An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  “Have you considered the fact that if he knows about my needing to marry, he might know how long I need to marry as well?”

  I tilt my head. “No. It never crossed my mind.”

  “Then now you can see how he could’ve asked you to divorce me before the year is up.”

  “Except I wouldn’t. You and I signed a deal.” His expression doesn’t change, and I know I’m not convincing him. So I add something he’ll understand. “I want that million dollars.”

  Elliot’s mouth slants upward in an unpleasant smile. “He could top that amount. Easily double it.”

  Would Mr. Grayson go that far? I shake my head. “Well, I don’t care. I still wouldn’t do it.”

  “Why not? You said it yourself back then—you needed money.”

  “Yes, but a million is more than enough. Besides…” I sigh, suddenly tired. “I love you, Elliot.”

  His eyes shutter. The only thing that betrays that he feels anything is a light flush streaking his lean cheeks.

  He is shutting me out, and I ache. There’s something so painful about telling a man you love him and having him reject it. Did it have something to do with me telling him that I didn’t think I could love romantically? Back then I believed that because my experiences were less than ideal, and I couldn’t let myself be that vulnerable. But then Elliot had to show me another side of him that I couldn’t resist. It was more than sex, more than just kindness. It was as though he knew exactly what he needed to do to heal my soul.

  My eyes prickle, and I blink quickly. I won’t have him accuse me of using tears to get my way, but I’m not going to look away either. I’m not lying and I have nothing to hide.

  “I don’t care what you think,” I begin, “but it’s the truth. God knows…” My voice breaks along with my heart. “I didn’t want to love you.”

  With that parting remark, I go upstairs to my room, feeling Elliot’s eyes boring into my back. I need to text Traci that I’m interested in the position, and I need some time alone to lick my wounds. In addition, Nonny’s going to be home soon, and I need to mentally prepare for the cold shoulder I’m undoubtedly going to get from her. I refuse to lose my temper or break down.

  I can get past this.

  As I feared, Nonny is aloof. She makes an effort to be more pleasant when Elliot’s around, but when it’s just me and her, she’s frigid.

  “Is school okay?” I ask.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  You know why. “You’ll tell me if anything’s wrong, won’t you?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs, then disappears into her room.

  The strain between us weighs heavily upon me. I’m not used to this with my sister. No matter how awful things got, even when everyone else turned their back on me, we were always a team.

  But now…I’m really alone.

  Chapter Five

  Annabelle

  The rest of the week passes slowly, every day as awkward as the one before.

  Clearly, time isn’t going to make anything better on its own. Nonny is still standoffish. If Elliot notices, he doesn’t let on, and I don’t say anything to him, since it’s something I need to work out with her. The longest she’s ever been upset with anyone is a week. I’m going to give her that much time and hope that she comes to the realization that everything I’ve done is for us.

  But her attitude doesn’t improve. And Elliot…

  We no longer talk much during the day. It’s impossible to hold a conversation when the other party doesn’t say more than a syllable or two. I don’t sit on the deck and watch him swim, either. It hurts too much. We’re like polite strangers from dawn to dusk.

  But once night descends…

  He comes to me in the dark, when I’m in that state of half sleeping and half awake. He takes me hard, but he doesn’t kiss me or drive me like he is punishing me. It’s as though he’s on a mission to exorcise a demon from his mind.

  The first night, I told him I loved him, and he quickly put a hand over my mouth. Since then he always muffles my declaration with his palm or mouth.

  I might resist if he were a selfish lover, but he isn’t. He always painstakingly coaxes my body to mind-obliterating orgasms. And now I’m so primed for him that I grow wet every time I sense him slip into bed. Pavlov’s wife.

  Even as I lie in the dark, my body sated and covered in sweat, I know something has to change soon or I’m going to go mad. Maybe other women can continue like this, but not me.

  Saturday morning, a dress box arrives. It has my name outside on the otherwise spotless matte black exterior, and its sleek look reminds me of the place Josephine took me to replace my wardrobe. I take it to the bedroom and open it. Inside is a note:

  Thought this would look best for tonight. Let me know if you have any questions.

  –J

  I stare at the floor-length ice-blue gown. The color will contrast beautifully against my hair. There’s only one thin strap to hold the dress up, and the rich silk will flow over me, skimming every curve. It’s obvious I won’t be able to wear anything underneath, and I can see why Josephine thought it would look good on me because it will. I’m just not sure why I need it toni—

  “I see you got Josephine’s package.”

  My head snaps up at Elliot’s comment. His voice is devoid of emotion, and the indifference slices me. I push the pain aside; there’s not a lot I can do about it at the moment, especially with Nonny right downstairs. “Do you know what this is for?”

  “Elizabeth’s charity dinner. It’s tonight.”

  “What charity dinner?”

  “The one Amandine mentioned.”

  Now I remember. When we dined together at her home, Amandine asked if we were going to attend. “I thought we weren’t going.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Things have…happened since then.”

  “That doesn’t mean we get to back out. Elizabeth’s expecting us.”

  Of course. Elliot would hate to disappoint his sister. He loves her, trusts her with everything.

  And as petty as it is, I’m envious of Elizabeth for having that special place in his heart. I’m beginning to see how precious and rare his trust is. “Elliot—”

  His heavy sigh cuts me off. “If you really don’t want to go, we can cancel. I can tell her I’m not feeling well.”

  I almost want to. Being out in public and pretending that we’re fine is going to take a lot out of me, but I recall what Traci said. Maybe it’ll be good to be forced into acting like a loving, newly wedded couple. If nothing else, it’ll remind Elliot we had something amazing just a week ago. “Of course not.”

  “Then you need to get ready,” he says. “You have a full spa treatment. I emailed you the confirmation, with directions.”

  “I have all day.” I drop the dress back in the box, unable to bear it. “Can we talk? It’s been a week—”

  “You need to hurry.” He’s looking right through me, and he might as well be filleting me with a fish knife. “We’re flying up to San Francisco. She’s hosting the dinner at the Sterlings’ Bay Area mansion.”

  He turns around, and I tell his retreating back, “One day, Elliot, I’m the one who might not want to talk.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he heard me from the way he hesitates for a fraction of a moment before shutting the door behind him.

  Sighing roughly, I force myself to get up and go to the spa. It’s more or less unavoidable if I don’t want to embarrass myself at the event. The kind of people who drop tens of thousands of dollars without a thought spend a lot of money and time to be seen and admired.

  By the time the spa people have worked on me for a few hours, I look like I’m a model about to strut down the runway. The only thing we disagreed on was the nail color. They wanted something more newlywed-like—dreamy and soft—and I wanted an assertive, bold color…maybe something like blood red. But the style coordinator insisted it would look too garish, especially with the blu
e dress. So we compromised on a glossy, dark coral. The staff keeps remarking how beautiful I am. But I feel woefully unprepared for what’s to come, a public event where I’m supposed to pretend I’m happy and not at all bothered by what the media is saying about me.

  A pair of huge sapphire drop earrings and matching necklace and bracelet complete the look. To all appearances I’m the lucky Cinderella who got herself a rich prince. No one would ever guess that I’d trade all the trappings of wealth for a warm word or smile from Elliot.

  When the spa people are finally finished, I climb into the waiting Bentley. The black car stops in front of the penthouse, and Elliot joins me. He’s in a tuxedo that fits him perfectly. It emphasizes his broad shoulders and trim waist and the power inherent in his body. It’s like tuxes were invented just to make him look fabulous.

  Suddenly all I can feel is the vibrant energy of him—his dynamic personality and magnetism. My skin prickles as though I’m surrounded by electric current, and I’m left breathless.

  And it hurts that I can’t just reach over and run my hand along his arm or link my hand with his the way I want to. A week ago I would have. And he would’ve given me one of his long sideways glances, appreciation glittering in his eyes.

  Now he barely looks at me. I clasp my hands together and gaze out the window, blinking away sudden tears. It’s that or throw away every shred of pride. I don’t think I can do the latter when we have an audience.

  Elliot and I fly in the private jet with the butler. Parker is as solicitous as before, but I can’t take any pleasure in our trip. My mind keeps churning, and I can’t decide what I feel anymore.

  “It won’t kill you to smile,” Elliot says when we’re in the limo on our way to the mansion.

  “Do you want me to rub myself all over you and coo about how handsome you are while I’m at it?” It’s out before I can stop myself.

  “If it’ll help, why not?”

  I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t want to add a pointless argument to our existing issues.

  When our car stops, he takes my hand and guides my face toward him, his index finger under my chin. “Relax and fake it for the evening. I timed it so we’d arrive late anyway.” He presses a quick kiss on my mouth just as the door opens.

  Thankfully there aren’t any photographers with flashing cameras surrounding us. The Sterlings—the family that owns the mansion in front of me—don’t take kindly to paparazzi of any type—or so I read when I looked them up while getting my hair done. And what the Sterlings want, the Sterlings get. Apparently Elizabeth is good friends with Nate Sterling, younger brother to the new head of the family.

  “Why are they having the dinner here?” I whisper as Elliot leads me to the huge main entrance. The three-story mansion is beyond grand, with soaring columns and a giant portico. Every window on the first and second floors is ablaze with light, creating stark silhouettes of socialites, tycoons of industry and celebrities.

  “It gives more oomph to the event because it comes with Justin Sterling’s stamp of approval. Without it, she wouldn’t have been able to use the venue.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes, since Barron’s more or less retired and not interested in making his presence felt these days.” Elliot frowns. “It’s a good thing for Elizabeth’s foundation. A lot of people want to be on good terms with the Sterlings, and they’ll give more than asked for to support her cause.”

  The security people at the door are in crisp tuxes, like the guests, but their body language is totally different, alert and watchful. Also, the earpieces are unmistakable. They nod as Elliot and I walk inside.

  The place is unbelievably crowded, given how big the mansion is. Occasional loud laughter breaks the steady hum of conversation. Somewhere an orchestra is playing a classical tune. My guess is Mozart, because that seems to be everyone’s default composer for something like this—cheery and inoffensive, yet genius. When Mom hosted Lincoln City’s social gatherings, she always picked Mozart, declaring you could never go wrong with his music, and suddenly I miss her. I remember the way she would coax my dad out of a bad mood and make Nonny smile no matter what, and I can’t help but think that she would’ve known how to fix the problem I have with Elliot…and the cold, untenable situation with Nonny, too.

  I stick close to Elliot, my cool hand in his. What seems like hordes of people come over to introduce themselves or say hello, and it’s all I can do to smile as faces and names blur and my head starts to spin. Most are courteous, but some stare outright, like I’m some kind of circus freak on display. And it’s not just the men. Some of the women give me a cool once-over, running their eyes up and down my body as if wondering what I looked like hanging off a stripper pole.

  Elliot pulls me closer, and he says something I can’t quite make out over the ringing in my ears. Then he peers at me. “Are you all right?”

  “A little overwhelmed.”

  His gaze skims over my face, and something in his gaze shifts. A hopeful part of me wants to believe it’s concern. He starts to raise his hand, and I think he’s about to touch me…but then he drops it, and I hurt.

  “If you don’t feel well, we can cut the dinner,” he says.

  “Elizabeth—”

  “Doesn’t care. She already got the money, and I can tell her we had to go.”

  I shake my head. “No, don’t. I know you want to support her, and I just need some fresh air.”

  “If you’re sure. There are benches and places to sit and rest in the back and on the second level.” Elliot dips his head. “Upstairs might be better. There are balconies.”

  I glance upward and see a giant interior balcony connected to the stairs. “Okay.”

  Reluctantly I let go of his hand and take the winding stairs. A few guests pass by, but they don’t give me a second look.

  Once I make it to the second floor, I pluck a glass of ginger ale from a server and plunk myself down on an empty bench. There are fewer people up here, and being away from the crush lessens the claustrophobic feeling. I decide maybe I don’t need the outside air after all.

  From here I can see everyone below. Elliot is chatting with a group of men and women—all couples. The women are a bit older than me, not by much, but they seem so much worldlier in exquisite designer dresses they pull off with aplomb, flutes of champagne in their bejeweled fingers. Their relaxed stances say this is their scene, their domain. They offer chirpy comments that make everyone laugh, including Elliot.

  I feel like a piece of cubic zirconia among Cartier diamonds. What I wouldn’t give to have the wit and sophistication those women do. I’m certain none of them would let a problem fester as long as I have with Elliot, because they would know exactly how to cajole him out of his anger.

  “Your first event?”

  I start at the question, but manage a warm smile as Elizabeth sits down next to me. Always beautiful, today she’s positively radiant. Her golden hair is pulled into a sleek updo accented with a gorgeous leaf-shaped, diamond-and-sapphire pin. A few curls frame her model-perfect face, softening it. The makeup makes her brown eyes appear larger and brighter, and the lovely pink on her mouth emphasizes the fine lines of her lips. The white silk cape dress she’s in makes her look both regal and ethereal at the same time.

  “You look amazing,” I say, slightly awed.

  “And you look fabulous. I’m so glad you came! I haven’t been able to catch up or anything since you came back because I’ve been super busy with last-minute stuff for the event.” She makes a vague half-circle with her hand. “But I saw pictures from your honeymoon. You guys looked so cute and happy together.”

  “Yes, it was a great honeymoon,” I say, forcing a smile. I don’t want to discuss the tabloid articles about my stripping. It’s easier to pretend that none of it happened, even though we both know better. Even though she said she’s been busy, I doubt she’s been completely isolated from news and social media sites.

  Elizabeth leans closer. “Are yo
u all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She studies me, the angle of her head so similar to Elliot’s that it takes my breath away for a moment, then she nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.” She turns to the crowd below. “Just so you know, Elliot probably brought you here because he wanted you two to make a good show together. A united front, you know?”

  “Um…I don’t, actually.”

  “He hates charity events. Finds them boring, although he attends one or two a year for appearance’s sake. He says ‘money counts more than attendance.’” She leans toward me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “The couples he’s talking to over there…”

  I look at the women who made him laugh earlier.

  “He finds them dreadfully dull, but he can playact. Sort of. I guess Ryder’s rubbed off on him.”

  Right. Elliot apparently hangs out a lot with his actor brother Ryder Reed. Or at least he used to, before he married me.

  “I generally don’t mind them. They always support my causes. I…”

  I glance her way. She’s suddenly pale, and her lips are parted, but I know she’s holding her breath. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she might’ve fainted.

  “Elizabeth, are you all right?”

  I reach over and take her hand. It’s like ice. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her eyes focused somewhere on the first floor.

  I swivel my head, trying to identify what’s caused her distress. But there are too many people below, and I can’t figure out what she’s seen. I then spot someone I recognize in the sea of faces—Annabelle Underhill—and my gut goes cold. What’s she doing here? She isn’t with her husband—at least I don’t see Stanton anywhere around. She’s talking with a man, but he’s angled so I can’t see his face at all.

  Then I realize that it can’t be Annabelle Underhill who upset Elizabeth. Elliot said he didn’t tell anybody about what happened between him and his ex. So…who?

  “Elizabeth,” I say, this time laying my hand on her shoulder and shaking her slightly. “Are you all right?”