by Nadia Lee
“Who is Gigi?”
My shoulders tense. “You mea—”
“The only Gigi I can think of was Albert’s wife. That gardener Dad employed for a while?”
“Huh. I didn’t know her name was Gigi.”
“Oh my god.”
“What? I’m just saying.” I’m not used to dealing with this Elizabeth, one who disapproves of me this thoroughly. Even when I released the sex tape, her censure held a hint of affection.
“Do you know your wife’s name?”
“Of course.”
“Then why aren’t you using it?” Confusion clouds her voice. “Why are you introducing her as Gigi?”
Damn it. I don’t need an inquisition from my half-sister, which is only making me feel worse. Not that I don’t deserve it, but I don’t have to like it either. “It’s a perfectly nice name,” I say tersely.
Silence stretches. “You’re kidding, right?”
I run my hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Elizabeth?”
“You remember what you told me I needed? Back on your birthday?”
I do. I told her she needed a husband who would care for her like the princess that she is, because she’s a woman and is going to have wants beyond just sex. I even mentioned shooting any asshole who didn’t treat her right. The memory of our conversation lodges in my mind like an uncomfortable lump. “What about it?”
“If the man I marry to fulfill Dad’s condition deals with me the way you deal with your wife, will you be okay with that?”
I rest my face in a hand. “No.”
“Then don’t be a hypocrite. Treat your wife well. Annabelle is a nice girl, and I hate seeing her cry.”
The vise around my chest tightens. “She cried?”
“Yes. We had coffee yesterday. The poor thing was upset about the dinner, I told her not to worry about it. Then she cried. Not dainty, pretty crocodile tears like your other women would’ve pulled either. It was an ugly cry, honest and painful to watch.”
“Why did she cry?” Elizabeth isn’t the type to just let someone cry without getting to the bottom of the story.
“You won’t call her by her name. You also didn’t tell her why you were marrying her. When she realized I knew about the temporary arrangement, she thought we were laughing at her behind her back. Just imagine the humiliation! You should’ve told her the truth or not bothered at all.”
I close my eyes. Elizabeth is right. I wanted a stripper for fun and to embarrass Dad. I should’ve at least tried to be more considerate when I realized my wife was different. Having what an asshole I’ve been and how it’s affected my wife so plainly laid out… “I fucked it up. From the beginning. Everything. Just fucked it up.”
“Yes.”
My saintly half-sister must be really upset to agree with me so readily. Usually she says something encouraging.
“So fix it, Einstein,” she continues. “You’re the genius.”
“How?” I have a few ideas, but I want to hear hers.
“First, for god’s sake, stop calling her Gigi. That’s the surest way to make a girl feel cheap. I’m pretty sure she thought you were trying to recreate some ex-girlfriend named Gigi.”
“What?” Of all the possibilities, that never once crossed my mind.
“For such a smart guy, you can be awfully dumb.” Elizabeth’s voice is tart. “And you never romanced her, did you?”
My silence is an answer enough.
“I knew it. Look, romance your wife. Take her someplace nice and pamper her. Make her forget about her worries. Just you and her, get it?” Elizabeth sighs. “Every woman deserves at least one grand romance, Elliot. I’m not saying do what Mark did because that would be overkill…and I’m not sure if Annabelle is into that kind of stuff. But she deserves some heartfelt romance from her husband. And if you can give it to her, I’m sure she’ll make you happy.”
I swallow a small lump in my throat. “When did you become a love expert?”
“I didn’t. She mentioned you’re giving her a million dollars. Do you know that Ryder offered Paige at least ten times that amount?”
“No. How do you know?” I ask, stunned by the revelation. As close as I am to Ryder, he never mentioned it to me.
“I overheard. The benefit—or curse—of staying at his mansion.” She sighs. Elizabeth is currently in exile from her own house because it’s in the same neighborhood as Dad, and Tiffany apparently wants to come over every day for “girl talk.” “Annabelle put too little value on herself, don’t you agree? But I’m sure asking for more never crossed her mind. She just wants to be okay and have some kind of future for herself and her sister. A woman like that… She deserves more tenderness from you.”
It hurts to hear what I already knew in my heart spelled out so clearly. Shame burns in my gut. I’m such a fucking pond scum rat bastard.
“Plan a getaway. Surprise and pamper your wife. I’ll stay at your place and watch Nonny,” Elizabeth offers.
The shame intensifies. She isn’t too crazy about my place because she knows that’s where I filmed the sex tape…even though I’ve replaced the couch and rug.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thank me by making her happy. I know something went bad in your life around the time you sold the company, but whatever it is, it has nothing to do with Annabelle. And she needs somebody on her side, don’t you agree?”
I tense. “What do you mean?”
“I looked her up.”
A mild sound of annoyance spills from my throat.
“Don’t be mad. It’s impossible not to, given the things we have to protect. I suppose you already know about her father.”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know she has enemies.”
The definitive tone in her voice makes me pause. “Why do you say that?”
Elizabeth sighs. “Her father wrecked the lives of almost everyone in the town she grew up in. She left with nothing when her parents were murdered. I’m sure she has no one to turn to, and that’s a terrible position to be in, being punished for something she didn’t do.”
I grind the heel of my palm against my forehead. Damn it. If I were thinking more clearly, I would’ve realized that as well.
Elizabeth is right. What Annabelle Underhill and my dad did has nothing to do with my wife. “Thank you,” I say again.
“You’re welcome, although I suspect you already knew. You just didn’t want to face it in your typical bullheaded way because you’re young and male.”
“I’m not that much younger than you,” I say in a token protest.
“But still young. Don’t do something just to flip the bird at Dad or whoever hurt you before. It’s not healthy. Remember—your enemies are at their most miserable when you’re happy.” She yawns.
“Go back to sleep,” I say. “You sound tired.” I’m certain her idea of “sleeping on it” meant she was up all night tossing and turning, thinking about what my wife told her.
“Will do. Love you, Elliot.”
I hang up and toss the phone on the table, then stare at the dark screen. Why am I still letting Dad and Annabelle Underhill fuck with my head? Why am I letting what they’ve done turn me into a man I don’t like?
It’s entirely too much power I’m giving them.
Since I promised Marlin, I will help Annabelle Underhill…once. I’ll get her a top-notch divorce attorney who can take her case. But after that, I’m excising her like a cluster of tumor cells.
As for Dad…
Fuck him and his conditions and games. He can give me that snide smirk only because he thinks losing Annabelle Underhill to him has hurt me. But he doesn’t know that my anger doesn’t stem from my love for her. No, that died the moment she betrayed me. My bitterness comes from his pettiness and my own blindness. I saw little signs, but didn’t sit down to process them properly. If I had, I might not have been so surprised at their engagement or subsequent marriage.
But he also knows what he�
��s done is super dickish, which is why he won’t dare breathe a word about it. So let him stew in private shame if he’s capable. I don’t care.
If I let go of my past baggage, what I need to do becomes clear. Simple, even.
It’s about time I get started.
Chapter Seven
Annabelle
By the time I wake up, it’s after eight. I groan. I can’t believe I let myself sleep so late. First coherent thought is: Nonny. She needs to get off to scho—
The scent of hot coffee cuts through my morning fog. Elliot is sitting on the bed with a heavy ceramic cup, smelling fresh and soapy himself. He’s in a pale gray cotton shirt and denim shorts. His hair is damp from a shower, probably after his exercise. He runs on some mornings.
“For me?” I ask, eyeing the steaming mug hopefully.
“Yes.”
It is impossible to be annoyed with a man for not waking me up earlier when he comes bearing java. “Thank you.”
“Are you feeling better?”
I take a sip. “Getting there.” I take another sip. “You should’ve woken me up. Nonny—”
“Why? You were sleeping, and I can handle Nonny. She only wanted some cereal anyway.”
“Did she look more rested?”
He nods. “A little bit.”
“Has she shown any signs of stress? Maybe she’s not getting along with her classmates?” I know she likes Elliot. Maybe she’s shared something with him that she hasn’t with me.
“No. She seems to be adjusting well to the new school. My assistant followed up and he said she was doing fine.”
The mug hovers in mid-air. “You checked up on her?”
“Of course.”
I flush, embarrassed. “That should’ve been my job.”
“You were busy. Besides it was nothing. I delegated.”
I sigh. “I wonder what’s going on then. She doesn’t sleep well when she’s stressed. Do you think she’s still upset about passing out at the dinner? I know she really wanted to meet Ryder.”
An inscrutable expression crosses his face. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and we can talk?”
“‘Talk’?”
“Yeah, But it’ll be better if you have some caffeine in you beforehand.”
Now I’m really worried.
“I’ll fix something for breakfast. Toast? Eggs?”
“Toast,” I say, not thinking at all about food.
He leaves, closing the door behind him. I gulp down the coffee as fast as I can while going through my morning ritual, including a quick shower. After throwing on a white tank-top and a denim skirt, I go to the dining room, my bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. My hair is still damp on my shoulders.
Elliot takes a couple of slices of bread and puts them on the table in front of me, along with a fried egg and a few strips of crispy bacon.
“I only wanted the toast.”
“Gotta have some protein. Ninety-five percent of your body’s tissues are made of it,” he says, pouring two glasses of orange juice.
I shake my head. “Okay, Mom.”
“I thought the name was A?”
I flush.
Elliot rubs his eyebrows, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “There are things I need to say, and they’re pretty messed up, but I want you to hear all it from me rather than someone else.”
Unease ripples over me, but I manage to say, “Okay.”
He waits, eyeing my food. One thing I know about him is that he can be stubborn, and he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I start eating.
“I’m telling you this because I trust that you will be discreet. I also don’t want you to feel bad about yourself over it.” He pauses. “You’re perfect the way you are, and nobody you meet, whether they’re my friends or family, is better than you.”
I swallow, and the toast sticks in my suddenly dry throat. I choke it down. “If you’re worried about me bailing on dinner with Gavin and his wife, don’t be. I’ll go and do my best to enjoy myself there.”
“This isn’t about them.” He takes a sip of his OJ. “Okay. First item. Our contract is for one year because I needed to be married for a year in order to inherit a portrait.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Isn’t marriage a bit extreme for a picture?”
“Normally, yes. But it isn’t just any picture. Thomas Reed—my grandfather on my father’s side—was a famous painter. Still celebrated. His works are sold for millions.”
“Oh,” I say without really understanding why he’s telling me this. “But…you’re rich. I can’t believe you need the money.”
A self-deprecating smile ghosts over his lips. “It isn’t about money. More of a sentimental thing.”
Right. Elizabeth said something like that, too.
He takes a slow swallow of his juice. “When my siblings and I were old enough, our parents shipped us off to Europe to attend boarding school. The best education money could buy…without the hassle of actual parental supervision. An excellent situation for the adults involved.”
That’s so far from what I experienced that I can’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve been like. Yes, there were times I chafed at my parents’ restrictions and rules, but ultimately home was the anchor that provided stability.
“When holidays came around, we didn’t come back to the States. Our parents weren’t all that interested in having us underfoot, so we usually ended up going to Italy to stay with our grandfather. We were complete terrors, except for Elizabeth, of course. She was an angel back then too. Anyway, he loved us unconditionally. He’s the one who told me and Lucas we could be anything we wanted, do anything we wanted so long as it was something we were truly passionate about. When each of us turned eighteen, he had us sit for a portrait. He spent the entire summer, and they’re…stunning.” Elliot closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they’re focused somewhere beyond me, and his voice is tinged with awe. “And humbling too, at least in my case. He saw all the potential in me when I didn’t really believe in myself. Back then I was too busy being an asshole rich kid.
“After he passed away, the portraits ended up with Dad. I tried to buy mine, but he refused to sell it. Then suddenly he decided if all of us marry within six months and stay married for at least a year, we can have them.”
“That’s…unusual.” I had no idea people still did stuff like that. “Is that even legal?”
Elliot snorts. “It’s not, but if we don’t do as he says, he’ll stack the portraits up in his backyard and burn them. His words.”
I gasp.
“Don’t be shocked. It’s more or less par for the course with my father.”
“I’m sorry.” My dad was a fraud, but at least he was a good parent. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Elliot to grow up with a father who didn’t want or care about him.
Elliot shrugs, but his throat works. “It wasn’t that horrible. At least we had enough money.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
He drops his gaze to the huge six-carat Asscher-cut diamond ring on my finger, the one he gave me. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees quietly. “But sometimes it’s all you’ve got.”
The pensive expression makes my heart ache. I’m beginning to realize he doesn’t think he has anything to give other than money, and that is the most tragic thing about this whole ridiculous situation. He’s too brilliant, too gorgeous and too talented to feel this way, and I hate his parents for having done this to him.
Elliot huffs a breath out. “Second item,” he says.
“Okay,” I whisper shakily.
“I know Annabelle is your name. I just don’t like it.”
My mind connects the dots—Annabelle Underhill has to be the reason. I wait, all the while my imagination going wild with what she could’ve done to make him unable to tolerate even her name.
“You already know my dad’s on his sixth marriage.”
I nod.
“His first wife was Geraldin
e Pryce. She’s the mother of Blake, Ryder and Elizabeth. My mom was Wife Number Two. Geraldine and my mom married Dad without prenups. So when those marriages ended in divorce, they took huge chunks of Dad’s money. After that he wised up. His third wife didn’t get a penny, even though they stayed married for about three years. Then quickly he moved onto the fourth one. Within a month if I remember correctly. Some people thought he divorced his third wife just to get the fourth one.”
I cringe at the story. It sounds like something out of a bad soap opera, except this is Elliot’s life.
“He married for the fourth time a week before my twenty-first birthday. I was forced to attend that particular ceremony.”
Ugh. Who would like to watch their father marry like that, especially to a younger woman? The more I hear, the more I despise Julian Reed. “How…” I search for the least rude word, and finally settle on “…awkward.”
“Yeah, it kind of was. Especially since my girlfriend was the bride.”
“What?” Thank god I wasn’t drinking anything when he said that.
“Annabelle Graham—now Underhill—was my girlfriend. We dated for a couple of years, very low key and very quietly since I was in a working relationship with her uncle. I was crazy about her. She was dazzling.”
“Oh my god.” My fingers rest on my lower lip. “I’m so sorry.” Elliot is a proud man. How deeply must this have cut him?
“She wanted money, and she got it. Of course, if she’d waited a week longer, Lucas and I would’ve sold our company. Then she could’ve had both money and a younger husband. Since I was too young to know any better back then, I would’ve probably married her without a prenup. What a disaster that would’ve been.” His gaze is directed at me, but his eyes are lost in the past. “Dad knew Lucas and I were up to something. He just didn’t know what, which is why he went after Annabelle. He discarded her fairly quickly once he’d gotten what he wanted. He knew I’d never take her back, and he never really cared about her anyway. He just wanted to take something of mine to show that no matter what, he was still one step ahead of his kid.”