Chapter Thirty-Six
Huxley
Grace and I have a lazy Sunday. Although her refusal to completely cut Adam out of her life is disappointing, I accept she’s compromised as much as she can. Still, how can she not see that he’s into her? He doesn’t even try to hide it. What kind of friend barges into a friend’s house on her wedding night, knowing exactly what he’s going to be interrupting? I’d bet a billion dollars Adam did it on purpose.
Bastard.
Grace and I spoon on the largest sofa, cuddling as a couple on TV fight. The guy supposedly cheated on the girl and—of course—got caught.
“Why do guys cheat?” Grace shakes her head. “They always get found out.”
I run my fingers through the silky strands of her hair. She smells amazing. Like my shampoo, but better. “They think they’re smarter than everyone, especially their significant others. If they respected their partners, they wouldn’t cheat.”
“Isn’t that just sad?”
“You thinking of your ex?”
“And Viv.” She makes a displeased sound deep in her throat. “They were doing it at my place , too.”
“Idiots.” What moron would trade Grace for Vivienne? Might as well swap a Bugatti for a Ford Pinto. And speaking of nice stuff… “I got a present for you.”
“You did?” She blinks.
“Technically, it’s for the baby,” I clarify, in case she becomes disappointed I didn’t bring any jewelry for her.
“Isn’t it a bit too early to start buying baby stuff?” she teases.
“Yeah, but I saw it on display and had to have it. You’ll love it. Lemme see… Where is it?” Madison should’ve had it delivered during the ceremony. She took care of my bags and paperwork after we landed.
Then I see it—the most perfect stroller in the discreet corner between the kitchen and the living room. The design is very British, and it caught my eye when I was passing by a high-end baby goods store.
Casually I get up, then roll it toward Grace. A broad smile splits my face. “Ta-da!”
Her eyes widen; her jaw goes slack.
“Shiny and chic.” I grin. “What do you think? Nice, right?”
“Uh. Yeah. The design’s really, um…European?” She stares at it for a moment, reaches out to touch the body, then stops. “Is it made of brass?”
“No.” I laugh. “What would we do with a brass stroller? No, it’s rose gold. Eighteen karat. Good stuff.”
The skin between her eyebrows tightens, and her jaw slackens some more. She starts to say something a few times, then finally manages in a slightly screechy tone: “ You bought a gold-plated stroller? ”
“Well, yeah, it’s, you know, gold.” I spread my arms. “But it isn’t about the metal . Don’t you think it’s cool?”
“It’s gorgeous, but gold-plated ? Didn’t they have a normal-people stroller? You know, made with, like, plastic or something, maybe?”
“But then it wouldn’t have caught my eye. Why would I buy anything that doesn’t scream my name? Or in this case, my wife’s name.”
She looks at me like I’m speaking Greek. “Oh my God!” Her tone says I’m insane. “How much did you pay for it?”
“I don’t know. Madison probably has the receipt somewhere—”
“You—don’t—know?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t believe you.” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “Holy shit ! Over sixty thousand dollars ?!”
I shrug. “Yeah, somewhere around there, maybe.” Or maybe not. “If it’s that important, I can ask Madison to check. Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention to the price. I just thought about how cute and stylish you would look pushing this with our baby in it.”
Her cheeks flush with a combination of shock, appreciation, disbelief and joy. She covers her mouth with her hands. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
“I know, I’m complex. But I can explain me to you. Generous husband. Amazing baby daddy. A man you should please. Maybe the man you should put Adam on hold for…”
She laughs, then snorts when I mention Adam. She approaches the stroller slowly, like it’s the Holy Grail, gingerly touches the handle and pushes it a bit.
Grace looks even prettier than I imagined. The gift could’ve cost a million bucks, and it would’ve been more than worth it to see my wife like this.
“Wow,” she breathes softly.
“It even feels golden, doesn’t it?”
“It’s…incredible. I don’t know what to say.” She laughs.
Her joy is so contagious, and I can’t help but smile. “I told you—just a ‘thank you’ will suffice.”
“Thank you.” She hops over and loops her arms around my neck, surprising me, and plants a kiss on my lips. As she pulls back, I tunnel my fingers into her hair and pull to me again for a proper kiss.
My phone buzzes. I ignore it and deepen the kiss instead. Hormones are surging, and I want to take my wife to bed again.
The phone keeps on vibrating. It’s not work—I told everyone I wasn’t answering anything this weekend. Reluctantly letting her go for a second, I glance at the screen to see if it’s anything urgent.
–Noah: Nobody said Vivienne Webber was on crack.
–Sebastian: Jesus… somebody needs to stop her.
–Griffin: Need help?
–Me: What did she do?
–Noah: She made a post on an anonymous site that’s basically a knockoff of Reddit’s Am I the Asshole yesterday morning. It didn’t get much attention, but now that she updated it with a link to your wedding, it’s gone viral.
What the fuck?
–Grant: Why do people care so much about the wedding? No offense, Hux, but it was just a wedding.
–Griffin: He’s Ted Lasker’s last remaining bachelor son. Or was.
–Noah: She’s claiming Grace stole you from her.
–Sebastian: You didn’t tell us you were engaged to Vivienne before.
My jaw tenses so hard, I feel like a molar will crack.
–Me: Because I wasn’t. What’s that idiot bitch saying?
Noah sends the link. The post is long and rambling. Most of it is garbage. How in the world did she get accepted to Harvard Law? Money? Blowing a few deans? She must suck like a riptide.
I’m 28F, and I have a sister who is really into everything I like. It’s been very hard to survive her because my mental health isn’t the best, and she knows that and uses it to exploit and control me. There’s something really disconcerting about being manipulated into doing things I’d rather not because she made me. Nobody around me believes me because she always puts on a nice mask for the world, but that doesn’t mean I don’t suffer. The mental anguish is unbearable, and it probably makes my anxiety out of control and lowers my self-esteem. I think she hates me because she doesn’t think I deserve anything nice in the world. She thinks a girl who’s prone to panic attacks and insecurity should stay in the background while she shines.
Then one day I met and fell in love with this guy. He’s only about a few years older than me, but much more successful and worldly than I could ever hope to be. He’s so sweet and kind too. When he holds my hand and says my name, I feel like he’s the one.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning him to her. When my sister saw him, she decided he’s too good for me. She got him drunk, seduced him, claimed she’s pregnant with his baby. He’s a good, responsible man so he did the right thing, but it really hurts, especially when she forced me to come to her wedding to wish them well or else.
He was mine first. I cried at the wedding, but she called me stupid and bad-mannered to cry. I feel so helpless, and the whole situation is deeply triggering because my sister also has more of our parents’ love and care. I want to cut her out of my life, but she says I’m being selfish to do that, especially when there’s baby shower and things like that I should plan and attend as the auntie.
Am I the bad guy here?
What the hell kind of fiction is this? She even added a photo of Grace and me from the wedding, although our faces are hard to see from the angle. But it won’t take long for people to figure out whom she’s talking about.
There are tons of comments. The top one doxes Grace, attaching a recent photo and revealing her name, previous address and where she works. Given the weird tics in the writing, it’s most likely Vivienne posting as somebody else, thinking that will shield her. She doesn’t have my home address to post. Or maybe she’s scared to go that far. But it doesn’t matter, because even the most rudimentary online search will reveal Grace is married to me.
Then Vivienne’s sock puppet account starts talking shit about Grace, me and our baby. Apparently, the child is doomed to be “fucked up” because it’s going to be raised by people like “that man-stealing ho” and a “blind dumbass who can’t tell a good woman from bad.” Others pile on, each comment growing viler. Don’t these people realize they’re talking about an innocent unborn baby here? It’s like being behind a keyboard has completely zapped their decency and filter.
A savage throbbing starts in my head. People can attack me. I can handle it. But they aren’t allowed to bully my wife or our baby.
Another anonymous comment says, I know the sisters in real life. Grace is truly awful, one of the worst people I’ve ever met. We moved in together before she realized the OP was dating Huxley Lasker. So she kicked me out to pursue her sister’s man, leaving me homeless. It’s been two months, and I’m still unhoused. I have no money for furniture or anything since I gave everything away before moving in with her. With the economy and the rent being what it is, I don’t know when I’ll be able to get a place.
This must be Grace’s ex, that scumbag lawyer who cheated on her—conveniently leaving out the fact that he makes plenty enough money to get an apartment if he weren’t so fucking cheap.
My hand clenches around my phone. The weasel doesn’t have the balls to throw the first rock at Grace. But he’s “brave” enough to comment anonymously to fan the flames someone else started.
Vivienne has crossed the fucking line. Nobody attacks my wife and our baby and gets away with it.
–Nicholas: What nonsense is this? Does anybody really think they could get Huxley drunk and take advantage of him?
–Sebastian: Vivienne Webber does.
–Griffin: Are you going to kick her ass? If so, I’ll give you some pointers.
–Me: No. I’m going to murder her then throw her body where there’s no Internet or mobile network.
Even as I send my response, my mind whirs, trying to think of a satisfying way to destroy her. Along with Grace’s asshole ex.
“Why the frown? What are you looking at?” Grace asks.
I sigh. “You’re not going to like it.” Normally, I wouldn’t show her such ridiculous gossip, but it’s going viral, and she needs to be ready, especially with her identity exposed. “Here.”
She takes my phone and reads. Her frown grows deeper and darker until she’s cursing softly under her breath and sits up forcefully. “Are they kidding ? They cheated on me ! And Peter moved in all of a sudden one day without telling me. How could they say things like this? It’s so shameless.” She bristles and lets out a gasp. “Did Viv just dox me and say crap about our baby ?” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She is the strongest woman I know, but no expectant mother would remain unaffected, seeing such viciousness said about the precious life in her womb.
I loathe seeing my wife in pain. “Yes.”
“How am I going to stop them?” she says hoarsely, gesturing at my phone helplessly.
“You?” I frown. “Why do you think it’s just you?”
“What?”
I pat her back. “You don’t think I’ll just sit by after this, do you?”
“Are you going to try to take this down?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That would only fuel the fire and get people to post screencaps. Once something’s posted online, it’s forever. You need to cut the loss and make a mitigation plan.”
“Such as?”
“Defamation lawsuits. They’ll learn that spreading lies that damage our reputation is expensive.”
“Our reputation?” Grace blinks in confusion. “You look like a good guy. I’m the horrible, gold-digging baby-mama ho.”
I snort. “I sound like an idiot who can’t hold his liquor. Besides, I wasn’t drunk that night at the Aylster. I was very sober when I was with you. We had sex because we wanted to, and it was amazing, and that’s that.”
Grace smiles, as I intended. Vivienne isn’t worth getting upset over.
“Our baby will not be fucked up, especially since we will keep Auntie Cunty away.” I put a protective hand over her belly. “We’re going to keep it safe.”
She nods, placing a hand over mine. “Thank you. Please feel free to do whatever you want to those two. But I don’t want to sue. I want to get even my own way.” Her eyes glint evilly.
I smile, loving it that she is already formulating a plan to fight back. This is utterly adorable. Did I think she was like an angry hamster? She’s more like a kitten getting ready to pounce. “Go for it.”
“I will. But how do I make what I’m about to do go viral? I’ve never done anything like this, but everyone should hear about it.”
“Why don’t you ask for help from people you know?”
She purses her lips in confusion. It’s both frustrating and endearing.
“Me—your husband. All your brothers- and sisters-in-law. Your mother-in-law, although honestly, she’s only good at suing people.” I hesitate for a second. Ah, what the hell. “And your father-in-law, who knows how to stage a great scene.”
“I don’t want to impose on anyone.”
“How do you know they’re going to think that it’s an imposition? My brothers sound pretty pissed about what Vivienne did. And I’ll bet you their wives aren’t amused, either.” I show her some of the texts.
Her eyelids flutter as she reads what’s on the screen. “I thought they didn’t like me, but were just pretending to be friendly for appearances’ sake,” she says slowly, as though the notion is too alien to readily accept. “Don’t they know the full story behind our marriage?”
What does that have to do with her asking for help when she needs it? Then it slowly dawns on me. When she needed help the most, she was treated badly—or used. Her own father refused to show kindness to her when she was desperate to save her mother. Although Andreas tries, the man is just too busy to make sure she is all right. Most likely after her mother became hospitalized, Grace only had herself to rely on. Others couldn’t be trusted to watch her back. She even refused my help until I created a trust so I couldn’t yank it away from her on a whim.
Sympathy and a protective urge well up. Nobody should feel alone to the point that they’re afraid to ask for help. I wish I could go back in time—the day she learned her mother would be moved to Johns Hopkins—and offer to help with her mother’s care so she wouldn’t have had to beg Nelson.
“You’re my wife, Grace. Whatever you need is yours. All you have to do is say it.”
“Even if I ask to borrow that black AmEx you keep in your wallet?” Mischief bubbles in her voice. She doesn’t realize the effect my understanding of her past has created on me. She could make me furious enough to pop a vein, but I will never be able to deny her.
I shrug, careful not to project anything that could be misinterpreted as pity. Pity is not for a woman who’s kept her sense of humor and gumption despite all the shit thrown at her. Admiration is.
“I take it you have something specific in mind?”
“Oh, yes. Very specific.” She starts nodding to herself. “Unmistakably specific.”
“As long as I get a front-row seat.”
“Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”
“Consider it a wedding present.”
Surprise fleets over her pretty face. “You already gave me a present.”
I kiss her. “I take care of what’s mine, wife.”