Hidden in Lies (8 page)

Pity.

And I hate it.

IT’S THE NEXT
morning and my week just gets shittier.

“I know it’s last minute, but my mother is going to be here around lunchtime,” Cal informs me as I’m buttoning up my blouse. I stifle the groan that threatens to leak out. To say I’m not a fan of his mother would be an understatement. She is the stereotypical stuck-up rich lady who I avoid at all costs. Unfortunately, it looks like that won’t be possible since she’s on her way.

“Oh, how nice,” I reply, turning my back to him so he can’t see the lie written all over my face. Even I’m not a good enough actress to pull that one off. There are two things I’m unable to fake in our relationship: orgasms, and liking his mother.

“She wants to spend a couple days here to congratulate me on the big announcement.” I cough at the mention of ‘a couple days.’ “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Excuse me.” I place my hand gently on my throat¸ pretending I have something caught in it. “Something just went down the wrong pipe. I’m okay.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here for a few days, but I’m leaving tomorrow.” That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she come to celebrate when he’s not here? “Aaron is going to talk to her about a few things while she’s in town to prepare her for the campaign.” Ah, now I see. She’s getting coached just like I am. I doubt she’ll need much advice. She’s the epitome of keeping up pretenses. They won’t have to worry about her stepping out of line and embarrassing him or hurting his chances of winning.

“That’s lovely. I’ll make sure the guest room is made up for her and her favorite soaps and shampoos are in the bathroom.” I walk over to him and kiss him on the cheek before leaving him to finish getting ready.

As I walk down the stairs, I think about what I’m currently wearing. I have on a pair of black skinny slacks, a plain white T-shirt that I was going to throw a nice blazer on over, and black, pointy toed heels. I should turn around and go back upstairs to change into something Mrs. Fitzgerald will approve of, but first I need caffeine.

Rounding the corner, I collide into a firm chest. My hands reach out behind me to catch my fall, but they never touch the ground. After a few seconds, I realize my ass hasn’t crashed into the ground and a pair of strong arms is wrapped firmly around me. My eyes slowly lift up until I’m staring into Alex’s amazing blue eyes. I’m transfixed, unable to look away. All of my senses are heightened, picking up the most subtle things. Like the clean, fresh scent of his body wash, the feel of his hard biceps under my hands that are resting on them for support, the sound of my breath quickening, and the sight of his smirk when he notices I haven’t attempted to pull away.

Coming back to my senses, I right myself and take a step back. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I smooth my clothes and take another small step back. I can’t think clearly when he’s so close.

“It’s no problem, really. Are you alright? Did you hit anything?” he asks, the concern in his voice is something I’m not used to. For a long time no one has cared enough to be worried about me. Cal certainly never bothers himself with my well-being.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks to you.” I smile at him in gratitude.

“I was just getting ready to check the perimeter, but there’s a cup of coffee on the island waiting for you when you’re ready for it.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the kitchen.

My head tilts to the side. “You made me coffee?” Why am I making such a big deal about this? It’s just coffee and the Keurig does most of the work anyway.

“Yes, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I watched you make it yesterday, so I think I made it right. But if not, there’s a black coffee next to the Keurig if you’d like to make it yourself.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You’re not the housekeeper . . . just my babysitter,” I say jokingly, even though the reason he’s assigned to me is no joking matter. The corners of his mouth twitch, fighting off a smile.

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’ll be back in a few minutes, then you can go over your plans for today with me.” I nod in acknowledgment and he heads off in the opposite direction and out the front door.

Grabbing the coffee off of the island, I take a sip to test it out. It’s delicious, the perfect blend of roasted coffee, vanilla, and splenda. I take in a deep inhale hoping it’ll work its magic through my system that much faster. I walk over to the far corner of the kitchen to have a seat at the breakfast nook where I like to look out the window and watch the birds in the morning. Footsteps can be heard in the entryway, and I know Alex is back from doing his perimeter check. He has a seat in front of me and waits for me to talk.

There’s a word that I’ve never used to describe Cal.

Thoughtful.

But here’s this person, who’s practically a stranger, noticing my likes and dislikes. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“Thank you for making me coffee. It’s perfect.” I take another sip and close my eyes, savoring the taste. This is probably better than when I make it. Warmness comes over me knowing that he paid enough attention to me to know how I like my coffee. Cal wouldn’t be considerate enough to bring me coffee, let alone make it to perfection. When I open them, I find him watching me intently. Why does it feel like he’s always analyzing me?

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Fitzgerald.” There he goes with that Mrs. Fitzgerald shit again. He really needs to stop that.

“You know what is a problem, Alex?” I ask. His eyebrows rise up his forehead, waiting for me to continue. “You calling me ma’am and Mrs. Fitzgerald. Ma’am makes me feel ancient, and Mrs. Fitzgerald is reserved for the mean woman that is Cal’s mother. You can call me Elizabeth. Got it?”

He nods. “Got it, Elizabeth.” The way he says my name with his deep, smooth voice gives me the butterflies. I haven’t felt butterflies in my stomach over a man since I had a crush on that boy when I was fourteen years old. I squirm in my seat ever so slightly before returning my attention to the coffee mug in my hand.

When I glance up, mug still to my mouth, I notice he’s fixated on my lips. My hand halts its movement toward the table as I wait for him to look away. Looking back up at my eyes, he becomes conscious of the fact that I’m watching him.

He clears his throat before saying, “So, what’s on your agenda today? Are you planning on running any errands?”

“Uh, n-no,” I say with a slight stutter. The effect he has on me is becoming more and more obvious. “My mother-in-law will be here this afternoon and staying here for a couple days.” God, I’m dreading this. That woman is so pretentious and blatantly rude. I’ve never met such a hostile person in my life.

Alex simply nods his understanding and gets up to retrieve that extra cup of coffee on the counter. I sit and enjoy the quiet, knowing that in a couple hours it will cease to exist.

The next morning after Cal left, the gloves came off.

THIS MORNING STARTED
out like any other, with the addition of my mother-in-law. I put on a happy smile, showed Cal just the right amount of affection to be deemed loving yet appropriate in front of his mother, and I kissed him adoringly when he left. Now here I am, standing in the doorway watching his car drive off. I wish I could stand here until
she
leaves, but I know that’s not possible. Might as well suck it up and deal with whatever venom she has prepared to throw my way.

Turning on my designer heels, I close the front door and make my way back to the kitchen where I know she’s waiting. We’re expecting Aaron to show up any minute. Hopefully he shows up sooner rather than later so I don’t have to be alone with her. Entering the open kitchen, I first spot Alex sitting at one of the stools at the island. I’ve noticed that’s become his seat of choice except for when he sat at the breakfast nook with me yesterday. Glancing in that direction, I see she’s taken my seat in front of the window. I fight off a snarl that threatens to emerge at the thought of her tainting my favorite morning spot.

“Can I get you anything while we wait for Aaron, Mrs. Fitzgerald?” I ask. When Cal and I started dating and he introduced me to his mother, I called her Mrs. Fitzgerald out of respect and to be polite. I kept waiting for the day when she would insist I not address her so formally and I could call her by her first name, Grace. Seven years later, and I’m still waiting.

“No, thank you,” she responds coolly. I take a seat across from her and seek guidance from divine intervention to help me alleviate some of this awkwardness between us. The silence becomes unbearable, the only sound is of her nails drumming against the cherry wood of the table. I focus in on them, noticing the perfect manicure to go with the rest of her perfect ensemble. Her Burberry coat is delicately draped over her shoulders, no doubt ready to be slipped into as soon as Aaron dismisses us. Underneath that is a cashmere sweater paired with a skirt and heels. Her light-brown hair, which is void of any gray thanks to some dye, is styled in a bouncy bob that hits her chin, accentuating her sharp features. Her eyes are the same color as Cal’s and hold the same amount of kindness and concern in them for others.

None.

“It was so nice of you to come visit us.” I’m grasping at straws here and lying through my teeth. I would be perfectly content if I never had to see her again.

She lets out a condescending laugh before saying, “I came here to see my son, not you.” Her voice lacks any emotion or empathy. I’m not sure why I’m so shocked since it’s not the first time she’s been a nasty bitch to me. Maybe because we’re usually completely alone when she does it, but I’m very much aware of the blue eyes I see from my peripheral staring at me.

Looking down slightly in an attempt to hide my reddened face, I say quietly, “Yes, well once Aaron briefs us you’ll be free to go since Cal won’t be back for a few days.”

“I can’t believe it.” I look up to see her shaking her head. “My son is going to be the next president of the United States and he’s got you riding his coattails to become the first lady.” If her words weren’t enough to show her disdain for me, the pure look of disgust written all over her face seals the deal.

“I beg your pardon?” My eyes are wide from shock. Riding his coattails? Everything I do is for him and to better his career.

“You don’t come from a well-bred family, my dear. You’re going to drag him down.” She looks down her nose at me in true elitist fashion. The first thought that goes through my head is,
What am I? A fucking horse?
How can this woman be so cold and callous to me? But she’s not done cutting me down and humiliating me. “You might as well have grown up in a trailer park for God’s sake. The media is going to have a field day with this one. Can you imagine the headlines? Callahan Fitzgerald,” she waves her hands high in the air, like she’s reading a marquee. “Slumming it with the gold digger from the trailer park. Too late to change it now. A divorce would look worse than marrying a person of low class. Oh, well,” she says with a shrug, “maybe his campaign can spin it so it’s a good thing. Like he brought you from rags to riches and shows compassion for those less fortunate than him.” I can feel the tips of my ears burning from the embarrassment I feel. She’s been abhorrent to me before, but she’s never thrown this shit in my face.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” I stand with my head held high, desperately clinging to what little dignity I have left. “Aaron should be here momentarily. I trust you can find the door to let him in.” With that, I turn to get as far away from this pompous, pitiful, cruel woman as fast as humanly possible. Looking at the tiled floor to avoid eye contact with Alex, I quickly brush past him and head up the stairs. I don’t want to face him after the exchange I just had with Grace.

Humiliation doesn’t begin to explain what I feel right now. Once I’m up in my room, I quietly close the door and walk into the bathroom. I climb into the empty tub fully clothed, lay down, and close my eyes. Tears leak out the corners even though I try hard to hold them back. Her words cut me deeply today. Deeper than they have in the past. How can a person fault another human being for being poor? Does she think my parents wanted to struggle and worry where our next meal was going to come from? My mom and dad worked hard for every single thing we had. I’ve never been resentful for the things we had to go without. I knew it couldn’t be helped and I never begrudged my parents for it. They couldn’t help we were poor anymore than a dog can help it’s a dog. It’s not a conscious decision, it just is. Not all of us are fortunate enough to marry men from Ivy League schools who have trust funds to see their grandchildren through if they choose not to work. Myself excluded since I was taught at an influential age to pick money over love.