The Honest Affair (Rose Gold Book 3)

by Nicole French

  “Olivia and I are planning to spend the holidays with Mother on Long Island,” Nina said calmly. As if she didn’t have a half-torn skirt or blackish tearstains drying on her cheeks. “Tomorrow I’m driving to Andover to get her. We’ll stay the night with Skylar and Brandon so she can see Jenny and the others. After that, we’ll go straight to the Hamptons. You and Eric are welcome to visit, of course, but I assumed you’d be with your own family. Once Olivia goes back to school, I’ll be leaving. For Italy. I don’t know for how long.”

  My head couldn’t have jerked any harder if it were on a spring. “You’re what?”

  Nina sighed, but still didn’t look at me. It was as though I wasn’t even there.

  “I’ve decided to tell Olivia about her father,” she said to Jane and Eric. “Her real father. Giu—” She gulped on the name. “Giuseppe.”

  Eric studied me, then her. “That’s his name? The professor?”

  Nina nodded. “It’s going to be very hard. But she deserves to know the truth. Whether or not she’ll want anything to do with me after is another story.”

  “She will,” Eric replied, more kindly than I’d ever heard him. “Kids forgive their parents for just about anything, cos. It might take a bit, but you’re doing the right thing.”

  “Yes. Well.”

  Nina wiped at a few more tears that had escaped, then accepted a handkerchief Eric took out of his pocket. I scowled. Why hadn’t I thought to offer her my own?

  “First things first,” she said. “I need to find Giuseppe’s surviving family and tell them about Olivia. He had two daughters from his first marriage. Olivia will want to contact them, I’m sure, and I don’t want them to be surprised.” She shook her head with obvious dread. “It won’t be easy, introducing myself as their father’s former mistress.”

  Jane reached out to pat her shoulder. “They might be surprised, but it’s been a long time. I doubt they’ll take it out on Olivia, however they feel about you.”

  Nina shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  I swallowed. I really couldn’t deal with the idea of her facing this alone. I was the first person she had told all those months ago. Well before Jane and Eric knew. When the only other person who knew was her good-for-nothing husband. It seemed wrong that she would return to this part of her life without me.

  I opened my mouth to volunteer to go with her, but found I couldn’t. Because the reality was, I didn’t have the freedom. Not like these people with their endless bank accounts. I had a mortgage to pay. Bills to cover. A sister and a niece who depended on me. I couldn’t leave them hanging without any kind of income for however many weeks.

  “Anyway.” Nina cleared her throat, then handed Eric back his handkerchief. “It’s been a long evening, and I have to get up early. I think I’ll turn in.” She walked to the door. “It was a lovely party. If I don’t see you, merry Christmas, Jane. Merry Christmas, Eric.”

  Both Eric and Jane repeated her sentiments in oddly distant, maybe even shocked voices.

  She turned to leave.

  “Nina,” I called out, unable to stop my voice from cracking slightly. What was I going to say?

  Wait.

  Don’t go.

  I love you.

  Marry me.

  “Merry—merry Christmas, doll,” I settled, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate my desperate pleas for devotion in front of Jane and Eric.

  Still, I couldn’t help the last word. It just slipped out.

  Nina paused for a moment in the doorframe, biting her lip. I could feel Jane and Eric watching us intently, but I didn’t dare check them. I knew if I did, when I looked back, Nina would be gone.

  Then she looked up, her silver eyes practically ablaze in the moonlight streaming through the windows from the garden.

  “Good night, Matthew,” Nina said quietly and left.

  I stared at the empty doorway long after her footsteps had faded up the stairs.

  “Zola.”

  At the sound of my name floating softly on the night air, I turned. Jane was watching me with pure pity. Eric with something more skeptical.

  “Hey,” I said, suddenly conscious again of my disheveled clothes. Jesus, I probably looked like I’d been fucking one of the caterers in their coat closet. “I, ah, I should go.”

  “Well, before you do. I just thought of something.” Jane stepped away from Eric with a knowing glance. “Nina. Italy. It’s been a long time for her, hasn’t it?”

  I nodded, massaging my neck. Everything suddenly hurt. “Yeah. Eleven years, I think.”

  God, my chest hurt. Just the thought of her being there without me made me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic, mortal sin or not. Being without her was purgatory anyway.

  “She’s met your family, right?”

  I nodded. “The one time.”

  Jane cocked her head. “Your grandmother speaks Italian, doesn’t she?”

  “She does, yeah. So did my grandfather. They, um, came over when they were teenagers.”

  “How about you?”

  I shrugged. “I speak it all right. Not like a native, but I grew up hearing it a lot, especially when I lived with them. And then I was stationed in Sicily long enough to become pretty fluent. Why?”

  Jane rolled her eyes at Eric, who just snorted and shook his head.

  “I’m going upstairs to have a nightcap with Nina.” He dropped a quick kiss atop Jane’s head. “Catch him up quick, pretty girl. He’s kind of slow on the uptake.”

  I frowned at him as he left. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

  “Zola,” she said gently. “You need a better job than tending bar. And Nina…well, on top of the fact that she shouldn’t be going anywhere alone with Calvin’s trial about to start…she’s also going to need an interpreter, don’t you think? I know she speaks some Italian, but…”

  “She’s not fluent,” I finished for her. Finally, what she was saying clicked. My eyes popped open.

  Jane smiled, a mischievous grin that was almost childlike with glee. “What do you say? Want to surprise our girl?”

  Interlude I

  “Page Six”

  New York Post

  December 19, 2018

  Friend or faux? Socialite indicted for fraud

  Socialite and three-time divorcée Caitlyn Calvert (age 30) has been indicted on charges of fraud and identity theft related to the human trafficking case against New York real estate financier Calvin Gardner, estranged husband of Nina de Vries. Ms. Calvert, who was until this October known briefly as Mrs. Kyle Shaw, was charged with impersonating Ms. de Vries in order to use her name and connections to associate Ms. de Vries with a shell corporation that funneled money for Mr. Gardner’s trafficking operations. Ms. Calvert also faces civil charges in a suit filed by Ms. de Vries herself.

  Ms. Calvert has a strong connection to Calvin Gardner, who was charged with masterminding a ring that trafficked underage Eastern European girls into prostitution in the Northeast in return for falsified immigration documents. His trial date was delayed again following the sentencing of his wife for accessory. A new date for the trial has been set for March.

  “There’s even speculation that Caitlyn Calvert isn’t her real name!” said an anonymous source close to Ms. Calvert’s circle. A Post investigation revealed no records of a Caitlyn Calvert born anywhere in the Paterson, New Jersey, area, from which Ms. Calvert claims to hail.

  Could Calvert be yet another pseudonym? Perhaps Calvertovsky might be more fitting!

  The Village Voice

  December 28, 2018

  Trafficking ring mastermind files for bankruptcy

  While awaiting trial on charges of fraud, money laundering, and human trafficking, Calvin Gardner’s company, Gardner Investments, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy Friday afternoon. This can’t be good news for the scandal-plagued investor, whose ongoing divorce from socialite Nina de Vries has been widely publicized, particularly following his estranged wife’s guilty plea to aiding and abet
ting a human trafficking scheme allegedly masterminded by Gardner himself.

  “Gardner Investments has been in trouble for a while now,” vouched a source from inside the company who spoke only on the condition of anonymity. “Mr. Gardner has always wanted to be considered one of the top investors in the city, but the truth is, he was always more like a little kid trying to play baseball in the majors.”

  Though reports have confirmed that Mr. Gardner still retains his residence at the couple’s Upper East Side penthouse (despite the fact that it is owned by Ms. de Vries’s family), it’s clear that Gardner’s funds have quickly been drying up, as both his and his estranged wife’s personal assets have been frozen and under review during the divorce. He is reportedly doing everything he can to have the will of Celeste de Vries, Ms. de Vries’s grandmother and the former CEO and chairwoman of DVS Industries, overturned in probate.

  “He’s been making the rounds trying to get loans and credit,” said another source from a competitive firm. “But people are just shutting him out. The truth is, without the de Vries name behind him, he’s nothing. Maybe he always knew it from the start. Honestly, his best chance at staying afloat in this town is through his wife either way.”

  New Year’s Eve, 2018

  Calvin Gardner sat at a rusted card table in the basement of an old building in Harlem, drumming his thick fingers on the torn plastic surface. He was starting to feel like he might be running out of air. The room had no windows, only cinderblock walls, and every few feet large green pipes curled in and out of the concrete like the coils of a great snake.

  Gardner shuddered. He hated snakes. He hated most animals, but snakes in particular made him feel queasy.

  There was also a leak somewhere in the building. He had been listening to the drip since he’d arrived an hour ago, and by now it was practically a jackhammer.

  Drip. Drop.

  “You know what?” he said suddenly to the empty room in the slightly roughened English that hadn’t born any trace of Hungarian since he was twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. “Fuck this. And fuck them.”

  He stood with a screech of his chair, his belly pressing uncomfortably against the metal edge of the table. Yeah, he would leave. And who was going to stop him? What the fuck was this, the Skull and Bones? Janus was a joke now, and everyone knew it.

  He ignored the way his palms grew sweaty at just the thought of challenging the most prominent—and deadly—secret organization in America. No, he was going to do this. He wasn’t going to sit around to be made a fool of. Not now, not ever.

  But just as he turned toward the door, it opened.

  Immediately, Gardner collapsed into his folding chair, which creaked from the force. A dead giveaway.

  Two men entered the room. Michael Faber, sometimes known as Finn, was heir to a wine conglomerate that owned half of Napa. He was tall and thin and dressed in the kind of suit Gardner had commissioned at least five times over the years but which had never looked that classy on his short, squat frame.

  The other was much more casual, a muscular man in a black t-shirt and jeans. He took a military stance against the wall next to the door, hands folded at his belt, legs a shoulder-length stance apart. Security, obviously.

  Gardner gritted his teeth. He would have brought security too, but he couldn’t afford them anymore. To complete his humiliation, he’d had to fire the entire staff at the penthouse, where he now squatted free of charge but completely alone, thanks to the freezing of the accounts. So for now, his security was gone, his driver, his secretary, even the investigator he’d hired for a bit to follow Nina on her infernally boring walks to and from the gym.

  He knew they should have fought the freeze, though his lawyers initially thought it was a good idea. Nina’s cousin Eric would have never let her go hungry—the fucking de Vrieses might have been cold as ice, but their family loyalty ran deeper than anyone knew. Gardner knew, though. Oh, did he know. He’d been trying to chip that fucking block for almost eleven years now. And for what? An empty penthouse?

  A fucking pittance. The memories of all his humiliations at the hands of the family made his blood boil all over again. They’d pay. One day, they’d all pay.

  In the meantime, there was still the Pantheon money, sitting pretty in the Caymans. But if he put a toe over there, the fucking IRS would be breathing down his neck in a second. Which is why he needed Faber’s help. Why he was crawling back to Janus one last time.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Gardner’s head snapped up at the sound of Faber’s voice, and he realized he’d been daydreaming again. He started to sweat—he couldn’t help it around these people.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m fine. Nice of you to show up. Thank you.”

  He had to pay homage. He couldn’t afford to piss off this guy. Even if he was looking at him like he was a bug on the bottom of his shoe.

  Gardner didn’t like Michael Faber, but he was one of the only four men he knew were a part of the Janus society. He wasn’t supposed to know—no one was. And the fact that he did know would either be what protected him or killed him.

  “Let’s not beat around the bush,” Faber said. “Letour is going down. His trial is next week, and the society is letting him hang. I’m sorry, but we’re out.”

  Which meant only one thing. They were going to let Pantheon and the whole fucking operation land on him. And keep all the money to themselves.

  “No!” Gardner sputtered. “You can’t! After everything—I demand an explanation. I’ve been a loyal assistant to this organization for a decade. Did everything you asked of me. Everything.”

  “And it was appreciated,” Faber said coolly. “By the old order, for sure. But probably not the new.”

  Gardner frowned. “What do you mean…the new? Is someone replacing Carson?”

  The taller man just looked down his very long nose. “You didn’t know?”

  It was a joke, of course. Gardner wouldn’t have known. He wasn’t a member, despite the fact that he had tried for years to become an exception to the rule of Ivy League initiation. He was so close, before de Vries showed up.

  He hated being made to look like a fool. These people always looked at him like he was clueless, and it fucking infuriated him.

  Faber chuckled toward his guard, who grinned back.

  “Jesus Christ.” He shook his head. “Once, you almost had me, you know. You were almost like one of us. But Jude really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

  “Tell me what?” Gardner gritted through his teeth. It hurt. He probably had a cavity in one of his molars.

  “Eric de Vries is going to be voted in as caesar,” Faber stated plainly. “It’ll take place after the new year. And if I were you, I’d get out of town. Out of the country, if you can. Even if de Vries doesn’t do you in, it’s completely possible someone else will out of fealty. There are plenty who’ll be eager to prove their loyalty to the new man in charge. Especially considering how he’s coming to power.”

  “What—what do you mean?” Gardner asked, a prickle traveling up his spine like a spider.

  “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” Faber replied lazily. “It’s his birthright. What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I—what? Birthright? I thought that Janus was democratic. What is this, a coup?”

  Faber laughed, an all-out guffaw that echoed around the tiny room. “Good God, Letour really kept you in the dark.” Faber studied his nails, like he wasn’t sure whether he should tell him much either. He almost seemed to be enjoying the other man’s obvious ignorance.

  Gardner’s eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t beg. He would not.

  “De Vries didn’t stage a coup,” Faber said almost lazily. “Carson did. And he was successful for the last twenty-odd years or so. But before him, Eric’s father was the caesar. And his father before that. And so on, since the beginning of the society itself.” He shrugged again. “Now the prince shot the usurper dead. Dethroned the
fraud. What’s the saying? ‘The king is dead. Long live the king.’”

  The prickle turned into an all-out icicle. Gardner felt as though he couldn’t breathe. Oh God. Oh fucking God. Eric de Vries was now the head of the most powerful underground organization in the country? Janus, through its previous leader, had essentially sponsored nearly all of Gardner’s illegal activities for the past ten years. It had all been in exchange for the promise of membership—what Gardner had desired more than anything in the world. To be truly special. Elite.

  And now…those dreams were slipping away along with his company, his marriage, everything he had claimed as his over the past ten years.

  “He wouldn’t,” Gardner argued. “There’s no way Eric will accept the position. Jude said he was done with it.”

  “Jude is going away for the next twenty years because of his part in the abduction of de Vries’s little wife,” Faber replied. “He doesn’t matter to any of us anymore. He’s out.”

  “But Eric’s a black sheep,” Gardner tried again. “And soon he won’t have the company anymore either. I’m fighting the will in probate, you know—”

  “You’ll lose,” Faber informed him. “Do you really think there is a single judge in New York, or even the country, who will rule against the de Vries bank accounts? Not to mention the old lady had those assets locked up tighter than her wrinkly old arse.”

  Gardner frowned in distaste. He had always, always hated Celeste de Vries more than any of them. The old hag had treated him like a common thief, watching him at family dinners like he was going to steal her precious silver and Limoges.

  “Still,” Gardner said, more weakly now. “Eric hates the society. I can’t believe he’ll want to lead it now.”