Cunning (Infidelity #2) (26 page)

I didn’t need Bryce. What made her think I did?

“Sunday. Let me know and I’ll arrange to pick you up at the airport.”

“Nonsense. I’ll have a driver scheduled.” Of course she would. Hell, I probably would have picked her up with a driver. “I’ll let you know when I’ll arrive.”

“Thanks, Momma. If you come to me, I’ll listen.” I couldn’t guarantee I’d do what she wanted, but I would listen.

“Phoenix.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not in New York. I just looked at his itinerary. Your father is in Phoenix.”

I wished. At least Alton wasn’t in New York.

The knock on the door startled me. “I need to go. Someone’s knocking on the door.”

“Be careful, dear. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Please tell Jane I said hello.”

“I will…”

Her words faded as I peered through the peephole. The blonde hair and ruddy complexion came into view. If he were forty years older he’d look like the man my mother continually referred to as my father. I couldn’t remember Bryce’s father or even what Marcel Spencer looked like, but from the red covering Bryce’s cheeks and neck, I knew that the man outside the door was angry about something.

Shit!
I can’t let Bryce Spencer into Nox’s suite.

MOTHER SQUEEZED MY
hand, her usual Montague mask gone as her smile shone my direction. So much for reverse psychology. It was too late. She wouldn’t be able to influence Father. His decision was set.

“Adelaide,” Alton said with a grand gesture as he stepped forward and placed a warm kiss to my cheek.

I tried to remember Dr. Sams’ therapy. I tried to take in this moment, not only with my eyes, but with all of my senses. Inhaling, I decided my future husband carried the aroma of expensive tobacco and whiskey. I recognized the whiskey. It was from my father’s private collection. No doubt while my mother calmed my nerves with Montague Manor private reserve wine, Charles and Alton were crossing the
t’s
and dotting the
i’s
of their agreement while the whiskey flowed.

I smiled, feigning delight in what everyone in the room knew to be a business deal.

My senses.

Dr. Sams’ voice played on a track only I could hear. “Don’t forget about sight. It’s second most important to smell. Our olfactory senses trigger the deepest memories, yet sight creates a picture. Look at your lover, inch by inch. Appreciate the beauty of the human body.”

Though I doubted he’d undergone the same therapy, it was what Alton had done when I entered the room, scanning me from head to toe. I returned the favor, beginning with his blonde hair. It was short, but not too short, parted on the side and combed back to perfection. His gray eyes reminded me of steel, glittering with small sparkles of blue and green. He was an attractive man with a confident smile. The paleness of his complexion lent itself to the rouge of blush as blood gathered in his cheeks. He was taller than Russell with a wider build.

At forty-three, he still looked quite good. I suddenly wondered why he’d never married. After all, he was successful in his own right. Not only a trusted vice president at Montague Corporation but also the only son of William Fitzgerald, real estate tycoon from Atlanta, who made his fortune in the 1960’s. His only sister, Gwendolyn, was married to Preston Richardson. They had one son, Patrick.

I listened halfheartedly as everyone spoke. My mind was a symphony of thoughts: outside words, Alton’s résumé, and Dr. Sams’ homework all swirled together in an unfamiliar melody.

“While the engagement is slightly unorthodox, rest assured that I’m honored you want to be my wife.” Alton’s voice was deep and booming, much like my father’s. Only the tenor was different, giving the song a new pitch.

“Laide?” Charles asked, bringing my eyes to his. It was the conditioned response I never questioned.

“Yes, Father?”

“Your fiancé is speaking to you.” His lips smiled, but his blue eyes, the same color as mine, sent a warning. I was zoning out, lost in my senses. My attention was needed in the present.

Lifting my chin to the man by my side, I inhaled again. The Montagues made their name and fortune from the tobacco fields that still dotted our estate. It seemed only fitting that my husband carried the aroma. His, however, was spicy, aged, and refined. I thought of how happy that must make Charles and smiled. “Alton, I’m overwhelmed. This is… will be…” I swallowed. “…I’m happy to be your wife.”

He reached for my hand.

Warm. Clammy.

No, Dr. Sams said to only think positive thoughts. Warm and
tender
. Yes, tender. Alton Fitzgerald was tender. That’s what I told myself.

“I believe we should be upfront with my daughter, Alton.”

“Yes, sir.”

Father continued, “As Alton mentioned, this is unorthodox, but I believe it’s in the best interest of everyone. The decision has already been made. You know that, don’t you, Adelaide?”

With Alton still holding my hand, I decided it was comforting to have someone beside me as Charles began his speech. Looking to where our hands touched, I smiled. Turning back to my father, I replied, “Yes, I know. What’s next?”

Yes, my fight was gone. I would be the perfect daughter and wife.

“You two will be seen more and more together. In the spring, you’ll elope.”

“Elope?” I asked.

“My dear,” Mother chimed in. “We did the big wedding. Now it’s more important to make it legal.”

“I have not,” Alton interjected.

I turned his direction, wide-eyed. “You’ve not what?”

“I’ve not had a wedding. I told your father I thought eloping was better than a courthouse wedding. It would give us a real wedding, something special, without the large fuss.”

Slowly my head moved up and down. I liked that. Did that mean that Alton actually negotiated this with my father? He didn’t accept everything on Charles’s terms and yet my father agreed to Alton? I was curious. “What else was negotiated?” I asked.

“Adelaide,” Alton said. “I’m afraid that term sounds too much like business legalities. I’d prefer you think of this as more personal, without deals and agreements.”

There was a timbre to his speech, a rhythm that steadied me.

“Thank you, Alton. I appreciate that. However, no matter what my father’s told you, I’m capable of understanding the part I play in the negotiations that occurred. I’ll do everything in my power to make you a good wife. I’ll also agree to everything, but I want to know… I need to know what has been negotiated.”

He looked to my father. I followed back and forth as they wordlessly debated between themselves.

Finally, my father cleared his throat. “As I said, you will elope. There will be a prenuptial agreement.”

I nodded, happy that my father thought to look out for my best interests.

He went on, “I won’t bore you with the specifics, only the highlights. In the event of the death of either of you or divorce, all Montague holdings will revert to Alexandria.”

“Wait! What? Either of us?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “There’s more.”

I retrieved my hand and looked at Alton. “You agreed to this?”

“I did. We’re both healthy, and I’ve waited until now to marry. I have no intention of divorce. That clause is a non-issue.”

“But eventually… we won’t live forever.”

“Alexandria will be admonished to care for the remaining one of you,” Charles added.

“By agreeing to this marriage, Alton accepts the fact that he’ll never produce an heir of his own. He’s aware of your inability to conceive.”

I hated how clinical he made it sound. No wonder I had issues with sex. Besides, the man’s forty-three years old. If he were to have children, he should have done it by now.

“Laide, what you are about to hear may not be repeated,” my father warned. “Alton and I discussed this at some length, and I’ve decided that for it to work, you must be aware of the stakes.”

“What?”

“Do you agree?”

Though my pulse increased, I nodded.

“As you mentioned, you and Alton won’t live forever, as obviously, neither will your mother and I. Contingent upon Alton Fitzgerald agreeing to this marriage is the guarantee that his progeny will inherit the Montague name and status and all that comes with it.”

I looked from person to person, unsure what I was missing. “Didn’t you just say that you agreed to no more children?”

“We aren’t discussing
more
children,” Alton corrected.

I searched for answers. “Patrick? Your nephew?”

“No!” Alton said with a laugh. “As I’m marrying you to obtain Montague rights, I want to guarantee that my son has the same opportunity.”

“Y-Your son?”

“Not opportunity,” Charles corrected. “As this agreement with you is set, so is Alexandria’s.”

I stood and paced back and forth. “She’s four years old. I’ve agreed to everything you’ve said. I understand it’s my duty. But she’s a… baby.”

“She’s a Montague. She’s the continuation of the name. It’s her duty as well as it is yours,” Charles said.

“Son?” I turned to Alton. “Whom is Alexandria supposed to marry?”

Charles nodded at Alton, who returned the favor. Olivia stood and walked to the door. Everyone and everything happened in slow motion. I watched, detached, as if they all knew the stage cues and I was the only one without a script. So many emotions, so many lies. I wanted to remember Dr. Sams’ instructions,
coping mechanisms
he called it. But in the time it took for my mother to open the door, my world shattered.

My best friend entered.

“Suzy?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

“Olivia and I will be outside.” My father wasn’t asking, and within seconds I was alone with my best friend and my fiancé.

Suzy’s eyes were uncharacteristically red and puffy. “God, I hate you right now,” she said as she hugged me. “But I’ll always love you.”

I couldn’t comprehend. “Why are you crying?”

“We make sacrifices for our children. Right?”

“I guess,” I replied. My eyes widened as I searched Alton and Suzy for answers. Slowly some surfaced, but they didn’t make sense.

She reached for my hands and held them tightly in hers. “Bryce is my angel, my pride and joy. I suffered through the embarrassment of divorce and held my head high so he’d never be ashamed. Marcel was the loser, the one who abandoned us. He wanted a paternity test. I couldn’t allow that. If I would have, Bryce would have known the truth. The whole world would have known. They never can. He never can.”

Where the hell is that girl with my wine? I need the whole damn bottle!

My arms flung up and down as I walked in circles and wedged the pieces of this new puzzle into place. Bryce… paternity test… blood thundered through my veins, the echo reverberating in my ears. The wine I’d drank sloshed about my stomach as my understanding grew.

“Say it. Say it!” My volume increased. I was like a caged lion, a wild beast consigned to a box on display. It was wrong. The lion was a king and deserved to be on the plains of Africa; instead, he was trapped as entertainment and amusement. Some may even argue his captivity served the purpose of education, giving children the opportunity to learn about animals not indigenous to their world. Someone needed to explain that to the king of the jungle. To him it was injustice. I felt the same way. At that moment, I was the lioness, also confined to a cage, on display, asked—no told—what to say and what to do.

Suzy sniffled softly as Alton’s neck straightened and chest grew.

“Edward Bryce Spencer is my son.” His tone bubbled over with pride, completely devoid of remorse.

I looked into Suzy’s eyes. “You never, ever said a thing to me. I’m your best friend and you never told me that you and…” I turned toward the man who’d slept with my best friend, who’d ruined her marriage. “…how didn’t I know?”

“Laide, you knew Marcel and I weren’t happy.”

“Then why? After you and Marcel divorced, why didn’t the two of you…?”

They exchanged a look, one only shared by intimate familiarity. It made my stomach retch.

“Oh my God.” I took a step backward. “You two did. You have. Oh God… you
are
…” My voice trailed away.

Suzy’s head moved vigorously from side to side. “No, Laide, we
aren’t
.” She took a deep breath. “We were. We were about to make it public when Russell…”

My temples throbbed.
Where the fuck is my wine?

“As soon as you told me what your father said, about remarrying, I thought of Bryce.”

My knees gave out as I fell back to one of the chairs. “You thought of Bryce? My husband was dead. I was told I had to remarry…” I looked at her in disbelief. “…and you thought of your bastard son?”

Crimson seeped from Alton’s collar, filling his neck and cheeks. In my altered state of understanding, I had images of cartoons I’d seen as a child. Ones with a funny little bald-headed man wearing hunting gear. When he was mad, the redness rose, much like a thermometer, until the top of his head blew. That was what I saw as I looked toward the man I was about to marry.

“Yes and no,” Suzy said with authority. “I thought of Bryce. I always think of Bryce. However, he’s
not
a bastard. Officially, he’s the son of Marcel Spencer. And,” she added with an air of confidence, “he
will
marry Alexandria Montague. He will hold claim to all of this.” She motioned about with her arms as she turned a small circle. “Just as Alton will.”