Page 151 of Naughty Nelle

“What happened to your marriage?”

He drained his champagne and poured himself another glass. “Her modeling career began to wane—there’s always a fresh new face—and then she got pregnant with Ben.”

“Did the two of you want children?”

“I did; she didn’t. The pregnancy was an accident, but by the time she found out, it was too late to abort. I thought a child might turn our sinking marriage around…give her a new purpose in life. But I was wrong.”

I listened intently, not interrupting him.

“She gained a lot of weight and after giving birth, she couldn’t get her body back to what it was. Her career was over. Because she was a narcissist, the loss of her looks put her over the edge. She became bipolar.”

I was familiar with that term. Lauren had been diagnosed with that disorder. She could be either hyper with glee or dark with gloom. When extreme depression set in, she could be dangerous to herself. Suicidal.

“Did your wife try to hurt herself?” I asked hesitantly.

Ari’s eyes flared. “No, she hurt Ben. She physically assaulted him.”

I gasped, unable to mask my shock, while Ari’s lips hardened into a grim line.

“She blamed him for her problems; we grew apart, and she turned to alcohol and drugs. One night, when Ben was three, he was afraid to go to sleep and kept crying that he didn’t want to go to bed without her. Drunk out of her mind, she couldn’t put up with his wailing and shoved him to the floor. He hit his head and had to be rushed to the hospital. He was in a life-or-death coma for a week. I never left his side.”

Ari’s eyes grew forlorn. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine him sitting in a hospital room, anxiously waiting for his beloved son to wake up. The image broke my heart. I’d been there myself with my mother after some of her treatments. I wanted to clasp his hands but refrained.

“I filed for a divorce immediately after that incident.”

My eyes stayed locked on him, begging for—and then what?

“When she got the divorce papers, she went crazy. We had a terrible fight, and she stabbed me with a kitchen knife. Ben watched the whole thing.”

“Oh my God. The scar on your back?”

My jaw stayed wide open in shock, partly because of what she had done to him and partly because I could not believe his darling little boy had to witness such brutality.

“So, you’ve noticed it.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“It’s hard to miss,” I said, finding my voice. “How serious was it?”

He sucked in a deep breath, blinking several times, and then clasped my hand as if he needed something to hold onto to go on.

“I might have bled to death hadn’t Ben had the smarts to tell the 911 dispatcher I needed help after I collapsed with the phone in my hand. The wound required thirty stitches and I spent three days in the hospital.”

“Oh my God.”

A shudder tore through me as I tried to imagine the scene. It was straight out of a horror movie. Oh, my poor beautiful Trainman! And his poor precious little boy! His story was gutting me. My next words spilled out.

“Did you tell the police?”

“No, I didn’t want to drag my family into a New York Post Page Six scandal. My mother was just getting over my father’s death, but was still fragile, and I was restructuring the family business. I also didn’t want to scare Ben, who was already traumatized enough. It was the last thing everyone needed. My attorney sister, the rational one in the family, used her connections to keep the police away and came up with a plan to pay my soon-to-be ex off. She offered her a multi-million dollar settlement contingent on changing her name, leaving the country, and never having contact with Ben or me again. Her lawyer insisted she take the deal over a trial and possible imprisonment. She agreed to it, and I’ve never seen or heard from her again. Thankfully, Ben doesn’t remember her—or anything about the incident; he totally blanked it out. What he’s been told is that his mother died in a car accident and that’s how I got the scar on my back.”

Ari took another deep cathartic breath and lowered his champagne glass to the table.

I was on the verge of tears. His story was way more complicated and tragic than I anticipated. My darling Ari was damaged. So, so damaged. Emotionally and physically. A trainwreck. I desperately wanted to hold him in my arms and heal his scars. But I held back.

We both drained our champagne in silence until our waiter returned with a large bowl of moules and a side of frites—skinny French fried potatoes. The delicious garlicky smell rushed up my nose.

Ari’s face brightened. “Ah, Saarah, fresh mussels from the South of France.”

I wondered—did he eat these with her in St. Tropez? I loathed Ari’s ex-wife for what she did to him, and even more, for what she did to that poor innocent child. No wonder my Trainman was so afraid of getting involved with another woman. The chances of having a long-term relationship with him were dismal. And I hated his ex even more for that.

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