Page 62 of Malicious Marriage
Some things never change.
“Miss Wilcox?” The doorman knocks gently on the door to the drawing room and pushes it open. “Mr. Savoy is here to see you.”
“Oh!” Trisha squeaks inside. “Give me a moment!”
“I don’t have a moment,” I say, barging past the doorman and into the room.
Trisha spins on the spot and quickly drapes herself down onto one of the recliners, resting one hand over her large belly. “Dean! You never enter a woman’s room without permission.”
“Should I remove him, Miss?” The doorman eyes me like a hawk.
“Try it,” I snap tightly. “I’m interested to see you try.” For such a squirrely looking man, he squares up to me as if he has the strength to take me. I almost admire his courage.
“There’s no need, Hector. I’m fine. Leave us.”
Hector’s eyes narrow then he turns to Trisha and nods. “Yes, Miss. I’ll be right outside.”
He leaves and closes the door behind him, but not before shooting me a cold warning look.
“Dean! It’s amazing to see you! If I’d known you were coming I would have dressed up.”
My eyes narrow. She lounges back in a floral sundress that would make her look rather beautiful if she weren’t such a twisted, cruel wretch of a woman. Nothing makes someone more unattractive than their terrible personality.
“This isn’t a social call.”
“Is it ever?” She rolls her eyes and caresses her bump. “Our little rascal is really active today. Do you want to feel?”
For a moment, my palm aches to feel such contact with her belly and the life growing inside her. Part of me feels guilty for how our ruined relationship has denied my presence around my child while they grow. While there’s no concrete science to back it up, I’ve had a gnawing fear that my lack of presence will make it harder for me to bond with my child once they’re born, but it’s a fear I can’t vocalize. I know exactly what everyone’s response will be.
“I don’t want to touch you,” I reply tightly, approaching her but stopping a few feet away. “Tell me about Conor.”
Her brow flickers a fraction and she looks away from me and out the large bay windows looking out onto the vast floral garden. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Conor. Your old bodyguard.”
“I’ve had so many bodyguards, Dean. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“The one youfucked.”
She turns her sharp, cold eyes to me. “Again, you need to be specific,” she says icily, then she laughs. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding! I wouldn’t sleep with the help.” Her face twists in disgust. “What a terrible thought.”
“It is terrible,” I agree. “Your father would disown you in an instant if he knew you had relations with the help. He’d close your trust fund, sell every single one of your beloved horses, close down the house, and have you sent to a fucking convent for the shame it would bring onto him and his name.”
Trisha swallows audibly and meets my gaze. “Exactly,” she says. “So don’t joke about such a thing. Unlike you, I have no intention of staining my family name or becoming the dark Mafia mutt everyone laughs at.”
“Then why did you fuck Conor?”
“Dean—”
“Don’t lie to me, Trisha. He already admitted it.” In all my years of dealing with this woman, direct has always been the best option. She likes to play games and I like to remove her space to play games.
Her mouth remains open for a moment, then she frowns deeply. “No he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did. After enough alcohol inside him, he was ready to spill every detail.”
Her hand resting against her belly flexes briefly, then she sits up and anger takes over. “That bastard.”
My heart plummets. So it is true. “Tell me when.”
