35. Jane
CHAPTER 35
JANE
My first thought as I wake up is to question whether the events of last night were real because it was all too much like a dream.
I peek through my eyelashes.
I’m in the giant bed, in the honeymoon suite, with Adrian on the other side of the bed. And I’m sore in?—
Mrs. Westfield would advise against naming such delicate places even within a lady’s private thoughts.
All this means that if my GD was a dream, it’s continuing.
“You awake?” Adrian whispers, scooting closer.
I turn his way. “Hopefully.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “How do you feel?”
I bite my lip. “Disappointingly, the same as usual.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Disappointingly?”
I mock sigh. “I always thought I’d feel different after losing my virginity.”
He cocks his head. “Different how?”
“Older. More mature. Wiser.”
“Ah. And you don’t?”
“I’m thinking we may need to repeat what we did last night a few dozen more times before all those things kick in.”
His good humor evaporates, and he looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Jane… I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
His words hit me like an ice bucket challenge, proving beyond a shadow of doubt that this is stark reality, not the fantasy land of my GD dreams.
“Us sleeping together isn’t a good idea?” I hear myself demand, though I’m not sure why I’m punishing myself this way.
He draws back. “I’m sorry. I had hoped we’d talk about this later. Calmly.”
Calmly? There’s no way on this earth I can think about this calmly. Not after I stupidly started to believe that last night meant something. That I could have hope for the two of us.
My stomach turns into a stone, and a wave of nausea rolls over me.
How could I be so na?ve? So very virginal? I should’ve remembered that having sex is like a good sneeze for a rake like him. But even then, why would he deny me something so meaningless to him as a sneeze?
Then it hits me, and I’m glad I’m on the bed because my legs feel too weak to support my weight.
“You think last night was a mistake?” I half state, half ask. He must. That’s what this is about. He’s a hot billionaire playboy, and I’m a plain Jane who was probably a boring lay on top of that. Having sex with me for him was probably like having one of those half-sneezes you sometimes get when your nose is itchy—completely unsatisfying.
In fact, it’s a marvel he stooped to having sex with me in the first place. It was probably due to his self-enforced celibacy, combined with his rakish nature and the romantic atmosphere of the wedding.
Or maybe he was more calculating in bedding me. Maybe he’s going to make it so the bloody sheets end up in the hands of some paparazzo, ensuring that the world knows our marriage was consummated, à la medieval times. That would be worth an unpleasant sneeze. Or maybe he was concerned they’d check my hymen at the hearing to make sure our marriage wasn’t a sham. Or?—
He gently props up my chin with his fingers. “Last night was not a mistake, but if we keep being intimate, we’ll find ourselves in a real relationship, and those often end. If that were to happen, where would it leave Piper’s hearing?”
Another ice-cold bucket right in the face. Now on top of rejected, I also feel like a selfish brat. That little girl deserves to have a father as awesome as Adrian in her life, while all I’m worried about is my fragile ego and overactive libido.
But still. If he felt this way, he shouldn’t have GD’d me in the first place. It’s unfair. He treats his dog better than this—he told me so himself. Something about not being able to miss sex if you’ve never had it.
“You’re right,” I say. “We shouldn’t do that again.” I wish I could add that it’s because I wouldn’t want to anyway, but I’m not that good of a liar.
Is that a glimmer of regret in his eyes? No. That’s just wishful thinking on my part.
Suddenly, I feel much too naked, so I drag the blanket all the way to my chin and say, “Can you give me some privacy?”
With a sigh, he gets off the bed, giving me an unadulterated view of his out-of-this-world body. Then he grabs a robe and hides it all, which feels like a crime against nature.
“Here.” He tosses another robe my way, then turns his back to me.
Must not sniffle. That would be worse than being naked in front of him again.
I put on the robe and struggle to get my turbulent emotions under control.
Acting as if he didn’t just shatter my world, Adrian proceeds to order in a gourmet room service breakfast. I go into the shower, and when I re-emerge, the food is already here. It’s pretty and smells great, but it tastes like straw laced with sewage—possibly because of the knot of tears stuck in my throat. The conversation during the meal is pretty much nonexistent, due to that same knot. I’m not sure what his problem is, but whatever. I’m going to treat our relationship, such as it is, as purely a work arrangement, so there’s no need for us to banter.
Who knew that my awkward interactions with Mrs. Corsica would come in handy? As soon as the breakfast is over, I ask Adrian when we’re headed home.
“Whenever you wish,” he says.
I press my lips together. “How about we go now?”
Even though we’re officially married, Adrian doesn’t carry me over the threshold when we arrive home. Instead, we go our separate ways and don’t have lunch or dinner together—all my choice, and I stand by it.
That night, I cry myself to sleep. The next day, when we come across each other, we again talk about the weather. It’s the most civil interaction I can manage, and even that is taxing. I continue to avoid him as much as living in the same penthouse allows, and several days pass in the same tense yet civil manner.
Then, on Thursday, Adrian walks in while I’m reading in his library and tells me that Queen Charlotte has come out on Netflix, and that we should watch it together.
“No, thank you,” I say firmly.
He thinks we can be friends again? Fat fucking chance!
He cocks his head. “It’s a Bridgerton spin-off. I thought that was your favorite series.”
“I want to read the book first. They haven’t released it just yet.”
I’m actually dying to watch the show, but I plan to tell him I hated the book and that I’m skipping the show… and then I’ll watch it either stealthily by myself or after our arrangement is over.
He grimaces and takes a step toward me. “Look, Jane… I don’t want us to keep acting like strangers.”
“You don’t?” I ask bitterly. “But isn’t that safer? If we talk about anything of substance, we might have a quarrel, and if that gets bad enough, it could jeopardize the hearing.”
Petty, I know, but the logic is identical to his.
“Fair enough,” he says with a sigh and leaves.
The days following that conversation are as opposite of honeymoon bliss as it gets. We don’t even talk about the weather anymore, just the hearing, which is quickly approaching.
The only bright spots in the dull monotony of my days are when Piper visits, but even those are tinged with heartache because by now, I’m in love with the little girl, and I know I won’t see her once Adrian has no more use for me.
Oh, and did I mention seeing him be a good daddy is the most potent aphrodisiac?
It is, and it doesn’t help matters.
The minutes stretch into hours and days, and finally, it’s the night before the hearing. I expect it to be as uneventful as all the nights preceding it, but a distant shout wakes me up around three a.m.
What the hell? Is Leo up to his sheep shenanigans?
Overcome by the same curiosity that usually gets women in horror flicks killed, I put on a robe and open my door to peek into the hallway.
And wish I hadn’t.
It’s Sydney.
As in, Adrian’s baby mama. As in, the last person I expected to see outside of tomorrow’s hearing.
Her boob is out as she’s struggling to pull on her dress, and her hair is a mess.
Even though my brain hasn’t made the conscious leap just yet, my veins fill with liquid nitrogen.
It only gets worse.
A fully naked Adrian comes running down the hallway. Spotting me, he freezes in place. His voice is choked. “Jane… this isn’t what it looks like.”
Before he can say anything else, I slam my door closed.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m holding in a scream—one that would probably shatter glass if I let it loose.
There’s a knock, followed by Adrian’s tight voice. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk,” I somehow manage to say.
“Please,” he says. “I wanted?—”
Using all my willpower, I say evenly, “The hearing is tomorrow. I need some sleep.” Like I could sleep after what I just saw.
There’s a beat of silence. “You’re right,” he finally says. “But we have to talk after.”
Sure we do. He’s probably just relieved that I’m still going to the hearing.
Which I am—for Piper, not for him. I’ll go even though all I want is to be done with this charade so I can go home to Staten Island, eat Mom’s chicken soup, and cry for a week.
Pointlessly, I get back into bed, my thoughts buzzing in my head like agitated wasps.
This isn’t what it looks like.
It looks like they had sex, and things got wild. What else could they be doing naked together at night?
I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only worsens the images flashing through my mind. Images inspired by all the porn I’ve watched, except featuring Adrian and his ex instead of big-dicked actors. Not that his is small.
Wait, what am I even thinking about?
Ugh, I need to stop this pointless rumination. He doesn’t owe me anything. Ours isn’t a real relationship, despite my GD, which, as we’ve already established, was the equivalent of an unsatisfying sneeze.
In my face.
But it hurts. It feels like a betrayal—much more so than his words the morning after our wedding. At least then he’d claimed to act in the best interests of Piper. Unless… Did he sleep with Sydney to reassure himself that the hearing is still necessary? Like, if the sex went well, maybe they could make it work?
No, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Perhaps he did it as a hedge? If so, that might even be clever, in a psychopathic sort of way. Remind Sydney of the heaven that is his cock, and then if the hearing doesn’t go his way, he can just invite her back, and she would come—she’s only human.
Fucking hell.
My throat tightens with the same scream I’ve been holding back.
Is it possible that they have been sleeping together this whole time? Is that the real reason why he didn’t want to do it with me?
I know—and hate the idea that—they’ve done it at least once, since Piper is proof of that.
But why bother with the hearing if they have an ongoing sex life? Could it be that they have some kind of weird/unhealthy sex? A hate-fucking addiction or something? Is that what the shouting was about?
Or worse, is it possible he just likes her for sex but hates her company?
It could be. He has the exact opposite setup with me. Or at least it seemed like he enjoyed my company back when we were on speaking terms.
Maybe between the two of us, he’s found the perfect partner?
The thought constricts my lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
I know one thing for sure at this point.
Going to sleep is just a distant fantasy.
“We’ll talk after the hearing,” Adrian says when I meet him by the elevator.
“Sure.” I rub my bloodshot eyes. “Whatever you say.”
I don’t clarify if he’s talking about his wild sex with Sydney or something else. Either way, I’m still in no state to have anything approximating a “talk.”
We enter the elevator, and as soon as he presses the button for the lobby, he starts reading some sort of printout—no doubt related to the hearing.
The whole ride in the limo, he continues to read the same papers, and I try prepping too, as best as I can.
When we enter the courtroom, I quickly spot my mom, who’s here to provide moral support for Adrian, though I wonder if she would’ve come if I’d told her about the post-GD cold war and about last night. Taking a seat next to her, I ignore Adrian when he takes his seat and listen to the proceedings.
To my left, Mom stares at Tristan, Sydney’s father. Before I can tell her that this man is off limits and why, she looks at Juliet—Sydney’s mother—and then at Sydney herself. The whole time, Mom’s expression is extremely strange.
I wonder about it for a moment, but I don’t have time to dwell on it because looking at Sydney resurrects all the feelings from last night. I grit my teeth until my jaw hurts and ball my hands into tight fists on my lap.
Meanwhile, the lawyers do their thing, starting with Adrian’s side. They make a case for him being a good father and an upstanding citizen who has renounced his rakish ways. The judge is hard to read, but I think she’s buying it. When the other side starts to speak, Sydney darts a nasty glance our way, and something about it turns my insides all clammy.
She’s too confident. Almost like she’s already gloating. But why?—
“Please have a look at the screen,” one of Sydney’s lawyers says at that exact moment.
We all do, but I’m probably the first to realize what it is that I’m seeing—and my whole body goes rigid as I do.
Up on the screen is the secret contract that I signed. The very same one that outlines the fact that my marriage with Adrian is fake—which is exactly what the lawyer points out next.
People turn my way with knowing expressions. “Ah, that explains it,” their faces seem to be saying. “That’s why a guy like him would marry a woman like you. As a farce.”
My face burns, and I sneak a peek at Adrian. He’s staring at me with an extremely betrayed expression. He clearly thinks I gave Sydney the document, even though I did nothing of the sort.
My mind races, looking for the answers. Only one comes to mind: Sydney’s people must’ve hacked into the app account I set up and got a hold of the document. Not that Adrian will believe that.
And I guess it ultimately doesn’t matter because this is it. I fucked up. Adrian will not get custody of Piper, and it’s my fault.
I feel the strongest urge to run, but instead, as if turning into a zombie, I shakily get to my feet and stumble out of the courtroom.
I know it’s cowardly, but I don’t want to see the expression on Adrian’s face when he realizes how bad this really is. Nor do I want him to tell me he never wants to see me again.
That bit is obvious.
In the corner of my eye, I see my mom—and for some reason, Tristan—leap to their feet and rush after me.
What the hell? Maybe Sydney’s father just needs the bathroom?
But no.
As I exit onto the street, I see Mom grabbing Tristan’s elbow as he yells for me to stop.
They fiercely argue about something so I sprint over to them, ready to defend Mom from whatever the dude’s problem is.
When I’m within hearing distance, they go silent and look guilty.
Seriously? What fresh hell is this? With everything that has happened, the last thing I need is a weird mystery.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
Tristan examines my face like he’s never seen faces until today. “Are you… Georgiana’s daughter?”
“Umm, yes.”
He peers at me even more intently. “And you’re twenty-three years and-four-months old?”
And four months? What, are we back in kindergarten?
“Don’t,” Mom says to him. “Let us talk first.”
“Don’t what?” I demand. “Is there something going on between you two?”
That’s the most logical solution, but?—
“I’m sorry,” Tristan says to Mom. Then he turns to me. “I’m your father.”