* * *
Now, it seems that he is the one who needs a cleansing. He can’t so much as brush his teeth without thinking of Candy, every interaction with Cecile a constant comparison.
* * *
She moves to the closet, pushing aside hangers and examining gowns, her old items from before, all still waiting, just like him, this entire house a ridiculous shrine to a woman who feels like a stranger. What was it that he had loved about her? Where is the connection, the spark, the love that he remembers?
* * *
She yanks a dress free and steps into it, his eyes closing, the moment too intimate for the strangers they have become.
* * *
In a moment when he finally has everything he wants, it feels like he’s lost it all.
CHAPTER 55
Divorce, as it turns out, is a nasty bitch. Even with two parties willing to part ways, the dog and pony show that you perform is ridiculous. Counseling has been the biggest joke. Nathan and I both had to attend private sessions, the courts determining that two hours in the presence of a psychiatrist is enough to convince someone to change the course of their marriage’s fate. I don’t need a psychiatrist to convince me that I belong with Nathan. Unfortunately, that has already been decided by my stubborn mind.
* * *
Today is the required joint session—one with Dr. Bejanti, Nathan, and me. I’m sure Cecile wanted to attend, wanted to dig her manicured nails deep into Nathan’s arm and hiss possessively at me, pulling up her silicone-enhanced lips to reveal razor-sharp teeth.
* * *
I have threatened, bribed, and begged my soul to not be excited, to not look forward to seeing Nathan. It is unhealthy for me to continue to want him, to continue to need his touch, his stare, that flare in his eyes that tells me he wants to fuck now. But my heart doesn’t listen. It is pattering, it is quivering, it is jumping up and down in my chest and screaming with joy when a black Range Rover pulls up to the office and he steps out. He is effortlessly pulled together in a blue polo, worn jeans, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Casual Nathan. A side I haven’t often seen. A side that weighs down my pussy and causes a latent need inside of me to awaken.
* * *
His tan arms tug open the door, and suddenly he is before me, his mouth curving into a smile, his arms reaching out, pulling me to him for a hug. “Hey Candy,” he whispers, and I melt against him.
* * *
It’s the smell that gets me—the scent of his cologne that takes me right back to every good memory I have. Standing there, my face buried in his shirt, his arm around my waist … I can close my eyes and be back as his wife. Which is humorous, considering we are stepping into divorce counseling. The thought jolts me back to the present and I step back. “Hello Nathan.”
* * *
Oh my God, my voice actually behaved. Cool and confident, it doesn’t waver or squeak. I don’t sound like a besotted reject or a love-struck teen. I sound … casual. Unaffected. “Where’s Cecile?”
* * *
He watches me closely, unmoving, his blue eyes on mine. “The house,” he says finally, and there is something in his words, but I am not savvy enough to figure them out.
* * *
I nod and sit, glancing at my watch, the Tag Heuer that I couldn’t stop myself from putting on this morning.
* * *
He sits next to me, too close, the scent of him undoing me, causing my eyes to involuntarily close, my body to lean … I straighten, open my eyes, and reach for my phone, scrolling through it in an attempt to appear busy.
* * *
“How are you?” He leans in, putting his arm around the back of my chair, his fingers running gently along my arm. I start at the contact, turning to look at his hand, the strong fingers of it playing gently with my soul.
* * *
“What are you doing? Stop touching me,” I snap.
* * *
He shoots me a wounded look, withdrawing his arm and checking his own watch. “Sorry,” he mutters. “You don’t have to act like it—”
* * *
“Mr. and Mrs. Dumont?” The man before us is Indian, short and round, with a face that beams, wire glasses tight against round cheeks.
* * *
We stand in unison, Nathan gesturing for me to go ahead, and we follow the man to his office.
* * *
It is a small office, probably designed to force the sparring couple closer, as if less space can overcome irrevocable differences. In my case, it works perfectly. Any proximity to Nathan causes me to swoon like some weak heroine in a 19th century romance novel.
* * *
We sit, the doctor settles in, moves some papers, and then smiles at us. “I understand we are here to discuss your marriage, and some roadblocks it may have encountered. What are the main issues in your relationship?”
* * *
Nathan casts a sidelong glance at me. “I don’t know that there were any issues, per se. We separated because my ex-girlfriend returned and agreed to give our relationship another shot.”
* * *
The man squints, his cheerful beam gone. “Your ex-girlfriend?”
* * *
“Well, ex-fiancée.”
* * *
“And your wife presented a problem in that scenario.” His inquisitive look has turned into a hard stare, full of judgment. I want to kiss the man.
* * *
“We had a marriage of convenience. Candace and I were not in love.”
* * *
“Were not or are not?”
* * *
Nathan stills. “What do you mean?”
* * *
The doctor opens our file, pulling out photo upon photo and setting them on the desk before us.
* * *
Us in Seafire, bent over lobster, my hand clasped in his.
* * *
On the beach, his head bent to mine, our bodies molded as one.
* * *
A close up of his face, beaming at me, wind whipping our hair.
* * *
Paparazzi photos cut from some magazine. A coordinated image created by lies.
* * *
“These photos indicate a couple very much in love.”
* * *
“It was fake,” I interrupt whatever bullshit Nathan is about to say. “We pretended. In hopes that Nathan’s ex-fiancée would see.”
* * *
“Hmm …” The man seems unconvinced, leaning back in his chair and staring at us. “Tell me more about this marriage of convenience. What was the point?”
* * *
“My attorney has informed me that there is no legal standing that a couple must wed for reasons of love—” Nathan’s curt sentence is ended by Dr. Bejanti’s irritable expression, waving his hand dismissively.
* * *
“I don’t care about the law. I only care about the two of you. Why did you get married?”
* * *
“For her.” Shit, there was some bitterness in my tone. They both notice it and look at me simultaneously.
* * *
The doctor frowns. “It was all a ploy to entice jealousy? Marriage is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
* * *
Nathan shrugs. “I dated around a lot in the first few years after she left me. She, and the press, didn’t find that very exciting. Plus…” He glances at me. “Candace understood the limitations of our relationship.”
* * *
I want to get the fuck out of here. Listening to him speak, listening to our fucked up marriage being analyzed … It makes me sound pathetic, reminds me of how our entire relationship was centered on her. I feel a wave of physical nausea, thinking of her in the car, Nathan and I doing a coordinated dance so that we can be divorced and she and him can be together.
* * *
“Are you going to marry her?” The question pops out of me suddenly. Nathan’s eyes sharpen, a question in them.
* * *
/> I straighten, meeting his eyes. “Are you? Are you planning to marry her?”
* * *
“I don’t think so,” he says slowly. “We’re still … working through a few things.”
* * *
I pin my lips together, and hope the irritation doesn’t show on my face. “Just wondering.”
* * *
He tilts his head, frowning, light flickering in those baby blues. “Do you—I mean…” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “Would it bother you if we married?”
* * *
I want to strangle the man, wrap my hands around that sexy neck and squeeze some sense into him. “No,” I say quietly, meeting his eyes. “I was just wondering.”
* * *
We stare at each other for a long moment, my heart fighting to stay composed. Then he leans forward swiftly, grabbing the back of my neck, and kisses me.
CHAPTER 56
Damn. I never could hide from his kiss. And the communication line between us hasn’t lost any of its strength during our time apart. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask my permission before pressing his lips to mine, my mouth opening instantly, my hands reaching up and gripping his shirt, twisting the cotton with need, my desire to touch any and every part of him overriding my attempt to be passive.
* * *
Everything I feel, everything I miss, goes into that kiss. I tell my story of heartbreak and need and desire with my tongue, with my begging strokes and carnal swipes. And his mouth speaks with possessive, aggressive movement, his breath ragged, his mouth taking mine and reclaiming what was once his.
* * *
A woman’s desperation is most clearly spoken in a kiss. And I’m afraid, in this moment, that I bare my soul to him. Everything that I have contained, held back, lied to myself about, comes to the surface, all of my emotions revealed at once, both to me and to him.
* * *
I can’t take it, can’t take the memory of his touch reawakening. I can’t take my feelings laid out, naked before this man. I push on his shirt, breaking the connection of our lips, pressing hard with my fists until we are fully separated, his eyes tight on mine, desperation in their midst.
* * *
He stares at me, his chest moving beneath my hands, his eyes almost accusatory in their intensity and dismay. “Candy,” he whispers, sliding his hand around and cupping my neck. “I had no idea …”
* * *
I push, ripping myself from the seat and the burn of his hands, grabbing my purse and running for the door, passing through hallways and lobbies. I don’t stop and compose myself, don’t listen when the receptionist calls out my name. I have one focus, and I zero in on it. Get the fuck out of here and into the safety of my car.
* * *
Damn the payment for our session.
Damn the blonde bitch in my house.
Damn Nathan and his fucking kiss.
Damn the doctor with his questions and how he will react to what just happened.
* * *
I don’t stop until I am several miles away, jerking the wheel sideways and bringing the car to a quick, shuddering stop in an abandoned strip mall. There, I shift into park, drop my head to the steering wheel, and cry.
* * *
I can’t do it. I can’t sit across from him and sign a document that will dissolve our marriage. I can’t see the two of them together, can’t see the look on his face when he stares into her eyes. I will physically break in half if I see them kiss, or see her smile, or if they embrace once the verdict is rendered. This should have been easy: a sterile environment with a doctor, a few easy questions, and we part. How did something so simple turn into something so terrible?
* * *
Now he knows. He knows how I feel. He knows that while he was acting, I was sincere. He knows that I am weak and vulnerable, and that he has hurt me. Everything I have fought so hard to project—my cool, confident demeanor—just crashed and burned in that cramped office. Now he knows the truth. And I look the fool.
CHAPTER 57
A year ago, I would have cringed at a call from my bank, my account most likely overdrawn, NSF fees pending. Now, the number displays and I feel only guilt. I rise from my chair and quietly move from my father’s room, answering the call once I am in the hall.
* * *
“Is this Mrs. Dumont?” The crisp voice doesn’t know how the name hits my ears, how it is both a knife and a salve to my heart.
* * *
“Yes.” I should change my name back, after the divorce, but I don’t know that I will. I’m not yet ready to separate from the one thing that made me his wife.
* * *
“We need to talk about the balance in your account.”
* * *
“Is there a problem?” There shouldn’t be, but my heart still quickens, our Nassau actions illegal, despite the solid intentions behind them.
* * *
“Not exactly…” the man pauses. “It’s just uncommon for so much money to sit in a savings account. The rate of interest is so nominal. Can you come in, and we can discuss a money market, or CD? Something more appropriate for those funds.”
* * *
I can’t put the money in a CD. I can’t tie it up, not when every bone in my body is screaming at me to give it back. Four point five million dollars, that’s what this man is going on about. Four point five million dollars of Nathan’s money, that I stole.
* * *
You see, researching Cecile wasn’t the only thing I did at the library that day. I also took my passport and the piece of paper Drew had given me, with Candace’s social security number and the account number written neatly on its front.
* * *
And there, from a courtesy phone in the library’s lobby, with a prepaid long-distance calling card and list of Bahamian banks, called each one, until I found the one with an account in my name. And then, that day before our flight, I transferred some of the funds out of CeeCee’s account.
* * *
I didn’t take much, though much is such a relative term. It wasn’t much when you looked at the balance in the account, but it was a massive infusion to my old bank account—an account that had never carried a balance of more than a thousand dollars.
* * *
Four and a half million—approximately half the interest that had accumulated in the account in the four years since Nathan’s big deposit. Despite the appearance to Nathan, the account had earned a healthy rate of return, allowing me to siphon off a large chunk without tipping him off.
* * *
Mr. Brantling was correct; the transfer was easily done by phone. I downloaded the appropriate forms, scanned in a copy of my passport, and had the item notarized by the library’s receptionist. Fuck saving fifteen percent on car insurance in fifteen minutes. I became a millionaire in half that time.
* * *
It had been an insurance policy. I had Nathan’s word that he would take care of my father. His word, and a contract that was, at best, questionably enforceable. I’d needed to protect myself, needed a parachute in case I got ripped from the Dumont luxury jet. I'd gotten a brief window of opportunity, and I’d had to decide in that split second if I would take the opportunity or let it pass. Poor planning had always been my downfall. That one, single moment, I'd wanted to make the right decision, to do something that would turn my life in the correct direction, for my father and me. I could always give the money back, if things went right and Nathan kept his word. But I would never be able to recreate that opportunity. I would never have that chance again.
* * *
So I took it. I took it, and then Nathan kept his word, and now I’m stuck with all of it, and the uncertain footing of what to do with it.