Black Lies (17 page)

The weapon of my plan—the newspaper proof—was beautiful. I scrolled down the long image, checking the title, date, side copy that framed either side of our deceit. All legitimate. All accurate. Should she feel the need to check on the publication, she’d find what she should. What I’ve placed in easy reach for her hands. The center of the page, the main event, right under the headline, that was the beauty of the proof. In giant letters across the top:

AREA SURGEON’S WIFE FILES FOR DIVORCE AMID CHEATING SCANDAL

Photos. Crisp black and whites, one a respectable newspaper wouldn’t print but in this lie, spoke louder than any words ever could:

Molly and Marcus. At the Ginger. His hand on her leg, his mouth to her ear, a smile I’d seen her use with Lee screaming from the page, her features easily recognizable.

Molly and Marcus. In his car, her mouth on his, the press of her hand silhouetted in the window.

Molly and Marcus. In my living room. On my couch. The zoomed-in photo only showed her bare back, leaning over him, his eyes burning up at her.

Molly and Marcus. My favorite. His hands digging into her back, her mouth at his neck, his head back, eyes closed. The crop made it look like he was inside her, getting the ride of his life, no person would believe anything differently.

The copy was short, beneath the photos, a paragraph that no eyes would ever see except for the ones that mattered.

One of our city’s most respected cardiologists received divorce papers today in what could be the ending of a five-year union. The good doctor, whose wife has had him under surveillance after past incidents of cheating, was captured in the following incriminating photos with an unidentified young woman. No word yet on how long their dalliance has been going on. The majority of the photos received were inappropriate to print. For questions and comments, please email Don Insit at [email protected] or call 213-323-9811.

The page looked stunning, the photos leapt from it in a manner that you couldn’t help but stare. He would stare. She would stare. He would accuse. She would object or confess. And either way, they would be done. I replied to the email, approving the work, then called Don. Gushed my thanks and verified the plan. He’d print two copies of the full-length newspaper spread. Next week I’d replace the day’s cover sheet with this one. Stick it on her front step with a nasty note, in a place that Lee would be sure to see it. Let them both pour over the photos together. Then stand back, and reap the rewards of my labor.

Flawless. Intelligent. I gave myself an awkward pat on the back and hung up with Don. Then I moved, yanking out a bag, and pulling open drawers. Wheels up in two hours, but I didn’t need to pack much. Our Hawaiian closets were full, the bathrooms and kitchens stocked by a staff expecting our arrival. My toothbrush and laptop, not much else was needed. I threw a few paperbacks in my bag, along with a new lingerie set Brant hadn’t yet seen. I texted Jillian to make sure Brant was around and ready, then I headed for the shower.

I feasted on Brant with an urgency that surprised us both, dropping to my knees in the plane, his mouth dropping when I yanked at his zipper and pulled out his cock. “Here?” he whispered, the sound sinking into a groan when I took him soft in my mouth. Hardening. Against my tongue, the push of blood vessels expanding the size of him, filling fast, the gag of my throat as I had to pull off to accommodate him. The push of his hands on the back of my head, stopping me, needing me. I gripped his suited thighs and sucked him. Harder, needier, than I ever had. God, I loved this man. God, I wanted him. All of him. I wanted him to look at me and see no other woman. I wanted to be his wife and have his babies, and for none of them, or us, or him to be broken. I wanted the impossible, and I took this instant instead.

He whispered my name, his legs shuddered beneath my hands, and his hands guided my head. Urgently, the thrust of him in my mouth. “Don’t stop.” The beg on his mouth. “Yes baby.” The sign that he was close.

And then.

Breakdown. His hand tangling in my hair, the hard thrust up and up, into my throat, one hand fumbling for and grabbing onto the armrest as he moaned my name and shot down my throat, my mouth working, sucking the cum from him, up and down and up and down, and then he pulled me off. Drug me by my hair until I was in his lap, his cock out against my thigh, still twitching, still wet from me. He held me in his arms, kissed the taste of him from my mouth, and whispered his love against the top of my head.

I loved this man.

With my whole heart.

I needed him.

He completed me.

I closed my eyes, curled into his chest, and felt the wrap of his arms around me.

I lay in our bed, the whip of the fan above me, and stared at the ring. Nestled in a dark blue box, the glint of its diamond brilliant, even in the dark. He had pulled it out hours before. As we ate on the roof deck, the wash of the ocean our backdrop to dinner, champagne cooling the heat of our food. He did the whole thing again, getting down on one knee and presenting the ring.

“You won’t give up,” I scolded him.

“I’ll never give up on us.”

“Me neither,” I promised him, leaning forward and pressing my lips against his head. “Me neither.”

I wanted the ring. Wanted the title. Wanted the forever. I gently worked the ring loose and held it, setting the box on the nightstand. Rolling the platinum setting in my fingers, the unique diamond stone glinting at me. Blue, a color I had never seen on a diamond. Not too large. Two to three perfect, unmarred carats. Flawless. It would be the only thing in our union unflawed and honest, with nothing to hide. It didn’t deserve us. It deserved an innocent bride marrying a man with nothing in his eyes but love. But maybe those were the couples who got the imperfect, thousand-dollar Zales specials. Maybe the perfect, priceless diamonds were reserved for trophy wives and cheating husbands. Trust fund babies with mistresses on the side. People like me. And Brant. Maybe this diamond evened out our deficiencies with a few carats of retaliating perfection. I slid the diamond on, the fit perfect, the glow of it warm against my skin. I rolled, ran my hand along the back of Brant, his tan skin the perfect backdrop to the diamond I would never wear. Then I leaned forward, kissed his skin, and curled up against his warmth, the weight of the ring comforting. I closed my eyes and dreamt of perfection.

At some point, in the dusk of morning, before the sun fully exposed our room, I pulled off the ring and carefully returned it. Set it back in his suitcase, its spot nestled between sunscreen and a rolled socks. Then I crawled back into bed. Mourned its loss. And wondered, for a brief moment, if Molly had called Marcus. It was a black thought in a perfect day, but Lee wouldn’t leave my head. He stalked my dreams. Dominated my imagination. Pulled on me with insistent hands whenever my mind had an uncontrolled moment. I should have forgotten him. I should have left him and Molly to their life of apparent bliss. But I couldn’t. Instead, I was moving closer. Intertwining my life with his until I couldn’t tell when mine with Brant ended, and mine with his began.

A dangerous game. One that was fixing to get worse. Much worse.

I ran along sand, my stride used to the give, my speed even as I dug through deep places and pounded wet footprints through receding surf. The beach was smoother than home, less rocks, more picturesque. At this time of morning, I was alone. A few towel boys, setting up chairs, nothing else. Solitude. The wash of water cleansing my thoughts.

I was lost. It was official. Turned around to the point where I didn’t know if I was climbing uphill or down. My obsession, my game with Lee? It was a losing, impossible direction. I knew that. I knew that the smartest thing, the safest thing to do, would be to ignore him. Let him live his life. And stay on my side of town. With Brant. I didn’t love Lee. I loved Brant. Lee was… a distraction. A distraction that fucked me as if he was created to do it. A distraction that gave me another side of life, away from the finery, a side of life filled with impulse and fun. A distraction that I needed to keep the seesaw of my relationship with Brant level.

I pushed harder, my breath ragged as I took out my frustration on my muscles. Pumped my arms and gasped as I took my run faster, slipping in the sand at times, my calves burning as I sprinted through the sand.

Faster. Faster. I ran until my heart hurt and my lungs broke. Until I sank in the sand, my knees hitting the wet suck, my chest heaving as I flopped on my back. Closed my eyes and wished for California sand underneath my back.

It didn’t work. I stayed in that place until my heart rate calmed, my chest stilled. Then I rolled over, tried my best to brush the sand from my back, and headed home. To Brant. To the life I should be living.

“Would you live here?”

I glanced up and shot Brant a quizzical look.

He shrugged. Sat back in his chair, the Hawaiian coastline painting an impressive backdrop behind him. “I was just thinking, maybe we should spend a few months here. Maybe half the year, spend the winters here.”

“What about the company?”

He shrugged. “I could work from here. Convert the garage into a workshop. Maybe hire a few locals to help during project times.”

I grinned. “A few locals? It took you five years to find Frank.” Frank, the only BSX tech who had survived Brant’s idiosyncrasies long enough to learn how to not piss him off.

“Then we could bring Frank.” He smirked, reached over and grabbed my hand. “I like vacation Layana.”

I rolled my eyes. Let him pull my hand to his lips. “What is vacation Layana like?”

He pursed his lips. Tilted his head as if to think. “Carefree.”

“Carefree? What am I, a Teletubby?” I threw the remaining piece of my muffin in his direction.

“Fine. Not carefree. Less uptight.” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Everyone’s less uptight on an island. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m a thousand miles from Jillian.” I stuck out my tongue at him.

“Oooh… easy now. She’s probably got this place wired.” He looked at the closest plant as if it might harbor a bomb.

I stood, wiping my hand on a napkin and tossed it down. Sauntered over and pushed at the arms of his chair, separating him from the table. Straddled his body and ran my hands through his hair. “In that case,” I whispered, nipping his ear playfully. “We should put on a show.”

“I’m in,” he growled, peeling off my robe and taking any more words out of my mouth with his kiss.

There, under the glow of the morning sun, we thoroughly ruined the moral compass of anyone who might be listening in.

The jet takeoff was smooth, a thousand parts of machinery working in perfect synchronization to bring us back home. I moved to the back of the plane, to the bedroom, and pulled back the sheets. Fluffed pillows and called Brant back.

“What do you want to watch?” I flipped through the options on the touch screen, jumping when Brant’s hand snaked through the open door and pulled me back, dragging us both toward the bed, his foot kicking the door somewhat closed.

“I want to watch you come,” he whispered, grabbing the tablet and tossing it aside, his fingers pulling at my pants and dragging the material over my hips.

“Fine,” I scoffed, pushing at his shoulders, until his mouth skimmed the line of my hip, my head dropping back when hot wet heat closed over my skin. “Go do what you do best.”

A half hour later, we turned down the lights, Brant’s fingers rolling my lazy body over until we both laid sideways, his body cupped around mine, and watched Gene Hackman and John Cusack battle it out on the big screen. By the time the end credits rolled, Brant was asleep, heavy breathing regular against my neck.

I reached up. Fumbled around the bedside table until my hand hit my cell. I turned it on and sent a short email to Don:

ON WAY BACK FROM HAWAII. PLEASE MAKE SURE FINAL COPY IS READY FOR PICKUP.

Then I rolled over, into his body, and closed my eyes. Tried to sleep. Tried to appreciate this moment with him. I lay there, my eyes closed, breath matching rhythm with his, but sleep wouldn’t come.