I don’t know why it occurs to me now, but suddenly I know what’s missing from my manuscript in progress—a character readers will either love, or love to hate. I know exactly how I’m going to fix things now. And someone who looks a lot like Georgia, and talks like her too, is going to land on the page.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ERIN
Can’t wait to see you in the morning, I text Monique. Do you know if they’ll want me on air for tomorrow’s segment?
Tossing my phone onto the edge of the bed, I check my reflection in the full-length mirror next to our dresser and smooth down the lines in my dress. I’ve chosen my favorite for tonight: a little black dress, three-quarter-length sleeves, form-fitting, with a slight flare at the knee. It’s always made me feel like Audrey Hepburn. I tie a simple string of pearls around my neck and feel like I can take on the world.
My phone buzzes.
I didn’t know you were coming in, Monique texts back. It’ll be good to see you. Not the same without you here.
Not the same without me.
Precisely as I thought. No one has my energy, my pizzazz. But why wouldn’t she have known that I was coming? Surely they would’ve told her I was returning…
When the door to the bathroom opens and Mason emerges in a black suit and tie, I have to catch my breath. Sometimes that man still takes my breath away.
“You look great. Very sophisticated,” I say, straightening his tie. I’m nearly bursting to tell him the news—I’ll be going back to the station, but not until after this week, and Georgia’s wedding, is over. And if I’m feeling feisty, I’m going to demand more pay. Maybe more comprehensive benefits. Who knows. “I always love you in black.”
He looks me up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yup.” I give a twirl, my arms raised over my head like a slightly uncoordinated ballerina. “What do you think?”
“I’ve seen you in it before.” He shrugs as if he’s unimpressed. Doesn’t he see I’m wearing pearls? “Didn’t you wear that thing to Georgia’s first wedding?”
That…thing?
He disappears into the closet to slip on his shoes, and I check my reflection again. Boobs sitting at attention. Spanx tightening the soft curves of my stomach. Smoothing my fingers over the wrinkles at the edges of my eyes, I think about the last time I wore this dress. It wasn’t to a wedding.
“Oh God,” I say, suddenly recalling. “I wore it to one of their funerals.”
“Thought so,” he calls from the closet. “I’ve never liked that dress anyway.”
I flinch as if he’s struck me. “You’ve never said anything about it.”
“I’m saying something now.” He emerges from the closet, ready to go, and checks his phone. “Five minutes. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
As I’m sifting through clothes that are too bright or too plain, too dark or—God, not that one—too gaudy, I find the perfect dress buried in the corner. It’s from Saks, a robe dress, navy blue, long sleeves, deep-cut V-neck, and a ruffle on the side. I’m sliding into my shoes and prancing downstairs when I hear Mason’s voice drifting from the kitchen.
“I can’t talk long. Only another second. I told you why.” His voice deepens. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot about tonight.” He pauses, two pregnant beats. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
My heart clenches into a fist as I tiptoe closer. The palms of my hands slicken with sweat. He can’t be talking to another woman—he’d never cheat on me—and yet, something about the tenderness in his voice, and the sincerity in his apology, has me second-guessing my gut instinct. I hate to jump to conclusions. Like Georgia said earlier, loyalty is the most important part of a relationship, whether that’s a friendship or a marriage.
I slink onto the last stair and then descend to the floor. My heel clicks against the tile.
“She’s ready.” He’s all business now, his tone sharp. “I’ll be in touch.”
When he turns the corner, sliding the cell into his breast pocket, he sees me and smiles sincerely. “Hey, gorgeous.” He kisses my cheek. “That’s much better.”
I gaze up at the handsome angles of his face, searching for signs of infidelity. Isn’t that where I’m supposed to see it? The shiftiness of his eyes and the smile that’s a little too forced? But it’s not there. He’s simply my Mason.
I take his hand in mine and let him lead me to the car. We’re at South Cove Yacht Harbor by quarter to six, and when his headlights sweep over the dock, I spot Georgia immediately. It’s as if the light fixates on her magnetically, illuminating every perfect curve, every windswept highlight of her hair. A group of people huddles around her. As Mason parks, I see Brooke on the arm of a man whose hair is slicked to the side, his back ramrod straight. He gives a handshake here, a fake smile there, like a politician. A thumbtack would probably have more personality.
As Mason escorts me toward the main group, and a wave of laughter carries on the cool sea breeze, he smiles through his teeth. “We’re not staying the whole time. I don’t know any of these people and I have work I could be doing.”
“You know Georgia and Robert. That’s all that matters. Besides, we’re going to be on the bay, sweetheart. It’s not like you can just walk off into the water.” I feel him tense beside me. “Can you work from your phone?”
“It’s not ideal.”
“Does it have to be ‘ideal’?” I make air quotes. “Or can you make it work for one night?”
His steps pound on the concrete as we approach the dock. I pray he gets over his attitude before we reach the rest of the group.
“I’ll figure it out,” he mumbles.
But I can tell from his tone that he’s not happy about being here. Maybe if he weren’t so busy, he would’ve remembered about tonight. I love that his business is booming, but how much longer are we going to have to sacrifice our time together for his career? I’m about tired of it. If Mason weren’t slaving away at his desk, he would’ve been ready to go tonight, and eager to have a date night together. He’s always busy lately, always cramming in appointments first thing in the morning and after hours.
I completely forgot about tonight, he’d said over the phone.
It hits me then. He had other plans. That’s why he’d apologized. I don’t even know how to ask without sounding paranoid and ticking him off.
As something in my heart bangs like a boat against the dock, I go for broke. “Who were you talking to earlier?”
“When?”
“When I came downstairs.”
He waves to Robert, who’s leading everyone down the wood planks to where his yacht is berthed. “The office. They wanted me to reschedule a meeting. Not all of us have the liberty of walking out on our job. Some of us have to pay the bills.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Brooke and her husband blend with the rest of the group. Coiling his arm around her waist, her husband whispers in her ear. She laughs, throwing her head back like a woman in one of those vacation commercials where the couple is having the time of their lives. She’s smiling, glowing actually, and I can’t help but glance at Mason. He’s scowling. Checking his watch. Sighing heavily and rolling his eyes. He clearly wants to be anywhere else in the world, rather than boarding Robert’s yacht…with me.
When Georgia sees me, I squeal to match the volume and pitch of her squeal, and Mason plugs his ears. She jogs over precariously on her stilettos so that her heels don’t fall between the planks of the dock and wraps me up in a bear hug. God, she smells good. She’s always smelled like roses and sunshine, even after each of her husbands died. I don’t know how she does it.
“I’m so glad to see you.” She links her arm in mine as if I’m her date, then glances over her shoulder at Mason. “You don’t mind if I steal your wife away for a while, do you?”
He gives a dismiss
ive kind of wave. “It’ll break my heart, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”
Georgia whisks me into a group filled with people I don’t recognize and quickly begins introducing me as her best friend. I meet Robert’s yacht buddies, coworkers, and a few married couples from our neighborhood. It doesn’t take long to forget Mason’s attitude. Once he’s on the yacht and having a good time, he won’t even think about leaving.
“You look fabulous,” I gush, whispering in her ear. “I’ve never seen this dress on your before.”
Georgia does a twirl, gently pulling the ocean-tinted dress away from her sides. “It’s an Elie Saab. Remember that day you came over to sunbathe and we sat beside my pool reading Vogue? It’s the one that made me moan and stroke the page just as—”
“Robert came out to see what we were up to,” I finish for her, remembering the image from the magazine perfectly. “He bought it for you?”
“He remembered, all on his own,” she says, her tone deliciously dark. “Isn’t he to die for?”
He is, it would seem.
I glance behind me at Mason, who’s slipped away from the main group to hover over something on his phone. Mason would never buy me a twelve-thousand-dollar dress, which is exactly what that A-line, square-necked, beaded gown with satin stripes was on sale for. And he’d certainly never remember which dress had me moaning with delight, only to buy it as a surprise.
Maybe it’s because Robert and Georgia are still in the courting stage. That has to be it. I remember when Mason and I were getting ready for our wedding, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We had actual bachelor and bachelorette parties—not a prewedding celebration like this—and we both found a way to disappear from our respective parties to have sex. When we reappeared an hour later, cheeks pink, lips flush, no one even knew we’d been gone.
It’s times like those that I miss—when we could keep our little secrets from the rest of the world, and it was just him and me.
Now that Mason and I have been married five years, some of the shine has worn off. Our marriage is the piece of jewelry that’s been sitting in my box, unworn and forgotten for too long. It’s collecting dust, and a little dull, and if I were to decide to wear it one day, I’d put the time and effort into cleaning it up. I’m sure if I brought up my feelings in therapy, Theresa would say it’s about time that the newness wears off. There’s got to be something like a five-year itch I haven’t heard about. I’m sure I’d have to do something outlandish to bring back the spark, and then everything would be fine again.
But I’m tired of being the one to put in all the effort.
I want him to woo me, to buy me a twelve-thousand-dollar dress that makes me feel like a million bucks, to whisper in my ear and make me giggle.
I want him off his damn cell phone.
“Brooke!” Georgia exclaims and embraces her the same way she did me a few minutes earlier. I’d thought her excitement was genuine…appears I was mistaken. It rubs me the wrong way, though I swallow my feelings with a smile. “Glad you could make it. Mr. Davies, it’s nice to meet you.”
He’s taller than I’d realized from the broadcast we’d covered about him. Or perhaps he’s simply standing straighter. His eyes are piercing blue, almost white, and he examines Georgia critically before finally extending his hand. His skin is smooth.
“Pleasure’s mine,” he says, shaking as she puts her tiny hand in his. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Georgia kinks an eyebrow seductively. “Oh, I’m sure only the good things.”
After oohing and aahing over Brooke’s strapless cocktail dress and another round of squeals and hugs, Robert calls everyone to the second berth, where he’s docked his life’s joy: Maxine. The yacht looms over us, luxurious and sleek, with a sharp, pointed bow. Long, narrow, blacked-out windows on the sides look like glossy insect eyes watching us. Before we board, he raises his arms triumphantly and gives a speech, gushing over its glory. Hundred feet long. Cruising speed of sixteen knots. Five generous staterooms that can sleep twelve, along with a master suite on the main deck. Jack lifts his hand as if he’s commanding a meeting—bless his soul—and barks out a statement about a monitoring system that can enhance the yacht’s security. Robert assures him that it already has its own state-of-the-art security system. Best money can buy. Jack nods, giving his approval. Full dining room that seats twenty comfortably. Sundecks in front and back.
“All aboard,” he says cheerily. “Any questions?”
“Where’s the bar?” Mason asks to riotous applause.
Please don’t let him get drunk tonight and make a fool of himself. Please…
As we step onto the back sundeck, between multiple rows of lounge seating, Georgia tugs me close. “Before we all meet in the dining room, can you follow me to the master suite on the main deck? I need a witness.”
“That sounds backwards,” someone says from behind me. “Murderers usually want to minimize witnesses.”
It’s Jack. He looks proud of his little joke, with a smug smile splashed on his handsome face. Beside him, Brooke looks mortified, the color draining from her cheeks. She hangs her head and sighs.
“What good would it do to kill him now, sweetheart?” Georgia bats her eyelash extensions at him. “We’re not even married yet.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIN
Laughing tightly, Georgia squeezes me against her, almost as if she wants protection as our group fills the dining room. Mason heads straight to the indoor bar with Jack and Brooke, and I watch him say something—I’m sure it’s a joke he thinks is witty—and they laugh, clinking their glasses together. The rest of the group fills both the indoor and outdoor dining tables, lounging back onto the sea-blue cushions, diving into conversation about their jobs, the yacht, how smooth and calm the water appears. A fire has been lit in the center of each of the tables, casting warm glows over their faces.
As the yacht pulls away from the dock, silently slicing through the water, Georgia leads me to the master bedroom. It’s modern and airy, and doesn’t feel like we’re on the water at all. A king-sized bed is in the center, while a dresser rests against the far wall, and two chairs and a table sit beneath a wide span of tinted windows. Outside, the docks disappear and are replaced with San Francisco’s colorful cityscape. Somewhere in the dining room, piano music begins to play.
I wonder why Georgia has such an aversion to Robert’s yacht. If Mason were to have something like this—an obsession that stole his time away from me, but one we could enjoy together, I wouldn’t have a problem at all.
I’m about to ask Georgia why she’s whisked me away from the party when Robert enters, securing the door quietly behind him. It hadn’t occurred to me earlier, but he must’ve hired someone to captain the yacht so he could be present for tonight’s event.
“This is it,” he says and meets Georgia at the chairs. She sits in one of them delicately and begins flipping through the papers he’s placed on the table in front of her. “Let us slay this big fat elephant in the room once and for all, shall we?”
Hesitant, not exactly sure what I’ve walked into, I perch on the edge of the bed and watch Georgia’s face drop.
“I thought we’d talked about this,” she says sweetly. “When did you have the lawyers draw it up?”
“This week.” He begins signing sloppily, the pen whirling over the paper. “In the event of a divorce, you receive one million dollars for every year we’re married.”
“I see that.” She flips the pages slowly, her gaze skimming over the legalese. “And five million for every child we have.”
He looks up at her. “I know we’ve had this discussion, and you don’t want children, which is fine by me, but if something happened, you and the child would be covered. The lawyer thought it was a brilliant contingency plan.”
“Right,” she whispers, and keeps reading. “Bet
ter safe than sorry.”
Does Robert hear the sarcastic inflection of her voice? Does he know that at this very moment she’s like a serpent, rearing back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Because I know Georgia well enough to realize when she’s about to swallow a man whole.
“You get to keep the engagement ring, and any other jewelry I purchase for you over the course of our marriage.” He’s talking quickly now, ready to get this over with. “The same goes for gifts. Those are all yours, no matter what.”
“Very kind of you.” Georgia glances at me, but it’s only for a second, and I know she’s about to go in for the kill. “Other than that, it says here that any assets accrued before we were married are to remain ours. You want yours donated to…” She flicks a page over. “…a whole list of charities: EduReform, UNICEF, PETA, Better Healthcare, and…what’s this one?”
“Water for India. They need it.” He folds his hands in his lap. “My lawyer recommended splitting up my fortune rather than dumping it into one place.”
“Very generous of you.”
As if he’s suddenly picked up on Georgia’s irritation, he pats his lap. “Come here, baby.”
Keeping the agreement in her grasp, she moves to his lap. He swivels the chair so they’re facing the cityscape rather than looking at me. I get the urge to leave, but Georgia asked me here for a reason, and my instinct says that reason hasn’t come to fruition just yet. Robert cradles Georgia lovingly, and she rests her head on his shoulder. If I were reporting this encounter, and my photographer was with me now, he’d record the way Robert brushes his hand gently up and down Georgia’s back. I’d talk about love and sacrifice and all that comes with it.
To keep from staring at them, I scroll through my social media accounts, yet I’m not really looking at anything in particular. Instead, I’m hanging on every word that comes out of their mouths.
The Sinful Lives of Trophy Wives Page 7