An Improper Ever After(51)

I wave it away. There's a bit of a silence, and then I can't wait any longer. "Paige … why did you tell Elliot what you overheard in the bathroom?"

She's spared from having to answer when our food arrives. The kitchen must be working extra fast. I take a bite of my pasta. It's divine, the clams cooked to perfection so the meat is tender and succulent without any grit.




 

 

Paige nibbles on a slice of pizza, then puts it down. "I told him because I didn't want it to ambush either of you later. From Elliot's reaction, it didn't sound like you'd mentioned it at all."

"I didn't have a chance. At least," I say, hedging a bit, "not a good one."

Her eyes soften. "A good chance never just presents itself. You have to make one happen."

I say nothing.

"Annabelle … can I give you a little advice? Marriage to men as extraordinary as ours can be as demanding as a full-time job. In addition to the usual spouse stuff you deal with privately, there's scrutiny and judgment-people wondering whether or not we 'deserve' men like Ryder and Elliot." She takes a bite of pizza and chews deliberately before swallowing. "I know what it's like and how overwhelming it is. And I do not appreciate Annabelle Underhill threatening you that way. She has no right. Nobody does." Paige's eyes narrow.

"I'm sure you figured out she's Elliot's ex," I murmur.

"I don't care if she's Elliot's soul mate. She doesn't get to talk to you that way, and you shouldn't keep something like that to yourself. Elliot should know who's trying to hurt you. He can help. Surely you realize that."

I nod.

"Lean on him. He'll take care of you."

"I didn't want to be a user," I murmur, since I can't tell her about the whole mess that was festering between us then.

"Tell me something." Paige is contemplative as she finishes the first slice and reaches for another. "If Elliot wanted you to be there for him, would you?"

I answer without hesitation. "Of course."

"Have you ever thought maybe he feels the same way?"

I shake my head. "You know the circumstances of our marriage."

"Yes, but Elliot wouldn't have married you if there wasn't some part of him that really wanted to. Do you know how long he went around, prowling the strip clubs? If the only thing he cared about was his wife being a stripper, he would've found one on the first try."

A memory from last night flashes through me. He wanted a new start-a genuine reboot, with no contract hanging over us. He didn't say he loved me, but he was doing all the things a man would do for a woman he cares for deeply.

"When Ryder and I got engaged, people said horrible things about me, and there were some who wanted us to fail," Paige continues. "Instead of turning to Ryder, I told myself I could handle it, but really … I couldn't. Me trying to do everything on my own almost drove us apart. There's no point in having a relationship with someone if you're going to be on your own anyway when it matters the most." 

"You are wise, Mistress Yoda."

She gives me the voice. "Want you to learn the hard way, I did not."

I laugh. "Thank you."

Last night, when I agreed to do away with the contract, I was apprehensive that I was setting myself up for a bigger heartbreak and pain. But now I'm hopeful …

Hopeful that Elliot and I can make this work so long as we both want it badly enough.

* * *


Elliot

Elizabeth's photographers come through. I get an email with access information to all the pictures taken at the charity dinner.

Seated in my office, I go through them meticulously. All I need is a couple that can help me spin a good story, but I don't dare assign my assistant to this. He's good, but he doesn't know everything about my ugly background. And I'd rather not hash it out with him.

The photographers captured several shots with Belle and me together. She's smiling in every one of them, but her eyes … they are either empty or in pain. I remember her telling me she didn't feel well. Regret unfurls as I study her expression. It's all my fault. Next time we go out in public, I plan to have her glowing. She deserves that.

Finally, I spot the perfect photo. Annabelle Underhill and I are together, her hand over my chest. Her eyelashes lowered and her mouth parted, she looks coyly sexual. My lip curls with distaste. Some would find the expression seductive; to me, it's approximately as enticing as a turd-which is about where she ranks in my world.

With this picture, I have the final piece I need. My ex's biggest error is assuming that I actually give a fuck about her feelings. My next move will ensure she never makes the same mistake again.

I put the picture with the others I've gathered and type up some notes. They're concise, sticking to verifiable facts. Facts alone are sufficient to provide drama.