Chapter 2 #2
Tucking my clutch under my arm with a tired sigh, I turned and met her stare unflinchingly. I allowed her to see the dead behind my eyes. The cheeks that were still a pale pink from my make-up blush. The steady hand that tapped against the counter in bored amusement.
I spied it instantly. Her confusion. Her frustration at not producing the response she was after. And, finally, the shame. Her eyes dropped from mine. She'd tried to play chicken, and she lost.
"Listen…Abigail, is it?" When her mouth dropped open to respond, I swiftly cut ahead of her.
"Abigail, surely you cannot be this naive."
Her smooth brow knitted together, and I shook my head at her in mock sympathy.
"You think I don't know that my husband has mistresses?
" The look on her face made me smirk. "Yes, that's right—mistresses.
Plural. You think just because he's slept with you a few times that you're special?
That you actually mean something to him?
" I gave a throaty laugh. "Sweetie, you're just another faceless woman who he uses to pass the time when he's bored in between meetings. "
Her mouth flopped open and closed like a dying fish. I stepped towards her, homing in for the kill. Her shoulders shrank back, and fear marred her blue eyes. All her big-girl, smug bravado evaporated under the weight of a smarter match.
"You're part of this world, so you must be aware how utterly tacky it is to proudly announce that you're some rich man's temporary bit on the side." Her face turned crimson, and her eyes were now dulled in embarrassment and discomfort.
"Wentworth…Wentworth," I mused, tapping my finger on my chin in mock thought. "Not Henry Wentworth of the Wentworth Group?"
When her eyes crashed into mine, startled, I simply smiled. "The good thing about being the daughter of an Earl and the wife of a powerful man—as you so eloquently put it—is that I have my ear to the ground on what's going on in our world."
I leaned closer. "Word on the street is, your father is losing a lot of money from a failed business venture. Had to sell your holiday home in Saint-Tropez to keep afloat. Oh, dear!" My expression was anything but sympathetic.
"How will you support yourself without Daddy’s money?" I pouted. "I suggest putting in your parting gift request now with Alessio, because after tonight, my husband will never touch you again."
The look on her face almost made me laugh. Panic. Embarrassment. The realisation that she'd royally fucked up.
My cool green eyes sliced her up and down before I curled my lip in distaste. "Maybe whatever trinket his PA will buy you, you can sell off so you're not wearing last season's haute couture."
The colour drained from her face. Satisfied that my barbs had hit their mark, I spun on my heels and exited the lavatories with my head held high.
Instead of my original plan to relieve my husband, I made a beeline for the balcony area.
I kept my resolve, nodding and smiling to a few people in passing, until I made it through the doors and into the night air.
I expelled my breath, sucking in the coldness and welcoming the slap of chill against my hot cheeks.
Thankfully, the silent auction—something I had previously been looking forward to—had started announcing the first group of successful bidders, leaving the outside space empty.
I crashed into the stone barrier, my hands curling against the frigid temperature as I took in deep, calming breaths.
“Will you have a mistress?”
“I will always be discreet,” he’d replied, his gaze evading mine.
And he was.
I never heard murmurings and he never flaunted his affairs in my face; and as far as I knew, he never dipped into women from my social circle, no matter how peripheral.
I didn't want to know the details. I didn't want to know whether he had a woman in every port, or whether he kept one mistress at a time until he tired of them. I didn't want to know what they looked like or when he had last been intimate with one, as long as he took the necessary precautions.
I was happy to live in my oblivious delusion. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and all that. Out of sight, out of mind.
After all, that was the motto most wives in my world lived by—including my mother. And she seemed happy enough indulging my father. They stayed together in their bubble of ignorant happiness.
But tonight, thanks to Annabelle, that delusion was shattered. I couldn't fake it anymore. Not tonight. Not after being confronted by something he had promised would never touch me.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked furiously to keep them at bay. Now was not the time for a breakdown.
"Here you are."
My back stiffened at the sound of my husband's voice. I kept my gaze away, staring blankly into the night.
"Why are you out here in the cold?"
Was it cold? Or was this numbness from the sting of acknowledgement that my marriage was just another statistic? When I thought back to earlier in the evening—flitting about from group to group, feeling important and respected, I wondered just how many of them turned to whisper to their companions:
"You see Alessio's young wife? The poor girl doesn't realise that she's mingling with one of his women."
I didn't react when I felt his jacket drape my shoulders, instantly heating me, but doing nothing to warm me from the icy steel of betrayal that burrowed deep within my bones.
His spicy cologne stung my nose. I loved his scent, but now I couldn't help but wonder if it lingered on Annabelle's pillow whenever he left her bed. Did she roll onto it, squeezing it against her nostrils like I often did?
"Millie? What is it, piccola?"
I flinched at the endearment.
"I had an interesting conversation tonight."
"Oh?"
"Hmm. With Annabelle Wentworth."
His breath sucked in, and he straightened from his lean. "Millie—"
"In future, could you please stick to social media models and C-grade actresses?" I flatly demanded. "I would appreciate not being forced to socialise with your whores."
My language was intentional, even though I saw no fault in what other women did in the privacy of their bedrooms. But I wanted to show him just how little I cared. That I saw what he did with these women was beneath me. Even if my heart was shattering with each breath.
"Millie. I'm sorry—"
"I'm ready to go now."
I withdrew his jacket from around my shoulders, folded it over the barrier, and calmly walked back inside.