Page 83 of A Secret and a Lie
My eyebrows pinch, and I open my mouth to ask what the fuck he means by that, when Stafford approaches us. “Let’s go. I need to get to my office.”
Stafford is in the backseat of my SUV a handful of seconds later, and my gaze holds Drake’s as he speaks again. “I’ve been thinking about this for the last few weeks. I think we should talk about this.”
I sigh, rubbing at the back of my neck. “Look, I’ve got to get Gen out of prison before I can think about that. Why don’t you dig a little and see if there’s anything to this, then we can talk.”
With that, I climb into the car, Drake’s question swimming in my mind.
The court room is packed, and the trial hasn’t even begun. Reporters are stacked three rows deep at the back of the room, murmuring amongst themselves, their pens scribbling on their notepads and fingernails tapping on screens in a chorus of dull noise. My thumb glides over the smooth underside of the thin gold band now adorning my left ring finger. I’ve been wearing it for the last few weeks, but I’m still not quite used to it.Is Genevieve going to wear the ring I purchased for her?
A shoulder bumps mine, and my head whips to the side to meetthe chocolate gaze belonging to Corinne. Her dark curls are straight today, and she’s wearing a burgundy dress that wraps elegantly around her waist. Behind her, Marcus slips into the row, taking the last remaining seat on her other side, dressed in a black designer suit that could pass for a twin to the one I have on.
Corinne gives me a gentle, sympathetic smile that I can’t quite muster myself. “This is going to work. Stafford has things under control.”
All it took to convince Gen’s friends to assist me in helping her was to show up at Corinne’s place and explain our connection. Corinne’s eyes had widened to saucers when I told her that I was Genevieve’s mystery man fourteen years ago, but the shock was quickly replaced by radiant excitement as I told them about my plan.
I wish I had the positivity that Corinne seems to possess, or maybe she’s faking that. Either way, I don’t share her optimism. I don’t trust the system.
Stafford turns then, making eye contact with me, moments before the door at the front of the courtroom opens, revealing three guards as well as Genevieve, and the room goes silent enough for me to hear her black heels clicking against the floor. She’s wearing the outfit Corinne curated for her: a black-and-white tweed skirt suit with gold buttons. Her hair has grown out a bit, black roots sprouting from her scalp as if on a mission to consume the white-blonde color.
It’s only been a week since I last saw her, and she’s just as beautiful as I remember. I suppose I have Stafford to thank for that; he moves fast.
My eyes track her as if she’s prey on an adjacent mountaintop and I’m glued on her through my scope’s lens. Her long, lean, muscular legs devour the distance as she approaches Stafford, her head held high and blood-red lips pursed in a confident expression that exudes power and class. I want to smile, fighting the urge to shout to the room,that’s my wife.
She doesn’t so much as look at me, though I’m sitting directly behind her, only a low, wooden barrier separating us. My gaze dartsto her hands as she moves in front of me, my lip curling faintly when I can’t tell if she’s wearing the ring that will signal to the world that she’s mine. I fist my fingers in my lap, grinding my molars.
Stafford leans in, and as they exchange a few murmured whispers, he nods at something she says. When she finally takes a seat, she glances over her shoulder, scanning the room, quickly finding Corinne. Genevieve’s face transforms as if she was just shot with a bolt of sunshine as her hazel eyes brighten, her sinful lips parting to showcase her bright, straight smile.
They exchange a silent conversation, a thousand words shared between them like invisible telegraphs. Gen’s expression doesn’t falter a bit when her attention lands on Marcus. If anything, her shoulders sag as he nods. It’s only when shefinallytakes me in that her smile falls, a mask of ambivalence eclipsing anything she might feel.
As she shifts her focus back to the front of the courtroom, I battle with the innate need to drag her over the banister and into my lap, lifting her little skirt to abuse her sweet, unmarred ass.
Genevieve Watts has always been mine, whether her name was @dc_d0ll or Allison, nothing has changed in fourteen years.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Isom,” the bailiff announces.
The judge bangs his gavel after the room has risen and fallen as one, the ominous sound echoing through my mind in ripples of dark thoughts.What if this doesn’t work? Will they kill her anyway? What if Drake is right and the government is playing chess while I’m playing checkers?
The courtroom becomes a hive in my head, the same venomous questions and poisonous outcomes I’ve been considering for the last few weeks buzzing around with a vengeance. It’s only the sound of Judge Isom’s voice that drags me out of my own mental vortex.
“Good morning. This is a preliminary hearing to discuss the defense’s motion to dismiss the charges against the defendant, Genevieve Watts.”
Corinne and Marcus seem to hold their breath along with me.
The judge shifts his attention toward the prosecution. “Mr.Potter, is it true that your case hinges on the testimony of the defendant’s husband?”
I’m mildly surprised that Percy York isn’t here to watch as his puppet attempts to go up against Stafford Langfeld. While he’s not in attendance, I have no doubt he’s watching through the eyes of someone in this room.
He stands, his fingertips resting on the table in front of him. “Your Honor, the case relies on the testimony of an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation who had infiltrated the solicitation ring of which Ms. Watts was the chief organizer,” Marshall Potter replies, his voice steady.
I wasn’t overly optimistic that it would work when I first came up with this plan, but Stafford has assured me that this strategy is solid. As Genevieve’s husband, I have spousal privilege, and the forged marriage license states that we were married two days prior to engaging inintimate relations,even if I paid for it.
Judge Isom’s hard expression and pursed lips have me rethinking my dubiousness, though.
“Counsel, approach the bench.”
The room sucks in a collective breath as Potter and Langfeld stride toward the front of the courtroom. Stafford’s stance is casual, like someone’slifeisn’t hanging in the balance of this proceeding. His confidence is simultaneously infuriating and reassuring.
Time becomes a vacuum of heavy breathing and tapping pens. With my eyes trained on the back of Genevieve’s head, I study her every micro-movement, dissecting the cadence of her breathing. In my periphery, I note Corinne reach for Marcus’s hand, intertwining their fingers in a grip tight enough that her knuckles turn bone white.
