,” I tell him as I storm past where Nikolai’s standing at the house’s intercom system and out the front door.
I don’t realize how completely pissed off I am until I’m barreling toward the gate, so hot with fury, even the cold Indiana wind isn’t enough to cool me down. Yet when Go climbs out of his rental Tesla, looking like a human robot in his silver trapper hat and glasses, my heart constricts.
With hurt. With anger. And most upsettingly, with longing.
Damn him for claiming my heart in what has to be record time.
“Nyla!” He comes up to the gate and wraps his gloved hands around its bars. “I didn’t expect you to come out here yourself. It’s freezing.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, ignoring the way my hands itch to wrap around his.
“You’re not going to let me in so we can go inside?” he asks. “Or maybe come out here. We can sit in my car—”
“No. What are you doing here?”
“Nyla, it’s cold, and I don’t want you to—”
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” I repeat.
He hesitates, and I can tell he wants to argue with me some more, but maybe sensing how serious I am about keeping him on that side of the gate, he says, “I, ah, got a call from the investigator. It looks like a mistake was made in our preliminary research. The money was transferred to an account in Indiana—at your bank and under your name. But after further investigation, he found that the account was set up after you left Indianapolis. So though it looks like the account belongs to you, we have no evidence you’re the one who actually set it up.”
He waits, then when I don’t say anything, he says, “That means you didn’t leak the story. I know that for sure now.”
I blink, then I say, “And you’re here because…”
He frowns. “Because I want you to come back to work, and also to our relationship. I’ve just finished talking with my parents, and they’re not happy about the situation, of course, but they’ll be okay given some time. And Priscilla thinks we can spin this. We’ve come up with a new plan—”
I stop him right there. “I think you know how I feel about your plans by now.”
He grips the bar, once, twice, like he’s trying to physically dial down his impatience. Then he says, “Look, I realize you’re upset. I said some things to you—some things that were pretty unforgiveable. That wasn’t a great quality test run for our marriage. But I’m sorry, and I’m asking you to forgive me and get on board with this new plan.”
“No.”
He stops short. “No? Just no? Without even thinking about it?”
“Yeah, just no,” I answer, tone harsh as hell. “I don’t even have to think about it.”
His jaw works underneath his beard, as if I’m making this harder than it needs to be for either of us.
“So now is the time when I’m going to have to remind you that you signed a contract with my company, and you don’t have the income to fight me in court if you make me sue you for breach of contract.”
“Wow. In that case, the answer is really fucking no. And by the way, what a dick move, Go. Way to just robot the hell out of a situation.”
“Nyla…” he starts again, his voice low.
“I trusted you!” I yell at him. “I gave you my heart, and the one time I needed you to stand by me, you didn’t. It’s not just that you didn’t believe me when I told you I didn’t do it, you threw my past in my face! That’s not pretty unforgiveable. That’s scorched earth, asshole.”
And I’m so mad at myself in that moment, because I let him hurt me. So mad, my voice is trembling with new tears as I say, “Go ahead and sue me, call me a bitch again. Whatever. I’m not the bitch in this situation. You are. You hurt me, and there’s no way I’m ever coming back to Portland to someone who considers me just another line item in his life plan.”
“Is that what you think?” he says, his brows lowering over his glasses. “That you’re just a line item to me? No Nyla, that’s not it at all.”
He cuts off. Looks down at the ground, mutters, “I’ve got to tell you something.”
I cross my arms over my chest, so cold and suddenly sick of this conversation. “No, Go, you don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Yes, I do,” he mutters, like it’s a fact. One he’s none too happy about. “It’s the only way.”
I open my mouth to tell him there’s nothing he could say to make me forgive what he said to me back in Portland.
But before I can, he says, “I told Marco to dump you after Thanksgiving dinner.”
I shake my head. “What?”
“He came back to the house after he dropped you off at your apartment, and we got into an argument about him bringing you to dinner in the first place. I told him to dump you.”
“You told him to dump me,” I repeat. “Because you disliked me that much? Why are you telling me this? I mean, I know you’ve got issues—but why would you tell me this now?”
“No! It’s not because I disliked you. It’s because I wanted you. You belonged with me. I told him he needed to dump you and so I could have you.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! You did what?!?!” I ask, eyes wide, hands to my temples, as I try to wrap my mind around this new piece of information.
“I told him he needed to dump you,” Go repeated.
“Yes, yes, I heard that
,” I say impatiently. “But why? Why…?” I’m so damn confused, I can’t even form a follow-up question.
But Go blinks behind his glasses, like I’m the one who’s not making any sense. “Because we’re a much better match than you and Marco. I told him that. You defended me. You got my siblings to stop calling me Berger. Also, you have a degree in psychology, are empathetic, and you’re interesting to look at.”
His eyes raise to meet mine through the bars. “I wanted you, but you were dating my brother, so he needed to dump you.”
For a moment, I can only stand there with my mouth hanging open, trying to wrap my mind around this completely alternate version of the fateful Thanksgiving dinner. Then I have to ask, “And what did Marco say?”
“He said, ‘okay.’”
“Okay?” I repeat. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, as Daniella pointed out—”
“Wait, what? Daniella was there?”
“Yes, it was Thanksgiving. My whole family was there,” Go answers with an exasperated look, like I’m just not keeping up. Possibly on purpose.
“You asked Marco to dump me in front of your entire family?!?!”
Again he shoots me that Captain Obvious look and answers, “Yes, and my whole family was in agreement that he should cede you to me.”
“Oh. My. God,” I say, as I start pacing back and forth like a headless chicken in front of the gate. “Why would you do that? Why would anyone in his right mind do that? And why would your whole family—including my boyfriend Marco—go along with it???”
“Because obviously I’m not in my right mind, Nyla,” he answers simply. “At least not when it comes to you. And as for my family, they’re deeply aware that though I’ve had girlfriends in the past, I’ve never…”
His eyes go to the side as if he’s searching through his databanks for the right word. He seems just as surprised as I am with what he finally retrieves: “Felt…I’ve never felt like this about a woman. Usually when I date, it’s for practical reasons. She’s bright. Or we have similar goals or compatible personalities. But with you… I just liked you. From the beginning, I liked you so much, it scared me. You made me…”
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