36. Isabel
When I arrived at the kitchen for the lunchtime cooking tutorial, there were three cooking stations prepared, right next to each other.
I’d given Mrs. Sheldon and Sophia a list of the ingredients and kitchen tools we’d need, and like the two good chefs they were, everything was already laid out and ready to go.
Both women were puttering about their stations, ready to make choux pastry from scratch. Mrs. Sheldon had grand plans about mastering the art of pastry making and becoming a pastry chef when she retired from Belmont Manor’s kitchen at the end of the year.
But on her third disastrous try in making the choux dough she threw in the towel and wiped the perspiration from her pink face. “I’ll leave the pastry making to you young girls, I’m sweating like a harlot in church. Let me catch my breath, then I’ll make us tea and prepare some scones for lunch.”
Sophia, on the other hand, was a diamond in the rough and she was so eager to learn, it was easy to unlock the potential chef in her. Her second try at the choux pastry was so good, I showed her all the steps to make chocolate eclairs.
“Maybe I should make the pastries for tomorrow, and give you the day off,” she suggested cautiously.
There was no way I was going to tell her no. Besides if I was to sneak into Roman’s apartment tonight, I couldn’t imagine a whole lot of baking getting done. Not that I’d even come close to making a final decision about that yet.
“If you think you can handle it, I’d be happy to take the day off from making pastries,” I told her, mentally inching closer to texting Roman and saying yes, I was all his tonight.
Sophia beamed and texted James. His reply made her blush, and I playfully bumped her shoulder. “You two are so in love,” I said. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Si, sometimes I can’t stop smiling. But what about you? You feel better after the bastardo?
Where would I even start to explain the insanity that was currently my life. But I decided the less said about any of that, the better. “Oh it’s fine,” I mumbled. “It’s all fine.”
Before Sophia could prod more, Mrs. Sheldon interrupted, “Come girls, lunch is ready.”
We sat down at the kitchen table, and though I felt some trepidation about eating Mrs. Sheldon’s scones, they turned out to be very tasty.
“Mrs. Sheldon, you need to give me this recipe,” I said, wiping crumbs from my lap. “These scones are simply delicious.”
She made a face. “My dear, you just saw me muck up the French pastry dough, I’m no baker. These I get from my sister who’s a cook over at the Van Burens’. Or “chef” as she likes to call herself.
My head snapped up at the mention of the Van Burens. I wondered if Celeste had restored her superficial relationship with the other trophy wives. But even if she hadn’t, I felt sure there were plenty more such relationships waiting to be forged. After all, she was the wife of a very wealthy and influential man.
“Oh,” I said. “Then if you could please ask your sister for the recipe, that would be great.”
Mrs. Sheldon made good work of texting her sister immediately. And while she was busy, Sophia tapped my arm. “Isabel, James has very good friend. Very good-looking, maybe you meet with him? We all go for drinks, si?”
This was a snag I hadn’t anticipated. Before Roman I would have said sure, why not. And I would have gone and had this drink, only to discover that no chemistry existed between me and a perfectly fine man. It seemed like it was all or nothing for me, which was a little ridiculous, but here I was.
“Thanks for thinking of me, Sophia, but maybe right now is not a good idea,” I said, hating the disappointment blossoming on her face.
“That’s fine,” she said gently. “Maybe next time when you forget Bastardo.”
“Sure, next time,” I mumbled. God, I was sinking deeper into this pit of deception. All I had to do was come clean, because sooner or later it was all going to come to light. And losing a friendship was the last thing I wanted.
Suddenly Mrs. Sheldon gasped. “Ohhh, and the bastard is at it again,” she said while staring open-mouthed at her phone. “What a cockwomble.”
We couldn’t see what she was looking at but her expression told us it wasn’t anything good.
“What, Mrs. Sheldon?” Sophia asked.
Mrs. Sheldon made a big show of trying not to gossip but soon gave up on the pretense. She whispered secretly, like we weren’t the only three people in this vast kitchen. “It’s Henry Belmont’s son, the one who put him in that coma.”
Time stood still, and I could feel my heartbeat thrum erratically in my ears. “What?” I asked, my voice sounding muffled.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Mrs. Sheldon whispered. “I thought someone would have told you by now.”
“Told me what?” I asked, refusing to accept even the faintest suggestion that what I was hearing held any truth.
“Yes, there was a big argument between the old man and his son. I mean they were always arguing, but this time Henry had a stroke and collapsed. And what do you think the son did? He went out that same night partying.”
I felt the blood leave my face, and my fingertips went cold. If I left the kitchen now, I could just forget any of this had been said, and continue believing that the man I knew wasn’t capable of doing anything Mrs. Sheldon was telling me.
Mrs. Sheldon continued, oblivious to my world crumbling around me and energized by a new set of ears she could gossip to. “And Merideth, that’s my sister, just sent me this pic of him with the Van Buren woman. That fake floozy. A few days ago her husband was out of town and the first thing she did was throw a party, and of course he was there. The rumor is that they’ve been at it like two cats in heat.”
She shoved her phone in my face with a picture on the screen, and there was Roman, pushing Celeste up against a wall, his head bent as he kissed the nape of her neck, one hand around her waist and the other cupping a breast.
Even if the picture was taken from behind, there was only one man who looked like that, who was so tall, had the signature black hair and who wore a bespoke suit with such class.
I stared at the picture for a stunning heartbeat, my mind a blank, and suddenly it became an effort to breathe. The image was dated the night after he was in the penthouse with me.
“God only knows how he gets away with it, sleeping with these rich men’s wives,” Mrs. Sheldon continued, her mouth taut with derision. “It’s like a contest, how many he can charm into adoring him. There were even a couple that left their husbands, only to be kicked to the curb by him. Not that they didn’t have it coming, the bloody golddiggers, thinking they were ending up with someone richer than their husbands. Big surprise. To him it’s all just a big game.”
Each and every word she uttered cut into me like a jagged knife, leaving me with a sharp pain searing my chest. I stood abruptly. “I need to go. Please excuse me. Thank you for lunch.”
I didn’t wait to hear Sophia urging me to eat another scone or have another cup of tea, or the two women say goodbye.
A thick white mist had seeped into my mind and there was no room for rationalizing anything because there was nothing to rationalize. It was all there in one damning picture. And the fact that Roman caused his father to have a stroke. There was nothing to justify any of that.
Nausea swirled inside of me and I beelined for the first bathroom on the way. I barely made it before I got sick.
In a moment of revulsion I considered storming to the south wing and demanding Roman explain how he’d decided on me as his next target. What did he have to gain by it? There were apparently plenty of other women just begging for his attention.
But I didn’t go to the south wing. I walked to Henry’s room, putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to scream or punch a wall, or sweep one of the priceless treasures in the house to the floor.
Everything Roman had told me was a lie, a devious fa?ade to bait me into being one of his conquests. And he was so terrifyingly good at it, especially at ambushing me with his incredible charm and tormented gaze.
I’d never doubted that what he told me was the truth. I believed him when he said I was the first woman to consume his every thought. Now I wondered at what point I would have become the next one shoved aside for new blood. It had to be a little complicated for him, discovering me as his father’s reader on the estate.
But look at Roman making the best of the situation. Breaking my heart right in this house so I had no choice but to run away and never look back. The humiliation paired nicely with the excruciating pain currently nesting in my chest.
At that moment my phone buzzed with a text. For an unguarded moment my heart skipped a beat when I thought it might be Roman. Before I realized I never wanted to hear from him again.
But it wasn’t Roman. It was Sergei.
SERGEI:So, if I promise not to care what you do in your life, can we still dance together, malishka?
And suddenly tears were stinging my eyes because it was everything at once. Wasn’t it Sergei who told me just this morning that he was only meddling in my business out of concern? Because of all the cruel bastards who were out there, just waiting to break my heart?
ME:Of course we can still dance. I’ll see you tonight.
The rest of the afternoon I was reading to Henry, and for his sake I pretended everything was fine. But all the while I was desperately trying to stave off the fight-or-flight response currently brewing in my guts.
And there was Emily to consider. What would I even say to her when she came in to say goodbye? But when Emily hadn’t arrived by six o’clock, I ducked out and made a clean run for the front door. Almost crashing into Nelson as he rounded a corner.
“Someone’s in a hurry to get home,” he said.
As soon as he took in my bewildered expression, he frowned. “Oh my goodness, are you all right?”
Fuck no, I was far from all right.
The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. “Nelson, did Henry’s son cause his father’s stroke? Is he the reason Henry’s in a coma?”
Nelson’s face distorted in anguish, as if he was reliving the nightmare of that day. His gaze scavenged the floor, and for a second I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then he looked up. “Yes, unfortunately it is.”
The air whooshed out of me. Now there was no denying any of it. Not only was Roman a womanizing bastard, but he almost killed his father.
My mouth opened to tell Nelson goodbye but no words came out. And then I ran for the door, needing to leave this place as soon as I could.
* * *
Sergei wasthe only one at the dance studio, and he was already warming up when I arrived.
“Where is everybody?” I asked, trying not to sound as devastated as I felt.
Sergei leaned against the barre as he watched me warm up. “It’s too distracting to have them here. Tonight it’s just you and me. We need to practice alone because last night wasn’t good.”
When I was ready Sergei closed the gap between us in a couple of strides, and lifted my face to his. “Something is wrong. What happened, malishka?”
I shook myself free from his scrutinizing gaze. “Can we not do this, please. Let’s just dance.”
Sergei tussled with his instinct to push the issue but finally bit his tongue, his mouth a resolute line. He put the music on and pulled me onto the middle of the floor. “Fine, let’s dance.”
And dance we did. Sergei was relentless, making inhuman demands on my still-tender muscles and limbs. But at the very least the pains slightly deviated my thoughts from the current wreckage invading my life.
Two hours later he dragged me to the small wooden bench and sat me down, propped a bottle of water in my hands and gently started to wipe the sweat from my neck and face. Which almost made me cry. “I think we did good, malishka. Maybe we will win again tomorrow night.”
I nodded, keeping busy with drinking the water. Anything not to give in to the despair raiding my insides. Sergei sat down beside me. “You danced differently tonight. You danced like you wanted to quiet your mind. Like something was troubling you. What’s going on?”
The concern in Sergei’s voice was genuine, and there was no hiding the tears brimming my eyes.
He took my hands in his. “Is it the waiter?”
My gaze fluttered to the ground.
“You want to tell me what happened?” He asked.
I shook my head no. “I’ve just been very stupid, that’s all.”
A bitter smile tugged at Sergei’s lips and he wiped a hand over his face, clearly trying to keep his cool. “Who is this asshole? I will take care of him.”
That almost drew a smile from me. “No, best I just leave it behind me and forget it ever happened.”
“I hate to see you get hurt, malishka.”
“At least you’re not telling me, I told you so,” I said softly. “So, thanks for that.”
Sergei leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I shouldn’t have confronted you yesterday like I did. I was an idiot. And texting Meg was stupid too. What you do in your life has nothing to do with me. For now at least.”
Suddenly the door slammed open and Pauline reeled into the studio, a feather swirling in a breeze. In the time it took her to stroll toward us, I whispered to Sergei, “Please don’t say anything to her.”
“Sergei!” she called out excitedly before seeing me. “Oh it’s you, Isabel. Well, you look the opposite of happy. Murdering the Calesita step again?”
Under normal circumstances I’d have had some choice words for the little wench, but these were not normal circumstances.
Sergei scowled. “Jesus, Pauli. Not now, please.”
I rose from the bench and grabbed my bag, my cheeks flushed with indignation. The little voice inside begged me to ignore Pauline and just leave. Mumbling a goodbye, I shot for the door. But that little voice begging me to chill was drowned out by the other pissed-off little voice telling me to put Pauline in her place.
I stopped at the door. My gaze met Pauline’s, and Sergei covered his face with his hands. He knew me well enough to know which little voice had won.
“Pauline, if you put half the effort into your dancing that you do into being such a bitch, you might actually be good enough to climb the ranks, instead of being stuck in corpse de ballet for the rest of your career.”
Pauline’s mouth opened and closed. Then she looked at Sergei. “Are you going to let her say shit like that to me?”
Sergei stood up from the bench and shrugged at her. “She’s not wrong,” he said, and turned to me. “I’ll walk you home, malishka.”
“I’m fine Sergei, but thank you.”
I closed the door softly behind me, leaving poor Sergei to face the wrath of Pauline.
My phone buzzed with a text. It was Roman.
Roman:My sweet. You disappeared. I’m wrapping up here. Come back to me.
The effort it took not to unleash my heartbreak via text was almost more than I could handle.
There was only one thing I could do, and that was mute Roman. Blocking was another grim option but since he was theoretically my boss, I didn’t want to completely piss him off before I knew what to do about all this.
Talking to Emily was next on the list. All I had to do was figure out what to say. And I knew the only person to help me figure that out was Meg. I texted her that I was on my way home.
She met me at the front door of our apartment with a hug, a mysterious cocktail and a box of Kleenex. “The pizza is coming and my dad threw in some garlic sticks and dip,” she said. “We have a fresh bottle of vodka and there’s some wine left in the box. We’re gonna get drunk, you’re gonna cry to your heart’s content and together we’ll sort this all out.”