56. Isabel
Henry and I were taking the afternoon off from reading and getting ready to watch Ladyhawke, a favorite movie of mine.
“So this evil Bishop fell in love with a beautiful woman called Isabeau, and when she rejected him, he got into a jealous rage. And then he cursed her and her lover Navarre to live their lives together but eternally apart, never being able to touch each other in human form. By day, Navarre is a man and Isabeau is a hawk. And by night Navarre is a wolf, protecting his human lady, Isabeau. And now they have to try to break the curse. You’ll love it. Fair warning, I will be crying.”
My phone dinged with a text.
Meg:Guess who’s gunning for your employee-of-the-month title at the Belmont Trust?
Me:What?
Meg:Say hello to the Belmont Trust’s latest asset and your own personal lawyer. Your boyfriend was very anxious to lock me in. For glaringly obvious reasons all to do with keeping you close, no doubt. Got the contract via e-mail as George and I were driving out the gate. Slapped my electronic John Hancock on that shit and voila! Renewable in a year.
Me:Meg! Congrats! You want to celebrate with dinner tomorrow night?
Meg:Like you have to ask me twice. This time I can actually pay for our drinks and food at Silver Spoon without selling my kidney on the black market first.
* * *
At lunchtime,Sophia and I made fettuccine Alfredo for the staff and looked up cooking schools for her to attend. She refrained from asking about my relationship with Roman, and I suspect Emily had something to do with that.
There was also the matter of what to wear for my dinner date with Roman. I didn’t need to ponder for too long because apparently reading minds was one of Emily’s many talents. Henry and I had barely started Ladyhawke when Emily walked into the room with a serene smile.
“Roman told me you’re having dinner out tonight. If you want to come with me, I have just the dress for you to wear.”
“But I still have the other one you gave me, Emily. I can wear that.”
Imagine the look I got for entertaining that preposterous idea.
“That was for lunch. You need to wear something more appropriate for dinner at the Belmont Hotel. You’ll be at Roman’s side, after all.”
So I followed Emily to her Vogue-esque closet and was once again transported to fashion bliss.
“Soon we should start shopping for clothes you’ll need, Isabel,” Emily noted. “Of course you’re welcome to anything in my closet, but my taste in clothes may not always be the same as yours.”
“I’ve never had a reason to develop a super-sophisticated fashion sense but from what I’ve seen in your closet, I’d be happy to learn some style from you.”
And then Emily pulled out a dress that had me gasping for breath. It was as plain as it was elegant, and as delicate as it was stunning.
“Oh my God, Emily, are you sure?” I asked, trying not to drool.
“As I told you, some of these dresses haven’t been worn in decades. I’ve kept them for sentimental value. And see how useful they are to us now.”
Of course the damn dress fit like a glove and judging by Emily’s smile, this was definitely the dress I was wearing for my first official night out with Roman in public.
“I think even if you should use the wrong fork, no one will notice,” she said. “Because they’d all be too busy looking at you.”
After taking the dress and a new pair of shoes to Roman’s apartment, I rushed back to Henry, feeling the self-imposed pressure of neglecting my job. I sat down in my chair and was about to continue with watching Ladyhawke when my sixth sense went on high alert.
I felt Byron’s presence before I saw him, a carbon imprint of menace permeating the air. He dawdled into the room and leaned against the wall, arms folded, his gaze lazily traveling from my head to my feet and up again. Dread slithered down my spine.
“So imagine when Emily told me my father’s new reader’s name is Isabel,” he said. “The girl who has my brother going all White Knight, honing his sword at the mention of your name.”
“Oh, you must be Byron.”
“Can’t say you look very excited to finally meet me.”
My self-preservation fired to life. This was not a nice guy, and he wasn’t here to be friends.
Even if Byron was the mirror image of Roman, he lacked his brother’s fluid style and noble charm. Instead he was ensconced in a messy aura of self-importance and abject failure. He didn’t even offer his father a glance, but pinned me with a contemptuous stare, insincerity dripping from his voice.
“I have to say you’re definitely not Roman’s usual type.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“But I can certainly see the attraction. When he gets tired of you, and you know he will, feel free to give me a call. I think we could have some fun.”
Bile rose in my throat. “Forgive me if I throw up.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t be this naive. Surely you don’t think Roman’s going to drag you off into the sunset with him. So he went totally off the rails picking up a stray and making her queen for a while. That’s at least until he gets tied down and does the family thing.”
He removed a photo from inside his jacket, strolled over and placed it in my lap. An exquisite woman was smiling back at me. Even at a glance I could tell she was foreign, with the classy elegance usually associated with high society.
“Meet Geneviève Verlaine, the Belmont Trust’s next acquisition, which will make it one of the largest fortunes in the world. I mean you know the minute Roman becomes chairman and president of the board he’s getting married, right?”
It took a split second for the words to sink in. I froze. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t know? Oh sweetheart, allow me to give you the scoop.”
An ominous tension bled into the air. Confusion and agony twisted their way up from deep inside me. I had to remember to breathe.
A knowing smile clawed at Byron’s mouth, sending a prickle down my spine. “Do you need some water?” He asked. “You seem a little pale.”
A whirlwind of thoughts filtered through my mind, and I could not for the life of me pin one down to try and make sense of what I’d just heard. I kept trying to think of ways for it not to be true, but a few things made sense now.
Memories of that night at the Belmont Hotel came rushing back. That doomed wedding Roman and I watched from the balcony overlooking the grand ballroom. Was that him telling me what was in store for him, his obligation to the Trust?
Byron enjoyed what was surely a dumbfounded look embedded in my eyes. “I’ll bet he didn’t tell you that the highest you could ever aspire to is being his house pet, his mistress. The one he fucks however and whenever he wants until he grows tired of you and moves on to the next. And that you can never be his wife, even if he manages to get a divorce. Or that you’ll never bear children with the last name Belmont. You can thank my father for that last little gem.”
I steeled myself. There was no showing this man any emotion. No admitting that his words cut through me like a serrated blade.
“Roman is obviously infatuated with you, and I get it. Granted you’re different from the women he usually socializes with. You challenge him, and some powerful men find that adorable, a woman who goes against the norm. As long as you understand that one day he’ll wake up and you won’t be so adorable anymore. And the fucking won’t be that special anymore. And then he’ll find a way to make you go away. That’s when Steven will step in. He’ll be the one to tell you the whole thing with Roman has run its course, and then he’ll offer you a severance to buy your compliance and ease your indignation. And Roman will go on with his life. But like I said, feel free to give me a call. I might not be the next chairman and president of the board, but I know how to give a woman the time of her life.”
Anger flamed through me, and I was caught in the crosshairs of tears and rage. I wanted to shatter. Or weep. Or both. But I returned Byron’s smug stare, not giving the bastard an inch.
“It’s a cruel world, I know,” he continued. “I can’t blame you for being upset. I know what it feels like to have your hopes set high, only to see them crushed. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a yacht party I need to attend, and I’d like to get there before it leaves the port.”