The Last Mrs. Parrish(59)
She shook her head. “Of course not. I wanted you to be the first.”
“Good. Don’t tell anyone yet. I have to figure out a way to get out of this marriage without Daphne taking me to the cleaners. If she finds out you’re pregnant, it could cost me a lot of money.”
Amber nodded. “I understand. I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
He continued to sit, a look of such deep concentration on his face that she was afraid to speak.
Finally he stood and began to pace back and forth. “Okay. This is how we’re going to play it. You’ll get everything out of this apartment, and we’ll move you into a rental for now. If Daphne gets suspicious, the last thing we need is for her to find your things here.”
“But Jackson,” she whined, “I don’t want to move to some awful rental. I’ll be all alone.”
He stopped pacing and stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘Some awful rental’? What kind of cheapskate do you think I am? If you don’t want an apartment, we’ll get a large suite at the Plaza. You’ll have people to wait on your every need.”
“But what about you? When will I see you?”
“We have to be careful, Amber. I’m going to have to spend a little more time at home. You know, to allay any suspicion. You’ll have to stop working once you’re showing. Stay out of the way, so no talk gets back to Daphne.”
“And what am I supposed to tell Daphne? She’ll get suspicious if I stop hanging out with her.”
He chewed his lip and then nodded. “You’ll say someone in your family is sick. You’re taking some time off to go help.”
This was beginning to sound like a bad plan to Amber. She’d be stuck away in some hotel, completely dependent on his being true to his word. It felt like she was being put out on a boat without a life jacket or a paddle and could be swept away at Jackson’s whim.
“I don’t want to be in some impersonal hotel. It won’t be good for me to be in some strange place that doesn’t feel like home. It won’t be good for the baby either.”
He sighed. “Fine. We’ll rent an apartment. A nice one that will feel like home. You can buy whatever you’d like for it.”
She thought about that a few minutes. It was probably the best offer she was going to get at this point. “How long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a few months? We should settle it all by then.”
She was angry and scared now, which made it easy to cry. “I hate this, Jackson. I love you so much, and now we’re going to have to be separated. I’ll be alone in some apartment that isn’t even ours. It makes me feel so afraid, the way I used to feel when I was little and we moved all the time because we couldn’t pay the rent.” She sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks, hoping this tale of woe might move him.
He gave her a long look. “Do you want me to lose everything? You’re just going to have to trust me.”
He wasn’t biting. She’d have to go along with the plan and hope he meant what he said until she could come up with something else. But what if he proved to be untrustworthy? Then what? She’d be shit out of luck, just like she was when she fled from Missouri. She wasn’t going to let him get away with throwing her and this kid she was carrying aside, even if she had to take more drastic action this time. No more screwing Amber. Those days were over.
Part II
Daphne
Thirty-Six
I didn’t use to be afraid of my husband. I thought I loved him, back when he was kind—or pretended to be. Before I knew what a monster looks like up close.
I met Jackson when I was twenty-six. I’d finished my graduate studies in social work and was in the planning stages of the foundation I was starting in honor of Julie. I’d gotten a job in operations at Save the Children and had been there for six months. It was a great organization, where I could work at something I loved while learning everything I’d need to run my own foundation one day.
A coworker recommended I get in touch with Parrish International, an international real estate firm with a reputation for giving back. She had an in—her father was a business associate. I had expected to be pawned off on some junior executive. Instead, I was granted an audience with Mr. Parrish himself. Jackson was nothing like the captain of industry I had read about. With me, he was amiable and funny, and he put me at ease from the start. When I told him my plans for the foundation and why I was starting it, he shocked me by offering to fund Julie’s Smile. Three months later I’d quit my job and was the head of my own foundation. Jackson had assembled a board, which he joined, provided the funding, and found me office space. Things had remained professional between us—I hadn’t wanted to jeopardize his support of the foundation, and to be honest, I was also a little scared. But over time, when the lunches turned into dinners, it seemed natural—inevitable even—that our relationship would turn more personal. His wholehearted embrace of my charity turned my head, I’ll admit. So I agreed to go to his house for a dinner to celebrate.
The first time I saw his thirty-room estate, the vastness of his wealth hit me. He lived in Bishops Harbor, a picturesque town on the coast of Long Island Sound with a population of about thirty thousand. The town’s shopping area could rival Rodeo Drive, with stores far too expensive for my budget, and the only domestic cars on its pristine roads belonged to household staff. The houses dotting the shoreline in the area were magnificent, set far back from the road, shielded by gates, and on grass so lustrous and green it didn’t look real. When Jackson’s driver pulled the car into the long driveway, it took a minute for the house to come into view. My breath caught in my throat when we approached the tremendous gray estate.