“Last year,” she begins, clearing her throat. Her cheeks grow pink, and she stops herself, offering a nervous smile. “Goodness, I’m getting all worked up.” Her lashes flutter, like she’s blinking away tears, and she looks away for a second. “This is very hard for me to say, Rhett. I want you to know that. I say none of this lightly.”
“Irena, you’re making me anxious here.” I sit up straight, glancing around the room to see if anyone’s paying attention to us, but it’s three in the afternoon and the place is dead.
“Okay, let me try this again.” Her nervous smile fades quickly. “Last year, my daughter found out she was with child.”
The room spins. My ears ring, my chest tightens.
Irena places her slender hand across the table, resting on top of my balled fist. “It wasn’t yours, sweetheart. It was his.”
There’s a tight clench in my jaw that sends pain radiating up the sides of my face.
Not only had she been fucking my best friend, but she’d been doing it since the first year of our relationship. And the sly son of a bitch knocked her up because of course this fucked-up sundae wouldn’t be complete without the proverbial goddamned cherry on top.
“She was so upset,” she says, tacking on another blow. “And I was the only one she told. She thought she was going to lose you ... and her career. Everything she cared about was at stake. She didn’t love Bryce—she never did. And we’ll get to that, Rhett. But she was thinking about, you know ... but she lost it. It was very, very early, and she lost it. And that’s why she never told you. She didn’t want to hurt you, and she loved you so much. She still wanted to marry you, and George and I told her, she was never going to find anyone as perfect for her as you were.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I huff. I’ve never spoken to Irena in that tone in my life, but all I can see is red and my thoughts are scattering to all the deep, dark places I generally try to avoid.
“Rhett.” She seems taken aback, her hand reaching for the diamond pendant hanging from her neck.
“What was your reason for telling me this today?”
Her jaw hangs, and she stammers over her words. “Sweetheart, I just thought you should know. I couldn’t bear to spend the rest of my life harboring this secret of hers.”
She squeezes her hand over mine again, leaning forward.
“My daughter was a very complicated woman,” she says. “Her heart was truly a chamber of secrets. All these doors and locks and keys. No one ever really got in. They might get past the first set of doors, occasionally the second. But that was it. Everything else was locked up tight. Only she knew what was there, at the core of it all.”
“Poetic.”
Irena’s head tilts and her eyes soften. “I knew her better than anyone, Rhett. So believe me when I tell you she loved you. She truly loved you. I asked her, once, why she did what she did. I wanted to know what drove her into the arms of a man who didn’t love her when the man who did was right beside her, through thick and thin. She told me she did it for the rush. At least at first. It was never about Bryce. She didn’t love him, you should know that. When I told her how selfish she was being, she broke down. She vowed never to do it again because you were the one for her. The only one. I don’t know why she didn’t stop, Rhett. I don’t. I wish I had answers for you. I know you need closure. And peace. And it pains me to know you’ll never get those things. Not from her. Not in the way you need them. Not in this lifetime.”
“Please, Irena,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll be fine. What about you? You holding up okay?
I turn the tables, trying to get the heat off me. For a woman who just lost her only daughter, Irena handles it with the grace and poise of an English diplomat.
“You say that, but when I look at you, I see it. I see the hurt in your eyes. I see it because I know it. You and I are the same, Rhett. We put on a good front. We distract ourselves, pretending like nothing happened. We stuff the painful feelings down so deep we don’t feel them anymore, but at the end of the day, they’re always there.” She clasps at her heart. “I wish you could see it too, but you’re too busy pretending you’re okay to look in the mirror and realize that you’re not.”
“Where are you going with this, exactly?” I check my watch.
“I’ve always been a believer in transparency,” she says. “And I never could stand to have secrets. You know, George and I know everything about each other. Everything. Anyway, I guess these last few weeks, I’ve been putting myself in your shoes, and I thought that perhaps, if you had all the information that was available to you, it might help you come to grips with this situation so you might have a chance at moving on.”
“I am moving on.”
Irena sighs. She doesn’t buy it. “You should go visit her.”
I scoff. “I’d rather not.”
“You should. It would bring you closure.” She takes a small sip of wine, her first since I sat down. “She’s buried in the family plot in Hampstead Township, at my parents’ estate. You’ll need a key to get through the gate.”
“I’m not going.”
“Maybe you’re not ready now,” Irena suggests. “And that’s fine. But forgiving her, Rhett, is the only way you’re ever going to be able to move on.”
I say nothing.
“Forgive her, Rhett. Not for her, but for yourself.” Irena pleads with her eyes.
I toss back the remainder of my drink and gather my composure. “I should get going.”
“Rhett.” Irena watches me stand, her almond-shaped eyes searching mine. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I leave. I leave because if I don’t, I’ll explode. I’ll lash out. And I don’t want to do that to her. She’s a nice person and she means well, but goddamn it. This is the sort of bombshell you drop on someone in private. Not at a Michelin star restaurant on the Upper East Side in the middle of a perfectly good Friday afternoon.
The second my feet hit the pavement, I’m on my phone, texting Ayla. It hits me as I round the corner that the last time she was over, she said she had a busy weekend, but I need her. I fucking need her taste on my tongue, her pussy on my cock, my hands in her hair, and that smart little mouth of hers on mine.
If I don’t get it soon ...
I text her.
* * *
Me: COME OVER. NOW.
* * *
Her: EVER HEARD OF THE WORD PLEASE? LOOK IT UP. MERRIAM-WEBSTER DICTIONARY. PAGE 603.
* * *
Me: I’M SERIOUS. MY PLACE. ONE HOUR.
* * *
Her: I’M BUSY TONIGHT. :( SORRY. MAYBE I CAN SQUEEZE YOU IN TOMORROW?
* * *
Me: COME OVER LATER, WHEN YOU’RE DONE DOING WHATEVER THE HELL YOU THINK IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME.
* * *
Her: I’LL THINK ABOUT IT. COULD BE LATE. MIGHT BE TOO TIRED.
* * *
I slip my phone in my pocket, convinced this is Ayla pushing me away. Maybe she’s over our little arrangement. Maybe a week in, it’s too much for her. It’s hard to find a girl who’s truly into the no-strings thing. Most of the time they just say they are, hoping you’ll change your mind after you see how absolutely perfect she is for you. Or maybe she just doesn’t like being someone’s sex toy on standby.