Deception (Infidelity #3)(31)

From vacations where we’d sat near a pool and she told me how much she enjoyed it, to walks along the shore where she’d commented on the water. I’d remembered every word, every time she’d smiled and told me she was happy. I tried to put it all in one package. The house had everything she loved and more. The attached guesthouse would be perfect for someone to help her. I didn’t build her a grand home for her to be the one who had to care of it.

Though she’d moved to Rye, getting her to accept domestic help had not yet happened.

“Why spend money on someone to do what I love to do?” she’d ask. “I love caring for my family. Cleaning is part of that.”

I explained that she’d have more time for other things. She could go out with her friends, shop, or spend time in the city.

“I want to spend time with you and Lennox.” It was her answer to everything. Sometimes I swore I heard her recite it in her sleep.

She’d been raised in the world of Costellos, yet she didn’t understand the time commitment her family required of me. Making my way and navigating both worlds was equivalent to two full-time jobs.

The house was built for her, designed with luxury and safety in mind, yet the one amenity she wanted—me—didn’t have time to be present. I had a name to build and a reputation to prove.

“Before her father died,” Carmine said, “I promised my brother that I’d look after her. If I ever thought she wasn’t happy, I would need to say my piece.”

I wasn’t worried about him saying his piece. I was worried about what would come after the verbal lashing.

“Zio,” Angelina said as she stepped between her uncle and me. “You aren’t talking business, are you? I seem to recall a ‘no business at family events’ rule.”

“Tesoro, you know I’m the one who made that rule and we don’t break rules, do we, Oren?”

“No, sir, we don’t.”

So this wasn’t my opportunity for my elevator pitch. I wouldn’t be talking to Carmine Costello about the jewelry stores today.

I took another drink of my beer and grimaced. The liquid had warmed in the summer heat and the warmth of my grasp.

“Sir, a fresh beer?” the young girl who’d given me the first beer asked.

“Yes,” I said, nodding and handing her my warm brown bottle.

“Thank you,” Angelina called after the girl who’d hurried away to get me another drink.

When Carmine walked away, I pulled my wife close and whispered in her ear. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“What?”

“Having someone to bring you drinks?”

Her soft blue eyes fluttered in consideration. “Someone who is at your beck and call and does what you say without receiving gratitude?”

My neck straightened.

What the hell?

This wasn’t the place to start a fight. “What are you talking about?”

“Just now, you couldn’t even say thank you.”

“To her? That girl? It’s her job. Do you think people thank me for doing my job?”

“No,” she said definitively.

“You’re right, they don’t,” I confirmed.

Angelina looked around the room, her expression perfect, her smile big and happy. It was her eyes that told me she was mad. No longer soft, fire burned behind the color, darkening it to a molten pool of navy lava. “Not the question I answered,” she explained. “My no was in reference to your earlier question as in, no, I don’t think that would be nice. No sense subjecting anyone else to what I endure daily.”

What she endures?

“This is hardly—” I began, keeping my voice low.

Her smile was still too large as she kissed my cheek. “Of course it isn’t. The only time I ever see you is when we can’t talk. Excuse me, tesoro, I must help Bella.”

I fought the urge to tug her hand and explain that she didn’t need to help. That was why they had that young girl here. It could be that way for her too, but I didn’t reach for her hand. In a matter of seconds she was gone and the young girl was back with my beer.

“Here you are, sir.”

Taking it, I nodded, but before she walked away, I remembered my wife’s reprimand. “Thank you.”

The girl’s face lit up as if my words had impact. “You’re welcome.”





“RALPH, I WANT to see my father’s will.”

“Adelaide, this is unexpected. I didn’t have you scheduled…”

“I won’t take much of your time. I’m certain that Montague keeps you and your firm busy enough to warrant me a few minutes alone with the document.”

He ran a pen through his fingers, slowly twisting it as it weaved a course above one digit, below the next. More than likely he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. My mother detested nervous habits. She pointed out that they were signs of weakness. Something as simple as the bobbing of a knee showed vulnerability.

I sat statuesque, perched on the edge of the red leather chair facing Ralph Porter’s desk, my knees together and back straight. If some people thought they could intimidate me after twenty years with Alton Fitzgerald, they were seriously deluding themselves.

“You see,” he began, “we don’t just keep those kinds of documents sitting around. You can understand their sensitivity. If you’d have let me or Natalie know that you were coming, we could have pulled the will.” He feigned looking at his computer screen. “With the holiday coming, we’re very busy. I could have it for you on Tuesday.”