Little Secrets (ARC)

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Little Secrets (ARC) Page 14

by Jennifer Hillier


  And this is what makes it so different with him. It’s the sex, yes, but it’s also how the sex makes her feel. When they fuck, she can be anything she wants to be. She can say anything she wants to say. She is completely uninhibited in a way she’s never been with anyone before. She might not know how to ask him to hold her hand in public, but she does know how to demand he stick his tongue deeper into her. She comes hard, writhing in his face, and he doesn’t stop until she’s finished and tells him to.

  When she turns around he’s pulling down his underwear, but she wants him inside her, and so she pushes him onto the bed and climbs on top, where she can look into his eyes and kiss him and taste herself on his lips, and it only takes a few minutes because he’s so turned on, and she rides him as hard as she can stand it until he cries out her name and his eyes bulge and that vein in his forehead pops.

  There are two things she loves about this moment. First, it’s the only time Derek ever looks ugly, because otherwise, he is always beautiful. Always. Even when he’s being a dick at McDonald’s or talking about his old-man music or snapping about her feet on his well-oiled dashboard, he is beautiful.

  Second, it’s the only time she’s ever fully in control in their relationship. He’s the one who dictates everything that happens, and being able to make him come like this—hard, without having to hold back for her orgasm—is the one thing she gets to do.

  But there’s now one thing she’s starting to hate about it. It reminds her that there’s an expiration date on their time together. Right after this, Derek will leave to go to work, and she’ll go back to her shitty apartment, to her resentful roommate and neglected cat, to cupboards full of mismatched bowls and packets of dollar-store ramen, feeling emptier than she did when this whole thing started, because every day that she’s with Derek, every time they do this, she loses a piece of herself.

  They don’t cuddle after sex. Instead, she lies on the bed, sated, watching him get dressed, observing the meticulous way he buttons his shirt and tucks it into his pants, the way he ties his shoes so precisely. His shoes cost more than a month’s rent for her and Ty. She knows, because she looked them up.

  “I can’t drive you home, I gotta head straight to the office,” he says. “But I think you should stay. Get some breakfast. Get a massage if you want. Charge it to the room. I’ll leave you money for a cab.”

  She sits up. “You can’t eat with me?”

  She senses he wants to come sit by her; it’s in his body language, the way he seems to want to step closer to the bed but is willing himself not to. He’s been like this the last few times, strangely hesitant with his goodbyes. Like there’s something more he wants to say. Like he knows he should end it and end it now, but then he chickens out.

  “I have a meeting,” he says. “But you go. Enjoy. And when you’re ready to leave—”

  “Use the side entrance.”

  He nods, and she lies back down as he finally comes over to the bed and gives her a kiss. It’s on the lips, but it’s chaste. It makes her wonder if she’s ever going to see him again. In the first couple of months, goodbyes were so easy.

  Now they’re hard.

  He grabs his bag and he’s gone. She turns toward the window, looking at the pretty trees and the overcast sky, trying to enjoy her last few moments in the luxurious hotel room, which probably costs per night what she makes in tips in a week at the Green Bean. It’s depressing. But then her stomach rumbles, and she perks up—at least she gets breakfast out of it, and the hotel restaurant makes a mean eggs Benedict with avocado toast.

  As she heads toward the bathroom, she sees the money on the dresser and stops. Derek’s left her cash, and it’s way more than what she’d need for a cab. The stack of bills is thick, all twenties and fifties. She picks it up and counts it out, and her mouth falls open.

  He’s left her five thousand dollars.

  He’s given her money before, of course he has. She was short on rent one month, and she mentioned it in passing, and he plucked three hundred dollar bills out of his pocket like it was spare change. She once fretted that she needed to stop by the Cash n’ Carry to see if they had any chicken, because if she got there too late, they might be out, and he shook his head in mock disgust and handed her two hundred, and told her to go to Whole Foods and stock up on organic, free-range chicken, which was much healthier.

  He pays for all their hotel stays, almost all their meals; he paid for her flight to New York and the Hamilton tickets and a shopping spree at Bloomingdale’s, where he bought her a Dolce & Gabbana bag that cost twenty-two hundred dollars. Two thousand two hundred. He’d tried to convince her to choose the colorful one that she was drawn to, but ultimately common sense prevailed and she chose the one in black, knowing she might never have another bag as nice as this one and it needed to go with everything.

  “Are you sure?” Kenzie had asked him, clutching his arm at the cash register while the sales consultant widened her smile to hide her smirk. She’d seen this scenario before, no doubt.

  “I’m sure.” Derek handed over his credit card. “You want the flowered one, too?”

  “Florals are hot right now,” the sales lady piped in, dialing up her smile by another fifty watts.

  “No.” Kenzie laughed. “We’re good.”

  She caught the sales consultant’s glance and read the unspoken message written all over the woman’s judgy face: Honey, don’t be an idiot. Get the floral one, too. Little did the poor woman know. All she saw was Kenzie’s pink hair and giggles, but Kenzie didn’t need another Dolce & Gabbana. She was playing the long game.

  And five thousand dollars would be falling far short of the goal line. Five thousand doesn’t even cover two months of her mom’s care, and she sure as shit didn’t spend six months sleeping with a married man only to end up with a measly five thousand.

  She needs to know what this means. She grabs her phone from the night stand and sends Derek a text.

  Hey babe, you left something here?

  He doesn’t reply. He’s probably driving, so she heads into the bathroom to pee before heading down to the restaurant. Maybe it’s just a gift. Kenzie’s been stressed about money lately—when isn’t she?—and maybe he just wants to help out.

  Maybe it’s not over yet.

  It’s not until she’s at the restaurant and her eggs and avocado toast have been brought to the table that he replies. She imagines he’s just pulled into the office parking lot.

  It’s all for you. I didn’t want to say anything while I was there, because I knew you probably wouldn’t take it.

  Ha. As if.

  But fine, she can play the game. She’s going to play it off like it’s nothing, no big deal. You’re very sweet. But I’m ok! I’ll give it back to you when I see you next time.

  His reply is quick. There isn’t going to be a next time, he texts. This is goodbye. I’m sorry to do it like this, but I can’t do this anymore. Thank you for a wonderful time, and I wish you all the best, Kenzie.

  Her hands are shaking so hard, she almost drops her phone. Coward. He’s ending it like this? Over text? With five thousand dollars to, what, soothe hurt feelings and make the breakup easier? For who? Him?

  And what part of him thinks he can buy his way out of this with only five grand? Paul couldn’t, and neither can Derek. Nope. No way. Not after half a year of investing her time and energy into a man who’s the emotional equivalent of a black hole.

  She forces herself to take several deep breaths. What she says next matters. She starts typing, her thumbs pounding hard on the glass of her Android.

  Derek, please. I love you. Don’t do this. Talk to me.

  He’s not going to buy his way out of this for so little cash, the sonofabitch.

  She tries again. If you’re telling me you never want to see me again, and you really mean it, then fine. I’ll leave you alone. But Derek, I want you. I want to be with you. I need you.

  You’re the worst thing for me, he replies.

&n
bsp; Oh god. It’s over. She’s blown it.

  Kenzie sits at the table in the restaurant as the server refills her water glass, thinking about the pile of money she stuffed into her D&G purse before she left the room. How did she not see this coming? An affair is all about the honeymoon stage, and she should have realized they were past it two months ago. That was right about the time he started getting quiet, and stopped wanting sex the minute they walked into their hotel room. When he started getting more critical, more moody, withdrawing.

  She should have known, but she’d been too busy falling for him and starting to let herself think that maybe this was real. She had totally misjudged. And now it was over, and all she had to show for it was a bruised ego, a designer purse, and a small pile of cash.

  And maybe a broken heart . . . if she allows herself to feel it.

  Her phone pings in her hand, and she looks down. It’s Derek, and she has to read the words twice before they process. When they do, her whole body crumples in relief.

  Forget everything I just said. I’m an asshole. Kenzie, forgive me. I don’t want this to end. I need you, too.

  It’s not I love you, but it’s good enough. Jesus Christ. That was a close one.

  She texts back. I’m not going anywhere. But please don’t scare me like that again. I don’t deserve that.

  I won’t, he replies. And you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. He sends her a heart emoji.

  She sends one back, and as if on cue, her stomach rumbles. She puts down her phone and picks up her fork.

  Time for breakfast.

  Chapter 14

  Marin spent the entire night lying on top of the bedsheets she and Sal made love on. She didn’t sleep at all.

  At seven a.m., she takes a long, hot shower. She puts on makeup. She puts on a dress, the silk Rachel Roy with the billowy sleeves. In the kitchen, she pushes a preprogrammed button on the professional-grade coffee machine Derek had splurged on a few months earlier, and three minutes later, her mug contains a perfect soy vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso. She brings it to the banquette, where she sits by the window and catches up on a few emails.

  At eight forty-five, she reads the texts between Derek and his mistress. His attempt to end it once and for all. Her efforts to suck him back in. Which seem to have worked.

  She makes her decision.

  The call takes all of five minutes. Marin exchanges pleasantries with her personal financial adviser and then they get down to business. She recites the account number Julian gave her and confirms the amount. If her adviser is surprised, he doesn’t say so. He doesn’t ask questions. He handles only wealthy clients, and he knows better than to probe. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars is a lot to give to one charity, but she and Derek donate large sums of money all the time, and she’s increased her donations considerably in the past year.

  It’s almost as if she believes she can buy her son back with good karma.

  But there really is no such thing as karma, is there? Terrible things happen, and sometimes they lead to more terrible things.

  She disconnects the call, and is lost in thought for a few minutes until her phone pings. You alive?

  She picks up the phone and calls Sal. He answers on the first ring.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” she says back, and is reminded of the awkwardness between them, which didn’t exist this time yesterday. The line crackles, and she remembers he’s up at the farmhouse, where cell reception is spotty.

  “Everything go okay last night?” he asks.

  Marin hesitates. She almost doesn’t want to tell him. It feels too weird to say Yeah, everything’s great, I just wired a quarter of a million dollars to a charity that launders money for the fixer you recommended to kill my husband’s mistress.

  “It’s a go,” she finally says. “I want her . . . gone.”

  “I thought you meant Derek.” Sal’s shock is evident even through the crappy connection.

  “I never said Derek. You told Julian that. Derek is my son’s father. It has to be . . . it has to be the girlfriend.”

  There’s a long pause. In the background, she can hear the TV. The TODAY show is on, and she catches a tinkle of laughter from both the audience and Sal’s mother. She can picture the two of them sitting in the living room of the farmhouse, drinking coffee. Later tonight, the coffee will be replaced with a bottle of extremely expensive merlot or cabernet sauvignon from their underground wine cellar, which contains the last of what’s left of Sal’s father’s personal wine collection.

  “Wow.” It’s obvious he doesn’t know how else to respond. “But you know it really isn’t about her, right?”

  “I don’t care. She’s trying to ruin what’s left of my family.” More silence on the other end. “What, you didn’t think I had it in me?”

  “I learned a long time ago not to underestimate you.” Sal lowers his voice, and the sound of the TV gets farther away. She pictures him walking into the kitchen. “But you know there’s no turning back now, right? Once you’ve paid him, the money’s gone.”

  “I know. It’s done.” It’s her turn to pause. “Do you know . . . do you have any idea how he plans to do it?”

  “Nope.” Sal’s reply is decisive and quick. “I don’t ask him questions like that. They don’t concern you, trust me.”

  “That’s what he said, too.”

  “He’ll make it happen. None of it will touch you. That’s why he costs so much.”

  It makes Marin uneasy to think how much faith Sal has in Julian’s skills. Just what has he had Julian do for him in the past?

  “How long, do you think?” she asks, and what she really means is, How long before I can change my mind, if I wake up tomorrow and completely freak out about what I’ve done?

  “I don’t know,” Sal says. “But not long. Hang on a sec.” She hears him saying something to his mother, and then he’s back. “Sorry. She couldn’t reach the remote.”

  “How is Lorna?” she asks.

  “Better. Mobile for the most part.”

  “That’s good. I’ll let you get back to her.”

  “Mar . . .” Sal hesitates. “You want my advice? Forget about it all. Forget about the diner, forget about the money. Put it out of your head, like it never happened, and move on with your life. Don’t think about Julian. And definitely forget about the mistress. They don’t exist to you anymore, okay? That’s the only way . . . it’s the only way to be good with it. And for fuck’s sake, call off the PI. You don’t want her finding out about this.”

  She nods, then remembers she’s on the phone and Sal can’t see her. In the background, she hears Lorna calling for him.

  “I gotta go,” he says. “I’ll be back in the city later tonight if you want to . . . talk. You could come over.”

  Marin know what he means, and he’s no longer referring to Julian. He’s referring to the two of them, and what happened between them yesterday, which they still haven’t discussed. And they need to, but not right now. Not anytime soon. She can’t deal.

  “Drive safe,” Marin says, and they disconnect.

  Sal is good to his mother, and she’s lucky to have such a devoted son. Lorna Palermo never remarried after her husband died over twenty years ago, and for the last few years, her health has been in decline. Knee problems, back issues, and a hip replacement surgery, which caused Sal to be away from the bar for nearly a month, about sixteen months ago. She remembers the exact time frame, because Lorna’s surgery took place a couple of weeks before Sebastian went missing, which is the last time she saw Sal’s mother.

  When Marin called to check in on Sal after Lorna was released from the hospital, the poor guy sounded so overwhelmed. The surgery had gone well, but Lorna couldn’t do anything by herself, and the house needed repairs. Marin had insisted on driving out to the farmhouse to help out for a couple of days, despite both Sal’s and Lorna’s protests that they could manage.

  “But Marin, you’re so busy.” Sal’s
mother was delighted and also dismayed when Marin showed up, tired after the three-plus-hour drive. Lorna smiled, the scar on the side of her face crinkling. “Your little boy needs you more than I do.”

  “He’s fine with Daddy,” Marin said with a smile. “They’re having their boy time.”

  “But so close to Christmas, you probably have much better things to do than be here taking care of an old woman—”

  “Lorna, I’m so glad to see you.” Marin bent down to give the woman a kiss on the cheek, feeling the soft pucker of the scar underneath her lips. It was the result of the last beating Lorna’s husband gave her, the one that nearly killed her, the one that finally allowed to her to push for the divorce. She never said it was him, and he was never arrested, but Sal knew. Everybody knew. “How long have we known each other now? You know you’re like a mother to me.”

  “Bless your heart.” Lorna gazed up at Marin with soft brown eyes that mirrored Sal’s. “I wish my son would hurry up and settle down already. Have children, while I’m still here to enjoy them. I’m not going to be around forever. I hate the thought of him being alone.”

  Marin touched her arm. “He’s not alone, don’t you worry. No matter what, he’s got me. Speaking of your son, where is he?”

  “Down in the cellar.” Her eyes sparkled. “Choosing a wine for dinner tonight. He was so excited when you said you were coming.”

  “I’ll go say hello.” Marin was eager to see her friend, but also glad to escape. Lorna could be a bit cloying.

  Sal’s mother is a sweet woman, but she’s scarred, physically, emotionally, and mentally. She’s overly doting on Sal, as if trying to make up for years of not doting on him enough when he was younger. And her mind seems to be deteriorating. Her doctor suspects she has mild traumatic brain injury from the last beating she took, which went undiagnosed at the time, and the symptoms are showing up more now. She has trouble concentrating, is easily frustrated with simple tasks, and Marin can hear her talking to herself sometimes, muttering words and phrases in a mix of Italian and English that Sal says don’t make sense.

 

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