Love Is Louder (39 page)

“You haven’t been entirely yourself lately. You used to tell me everything. It’s not good to keep things bottled up inside.”

I am lost, trapped in my head for a moment that drags.

“Right now, I just want James and me to…see if we can work through whatever it is,” I say, trying to sound positive.

“I totally understand, hon. I will be better at restraining myself. It’s just after seeing Lisa I felt…I don’t know. Didn’t you feel weird about it?”

A dull niggle pinches my heart. I did, but what can I do about it? It’s just me being insecure, but does it mean something more that Ava sensed something? I saw how Lisa was looking at James, but not once did I see James eyeing her. Attraction can be one sided, but Lisa is gorgeous, and the idea of her working with James so closely everyday twists my belly into a tight knot. I think about it until the images blur and swirl into a ball of blackness. I shake it all away.

“I can’t be in this house alone,” I murmur, dropping my eyes to my hands, wishing I had stayed at the office or went to yoga class. I unlock the front door, remove my sunglasses, and throw my things onto the sofa. Moving through the shadows of the house, I stalk directly to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.

“Is James working late again?”

“Yes, a new custody case, I guess.” I breathe with difficulty, taking a sip of wine as I slip off my heels and turn on the radio.

“You believe him? Trust him?”

Carrying my wine, I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable and possibly take a quick nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.

“He’s the DA. He has a heavy workload and so much to prove,” I answer, using his reasons from our arguments over the last couple of weeks. Look at me, being the accommodating wife. Like always.

“Have you ever been to his office?”

I shake my head at what she’s insinuating. I know the scenarios rolling around in her head. Big private office, large desk, comfy leather chair, and dark blinds. Ava watches too much television.
Revenge
and
Scandal
have always been her guilty pleasures.

“My life is not one of your soap operas or TV dramas.”

“Come on, Brie! Where do you think they get their ideas from?” She chuckles. “Real life shit.”

I don’t have to go to his office; isn’t it all out in the open for everyone to see?

“I’m busy in the studio. You know that. I don’t have time to babysit or spy on my husband,” I counter, frowning at the pile of laundry strewn all over the bed. I usually stay on top of things, but with work, some things have fallen to the wayside.

“
Can I call you back? I need to pick up around here. It’s chaos. It feels like James doesn’t live here anymore.” I laugh as I start to pick up and fold his clothes.

“Fine. Don’t work too hard. Let me know if you need some company later.”

“No date tonight?” I ask, trying to lighten my mood. Listening to Ava’s latest dating escapades usually works.

“Possibly. If you don’t call me, I can always put together something at the last minute and swing by the bar for a drink alone. You know me.”

“That I do. Keep me posted, girl.”

“I will.”

I hang up with Ava, and for the next twenty minutes, I organize James’ clothes and hang his dry cleaning in his walk-in closet. I’ve only been in here a handful of times since we moved in. Like James, everything is organized logically and precisely. Shirts and jackets on top with slacks and jeans on the bottom. His expensive black leather Italian shoes are neatly aligned with the toes edging out from underneath like an army of ants. But, it’s not my husband’s organizing skills, clothes, or his shoes that hold my attention anymore. Nope. My eyes catch on the unlocked black metal security box peeking out from underneath his gym bag.

This is so unlike him to forget, but he has been under an enormous amount of stress at work. With everything going on, I can’t help myself and yank the box out from its hiding place.

Was he hiding it? Or is this my overactive imagination?

Swallowing back the anxiety that’s quickly rising in my throat, I sit crossed-legged on the floor and open the box. I feel like shit going through my husband’s things and guilty because a little part of me doesn’t trust him, but it doesn’t squelch my burning curiosity.

I thumb through bank statements with numerous withdrawals of cash from a closed bank account, expired insurance policies, and his birth certificate. Nothing suspicious or deceitful. As I get closer to the bottom, I come across a yellow manila envelope the size of a paperback with
Pics
written across the front in James’ familiar sharp scroll. Inside, after I suffer a paper cut in my haste to open it, I find photos—photos I threw away and photos I took before we were married of the woman I saw him around town with every time we came to visit his family. My breath catches, my heart seizes, my hands tremble, and my eyes begin to blur.

In each photo, I marked her face, scratched it, and defaced it somehow. I hated her, and I never met her, and that hate still echoes loudly in my chest, along with shock and confusion at finding the pictures. She may be a wonderful person, but I will never know because I haven’t seen her since right before James and I exchanged our wedding vows.

James is smiling, touching her hand, and hugging her in several of the pictures. I had caught him just like I had caught him with Lisa. Under different circumstances, these pictures look like a couple in love, almost like engagement photos that I’ve taken in the past for clients. She’s not showing in this picture, but I can tell by the way she holds her hand over her stomach that she’s pregnant. There’s intensity in James’ eyes and gentleness in the way his hand rests on her forearm. My stomach burns. I want to take a match to every photo, but I can’t have James knowing I’ve been meddling around.

Why didn’t he tell me he had salvaged these pictures or ask why I took them? Was it to avoid a confrontation? No talking. We never talk. I don’t talk.

I’m so done. Every second that passes makes the dark pit in my gut grow larger. I feel nothing, my heart a tangled, mangled pulp of pain. I look down at the photos again, and all I see is another lie from my husband.

How many are there
?

Anger and hurt leap off my skin like fire licking at the last of my resolve, but I continue to look for more. Underneath my revealing photos are several yellowed newspaper articles about the hit-and-run case four years ago. No leads and no suspects. The case went cold.

Why would he have these?
I flip through several more dog-eared articles, and then my eyes pass over the picture of Mason and his family at her funeral, one of the baby in the NICU, and then the victim.

I slide my finger over the crinkled newsprint. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I stare at the picture in my white knuckled grip until it blurs in a deluge of uninvited tears. I swipe violently, pulling at the delicate skin around my eyes.

Hands shaking. Heart pounding in my chest. This is all surreal. The familiar eyes, the same blonde hair, and the pouty lips. Mason’s sister is the one I was obsessing over. Meadow was the mystery woman James was meeting.

How come I didn’t see it? How could I have known?

I force myself to read on.

Meadow Marks, the victim, died at the hospital, and the baby survived. A little girl weighing barely three pounds was delivered by Caesarean section. The doctors tried everything to save the mother, but she lost too much blood. James never introduced me to her, but she was someone he could not seem to shake for some reason. He needed to see her; he needed to stay in touch. James asked me if I remembered anything four years ago. Why don’t I? I’ve been going around in circles, letting my thoughts tangle and falter.

Does Mason know about James? Is this the reason there’s this tension between them?

Anger and confusion shift slowly to calm, a calm before the storm. A storm that I know will undeniably hit.

I replace everything as it was while my mind runs down numerous eddies, weighing my options as I pace back and forth, threading my fingers through my unruly hair. James cannot know I found these hidden items, not until I decide to confront him, and this time it will happen. As I close the lock box and replace it in its original spot, I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to pay my husband a visit at his office.

A surprise rendezvous.

I’m opening the cage to free the bird trapped inside, like I should have done a long time ago.

I jump into the shower, making sure I use everything that James desires down to the Satsuma scented perfume. I want to be everything he wants; I want to fulfill his every dream, as well as fulfilling mine, and I’ll do everything in my power to achieve it. Feeling devious and sexy, I accentuate my eyes with liquid eyeliner, making sure to pull slightly at the corners to give a cat-eye effect. James loves this look.

I’d do anything for him.

That has been my mantra since we’ve been together. So this is for me, for both of us. I want him to see what he’s neglecting and what he has.

I add some mascara to my long lashes with a slight bit of blush to my cheeks and opt for a bright red lip over my usual pale pink shade. Every garment I select from my closet is black—strapless bra, matching garter, a sexy strapless dress, and peep-toe heels. He won’t be able to resist me. I leave my hair down in long, loose waves and throw on some gold hoop earrings and a gold necklace with a diamond eternity pendant that James bought me for our first anniversary.

Eternity. Infinity. Forever.

I can’t help but laugh.

What a sham, a joke, a delusional thought.

Before I head downstairs to leave, I snatch my phone and text Ava, who’s part of the inspiration to my latest plans. I want to give her credit where credit is due for planting the seed in my brain.

Me: I’m taking your advice.

Ava: Which one? You know I have so many amazing ideas I can’t keep track.

Me: I’m going to visit James at his office.

Ava: Yeah...tell me more. I can give you some pointers. Lead you in the right direction.

Me: Sexy...I’m going to surprise him. Take his mind off all these cases.

Ava: Getting a little risqué. I like.

Me: Spice it up a bit. Talk later.

I send my last text and mute my phone. My stomach is churning, and my heart is ready to burst as I grab my keys and purse and head out. A gut feeling tells me this is going to be an unforgettable night.

It’s after eight, and the sun has finally vanished into the horizon when I pull up to the modern glass structure that is the town hall. I peer up to the seventh floor where James’ office is located. I maneuver the car around back into the lower parking garage, kill the engine, check my reflection in the mirror, and reapply my lipstick. I spot James’ Range Rover right next to the elevator in the reserved spot about twenty feet away from me.

The elevator door slides open. I slip down into the warm leather seat and watch as several of James’ colleagues exit, talking about where to go out for drinks. When everyone is gone, I exit my car and head to the elevator and climb to the first floor lobby.

I sign in at the security desk, tell them who I am, and flash them my driver’s license. My heels clink against the marble floors as I make my way to the bank of elevators that will take me to the offices. My pulse pounds in my ears as my finger hovers over the
Up
button, and the chilled lobby air attacks my skin, causing goose bumps to rise.

Closing my eyes, I fight the urge to go home, turn a blind eye, and wait for him to come home. I came here to surprise my husband and to add some spice into our lives that seems to have taken a backseat to his job. I hit the button, and the elevator doors slide open. There’s no turning back.

Nothing is going on, Brie. Stop being so negative. That is what Natalie used to tell you. Rainbows and butterflies. Rainbows and butterflies.

I slip inside. The finger of my right hand lingers over the number seven button. The glow from the keys leaps to my fingertips when I press it and slowly glide to the seventh floor. As the doors open, a cleaning lady pushing a cart walks by and smiles before disappearing into the ladies’ bathroom. I walk slowly and quietly down the hallway, passing office after office until I get to his, which is at the end of the corridor.

I smile, adjust my skimpy dress, and smooth my hair before I push open the door.

“James?”

There’s the sound of rustling of papers and a door closing.

“Brie?” His voice is tense and low.

I slip inside the office, which is barely lit by a desk lamp that casts ghostly shadows across the room. James is seated at his desk behind a pile of papers with an empty bottle of wine and two glasses. His tie is off, and his shirt is in disarray, like he just put it back on. My heart starts to beat furiously as I lift my eyes from the bottle to his eyes.

Awkward silence. I shift in my heels, trying to hold his eyes. He stiffens before he speaks.

“What are you doing here?” His usual steely resolve is replaced by unsure panic.