Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1)

by Aleatha Romig

  His recollection of my dishonesty reminded me that I didn’t deserve to know any more about him. “Nox, we said one week, with no commitment. If you swear that you’re not married, if I can trust that, then I don’t need to know any more.”

  I melted toward his lips as they again captured mine. With my chest against his, the soft fabric of the robe did little to hide my sensitive nipples.

  His gaze dropped to where our bodies touched and his smile grew. “I swear.” The thunder of his tone pulled me toward him as he teased the neckline of my robe. “Charli…” He lifted the end of my hair. “…you were stunning tonight at dinner. But now, here…” He caressed my cheek. “…is the beautiful woman I saw at the pool. I’d like to do all I can to learn more about you and those limits we discussed. If I only have a week, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  Mutely, I nodded.

  “Besides not seeing married men, tell me your hard limits.”

  “I-I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.

  “MRS. FITZGERALD, WOULD you like a glass of wine?”

  “Mimosas, for me and my daughter.”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  Mother and I settled into large comfortable chairs as we lowered our feet into the warm bubbling baths. From the reception we’d received, it was obvious that every employee of the private spa knew my mother, the great Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald.

  “Darling,” she said, with just the right amount of Southern twang, “please watch what you say, especially around Alton. Dear, you know how busy he is. He doesn’t deal well with petty comments.”

  Copper filled my mouth as my teeth increased the pressure upon my tongue. I’d promised Jane that this visit would come and go without incident. I promised for her, not my mother and most definitely not Alton. I had missed Jane more than I’d realized. If I could manage to lower the tension level, perhaps I could arrange to visit more often, especially if I could schedule it when Alton was away on one of his trips.

  The idea of having Jane and my mother to myself helped me ignore my mother’s glowing endorsement of her husband. With a smile plastered on my lips, I replied, “I would like this to be a stress-free visit. I just wish you’d tell me why I’m here.”

  She patted my hand. “To see your family, dear.”

  I nodded at the young man who delivered our drinks. “I saw you in California, at my graduation.”

  “But that’s not the same as being home.” Her blue eyes turned toward me. For as long as I could remember, I knew my mother was the master of disguise, yet looking at her now, I saw a change. She was still attractive, but at one time, her eyes had danced with passion. I remembered a time when she was happy. She used to adore the arts and worked tirelessly with the Savannah Museum of Art. Her work was solely volunteer, because Montague women didn’t need to work. Adelaide did it because she wanted to, because she enjoyed it. But then, as time passed, she had other duties, ones that were higher profile, ones that required more and more of her time. She said she wanted to do them—organize fundraisers and meet with Alton’s clients and colleagues. It may not have been as noticeable when I saw her daily, but now after being away, I saw that the passion she’d once possessed was gone.

  That wasn’t to say that my mother wasn’t still beautiful. She was, like a flawless caricature, from her slender figure to her unwrinkled face and brown hair. While I blamed Alton for her lifeless eyes, my mother was the one who allowed it to happen. She was the one who smiled on his arm while he introduced her to his mistresses. Not that he was ever bold enough to give them that title in Adelaide’s presence. After all, she would always be his connection to the Montague name and fortune. No, he’d introduce them as his assistant, his representative, or maybe, as the wife of his dear friend.

  While his exploits weren’t limited to the women whom my mother knew, she never appeared unhappy. It went against her upbringing. A wife’s duty was to support her husband, no matter his faults.

  “Montague Manor is your home, and I think you should consider returning.”

  I bristled at the thought. “Momma, I have three years of law school ahead of me. I’ll be in New York.”

  “I’m so proud of your accomplishments. You know that, I hope.”

  “Yes.”

  “Columbia is very prestigious. But you could change your mind and attend Savannah Law School or maybe Emory. That’s only in Atlanta.”

  What? Savannah instead of Columbia? Does she think it’s that simple, like changing a restaurant reservation?

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself?” I kept my voice hushed. “Columbia will open doors.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked about. No one was near and if anyone was listening, they were polite enough not to be obvious. “Your name opens doors, Alexandria. This law dream is nice, but why? What’s the point?”

  My spine stiffened and jaw clenched. “Point? I don’t know. Maybe the point is to be an attorney.”

  “You went off and had your fun in California. I wanted you to do that. I never had that chance. Now you’re home. Savannah is where you belong. Continuing the Montague name is your destiny, not working in some dingy courtroom.” She drained her glass of champagne with a touch of orange juice and motioned for another. “I see nothing wrong with you completing the degree, even the Georgia bar, if you want; however, it’s really unnecessary. A Montague woman does not need to work.

  “I’d hoped that while you were gone you’d meet someone. Then again,” she added with a smile, “perhaps it’s better that you didn’t.”

  I couldn’t keep up. First, my own mother thought my postgraduate work was frivolous and then she was talking about suitors. Momentarily, my thoughts went from Adelaide’s preposterous dialogue to Nox. I hadn’t spoken to him since Del Mar, even though he’d broken our rule and given me the means. Though I’d considered it, I hadn’t broken the rule by doing it.

  “Who said I didn’t.”

  Mother motioned again for another mimosa. “What, dear?”

  “Who said I didn’t meet anyone?”

  “Well, you never said you did.” Her lifeless eyes opened wider. “Did you?”

  “What does it matter? You seem to have my life planned.”

  “No, not planned. I just think it’s time that you thought about your options. You know, the Spencers will be at our gathering tonight.”

  The heat of the footbath was lost as my internal temperature rose. Bryce Spencer—Edward was his actual first name, but many of us in the South had multiple names, and he’d always gone by his middle name, Bryce—was two years older than me and the son of my mother’s closest friend, Suzanna Carmichael Spencer. They’d been friends since they were babies.

  Another annoying trait of life in the circles of Savannah was that no one ever got out and rarely did anyone new get in. This place was like a spinning vortex sucking select people in and gluing them in the position where they were born. As I looked at my mother, I thought about how it also sucked the life right out of them.

  I hadn’t seen Edward Bryce Spencer since the day before I left for Stanford.

  “Why, why would you invite them?” I asked.

  “Well, Suzanna is still my closest friend. She’s your godmother and she wants to see you.”

  I exhaled. “Suzanna was furious when I left for Stanford. Why would she want to see me?”

  “Because you’re back, dear. Did you know,” she asked with more excitement than I’d heard in awhile, “that Bryce recently graduated from Booth? He has his MBA and has started working at Montague.”

  The mimosa churned in my stomach. Of course he was working at Montague. One of Bryce’s many faults was that he worshipped the ground Alton walked upon. He always had, and strangely enough, Alton had always been attentive to him. I always assumed it was because my mom encouraged it. She was never able to give Alton a son, and Bryce didn’t have a father.

  Suzanna’s husband left her when Bryce was young. No doub
t, he couldn’t take the pressure of marrying into the Carmichael name. It was never as prestigious as Montague, but at one time it was close. His departure was quite the scandal for our small-town aristocrats.

  I didn’t know any of that until I was older. I just knew that Miss Suzanna, Bryce’s mother, and my mother were often together, which meant Bryce and I were together. We were friends, almost like siblings, until one day we weren’t.

  “I didn’t know that,” I answered honestly.

  “I thought you two stayed in touch.”

  “No, we haven’t. I stopped answering, and he stopped calling.” I didn’t know for sure if that were true. I stopped answering and I couldn’t see if he called or not. Chelsea had encouraged me to block his calls and texts and change my privacy settings on Facebook. She helped me see that I couldn’t reinvent myself into Alex with Alexandria’s unofficial fiancé suffocating me.

  “Hmm. That’s funny,” my mother murmured.

  “Why? Why is it funny?”

  Our stylists appeared and sat at stools near our feet. I knew protocol. I knew our conversation was essentially on hold. Nevertheless, I pushed one more time. “Why?”

  “He knows all about you.”

  As our stylists began to work, my mind slipped back to when I was fourteen and Bryce was sixteen. We’d been close all our lives, and he told me he noticed a change in me. He was right. Carrying the Montague mask was wearing me down. He made a point of spending more time with me.

  His advances started innocently enough, but each one made me more and more uncomfortable. Where once we’d held hands as friends, as his intentions became clearer, everything felt different. When I told my best friend, Millie Ashmore, that Bryce Spencer had tried to kiss me, instead of supporting me, she told me I was lucky, and she was jealous. It was then I realized how the other girls at the academy looked at him. The next time he tried, I let him. It was like kissing a brother I never had.

  Bryce wasn’t satisfied with a kiss. He wanted more. When I was fifteen, I purposely allowed my mother to see the two of us together. I’d managed to keep Bryce’s attentions to kissing and light petting, but each day was a struggle. I figured if my mother saw us, she’d tell him to stop. She’d tell me to stop. I don’t know what I thought, that maybe she’d be a mother.

  She didn’t do any of what I expected. Instead, she smiled and walked away. Later she came to me and told me how happy she and Miss Suzanna were. Even though Bryce was only a junior at the academy, I swear my mother and Miss Suzanna began making wedding plans. Not literally, but they’d make comments about a Montague and Carmichael heir.

  When Bryce graduated from the academy he chose to go to Duke, even though he’d been accepted to Princeton. Duke was closer. For two years he drove back and forth to Savannah for every academy dance or family obligation. It wasn’t that I asked him; he just did. I couldn’t have dated anyone else even if I’d wanted to. Everyone in Savannah knew I was Bryce Spencer’s girlfriend.

  When it was my turn to apply for colleges, Bryce pressured me to apply to Duke. I did, and I was accepted. I’ll never forget the day I told him I was moving to California. He lost it. I’d never seen him like that. It was a full-blown Alton rage, complete with red cheeks and screaming. According to him I’d ruined everything. He’d planned on proposing once we were together at Duke. He even had the ring.

  For the first time, my childhood friend and first boyfriend scared me. I ran to my room and locked the door. The next day he arrived with flowers, to celebrate my acceptance to Stanford, he told my mother. Later he apologized and made me promise that we would stay in touch.

  I promised, but we didn’t.

  How then does he know all about me?

  WHILE WE RODE in the backseat and Brantley drove us toward lunch, my mother fingered one of my long auburn curls, making it spring against my shoulder. “Your hair looks lovely. This is so much more becoming than the dreadful way you pull it back. Look how it frames your face.”

  I refrained from shaking my head as I gave her a closed-lip smile. Sadly, I believed she thought she’d just complimented me. I’d agreed to the pedicure, manicure, and hairstyle. I drew the line at having my makeup done. It was only lunchtime. I didn’t need to be painted to perfection for the tearoom.

  “You’ll look stunning tonight at your welcome-home party.”

  “Welcome home? I thought you said this was to celebrate my graduation?”

  “It’s one and the same, don’t you agree?”

  No. I don’t agree.

  “Who else have you invited to this celebration?”

  “Oh,” she said, dismissively waving her hand, “a few people. Of course I invited Millie Ashmore and her parents. She can’t wait to see you. I’m sure you know she’s engaged to that young man she met at Emory. His last name is Peterson. I really don’t know much about his family. They’re in the wine business. I believe that’s what I’ve heard.”

  I clenched my teeth tighter. This was going to be hell.

  “Your aunt and uncle will be there,” she continued.

  While Millie and I had at one time been best friends, our story didn’t end as happily as momma and Miss Suzanna’s. I had limits. Hard limits. The thought of my hard limits brought a much-needed smile to my face.

  “I knew you’d be happy to see them,” she said, misconstruing my expression. “They were disappointed that they couldn’t attend your graduation.”

  I could argue that Gwendolyn and Preston Richardson weren’t my aunt and uncle, that Gwendolyn was Alton’s sister and therefore not related to me, but if I did, it would be a petty comment like my mother had asked me not to make. So instead, I just thought it.

  “I’m sure they were. Will Patrick be there?” If Gwen and Preston were my aunt and uncle, then their son Patrick would be my cousin. He was the one Fitzgerald I actually liked. We’d spent many days and nights calling bullshit on our parents’ messed-up code of social status.

  “No. You know that he’s living in New York now.”

  “I didn’t,” I said, genuinely interested. “Where? What’s he doing? It’ll be good to have him close.”

  “Close?”

  “To me, Mother. Close to me. I have a small apartment on the Upper West Side, close to the university.”

  “You’ve already rented an apartment?”

  Is she serious?

  “Mother, classes start in a few weeks. Of course I have an apartment.”

  “But you still have an apartment in California and classes don’t begin until September.”

  “Orientation begins in August and July is almost over. I know I still have an apartment in California. That’s why I don’t have time for this.” I motioned around the backseat, my gaze catching Brantley’s in the rearview mirror. His narrowed eyes reminded me to watch what I said around my mother. I could hear his unspoken warning: don’t upset Mrs. Fitzgerald. I took a deep breath. “It is why I need to leave as soon as our meeting is done on Monday. I have a lot of packing and shipping to do.”

  Brantley pulled up to the front of the Gryphon Tearoom. As he got out to open Mother’s door, she said, “Let’s take this one day at a time, shall we? We need to discuss this with Alton.”

  I was living in a time warp. That was the only plausible explanation I could come up with. Nothing ever changed in Savannah or around Montague Manor. It never would.

  Adelaide lowered her voice as we walked toward the entrance. “Of course, I would’ve much rather had high tea at the Ballastone, but as you know that isn’t until four o’clock and with our guests arriving as early as six-thirty, we just couldn’t.” She reached for my hand. “But once you’re home, we can do that. I remember how much you used to enjoy dressing up for high tea with your grandmother.”

  When I was four.

  Monday could not come soon enough.

  I HEARD THE voices from the grand hall as Jane entered my room. As soon as she closed the door they disappeared. If only she could make them really disappear. I e
xhaled and sat on the edge of my bed.

  “What’s the matter, child?” Her dark eyes sparkled. “I mean madam counselor.”

  I squeezed Jane’s hand as she sat beside me. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with you. I think I wanted—”

  “Don’t you fret. I know what you wanted. You wanted to have a new life away from all of the Montague stuff. I’m part of that stuff.” She rolled her head around in a circle, gesturing with the last word.

  “The best part of it.”

  “Your momma’s down there telling everyone you’ll be down in a minute. It’s been more than a minute and you ain’t there.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Do you think they’ll notice if I don’t show up?”

  “And miss out on showing all them uptight stuffed shirts what a beautiful and successful woman Alex Collins has become? Oh no! You’re going to walk down there with your head held high.”

  My cheeks blushed as I remembered someone else telling me the same thing. I hated how Nox kept finding his way into my thoughts. Chelsea had said to have fun, not get close, and use him, like men used women all the time. I tried, and I did. But I didn’t. Even though I’d left him in Del Mar, he was constantly on my mind.

  How is he? Who is he really, his real name? Who does he work for? Where does he live?

  “…done invited half of Georgia!”

  My attention went back to Jane’s words. “What? Momma said a few people.”

  “Well, chi—Alex, if thirty-six, no, thirty-seven people is a few, then that’s what she did.”

  I exhaled and lay back on the bed. “Why?”

  Jane pulled my hand to make me sit up. “Don’t you go messing that beautiful hair. It’s so pretty and long and look at these curls.”

  Pride at her encouragement was momentarily overshadowed by the memory of when my hair wasn’t long and pretty.

  Jane pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t you let those shadows back in your eyes. You keep them out where they belong. You stand proud and show all of them what a Montague woman can be.”