Sweet Little Lies

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

I finish the last few bites of my turkey sandwich and drop my plate into the dishwasher. I can hear Tucker down the hall, his voice low and intense. It doesn’t sound like he’ll be getting off the call anytime soon.

Tucker’s import-export business, Harding Global, is a staggering operation. What started as a small, family-owned business has grown into a multinational corporation with offices in a dozen countries. The heart of the company lies in the port of Charleston, where he oversees a large warehouse complex that hums with activity day and night. Massive shipping containers are loaded and unloaded by a small army of workers that, according to him, need to be babysat day and night. He has a pretty large management team, but it seems like every time I turn around, he’s taking a call or running off to handle an emergency.

It’s something I truly respect about him, but it also makes our relationship a challenge. With both of us working long hours, it’s hard to make quality time for each other.

I decide to head upstairs for a quick shower before bed. As the hot water cascades down my shoulders, my mind can’t help but wander to Charlotte. I find myself wondering what her life with Tucker must have been like, juggling the demands of his thriving empire and the intricacies of their high-society relationship.

I can imagine her spending long hours alone in their sprawling mansion, waiting for Tucker to return from his endless business trips and late-night meetings. Did she feel neglected, pushed aside in favor of his ambitions? Was she constantly competing for his attention, trying to carve out a place for herself in his fast-paced world?

Is that why she left?

I know that Charlotte came from money herself, with a trust fund that would have allowed her to live comfortably without ever lifting a finger. But from what I’ve heard, she was never content to simply sit back and play the role of the pampered socialite. Instead, she threw herself into charitable work, volunteering her time and resources to various organizations throughout Charleston.

But I also wonder if her philanthropic efforts were somehow tied to her relationship with Tucker. Was it a way for her to distract herself from the loneliness and isolation of being married to a man who was always on the go?

The more I think about it, the more I realize how little I truly know about their relationship. Tucker rarely speaks about Charlotte, and when he does, it’s always in vague, dismissive terms. “Things just didn’t work out,” he’ll say with a shrug, as if their entire history can be summed up in a single, throwaway phrase.

But it’s more than “things just didn’t work out.” She left him at the altar . For her to do something that cruel to Tucker…something must have caused her to snap.

I shake my head. I shouldn’t be thinking about her just a few days before our wedding, but it still bothers me. Not knowing why she left him.

I turn off the water, step out of the shower, and wrap myself in a towel. I busy myself with getting ready for bed, pushing all thoughts of Charlotte to the back of my mind. Dwelling on the past isn’t going to help me right now.

I look over at the clock. It’s after ten p.m. and Tucker is still on his call. It’s moments like these that make me wonder if I’m cut out for this life—the constant interruptions, the never-ending demands on his time and attention. I let out a long sigh as I fall into bed and pull the covers over me.

Just as I begin to drift off to sleep, I hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Listen, we need to handle this now,” he hisses, his words barely audible. “If customs gets wind of this, we’re all going down. I’m not about to get arrested over some shipping manifest discrepancy.”

Arrested? What on earth is he talking about?

There’s a pause, and then Tucker’s voice again, lower this time, almost a growl. “I don’t care how you do it. Just fix it. And make sure there’s no paper trail. We can’t afford any loose ends.”

I chew on my lip. Tucker’s business has a lot of moving parts, including the clearance of large shipments from various countries, such as China and Vietnam. He’s faced numerous challenges in the past, like when a container of electronics arrived with the wrong customs documentation, causing a week-long delay at the port. I’m sure this is just another one of those situations.

But it’s Tucker’s tone that unsettles me. The calm, collected voice I’m used to has vanished, replaced by something I can’t quite place.

Before I can add it to the loop of endless anxiety that seems to be plaguing my mind lately, the door creaks open. “Reese,” Tucker says, entering the room. “Are you asleep?”

“Almost,” I murmur.

I hear Tucker slide out of his clothes. He climbs into bed beside me, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. “I’m sorry about that. I know I’ve been distracted lately. It’s just work…it’s been driving me crazy.”

I can still smell the hint of bourbon on his breath and the sweet smell of his skin. Suddenly, all the worries that had been consuming me for the past hour seem unimportant. A little jolt of desire runs through me.

“It’s okay. If anyone understands, it’s me.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, kissing the spot between my neck and my shoulder.

I turn in his arms, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh, less talking, more showing.”