Know Her, Love Her: Daisy & Belmont, Book ONE (5 page)

I put on my blue bikini and a white crochet cover-up, and we walk down the bluffs near my house. The gathering isn’t far away. Out of the seventeen people in attendance, I haven’t seen most of them in ages.
 

Keeping with the theme of the day—which is facing my issues—I answer all their questions regarding what I’ve been up to. Married. Yes, Belmont Lord, the billionaire. Lost a baby. Separated. New job that involves traveling. My job is what interests them the most. They want to know which network and who I’m working with. A few people in “the business” have heard of Dexter.

“He’s not an asshole, good at what he does, and is easy on the eyes,” Marla, a friend from our undergrad years at UCLA, says. “Don’t sleep with him though. I heard if you fuck him, he loses interest.”

“I’m not going to have sex with him,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows as if she’s doubtful.
 

Adrian avoids me like the ebola virus, although I feel him glaring in my direction from across the fire pit. The afternoon changes to evening, and everyone except Maya is liquored-up. I’ve even had a couple of glasses of wine. Instead of dancing, kicking up sand, and making fools out of ourselves, we sit around the fire and exchange memories of the wild, uninhibited Maya we used to know.
 

Trista raises her hand impatiently. “I remember when she talked me into posing as a stripper so we could give Guy Henley, the actor, a lap dance.”

Justin Carp laughs. “We or she?”
 

“Sadly,
we
. She thought we’d get more out of him if we teamed up.”

“Get what out of him?” Justin asks.

“Shush,” Maya says, rubbing her belly. “Children are present—and so is my husband.”

Adrian smiles when our gazes meet. I reciprocate the smile and raise my hand. “I have something to say.”
 

Adrian looks worried.
 

“This morning, some woman answered my husband’s phone.”

There’s a round of exaggerated gasps.
 

“She said he wasn’t available because he was in the shower.”

“Dick…”

“Stupid ass…”

“Man whore…”

“Dummy,” Adrian says.

“Idiot,” Maya says.

I giggle, accepting the support. “I wasn’t going to get out of bed, but Maya came over, rubbed my feet, and said she wouldn’t let me fall apart. She dragged me out of bed, made me put on a bathing suit, and that’s why I’m sitting here now.”
 

Adrian starts clapping, and the others join in. I have two more glasses of a fruity alcoholic beverage—the sort that sneaks up on you. The stereo has been turned on and everyone is dancing, but I’m sitting because ducks are swimming around my head.

“Let’s get you home,” Adrian says, offering me his hand.
 

I frown.
 

“It’s okay. Maya sent me to your rescue,” he says.

I search for her face around the fire pit. She shows me a thumbs-up, and I take Adrian’s hand. It feels strange to be close to him. He still wears the same loud cologne that used to make me nauseated whenever I had one too many. His hand is still too soft. It could be the drinks, but I feel his fingers massaging my waist as he helps me up the wooden steps that lead away from the beach.

“I’m glad you and Maya made up,” he says.

“Me too.” I look to see if we’re closer to my front door.
 

“I heard you’re divorcing the gigolo.”

“Belmont’s not a gigolo, and you know it.” My stomach is queasy.
 

“Once a gigolo, always a gigolo.”

“That’s just like saying once a cheater, always a cheater. And you cheated on me.”

“A mistake I’ve had to live with.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” I feel as though this conversation is going in the wrong direction.

“I miss you though,” he says.

To say that I miss him would be a lie. “I meant what I said. I’m happy you and Maya are together. Lord knows it wasn’t going anywhere with us.” I give an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

“I thought what we had was pretty good until I messed it up.”

“Ha! You did?”

Now there’s no doubt that he’s feeling me up. His hand is clearly clutching my hip. I’m caught in a cloud of confusion. We make it to my house and stop at the foot of the steps to my door.
 

“Okay…” I sigh and take a giant step away from him. “Good night.”

I turn my back, and he grabs me. I can feel his knot bump my butt.

“I didn’t want to give you up,” he whispers.

“You know what? It’s all water under the bridge.”

“How about I come inside so we can talk some more?” He breathes against my ear as his hand slides up my sternum.
 

“Adrian, take your hands off me,” I say, enunciating every word.

“Just one more time.”

I break out of his clutches and raise a hand. “Stay.”

“Damn it,” he mumbles and rubs his head anxiously. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No way.” Once again, I enunciate. “Just don’t ever touch me like that again.”
 

I take a deep, steadying breath and walk up the steps. I take my key out of my fanny pack, open my door, and close it without giving him a second look. I engage all three locks, drag myself upstairs, and groan as I fall facedown onto the bed.
 

I wake with a stop. Did Adrian try to have sex with me last night? I sit up. My head is swimming, and it’s chilly.
 

My cell phone chimes, and I swipe it off the nightstand. It’s probably Maya. I meant what I said—I would never tell her what Adrian did. It doesn’t matter because he’s never experiencing any part of me. What a tool.
 

“Hello,” I say without looking at the screen.

“Hey.”

I go rigid. “Belmont?”

“Did you call me yesterday?”

I summon all my strength and hop into my big-girl panties. “She told you I called? I didn’t think she would.”

“Did someone answer my phone?”

“Yes. A woman.” I trot out of the bedroom and down the hallway to turn on the heater.
 

“What did you want?” he asks.

“Forget it. I have a flight to catch.”

“What did you want?” he persists.
 

“Nothing. I forgot.”
 

He’s silent.
 

“Belmont?”

“I’m here. What have you been up to?” he asks.

“Hanging out with family and friends, and doing a little work in the process.”

“Is your flight to Chicago?”

“Yes.”

“What time do you land?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to check my ticket.” I’m so pissed, I can feel the steam shooting out of my ears. He would never know by my tone though.
 

“Then check it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see you.”

I take a deep breath. “You’re such a selfish prick.”

“What?”

“She said you were in the shower. Were you?”

“I probably was,” he says as if it’s nothing serious.

“Are you having sex with other women?”

“Not other women.”

“Are you having sex with Stacy Pruitt?”
 

He’s silent again.
 

“Nice talking to you. Good-bye,” I say.

“Daisy!”

“What?”

“I was probably in the shower. She shouldn’t have answered my phone.”

“Have you had sex with her recently?” I’m stern.

He takes a long pause.

“Belmont?” I ask.

“Daisy, I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then you have?”

“I don’t want to answer that over the telephone. Let’s have dinner tonight.”

I’m speechless. This is one of those moments where I can let the truth TKO me. I could miss my flight, go to my mom’s house, wrap myself in a blanket, and sleep until my misery subsides.
 

“Oh well,” I say with remarkable pose. “We’ll figure out how to split amicably later. You never made me sign a prenup—”

“Daisy—”

“You should’ve.”

“Babe—”

“But you’re lucky, because I don’t want half. I don’t want anything from you. Just file for the divorce, and I’ll sign.”

“Daisy, let’s have dinner.”

“I don’t want to have dinner,” I whimper. I’m sobbing, and I can’t make myself stop.

“Daisy, honey, don’t cry…”

“I have to go… I can’t have this conversation right now.” I end the call.
 

Getting Down to Business

Just because I know my husband and it’s likely that he’ll try to intercept me, I cancel the car for hire that he often uses and call a taxi. I also purchase a brand-new ticket for a flight on a different airline that leaves an hour and a half later than my original flight, and I fly coach like I did in the early days of my career. The major difference between first class and coach is the legroom.
 

Once I land at O’Hare, I take a taxi to my mom and stepdad’s urban condo. The building, which is the shortest among giants, faces a park with lots of trees and flowerbeds. When the cab driver takes my bags to the door, I have a funny feeling that I’m being watched. I turn around to examine the area. It’s seven o’clock in the evening. People are jogging, walking their dogs, pushing strollers, playing soccer, or just lounging on the park benches. Not one soul is paying attention to me. I half expect to see Belmont somewhere out there.

On the table near the doorway, I find a note written on behalf of my mother. She had the refrigerator stocked with foods that I eat, but if she missed anything, then there’s a grocery store down the street. The housecleaners are scheduled to come every Tuesday and Friday. They have their own key.

I sigh as I look around the living room. The space is large and full of furniture. This is the first time I’ve been here, so I leave my bags by the door and take a self-guided tour. There are four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a gigantic chef’s kitchen, a great room, a den, two offices, and a dining room. There’s also an elevator that stops at all three levels, plus the terrace. The condo is larger and more modern than I expected. Their house in Pacific Palisades isn’t this big.

Gluttonous or not, I take the elevator to the third flood. The master bedroom has an infinity bathtub in the en suite bathroom, but I choose to sleep in one of the cozier guest rooms. My cell phone rings as I unpack my suitcase.
 

“Hi, Mom,” I say after looking at the name on the screen.

“What’s happening? Jack has been calling me all day. He wants the address to where you’re staying.”

“Did you give it to him?” I shimmy out of my dress. I forgot how sticky I get flying in the main cabin.
 

“No, but he was persistent. Did something else happen between you two?” she says in a trivializing tone.
 

“He’s seeing someone else.”
 

“Well, of course he is. Men are always the first to stick their dicks where they don’t belong.”
 

I sit on the foot of the bed and gaze out over the slit of Lake Michigan that’s visible through the window. “I asked him for a divorce. Mom, this place is huge. I thought this was a flat.”

“Then you’re fine.”

“Fine with what?”

“You’ve gone from telling me your husband is fucking another woman to complaining that our condo is huge.”

“It’s just not what I expected. I wanted something cozier. I’m tired of big houses. What happened to modesty?”
 

“Do you want me to give him the address or not?”
 

Apparently I’d hit a nerve. “Not.” I don’t sound certain.

“He’s going to find you sooner or later.”
 

“I know, but at least I’ll have some time before he does.”

“Time for what?”

“To get over him.”

I can picture Heloise rolling her eyes. She thinks Jack and I are just trying to keep things exciting between us. When I first told her we’d split, she rolled her eyes. She thinks we should get a divorce but remain lovers.
 

“While you’re getting over Jack, there’s food in the refrigerator and freezer. It’s what you like.”

“I got the note,” I say.
 

“One second,
ma fleur
. What do you want?” Her voice is muffled. “Daisy, I have to tend to this. Call me if you need me.”
 

“Okay,” I mutter, and we end our call.

I take a long, warm bath in the infinity tub and carry on practicing keeping Belmont out of my head. Instead, he becomes the faceless person in my memories.
 

I’m sitting at the table in a hotel bar. A man shows up. The energy flowing from him makes my heart flutter. I don’t picture his face, but must I? My back slips across the bed sheets, and the man on top of me makes me feel immense pleasure. Our tongues tango. They dance so well together. I touch myself. The water stirs around my hand as I stimulate myself. Only it’s not me who’s doing it. It’s...
 

I rush out of the tub, splashing and dripping suds all over the floor. What in the world is wrong with me? I miss Belmont, that’s what’s wrong with me. But things between us have gotten worse. He has physically connected with a woman he used to be in love with. That’s heartbreaking.
 

Tears glaze my eyes as I dry my skin, set the alarm on my phone, and crawl into bed. I curl up and stare at the flower pattern on the French chair. My cell phone chimes. I stretch my neck to see who’s calling. Finally, it’s Belmont. I want to answer, but I don’t. The ringtone stops, and I anticipate the next time it goes off. Thirty minutes later, it does, then again an hour after that. The final chime, which occurs after midnight, is like the end of a lullaby. If he’s calling me, then he’s not making love to her. I’m content enough to close my eyes and fall asleep.
 

The alarm chimes. I roll over to turn it off. It’s seven thirty a.m., and I’m scheduled to meet with Dexter and our team at nine. I rise and shine, preparing myself for the day. After fixing my hair in a bun, I take one final look at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt, a sleeveless tank, and my orange suede Cole Haan ankle boots.