Bed of Lies (13 page)

Evan stared at her, unsure of what to do. He started to reach for her, then felt himself being shoved aside. Agatha had swung open the sunroom door and rushed into the room. She wrapped her arms around her sobbing daughter.

“It's okay, honey,” she whispered into her ear, clutching her like she was an infant. “It's okay.”

Evan stared at the two women, feeling like his feet were rooted in place. Finally, he eased toward the sunroom door. They didn't seem to notice. Charisse continued to cry and Agatha continued to coo reassuring words into her ear. He stepped through the doorway and softly shut the door behind him, feeling as if a sledgehammer had just been dropped onto his head.

 

For the first time in a long time, Evan had no plans to go back to the office after a midday excursion. Work still awaited him on his laptop and his desk. He had a meeting scheduled with the company auditor that would have to be canceled. His mind was unfocused now, more riddled with holes than Swiss cheese. He would be useless back at the office.

After his meeting with Charisse, he stood outside Agatha McPhee's home under her portico, leaning against one of the Ionic-style columns, patiently waiting for Bill to return. He was too shaken even to make the phone call to tell Bill to come to get him earlier than planned. He finally walked toward the Town Car a little after two o'clock as Bill held the door open for him.

“I didn't know you had been waiting, sir.” Bill's easy smile faded as he looked at his boss more closely. “Is . . . is everything okay, Mr. Murdoch?”

“Everything is fine,” Evan lied before climbing inside.

He slumped into the leather car seat and stared at the car's ceiling, reflecting on everything Charisse had told him today.

He now saw her father's standoffishness toward him in a new light. Thomas McPhee hadn't been cold to Evan for years because he had thought he wasn't good enough for his daughter; it was because he had seen Evan as a competing lover. Just the thought made Evan feel nauseated. How had Charisse kept this secret for all these years? Why hadn't she told anyone? He tried to think back, to consider moments when he should have seen the signs that something was amiss between her and her father: a hand that lingered too long, a look that seemed far from fatherly, or Charisse flinching away from Tom's touch. But Evan could remember none of that. Their relationship had seemed normal; far from warm or loving, but considering his own family background and his relationship with his own father, it hadn't raised any alarm bells.

Worst of all, Evan felt guilt—crippling guilt. Charisse had suffered alone, unable to confess even to him—her husband—her shocking secret. He had been so cruel to her, so dismissive of her drunkenness and her behavior. He had never considered that she was self-medicating. He had never thought she was really hurting inside.

“That still isn't the reason your marriage fell apart,” the voice in his head insisted. “Her being abused had nothing to do with her coldness toward you or her cheating.”

But did it really? Was that true? If she hadn't endured those horrible things in the past, would their marriage have turned out better?

He arrived at the Murdoch Mansion thirty minutes later and went directly to his bedroom, barely acknowledging the greeting from his housekeeper or the questioning look Leila's mother gave him as he passed her in the corridor. When he entered his bedroom, he tiredly stripped off his jacket and tie, tossing both onto the bed. Just as he kicked off his shoes and was about to make his way to his walk-in closet, Leila stepped into the bedroom and stopped mid-stride, looking surprised.

“Oh,” she said, a smile brightening her face, “I didn't know you were home! What are you doing here so early?”

Leila was wearing a blouse and tweed skirt and clutching a large leather binder. He surmised she had probably just finished a meeting with one of her new clients.

Leila was putting her graphic arts training to good use and had recently started a custom wedding invitation and stationery boutique studio, working out of an office in the guest house. Though she no longer needed to work, Leila insisted she wanted to do something productive, to earn her own money.

“I can't just sit around on my hands all day,” she told him four months ago when she started the business. “I have to keep busy!”

Evan secretly suspected Leila didn't want to become a housewife again like she had been with her ex-husband. She didn't want to be financially dependent on Evan like she had been with Brad—and run the risk of having the rug pulled out from under her again.

Leila now walked toward him and lightly kissed him. He didn't return her kiss. Instead he stood immobile, like a statue.

She stepped back and stared up at him apprehensively. “What's wrong? Rough day?”

He nodded and slowly walked into his closet, turning on the overhead lights and revealing row upon row of suits, shoes, coats, and shirts. The cedar shelving seemed to tower above him, filling the space with its pungent though calming scent.

Leila tossed her binder onto the bed and followed him into his closet. She leaned against the doorframe. “What happened?” she asked softly. “Is something going on with Terry again?
Paulette?
”

He shook his head.

“There's not some big shake-up at Murdoch Conglomerated, is there?”

“No, nothing like that,” he mumbled, unbuttoning his shirt.

“So, tell me!” She stepped farther into the closet and wrapped her arms around him. “Tell me what's wrong, Ev. You're never home this early, and you look so down. This isn't like you.”

“I met . . .” He cleared his throat. “I met with Charisse today and . . . and she told me something I hadn't expected.”

Leila furrowed her brows. She took a step back, releasing him. “Wait! You went to see Charisse today? You mean Charisse,
your wife?
”

He nodded and watched as her facial expression changed. The brightness disappeared. Her eyes went flat. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You didn't tell me you were going to see her today.”

He took off his dress shirt, revealing the white tank top underneath. He tossed it into a nearby hamper. “I didn't know I had to tell you.”

“You went to see
your wife
and you didn't feel the need to tell your fiancée that?”

“You don't tell me every time you pick up the phone to talk to Brad, do you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She was getting pissed, but frankly so was he. Evan had come home to find solace, not to start another argument. He was too tired to argue.

“Look, Lee, it wasn't like I was taking her out for a romantic dinner, okay? I just went to see her because she wanted to talk. She's been sitting on our divorce papers, refusing to sign them because she said she needed to talk to me first. That's all! It's no big deal.”

Leila sucked her teeth and glared at him, as if silently saying, “
I'll be the judge of that
.” Evan ignored her and continued to undress, removing the belt from around his waist and walking to one of the drawers in a dresser positioned in the center of the closet.

“So what did she say?” Leila cocked an eyebrow. “Did she tell you she wanted to get back together?”

He suddenly whipped around from the drawer he had just opened and stared at her. “Why'd . . . why'd you ask me that?”

“I'm not an idiot, Ev. If she hasn't signed the divorce papers yet and she keeps putting it off, it's a pretty safe assumption that she's not ready to let you go. She still wants to keep her hooks in you.” She snorted. “She just can't let go of that Murdoch money, can she?”

“It's not like that! She has her own money. You know that.”

“Are you . . . are you actually
defending
her?”

“I'm not defending her!” he shouted, slamming the drawer shut, startling Leila. “I'm just saying she never—”

“That woman tortured you, Ev! You said yourself that she has total contempt for you. I saw myself how she treated you. She cheated on you with Dante, for God's sake—your own brother!”

“And I cheated on her with you! I'm no better than she is.”

The walk-in closet fell silent. Leila continued to stare at him in disbelief.

“Oh my God!” She lowered her arms to her sides. She slowly shook her head. “You're having second thoughts, aren't you?”

“What?
What the hell are you talking about?”

“I can see it in your eyes, Ev! You went to see Charisse and you didn't even tell me! You're defending her! Now you're claiming that you're no better than she is, which is just . . . just bullshit! You're thinking about going back to her, aren't you? Just say it!”

“Lee, you're being paranoid and delusional. You're reading shit into this that isn't there! Maybe it's your pregnancy hormones talking, because you're not making any sense!”

“I told you in the beginning that I won't go back to being anyone's mistress!” she shouted like she could no longer hear him.

“And I'm not asking you to!”

Her face contorted with pain. Her eyes began to redden, though she held back her tears. Her bottom lip began to quiver, so she tucked it into her mouth and bit down hard on the flesh. She stoically pushed back her shoulders. “If you want to leave, then
leave,
Ev. It doesn't matter that we're engaged or that I'm pregnant—”

“Lee, stop!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, something he had never done before, but he couldn't take this. This was his worst nightmare. “Just stop, all right? You're talking crazy!”

“I'm not talking crazy! If you want to get back with Charisse,” she continued, unable to hold back the tears any longer, “I won't hold you back! Then go, goddamnit! You don't have to—”

He kissed her, hoping that would smother her angry words, hoping that would quell her fury. He prepared himself for her to wrench her mouth from his. She would shove him away and indignantly storm out of their bedroom. But Leila didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same ferocity. They clung to each other, despite the anger, despite the tears. The kisses reminded them of why they were together. Not just because they loved each other—because Evan certainly loved Leila. He had since he was a boy who was too young to even articulate the emotions he felt whenever he was around her. Their fervent kisses also reminded them of the passion they shared, which was almost combustible.

Evan began to quickly undo the buttons of her blouse, popping off the bottom ones with a sharp tug when he became too impatient. She groped for his pants zipper. He shoved her skirt up her legs so that the tweed fabric was bunched at her waist.

Evan suddenly had the presence of mind to remember that both the closet door and the bedroom door were open. Leila's mother, or even Isabel, could walk into the room at any second and see them. He reached around Leila and slammed the closet door shut. He shifted them so that Leila's back was pressed firmly against the door and he was facing her. But with every step and every turn, his mouth did not leave hers.

He pushed her silk blouse from off her shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor. Rather than taking off her bra, he pulled down the straps and shoved the bra itself down to her waist, revealing her breasts. They were larger now due to the pregnancy—even the areolas. They were definitely more than a handful, and he loved it.

He caressed them, and she arched her back as they kissed, inviting his touch, pressing herself into his hands. He tugged at her panties and she took his cue—pushing them down her hips and knees and letting them slide to her ankles and fall at her feet. She kicked them aside and let them land somewhere unseen in his closet. He finished undoing his pants so that they pooled at his feet. His boxer-briefs soon followed and his erection pressed urgently against her thighs, begging to be let in.

Evan lifted one of her legs and she wrapped it around his waist. He hoisted her up a few more inches so that their torsos were level. He bore her weight as he braced her against the door for additional support. She wrapped her other leg around him, hooking her ankles together.

“Don't ever doubt that I love you,” he whispered into her ear before taking her mouth in another hungry kiss. He then entered her with one swift thrust.

“Evan! Oh God!” she shouted out against his lips as he thrust into her again and again, feeling her wet warmth around him. The closet filled with their moans and shouts.

A maid who had come into the room toting a vacuum and a duster was the only person who heard them. Her heart-shaped face flushed with heat and her brown eyes widened at the sound of the tortured groans coming from Mr. Murdoch's closet and the rhythmic
thud
against the closet door, like someone was taking a battering ram to it. The maid immediately rushed out of the room, back into the west wing's corridor, almost tripping on the vacuum's electrical cord as she fled.

Twenty minutes later, both Evan and Leila sat mostly naked on the closet's carpeted floor, satiated and worn out. Leila rested her sweaty brow on Evan's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, tiredly closing her eyes. “I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't have doubted you. You didn't deserve that.”

Evan reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it. “And I should have told you that I was going to see Charisse today. I wasn't trying to keep it a secret. I just didn't . . . well, I just didn't think.”

She opened her eyes and let her head rest back against the door. “Maybe it is the hormones from the pregnancy. I've been so . . . so emotional lately. But it's hard, Ev. All this stuff is really hard. I was hoping you'd be divorced in a couple of months and we could finally get married, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. Charisse is going to drag this out. Now we'll have to postpone the wedding. Instead of your wife, I'll just be some rich guy's mistress
slash
baby mama.”