The Last Mrs. Parrish(97)
She could see his wheels turning.
“Well, I did have it long before I met her. Let me see what I can do. Maybe I can persuade her to let me have it.”
“Oh, Jackson! That would be wonderful. I love that house. We’re going to be so happy there.”
The only thing that would make her happier than moving in and staking her claim would be if Daphne had to move in to Amber’s one-room hovel. She knew she was being a bitch, but she didn’t care. Daphne had been spoiled for far too long. It would do her good to see how it felt to have the designer shoe on the other foot. She might have pretended to be Amber’s friend, but Amber knew that, deep down, Daphne still considered her the help. Reaching down like Lady Bountiful to help poor, pathetic Amber. It infuriated her to realize that Daphne had never considered her a threat. Daphne thought she was so much more beautiful than Amber, was so secure in Jackson’s love for her. Well, guess what, Daphne. He loves me now. He belongs to me now. And I’m giving him a brand-new family. You and your brats are obsolete.
Sixty-Seven
It was finally happening! Jackson had called her that morning and asked her to come to the New York apartment to discuss something “serious.” Daphne didn’t need to wonder what it was about because, thanks to a lesson with private eye Jerry Hanson, she’d learned how to clone a cell phone. She’d been privy to texts between Amber and Jackson for the past month. She had to give it to Amber, that disappearing stunt of hers was a stroke of genius. Jackson would do just about anything to ensure he didn’t lose the son he’d been waiting to have for so long.
She arrived at five o’clock, and when she walked into the apartment, she could smell Amber’s perfume. The two of them were sitting on the sofa.
She pretended to be shocked. “What’s going on?”
“Sit down, Daphne,” Jackson answered. Amber said nothing, merely sat there with a tight smile and a malicious look in her eyes. “We need to talk to you.”
Daphne continued to stand and looked at Amber. “We?”
Amber looked down at her hands, but her lips were still curled in a smile.
“Whatever is going on, just tell me.”
Jackson leaned back and stared at her a long moment. “I think it’s pretty clear that we’ve been unhappy lately.”
Unhappy lately? Daphne wanted to say. When have we ever been happy? “What are you talking about?”
He stood up and started pacing and then turned to look at her. “I’m divorcing you, Daphne. Amber is pregnant with my son.”
For their benefit, Daphne feigned shock and sank into the chair. “Pregnant? You’re sleeping with her?”
“What did you expect?” His eyes traveled up and down her body. “You’ve let yourself go. Fat, slovenly, and lazy. No wonder you couldn’t produce a son for me. You treat your body like shit.”
It took everything she had not to tell them how stupid they both were. Instead, she pasted on a sad expression and looked at Amber. “How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. We fell in love.” At this, she looked at Jackson, and he took her hand in his.
“Really?” Daphne’s voice rose. “Then how long have you been in love?”
“I’m sorry, Daphne. I never meant to hurt you.” Her eyes told a different story. It was obvious that she was relishing every moment.
“I trusted you, treated you like a sister, and this is how you repay me?”
She sighed. “We couldn’t help ourselves. We’re soul mates.”
Daphne almost started laughing, and a sound escaped that she hoped they mistook for a sob.
“I’m really sorry, Daphne,” she repeated. “Sometimes these things just happen.” She put a hand on her belly and rubbed. “Our children will be related, so I hope in time you’ll come to forgive me.”
Daphne’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Are you cra—”
“Enough,” Jackson interrupted. “We want to get married, and I want to do it before my son is born. I’ll make it worth your while to give me a quick divorce.”
Daphne stood. “I have a lot to think about. When I’m ready to discuss it, I’ll let you know. And I don’t want her there.”
As soon as she walked out of the apartment and out of their line of sight, she broke into a smile of her own. It was already worth her while, but she wouldn’t tell him that. How can you put a price on your freedom? But she’d take the money for her children’s sake. Why should Amber have it all? No, she’d make sure that the settlement was generous, and then she’d grant him his quick divorce.
Sixty-Eight
Amber closed her eyes as the manicurist massaged her hands with creamy lotion. She’d told the girl that she was getting married, and immediately she’d gushingly suggested a French manicure. How completely tacky. She opened her eyes and looked at her left hand. It was the first time she’d taken the Graff diamond—one carat larger than Daphne’s—off her finger. She smiled and watched as the polish went on and then suddenly pulled her hand away.
“I don’t like that color. Take it off and let me see what else you have,” she demanded.