I Married a Billionaire (18 page)

He glanced at me, nodding politely. "Mrs. Thorne," he said, not reacting - not visibly, anyway - to my tear-streaked face.

"Is this about the interview?" Daniel said, finally finding his voice.

Mr. Camry looked at him. "No," he said, at last. "But concerns have been raised about the validity of your marriage. In such cases, an unscheduled home visit is customary. Of course, you have the right of refusal. But if you do refuse, other measures will be taken."

"No," said Daniel. "We - that's fine. You can…do whatever you need to do."

"Can one of you show me around the different rooms of the house?" he asked.

Daniel nodded, coming forward. They went to the guest rooms first, including my studio - thank God I 
was
 sleeping his Daniel's bed - while my husband prattled on mechanically about each stop. Mr. Camry nodded, taking notes. They disappeared upstairs for a while, and then came back down.

"Thank you," Mr. Camry said, shaking Daniel's hand. "I appreciate your cooperation. I'll be sure to make a note of it in the report."

He walked out the door, and I exhaled. I realized he must have only been here for a few minutes, but it had felt like hours.

"What in the 
fuck
," I said, as Daniel turned towards me, his eyes furious. But not at me, this time.

"Someone must have said something." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Someone must have contacted them. They don't do this for just anyone."

We wandered over to the living room, single-mindedly, both sitting down on the sofa with our minds racing.

"Lisa," I blurted out. I'd hardly spared my 
actual 
boss a thought since she'd gone on maternity leave - out of sight, out of mind definitely applied when I had so many other things to worry about - but she'd been the one to recommend me as a green card bride in the first place. "You said she's one of the only people who knows."

He shook his head before I'd even finished speaking. "She would never," he said, firmly. That was clearly the end of that discussion. Oh, well. If he didn't want to consider the possibility, I certainly wasn't going to change his mind.

My mind kept on racing, thinking of every person in the office who might have reason to be suspicious. As far as motive, I wasn't sure. Did the INS offer some kind of incentive? Or would they have turned us in for purely personal reasons?

Wait a minute. His secretary, with the dagger eyes.

"Alice," I said.

He turned to look at me, frowning. "Alice is a professional," he said. "Besides, she doesn't know."

"She might suspect," I said. "She might have overheard something - right?"

"Even if she did. Why would she go to all the trouble of reporting us?"

"Have you seen the way she looks at me?" I looked down at my lap. "She 
hates
 me."

"She doesn't hate you," Daniel insisted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous!" I insisted, jumping to my feet almost without realizing it, and pacing around the room. "She looks like she wants to kill me."

"She'd never do that," he said. "You have to trust my judgment, Maddy."

"Why? Who says you're infallible?"

"No one. But I choose my intimates very carefully. No one close to me would have betrayed my confidence. I'm sure about that."

I turned to glare at him. "So you're saying it has to be someone
 I
 know."

"I didn’t say that." He raised his hands, palms outward. "Did I say that?"

"You don't have to." I stood in front of him, arms crossed. "Just so you know, I've never said a word to anybody. I'm the loneliest person I know, because I can't be honest with anyone."

"Do you think I 
like
 lying to my sister?" Daniel snapped. "Get down off your cross. You didn't have any friends before we got married, either. You can't pin that one on me."

I fumed silently for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, at last. "Maddy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But we both have to calm down. This is getting us nowhere."

"Fine," I muttered, sitting back down. "Alice seems like a no-brainer, though, I'm sorry."

"Trust me," he said, "she's been working for me long enough. I know she's abrasive, but I also know what she's not capable of. And a large-scale betrayal like this is beyond her, even if she found out about us."

"All right. Fine." I breathed out, slowly. But I didn't feel any calmer. "Who else might have suspected? If we're eliminating all the people who actually know…"

"It could be anyone, really," he said. "Anyone from the office might have looked at us and decided we seemed suspicious…who the hell knows, really. We both have a guilty conscience. I have no idea how something might have appeared to someone on the outside of the situation. God, what a nightmare." He stopped, resting his head in his hands and raking his fingers through his hair. I knew how he felt. I was crawling out of my skin.

There was absolutely nothing I could say or do to comfort him, or myself. We both spent the rest of the afternoon absently Googling various things related to our predicament and wandering around the apartment, picking things up and putting them down again in random places. I sat in front of a blank sheet of paper for a while, charcoal in hand, but nothing came to me.

Late in the afternoon, the buzzer went off again. I don't know why, but my heart leapt into my throat. Daniel hurried to answer it. Someone was delivering a package of some kind. I walked over, slowly, fists clenched.

Somehow, I knew, even before he looked up at me and I saw the hunted look in his eyes.

"What is it?" I reached out, and although he didn't extend it to me, he didn't try to pull it away.

It had come in a certified mail envelope. It was a single sheet of paper, typewritten.

I took it.

I'm sorry. I did what I did in anger, and I shouldn't have done it, but it can't be undone now.

I told the immigration people what you did.

You can imagine how I felt when I heard you were going out with her, of all people. I didn't think it through, I just wanted to lash out, and I wish I hadn't. When I found out it was fake, I couldn't believe my luck at first, and I acted on my first instinct. It was a terrible idea. I'm sorry.

I don't know if they will have contacted you by now, so I'm not sure if this is a warning, or just an apology. I hope that you can convince them I lied about you two. It shouldn't be too hard. I'm sure I'll get in trouble, but I'm not sure that I care anymore.

If you're wondering how I knew, you might want to consult Mr. Wegman. He's got a weakness for blondes, and he doesn't lock up his papers very carefully at night when he's been drinking. If I were you, I'd find a new lawyer.

I'm so sorry, darling. I couldn't help it.

All my love,

Flo

"
Florence
?" I said, disbelieving. I looked up at him.

His face said everything I really needed to know.

"We were…" he hesitated for a long moment. "…involved…years ago. The breakup wasn't…it was ugly. Neither one of us conducted ourselves well, I think. When she came to me later looking for work, I had my second thoughts of course…but I felt bad for how I'd treated her during that time; how could I turn her down when she needed my help?" He squeezed his eyes shut, still processing the whole thing. "And I suppose…I suppose…" His eyes flew open. "Christ. Wegman. I have to go over there - I have to make him burn the contract. Immediately. I have to…"

"Please don't kill him," I said, only half in jest.

"You think I want to add murder one to my already considerable list of crimes?" He grabbed his jacket and keys. "Don't go anywhere."

"Why would I?"

"I don't know. Just - don't."

Alone with my thoughts after he slammed the door behind him, I tried to imagine what kind of bitterness would lead someone to do what Florence did. I never would have counted her among my close friends, but it was still a shock to the system that she had the capacity to do something like that.

I lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, until Daniel got home. He looked exhausted. He threw his keys on the table and came over to the sofa, collapsing next to my feet.

"I'm sorry I never told you," he said. "About me and Flo. I didn't think it would matter."

"You couldn't have known," I said. I wasn't angry with him. Why should I expect him to tell me that he'd once dated her? What difference did it make? It wasn't like we were in a relationship, or anything crazy like that.

I felt gnawed-out and empty inside. All my life, I'd run up against little stumbling blocks - annoyances, really - small things that felt much bigger at the time, but were ultimately solvable, more or less. But this was different. I'd never grappled with a problem that was truly bigger than I was. This was no overdue utility payment or busted transmission. This was a potential felony charge, this was five years in prison. This was my life, changed forever. And not in the way I'd signed on for.

In retrospect, of course, it seemed insane that I had ever agreed to this arrangement. Even as careful as we'd been - all the effort we'd gone to, trying to make sure we seemed legitimate - all it took was one careless slip by his lawyer and a vengeful ex. Something neither one of us could have seen coming, not from a million miles away.

We went to bed late that night, and I don’t think either of us slept at all. I went about my day mechanically, not really aware of what I was actually doing, and Daniel came home from work early just to sit on the sofa and stare off into space, with a slight frown on his face.

Things went on like that for days - we barely spoke, except to re-hash the same conversations over and over again, 
how could this have happened, can you believe it, what's going to happen if…

Daniel had dark circles under his eyes, growing darker every day. I was sure I didn't look any better, but I hardly left the house, so it didn't matter.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this awful. It was the sort of stress that wears away at you slowly, the kind that rarely spikes to panic proportions, but that sits quietly, draining your energy with every heartbeat, until you can hardly keep your eyes open - but of course, you can't sleep. It's ever-present, murmuring awful thoughts in your ear, until it commands nearly all of your attention. You want nothing more than to ignore it, but you can't.

One morning, after weeks of this, I went to fetch the mail as I always did. In spite of everything, I still felt a spike of mixed fear and anticipation every time I unlocked the box - I don't know what I expected to find.

But today, I found it.

There was an envelope from the INS. I opened it with shaking hands, my vision going black around the edges as I struggled to focus on the words.

Dear Mr. Thorne,

Your application for permanent residency has been processed and accepted…

I fumbled with my phone, barely having the presence of mind to rush back to the apartment before I called so I wasn't babbling about the INS and residency applications in front of God and everyone.

He answered just as I slammed the front door behind me.

"There's a letter," I blurted out, "it says they accepted your application. Does that mean…?"

He was silent for a moment. "I think so," he said. "I think…I think so."

"Congratulations," I said.

"I'm coming home early. I need to arrange some things. And I'd like to see it."

"Of course," I said.

"Right. See you in a minute."

I sat down, heavily, on the sofa. So this was it. This was what it had all been for. Why did I feel like punching a hole in the goddamn wall?

When Daniel walked through the door, he didn't say a word to me - didn't even shed his laptop bag and coat at the door. He just walked straight over to me with his hand outstretched, and I held out the letter obediently. His eyes scanned all over it, quickly, from top to bottom and then once more.

"Well," he said, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Well," I agreed.

He finally lifted the strap of the bag over his head, setting it down on the floor, and stripped out of his coat. He sat down next to me and stared at his hands for a moment.

"I've been consulting with some people," he said. "My new lawyer - chosen very carefully, I promise. I don't think she'll have quite as much of a weakness for Flo as Wegman did. And I talked to some people on the inside who are pulling for me. They've all agreed that we're through the woods now. There'll be no more interviews or surprise visits. The decision's been made, the file's been sealed. So really - there's no reason to keep doing this."

I stared at him. "Sorry?"

"I know what the contract says." He met my eyes, finally. I couldn't quite read his face. "Six more months. But I'm willing to break it, if you are. I can have the money by tomorrow."

I clasped my fingers together tightly in my lap. "I think that's a little premature. I promise I'll stop throwing things at your head."

He let out a little huff of laughter. "Regardless," he said. "I think this will be better for both of us. Don't you?"

I bit my lip. "I always just…I guess I just figured we'd stick to the terms of our agreement."

"I did too. But wouldn't you rather go home?"

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I'm sorry," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I thought this would be an easy decision for you. I wouldn't have brought it up, otherwise."

"I just don't think it's a good idea to assume we're out of the woods," I said. "Do you?"

He was tapping out an abstract rhythm on his knee, his fingers seeming to move almost of their own accord. "Please don't take this the wrong way," he said, finally. "But I really do think it'll be better if we don't have to see each other."

My throat felt very dry. "Better for who?" I said.

He didn't answer - he just stood and walked away, up the stairs to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It seemed our fight wasn't over.