Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,59

I decided, would be to blame everything on—

“Cat told me you’ve had an abortion. Is that true?” He turned to me, his gaze sharp, and I floundered, the accusation one that I hadn’t anticipated.

“Uh—yes.” Out of everything I had done, the procedure had barely registered in my history, and I tried to piece together what he must be thinking and how that nosy bitch had found out. “I—”

“I don’t care about the abortion. Do what you want with your body, but it does bring into very clear focus that you’re a disloyal wife. I don’t need to be romantically seduced, Neena. We’re two adults here. If you want me to have sex with you, just say so.”

I cleared my throat, trying to understand the stiff brace of his shoulders, the curtness in his words. He was an alpha male. He should want the chase, the game. I looked at the floor and tried to readjust my strategy. “I’m . . . not sure what to do. I’ve never felt—”

He moved closer until he was directly before me and forced my chin up, my eyes on his. “Cut the crap, Neena. I don’t buy your sweet-and-innocent routine. Either you want this or. You. Don’t. Which is it?”

“I want it,” I whispered.

“Fine.” He dropped his hand from my chin. “Skirt up. Panties down. And if you feel the need to scream, don’t.”

CHAPTER 32

CAT

I perked up at the view of delivery trucks and vehicles at the Vanguards’ house, ready for my summer of isolation to end. Turning into our driveway, I waited for the gate to open and placed a call to Kelly.

It was answered midyell, her voice rising as she lectured her son on sunscreen, then huffed out a hello.

“Looks like they’re prepping the house for you. When are you coming home?”

“In six days, and I tell you, Cat—I’m looking forward to it. I’m done with South America. Next year, I told Josh, we need to go to Paris. Don’t they always say Paris in the summer?”

“I thought you hated Paris.”

She blew out an annoyed breath. “Whatever, we’re just not coming back to Colombia. It’s like they’re unfamiliar with the concept of flat steamed milk.”

“Sounds like a rough life.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re as spoiled as the rest of us; you just hide it better. But yes, we’re coming back Friday and shipping the horses over tomorrow. Don’t say anything snarky, but one of them has my name on it. I just couldn’t resist his big doe eyes.”

I laughed, and the cold rock in my chest warmed slightly at the idea of her return.

“Once we get back, I’m thinking a party is in order. Something casual, maybe just a few couples over for the Stanford game.”

“Count us in.” I pulled down the drive and parked in front, leaving my key in the ignition. Once I was inside, someone would move it into the garage after doing a top-to-bottom detail. Was Kelly right? Was I as bad as all of them, or even potentially worse? I hadn’t visited a gas station in a decade, hadn’t set foot in a grocery store for close to as long, and thought nothing of freshly ironed sheets, a bath already drawn for me when I returned from tennis, or of having a social assistant on salary.

“What are you doing for tonight’s game?”

I groaned and pushed open the front door, stepping into the quiet interior and setting my purse on the large round entrance table, next to a towering arrangement of fresh-cut daylilies. “Going to Neena and Matt’s. Apparently our husbands have bonded over football.” Another association formed while I was trying my best to yank our two couples apart.

“How are things with the little blonde? Was I right? Social leech?”

“You were right about that . . . and more. She’s become much closer to William than I would like.”

“You’ve got to nip that in the bud before it becomes a problem. Remember Josh and that nanny? Best baby nurse I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t about to let that fresh-faced girl live in our house, not with everything she and he seemed to have in common. I mean—fantasy football? How did I end up with the only woman on earth who enjoys fantasy football?”

I put her on speakerphone and settled down on the couch, checking social media and then my email. My thoughts slowed upon seeing the email from Beck Private Investigations. “Kelly, I’ve got to run. The game is at six, and I haven’t even showered.”

“Okay, but