12. Lydia
12
LYDIA
D abbing at my lips with my cloth napkin, I glance at my husband seated at the far end of the table as I determine how to breach the subject in a way that will ensure I get what I want.
Something I’m accustomed to achieving… except when it comes to my obstinate husband. Of course, he gave me everything I expected when I married him—money, the lifestyle I wanted, lavish gifts. Our marriage was one of contractual obligation: He gave me the opulent life I’d always strived for, and in turn, I’m the pretty accessory on his arm and in his bed every night.
The problem is, as time went on, I wanted more.
I wanted him.
Yet, all he ever wanted was her.
I analyze him for another moment as I delicately slide my knife through the filet of poached salmon and place it in my mouth before setting my cutlery on my plate and lifting my chin, pinning him with my gaze.
“Bertram, we are going on this trip,” I state assertively, disregarding his previous objections. My voice echoes in the large dining room, vibrating off the walls before reaching him. He lifts his gaze, chewing on his bite of steak. “The matter is not open for debate; it has been decided. People will be expecting us to take this time to reconnect. It will seem strange if we don’t take time for ourselves.” I pause, tapping my perfectly manicured nails on the table for emphasis. “I’ve arranged everything already. The pilot is on standby and ready to leave tonight.”
My declaration is met with the scrape of his knife against the plate as he cuts another chunk of meat before soaking it in red wine au’ jus and putting it in his mouth. The silence that follows is thick and oppressive, charged with the unspoken battle of wills that hangs in the air between us—two predators circling one another, each waiting for the other to show a moment of weakness—as he chews deliberately on his bite of steak as if savoring it more than he ever savored any moment with me.
He sets his fork down with meticulous care before finally deigning to respond.
“Lydia.” His tone is measured and icy, as it often is with me. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m afraid your decision lacks the necessary consultation.” His eyes meet mine, unflinching and cold. “A trip sounds charming, truly, but I have more pressing matters to attend to here. Matters that require my undivided attention and are, quite frankly, far more important than the gossip mill of bored housewives.”
Irritation surges through me as he leans back in his chair, a faint, infuriating smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, you know my focus is on reconnecting with our family and re-familiarizing myself with my business.” His stare is hard. “Your arrangements are noted, but they do not dictate my actions.”
He pauses, letting the silence stretch, clearly enjoying the tension, the challenge in my eyes. “You can dismiss the pilot. That plane won’t be going anywhere tonight. Nevertheless, do feel free to go alone. It’s not like your presence will be greatly missed.”
I watch, seething internally as he dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before dropping it onto his plate and rising. His oxfords squeak as he crosses the floor, pausing when he reaches my side. He stares down at me, a smugness twitching at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps you should invite Riley over to keep me company while you’re away. We can catch up, father to daughter. You know how much I have always preferred her company to yours.”
I see green.
He goes to move past me and I dart out of my chair, putting myself in his face. “You can’t talk to me that way! How dare you bring her into this—say her name in my presence.”
Bored. That’s his expression while I scream in his face.
“ I am your wife!”
Finally, I get a reaction from him. “Yes,” he drawls. “You are.” His lips are pursed in disappointment before he leans in and lowers his voice. “I wouldn’t be getting too comfortable in that role, if I were you.”
With that, he walks out, leaving me gaping at his back.
“Well, did you invite her?” Bertram snaps at me at dinner the following evening.
“Invite who?” I enquire, keeping my eyes fixed on the plate as I delicately slide my seared scallop through the cauliflower purée and beetroot reduction. I’m still mad at him for his callous remarks last night and his not apologizing.
“Riley.”
My fingers tighten around the fork at the sound of her name in his mouth, and my appetite flees. I glare at the tabletop, and it takes everything in me to sound unaffected when I ask, “And what, exactly, am I supposed to have invited her to?”
He sighs, his frustration audible all the way on my end of the table. “We discussed this yesterday,” he grits out.
Making my own exasperation known, I lift my head to look at him. “We discussed a lot of things yesterday.” I wait, letting my words hang in the air. One minute. Two. By the time five minutes have passed, I’m squirming uncomfortably beneath his piercing stare. Eventually, I’m forced to admit defeat. “I’m delaying our trip,” I say primly. It’s not as though I had any other choice. Yes, I need to get away, but I refuse to lose my husband to her —again. I’d planned for both of us to leave the country once he was released from prison, but she is ruining all my carefully laid plans.
He hardly mentioned my slut of a daughter while he was in prison. Beyond the first couple of months of his sentence, any time I visited or we talked on the phone, her name was never brought up in conversation.
I’d assumed he’d moved on. That, with her out of the house, he’d be mine, but this obsession he has with reconnecting as a family is foiling all of my carefully laid plans.
It reaffirms my decision to remove Aurora from the chessboard. My so-called daughter is enough to contend with, but at least she can be controlled. However, with every day that passes, that control weakens. Riley, the perfect little bitch that she is, has been hounding me religiously, demanding to speak to and see her kid. Seriously, that girl needs to get a life. It’s pathetic how involved she tries to be in that kid’s life. Regardless, there is only so long I can delay the inevitable. I’d expected to be sipping champagne on a beach in Montenegro by the time she realized her snot-nosed kid was gone.
Except Bertram is making that far more challenging than I’d anticipated. With the company in Grayson’s hands and his ruined reputation amongst all his old friends and acquaintances, I’d assumed it would be easy to convince him to leave.
Obviously, I underestimated him.
He leans back in his chair, swirling his whiskey glass between his fingers as he holds my gaze. “So?” he retorts with a cool indifference that infuriates me. How dare he speak to me that way! I’ve stood by his side all these years, supporting him.
Despite trying to school my expression, he must catch a flash of my irritation as he smirks openly. “Invite her to dinner on Saturday.”
“Will you be inviting Grayson to this little family soiree?” I snipe.
Tutting, Bertram shakes his head. “You’d think you’d want to spend time with your daughter, Lydia.”
Lifting my napkin from my lap, I set it on the table and push back my chair as I rise before walking the length of the long dining room table that could easily seat a dozen people. My heels clack against the hard floor, and I add an extra sway to my hips, knowing I look absolutely killer in my low-cut, short-hemmed burgundy dress, with my makeup done perfectly and hair styled.
His eyes rake over me as I approach before returning to my face. When I’m close enough, I reach out and run a manicured finger along his shoulder before moving to stand behind him and gliding my hand over his chest. Leaning in, I bring my lips to his ear. “She’s really not someone worth wasting your time over. Not when you have me, and I’m happy to play out whatever fantasy you wish. She’s vanilla. Boring. Not worthy of a man with your… appetite.” My hand sinks lower, over the defined ridges of his abdomen. Prison has kept him taut and lean, exactly as he was the day I met him. The only difference now in his appearance is the gray dusting along his temples, but I find it makes him appear more distinguished. Refined. Sexier . “Why obsess over her when you could be fucking me?”
I sink my teeth into his earlobe as I palm his growing erection through his slacks.
Chuckling darkly, he grabs the wrist of the hand resting on his shoulder and tugs me forward until I fall into his lap.
“You want to play out my fantasies, wife ?” Pushing his empty plate away, he shoves me down onto the table. With one hand squeezing the back of my neck, he keeps my face pressed into the hard surface as he hikes up my dress and drags my lace panties down my thighs. Bending down, he growls in my ear, “Then be a good girl for Daddy and spread your legs.”
I do, soaking up his harsh breaths. His eyes roam over my ass as he unzips himself and strokes his hard length.
“Please, Daddy,” I plead. He groans in pure pleasure before slotting his blunt head at my entrance and driving in.
I moan, his groan mixing with mine as he fills me up. For a moment, he doesn’t move, relishing our joining. “Did you miss me?” he rasps. “Did you miss your daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, his fingernails digging bruisingly into my hips. “Daddy missed you too.” One hand strokes along the strands of my hair and down my back with a reverence I’ve never felt from him, right before he pulls out and slams back in.
The room is silent except for the sounds of our fucking. The slap of skin against skin mingled with our heavy breaths and low moans. “Show Daddy how much you missed him,” he growls, pulling my ass back as he plows deeper. “Come all over my cock like a good little girl.” With one final slam of his hips against mine, he buries himself deep inside me and groans out his release.
Still breathing heavily, he leans down to whisper in my ear. “You’re right. As long as I don’t have to look at your face, I can do a pretty decent job of pretending you’re your daughter... At least, until I get a taste of the real thing again.”
I bristle but bite back the words over my dead body. He’s mine , and I won’t let that little harlot steal him away from me this time. I listen as he tucks himself away, pulling up his zipper before he steps around the table. “Invite Riley to dinner,” he dictates like he wasn’t just dick-deep in my pussy two seconds ago. “And don’t play dumb with me this time. If you fail at that simple task, I’ll have to question whether I have any use for you at all.”
Scoffing, I push myself upright and yank down my dress. I don’t bother to pick up my discarded panties on the floor. Let the housekeeper deal with them. “Please, Bertram, we both know you need me to maintain your perfect image, to help curry favor with your used-to-be associates, and help weasel your way back into your own company. Despite your attempts to squash them, the whispers remain. I’m the only way to keep them at bay. You couldn’t possibly have done what was rumored if you’re still with the mother, right?” I taunt.
With his cum sticking to my thighs, I stalk toward him in my heels. When I’m directly in front of him, I slide a hand over his chest and peer into his dark, agitated eyes. “With time, they’ll eventually move on. And you will, too. You’ll realize the appeal she once held has gone, but I’ll still be here.” Pushing up onto my toes, I whisper into his ear, “I’ll always be here,” before stepping past him and walking away.
I recline on the chaise lounge, the sun lamps overhead casting a warm, golden glow over my flawless skin as I sip on a chilled glass of Chardonnay. The pool, heated to a perfect temperature, steams slightly in the crisp February air, creating an oasis of warmth in the meticulously manicured estate Bertram secured upon his release. The glass walls of the solarium enclose me, shielding me from the biting cold outside while letting in the winter sunlight.
It’s quite an upgrade from the crapbox I was relegated to during the years of his incarceration. It’s as if I was being punished too. It’s not like I embezzled money. Not that the government cared about my welfare when they froze all of Bertram’s accounts. Neither did his little shit of a son when he kicked me out of Bertram’s house. Even after I stood by his father, providing the excuses necessary to ensure no further resources were spent determining the legitimacy of my daughter’s so-called claims.
What little money Bertram could give me these last few years wasn’t anywhere near enough to maintain the lifestyle I had become accustomed to before his arrest. Forcing me to make sacrifices I truly detest…
Regardless of what was, I finally have my life back now.
I refuse to lose it for a second time.
Glancing at my reflection in the water, I admire how my designer sunglasses perfectly frame my face. Everything here is pristine. I am once more the queen of my own domain with servants to order around and attend to my every whim.
I reach for my phone, my perfectly manicured nails tapping against the screen. It’s time to make the call I’ve been putting off. As the phone rings, I idly swirl my wine, watching the liquid catch the light. Finally, she picks up.
“Riley,” I say, my voice dripping with the false sweetness I’ve perfected over the years. “It’s your mother. I’m calling to invite you to dinner.”
“You and I have never once had a family meal together. Why the sudden fixation?” her tone is as flat and lifeless as ever. The fact she can’t just agree so this interaction can be done with grates on my nerves.
“Aurora will be spending the night at a friend’s, but I’ll set up a video call for you on Sunday morning,” I negotiate instead of answering her question, scanning my eyes over the nail job I had done today.
“Aurora is three ; she doesn’t have friends,” Riley snaps. This newfound defiance of hers is really starting to irritate me. “And I know for a fact that she’s not living with you. You’d never allow her to interfere in rekindling your marriage,” she snarls in clear disgust. “So why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”
I suck on my teeth as I debate my next words. “Come to dinner, and I’ll tell you everything. Tonight. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” I hang up before she can respond, tossing the phone onto the lounge beside me.
Seriously, her voice is as grating as nails on a chalkboard. Popping two Advil, I down them with a glass of chardonnay as I mentally berate myself for not aborting her in the womb.
Biggest. Mistake. Of. My. Life.
Sighing, I lean back on my deck chair beside the pool and stare at the sky as I debate what to do. My infuriating thorn of a daughter isn’t going to give up on her kid, and my husband, insistent on recreating the past, refuses to leave this god-awful country and start anew.
There is one common denominator between my two problems…
And with each sip of my wine, I become more and more certain that she needs to be gone from my life—permanently.