Dangerously in Love (8 page)

“This mattress sucks,” Hill complained.

“I can get a new one. This was one we had stored in the basement.”

She admired his hard glistening body when he rolled over, flaccid, sweaty, and smiling after yet another rigorous romp in the bungalow.

“Mm. You’re salty,” Caitlin said, embracing Hill from behind, kissing his strong back. “Adam will be home today. He asked me to schedule a driver for this afternoon.”

Hill turned over and kissed her forehead. He appreciated the disappointment in her voice when she told him that Adam would be home.

“Sometimes, I wish he were dead,” she said as she looked away, her cheeks reddening.

“You don’t mean that,” Hill consoled. He took her into his arms, and their naked, sweat-slick bodies pressed together. He caressed the length of her hair, then cupped her face, kissing her lips tenderly.

Caitlin got up and brewed coffee in the small coffeemaker. While she did so, she made small talk about Adam and his assets and all that he had. She told Hill about how he had planned to leave everything to charity until he had met her. When the coffee finished brewing, she poured it into a mug and handed it to Hill.

“How do you know that,” Hill asked.

“He showed it to me once. I guess he was trying to impress me or something,” Caitlin explained.

“So if you divorce him, you get virtually nothing. But if he dies, you get everything?”

“I’m scared, Hill.”

“Of what?”

“Of this talk—talking about it can make things happen.”

“Talk about what?”

“Adam dying.”

“Who’s talking about Adam dying? Is he sick?”

“No,” she responded.

“Is he old or diseased?”

“No,” she said impatiently.

“Then what are you worried about? Adam isn’t going to die. The most that will happen is you’ll divorce him.”

“He’d never let me. He’d kill me first. He told me so.”

He pulled Caitlin into a hug and caressed her hair. “Nothing is going to happen to us. Nothing is going to happen to Adam. We’ll just have to figure things out as we go along. Okay?”

“We could kill him,” she said.

Hill laughed hysterically. “Ah, there’s my comedian.” He kissed her forehead.

“I’m not joking, Hill.”

He froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I know how we can do it, too.”

Hill was silent, still staring at her in astonishment.

“
A Perfect Murder
,” she said.

“The movie? You’re using a movie as a blueprint to kill your husband? Have you lost your mind, Cate?” He shook his head. “I’m not killing anybody. I’m
not
a murderer.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“
You’ll
do it? You’re not a murderer, either. Stop the crazy talk, darlin’.”

She looked away. “You’re right, Hill. I’m talking crazy. It makes me crazy when I can’t be with you. I need you. I want you. I love you, Hill.”

He hugged her and sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you belonging to someone else, either. You’re Adam’s wife, and I don’t like knowing that he’s fucking you. And I sure as hell don’t want to keep hiding and running from him like a little pussy.”

“I’m sorry, Hill, that I put you through this.”

He stared into her tearful eyes. “I don’t care if you won’t have a penny of his money. But you do. That’s very clear to me now.”

“I just want us to be happy.”

“I
am
happy. I’m happy when I’m with you, darlin’. And I’m even happier when you’re not talking crazy like this. We’ll work on getting you a divorce, and we’ll go from there. Okay?”

She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He did the same, though he was uncomfortable with the exchange they’d just had.

“Hill?”

His gaze met with hers. “Yes?”

“I bought a new toy I’ve been saving just for this moment. Wanna try it now before you have to leave?” She held up the gadget.

He loved her accent. It made everything she said sound sexy. “Okay. How does it work?”

***

On his drive home, Hill reflected on the past several weeks that he’d spent with Caitlin. He had pressed her a few times about divorcing Adam, but she insisted that she couldn’t, that there’d be dire consequences if she did. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure the relationship the way that it was—Caitlin married to Adam, and Hill getting the leftovers. Yet he wasn’t ready to walk away from her. His feelings had grown too much at this point. But he knew that there was definitely a hard line drawn in the sand that he refused to cross. Still, he smiled as he recalled that little gadget she had used. He’d never felt anything like that before.

His phone chimed, jolting him out of his reverie. When Hill answered, his father was gagging and coughing. The judge sounded terrible.

“Dad, are you okay?”

“Counselor,” the judge perked up. “So good to finally reach you, son.” He coughed some more.

“Dad, you sound really bad. I’m on my way over there,” Hill said.

“No need, son. I’m okay. Just a little bout of allergies,” he said between coughs.

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Hill. I’m in Springfield. I won’t be back in. . . .” He coughed again, this time sounding like he was drowning. “I won’t be back in Chicago until next weekend. You can stop by then.”

Hill got off the phone, worried about his father and not even sure why the judge had called. He thought about calling him back but decided he’d wait until he saw him to find out what he’d wanted. He’d be sure to be at the judge’s house Saturday morning, first thing.

Until it happened to him, Hill hadn’t believed loving someone could play out this way. Truthfully, it was just downright stupidity on his part. He’d thought that if he just let Samantha have some space, she’d realize she had a good thing with him. But instead, she’d found someone new. Hill sat at the corner of the bar, drowning his sorrows with self-pity and cheap alcohol.

He read the text message from Perry over and over again.

The thing that pissed Hill off was that she hadn’t bothered to invite him. She had asked Perry to stand in for her deceased father, but she’d never thought to invite Hill. There was a part of him that wanted to crash the wedding, but the other part of him wanted to wallow in self-pity.

Bill
. Bill won the girl. Hill threw back a few more shots then paid his tab. He stopped at Macy’s along the way to buy an off-the-rack suit—black, tailored-looking—and a nice pair of shoes. He took a detour and stopped at Sports Clips for a wash, haircut, and shave, texting Perry for the time and location of the wedding as he waited, claiming he had misplaced his invitation.

When he received the venue, he nearly choked. He had just been there—the Marriott. He had designed the landscape for the wedding. He’d had no idea it was for Samantha’s wedding.

***

Samantha stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection. She didn’t want a traditional wedding, but Bill wanted one just so he could show off his new bride. Her dress was full lace with a six-foot train. Her headpiece was simple with embroidered pearls—no veil. She hated veils. She smoothed the front of the dress with her hands and slowly turned sideways to get a glimpse of what she looked like from behind, then faced forward again. If only her father was alive to see this day. If only Hill were the man awaiting her at the altar.

She shook those thoughts out of her head just as she heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in!” she shouted.

Perry strutted through the door, looking handsome as ever. He’d finally tamed his gigantic afro with a haircut. She was amazed that he’d been able to find a tuxedo to fit his massive size. A mist formed in her eyes as he hugged her, careful not to disrupt the delicate beading on the bodice of her dress.

“You look beautiful,” Perry said.
“Thank you.”
“So are you ready? Your guests are here. But I thought you wanted to keep this small.”
“Bill insisted on inviting everyone he’s ever met.”
They both chuckled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. Perry saw it and suspected it had to do with her father not being there.
“I’m sure your dad would be very proud,” he said then kissed her forehead.

She smiled and thanked him. “Let’s go.”

***

Everything looked perfect. The gazebo was perfect—like something that could be seen in the Rose Parade. The intricate details of the flowers that intertwined between the trellises of the structure and the beautiful arrangements throughout had held up well. It was the perfect day for an outdoor wedding—although the seating area was tented.

The wedding march began, and everyone stood. Hill took a seat in the back row right at the aisle. His face would be the first and the last one she saw. As he stood, he saw his father near the front row with his girlfriend. Wasn’t that something? Even his father was worthy of an invitation. But not Hill.

Samantha emerged arm-in-arm with Perry. Hill had never seen her look so beautiful—or rather, he didn’t think it was possible for her to look more beautiful. When she walked by, she didn’t even notice him. She hadn’t even looked his way. Her eyes were focused on the altar, and she was smiling at her groom as she slowly approached.

Something stirred inside of Hill. He was feeling some kind of way, but he couldn’t quite give it a name. He wasn’t hurt or angry. But he wasn’t happy, either. Maybe the right adjective would be
numb
. This whole experience numbed him, as if he’d been given an emotional anesthetic.

He sat silently as he watched Samantha and Bob exchange vows in what turned out to be a beautiful ceremony. Then the clergyman presented them as Mr. and Mrs. William LeBlanc. As she made her way back down the aisle, she stopped to hug Perry, and then the judge. She shook hands, smiled, hugged, and high-fived as she celebrated her way down the aisle . . . then her eyes met with Hill’s, and she nearly froze. She missed a step, stumbled a little, then continued her celebration.

As she reached Hill’s row, she pulled him into a hug.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said.

“You look beautiful. Congratulations,” Hill said.

Bill grabbed his bride by the hand, and they entered the Marriott, soon to be taken away to whatever destination they had planned for their honeymoon. Hill dropped back into the chair after the guests in his row exited. Perry, after socializing with the people he knew, saw Hill and sat in the chair in front of him with the intention of consoling him.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Perry offered.

“Nah, I’m going to catch up with my dad.”

Perry squeezed Hill’s shoulder. “Alright, take care, man,” he said, patting his back.

The moon was out, and Hill sat in his truck, watching it for a long time. But although his eyes were fixed on it, his mind wasn’t on the moon. His mind was on his father. He’d just left his father’s house. After seeing him at the wedding, Hill knew that, except for that menacing cough, the judge was quite well. He had told Hill he was ready to retire from the bench and maybe move to the country to live out the rest of his days.

The judge had a woman in his life, a younger one, but only by twenty years, making her a ripe young age of fifty-five. She had grandchildren, which the judge enjoyed. He’d planned to take her with him when he moved to the country, and she said she was quite fine with that.

They’d had dinner together, the three of them. It was a fine southern-style meal. Hill could hardly indulge, not being too fond of eating so much starch in one meal. As he browsed the judge’s home, it was like a shrine to his mother. Framed photos of her were everywhere.

The judge said, “She was the love of my life.”

“Tell me, Dad,” Hill had asked, “were you unfaithful to Mom?”

The judge turned away from Hill’s question. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ashamed of the answer or because he was incensed by the question.

Hill decided to expound. “A couple of months ago, when you and I were in my bathroom and I told you about a woman’s husband beating the snot out of me, you said you had that happen to you, too. To the best of my knowledge, you and mom were married until she died. You were fifty-eight years old. And an Illinois supreme court judge. Nobody was punching you at that point in your life. So unless this happened when you were in high school, I’m under the impression that you were stepping out on mom.”

“I’m an old man, counselor. Your mother and I were forty years old when you were born. You were our ‘surprise’. Your brothers and sisters were all grown and on their own by the time you went to kindergarten. I was never there for them. I was busy building my career and making a name for myself. I was a terrible father and a worse husband back then. I vowed that I’d be a better man and a better father for you.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Dad.”

“Yes, I did, son. And, your mother knew about them.”

“Them?” Hill shook his head in disgust. “Them? How many constitutes ‘them’, Dad?”

“It was a long time ago, Hill. Your mother and I worked through it. I loved your mother with every ounce of my being. And when she died, I felt like the best part of me had died with her.”

It was amazing how quickly the clouds had rolled in, covering the moon. Hill pulled the key from the ignition and stopped at the mailbox, gathering the envelopes and a package, then went into the warehouse. He tossed his keys into the key dish, dropped the mail on the table, and pried open the package. Cigars. The same brand Adam smoked. It was costly but worth it. He dropped the cigars in the humidor he’d carved, then made a beeline for the shower.

As the hot water beat against his skin, he thought about his father’s health—he was getting on in age. Hill sponged the soap on his body. He stood directly under the flow, soaking his hair and face. He shampooed his hair and shaved his armpits and groin area. Caitlin didn’t like hair in those areas, and he aimed to please. He smirked as he thought of her. Stepping out the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist.

In his room, he sprawled across his bed, unwrapped the towel, and air dried. He wanted to see Caitlin but knew Adam was back in town and would be for quite a while.

No Sam. No Cate. No one Hill could call his own. It didn’t feel good knowing that the only women in his life were spoken for by men he despised. But he didn’t despise Bill and Adam because they were with the women he wanted—even though that was a part of it. It was because they were men who could give those women more than he could.

Maybe it was time for him to focus his efforts on himself. Maybe his dad was right. Perhaps he should consider going back into law, earning a partnership at a prestigious firm, finding a nice woman who appreciates him, and settling down. Then he thought of Amelia. He wondered if she was single. She certainly felt good and wasn’t shy about what she wanted. She’d made it clear that she wanted him. Why not
her
? Because he didn’t want her. He wanted Caitlin. But he wanted Caitlin on his terms.
Screw Adam
. As a matter of fact, he wanted Caitlin right now, in
his
bed—not in that damned bungalow on that cheap ass mattress.