Page 6 of Rebound

Ah, Mason. Of course it’s not another woman. It’s his little brother, who is admittedly a lot more fun than Nathan. Too bad he hates me just as much.

I let out a laugh, the kind that anyone who overheard would find pleasant and lighthearted and perfectly suited to the occasion. “Darling, you could be talking to Margot Robbie about playing strip poker in a hot tub for all I care. Surely you know by now that I don’t care one single iota?” I say all of this in a gentle and amused tone, and his shoulders stiffen in response. Why do I poke so hard? Ah, that’s why, I think as fury flashes in those gorgeous gray eyes once more. For a mere moment, I feel alive at the proof that there’s still something between us—even if that something is only anger.

“Right. Message received and understood,” he says, returning my oh-so-fake beam. “Feel free to plan your own poker night with George Clooney.”

“George is a very happily married man, honey. Don’t you remember the wedding? I suppose I could give Channing a call, though.”

I slowly stroke the stem of my wine glass as I speak, and his eyes go to my fingers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A little thrill runs through me. He might hate my guts, but he still wants me. That’s got to count for something.

He drags his gaze away from the glass, away from my fingers, and back to his phone. “Go for it, babe. Whatever floats your boat.” He shrugs, Mr. Nonchalant. “I’m sure one of us has his number somewhere.”

I’m about to respond when Elodie, the blushing bride herself, joins us at the table. Her cheeks are carrying a pretty flush, and her updo is charmingly disheveled after a round of “No Diggity” on the dance floor.

Both Elijah and I smile, for once genuinely. We’ve known Elodie since she was ten, and it really is nice to see her so joyful. I feel guilty for even imagining her divorce party.

“Has anybody mentioned how beautiful you look today, Elodie?” Elijah says warmly.

“Oh, a few people, which is really nice,” she replies giddily. “I just wanted to come over and thank you both for being here, and for the generous gift. I… We… We’re both very grateful!”

Elijah doesn’t let on, but he has no clue what we got them. That falls firmly within my wifely remit—I leave him to run his intergalactic business affairs, and I deal with the charity lunches, the social calendar, the parties, the house, and of course, the wedding gifts. I could torture him a little here, and normally I’d enjoy that, but it would be unkind to Elodie. Plus, I think I’ve hit my quota of Elijah-baiting for the day.

“You’re very welcome, darling,” I say, patting her hand. “And I hope you have a wonderful time. Every marriage should start with a grand adventure.”

“Well, I think a private jet flying us to our very own Caribbean island for a week definitely counts as that. It’s an amazing honeymoon, and Mitch and I are very much looking forward to it.” She blushes and giggles, and it is beyond sweet. So young. So naive. I may be bitter and cynical about my own life, but I truly do wish them all the best. There are happy couples in the world, and while I don’t personally know many of them, I sincerely hope that Elodie and Mitch remain one of the few.

I watched Elijah’s face as she mentioned our gift, and his eyebrows raised maybe a millimeter. His poker face is nearly as good as mine. Not that he minds—I know better than that. He is many things, my darling husband, but tight-fisted he is not. He grew up surrounded by tremendous wealth and privilege, but he’s aware of that and doesn’t take it for granted. My whole life, I have mixed with the one percent, and many of them are god-awful assholes about their cash. Elijah? He’d happily hand over his last dime if he felt it was the right thing to do. Luckily, it’s unlikely to ever come to that considering he’s built Jamestech into even more of a behemoth than it was before he took over from Dalton. If money really could buy happiness, he’d be permanently swinging from a rainbow while singing show tunes.

“Have a fabulous time, Elodie,” he says, smiling at her, his gray eyes shining. Her blush deepens, and I realize she has a crush on him—or at least she did at some stage in her life. And why wouldn’t she? He’s an older man with model good looks. She probably fell in love with him when she was twelve. “I think you and Mitch are going to be very happy together. I can feel it in my bones,” he adds. “And my bones are never wrong.”

“Gosh, I hope so,” she gushes, looking at the two of us. “If we’re even a fraction as happy as you guys, that’ll do for me. How long have you been together?”

I briefly wonder if he might accidentally bark out “too fucking long,” but he’s nearly as good at this performance as I am. “We’ve been a couple for twenty-one years, and married for eighteen,” he says. “And every single day with Amber has been incredibly… special.”

I bite back a laugh.Special—what a fantastically ambiguous word. It could accurately be used to describe anything from eternal love through to a nuclear holocaust, taking in Labrador puppies and serial killers who dress up as clowns along the way. Special!

“What’s your secret?” Elodie apparently missed the pause and caught no double-meaning in the word.

My gaze meets Elijah’s, and we give our well-rehearsed answer. “Give and take,” we both say, for once perfectly in sync.

I don’t let the sorrow that floods me show on my face. We were in love once, this man and I. We shared everything, keeping no secrets from one another, our lives woven together like the threads of a tapestry. He was my soulmate, my best friend, my lover. Our passion lit up my heart and made me shine from the inside out.

Now, there’s only one thing that Elijah and I seem to do well together.

Lie.

ChapterFour

AMBER

Iwait for a respectable amount of time before I consider making a run for it. Or, in these heels, making a brisk walk for it. Elijah won’t even notice—he’s deeply embedded in conversation with his assistant, Luisa, and Harper. They have their heads bent together over a table, probably sketching out their next takeover on a napkin. They’re cut from the same cloth, and for all three of them, work is paramount—the rest is filler.

Harper has enjoyed his big day as the doting father, but if I know him—and I do know him quite well—he is now relieved to be discussing Jamestech. Elijah bluffed the devoted-husband routine for hours before he gave in to the siren call, and Luisa has—no, actually, Luisa never tries to be anything she isn’t. She wore a tailored business suit to the wedding and has had earbuds in all day.

The small group looks engaged and focused, Luisa gesticulating as she speaks. It’s clear from watching her that she’s one of those people who talks with her hands. Other guests are dancing and drinking, but these three are getting their kicks in a different way. Nothing sets their pulses racing quite like the thrill of the big deal—the lunge, cut, and parry of the ruthless world they inhabit.

My father was exactly the same. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that I found myself married to a man who would choose the Dow Jones over date night. I barely saw my dad as a child, and he remains a distant figure. That’s partly because I was whisked away to boarding school pretty much as soon as I was on solids and partly because he literally lived in the office. He actually had a bed in there. My mom coped the best way she knew how—by losing herself in a bottle of gin a day and, ever the cliché, by fucking the pool boy. In comparison, I’m a roaring success—I only drink wine, and we don’t have a pool boy.

From my spot at the bar, I continue watching Elijah, letting my mind wander as I pretend to be interested in the orthopedic specialist sitting next to me. At the start, I thought he might entertain me with juicy stories of A-listers given his reputation as “surgeon to the stars,” but all I’ve gotten so far is a fifteen-minute lecture about hip-replacement procedures. As I nod and smile at all the right places, I’m far more interested in my husband. My eyes are constantly drawn to him no matter how much I fight it. It’s the same kind of feeling I get after eating that second slice of chocolate cake—knowing I’ll regret it later but eating it anyway.

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