Page 87 of The Wife Upstairs
The Southern Manors website had been charming, if a little cloying, and the pictures of Bea had proven that she was as attractive as I’d guessed. Not in the same showy way Charlie was, forever Instagram ready, but in a subtler, classier way.
Learning her net worth added a certain sheen to things, too, of course.
Two hundred million dollars. That’s what Google said, although I knew those things weren’t always accurate. Charlie’s dad was supposed to be worth fifty million, but most of that was tied up in real estate and trusts. Charlie was even on an allowance. A generous one, definitely, but it wasn’t exactly carte blanche.
“I’m gonna go up to the room for a bit,” I’d told her, standing up from my chair and stretching, letting her gaze slide over my bare chest, my abs. I’d been up early to hit the gym, a chore, but a necessary one.
“Want company?” she’d purred, and I’d been sure to grin at her, chucking her underneath her chin.
“No, because I’m gonna nap, and I won’t sleep if you’re around.”
She’d liked that, and caught my hand, pressing a kiss to the tips of my fingers before shooing me off. “I’ll be up in a bit, then. Rest up.”
I’d gone back to the room, but I hadn’t napped. Instead, I’d thrown most of my things back in my bag.
I was good with people, figuring them out, predicting what they’d do, and I had a hunch Charlie was on to something with the Lanai. Bea Mason hadn’t stopped to sit at our pool, after all, just walked through.
And I was right, I learned later. She’d just been checking out our pool area because she was trying to get an idea of what kind of bathing suit prints were popular among, as she put it, “normal women.”
Looking back, that probably should’ve been a hint, too.
At the time, I just patted myself on the back for guessing correctly.
I wish I could say there was some special trick to doing the kinds of things I do, some kind of secret code. But the fact of the matter is, I never really tried all that hard. All it took at the front desk of the Lanai was a chagrined smile to a pretty receptionist, a sheepish story about chasing my girlfriend all the way to Hawaii because I’d realized missing our vacation for work was the stupidest thing I could’ve done.
Not only did I get confirmation that Bea was there, I got a free glass of champagne for my troubles.
I’d asked the front desk to hold my things for me because obviously, I was hoping all would be forgiven and I’d be staying in my “girlfriend’s” room that night.
Which wasn’t quite how it turned out, but close enough.
My reasons for pursuing Bea might have started out a little mercenary, but I honestly did like her, right from the start. When I saw her sitting there on the beach, deep in thought, I was impressed. Most of the women I’d been spending time with were rich, but on someone else’s dime. I liked that Bea had her own money, her own company. I liked the way she was always thinking about how to make it better rather than resting on her laurels.
And look, I’m not a total bastard. I sent Charlie a text, let her know that I’d had a sudden emergency and been called back to New York, but that I’d definitely give her a call next week.
She’d bought it, and I hadn’t heard from her again until that email she sent after she saw that Bea and I were engaged.
And it’s not like I’d read that all too closely, obviously. I hit delete as soon as I saw who it was from, although I did pick up a few key phrases before I hit the trash icon.
Motherfucker,that was there.Manipulative, toxic, seriously psychotic,nothing all that unexpected, although years later, when things with Bea started going wrong, I’d wondered if those words had been about me or my wife.
Well, themotherfuckerwas clearly me.
Talking to Bea that first day was so easy. Like it was meant to be. Honestly, I would’ve thought she would’ve had her guard up so much more.
Except Bea wasn’t like that, not really. She wasn’t always looking over her shoulder, she wasn’t naturally suspicious. Later I’d work out that it was probably because she always knew she was the most dangerous thing in any room. Why should she have to look out for anyone else when she’d always win?
That probably sounds bitter, but I don’t mean it that way. If anything, I was in awe of her. At first, at least. Before the murders.
33
I’d never seen anyone more determined to get what she wanted than Bea. Not even me. Like I said, I’d always been the type to seize on opportunitiesthat presented themselves,rather than the person to go out and make those opportunities happen, which is what Bea did.
I think that’s why I liked Jane so much right from the start. She was like me—always looking for an opening, then twisting to fit that opening. I’m sure she thought she was fooling me, thought I’d bought her whole act, but I recognized too much of myself in her not to see what she was doing. Whatever souls were made of, mine and Jane’s were the same—or at least similar enough.
But Bea—Bea was a totally different beast.
My breathing sounded watery and thick, and I closed my eyes.
