Betrayal

by Aleatha Romig

  Just like that—pop. My balloon deflated.

  My chin dropped to my chest and the tears I’d thought had dried turned back on. I brushed one from my cheek.

  Patrick covered my hand and squeezed it. “What the fuck did they do?”

  That was such a loaded question. Did I go back to when I was ten? Did I open closet doors that were better left locked? Did I dust off skeletons that didn’t deserve to be brought back to life? Or did I concentrate on yesterday?

  I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes with my napkin. “Recently?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, otherwise we’d be here until tomorrow, and I only took one day off.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to take a day off for me.”

  “I’m not. Look out there. It’s a fantastic summer day in the most beautiful city in the world. Let’s eat and go for a walk. If Central Park doesn’t make you feel better…” He widened his eyes. “…there’s a few little stores down on Fifth Avenue… oh, and some on Madison. I’ve got retail therapy down to a science.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be doing much in the way of retail therapy.”

  “Mom didn’t know…” His voice trailed away.

  I took a bite of my salad. “Transfer from Columbia to Savannah Law or drop out all together.” My voice raised an octave, mimicking my mother’s. “It is truly unnecessary for a Montague woman to work.”

  The light brown of Patrick’s eyes clouded.

  “Oh, and marry Bryce Spencer and carry on the bloodline. Chop-chop… make some babies.”

  “Are they fuck’n nuts?”

  I laughed. “Don’t we both know the answer to that question?”

  His expression perked up. “But you’re here.” Then he added suspiciously, as if the thought just occurred to him, “You’re not here to complete transfer papers or withdraw, are you?”

  My lips pursed tight as my head swayed side to side.

  “So you told them to fuck off?”

  “I left after they told me my trust fund was being held hostage.”

  “Hostage? They can’t do that. Can they?”

  “Alton was citing clauses. Something about it covering undergraduate, but not graduate school and expenses. I didn’t look at the paperwork. I couldn’t stay in that place one minute more. All I know is that my trust fund is gone. I can access the account online and it’s been closed.”

  He leaned back his chair, pushing off with his arms. The action caused his biceps to budge from the edge of his short-sleeved shirt. “Nothing? They left you with nothing?”

  I just nodded as I took another bite. The salad was fantastic.

  Patrick stood and paced, his hand going though his thinning hair. “Why would the powerful Fitzgeralds want everyone to know they’d let you go to New York with nothing?”

  “I don’t think they expected me to leave. I think this is what my mom meant when she said her father didn’t want her going away. The way they see it, I had my chance—more of a chance than she did. I had four years in California. Now I owe them and the Montague name my life.” I spoke louder. “My body and my soul.”

  He sat back down and gestured around the room. “This place… well, it’s Cy’s. His name is Cyrus. You probably figured that out, that I didn’t just win the lottery.”

  I grinned. “It’s pretty high rent for an intern.”

  “He’ll be home later tonight. I don’t know about a three-year commitment, but I’m sure he won’t mind you staying here for a little while. He knows people. He might be able to help.”

  A seed of hope burst in my chest. It was small and in need of tending, but it was there. “Thank you. If he’ll do that for your cousin who you haven’t seen in nearly five years, I’d say you did win the lottery.”

  Patrick smiled and it did my heart good. I’d seen that smile before. I’d worn it. Whoever this Cy was, he made Patrick happy.

  “I hate that I need help,” I went on. “The thing is that I’m willing to work, but I’m not willing to miss this chance at law school, at Columbia.”

  His gaze lightened. “Let me talk to him. In the meantime, let’s go for a walk across the park and find your apartment building. I need to know how long it’ll take me on Saturdays to get over there and wake your ass up. Cy hates to run and I love it. I need a running partner.”

  WE WERE BACK at Patrick’s place and I was back on the barstool watching him cook something that smelled like heaven. He’d chopped and measured and never once used a recipe. There were three pans on the stovetop with sauces that made my mouth water. In the oven was a beef something or other. It even had little leaves stuck to it with little pin things. It looked like it belonged in a Martha Stewart cookbook.

  “Where did you learn how to cook?” I asked, swirling the wine around my glass.

  He scrunched his brow. “Are you saying you don’t think it was from my mom?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Aunt Gwen is more domestic than Adelaide, but that just means she knows where the kitchen is located without directions.”

  His laughter rumbled through the air. He really was handsome in a very non-rugged sort of way.

  We’d spent most of the afternoon walking and talking. Central Park was beautiful. If I could make this work, I wanted to be Patrick’s running partner. I wanted to get to know my way around the paths and roads. I’d been there before, but each time I was struck by the tranquility of nature that was surrounded by one of the biggest cities in the world. I don’t think people who haven’t actually walked the paths, or had only seen it in movies or TV, had any idea of the true splendor.

  We found my apartment building. By going through the park or along the north edge, it was about a ten- to fifteen-minute walk from here. If only life were simple and I knew for certain I would be moving to that little one-bedroom in another week.

  “So what did you think about your building?” Patrick asked as he refilled our glasses.

  As I reached for mine, my eyes lit up. It wasn’t the wine, but the location of my building. “Oh my gosh. I couldn’t believe it when we turned that corner.”

  Patrick laughed. “Only you would sublet an apartment online that’s right by Tom’s Restaurant.”

  “I recognized it right away. I’ve seen it a thousand times in reruns. It’s the one from Seinfeld.”

  “Well, that settles it. Saturday mornings, you and I go for a run, and then we eat breakfast with Jerry and the gang.”

  I shrugged and sipped the tart pinot grigio. It was a little better quality than what I’d had the night before. “If you’re buying, I’m eating. At least then I’ll have one meal a week.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much?”

  “Sometimes.” I thought about the apartment. “When I did my search, I was looking for places close to the campus. I knew the park was close. I had no idea.”

  Just then the front door opened and we both turned that direction.

  “Cy,” Pat whispered.

  “Really?” I asked with a smirk. “I thought maybe strangers come in your place without knocking.”

  The footsteps neared and a handsome, distinguished man walked in, wearing a suit. I’m not sure if he was what I expected, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He had gray around his temples and peppered through his black hair. He was taller than Patrick, and his face held the lines of someone who spent his time thinking.

  “Hello,” he greeted. Walking up to Patrick he leaned over his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “This smells fantastic.” He turned to me. “You must be Alexandria.”

  I smiled. “I am.”

  “She goes by Alex now,” Patrick corrected.

  “Alex, nice to meet you.” He reached for my hand. His grip was firm and hands soft.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Cyrus. Thank you for allowing me to stay here for a few nights.”

  “It’s Cy, and any cousin of Pat’s is a cousin of mine.”

  “Oh,” I asked, ashamed I hadn’t thought o
f it before. “Are you married?”

  The two exchanged a grin that made my tummy flip, and then Cy poured himself a glass of wine and loosened his tie. “No, we aren’t married, but if Patrick says you need a place to stay, I believe him.

  “Excuse me for a minute while I get into something a little less stuffy. I can’t wait to get to know you, Alex.” He turned toward Patrick. “And I can’t wait to eat whatever that is you have cooking. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  I looked away as they shared another look. It was as if I were the third wheel with two honeymooners. And while it made me happy for Patrick, it also made me a little sad for myself. After Cy walked away, Patrick looked at me with a so-what-do-you-think? look.

  I lifted my glass. He did the same, as I professed, “To you. I approve.”

  “Whoa, I’m so glad. I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  I’d forgotten how easy banter was between Patrick and me. We had always gotten along. That may be why the rumors of him at academy bothered me. The guy the girls described wasn’t the cousin I knew.

  A few minutes later, I asked, “How did you find Cy?”

  It was apparently Cy’s cue to return looking younger and even more handsome in jeans and a light blue button-down. The color made my breathing hitch. “Oh, I get this question,” he said with a grin. “He didn’t find me. I found him.”

  Patrick nodded. “It’s true. Found me and saved me from a five-hundred-square-foot studio apartment with a tiny Pullman kitchen.”

  “Can you imagine?” Cy asked. “All this culinary talent going to waste like that?”

  I sighed. “Gosh, Cy, you don’t have any friends who are looking for someone to save, do you?”

  When he only grinned, I stupidly added, “I’d prefer if they were gay.”

  Oh my God!

  Although the apartment filled with the deep sound of Patrick and Cy’s laughter, I was mortified. I needed to cut back on the wine. It must have been the salad at lunch and all the exercise. This was my second glass. I needed some food.

  Cy leaned against the counter and dipped a spoon in the thick white sauce. Blowing on the contents, he asked, “Man or woman?”

  My cheeks must have filled with pink. “I think I was kidding.”

  “If you weren’t,” Patrick asked.

  I shrugged. “Well, I was thinking man. I mean, I can cook.” Patrick raised his brows my direction. “I can. It may not be like this, but I make a mean spaghetti sauce. And…” I looked down at the shorts and top I’d worn on our walk. “…I actually clean up pretty well. I could make a stellar arm ornament for business functions.” I thought of Nox’s description of women he’d dated. “And if there’s an illusion that’s trying to be perpetrated, I could do that too. If not, I’d be a great friend.”

  “So you’re saying no sex?” Cy asked.

  I squared my shoulders. “Am I giving you a résumé?”

  “You asked if I had friends.”

  “Well, I think maybe a blind date is the way to start that relationship, not, ‘Here’s my partner’s cousin. She’s down on her luck and needs a sugar daddy.’”

  Shit!

  “That’s not…” I tried to pry my foot from my mouth.

  Cy laughed again. “Stop, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know. Look at Pat.”

  I did and noticed the pink in his cheeks.

  “He’s talented, intelligent, well-spoken, and incredibly handsome. I’m lucky to have him in my life.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I want what you have.”

  “He’s also great in bed,” Cy added as his eyebrows wiggled.

  Patrick and I both laughed.

  “In that case,” I clarified, “your friend better be straight.”

  “Man or—”

  “Man,” I quickly replied.

  After dinner as I helped Patrick with the dishes, Cy came into the kitchen.

  “Alex, may I look at you?”

  I took a step back. “Look at me?”

  “Your hair. May I touch it?”

  My eyes darted to Patrick, who nodded. “Um, all right.”

  He walked behind me and pulled the tie from my hair. Then he fluffed it and arranged the auburn waves on my shoulders and back. Cy took a few steps, walking around me, circling me. He never took his eyes from mine. Next, he gathered my hair and piled it high on my head. “Do you wear much makeup?”

  “I can but not usually.”

  “Stanford?”

  This was increasingly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “With honors?”

  “Summa cum laude.”

  “Columbia Law?”

  Patrick nodded.

  “What are you two talking about?” I looked from one to the other. “You know I was joking, right?”

  “Raised like me,” Patrick said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Well-bred, manners, can handle yourself well in most situations,” Cy said.

  I shook my head. “Most, but right now I’m feeling uncomfortable.”

  Cy handed me my hair tie and turned to Patrick. “If you trust her, give her the elevator pitch. If she’s interested, call Andrew and get her an appointment for the morning. I’ll arrange for an afternoon interview.”

  My eyes widened. “Pat, what the hell are you two talking about?”

  Patrick threw the towel he’d been holding on the counter and reached for my hand. “I’d pour you more wine, but this isn’t something you should consider when your faculties aren’t intact.”

  Tugging my hand, he pulled me toward the couch in the living room. It faced toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows. As we sat, I saw beyond the darkness of the park to the glimmering Upper West Side.

  “Little cousin, I can trust you, can’t I? Like when we were kids, pinky-swear?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  His smile grew. It was like we were kids and he was about to tell me some secret, maybe about a Christmas present. “Listen to me,” he instructed. “When I’m all done you can ask questions or tell me I’m crazy, but promise you’ll listen to everything first.”

  “I’ll listen.”

  “I’m going to tell you about a company I work for.”

  “The design firm?”

  “No, although I do work there too. I’m going to tell you about the other company I work for. It’s very exclusive and privately run. People only learn about it by word of mouth. If you’re ever questioned by anyone outside of the network, you’ve never heard of it.”

  “Pat, this—”

  “No questions,” he reminded me.

  “Sorry.”

  “Alex, let me tell you about Infidelity.”

  I STARED AT Patrick in disbelief. Words weren’t forming, not in a way where I could put them with others and string them into anything resembling a sentence. An elevator pitch, as in what Cy told Pat to give me, was by definition a succinct, persuasive summary, a sales tactic to be used when time was of the essence.

  I didn’t want short. I needed more.

  Standing, I wrapped my arms around myself and silently walked to the windows. The spectacular view no longer registered. In the short time I’d been with Pat and Cy everything had seemed real. It was more than that—it felt real. I saw it. My life had been too much turmoil, too much emotion. Ever since Del Mar I’d been off kilter. I fought back the tears as I turned back to Patrick, still sitting silently on the couch, watching me with large eyes.

  Is that the male version of doe in the headlights? Because, in the words of Nox, after what Pat had just told me, the innocent ship has sailed.

  Sucking my lip between my teeth I worked to turn the chaos in my mind into coherent thoughts. “Are… are you saying this is all a sham?” My body trembled and I looked around for a vent or fan, something to cause my sudden chill. “This is no better than Savannah—smoke and mirrors. No, it’s worse.” My volume rose. “Worse! Oh God, Patrick. How could you?”

  He wa
sn’t angry. Instead, I sensed something between hurt and defiance.

  “Little cousin, don’t you dare judge me.”

  “B-But you sold…”

  “What? My body, my soul, my heart? I didn’t sell any of those. I simply agreed to rent them. Isn’t that what dating is? Isn’t that what happens when you meet someone and the two of you are mutually attracted to one another?” He stood and came closer. “Have you never…? Has no man ever had your heart?”

  I squeezed my midsection tighter and nodded as tears now freely flowed down my cheeks. “Yes, but it wasn’t a business agreement.”

  “It wasn’t? Did he buy you dinner?”

  “Dinner, not an apartment and spending money.”

  Patrick’s voice lowered. “Is that all your heart’s worth, a nice dinner?”

  “No. No! That’s not what I mean.”

  Pat turned me toward the window and hugged me from behind. His embrace was warm and comforting—nothing sexual—as he spoke near my shoulder. “Look out there. There are people in the park right now. There are people in Savannah. Those people would take what you have—your body, heart, and soul—for a lot less.” He kissed my cheek and turned me toward him. “You asked if what Cy and I have is real. The answer is yes. You asked me on the phone if I was happy. The answer is yes. I’d take it even further and say that I love him. So what? We found one another through a service. It’s like an online dating service, with perks.”

  “I don’t think I understand. Cy said he found you. Did you have any say?”

  “I filled out a profile and set my hard limits.”

  “Your hard limits?” I asked, the phrase prickling my skin.

  “Yes. As the name insinuates, not all of the clients are single. I wasn’t willing to be a third wheel or the reason a marriage or relationship failed. That was one of my hard limits.”

  “One?”

  Patrick pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I restricted my profile to gay men. If you don’t think I could get it up for some hot, wealthy woman, well, you’re wrong, but if I did that, it would compromise who I am. Hard limits are important. Once those are set, Infidelity does its magic. The staff knows their clients. A profile isn’t available to the entire world. First, only an exclusive number of people even know that this part of Infidelity exists.”