The Marriage Debt

by Waltz, Vanessa

  "I’ll explain everything at my place."

  For a moment, I thought she’d say yes. Then her eyes darkened like shutters closing on windows. "Fool me once, shame on you."

  "I tend to get what I want. You can either come quietly, or I’ll pull strings and make you run into my arms anyway."

  "Stay out of my life.”

  “I can’t do that for many reasons. Most of which I’ll probably never get into, but I’ll give you one.” Underneath the table, my fingers swept the tablecloth until I brushed her knee. My palm wrapped her thigh.

  A gorgeous color filled Naomi’s cheeks. She couldn’t disguise how good it felt to be touched by me. Her fists spasmed on the table. She crossed her legs, trying to stop my ascent, but all it did was trap my hand.

  “You’re mine. I want you back.” I reached across the table, taking her limp fingers. “I won’t lie. Having you in my bed isn’t the only reason, but it’s pretty high up there.”

  Naomi uncrossed her legs and leaned close. Hints of juniper ensnared my senses. Those eyes. That smile. They beckoned me forward.

  “How do you know Ethan?” she asked.

  “We’re in the same circles.”

  My hand was free to explore her curves. I swept her inner thigh, and she scooted closer still, a statuesque model whose deep-red pout circled my cock five years ago.

  God, how did I survive this long without her?

  She teased me with a small grin. "You didn't notice Ethan and I are dating?"

  “I would have if I hadn’t avoided everywhere he was.”

  My hand was halfway up her thigh, and there was no disguising it anymore. A tablecloth might’ve covered my antics, but nothing hid the way she looked at me. Her lids were heavy with desire. She wetted her lips and sighed.

  Naomi touched my hand and guided it further. My fingers brushed the thin cotton of her panties. I slid them to the side. Her heat seared me.

  I was going to kiss her. Finally.

  Naomi pushed my chest when I closed the distance.

  “Tell me.”

  My heartbeat was like a stampede. I couldn’t hear my other thoughts, because one of them drowned out the rest—take her to bed. Christ, I wanted to.

  “Tell me," she repeated. "Please."

  "I can’t remember what we were talking about."

  Naomi gave me a grin that begged for a spanking. “How did you meet Ethan?”

  I didn’t want to talk about Ethan. “Who cares?”

  Naomi’s dazzling smile distracted me from the rippling tablecloth, and then she grabbed my thigh. A line of heat shot from her fingers to my cock. It wouldn’t stay dormant for long if she kept touching me. She was frustratingly out of reach.

  "Come the fuck here."

  "No."

  "Keep fondling me, and I’ll drag you over my lap."

  "I hope you enjoy jail," she quipped.

  "My lawyers would have me out in record time. Might be worth it." She was manipulating me, but I didn't care. "If I don't kiss you right now, I'll regret it. You will, too.”

  “You’ll also regret the assault charge. We have friends in NYPD. Don’t push it.”

  Like I didn’t have connections just as high as Ethan. “Every once in a while, you show your fangs. It’s cute.”

  Naomi’s touch disappeared from my leg. “Tell me, and I’ll kiss you.”

  That yanked me from the haze of lust.

  “Why should I barter for your lips when they already belong to me?”

  “If anyone owns them, it’s Ethan. Not you.”

  I wanted to flip the table.

  Our time apart was a mystery. It was only natural that a woman like Naomi would move on. She was gorgeous. No doubt, other men would be drawn to Naomi. If she’d have picked any other guy, I’d have accepted it, but Ethan couldn’t be her choice.

  “You know each other," she accused. "I need to know how.”

  I yanked from Naomi’s intoxicating touch. It was like leaving a mist-filled room. The moment I was away from her, my head cleared. She was so good at lowering my defenses. The promise in her fuck-me gaze was real, which made clamming up so hard.

  “I’ll never talk about him to you.”

  Naomi

  I watched Graham leave with sinking desperation.

  The worst part of my night wasn’t over. It waited for me at home.

  Ethan usually spent his weeknights making the rounds at his favorite cocktail bars, flirting with waitresses, and dumping their numbers in a bowl beside his bed. When he was bored, he'd fish one out at random. Since Graham had entered the picture, there were no more impromptu dates with indiscriminate women. He wanted me by his side — all the time.

  I checked my phone before ducking into a cab.

  Ethan: Meet me at Le Bain. Non-negotiable.

  Fuck.

  The very last thing I felt like doing, after working a twelve-hour shift, was partying. But there was no point in arguing. Not while Ethan swung the mother lode of leverages over my head.

  The cab dumped me in the Meatpacking District. I headed into the hotel next door and soared to the eighteenth floor, where I walked through a gold, vault-like door. A blonde in a floor-length white dress asked for my name even though she’d seen me dozens of times. I whispered Ethan’s, and she led me into the glitzy lounge.

  Le Bain had an airtight guest list. Reserved for Manhattan's elite, Le Bain was off-limits to anyone who wasn't obscenely wealthy, married to a senator, or Hollywood royalty.

  The foyer was a gorgeous sprawl of white leather couches facing the glass walls, and a bar that fanned toward the ceiling like a gold, oyster shell. A dusty gold shimmered on the floor. Every inch of the lounge screamed opulence. When Ethan and I first started dating, the luxurious setting stunned me so much I didn't notice how underwhelming the thirty-dollar cocktails were.

  I found Ethan outside, surrounded by his latchkey friends. He lurched to his feet when he saw me, his smile telegraphing warmth, but his eyes narrowed in disappointment. Ethan hissed in my ear. "Where’s your ring?"

  Shit. "It’s in my purse. Hold on."

  My fingers caught the platinum ring at the bottom of my bag. Fury licked Ethan’s eyes as I shoved it on my finger.

  "It was a long night at work. Sorry."

  "Get it together." Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and dragged me to the others.

  He pulled me over his lap, his other hand tangled in my hair. Our lips touched before I inhaled a breath. He grabbed my thigh in a show of barely restrained passion as he kissed me, and I had to tolerate it, or he'd pull the plug on my father's oncology dream team.

  I hated him. I hated him. I really hated him.

  His friends snapped pictures of us. Before long, there'd be a dozen iterations of this kiss on their Instagrams, which was what Ethan wanted. His way of rubbing it in Graham’s face.

  I should’ve known this was coming.

  Ethan insisted his relationship with Graham didn’t matter, but it did. They’d known each other for years, and it had to be bigger than your run-of-the-mill billionaire rivalry. Something personal was at work. I sensed it when Ethan snapped at every mention of Graham. Or in Graham’s sneer when I brought up Ethan.

  What the hell was it?

  An hour dragged by with the most tedious conversation ever. They were determined to relive their Ivy League days, and I never went to Brown or Stanford or Princeton. I didn't have stories about getting drunk with Natalie Portman. His friends never included me anyway, so I stopped trying.

  I turned my head, whispering into his ear. "How much longer?"

  "What’s your rush?" he growled.

  "I get up early to work. Every single day."

  "You don’t have to."

  Sure, I did. If I ever wanted freedom, I needed access to the restaurant. "Yes, I do. It’s my father’s legacy. I want to make him proud."

  "When we’re married, I expect you to drop this. I won’t have my wife working at a restaurant."

 
We’d never be married. "Fine."

  My quick submission startled him. He pulled back, frowning. "What are you hiding?"

  "Nothing."

  "I know Graham visited you at the restaurant. TMZ captured him entering at seven."

  "Then you’ll also know that he left alone." Anxiety fluttered my chest as Ethan continued to search me with that soul-rending stare. "I can’t stop him from visiting my restaurant."

  "No, but you don’t have to be there. Ever again."

  "What’ll you do next, shackle me to your bed?"

  "Look at you." A smirk tiptoed across his face. "When did you grow a backbone?"

  The moment I earned my way out.

  "It suits you," he said.

  God, Ethan looked like he wanted to kiss me. He was so fucked up, and I was even worse, dreaming of another man who was just as vile. When I left Ethan, I needed space from men. I didn't see myself dating for a long, long time.

  My phone rang. I seized it and bolted upright, grateful for the distraction. Luckily, it wasn’t loud on the terrace.

  "Hello?"

  "I need to speak to Naomi Watson," said the female voice. "It’s urgent."

  "This is she. What happened?"

  Ethan must've read something on my face, because he drifted from the others and stared moodily in my direction.

  "Your father collapsed at home. A neighbor called an ambulance—"

  "—is he all right?"

  "He’s in Emergency right now. Blackwood Presbyterian Hospital."

  "I’ll be there." A ragged sob tore from my throat as I lowered my phone, meeting Ethan’s impassive gaze. "It’s my dad. He’s sick. I need to go."

  Ethan rubbed his forehead, looking angry enough to refuse me.

  "Go."

  "Come with me. Please."

  Bewilderment flickered across his features. "You want me to come?"

  Last time this happened, Dad threatened to sign a DNR. Ethan was able to talk him out of it. Ethan, not his goddamned daughter.

  "You’re the only one he—he listens to." I clutched my chest, but my breathing hitched higher. "I need you."

  Ethan had one weakness. He was nicest when I was on my knees, begging him, or degrading myself for scraps. I took his hand, lacing my fingers with his. He smiled at my desperation.

  I knew he’d do whatever I asked.

  * * *

  "Stop crying."

  Ethan pulled me aside as silent tears etched rivers on my face. Doctors and nurses sped passed us.

  It’s my dad, you son of a bitch. "I-I can’t."

  His disapproval sharpened. "You can’t go to him like that, Naomi. He hates it."

  Ethan hated me crying, too. "I know."

  He grabbed tissues from a hand-washing station and blotted my cheeks. "Christ, you’re a mess. You can be angry with me, but don’t cry in front of your dad."

  I ripped the napkins from him and dried my tears. "You’ll do what I asked?"

  "Yes," he said reluctantly. "Although you should consider the alternative."

  I could’ve killed Ethan for suggesting that. "He’s not your father."

  "Someday, he will be."

  Ethan’s cold reminder yanked me from my whirlwind emotions. If I wanted to leave Ethan and help my father, I had to keep it together.

  "I’ll do what I can," he said. "But no promises."

  "Thank you."

  It was the first time I’d meant those words in weeks.

  "Let’s see him,” he barked. “I don’t have all night."

  I swallowed the rapid tide of bile. Ethan was incapable of not being a prick. He led me down the hallway. Within seconds, he was recognized by a nurse who summoned the hospital’s CEO by phone. Ethan took the receiver and belted out a warm greeting as though he was on the golf course.

  "Gary, great to hear you. How are the kids?" Ethan leaned against the counter, wearing a grim smile. "Yeah, it's my future father-in-law. Listen, I was hoping we could get an appointment with the oncology team tomorrow. Eleven is perfect. Thank you. I appreciate it. Go back to sleep. We'll touch base over the weekend."

  By the time Ethan finished his call, the chief medical officer had stepped out of the elevator and hurried to his side. "Mr. Blackwood, what an honor."

  God, their behavior made me cringe.

  Ethan expected nothing less. "Richard. Aren’t we taking the elevator?"

  "Er—there was a slight mix-up. The nurses didn't know he was related to you. Otherwise, he'd never be put in general population."

  "They did what?" Ethan’s voice rose sharply in anger. "Dave Watson is a red blanket patient."

  "Yes. Of course, sir."

  I squeezed Ethan’s hand. "It’s not a big deal. Where’s my dad?"

  The CMO, a balding man with a weak chin, gestured at the door. "Right here."

  Ethan yanked it open. Tears punched my eyes when I saw Dad on the bed, sheets pulled to his chin.

  He turned his head. Grimaced. "Hey."

  “Daddy.” I flew to his side, holding his clammy head and arms. “What happened?”

  “L-low blood pressure. I’m fine, honey.”

  It wasn’t fine.

  Every day, there was a new crisis. They couldn't find a vein, the cancer had spread, or his kidneys were failing, and I wasn't a donor. Stage-three adenocarcinoma. The five-year survival rate for patients with his disease was ten percent.

  I didn't expect a miracle. I just wanted time. More and more, that was looking less likely. My tears were building to a softball-sized lump in my throat. I talked around it, choking.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  My dad shoved himself to a sitting position, looking extremely sour. “The life insurance is in my filing cabinet. I’ll give you the key.”

  “Daddy.”

  "Just kidding." He patted my hand, his lips curving.

  Despite everything, I laughed. Dark humor had supported us through the horrible days. Sometimes, there was nothing left to do but laugh.

  It beat crying. “I have some good news.”

  “My PET scan is back?”

  “No.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Ethan got you approved for a new clinical trial with very promising results.”

  My father’s eyes darkened. “Oh.”

  “Aren’t you interested?" Watching him frown was a huge letdown. "Why are you shaking your head?”

  “I don’t want any more treatment.”

  The world went cold and dark. All the air vanished. My chest caved in, and I felt myself drifting away from my body.

  This wasn’t happening.

  “But you need it," I forced out the words. "Daddy, we could have years together. Maybe five years.”

  Dad’s voice was soft, but his eyes were firm. “It’s not worth the pain, hon. Quality, not quantity.”

  Do something.

  I glared at Ethan, whose look of boredom smoothed into concern.

  “Dave, perhaps you should reconsider. Don’t you want to see your daughter’s wedding? Hold her children?”

  Children with Ethan. I shuddered at the thought, but Ethan sold it pretty well. He flashed me an adoring smile that used to melt me to my core and squeezed my hand. If anything, I admired his dedication to lying. He was a beautiful lie.

  I grabbed Dad’s hand. “Please, give this a shot.”

  "My life is over, hon." Dad smiled at both of us, eyes glazed with tears. "Yours is just beginning. I’ve had a good run. I’m ready now that I know you’ll be taken care of after I’m gone."

  He didn’t know how wrong he was. "I’m not ready to let you go."

  "This is bigger than us, Naomi. C’est la vie."

  No.

  I broke down, clinging to the only other person in the room. Cold, lifeless Ethan. To his credit, the whispered comforts and fierce hug looked real. If I imagined they came from Graham, they were soothing.

  So I held on to him and cried.

  * * *

  I sobbed as quietly as I could. I d
isappeared into Dad’s bathroom before I became a mess. Ethan changed the subject to the Flames, a college football team that beat the which always roused my dad to a passionate fury. They defeated the Brooklyn Beasts.

  "The Beasts transitioned from a run-based offense to a weird, west-coast pseudo passing offense."

  "Well, they didn’t have the running game or the talent in the backfield," Ethan said, sliding into football commentary easily. "So they had to modify game plans."

  "The problem is Schierholtz," Dad boomed. "A good quarterback recognizes the pocket is collapsing…"

  I ignored their debate and wiped my face. Everything inside me buckled, wall by wall. All my efforts wasted. It was all for nothing. Dating Ethan. Getting engaged, for Christ’s sake. Dad was supposed to say yes. Chemo treatments were rough on his body. He’d stopped them weeks ago. The clinical trial was my last hope.

  I opened the door. Ethan had said something that made Dad laugh, but all the joy vanished from the room once he saw my face. Ethan sprang off the bed and gathered me in his arms. His vice grip warned me not to speak.

  "She’s tired," Ethan said to my father. "That’s all."

  "Oh, you must be exhausted." Dad yawned, turning to his side. "You kids go home, already. I’m fine."

  "You’re sure?"

  "Yes," he said, testily. "They’re keeping me another night for observation."

  "I’ll see to it that your every need is addressed." Ethan guided me toward the door. "Good night."

  Dad raised a limp arm, his voice thick with emotion. "Take care of my girl, Ethan."

  "I will."

  I choked out a goodbye and followed Ethan, who let me go the moment the latch clicked behind us. He walked down the hall, expecting me to follow. There was no point.

  Ethan stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Come."

  "No."

  I turned, heading in the opposite direction. Ethan’s footsteps quickly followed. He grabbed my arm and forced me against him. "We made a deal."

  "It doesn’t matter anymore." I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and dropped it into his pocket.

  "You’re making a big mistake, Naomi."

  "Without the treatments, he won’t last much longer. There’s nothing else you have over me."