Black Lies

Our house. I dialed Jillian and wondered how well this would go over with Lee. Maybe I was making a mistake.

I bought my first house a week after my twenty-fifth birthday. Had a budget of three million dollars. Went crazy and spent four. Looked at twelve different homes before coming to the difficult decision of choosing one. With Brant, I expected even more of a production. It turned out to be ridiculously simple.

In my prior, paltry price range, I’d had to make decisions. Did I want the outdoor kitchen or the sun porch? The indoor theatre or a library? An oceanfront office or spare bedroom?

In Brant’s price range, every house had everything. And there were only three to choose from. The realtor offered a limo, but we drove Brant’s Aston Martin, winding toward the coast, the homes fifteen miles apart. Everything we could ever want for thirty million dollars.

It was an easy decision. The first one was a palace of ostentatious details, hand-painted ceilings, and heavy velvet drapes. It screamed old wrinkly money, and came complete with maids’ quarters and an entire floor dedicated to formal rooms we would never use. It did have a ballroom, a huge expanse I envisioned using in a variety of ways, the foremost being a skating rink for our future children. But the consensus, a look shot between Brant and I upon our exit, was that it was a no.

Windere was the second property, an estate high on the cliff, owned at one point in time by the Kennedys. It had four gated acres, nine bedrooms, tennis courts and an elevator that carried us the 42 stories down to the beach. It also came with a two-bedroom beach house, at the base of the elevator, a twelve hundred square foot gem with an attached spa and second pool. It had privacy, needed a staff of at least eight, and was a good half hour from Palo Alto, but it was comfortable. Modern. Us. It also had a six-thousand square foot basement. We were sold.

“This is it.” Brant clapped the realtor, a small woman with a large overbite, on the back. “Good work.”

“I have one more property to show you… in Santa Cruz… it’s a beautiful house…” Her voice faltered, and she looked to me for help.

“This one’s perfect,” I echoed Brant’s opinion. Looped my arm through his and beamed up at him.

“Draw up the contract.” He slid an arm around my shoulder, leaned down and kissed my mouth. “I love you,” he murmured, the realtor stepping away to give us privacy.

“I love you too.”

“First steps, right?”

I grinned. “First steps. Baby steps.”

He growled against my mouth. “Don’t say baby. I’m already wanting to see you pregnant, kids running through this house.”

The light in my heart faded slightly, and I pushed myself up, stealing a kiss before the emotion hit my eyes. “Let’s get one last look at our future home.”

Chapter 47

“What’s going on?”

I looked up from my place on the floor, mid-wrap of a picture frame. Lee stood in the doorway, hands out in confusion. He looked around the empty living room, half the furniture removed last week and sent out for consignment. I leaned back. “Frank?”

A moment later, a shaved head stuck its way into the room. “Yes ma’am?”

“Can you round up the guys? Take them to lunch? I need some privacy.”

“Sure.” He nodded a hello to Lee and exited the room.

I hopped up, setting down the frame, and brushed myself off. “Hey babe.”

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“I’m moving. I tried to call you. Been trying to call you. You should get voicemail.”

He looked around like he didn’t understand the concept, taking a few steps into the kitchen before returning. “Almost everything’s gone. When are you leaving?”

“Friday.”

“So, where’s your new place?”

“Not far.” I stepped forward, wrapping my hands around his body, my body flush with his, his reaction immediate.

He looked down, leaned over and pressed a kiss on my mouth. “Show it to me.”

“Now?”

He shrugged. “Sure. You look like you could use a break.”

I looked around, at my house full of half-packed boxes. A house that Frank and his team could handle. “Okay. Let me grab my keys.”

We took the Defender, Lee’s hands familiar on the wheel. I was tempted to give him the vehicle, his love of it apparent every time he sat behind the wheel. Maybe later. Now it would only cause a fight. Questions from Brant. Too much confusion, too much rocking of the boat.

A silent drive, the only words coming when I’d point out turns, give directions. I snuck glances at Lee as we drove down manicured streets, a world away from his part of town. His eyes moved constantly, his expression brooding. I knew this Lee. This was the insecure Lee. The one who grew hostile and irritable at my general life of luxury. The one who hated Brant with a fervor that scared me. Maybe today was the wrong day to show him the house.

“I’m starving.” I reached over, looped my hand through his. “Want to grab lunch first?”

“I’m not hungry.” He pulled his hand free. Down shifted. “Doesn’t your new place have food?”

I looked out the window. Swallowed my response. This was going to be a disaster.

I saw the hesitation in Lee’s turn as I pointed toward the new house, the slow stop of the Defender at the gates, the guard stepping from the small hut, seeing the two of us and waving, the gates starting their slow movement, unveiling the beauty that was Windere.

His shift movement was delayed, the crawl down the driveway slow, the crunch of dead leaves audible in the absence of wind. When the truck came to a stop, before the six-car garage, he jerked it into park, turned off the key, and sat there, the engine dead, his hands on the wheel.

“You’re moving in with him.” A dead sentence.

“Yeah. You can come in. I want you to be comfortable here.”

He chuckled. Dropped his hands from the steering wheel and looked at me. “I’m not coming in, Lucky. I didn’t know… didn’t realize. You should have told me.”

“It’s just a place to live. It doesn’t change anything with us.”

“It does. Your house… I was okay there. This place…” He tilted his head and looked up, at four floors of excess. “This place has its own guard shack for Christ’s sake. You think they’re going to let your side-fuck in?”

“It’s fine, Lee. You can come and go anytime.”