Chapter 8
EIGHT
Allison
Before
“Nice night to be out on the water, right?” my father-in-law yells over the deafening roar of the boat’s engine.
“Yes! Thank you for picking us up,” I shout back at him, attempting a sweet smile even though my insides are churning with discomfort. I’m dreading tonight.
It’s an unseasonably dry night, a rarity for the Pacific Northwest in the winter.
It’s still chilly, though. I pull my sweater tighter around myself as I look out at the beams of setting sunlight cascading across the dark water below.
I picked a sweater with long sleeves to hopefully cover up the fact that I still haven’t found my wedding ring—not that I’ve looked particularly hard for it.
My stomach churns uneasily as the boat moves closer to the small spit of land ahead of us.
Lummi Island was named after one of the First Nations who had once called this area of the PNW their land.
No First Nation resident could afford to live on Lummi now.
It’s a small, wild, lush chunk of land barely off the coast. It’s a beautiful place full of color and life.
There are only a few houses on the island, all of them reek of ridiculous wealth.
The inhabitants are the wealthy type of Washington elite who are so liberal that they pretend they are down to earth, just like everyone else.
But they’re not just like everyone else.
In fact, practically, no one can afford the luxury of even setting foot in one of the prestigious mansions that line the shores of the island’s cliffs.
I certainly would never have pictured myself being the type to attend some posh party on this island, but I guess that’s what I get for marrying into wealth.
You can’t even get to the island unless you own a boat, which is why I currently sit tucked into myself on the bench seat of my father-in-law’s boat.
Brody stands at the front of the boat, his sandy blond hair whipping around his head in the wind.
He looks so in his element on the water, like he’d been born to be on the sea.
His tan skin is kissed with droplets and cool sea air, giving the illusion that he’s shining in the fading sunlight.
The bright white polo he wears is fitted closely to him, emphasizing his strong shoulders.
It makes me remember why I married him; I saw the man I’d thought he was. The man I thought he could be.
It was an illusion, though.
When we finally land at the island’s shore and tie off the boat to disembark, Brody leaps effortlessly to the ground and heads up the dock toward the massive house looming above.
He doesn’t offer me a hand down, doesn’t even turn to look back.
I crawl awkwardly off the side, trying my best not to look like an idiot as I pull my dress down my thighs and skid down the side of the boat to the dock.
Mercifully, my father-in-law, Benjamin, offers his hand and I gratefully take it, allowing him to help lower me down.
Brody finally stops at the end of the dock and turns, clearly remembering he is expected to approach the house and enter the party with a wife on his arm.
He looks at me for the first time since we left the house.
I wonder to myself for the millionth time of late if there’s another woman.
I can’t seem to stop the intrusive worry that the more he ignores me, the more his attention is focused on someone else.
As he approaches me, I watch his eyes scan me up and down, taking in the loose curls of my windswept red hair, my large hazel eyes that I’d highlighted with a shimmering golden eyeshadow, and the mid-thigh length white eyelet dress I’d chosen in order to compliment his outfit.
His demeanor changes, as if he finally sees the effort I’d put into looking nice.
I can see the moment his expression softens and he warms. He holds out his arm, offering to escort me up to the house.
“You look lovely tonight, babe.” He plants a sweet and soft kiss on my cheek, and I smile in return. It isn’t the passionate and heated kisses I’d yearned for earlier this week when we’d had sex, but it’s at least some type of warmth from him.
“I want to make sure I look the part of the wife to a smart, successful, and handsome businessman,” I say back to him in hopes of buttering him up so he won’t immediately abandon me once we step inside the party.
His family has a habit of that—women in one room and men in another. The men drink whiskey and talk business while the women sit like gossiping hens in another room, sipping white wine. It drives me crazy.
When we get up to the house, the party is in full swing.
It’s a formal party to celebrate some cause or some donation to an organization, I really can’t seem to remember.
My in-laws are very involved in the world of charity for appearances.
Everyone in their circle is wealthy and pretentious, pretending to care about things constantly in order to look less like the stuck-up assholes they really are.
Every time I’m here, I’m reminded of how much I don’t belong.
I grew up receiving handouts, not giving them.
But none of them need to know that. I left that life and that version of myself in the past.
I am not weak. I am in control.
“The flowers they chose in the centerpieces are nice, right?” Brody asks me as we enter the ballroom which has been decorated with high tables for the evening. “Calla lilies?”
I spin swiftly to stare at him.
What the fuck did he just say? It was a coincidence right?
“There you are!” my mother-in-law’s shrill voice rings out from behind us.
“Mother!” Brody turns and kisses his mother twice, once on each cheek.
“Allison,” my mother-in-law, Betty, croons at me, kissing me on both cheeks as well.
I always try to play the part and look nice at these things for Brody.
I’d been charmed with this life when I’d first married into their family, thinking I’d married into a wealthy family that had the means and motivation to make the world a better place.
I first met them as a teenager, young and impressionable.
After the childhood I had, the perfection of their family was intoxicating.
They seemed so beautiful, so happy, everything I never had.
I was charmed. It wasn’t until after I’d signed the papers that I realized I’d been duped.
“Hi, Betty. The house looks lovely,” I say with as much sweetness as I can muster.
“Yes, well, we wanted to make sure we were truly celebrating the cause as is deserved tonight.”
“And what cause is that?” I ask, feigning interest.
Apparently, I’m not doing a very good job pretending to be interested. Brody’s hand tightens uncomfortably on my upper arm. If he squeezes much harder I’ll end up with a bruise. At least I’m wearing a sweater which will cover it.
My mother-in-law’s eyes narrow slightly in annoyance. “We’re funding efforts to limit commercial salmon fishing to allow only locals to fish in this area.”
“What a great cause, Mother!” Brody speaks before I can, holding firmly to my arm and squeezing.
His grip is crushingly tight—a warning. “I’m off to join the men for a scotch but, dear,” he turns away from his mother to eye me, “why don’t you go with my mother to rub elbows with some of the wealthy donor’s wives. ”
“Of course.” Anything to get his grip off my arm.
My husband finally releases me and makes his way toward the large, well-stocked bar.
I let out a sigh of relief and rub at the tender flesh on my upper arm absentmindedly.
I follow closely behind my mother-in-law, her Chanel heels clicking on the wood floors until we reach a gaggle of well-dressed middle-aged women.
The women are all the same—well off housewives who have their noses stuck very high up in the air.
I stand diligently next to my mother-in-law, nodding occasionally, but mostly just sipping my wine.
I don’t have much to contribute to the discussion, which mostly involves their social calendar, so my mind starts to wander.
The memory of Gabriel’s touch on my chin and across my back pushes itself to the forefront of my consciousness. I wonder what he’s doing tonight.
I bet it’s something fun, something wild.
“And will you be joining us at the regatta, Abigail?”
I realize they are all staring at me biting my lower lip and fantasizing about my coworker. Shit.
“It’s Allison,” I finally reply as I smile politely at the woman who appears to have spoken to me. The blonde woman looks taken aback.
“Oh. Sorry. Allison,” she emphasizes the name with unnecessary harshness. “Will you be joining us for the regatta?”
“No. I’ll be working.” I try to keep my tone light with a smile on my face. I just want to make it through this evening and go home.
“And what is it you do for work?” one of the other women asks. This one is similarly clad in an expensive looking evening gown that makes me feel wildly underdressed in my sweet eyelet sundress and closed-toe wedges.
“I’m a high school teacher,” I respond to the gaggle of middle-aged women all staring down their noses at me.
“For now,” Betty adds before taking a sip of her cool white wine.
“Sorry?” I ask as I turn inquisitively toward my mother-in-law.
“For now, until you and my son finally decide to gift me with a grandson.” Betty’s smirk is met with matching smiles from the other women while my mind reels, trying to play catch up.
“Even if I do decide that I want to get pregnant,” I try my best to maintain an even temper and tone despite the heat of anger growing inside me, “I will continue teaching.”
The group of finely clothed women look concerned, furrowing their brows in dissatisfaction. Betty waves her hand dismissively and laughs it off, trying to set the other women at ease.
“Oh honey, that wouldn’t be necessary. We’d, of course, help out financially if needed.”