The Billionaire's Wife

THE BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE (PART THREE) | Ava Claire | Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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A
ll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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T
he Billionaire’s Wife Series

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part One): November 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Two): December 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Three): January 2015

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Four): February 2015

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N
ote: The Billionaire’s Wife series is a spin off from the His Submissive series.

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E
-book License Edition Notes

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T
he truth about Cole hung in the air. Choking the conversation.

He killed his parents.

Everything he told us was a lie.

I didn't realize I was trembling until I brought my hand to my mouth, covering it in horror as my mind processed the information. To think I thought the biggest problem was the time lost, the memories they never got to make. The bitter childhood Jacob had. The only thing that brought me comfort was that Jacob had his grandparents. And Allegra.

And now he had me—and I thought he had Cole. A brother who lived a totally different life. A life filled with love and laughter and family. But they were both broken. Both suffering.

And now they both had nothing but lies and the cruel reality of the truth.

"Jacob." His name escaped between my fingers. Muffled. A broken hearted plea when I turned to him. But he was stoic. Unmoving. Like some perfect figure in a wax museum. I flicked my eyes over to Alicia, who wasn't moving, not breathing either. The Whitmore exhibit, where nothing was as it seemed. The story of a family so lost that I doubted they could ever find their way to anything good and happy.

But that thought was dashed as soon as I had it.

Not Jacob.

We were good.

We were happy.

And we would get through this.

I reached for him. "Babe, I'm so-"

"Don't." He came to life. The blue in his eyes was like ice. Jagged. Cold. Dangerous.

I pulled my hand back, making a fist in my lap. I dug my nails deep into my palm. I knew my first reaction was to take offense, but that would do no one any good. He had the right to be angry. To withdraw. Right now, it wasn't about me and my need to fix this. My need to make sure he was okay. He wasn't. Not by a long shot.

He pushed away from the table, the screech flooding the room. He buttoned his jacket, smoothed his tie, and left the room without another word.

It was just me, Alicia, and the nameless servant who stopped smiling around the moment Alicia started yelling.

I swiped my wine glass and chugged the ruby red liquid, not caring that it dribbled down my chin. When I finished the woman moved to refill my glass, to do something, but Alicia snapped her fingers and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"My guest doesn't need a refill, because this farce of a dinner is over." Alicia tossed her attention in the servant's direction, slipping back into the roll of the lady of the manor. Her face was scrubbed of any indication that she’d shown signs of being human. "Please show Leila out and-"

"I'm not going anywhere," I growled. I glared at the women, who in turn looked at Alicia helplessly.

Alicia sighed and waved the woman away. She fled the room instantly like she'd just been given a pardon. Poor lady. I could only imagine what it was like to work for Alicia Whitmore, then to watch the unraveling. We had definitely put any assumptions that money equals happiness to bed. This room alone was filled with enough silver and gold and artwork to pay several people’s mortgages—and it didn't take a shrink to see that Alicia was far from happy. And Jacob...

"You have fucked up," I said finally. I massaged my temple, trying to come to terms with the fact that I was probably wasting my breath, yet unable to stop trying. I'd never stop trying to break through to Alicia. For Jacob. "Do you even get that? Can you wrap your mind around what you've done?"

Alicia stared straight ahead. Unblinking. Unaffected. "I will not be lectured by you." She took a sip so small that it was impossible she tasted anything at all. It was just a show. A way to make me understand just how little I meant to her. "You don't know my story-"

“Chandeliers. Servants. Caviar. White linen tablecloths. Dishes I probably can’t pronounce...is that you? Is that your story? Wealth and bitterness?”

I snapped to my feet and finally saw a flash of emotion in Alicia’s eyes: relief. When she figured out that I wasn’t leaving and was just moving closer, she let out an agitated sigh. I didn’t let it deter me. I wanted a reaction. I wanted something other than the surface bullshit. I wanted, needed there to be more to Alicia Whitmore than met the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. I will be a thorn in your side until you tell me what happened to you.”

She slid a couple of inches away, red sparking her fair cheeks. “Does the concept of personal space confound you, Leila?”

“I’ll sit in your lap if it means I get the truth.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “You wouldn’t.”

I didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

“What do you want to hear?” She tossed her napkin on the table. “That I’m a terrible person? A terrible mother?”

“Oh, that’s obvious,” I said matter-of-factly. But there was more to the story. I didn’t know if it was because we were so close that I could make out every twitch and tell-tale sign that she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed or if I was genuinely breaking through the Whitmore wall. It didn’t matter. It was time for something real. “I’m interested in what happened to you that created the woman in front of me.”

She tilted her head to the side, her salt and pepper hair catching the light. The gray sparkled like diamonds, but her eyes were a different kind of gray. Muted. Dull. Like ash, after the fire’s burnt out and there’s nothing left. “You want to hear my life story? What are you expecting? Some tale of woe? A cold, empty mansion? A mother who treated me like her perfect china doll and whenever I dared to step out of line, shattered me? A father who was always off on business, even if he was right in front of me? Would that satisfy you?”

“The truth would satisfy me.”

“Even a lie can be truth.” Alicia pulled her wine glass back to her lips. This time, she didn’t wet her tongue. She poured it down her throat. When she was done, she put the glass down and locked her eyes on me. “I don’t like you.”

“Well, duh, but-”

“I don’t like you because I see myself in you.” Her eyes washed over my face, amused at the shock that drained all color from it. “Hard to fathom, I know, but once upon a time, I was asking the servants for their names too.

I knew I was lucky and despite my mother’s attempts, I was aware there were people with a lot less. I was sixteen when I found out that one of the maid’s was pregnant with no help from family or the baby’s father. I went to my parents, determined to do something.” Alicia’s voice tightened. “I was so foolish. I can still hear my mother’s laughter. The way she clutched her sides.” Her eyes turned to stone, but I could see the pain etched in the rock. Time may have weathered it, but the marks were still there. “‘Alicia, don’t you know we’re already taking care of countless illegitimate babies?’ She said that the maid had resources and when I tried to appeal to her, as a mother, she slapped me across the face and told me that no one forced her to spread her legs.”

I never thought I’d feel anything resembling pity for Alicia, but my heart ached in my chest. It took too much to say the words, but I pried them free. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she scoffed dismissively. “My mother was trying to prepare me for the real world. And there’s a natural order to that world.”

Jesus. That moment of sympathy was short lived. “I get it. Now you’re your mother. But what happened to the maid? What happened to you?”

“The maid was let go.” Alicia answered crisply. “And as for me, nothing happened to me. You can fight who you are—tooth and nail, miserable, bloodied, and alone—or you can stop swimming against the current.”

I looked down at my hands, balled so tight in my lap that I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. But I just saw my bleached white knuckles. White, blank, nothingness. It was like Alicia had some internal switch and decided to flip it to save herself. But she didn’t save herself at all. She was doomed. She missed out on love and now she was losing her son. Both her sons. And there was no way to breakthrough and make her understand.

I pushed away from the table, just wanting out. Not wanting to waste another iota of energy, but she reached out and gripped my arm.

My mouth fell open, eyes dropping to her hand.

She snatched back like she surprised herself. “About Cole—I wanted to keep him. He was a part of me. There’s not a moment that I don’t regret giving him away. But I had to make a hard choice. And I...”

She trailed off and I expected her to say that she chose her husband. Her unhealthy, deeply unhappy marriage to a man who was only alive when he put an ocean between them.

“I chose myself,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to live without Carlton. I didn’t want to be alone,” she finished.

She let out a bitter chuckle. I wondered if it was the same brutal chuckle her mother had uttered when her daughter try to do something good. Something kind.

“I did Cole a favor by not knowing me,” she said solemnly. “Just ask Jacob.”

“If you truly believe that, then you’re a damn fool.” Jacob’s voice boomed from the doorway.

Alicia and I both whipped toward his voice, but he ignored her completely. She didn’t exist. I hated that I felt sorry for her in that moment. Now that I had pieces of what made her tick, I knew that she hoped Jacob would see past it all and love her anyway.

Alicia released a resigned sigh that followed me as I walked away. I left her story at the table. My story wasn’t done, and the hero of mine needed me.

I took his hand. “Let’s go home.”

When we stepped in the hall i tightened my grip on Jacob's hand. "About Cole-"

"Not here," he seethed. Even in motion I could see the nerve ticking in his temple, the muscles locked and ready like he was about to step in the ring. I realized if I wasn't gripping his hand we wouldn't be holding hands at all.

Once we were outside, I let go. He didn't even notice, blazing to the car.

"Jacob."

He came to a halt, but he did nothing more. Didn't turn. Didn't say a word.

"I'm so s-"

"Don't say that word." His words dripped like acid. Burning my ears. Burning holes into my heart. "Save your apologies for things that matter."

I stormed to him, gripping his lapel with both hands. "Don't do that. This matters, Jacob."

His eyes tore into me. Not with anger. Not with disgust, or annoyance. He looked at me with eyes filled with gut wrenching sorrow. Like someone who got a taste of something they never knew they wanted and had it snatched away before they could really dig in. Like any semblance of hope, or happiness, had gone out of his world.

He looked like someone had destroyed him.

I cradled his face in my hands. I wanted to take away all his pain. I wanted to fix this. But there was no remedy, no words or actions that could make this okay.

His bright eyes lingered on mine, the scowl on his lips faltering. The voice that came out was solemn. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Even though my heart felt so heavy that I thought it would fall out of my chest and I knew the only way over this was through it, I respected his wishes. I held his hand in silence the whole way home, my fingertips stroking his and telling him that when he was ready to face the fallout, I’d be right beside him.

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T
he Dolores Brightman Gallery was a place one went to be seen.

For all intent and purposes, it was a premier destination for artists who craved a more intimate experience. Originally it was used as a studio space in the exclusive Hayward neighborhood where the rent was ridiculously exorbitant considering its size—but brushing shoulders with celebrities, trust fund babies, and co-eds majoring in hipster came with a hefty price tag.