43
Sydney was propped up in bed with her laptop when she heard Curtis’s car creep down the driveway.
Her chest tightened. Her husband could not come in here and discover what she was doing.
As she listened to Curtis get out of the Citroen, let himself into the house, she stayed still, silent.
After her husband admitted his affair, he’d felt like a stranger.
But now it was worse than that. He felt like an enemy.
Hopefully, Curtis would think she was napping, doing battle with the hangover from hell.
Only when she heard him head to the kitchen did she allow herself to exhale and continue her search.
She may have been depressed, medicated, and hungover, but Sydney wasn’t stupid.
The fact that Curtis had changed his computer password meant he had something to hide from her.
And given Damian’s oblique warnings, her guest knew what it was.
Syd could only assume this had something to do with Collette.
Not long ago, the woman had blocked Syd from her Facebook account.
Curtis and Collette must still be in contact.
Syd’s mind had gone instantly to the worst-case scenario.
Not only was Curtis still in touch with Collette, but he was in love with her.
He had told Damian about his feelings, his plans to leave Sydney and build a life with his supposed one-night stand.
Curtis was going to clean out their bank accounts and run away with the biotech exec.
But then why had he confessed to the affair in the first place?
And why had he moved them all the way to Spain?
It made no sense for Curtis to invest so much in their future only to end it.
Sydney was an analytical person, a litigator.
She knew the dangers of making assumptions, so she calmed herself and continued her research.
But the internet provided no new information on Collette Jasper or her company, Anderson Technologies.
It was almost as if neither entity existed online.
That made no sense in Collette’s industry, in today’s connected world.
Sydney had heard the term reverse image search, but she didn’t know how it worked.
Thankfully, instructions were readily available online.
Setting the laptop aside, Sydney grabbed her phone.
She still had Collette’s images stored in her photos.
As instructed, she opened Google Lens and uploaded one of the pictures she’d screenshotted from Collette’s Facebook page.
It was the one where Collette held that fruity drink, laughed with the photographer.
Almost instantly, Google recognized the photo from Instagram.
Sydney clicked on the link, read the caption beneath the cheerful image.
lilabetts Having the best time in Mazatlan with my boo @bradhikes22 #blessed #Mexico #cocktail
Sydney clicked on the profile, saw another image of Collette in the top right corner. But the bio read:
Lila Betterave
Wifey, Dog-mom, Soup-lover
Vancouver, BC
What the hell was going on? Sydney scrolled through the images of Collette/Lila with her fit husband, her midsize rescue dog, her not-so-photogenic bowls of soup.
The face that had haunted Sydney’s dreams was not Collette Jasper.
It belonged to a happily married aspiring online chef in Vancouver.
So who the hell was Collette? Did she even exist?
With only the slightest prompting, Curtis had fallen on his sword about the affair, told Sydney he couldn’t bear to keep his horrible secret from her.
But had he made Collette up? Why would he hurt his wife like that?
It was cruel and sadistic. Unless Curtis was covering up something even worse.
Had Curtis been sleeping with someone Syd knew?
One of her friends, even? Why else would he concoct such an elaborate lie?
“Sydney!” It was Damian bellowing her name from another room.
Tossing her phone aside, she crawled out of bed, moved tentatively down the hall. She found her husband and their guest in the kitchen, the tension between them palpable. But Curtis forced a smile when he saw her. “Damian suggested a frittata for dinner. Does that work for you?”
She took in his forced cheerfulness, the upbeat facade. “Sure. Whatever,” she replied. “Call me when it’s ready.”
Syd had considered opting out of the meal like Bianca, but she hadn’t eaten anything all day and realized she was starving.
At the table, Damian held court, tried to draw Syd into the conversation, but her mind was stuck on Lila Betterave’s Instagram profile, her husband’s new password, and all that it implied.
She knew Curtis had grown up in a house full of tension and secrets, but he’d assured her he’d done the work to heal from that toxic environment.
Had he? Or was he hiding his true self from her, too?
As soon as she’d washed her plate, she headed back to the bedroom to continue her research.
Curtis joined her about an hour later, looking pale and fatigued. Keeping secrets was clearly exhausting, but he gave her a wan smile as he sat at the foot of the bed. “Feeling any better?”
She put down her phone. “Yeah. How about you?”
“I’m good.” His smile was forced. “I didn’t sleep well last night after everything that happened.”
Sydney caught the edge in his voice, but she would not be guilted.
She’d already apologized for what she’d done at the nightclub.
Curtis was the one who’d been lying for months.
Digging in the drawer of her bedside table, she extracted a small bottle of pills.
“Take one of these,” she offered. “You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. ”
“Nah.” Curtis pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re overtired,” she urged. “That can make it hard to sleep and then you’ll feel even worse tomorrow.”
It was rare for Curtis to accept pharmaceutical help for any of his maladies, but she saw him waver. Smiling tenderly, she passed him a glass of water, put the pill into his hand. “Take it,” she said gently, her eyes radiating care and concern. Curtis smiled weakly, nodded, and swallowed.
Syd waited until her husband was in a drugged sleep to climb gently out of bed.
Slipping into her thin silk robe, she moved down the hall and into the kitchen, where she grabbed her pack of cigarettes from a drawer.
May as well kill two birds with one stone.
And if Curtis woke up, caught her outside the house in the night, she’d have an excuse handy.
The air was warm and still, smelled faintly sweet as she crept out to the small brick patio off the living room.
She was on the opposite side of the house from the pool, away from their bedroom.
She lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, let the nicotine do its thing.
Then she pulled out her phone and dialed.
It was evening in New York, but she’d still be able to catch Curtis’s former assistant, who regularly worked late.
Felicia Elliott had been her husband’s right hand for at least five years.
When Curtis left, Simon kept her on, moved her into a contracts position.
Felicia and Sydney had been on friendly terms, joking at the holiday party about their dual roles managing Curtis’s life.
“Hi, Sydney! Or should I say Hola?”
“How are you, Felicia?”
“Can’t complain. How’s life in Spain?”
“Good.” Syd got to the point. “Could you look up a contract for me? A company called Anderson Technologies. On Franklin Street.”
Sydney had an excuse ready (a friend looking into leasing a space Curtis had previously mentioned) but Felicia didn’t ask for one. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard. “There’s no record of a lease for that company.”
“Try the client’s name. Collette Jasper.”
After a moment, Felicia said, “There’s still nothing.”
Sydney considered confiding in Curtis’s former admin assistant.
If Syd’s husband had been having an affair, Felicia had been in a good position to know.
But the woman had been retained for her loyalty and discretion.
She wouldn’t betray Curtis, even now. For all Syd knew, Curtis could have been sleeping with Felicia herself.
“That’s so strange,” Sydney said. “I appreciate you trying.”
She slipped the phone back in her pocket, took a deep drag on her cigarette. Suddenly, she sensed a presence behind her. Whirling around, she saw Bianca’s still form lurking in the doorway.
“Jesus Christ!” Syd pressed a hand to her hammering heart. “You scared me.” Why were the Australians always sneaking up on her? It was unnerving. And creepy.
“Sorry.” Bianca smiled. “What are you doing out here?”
None of your business. “Sneaking a cigarette,” Sydney fibbed, dropping her butt on the bricks. “Don’t tell Curtis.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bianca walked toward her. “I thought I heard you on the phone.”
Syd muttered an excuse about work, but Bianca was not deterred. “Who’s Collette Jasper?”
She was prying, but Sydney was ready for it.
“No one. An old client of mine.”
“Why are you looking for her?” the other woman pressed.
And that was when Sydney noticed it. Or the lack of it. “What happened to your accent, Bianca?”
It was Bianca’s turn for excuses. She’d stammered a lame explanation, offered to make Sydney eggs, then backed her way into the house.
“Good night, Syd.”
“Night.”
Syd wanted another cigarette—she wanted to smoke a whole pack—but she stopped herself. She was overwhelmed, confused, and her mind was racing with suspicious thoughts. Collette Jasper did not exist. The Australians were not who they said they were.
What the fuck was Curtis hiding from her now?