Page 10 of Trophy Wife


  “Lift your head.” He almost pants the words, his hands settling on my ass cheeks, and digging into the sore muscles there. I resist, my head hung, hating the craving of my body, the need that thrums through me. He leans forward, and he gathers my damp hair, fisting it and pulling back, lifting my head, my world blurring as the backyard comes into focus. On the far side of the pool, a landscaper stands, the hedge clippers hanging limply and forgotten in his hands. Our eyes meet, and he flushes, looking away, his hands tightening on the handles of the tool.

  * * *

  The shame fades, replaced by something unexpected—a fresh shot of arousal. I glance over, to the second man, one who walks along the edge of the pool deck, his head down, focused on the weed-eater in his hands. Any moment, he will realize what is happening. Any moment, he will look over and see me, bent forward and naked, being fucked by my—I gasp when Nathan pushes inside, the shove of penetration so hard that my breasts bounce from the impact. He releases my hair and there is the hard sting of his hand against my ass, his words spitting out hard and unforgiving, “If I want to ignore you, I will. And if I want to enjoy you, I will. You belong to me. You are mine.”

  * * *

  I claw against the glass, my breath catching as he slaps the area again, the slow drag of his cock outward conflicting with the violent push of it back inside.

  * * *

  “Nathan,” I gasp. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Don’t stop? More? Please? My mind is too scattered to form sentences and too confused with my arousal to know anything but that I am loving every motherfucking moment of this.

  * * *

  He reaches forward, his legs settling against mine, his body curving over the bend of mine as he slides his palms around my ribs and closes his hands around my breasts.

  * * *

  I moan from the sensation, the hard squeeze of his hands, the possessive growl that comes from his throat and vibrates against the back of my neck. “I love your fucking breasts,” he swears, kneading them together. “God, I fucking love them.”

  * * *

  I open my eyes at the admission, catching the wide-eyed gaze of the second landscaper, then Nathan is yanking me around, pulling my face to his, his lips rough against mine.

  * * *

  Are they still watching? Do they see when he pushes me to my knees, his hand firm on my head, my bare body before his clothed one? They probably watch when I take his cock deep down my throat, my body shaking from the effort, when my back contracts and I gag. They see when his legs flex, his head drops back, and he fills my throat with satisfaction.

  * * *

  He’s twisted. To do that to me, to come with the knowledge that we have an audience. I’m ashamed that I played along, that I didn’t twist out of his grip and run back to my room. I’m ashamed that, at the height of it, when I felt their eyes, and hated Nathan’s demands, I was aroused. Aching in my pussy, moisture dripping down my leg, aroused. I moaned when he spanked me. I begged for more as he fucked me. I looked into his eyes and all but asked for his cum.

  * * *

  Maybe I’m as twisted as he is.

  CHAPTER 23

  Our agreement states that sex will only be asked for once a day, today’s quota already filled. Nathan is a man of regulations, our agreement one that he follows to the letter. Still, I dress in expectation of his return from the office. It is silly, vain hopes that a simple clothing change will recapture some normalcy in a day that has already gone so wrong.

  * * *

  I hear the growl of Nathan’s car, and swallow, sitting before the vanity and running a brush over my hair. I pull at the top drawer, unveiling the black velvet, the delicate jewelry laid out in neat order. Gently running my fingers over the line of earrings, I select a pair of pearls. I hear the sound of the door and I look up, into the mirror.

  * * *

  Drew enters, wandering along the bed, his eyes moving over the neatly made coverlet, the dark television, the vase of fresh flowers. It’s a far cry from the cramped and messy bedroom in Dibs’ house. Maybe it’s because I still feel like a guest, or maybe cleaning is my new hobby, but it is—as always—spotless.

  * * *

  He stops a step or two behind me, and meets my eyes in the mirror. “Are you okay?”

  * * *

  I glance to the house, nodding, Nathan’s frame absent from my view of the great room. Drew reaches forward, his hand startling me, and fingers the end of my hair, examining its dark chocolate strands. “I like it dark.”

  * * *

  I only nod, surprised at his nearness, at the warm hesitancy in his eyes. So do I. I had spent last night flipping through Rosit’s ‘before’ images in my beauty book, and had almost winced at the bleach blonde images of me. I’d been a back tattoo and droopy cigarette away from white trash. Now, looking back in the mirror, at the expensive reflection of myself—I can barely match the two images. On the outside, I am completely different. Inside, I’m still a stripper, trading my body for security.

  * * *

  He clears his throat. “Earlier today, what happened ... none of them could see. The afternoon light casts a reflective glare on the windows.”

  * * *

  I don’t respond. His lie rests in the space between us. I’m the one who sits in this glass house, who stares into that great room and waits for his figure to appear. Reflection has never been a problem. “Are you here to fetch me?”

  * * *

  He nods, and my stomach tightens at the news.

  * * *

  I fasten the second pearl earring. “Do I look okay?”

  * * *

  He steps back, releasing my hair. The skin around his mouth changes, his five o’clock shadow stretching around a tight smile. “You look beautiful,” he says finally. “Like always. Nathan will be pleased.”

  * * *

  I push back from the vanity and stand, willing this memory from my mind: his concern, his proximity, his touch on my hair, his lies for my sanity. I don’t really give a fuck if Nathan is pleased. Half of me is still upset over his earlier outburst, the other half is still aroused.

  * * *

  I walk to the house, feeling Drew’s eyes on me, his hand settling on my back as he reaches forward and opens the door. “Mr. Dumont is in the office.”

  * * *

  The office. I raise my eyebrows. I haven’t seen the office since my first tour of the house, everything off limits except for the common areas and gym. I follow Drew’s lead and step into the room, a big space with dark blue walls and deep wood accents. Nathan is there, standing by the window, his tie loosened, arms crossed over his chest. I stop.

  * * *

  “Swimming. How important is it to you?”

  * * *

  I try to hide my surprise. This may be the first time Nathan has ever asked my opinion on something, our conversations limited to instructions and orders. I look down, searching for the right words. “Not important enough for me to negotiate for, but I would enjoy swimming. It would give me something to do during the day.”

  * * *

  “My issue, my anger earlier today, was not about you swimming.” He steps forward, rolling up one sleeve in perfect, precise folds, unveiling muscular forearms. “Granted, I was upset that you purposely disobeyed my rule—the rules are in place for a reason, and I need you to follow them. But what caused me to lose my temper was your stripping down to your underwear in front of Drew.”

  * * *

  My face flushes, and I wonder where Drew is right now, if he is still behind me, or if he just dropped me off and moved on.

  * * *

  “I understand that you have trouble understanding the difference between our sex and your exhibitionism, so know this: unless I tell you to, you will stay fully clothed in front of the staff. Do you understand?”

  * * *

  I nod meekly, my cheeks burning as I am talked to in the manner someone would a small child.

  * * *

 
“I’ll speak with your hair stylist. I’m sure there is some product that can be purchased to protect your hair. I will allow you to swim, assuming you do it during the day when I am at work.” He finishes the second sleeve, both forearms now bare, the look—combined with his loose tie and rumpled hair—incredibly hot.

  * * *

  I will allow you to swim. His gifts are still insults. “Thank you,” I say stiffly. “But I still don’t know why you seem so mad at me.”

  * * *

  He raises him eyebrows, looking at me as if I am a dolt. “I just explained that to you.”

  * * *

  “No,” I struggle to explain. “I meant before. Before I stripped down in front of Drew. Ever since we got back from Napa, you’ve acted as if I’ve messed up in some way. Was it something that happened in Napa?”

  NATHAN

  “Was it something that happened in Napa?”

  * * *

  She asks the question so cluelessly, as if Napa Valley had been fun and games, and not a torture chamber of temptation.

  * * *

  Yes, he wants to scream. Yes, it has to do with Napa. I don’t love you. I am using you, and everything that happened in Napa felt like fraud. He swallows. “It has nothing to do with Napa except that I feel you came back from that trip with unrealistic expectations about our relationship.”

  * * *

  She crosses her arms over her chest, and the air between them turns cold. “So you thought you’d be a grade A asshole to push me back into my corner?”

  * * *

  “Possibly.” He lifts his chin, returning the glare that she slings in his direction. “And, from the look you’re giving me, I think I’ve accomplished that purpose.”

  * * *

  She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. You can be a human being without having a woman fall for you.”

  * * *

  Isn’t that the truth. He’d been more than human with Cecile, and look how that had ended.

  * * *

  “All I’m asking is that you not be cruel.”

  * * *

  He can’t give her that. It’s not in him to be kind and not care. It’s too risky to befriend her when she is only a tool. And this backbone that she’s growing isn’t helping anything. He jerks a head toward the door. “I think it’s time you went back to your room.”

  * * *

  If a glare could be tangible, hers would slice his head off. She waits, and there is a moment when he almost expects her to refuse, to stand her ground and just stare him down until the mosquitos came out and Drew nodded off from the pure boredom of it all.

  * * *

  But she doesn’t. She turns on one sexy heel, giving him a parting look at that deliciously round ass, and heads out the door, the scent of her perfume lingering as she all but stomped toward her room.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Your husband is so handsome.”

  * * *

  I look up from my book, my feet tucked beneath me, my father’s snores comforting in their regularity. “I’m sorry?”

  * * *

  Pam beams, a worn Southern Life magazine clutched in her hands, as she scurries closer. “Jeanie brought this in, it’s got photos from your trip to Napa. I didn’t realize how handsome your husband was. Why, you’re famous!”

  * * *

  She unfolds the magazine, folding it back on itself, thrusting the glossy pages forward, one bare fingernail tapping insistently on the page. I accept it carefully, my eyes devouring the pages.

  * * *

  I know that Nathan is important, a part of Nashville society, which apparently makes him fodder for southern gossip rags. I glance quickly through the photos, ones from a charity luncheon we attended, grapevines in the distance, the sunny warmth of the day coming through in the images. The shots seem to focus on us, the other couples in attendance mostly ignored by the photographer. I look fabulous—glowing with happiness, my head tilted toward Nathan, a proud smile on his face, as he looks at me with an emotion some might confuse with love. My hand tightens on the magazine. I love these pages; I want to pore over each one, to savor the images I wish were real.

  * * *

  My chair shifts as Pam’s weight rests on its arm, her bosom against my arm as she leans forward and points to a photo of the two of us. “This is my favorite one of him. Whew!” She fans herself dramatically. “What I wouldn’t give to trade places with you, honey.” She laughs, a pleasant trill of joy.

  * * *

  “Can I hold on to this? I’d like to show it to Dad when he wakes up.”

  * * *

  “Certainly.” She pats my shoulder, heaving to her feet and stepping over to his bed, checking his monitors and recording in his chart. It is one of the things I appreciate about this place. His records are kept clean, orderly, his blood work easy to read, his tests occurring when they should, according to schedule. That alone is a Godsend, never mind the daily delivery of fresh flowers, the delicious food, or the endless patience of the doctors. There are only sixteen patients in this entire complex. Sixteen patients tended to by five doctors, twelve nurses, and a round-the-clock support staff. Here he is a name, not a number. And here, he is actually getting better.

  * * *

  They still don’t know what is wrong. But they have been able to determine what helps. He is on a cocktail of drugs and antibiotics and is slowly responding, the digital figures on his charts improving. And slowly, tentatively, I am beginning to have hope.

  * * *

  He wakes at two pm, watching me before I am aware of it. I glance over, surprised to see his peaceful stare, a smile on his face. I set aside my book, standing and stepping to his side, placing a soft kiss on his check before adjusting his bed. “How you feeling, Dad? Are you in any pain?”

  * * *

  He shakes his head. “I’m good, Candace. Sit down. They fuss over me enough already."

  * * *

  I hold out a cup of water, waiting until he takes a sip before I sit.

  * * *

  “What are you reading?”

  * * *

  I hold up the book. “John Grisham.”

  * * *

  “I thought you would have read all of his by now.”

  * * *

  I grin. “I have, but I’m out of material. This one’s a loaner from Pam. I’m going to swing by the bookstore tomorrow to get a fresh stack.”

  * * *

  “What’s that?” He points to the magazine, still open on the table. I stand, folding over the page, and pass it to him.

  * * *

  He studies the pictures, glancing up at me. “This is from your trip a couple of weeks ago?”

  * * *

  “Yeah, when we went to California.”

  * * *

  I’m not sure what I expect. Admiration at the article, at Nathan’s success, at the staged photos of our happiness? My father has been less than enthusiastic at my announcement of a husband. I waited until my second visit to spring it on him, waiting until after the courthouse ceremony in case something fell through. I had gushed about Nathan, creating a picture of a faithful and loving husband. I think he’s hurt that Nathan hasn’t visited, didn’t ask him for my hand in marriage, hasn’t made any effort whatsoever at a relationship. So maybe these photos will help to support my façade and soothe his concerns.

  * * *

  I don’t expect the magazine to be carefully set down, a sharp pinch to his features when he turns to me. “And you’re happy, Care Bear?”

  * * *

  The childhood nickname causes my throat to stick, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. A sudden urge swells, one that almost causes my mouth to open, and the raw, unfiltered truth to come out. I swallow hard, smiling brightly, and instead of the clean, smooth flow of truth, dirty, filthy lies spew out.

  CHAPTER 25

  Nathan is gorgeous. Rich. The best I’ve ever had in bed. Other than being a supreme pain in the ass, there’s no reason why women aren’t tri
pping over themselves to marry the guy. He shouldn’t need a contract and financial bribe in order to get a wife.

  * * *

  I think through the logic as Beth takes me through deadlifts, then squats, then lunges. By the time she finishes, I’m drenched in sweat and convinced that something is amiss.