Page 41 of Hush Money

He freezes and stays frozen for a painfully long time. Eventually, his mouth opens and closes as he starts to say something, but no one’s got the time or energy to stand around while he manufactures some excuse that I won’t believe anyway.

“Save it,” I tell him.

“Tamsyn…”

“Let me guess,” I say bitterly. “None of your thirty maids made your bed today, so you’re doing your own chores? Sudden bedbug infestation? You ate crackers in bed and need to get rid of the crumbs?” I know I sound unhinged, but I don’t care. Why can’t he just be honest with me? Don’t I deserve that? “Don’t just stand there looking guilty. Say something.”

He runs his hands over his head and blows out a harsh breath. “I’m trying to.”

“You know what? Forget it. I’m leaving.”

That galvanizes him. He intercepts me at the door and slams it in my face, a wall of flashing eyes and unyielding determination materializing firmly in my space. “I told you. You’re not leaving. There’s no fucking way.”

The sudden hot burn of tears threatens to embarrass me. I refuse to let them fall. Not over them. “I’m not staying here while you make a fool out of me.”

He makes a strangled sound. That’s my only warning. “She’s making a fool out of me,” he roars, the force of his unleashed anger backing me up a step. “You think I want you to see that?”

I stand my ground even though his sudden vehemence scares me. A lot. I imagine a wounded tiger trapped in a corner is exactly this fierce. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I woke up and she was in bed with me.” He can barely get the words out around his gritted teeth. “Naked. Wearing your perfume. The perfume that I bought for you. That I equate with you. That I love. So you do the math.”

The scenario is so outrageous that all I can do is shake my head to reject it. My brain refuses to make these computations. I’m a woman who just graduated from college, where the trickiest thing I encountered was the occasional drunken frat-boy idiot who tried to cop a feel at a party or take a picture of my ass when he thought I wasn’t looking. There’s no way I’ve personally met someone capable of this kind of sexual manipulation. And there’s equally no way that I’m involved with a man devious enough to come up with a fake scenario like that just to manage me when I catch him cheating. So where does that leave me?

“What the hell are you talking about, Lucien? You expect me to believe that? And who would do something like that?”

“Ravenna.”

“But… Why? How?”

A derisive noise from Lucien. “How the hell should I know? You think my brain works like hers? I assume she stole it earlier when she got home from the hospital and showed up at the cottage.”

That makes some sense. She did have the opportunity, didn’t she? There’s no telling how long she was there alone with my stuff before Lucien and I arrived. “Oh my God.”

“She wants to get pregnant. That’s the why. I know that much. That way, we’ll be tied to each other for the rest of our lives, even if I divorce her. Although I’m sure she thinks I won’t divorce her if she’s pregnant. It’s about the only bargaining chip she has left. I always wanted kids. She said there was no way she was going to ruin her hips and stretch out her pussy with a kid.” He laughs bitterly. “That was one of our sticking points.”

I stare at him while the two halves of my brain engage in a death match. One half wants to believe him even if it means that Ravenna is far more twisted than I ever imagined. That’s the trusting half. The normal half. The other half is a suspicious bitch that I didn’t even know was in there, one consumed by jealousy and doubt. She’s got a louder voice and uses it to shout warnings about the lies men tell to keep their wives and mistresses in check. No story is too far-fetched when they’re on the hook for bad behavior. Everyone knows that. Plus, isn’t a billionaire worse than the average man because he’s got the money, power and resources to cover his tracks? Isn’t a man like Lucien used to getting whatever he wants—no matter what?

What was it that Ravenna said?

Do you really think one woman is enough for men like Lucien?

No, I don’t think. Not really. And if one woman could do it for him sexually, the woman would be Ravenna. Not me. At least, that’s what my shaky self-esteem says, anyway. I snap out of all these churning thoughts to find him studying me closely.

“You don’t believe me,” he says dully.

I shrug helplessly. “It’s hard for me to picture someone being that manipulative.”

A bark of bitter laughter. He bends to snatch the sheets up from the floor and thrust them at me, eyes flashing. “See for yourself.”

I recoil because I’m not the kind of person who gets involved in sordid shit like this. I can’t believe it’s come to this. It’s like we’ve slid through a portal into some pathetic reality TV show about warring couples. “I don’t need to?—”

“Smell. Them.”

There’s zero compromise in his expression, and I don’t want to be here all night. Besides, I really need to know. One way or the other. I can live with the answer as long as I know the truth. So I lean in and take half a reluctant whiff.

That’s all it takes.

The scent of my precious custom lily of the valley perfume, the one that Lucien bought me during our magical day together in Monte Carlo, overwhelms me. So she engineered their tryst and swooped in on him while he was half-asleep. Lucien wasn’t lying about that. Funny how the realization doesn’t make me feel much better. Does it really matter why they had sex? No. All that matters is that they did the deed.

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