Cunning (Infidelity #2)

by Aleatha Romig

  Food. Even the thought increased the nausea that my movement incited. Nothing sounded remotely good. I’d been the one to finalize the menu for last night’s function, yet I’d barely eaten.

  “Go. Take care of Alexandria.”

  “She’s fine. She be outside with Bryce. Hannah, his nanny, and Miss Suzanna. She here too. She’s askin’ about you.”

  Outside… oh, keep them away from the lake. I didn’t say that aloud. Jane had heard me say it a million times. My entire body ached. It was like the flu, but worse. If only I could go back to sleep. That was where I’d find relief.

  “Tell her I’m indisposed. Then call Dr. Beck. Tell him about my migraine, my real migraine. Nothing else. Ask him to send over something for the pain. Tylenol isn’t working.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call. Last time he say he need to see you.”

  “If he says that again, tell him I can’t come in. I’m too ill. Besides I was in a week ago for my regular exam.”

  “Your momma used to say—”

  I pried my eyes open to the dimmer large suite. Having the curtains closed helped. Nevertheless, Jane’s face was blurry, weaving back and forth. “Stop,” I interrupted. “My mother isn’t here anymore and neither is my father. I’m the lady of the house. Do as I say.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Alexandria?”

  “You take care of her.” She won’t even know I’m missing. Russell’s words never left my mind. He might be dead and gone, but the pain he’d inflicted lingered. It was just another reason to burrow myself into this bed and sleep. No one would miss me, not until…

  As long as I was awake and dressed before six, before Alton got home, it would be all right.

  I closed my eyes with a sigh. The click of the closing door gave me peace in knowing I was once again alone. I gave in, fading into the world of my dreams, a world that didn’t exist.

  I was almost there when the nausea hit again. It pulled at my insides, churning the emptiness until bile bubbled, clawing its way up from the pit of my stomach. I threw back the covers and staggered hurriedly toward the bathroom. Straight lines were waves as my equilibrium adjusted. The room around me bent and twisted as I found the doorway. My long hair fell forward and I tried to bunch it in my shaking hand as heave after dry heave wracked my body.

  Exhausted, I collapsed onto the cool tile and curled around the base of the toilet, perspiration dripping from my body and making my nightgown damp. I think I fell asleep, but for how long, I had no idea.

  “Mrs. Fitzgerald?” Jane’s concerned call woke me as she rushed into the bathroom. “Ma’am, what happened?”

  “It’s this damn migraine!”

  How many times do I need to tell her?

  “This one is worse than usual,” I added, ashamed I’d yelled at the one person who always seemed to be there for me.

  Jane helped me sit. I closed my eyes and listened to her deep motherly voice.

  “I brought you some crackers and water. The doctor say you needs to drink.”

  “Is he sending me some painkillers?”

  “Let me help you back to bed.”

  I let her help me stand and I asked again, “Painkillers? Something stronger?”

  “He say he need to see you. He say he’ll come here.”

  She supported me as I rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the terrible taste.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I replied as she helped me to the bed. “No one makes house calls anymore.”

  “Dr. Beck will, for you, Mrs. Montague Fitzgerald.”

  She said that as if I needed a reminder of whom I was. “When?”

  “He be out soon.”

  I closed my eyes with a sigh. I couldn’t let Dr. Beck see my arm. It was bad enough that Jane noticed it. Then again, she’d noticed other things in the past too. “Jane, can you get me a long-sleeved gown and my robe?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wearing a clean nightgown, I leaned against the headboard with a long sigh. Vomiting must have helped. Maybe I ate something bad at the dinner last night. I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten. I did have wine. Maybe that was it.

  Last night’s function had been in the planning for nearly six months. When the idea was first proposed, it was to Mother and me. It wasn’t long after Father’s passing. The plan was for a fundraising dinner to jumpstart the Charles Montague II scholarship for Emory University.

  Originally, Mother and I’d thought it should go to Emory. That was, after all, where Father and I both attended. As the plans became more solidified, Alton decided the scholarship should stay local. He reasoned that it looked better for Montague to support local endeavors. With Mother’s recent passing, I was the only one to disagree. The scholarship was going to Savannah State University.

  The dinner was successful, raising over thirty thousand dollars. Much more money was expected from donations, but this did what it was supposed to do and began the intake of funds while bringing media attention to the scholarship. It was also good publicity for Montague Corporation.

  Over the years, I’d learned it didn’t matter what I did. If I socialized at a function, it was too much. If I sat quietly, I was rude. Though Alton doted over me the entire evening and we appeared the perfect couple, I knew. In his gaze and touch, I could tell he wasn’t happy. And then when I asked to leave earlier than he wanted, I’d crossed the final line.

  His displeasure started to become evident in the car with silent treatment. That was never a good thing. It meant he was holding back, calculating and waiting until we were home alone. Not that Brantley would dare stop Alton from belittling me the entire ride. Now that Father was gone, no one stopped him.

  Once we were in our suite, he didn’t strike me. The bruise on my arm was from him grabbing me. It was my reminder to pay attention and hear every degrading, derogatory thing he had to say. Apparently, it was much easier for Alton to yell when I was only inches away.

  My only defense was that I had a headache coming on. That was why I wanted to leave the dinner. As I rubbed the sleeve of my robe, feeling the tender skin beneath, I knew the headache wasn’t a viable defense.

  The knock on my door forced my eyes to open. I wiped the tear from my cheek and called toward the sound, “Come in.”

  This was unnecessary and bothersome. If Dr. Beck had sent out the medication instead of wanting to see me, I could be sleeping soundly with a much better chance of being the perfect wife by six o’clock.

  “Adelaide,” Dr. Beck said as he came closer. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

  I’d known Dr. Beck since I was a student at the academy. He’d been a new doctor to the area, taking over an established practice. Since Father’s doctor had been the one to retire, Dr. Beck inherited the privilege of the Montague family. “I am,” I concurred. “This one is worse than normal. If you could, please prescribe something stronger.”

  “Before I do, I’d like you to do something for me.”

  I sighed. “What?”

  “I was looking at your lab work from a week ago. Have you noticed any other symptoms?”

  I closed my eyes. “No. It’s my head. I’ve had migraines before. You’ve prescribed pain medicine before.”

  “What about your breasts?”

  My eyes opened. “My breasts? What about them?”

  “Have they been sore or tender?”

  I thought about his question. “Maybe. I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Any nausea or vomiting?”

  “Yes. I just did. I vomited. But that happens with these headaches.”

  “Last week you said your last period was three weeks prior to your appointment. Have you begun menstruating?”

  “No. “I squinted my eyes. “Dr. Beck, you know I can’t get pregnant. You’re the one who told me that.”

  He reached for my hand. “I said that with the damage your uterus sustained during Alexandria’s birth, conceiving another child was highly unlikely.”

  “We had difficulty conceivin
g her. You made it seem like it was impossible.”

  “Before I prescribe you a narcotic pain controller, I want to be certain you’re not pregnant.”

  The nausea was back as my skin became coated in a new round of perspiration. I wrapped my arm around my midsection. “I-I can’t be.”

  “You and Alton haven’t had sexual intercourse in the last month?”

  “We have. But I can’t. He doesn’t think it’s possible.” I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my cheeks. “Please, he… I can’t.”

  Dr. Beck opened the bag he’d brought with him and pulled out a pregnancy test. It wasn’t elaborate, much like the ones sold at the store. “I’m your doctor. I have been for most of your life. I won’t tell Alton anything you don’t want him to know.”

  I couldn’t believe I was thinking this way. I couldn’t believe the words were in my head, much less the possibility of my saying them. I also couldn’t give Alton Fitzgerald a child of his own. It was bad enough that I subjected Alexandria to him. I refused to sentence another child to life with him.

  I pulled back the covers and reached for the box he offered. “Doctor, if this is positive, what are my chances of carrying this baby to term?”

  “We both know it would be a very difficult pregnancy.”

  “Difficult for the baby or for me?”

  “Both.”

  It sounded selfish, but I also couldn’t leave Alexandria. I may not be the world’s best mother, but I was the only one she had. Her only family now that Russell and my parents were gone. I couldn’t fathom who would raise her. There was always the possibility of Gwen and Preston or Suzanna. Or Suzanna and Alton.

  I clenched my teeth. What would happen to Alexandria if Alton didn’t need her?

  Very few of my life’s decisions had been left to me. I was making this one.

  “If this is positive, I can’t do it.”

  Dr. Beck nodded. “We can take care of it, and no one will know.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  I WOKE AS the world came into focus. Soft lips warmed my head as a deep velvet voice rumbled from my dreams to reality. And then I remembered… everything.

  My breakdown was completely out of character, but I’d felt blindsided—my two worlds once again colliding. How had Nox’s father known my mother? Now I’d need to tell Nox everything, and I didn’t think I was ready for that. My parents’ betrayal was still too raw.

  I sat straight, wiping my lips and my eyes.

  I’d fallen asleep on Nox.

  I turned, disoriented, as he reached for my hand. “Sleepyhead, we’re here.”

  The building outside the car’s window was unfamiliar, the glass doors similar to so many in the city. “Where? Where are we?”

  “My—our apartment.”

  My chin dropped. “Nox, maybe Isaac should take me to my apartment. I need to think for awhile.”

  “No. You can think here. You have no furniture, food, or anything in your apartment. And most importantly, my apartment is safe.” He lifted my chin and brushed his lips against mine. “If that isn’t enough, I’m here and I have a fully stocked bar. After the way you looked with Oren, I think you could use one or both.”

  I could definitely use the bar.

  “Both,” I finally said with a weary grin.

  I avoided looking up at Nox as we made our way through the lobby and into the elevator. I didn’t even notice the surroundings. I was sure the building was nice. Of course it was. None of it registered as I contemplated my impending explanation.

  I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the car. It was the emotion and probably the glass of wine. The last meal we’d had was on the plane. As the elevator rose higher and higher, I thought less and less about what I needed to say and more about food.

  “Do you have food?” I whispered, though we were the only two in the elevator.

  Nox grinned. “The correct question is ‘do we have food?’ And the answer is yes. We also have a cook, but she wasn’t expecting us for one more day. So we have food, but I have no idea what.”

  I nodded. “I can cook.”

  His pale eyes widened. “You can?”

  “Yes.” For some reason, Patrick came to mind. “I’m not a gourmet chef, but I can make a mean spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Meatballs? You do realize you’re talking to an Italian here.”

  “Well…” I paused, scrunching my nose. “I’ve always bought my meatballs frozen.”

  His free hand flew to his heart. “The sacrilege!”

  “How about toasted cheese?”

  “Grilled-cheese sandwich?” he asked.

  “Same thing.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” The doors opened. “What wine do you suppose goes with grilled-cheese sandwiches?”

  “A California one,” we both said in unison.

  Nox opened the door and flipped a switch. Lights turned on throughout the living room and dining area like soft-white liquid washing away the darkness. This building was older than Patrick’s, but still modern by New York standards. The oak flooring contrasted with the light-colored walls. Like Patrick’s apartment, the impressive feature was the windows. Two adjoining walls were filled with floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the lit-up city was stunning in each direction.

  He reached for my hand. “Let me show you around.”

  Silently, I agreed, following close behind as Nox took me from room to room. The first direction took us to a small hall with three doors. One led to a bathroom. The next led to a small bedroom with a queen-sized bed and other bedroom furniture. The last door opened to a larger bedroom, beautifully decorated in shades of brown and green. The four-poster bed was a California king that dominated the room. Directly across the room was a fireplace with a flat-screened television above. Near the windows showcasing more of the gorgeous city view sat a plush chair with a matching ottoman. Connected to the bedroom was a dressing room about the size of the first bedroom, except long and narrow with a padded bench in the middle. The walls were lined with cabinets and drawers. At the far end of the dressing room was a big, beautiful bathroom complete with a shower that had showerheads coming from all directions. The garden tub also had a view of the city below. The bathroom was accessible from the dressing room as well as the bedroom directly.

  When we completed the circle, and came back to the bedroom, I said with a smirk, “I’ll take this room.”

  “Yes, princess, you will.”

  “I hope you don’t mind the smaller one.”

  His lips quirked into a grin. “I’d ask you the same question, but as you know, you get the large one.”

  I shook my head.

  The other direction from the dining area was another hallway. It led to an office, a workout room, and another full bath.

  “If you need your own office to study, we can have the second bedroom converted.”

  “But if you did that, then where would you sleep?”

  He squeezed my hand. “All of your things from the Mandarin and from our trip are here. I meant what I said about shopping. Get whatever you need. The weather’s different here than it is in Palo Alto. I’m sure you’ll need things.”

  I didn’t want to think about spending more of his money.

  “Do those doors near the table lead to the outside?”

  Nox led the way and opened the door. The balcony was the length of the dining area and the office. There was a small table for two as well as long chaise lounges. We were high above the city. “Nox, this is gorgeous. I love the view.”

  “Do you want to make those famous sandwiches or tell me what my father was talking about?”

  “If that’s an either/or, I’ll make sandwiches.”

  “It’s not,” he said as we went back inside.

  I rummaged through the refrigerator while Nox found bread and a frying pan.

  “Does your cook live here?” I asked.

  “If I want to live on grilled-cheese sandwiches she will.”

  �
��As I said… spaghetti.”

  “Not with frozen meatballs.”

  “They’re not frozen once they’re cooked.”

  “Her name is Lana,” he said. “She lives in the building and works for multiple tenants. She also cleans and does laundry.”

  I nodded as I buttered the bread. “I don’t know where to start. Remember when you said that my not knowing your past was refreshing?”

  “Yes.”

  “The feeling was mutual. I wasn’t hiding my family… I just don’t like them. I spent four years in California pretending they didn’t exist.”

  “Tell me how you’re an heiress, whatever the fuck that means, and why you resorted to Infidelity.”

  The bread sizzled against the hot pan. “I had a trust fund and then I didn’t. I was desperate. Someone told me about Infidelity. I went on the interview. It’s just as I said. It was all true.”

  “How does my father know who you are?”

  I shrugged as I flipped the sandwiches over. “From the photo in the media, I presume. It had my name.”

  “Alex Collins,” Nox said. “I’m sorry. I’m pretty good at names. Hilton, Trump—I would’ve figured that out. Collins? I’m coming up blank.”

  “Collins was my father’s name. And before you ask, yes, he’s deceased. My mother’s maiden name…” My head dropped forward as butterflies grew to bats in my stomach, making the sandwiches less appealing. “…is—”

  Nox appeared behind me, his solid arms around my waist. “Wait. Before you tell me this—because I have the feeling it’s important—let me pour our wine. Let’s enjoy the summer’s night on the balcony, eat our sandwiches, and bask in the fact that we met face to face with the devil and made it out alive.”

  I tilted my head against his hard chest. “What if we didn’t?”

  He spun me around and I looked up.

  “We did, Charli,” he said. “We’re here.”

  “What if we can’t escape, and what if there’s more than one devil?”

  “Then we’ll survive, because there are two of us.” He lifted my eyes to his and cupped my cheeks. “When I used to think about you, after Del Mar, when I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, I used to think about your beautiful eyes.”