Deception (Infidelity #3)(85)

Two weeks later and I was still waiting for Alton to leave.

It had become the story of my life.

The other thing that had happened since Chelsea had arrived was that my husband had been overly attentive. I assumed it had to do with appearances. Nevertheless, I couldn’t manage a one-day trip even if I tried.

Through it all, I’d stayed true to my plan of trying to prove that Alton was somehow involved in orchestrating Alexandria and Lennox’s meeting. Though I’d spoken to Natalie about it, nothing seemed to verify my suspicions. If anything, by Alton’s reaction to Chelsea, he was growing tired of the continued charade and ready to finalize Bryce and Alexandria’s nuptials.

It didn’t make sense.

Water was all I drank yesterday prior to dinnertime. I recalled Alton once again coming to our suite instead of staying downstairs, ever dutifully making us both before-dinner cocktails. Mine had been wine. My first glass of the day. And then in the limousine I had a second glass.

The restaurant was simply beautiful. Though she tried to hide it, Chelsea’s unease at being out of her element was glaringly obvious. If I didn’t hate the entire plan I may have felt a smidgen of pity for the poor girl. It appeared as though she was trying. It also made me wonder if none of Alexandria’s refinement had rubbed off on her during their years of living together.

How Chelsea was hired for this position was beyond me.

Looks. Sex.

Apparently she had a brain, but I’d yet to witness it. As the evening progressed, I got the feeling that even Bryce was losing patience with some of her uncouth ways. The looks that I saw exchanged between she and Bryce reinforced my belief that Alexandria should not be married to him.

Many wouldn’t recognize the warnings, but I’d lived with them for over twenty years. Chelsea’s trepidation was real. Even without the confirmation of physical bruising, I was most certain that Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer was indeed his father’s son.

That was where the night began to fade away. Like a club illuminated by strobe lighting, there were flashes of memory. Nothing stood out. Nothing seemed out of place. The restaurant. Another drink on the veranda overlooking the ocean. A photo opportunity with the four of us. The limousine ride back to the manor. Waking in a shower of sunshine.

Hours were missing. There were large gaping holes.

Two glasses of wine before the restaurant and maybe two during dinner.

It was barely a luncheon’s worth of alcohol.

Maybe the memory loss had been caused by the onset of the migraine.

Slowly, I stood and made my way to the bathroom and opened the drawer of my vanity. Through squinted eyes, I caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror. Surely she wasn’t me. Her hair was uncustomarily disheveled. And her eyes… I pushed against the bags that seemed to have grown beneath. Why were they so puffy?

What the hell?

Once this headache was gone, my plastic surgeon would be on speed dial.

It would only take a few of my Vicodin to ease the pain. After all, I hadn’t taken any for quite some time. I’d been saving them for another use. And then, Jane found them…

I rummaged around the drawer, pulling bottles out and throwing them onto the counter. The clatter tore at my nerves as one by one, large and small plastic containers littered the vanity. They were the same as any found at a common drugstore. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Even ibuprofen. There wasn’t one prescription bottle, not one amber container with my name printed upon the label.

No Vicodin. No Percocet. Not even any codeine.

Damn Jane!

This was her doing. I knew it.

Not only had she taken the pills I’d had in the glass, she’d come into our suite, my room, my bathroom, and rid the drawers and cabinets of all my narcotics. Hadn’t she seen the progress I’d made since that night, since meeting with Stephen?

My body trembled as I imagined calling and yelling at her.

I’d call first and yell later. I wasn’t sure my head could take the volume. Even the thought of speaking above a whisper twisted my stomach and increased the throb in my temples.

A knock at the outer door of my suite echoed like a jackhammer off the marble tile of the bathroom.

Thank the sweet Lord. This had to be Jane.

Reaching for the doorjamb, I steadied myself, tightened the robe I’d found hanging near the shower, and made my way toward the outer door of our suite.

This would save me the trouble of calling.

I smoothed my hair as I trekked across the front sitting room.

Another knock.

“Stop,” my request was barely audible as I reached unsteadily for the doorknob.

“Jane—” I stopped speaking as Dr. Beck’s solemn expression came into focus.

“Adelaide.”

My eyes squinted as I tried to make sense of his presence. “Dr. Beck, why are you here?”

He reached for my hand and held it gently in his as he assessed its movement. “Let’s get you seated. You’re shaking.”

I didn’t move from the doorway. “Who called you?”

“One of your staff. She said you needed me, and I can see she was right.” As he spoke he moved toward me, causing me to step backward until we were both inside the suite. Quietly he shut the door. “How are you?” His words came quietly with an inflection of sympathy.

I reached for my temples. “I have a migraine, and I can’t find my medicine. I was about to call Jane. I think she knows where it is.”