The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids, #3)(66)

“Psst.”

Chelsea turned, and stared.

Mrs. Cabral was there, after all. She wore an enormous white wide-brimmed hat, the kind you’d see at the Kentucky Derby. Enormous dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she tipped them down to look at Chelsea. “I’m going to sit at a booth in the back, and then you should wait two minutes and join me.”

Okay, this was officially weird. Chelsea nodded and watched as Mrs. Cabral walked away. She wasn’t wearing one of her garish, loud-colored suits today. Instead, she wore black trousers and a black jacket. Huh. Why the need to go incognito? Were they not filming this? Didn’t this woman have everything in her life filmed, including the personal and embarrassing?

So why be anonymous now? It didn’t make sense.

Chelsea drummed her fingers on the counter, and then when it felt like two minutes, headed to Mrs. Cabral’s table. She slid in and the woman held a menu to her face, obscuring it. “Where’s my son today?”

“He’s working out with a friend,” Chelsea said. “Then he’s going to look at real estate.”

“Real estate? For what?” Mrs. Cabral wrinkled her nose. “The man has a perfectly fine town house.”

Actually, the town house was nice and spacious by Manhattan standards, but it had a lot of tiny, unused rooms. Sebastian’s art room was a cluttered, dark pit no bigger than some shoe closets. Chelsea wanted him to have an open, bright studio to work in, and when he’d been looking for real estate for rock-climbing gyms, she’d been shopping for a new condominium for him. Maybe a penthouse in one of the new buildings that boasted spacious, open rooms and lots of windows. She’d shown him a brochure and had casually mentioned that the place was a lot closer to derby practice, and had room for his art, and he had been intrigued.

So she was spending his money for him. So what? She’d asked him how much was in his trust fund from his father once, and had choked at the amount. Billions. Just sitting there. So yeah, he could spring for a new place, even if it cost him thirty million or more.

“He wants a new art studio,” Chelsea said. “He’s trying to move ahead with his art.”

“Those silly doodles? Is he still into that?” She shook her head. “Childish foolery. He needs to grow up.”

“He’s talented. Have you seen his work? He’s very good.”

“So is a monkey if you give him a crayon.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “You’d be better off encouraging him to play the stock market instead of playing with paints.”

No wonder Sebastian was so private about his art. Chelsea was immediately sorry she’d brought it up. Mrs. Cabral could be downright vicious at times. “Why don’t we just talk about why we’re here?”

“I’m here because you need to leave my son.” She set the menu down and folded her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.”

Chelsea gave her a curious look. “Uh, what exactly is not going to work out?”

“Your marriage. It’s gone on long enough but now it needs to end.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“It is if you love him and respect him.” Mrs. Cabral adjusted her sunglasses. Her mouth was still pulled into that angry frown. “If you do, you’ll pack up and leave at once.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Then perhaps this will.” She opened her purse and pulled out a USB stick, then slid it across the table toward Chelsea.

She was really confused now. “What’s on that?”

“That is blackmail information.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

The woman’s lips curled. “Don’t be stupid. Someone is blackmailing me. They’re going to release this video unless I pay them.”

“Video? Of what?”

“It’s you.”

Chelsea’s stomach plummeted. “Me what?” Her voice was a frightened whisper.

“You on tape, you stupid girl. You with some man, to be precise. It’s disgusting.” She flicked the USB toward Chelsea. “Take it home and see for yourself.”

How could it be a video of her? She’d never allowed a lover to have a camera in the bedroom, wasn’t one of those girls that took dirty selfies. There was no way she’d have—

Oh, god.

This wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t.

She felt encased in ice. Like the world had suddenly flash-frozen and she was caught up in the destruction.

Someone had video of her rape. This guy was out there, and he knew who she was, and he was going to use that information and ruin her fragile happiness.

She wanted to vomit.

She wanted to die.

Mrs. Cabral’s mouth kept moving, and Chelsea realized dumbly that she was still talking. She forced herself to listen to the woman, the USB stick sitting in the middle of the table between them like a cockroach. ”. . . I’ve spent too long building up our family name and making us famous. I’m not going to let who we are be ruined because you can’t keep your legs together and have the grace not to film it. If the network finds out about this, we’re going to be the laughingstock of everyone in Hollywood. I won’t have that, and I won’t pay blackmailers. The best way to correct this situation is simply for you to get out of Sebastian’s life. If you’re not around, there’s no one to blackmail over.”