Revenge Read online

  “Yes, I suppose I did.” No marriage was perfect, after all. No one person could ever be exactly what another needed. I should be satisfied with what I had.

  And I was.

  Mostly.

  “You have the rings back now, I assume. Will you give them to your wife?”

  I’d spent much of our friendship hunting down my parents’ wedding rings. My cousin had kept them, claiming they’d been lost. After I’d bankrupted her and her husband, she’d pawned them. Then they’d been sold, even though I’d had a description of the items sent out to every pawn shop within a hundred miles. It had taken me years to track them down and had only just recently acquired them.

  The relief I felt at having them in my possession was impossible to describe. It was akin to the way I used to feel when I was little, when my parents would stay out late, and I’d wait with the silly worries of a small child, afraid they wouldn’t return and then finally my mother would slip into my room to place a kiss on my forehead, and the world would suddenly feel right again.

  “I haven’t decided yet. They would need to be resized.”

  “What does she want?”

  “Marion doesn’t seem to have a preference.” Whatever you think is best, she’d said. “She’s fine with what she’s currently wearing. I’ll likely save my parents’ set for Hagan.”

  “Did you have to pay too high a price for them in the end?”

  The new owners had been very reluctant to sell. They’d used them for their own marriage, so, of course, the rings had sentimental value.

  I’d had to pay out more than I’d paid for Marion’s three-carat princess cut. “It wasn’t above my limits, though I shouldn’t have had to pay at all.”

  “I didn’t realize you had limits.” Roman’s smile was teasing, but his tone said differently.

  I turned to face him straight on, but I couldn’t think of a comeback. He had every right to suggest that I acted without restraint. I’d never shown him otherwise.

  The question was out there now, though—did I have limits?

  I wasn’t sure that I did.

  And that was terrifying.

  “What about the pawn shop owner?” he asked.

  I’d wanted to destroy him. I’d wanted to take his entire business down, wanted to ruin his reputation, wanted to make it impossible to work another day in his life. He’d ignored the requests I’d sent asking dealers to be on the lookout for the items. I’d promised a reward in exchange.

  This particular owner must have thought one in the hand was worth more than two in the bush. He’d sold them for less than what I would have offered.

  Roman had been the one to talk me down. He was just trying to make his living, he’d said. He hadn’t intended malice on you directly.

  “I didn’t touch him.” It had been hard, but I’d staved off the desire. For Roman.

  He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes this time. “Ah, you can listen to reason. Good thing I was around.”

  But he wouldn’t be for much longer. The truth sat heavy on me, a suffocating boulder on my chest.

  And the other words unspoken between us: Who would reason with me when he was gone?

  Roman was pulled away once again, a weepy niece this time with fond memories she insisted on sharing.

  I was grateful she’d chosen to share them with him alone. I was already feeling overwhelmed with emotions, and the storm that had been brewing inside me was threatening to become a hurricane.

  “Here you go.” Marion returned to my side and discreetly slipped the drawstring bag with the butt plug into my pocket before taking her wine from my hand.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Feeling empty,” she said, probably trying to soothe my obvious bad mood with the promise of dalliances to come. “Maybe we can—”

  Whatever she’d come up with to distract me from my melancholy went unheard, when someone hurrying through the room bumped into her, sending her wine spilling.

  She gasped, her eyes wide with horror as the red stained the front of her white Oscar de la Renta gown.

  “What the hell?” I looked around for the offender and saw it was a waiter, rushing toward the kitchen. He hadn’t even stopped.

  I ran after him, irate. “Excuse me!”

  “Edward, it’s fine,” Marion said, at my heels. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

  I stopped to level a glare at her. “Even if it was an accident he should have apologized.”

  It would have been a simple thing for her to stand her ground, to say it didn’t really matter all that much, that it was just a dress and accidents happen.

  That opinion was clearly written all over the lines of her face.

  But when she opened her mouth to speak, she said, “Yes, sir. He should have.”

  Her refusal to push only fueled my indignation.

  I spun in the direction of the kitchen and found the waiter as he was exiting, a tray of desserts on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me,” I said with gritted teeth. “Yes, you.”

  He was genuinely surprised at my aggressive tone. He truly was unaware of his careless behavior.

  Well, I was here to enlighten him.

  “You bulldozed your way through here moments ago and bumped into my wife, making her spill merlot all down her dress.” I gestured toward Marion who still carried the empty glass, her skin and dress sticky with the wine.

  The kid—he couldn’t have been older than twenty-one—went nearly as red as the stain my wife wore. “I...I didn’t realize. I’m so very sorry, sir.”

  “It’s not me you should be apologizing to, it’s my wife.”

  He shifted toward her, his posture bent with the full tray still on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Please give me the drycleaning bill. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Marion?” I looked to her, giving her an opportunity once again to let the boy off the hook.

  Without giving him a second glance, she met my eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jesus. Even now? Even in this moment she was still at it? Still playing the faithful sub?

  “I’m not sure that will be enough,” I said, flatly.

  “Sir?” The color now drained from the waiter’s face.

  “I don’t believe your apology is enough to mollify my wife. She may require more.”

  “Is there a problem over here?” Roman asked.

  I hadn’t noticed his approach. If I had, I might have backed down sooner, because I already knew he would step in when needed. He would reason and rein.

  But would she?

  It wasn’t what she’d signed up for. She’d promised to stand by me, to honor and obey. She’d never promised to save me from myself.

  He was here now, though, and I’d already started this, so might as well finish. “Yes, there’s a problem. This irresponsible young man here plowed into Marion, spilling her wine all over her outfit, then ran off without even so much as an acknowledgment. He’s offered to pay the drycleaning bill, but only after I tracked him down. And clearly this is stained. I highly doubt it can be removed and this is a designer gown.”

  Roman regarded us, taking in the ruined outfit, the boy’s frightened expression, and my obvious rage. “I can have the amount for the dress taken from his wages.”

  “I doubt his wages could cover it.” I stared directly at my wife as I spoke. “I think he should be fired.”

  Roman’s eyes narrowed, but, perhaps realizing I had some point to prove, he didn’t argue. “If you insist.”

  I didn’t insist. I didn’t care. It was a fucking dress, it was a fucking accident.

  But the hurricane inside me had taken hold. My friend was dying, my sister was preoccupied, and I was out of control. My wife was the only one left, the only possible hope of bringing me back to a place of calm.

  “Marion?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t fair. Knowing no matter how she answered, she’d fail.

  She didn’t even glance at Ro
man. Didn’t even pause to consider. “Whatever you think is best, sir,” she said, surrendering to my wishes as beautifully as ever.

  I pulled her in, kissing her more aggressively than was appropriate in front of company.

  “Yes,” I said when I broke away. “I insist. Fire him.”

  I could have kept going. I could have fired the entire crew, and still my rage would have barrelled on. Still, no one would have intervened. Roman was right—I had no limits. And Marion, the woman who counted on me to be her master, would stand by my side no matter what.

  It was a frighteningly powerful realization—with my ambitious aims for revenge and ruin, there was no one to stop me but myself.

  Thirteen

  Now: Celia

  I sat down at my vanity and switched my phone to speaker so that I could do something productive while my mother spilled her gossip.

  Until I’d moved to London, I’d lived my whole life in close vicinity to her. We saw each other so often, the only thing to talk about was the goings-on of others. I’d thought with an ocean between us we’d share more of our own lives, that she’d tell me about herself. That she’d ask about what was happening with me.

  Turned out that wasn’t the case.

  “You should have seen it, Ceeley. She had the tackiest hairpins, in the shape of bumble bees. She might have well been one of the children at the event instead of the organizer. It was so embarrassing. I refused to even let the paper take my picture with her.”

  “Good call,” I said, setting the phone on the counter. I had no idea who she was talking about. I’d only been half listening, and as long as I made a comment or a sound every now and then, my mother wasn’t any wiser.

  As she started into another story, I opened the jar of my moisturizer and applied it over my face and neck. There was a reason why calling home first thing in the morning was a bad idea—it made for an awfully late start to my day. At least I hadn’t planned to do any design work. Genevieve was graduating from university the next day, though, and we had a party planned afterward at the country house, a party I was completely in charge of.

  Thank goodness for a competent staff. It meant I didn’t have to do most of the heavy lifting. I wasn’t even planning to go out to the house until the morning, but there were still a lot of details to oversee.

  “Who else is there to tell you about? I know I’m missing something.”

  “Hmm,” I said, as though I were trying to be helpful. I didn’t care about anyone in her social circle. Not a one. The only person she could tell me about that interested me was Uncle Ron, and there was no way I was going to be the one to bring him up.

  It had been three months since Camilla had met up with him at the Savoy, and while it hadn’t been expected that he would reach out to her, there was always a hope that he might. The next step to the long game wasn’t supposed to take place for another couple of months, when Camilla planned to invite him to Exceso. I’d wanted it to be sooner—now that I was part of the scheme, I was eager to get it going—but Edward felt we’d have a better chance at earning his trust if the “right” people were on the island when Ron was there. Apparently some men with questionable sexual interests would be visiting in the fall, so the invitation would be extended at the end of summer.

  Still, I wished there was something that could be done now. Was he currently planning his own event? Would he be attending one soon? Those were the things I wished my mother might tell me. If we could find out about one of his soirees, we could skip the island all together and inform Edward’s FBI friend of the gathering.

  But my mother never had anything to say about my uncle at all. She didn’t know much about what was happening in Ron’s world, or she didn’t find it interesting to share. Either way, he never came up, and it would be too suspicious for me to ask.

  All I could do was continue to press my supposed animosity with Camilla and hope that she’d tell Ron, in case her relationship with me was an obstacle to trusting her.

  “While you’re thinking,” I said, flipping the cap of my foundation open, “can I just vent for a minute? I’ve managed to avoid having to see Edward’s sister for the last several months, but with Genny’s graduation, I’m going to have to see her.”

  She picked up on the cue perfectly. “You’re in charge of the seating at the dinner, correct? Make sure she’s assigned a place far from you. And be sure to tell that husband of yours not to invite her to drive with you to the ceremony.”

  “Oh, good thought about separate cars.” My mother was experienced with snubbing people. It was nice to know she was helpful in something. “Seating isn’t going to matter. It’s all stand-up buffet so people can mingle. That means she’s easier to ignore, but also easier for her to infect others with her hateful ideas about my relationship with Edward. If I can keep her near me, however, she’ll be a pain, but at least we can control the drama.”

  None of it was true, of course, and perhaps the drama was a little more than necessary, but since there might be photos released to the media, I wanted there to be an explanation of why Camilla was included front and center.

  “That’s really a shame. Circumstances are what they are, though. You’ll have to play nice. It will be hard, but I raised you for just this kind of thing.”

  No shit, she had.

  “Oh! I just remembered a bit of interesting news!” She spouted into some new scandal, and I went back to my face.

  I finished applying my foundation and had picked up my bronzer brush, having tuned out, when something she said caught my attention. “Wait a second...say that again?”

  “You know the Holcombs,” she said, in a way that suggested she wasn’t actually telling me what she’d said before but inferring what it was she thought I’d missed from her original story. “They’ve owned those stables near the country club for forever. John owns them now, or I guess he did own them. Malachi passed them on to him when he died. You might remember John. He’s been working there in one form or another since you were a teenager.”

  Yes, I very much remembered John. He’d been in his late twenties, and I’d given my virginity to him when I’d still been underage.

  The hair at the back of my neck stood up, my insides tightening with a knowing kind of dread. “What did you say happened to the stables, Mom?”

  “They were repossessed by the bank. I’d thought the Holcombs owned them outright, but apparently they’d gotten another mortgage, and I don’t know. They had some financial difficulties a few years back and must have gotten behind. I didn’t realize they were still struggling.”

  I put down my makeup brush and picked up the phone, turning the speaker off. “You’re saying that they lost the stables? That the bank foreclosed?” I had to be sure I had this right.

  “Outrageous, isn’t it? It seems they were in default and the bank was working with them, but then the title got sold to an investment company and they foreclosed. John and his family were living on the site. They had to move in with his little brother. Not sure what he’s going to do now for work. Such a shame to no longer have those stables available. They were so close for families in the city. They’re for sale now. Hopefully someone else will buy them and open them up for business again.”

  Yeah, that was the shame of the situation. That privileged rich folk no longer had a convenient place to keep their expensive thoroughbreds.

  God, this was terrible.

  Terrible because the situation was terrible, but also terrible because I had a deep-sinking feeling that Edward was involved. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? He’d said he thought John deserved to be punished for having sex with a minor.

  But I’d told him not to do anything. And he’d agreed.

  Fuck.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  “Mom,” I said, interrupting whatever she’d been saying. “Something’s come up. I’m going to have to let you go. Talk soon.”

  I hung up without waiting for her to say goodbye.

  Tyi
ng my robe around me as I stood up, I left our suite and went to my office space. It took a minute to find where I’d last put my laptop, but once I found it, I booted it up and did a search for stables for sale in that area of New York. It was easy enough to find the Holcombs’. There were only two other properties available, and the Holcombs’ was the only one listed as having been foreclosed.

  And right there, in the foreclosure information, the current owner was listed as EMF Enterprises.

  EMF. Edward Michael Fasbender.

  I wasn’t familiar with the company, but there couldn’t be any question about who owned them.

  I printed the page and slammed my laptop shut. Party preparations be damned. My day’s agenda had just changed.

  I’d been to Edward’s office on numerous occasions, but since the first time when I weaseled my way past security, none of those visits had been unannounced. Usually, when I was asked to present my pass, I was able to give my name and the security guard could check the list that had all of the day’s approved visitors and see I was on it.

  Today, Edward hadn’t known I was coming, so I wasn’t sure what would happen, if the guard would let me up or have to call for permission. Fortunately, it turned out I’d been put on the permanently approved list, which would have been satisfying to discover if I hadn’t been so mad.

  But I was mad. Fuming mad. Which was why I hadn’t called ahead. I was the kind of mad that couldn’t be put off or dealt with over the phone. I needed to see my husband in person.

  Before the elevator doors opened on his floor, I took a centering breath and threw my shoulders back. Edward’s secretary wasn’t fond of me, and I didn’t have the patience for a battle with her today. Besides, I was saving all my energy for Edward.

  Charlotte spotted me as soon as I got off the elevator, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She clicked a few keys on her computer as I approached her, likely checking to see if she’d missed my name on Edward’s schedule.

  I took advantage of her momentary distraction to plow right on past her. “I’m going in,” I called over my shoulder. His door was open, which meant he wasn’t with anyone, thankfully. I took care to slam it shut behind me before marching toward his desk.