Show and Tell (6 page)
He nodded.
Trinity stared at him. Her heart beat faster, and the blood rushed in her ears, the sound like a million ants going to town on a picnic table. Her breath felt harsh, like the first time she’d smoked a cigarette when she was thirteen and knew she was never going to smoke another.
She remembered a time with Faith when she’d claimed Daddy could do a background check on Harper
if
she decided to marry him. She’d never given her father the chance, and now she didn’t want to know what was in the report. She’d already seen enough.
if
she decided to marry him. She’d never given her father the chance, and now she didn’t want to know what was in the report. She’d already seen enough.
Her father didn’t let her say no. “He’s a liar and possibly an embezzler. ” His lip curled as he spoke. “That so-called business deal is a fabrication, and the last deal he was involved with, a quarter of a million dollars disappeared. They couldn’t prove how he stole it, but”—Daddy shrugged—“you’re well rid of him. I’m so glad you’ve seen the light.”
Thank God he didn’t ask how she’d come to see the light on her own. What he’d revealed about Harper was humiliation enough. It was obvious she’d been married for her money.
She toyed with a tiny prick in the leather arm of her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me this right after I married him?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“I might have.”
“Then you’d have hated me for telling you. And I’d already lost Lance.”
Lance. Her brother. Another reason Trinity hated to add to her father’s burdens right now. Lance had never forgiven Daddy for “selling out” to Castle. Daddy had never forgiven Lance for his lies. There was more to the story, a lot more, but Trinity and her father never talked about it. She’d learned the details from Faith. She hated the rift between them, hated not knowing how to fix it, but Lance had broken Daddy’s heart, and her father had gone so far as to forbid Trinity to speak her brother’s name in front of him. Now, it seemed, Daddy had feared
she’d
break his heart if he’d told her the truth about Harper.
she’d
break his heart if he’d told her the truth about Harper.
Still. “I had a right to know.”
He stroked his double chin. He’d lost so much weight that the flesh hung loosely. “Maybe. Then again, just because he’d screwed up in the past, didn’t mean he’d make you a bad husband. I didn’t think it fair to judge the boy before giving him a chance.” He ran a fingernail along the edge of the blue manila.
Trinity wondered why he hadn’t given Lance the same kind of second chance, though she didn’t dare ask the question. “But you kept on checking up on Harper.”
“I wanted to make sure you were adequately protected.” Daddy shrugged tired shoulders. “Just in case.”
“That’s why you put the condo in your name.”
"Yes.”
It wasn’t only Harper. Daddy didn’t trust her, either. She had to grant he was right. She’d demonstrated appallingly poor judgment. And she felt like a gullible fool. Harper had probably seen her as a ditzy blond heiress he could bamboozle, and he’d been right. She remembered the first day she’d met him at her salon. She’d been having her nails done, and he’d claimed he’d gotten the time of his appointment mixed up with hers.
She should have known any man having his nails done in the middle of the day was suspect.
Her father pushed the folder halfway across the desk. “Do you want to read it?”
Would it mention Harper’s cheating? She didn’t want to know if last night was the first time or if it had been going on their entire marriage. All those months ago, Faith had been right when she claimed she didn’t want to know if Connor was cheating on her. She wanted to believe in him. She’d made the right choice.
Trinity would have chosen the same. If her father had given her the folder six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed. She might even have resented Daddy. She certainly would have given Harper a chance to prove the background check wrong.
But there were no second chances now. Her husband had brought that woman into their home. He’d made love to her in their shower. He’d called her
baby
.
baby
.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get one thin dime, sweetie.”
Not even a thick one. “Thank you, Daddy.”
She was free. Her marriage could be swept under the rug as if it had never happened. As if she’d never made a bad choice. She could go back to being . . . what, Daddy’s little girl?
“Don’t think about him another second. He isn’t worth it.”
No. He wasn’t. But how much was
she
worth now?
she
worth now?
Will the real Trinity Green please stand up?
She didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She certainly couldn’t go back to her lackadaisical debutante days.
She thought of Scott Sinclair’s card still in her purse. He wasn’t an answer, either.
She needed to do something big. She needed purpose.
“Daddy, have you got a job opening I can fill?”
“SO I want to say I’m sorry for running out early from your baby shower, but my headache is totally gone. Completely.”
At least it would be as soon as Trinity had the divorce papers. Daddy’s lawyer had started drawing them up right after she talked to her father this afternoon. It did have the flavor of her being a little girl who needed to be taken care of instead of a grown woman who could take care of herself. But Daddy had the contacts. It made sense to let his people handle it. This would be the last time, though. Starting next Monday, a week away, she’d have a job. She’d do everything for herself. She’d make her father proud of her.
“Don’t be silly, Trin.” Faith closed the blinds over her big kitchen window, shutting out the late-January night, then reached for the boiling kettle. “You don’t need to apologize for having a headache.” She poured three cups of tea. “Josie, I forget, do you like sugar and milk?”
Josie was Faith’s cousin, second or third or something. A year or so younger than Faith, they’d never been close until she got married. They were as different as night and day, too. Faith was on the short side with gorgeous hair the perfect shade of red, while Josie was at least as tall as Trinity, with dark brown hair cut fairly short, though in the last couple of months she’d been letting it grow a bit. Faith had been Trinity’s best friend almost their whole lives, most especially since they were in the seventh grade. Josie was a new friend, but fast becoming a close one. She was funny and cool and easy to be around. She never got worked up, or at least it took a lot to get her miffed. Being around Faith and Josie was . . . relaxing. Although today, with what Trinity had to reveal, it might not be so restful.
“Can I have a soda?” Josie made a face. “You know, I never told you I hate tea.”
“Gosh, I have water, milk, or juice. That’s it.” Faith had stopped drinking soda almost right after she got pregnant. She didn’t want the baby hooked on sugar in the womb.
Josie chose milk, and they all settled around Faith’s kitchen table. Three months ago Faith and Connor had moved into the cutest house in a nice suburb not too far from the private school they’d already picked out. The large kitchen was attached to a great room in an
L
-shape, and beyond the back patio was a good-sized yard with grass, a sandbox, and a swing set. Four bedrooms for more children, too. Faith wanted a big family. And Connor, well, talk about a proud papa, Connor Kingston took the prize. Funny, Trinity never would have thought it of him.
L
-shape, and beyond the back patio was a good-sized yard with grass, a sandbox, and a swing set. Four bedrooms for more children, too. Faith wanted a big family. And Connor, well, talk about a proud papa, Connor Kingston took the prize. Funny, Trinity never would have thought it of him.
Speaking of which. “Where’s Connor anyway?”
Faith stirred her tea and got that dreamy, goofy smile she always had for the man. “He’s working late.”
Trinity’s heart lurched. Faith had no doubt her husband was working late rather than playing hanky-panky. Trinity didn’t doubt it, either. When they’d first gotten married, Trinity had some misgivings, but she’d learned pretty quickly that Connor wasn’t a cheat and liar.
Connor was nothing like Harper Harrington the Third. The third what, she wondered. The third asshole in his family? Or was it the terrible triad—cheat, liar, and embezzler? God.
“I’m getting a divorce.”
Faith gagged on her cookie, and Josie almost snorted her milk out her nose.
“Oh man.” Josie made another face, this one suggesting disgust. “Men are dickheads. You’re better off without him.”
Had Josie had a bad experience, or was she commiserating? Whatever the reason, Trinity appreciated the support.
“Why?” Faith asked.
Trinity felt a knife right through her chest. “He cheated.”
“Well, that sucks the big one.” Josie slapped her milk glass down in punctuation.
Faith put her hand over Trinity’s. “Oh Trin, I’m so sorry.”
That was the thing about Faith and Josie. They didn’t ask for dirty details they could spread around the country club. Whatever she said would stay at this table. She’d even get a little sympathy, too. “I found him in the shower doing some floozy, but I’m so over it now. It doesn’t hurt a bit.”
She’d convinced herself it didn’t. Honest.
“When did this happen?” Josie wanted to know.
“Last night.”
“And you’re
so
over it?” Josie scoffed, yet not in a bitchy I’m-getting-a-kick-out-of-your-misery way.
so
over it?” Josie scoffed, yet not in a bitchy I’m-getting-a-kick-out-of-your-misery way.
Trinity toyed with her mug. She wasn’t fond of tea, either. Then she sighed. “There’s nothing to be done. I can’t go back and change it, and I’m not going to forgive him.” She twisted her hands and looked at Faith. “I mean,
should
I forgive him?”
should
I forgive him?”
“Do you think it was a onetime thing, and he’s sorry and it’ll never happen again?”
It wasn’t that he’d called the woman
baby
. It was the
way
he said it. As if he’d always used the word for her alone. The fact that Trinity could still hear the endearment ringing in her ears cut deep enough to draw blood. “I don’t think this was the first time,” she whispered. “I don’t think he’ll stop even if he says he’s going to.”
baby
. It was the
way
he said it. As if he’d always used the word for her alone. The fact that Trinity could still hear the endearment ringing in her ears cut deep enough to draw blood. “I don’t think this was the first time,” she whispered. “I don’t think he’ll stop even if he says he’s going to.”
“Oh, Trin.” Faith gave her hand a heartfelt squeeze.
“I
am
going to be over it,
so
over it.”
am
going to be over it,
so
over it.”
“I’m still not sure why you married him.” Faith didn’t phrase it as a question. Which was good, because Trinity didn’t have an answer.
Had
she loved him? She’d convinced herself she did. But if she had, why wasn’t she
completely
devastated? She was angry more than anything else. It hurt that he’d chosen someone over her, that he’d used her house for his assignation, that he’d probably married her for nothing more than her money.
she loved him? She’d convinced herself she did. But if she had, why wasn’t she
completely
devastated? She was angry more than anything else. It hurt that he’d chosen someone over her, that he’d used her house for his assignation, that he’d probably married her for nothing more than her money.
But she couldn’t say she hurt because
he
was gone. God, she was a shallow person. She didn’t say that aloud. Faith would tell her she wasn’t, yet Trinity had to admit, if to no one else, that she lived on surface emotions. She wasn’t a deep thinker. She didn’t like self-analysis, in general, though she’d been doing exactly that last night . . . among other things. The memory of Scott Sinclair watching her almost made her blush. Almost.
he
was gone. God, she was a shallow person. She didn’t say that aloud. Faith would tell her she wasn’t, yet Trinity had to admit, if to no one else, that she lived on surface emotions. She wasn’t a deep thinker. She didn’t like self-analysis, in general, though she’d been doing exactly that last night . . . among other things. The memory of Scott Sinclair watching her almost made her blush. Almost.
“Now that I look back on it, I’m not sure why I married Harper, either,” she said, because it was the least innocuous and invited the fewest questions.
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