Deception (Infidelity #3)(17)

“Have you spoken to anyone?”

I looked away, trying to forget the images that plagued my sleepless night. “I spoke to the police when…”

Her eyes widened as she listened to my words.

“When it happened,” I continued. “That letter said I hid things from her family. That’s not exactly the truth.”

Charli didn’t speak, allowing me the freedom to divulge what I could.

“Jocelyn wasn’t close to them, not after we got together. They didn’t want her with me.” I shrugged. “Much like your family.”

“Nox, it isn’t that my family doesn’t want me with you. They don’t even know you. My mother is fixated on Bryce. She has been for as long as I can remember.”

“The Matthewses didn’t like me. They were the stereotypical Midwestern family. Jocelyn wasn’t as independent as you. She never had lofty career aspirations. We met young and well, they wanted more for their daughter than me.”

Charli’s head moved slowly from side to side.

“What?”

“I’m trying hard not to interrupt you. Please, keep going.”

My lips twitched. “Begging now, are we?”

Her cheeks blushed. “I’m going to ignore that. Fine. I was wondering how they wanted more than you?”

I shifted, allowing my knees to fall farther apart as I clenched my own hand and studied the ground near my shoes. “They said I was nothing more than the son of a two-bit swindler from Brooklyn. I was where I was because I rode my father’s underworld coattails.”

“You don’t see yourself that way, do you?”

“I try not to.”

Charli reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers. “I don’t know what you do,” she said. “I know you work hard. I didn’t know you were from Brooklyn. So what? You took me to the house in Westchester. But Nox, I didn’t even know your last name in Del Mar and I knew you were a man of substance.”

I looked up to her beautiful face framed in the auburn waves. Though she’d pulled most of her hair back, small wisps blew gently in the breeze to tease her cheeks and lips. I reached out and tucked a rogue strand behind her ear. “You’ve spoken to your mother. That letter said that she wants you away from me. No doubt, she doesn’t think I’ll do for her blue-blood daughter.”

Anger flashed in her golden eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I hate that?”

Before I could reply, she went on.

“I’m so sick of the whole blue-blood world. Shit, it’s like the Westminster dog show. The breeding pool is getting smaller and smaller. Pretty soon the only way to maintain pedigree will be to marry siblings or cousins!”

“Patrick did give me a suspicious look this morning.”

Her anger simmered. “He’s not really my cousin. Other than the fact that he’s gay, we could marry.”

“He’s not?” My back straightened. How many fake family members was she going to claim?

“Not by blood. He’s Alton’s nephew—his sister’s son. I tell anyone and everyone that I’m not related to Alton Fitzgerald. I wouldn’t want that man’s blood in my veins.”

“So Patrick is your stepcousin?”

“Yes.”

“Back to your earlier question,” I said, “after Jo was gone, I didn’t talk about it. I never told the Matthewses the whole story. If they’d come to me, I might have, but they didn’t. Instead they made accusations. The only one who knows everything is Deloris. She knows because she worked for us then.”

“Isaac?”

“Yes, but not all the details. He didn’t work as closely with Jo. Deloris filled in as Jo’s family when they turned their back on her.

“Were… are her parents well-to-do?”

“No.”

Charli shook her head. “I don’t understand why they thought you were so bad, why they’d accuse you?”

“Because with me she lived a life they didn’t understand. They wanted her to meet a nice lawyer or doctor and settle down in a small town and live the perfect life behind a white picket fence. They never imagined her in New York City in a high-rise apartment, flying here and there. It didn’t make sense to them. If she didn’t call, they assumed it was because of me. If she didn’t attend her great-uncle’s eightieth birthday, it was my fault.”

Silence hung heavily in the air as I waited for Charli’s response. When I didn’t say more, she did.

“Thank you.” As she spoke, she lifted my left hand and kissed my palm.

“For?” I asked.

“For talking to me. I still don’t know what happened, but…” She turned my hand and swiped the pad of her finger over the mostly faded line where my wedding ring had been. “…I believe you loved her.”

She looked around the park—Were those tears in her eyes? Why would she be crying?—before she continued, “I wish I could have met her, but then again, if I could, you wouldn’t be here with me.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “I told you before that I trusted you. I’ve tried to show you that, by giving you a part of me, a vulnerable part, and you’ve never hurt me. This morning, this talk, I feel as if this time you’re giving me something. I promise to do my best to care for this sliver of your past as you’ve cared for me. I’ll treasure her memory, as much as you’re willing to share.