“Who, Kate?” She closed her eyes briefly. “When I think about what almost happened in our house, I get sick. That creep who brought her ... the whole point of me agonizing over a guest list is to make sure people like that don’t end up at our parties. My husband understands that now. Kate lived with us for a few months until we got her citizenship sorted out. Now she works in Customer Service for one of our companies. She’s doing well, looks marvelous. Not as pale as she was that night.”
Brad walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her back onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the blood red duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes.
I blushed, hoping the dark bar hid my tell, pushing my memories back. I had handled that experience well, jealousy not a problem, arousal overriding it in one, easy sweep. Would Friday be any different? Kate had been a fumbling, inexperienced partner. What if this hired vixen blew my sexual attempts away? Reminded Brad of all of the sex and women he was missing out on? But my decision was made. Even if it all led to that, if she was the catalyst to that epiphany, I wanted to know that now; I wanted this breakdown to happen before the wedding, before the joining of our lives was complete. Brad had voiced it, in simple enough terms, when we had discussed a prenup. We are not getting divorced. Ever.
I didn’t know about a divorce, didn’t know any legal contract in which the word ‘ever’ could really be applied. But it didn’t matter what was on paper, or my finger, or filed with the courts. Whether or not our marriage lasted, I would always and forever, madly deeply love the man. My heart was being sewn together with his, each day and night that passed adding threads to the stitch. And our wedding, our exchange of vows, would be the knot tying the whole package together. At that point, it would be too late; my heart would forever be his. No matter how long the marriage lasted.
So this was important. For better or worse, I needed to know if this was something I could handle, and more importantly, if this was something we could handle.
Beverly had asked me something, and I looked at her expectant face. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“I said it’s getting late. Are you ready to head to Montley?”
No, I want to go back home and crawl into bed and run from my insecure fears. “Sure.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
Apparently, when you reach a certain level of god-awful money, it comes complete with a driver. A helpful accompaniment in our case, since neither of us was in a condition to drive. The man pulled up in a gray Maybach, and we bundled into the backseat, nervous anticipation causing a shot of adrenaline to shoot through my body.
“Do I need cash?” I whispered to Beverly.
“No, they won’t take any money tonight. Riley will handle payment with Brad after the fact. They know we are good for it, otherwise we wouldn’t be considered as clients.”
“And how much is this all going to cost?”
She shrugged, folding down a mirror and checking her makeup. “If you don’t want the girl to stay the night, if she is just there for a few hours ... it’ll depend a little on the girl, but probably ten, fifteen grand.”
Holy fuck. This gift just went way out of my price range. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but a five-figure sum wasn’t it. I swallowed. Beverly flipped up the mirror and glanced at me. “What’s wrong? Is it the money?”
Yes. “Not exactly ... I just wasn’t expecting ...”
She interrupted me with a wave of her hand. “Brad will pay for the girl. That will all be handled by him, and trust me, he won’t mind in the slightest. You are giving him permission, which is your present. The cost is a normal expense in his sex life. It won’t give him a second’s pause.” She patted my leg reassuringly. “Breathe, Julia. Get some life back in those beautiful cheeks. We’re almost there.”
And two minutes later, my face still pasty white, the Maybach slowed, iron gates opened, and we pulled into a cobblestone drive, the gates closing securely behind us.
The doors to the car were opened as soon as it came to a stop, white-gloved men in tuxedos opening the doors with a polite smile. They escorted us to the entrance of a three story Gothic mansion, the brick covered in ivy, oil lanterns flickering light over the brick, twin sentries of illuminations flanking the front door. The white gloves moved past, opening the doors, and we were suddenly in the foyer and asked to take a seat. They gave half-bows, heads moving All-American good looks in unison, then returned to the front, leaving us alone in the grand room.