Reputation(111)
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
At this point, I was enjoying myself. “You know, Patrick, it strikes me as funny that you’ve never wondered who your angel investor was, all those years ago.”
Patrick blinked. “Angel investor?” he parroted.
“You know. The anonymous person who invested millions in your company before we married. It’s so interesting you never cared about the person’s identity.”
Patrick’s face was clouded in confusion, but all of a sudden—maybe because of my smug smile, maybe because I was literally vibrating with glee—the clouds began to lift. The blood drained from his cheeks.
“You know?” he said slowly, trembling a little.
“I do know.” My smile was catlike, satisfied. “Because it was me. That little marketing management business I ran? My friend who got famous got really famous? A big talent agency bought out my client list back in the day. I made quite a killing.”
Patrick let out an incredulous laugh. “And you never thought to tell me?”
I shrugged. “It was money I earned before the marriage. My lawyers insisted I get a prenup, but I didn’t want to emasculate you. And anyway, I poured quite a bit of that money into your company. Though I made sure to own a fifty-one percent stake in your business. Which means, actually, I already control your business. I can do with it whatever I want. Meaning I could fire you. But I’d rather keep you around.”
Patrick’s mouth hung open. It wasn’t a very attractive look for him.
“I’d rather give you another chance, allow you to shape up a little,” I went on. “I really think that if you listen to me, you’ll make all kinds of improvements.”
Patrick fell heavily into a chair and stared blankly at the opposite wall. I’m not surprised he felt so blindsided—he doesn’t take the time to really look at people, really figure out what they’re hiding. I watched him look around our big, beautiful house, understanding that everything he thought he’d built was all actually mine. He was nothing without me. I could make him nothing again. Easy as that.
I wouldn’t make things too hard for him, I said. All I needed were some public appearances. Some regular social media content. Family time. Sex, sometimes—I’d even indulge in his stupid robbery fantasy. I wanted a man on my arm. A dutiful father mowing the lawn on Sundays. You know, the works. The dream.
It’s not like the status quo is even bad. Because look at us. Look at the stealthy glances people are sending our way. We are perfection, Patrick and I. We are going to rule this town, be the envy of everyone who lives here. No one will see our cracks. No one would ever imagine what we’re hiding beneath. I’m keeping Patrick in line, making sure he’s being a good actor.
Because respect, envy, a good reputation? It takes a little work—but it’s so, so worth it.
50
WILLA
OCTOBER 17, 2017
Our homes are within walking distance of the surf break at Venice Beach, but because of all the equipment we’re hauling, it’s easier to drive. At this time of day—the sun just rising, the sky an ombré of pinks and oranges—the public parking lot is nearly empty. The only other vehicles here are banged-up Jeeps or Subarus of fellow surfers, also hoping to catch a few waves before the day properly starts.
I drag our boards off the top of the car and drop them to the concrete with a thump. Sienna and Aurora pounce on theirs and slather them with wax so naturally, you’d think they’d been doing this all their lives. Their full-body wet suits are unzipped to their waists, and their long hair has become sun-streaked. They already look the part of California girls. It didn’t take long.
“How about you, Kit?” I point to my sister. “Swim today?” But she shakes her head. She’s wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, as always. “Come on,” I goad. “The water is great. I promise.”
“It just looks so cold,” Kit murmurs, shivering. “And what about sharks?”
“Thanks for the mental image, Mom.” Aurora hefts her board and tucks it under her arm.
“Oh, go easy on her,” I scold Aurora. It doesn’t really matter to me if Kit surfs of not—what’s more important is that she’s here, in California, with me.
I still can’t believe Kit and the girls made the move, that they’re now living a few blocks away in a cool, small house along one of Venice’s canals. We’re so close in proximity that we can meet for coffee every day and have brunch on the weekends if we wanted, which we sometimes do. I can attend the open-mic nights Sienna started doing at a space in West Hollywood. I take Aurora to tae kwon do and therapist appointments. I take Kit to therapist appointments, too, and try to calm her down as she drives through the crazy city traffic.
Basically, we’re a family again. And to think that it rose from the ashes of such tragedy and lies.
Sienna hands Kit her phone. “Hey, can you take a picture of me? I want to send it to Raina.”
“Raina, huh?” I say, surprised. Kit raises the camera and gets Sienna in the frame. “You guys are still texting?”
“Here and there.” Sienna glances at me guiltily. “Is that weird?”
Kit snickers. “A little weird, but probably not the weirdest.”