I nod. “Don’t forget we’re in public. Smile and look happy.” Don’t let me see you in pain.
“Right. Happy.” She puts on a fake smile, tilting her head to make sure I see it, then walks away.
Damn it. I rub my face, exhaling roughly. She can make me feel like scum so effortlessly.
I order two glasses with four fingers of vodka at the bar and take them up to the second level. Elizabeth is easy to spot. She looks like a queen in that white dress. She doesn’t look upset now, but she’s always had great composure. If it cracked, even momentarily, whatever shook her must be bad.
I sit down and hand her a drink.
“Where’s Belle?” she asks.
“Bathroom.” From up here, it’s easy to scan the people on the first floor. I take a sip of the alcohol. Vodka isn’t my choice of poison, but I can drink it if it’ll get her to talk. “So what happened?”
She starts to gulp it down, then catches herself and takes a couple of dainty swallows instead. “What do you mean?”
“Belle told me you didn’t look so good.”
“Did she?”
“Elizabeth.”
She shrugs delicately. “It’s nothing. All of a sudden, I just felt faint. I’ve been working really hard on the event, and I think it just caught up to me. And the whole thing with Grandpa’s paintings and all… I haven’t been sleeping well, and…” She smiles brightly. “I’m just tired. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
I squint at her. I believe about half of what’s coming out of her mouth. She might be saintly, but she is also excellent at glossing over things, especially when they’re distressing.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m telling you the truth. Besides, if you have the time and energy to worry about me, you should worry about your wife.”
“What do you mean?” Did Belle say something?
“She looked lonely…and a little bit miserable up here. Kind of unusual for a woman who just came back from her honeymoon.”
The soft words put me on the defensive. “Don’t.”
“Are you upset about the articles saying she was a stripper?”
Elizabeth’s making me feel like I kicked a puppy. I take another drink of the vodka.
“You’re such a hypocrite. You released a sex tape, and you’re the one who wanted to marry a stripper in the first place.”
“It’s not like that,” I bite out. Elizabeth has no idea what’s going on between us, and I’m not telling her.
Elizabeth nurses her vodka. “Sometimes we get blinded by emotion and push too far, say and do things we shouldn’t.” Her voice is low, but her words are perfectly clear. “By the time you realize you’ve crossed the l
ine, it’s too late. And you’re never able to take it back and fix the damage you’ve done to the relationship. So consider if it’s worth destroying what you have with Belle before you step over that line.”
The vision of my wife walking away from me flashes through my mind…then her standing alone in the penthouse we share, looking so tired and alone. Suddenly I’ve had enough. “It’s not about the articles. I knew what I was getting into, and I’m not a hypocrite.”
“Then what?”
“Her secrets.” I clamp my mouth shut.
Elizabeth regards me. “That bad?”
“Yes, and I’m pissed she didn’t tell me. I’ve given her chances.”
She finishes her drink. “Maybe she couldn’t. People think our family has everything because we have money and connections…but we can’t just do whatever we want, and we certainly don’t have everything. Imagine how much harder it is for someone with so little. And the stress… If she messes up, she isn’t just risking herself but a younger sister who depends on her.”
I look away, not wanting to hear her tell me what I already know but don’t want to admit.
