Festive in Death (In Death #39)(87)

“You caught him cheating. How do you resolve your frantic concern about him finding out about your relationship with Ziegler.”

Natasha closed her eyes a moment, then released a breath. “One moment, please.” She stepped over to the house comm. “Hester, please contact Brianne and tell her I’m going to be just a little late.”

She came back, sat. “I’d lose my leverage. I’d lose any chance of patching this up, moving on. I was furious when I learned about this—this—dancer. I nearly tossed JJ out then and there, but . . . We argued, we said the usual horrible things to each other. But among those horrible things he had a point or two about my neglecting . . . some areas of our marriage, about expecting him to be present for my events and social needs while often not being available for his.”

She pushed at her hair, seemed to gather herself. “You’re married. There are ups and there are downs. I wanted time to think, to evaluate what I really wanted from JJ, for myself. And at a weak moment, I leaped into this business with Trey. It was stupid, it was emotional. By engaging with Trey I did precisely, or nearly, what JJ had done. I can hardly pretend to be outraged and list all the requirements for staying married to him if he learns I had sex with our personal trainer, can I? We’re working toward making it all whole, and this would tear it apart again.”

“Not tit for tat?” Eve said.

“Like most men—at least in my experience—he has the mind-set that it’s one matter for a man to dally, another for a woman. I can put aside what he did. He’d never do the same.”

“What would he do?” Eve asked.

“He’d slap me with it and walk away, or slap me with it and stay to slap me with it every time we had a problem. I can live with the secret. I can forget it. I can’t live with him holding it over me.”

“You told me he wasn’t violent, but you use a violent word to describe his reaction.”

“Verbally, of course. And . . . emotionally.”

But there was a hitch, a slight one.

“Has he ever hit you?”

“No! Absolutely no! Yes, he has a temper, it’s foolish to deny it. But he takes his anger out on inanimate things. He might throw something, or slam doors. He’s . . . it’s a bit like a child really, a tantrum. One of the things we’ve discussed is anger management.”

She leaned forward, earnestly. “He shouts, and it annoys people, puts them off. We have house droids rather than human help as they don’t become offended. I can promise you, if he knew about Trey, he’d make me pay, but he wouldn’t physically harm me. Or anyone.”

She rubbed her hand up and down her throat. “You can’t think he had anything to do with what happened to Trey. I’d know. I would. He was here, getting dressed for our party that night. And he was calm and even cheerful. He’d have been enraged, but he wasn’t. We even . . . we were together that night, for the first time since I learned of that dancer. He could never have done what you’re thinking then come home, and been so calm and cheerful, hosted a party, made love with me. He couldn’t have.”

• • •

A lot of ‘he couldn’ts’ in there,” Eve observed when they walked back to the vehicle.

“You unsettled her.”

“I meant to.”

“Not enough for her to agree to any taps, which is a pity.”

“She was pretty unsettled about that, too. Lots of ‘absolutely nots.’ No spying on spouse. No more prying into personal lives.”

“She may have protested—and too much as the bard would say—but she showed some fear, plenty of doubt.”

“Yeah, she did. Still, the leverage makes more sense, rings truer to me than the ‘Oooh, don’t tell JJ I did the nasty with the trainer.’ There’s some truth rolled in there, it’s just rolled in with lies, half-truths, and bullshit. I need some time to sort it all out.”

“She doesn’t love him.”

Pausing, Eve narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you say that?”

He opened the car door for her, walked around to slide behind the wheel. “The bit about leverage? That’s something you and I might joke about, as we do cutting out hearts or dancing tangos on battered bodies if unfaithful.”

“Who says I’m joking about dancing on your battered body?”

He leaned over, kissed her. “That’s love. She wants that leverage—as if she’s to be believed he would hold a mistake over her head. Leverage, weight, payback. It’s not love.”

“No. It’s a power struggle with sex. Marriage is that, sort of—but it’s only right with the love in there. She’d go on this trip with him, and they’d make love noises—I don’t mean sex noises. Then, if he isn’t the killer—in which case I’ll have him in a cage—he’ll cheat again. She expects it. Next time she’ll boot him. They’ll have a prenup so he’ll get something, but she’s too smart, the money’s too old, for her to go into it without planning for this. Cheated with her, will cheat on her.”

“Logical enough,” Roarke agreed.

“Same with her. Cheated with him, and so on. Shit, when it comes down to it, they deserve each other.

“We’ve got a prenup, right?”