Lying Lips (6 page)

They held on to me for dear life. I burst into tears. For five full minutes I cried like a baby. I thought I would never stop. At first everyone thought it was tears of joy, but when my whimpers turned to anguished sobs, they all knew better.

“What’s the matter, Mom?” Armani was quick to ask me. “Are you okay?”

My little boy who was rapidly becoming a man was the first to show concern. But he was swiftly followed by his siblings.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Allegra and Amaya asked in unison as they had been doing since they were kids.

“Honey?” Ashton called out from his patiently waiting position not even five feet away.

I couldn’t look at Ashton. My husband. My first husband. My
real
husband.

I cried harder. I couldn’t speak. My entire body shook. Ashton grew concerned and stepped in.

“Kids would you please give your mother and I a few minutes alone?” The concern was extremely evident on his face.

“Love you, Mom,” I heard Allegra say sadly as my children left their father and me alone.

My husband grabbed me by my violently shaking shoulders and took me into his office. He sat me in the chaise lounger that I had purchased for him, then went to the door and closed it. In a matter of seconds he was seated beside me, holding me in his arms. I sobbed like an infant for more than ten minutes.

When I seemed calm enough to speak, Ashton lifted my chin until I was looking into his beautiful, bedroom eyes. He searched my face for an answer. No words needed to be spoken between us, we knew one another. Very well. By looking at me he could tell I was able and ready to speak. By looking at me him I knew that he was ready for answers.

I went first.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I began carefully. “I just missed you guys so much.”

“Hmm,” was all he uttered as he continued to search my eyes for more. He knew there was more.

“I had a really rough trip this time,” I began lying. “Some of the stories I’m covering are beginning to take their toll on me.” I stood up needing to put distance between he and I. There was no way I could lie to him while sitting less than a foot from him. While he was touching me. “I’m covering a piece for the Washington Times about a woman who lost her husband and kids to a violent crime and the piece is really getting to me, Ashton.” I told him. The lie seemed to flow from me like water flowed from Niagara Falls. “The woman had three children just like me. She was in her mid-forties just like me. Her husband was fifty, just like mine,” I looked over at him and the tears started to flow again.

The part about covering that piece was true. The woman, the kids, the husband, everything was true. The way that it supposedly touched me was a lie. But I needed to tell my husband something that would explain my weird behavior. From the look in his eyes he was buying it. Why wouldn’t he? After all, I had never lied to him before.

“London, why did you barely contact me or the kids in the last three weeks?” He wanted to know.

Because I was caught up in my new husband
, I dared not say. Ashton kept staring at me. I was nervous and fidgety but I had to say something. Anything that he would believe. Anything other than the truth.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of talking to you guys while writing that piece. It hurt me too much to be away from you so I did the cowardly thing. I avoided you as much as possible.” I dared to look in his eyes, afraid of what I might find there. What if it was disbelief? Then what? How would I explain why I lied? One lie would lead to more. And more.

But I had to look at him. Had to see what was there. Braving up, I focused my teary eyes on Ashton. He believed me. I breathed a sigh of relief. The lies continued. “The thought of losing you guys really began to take a toll on me. To the point where talking to you became too painful. I needed to see you. To hug you. To express my love for you. A phone call just wouldn’t do. It hurt too much the few times I did call you.”

I allowed the tears to fall down my face. They were lies as well.

Ashton stood and walked over to the window in front of which I was standing. He embraced me. Looked me deeply in my eyes. “London, I love you. The kids love you. We aren’t going anywhere. And we aren’t letting you go anywhere either.”

His statement was simple. To the point. It made me cry. This time the tears were real.

Ashton gathered my sobbing form into his arms yet again and held me. He let me cry. Allowed me to get it out of my system. Then when I was all cried out, he took me into the kitchen where he and the kids happily made me a beautiful dinner.

As we ate together as a family I looked around the table listening intently, being caught up on all of the events that I had missed out on in the last month. I was truly blessed. I was glad to be home. This was where I really belonged. With my real family. In my real home. I seriously wondered what I was going to do to make things right.

“To the best mom in the world!” Amaya exclaimed as we had our family dinner toast.

Everyone clinked their glasses together. My tears started again.

My family loved me, I realized. Really loved me, I understood for the first time. Not that I didn’t know it before. I did. I just never fully appreciated it the way I did at that moment. The way I appreciated it when faced with the possibility of losing them through my own sheer stupidity if they ever found out.

And I loved them too.

But would they continue to feel that way if they knew how much I had betrayed them? Would they still love me if they knew that I was selfish enough to marry another man while still committed to them?

Their love, which I seemed to have taken for granted mere weeks ago, seemed so strong now. But would it hold up if my treacherous actions were revealed? I truly doubted it and that made me cry even harder. I didn’t want to lose my family.
My real family
. The only family I’d ever known. I had to find a way to make Asanti and this newfound craziness of mine go away.

But how?

Only time would tell me that.

Time and a whole lot of tears.

Chapter 6

It was ten p.m. when Ashton and I finally had our nightly Bible study and prayer and then climbed into bed. I was exhausted. He was worried beyond measure. I knew that I needed to get it together, but it was hard when faced with the depth of my betrayal.

What happened to me? What was wrong with me? How had Asanti infiltrated me, my life, and my personal space enough to make me hurt those I loved? Enough to make me betray the marriage vows I made before the God I served? And yet, in some sick and twisted way, I loved Asanti too. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t want to help it. I had officially lost my mind.

I sighed deeply as I thought of how things used to be. Only a month ago none of that was going on in my life. I sighed again as if that would release it, the craziness, and make it all go away. As if that would take me back in time to thirty days prior to the one I now existed in.

I longed for normalcy again. For the life I shared with Ashton and the kids. To be the good Christian woman I had been all those years. I needed to be normal again. To feel normal. To act normal. I needed my life to be back the way it was. Back to where Asanti didn’t exist. Back to where everything was good and there was no need to try and make it better.

I looked over to my beautiful husband Ashton and was surprised to find that he was looking at me. Desperate to make things right, I reached for him. And he for me.

At first I only intended to hug him and have him hold me forever. Just until I felt a little normal again. But something in his touch catapulted me back in time to where I wanted to be. To where none of the madness that I created existed. His touch was familiar. Comfortable. I felt safe. Secure. Loved. Very nostalgic.

The moment in time I longed for was at hand. At that instant I was willing to give anything, everything to hold that feeling near to me. So I did what I could to savor the feeling. To dwell in it. 

“Make love to me, Ashton,” I practically begged him as I clawed at his night clothes. “Show me why I love you so much.” I kissed him deeply.

That’s all it took.

My husband expertly slipped his masculine body atop mine. I grabbed at him like a woman possessed. I needed him. Ashton. Not Asanti.

I became wild with panic. I had to feel him in me. Filling me. Erasing my memory. The foolishness. The mistakes I had so recently made. I was almost fighting him in my attempt to expunge what I had done. Slowly, ever so slowly, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the mattress until I could no longer move. Then leisurely, at a snails’ pace, he lowered his lips to mine in a kiss so sensual that I felt my skin burning beneath him. My heart slowed, pounded.

The familiar felt so damn good.

“I love you, London,” he whispered as he licked his way down my neck to my chest while his hands had me naked in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. “I always will.”

“I love you too, Ashton,” I moaned when he entered me. “Always will.”

His thrusts were slow. Filling and complete.

He held my hands as he took me to that place that I could only go with him. Gently, easily, he took me. And I tried to let go. Tried to release the past. Discharge my mistakes. But I couldn’t. Neither could I let go of Ashton. I clung to him greedily, taking all that I could. He watched me. Read me. Knew what I needed and gave it to me. Slow thrusts. His manhood touching, filling, every part of my womanhood.

I spread my legs. Opened myself to him.

Ashton lowered his body fully onto mine. I loved the feel of his weight there. Wrapped myself around it. Tried to get lost in it. In him. He kissed my neck gently. Whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

“Mmmmmm,” I moaned softly.

“Let it go, baby,” he told me. “Whatever has you, London, let it go.”

I tried, but couldn’t.

He sealed my core with himself. Delved my center as if in search of that button that would free me.

Then he found it. And pushed it.

Then I did it. I let go.

I let go of everything. Everything. Except Ashton.

As he held my hands above our heads and looked in my eyes, he loved me tenderly. Loved me true. Easy. Smooth. There was no rush. No recklessness. I let it go. Forgot about it. Relaxed. And gave in.

Then my phone vibrated.

The phone Asanti bought me.

And it all came rushing back.

Tears flowed down the sides of my face as I looked up at Ashton and accepted what I had done to him. Accepted what he didn’t yet know. The phone vibrated again. Angry vibrations it seemed. He, Ashton, the love of my life, made love to me beautifully and I had hurt him tremendously.

But that wasn’t a part of his psyche yet.

He was still safe.

As of yet unharmed.

More angry vibrations from Asanti. More sorry tears from me. Ignorance
was
bliss. I wanted that bliss. Ashton kissed the tears that fell from my eyes away. I raised my hips and gyrated on him. Took him deep into me.

The phone buzzed loudly.

I rolled my hips.

Slow.

And easy.

More buzzing.

He, Ashton, propelled forward.

Hungrily. Almost desperately.

Filling me completely.

“Aaaaooooohhhh,” I moaned. “Babyyyy,” I cried out lovingly. Drowning out the sound of the constant ringing of the phone. And for a second it stopped.

“I love you,” he confessed.

“And I you,” I expressed.

He thrust once more.

“Oaaaahhhhh,” I sang in his ear.

The phone vibrated again.

“London,” he called my name simply.

Plunged harder this time.

Wholly.

Leaving no part of him out of the act.

I shivered.

He shook.

And together we fell.

Over the cliff.

And into a place where we remembered nothing and no one.

But each other.

Asanti let the phone ring for another two hours.

It was three o’clock in the morning when the vibrations started again. The hard buzzing of that cell phone that Asanti gave me pulled me from my beautiful slumber. Why was he calling at this hour? Deciding to let it ring, I snuggled closer to my husband and hoped that Ashton didn’t hear the buzzing.

Then it stopped.

And started again.

This time the vibrations sounded more insistent, almost as if Asanti was becoming aggravated at being put off in favor of sleep. But he wasn’t being put off in favor of sleep. He was being put off because I was still not yet ready to deal with him. With us. So I clung to my husband. The one I was currently with.

“Someone really wants to talk to you,” Ashton said and shocked me more than I cared to admit.

I thought he was asleep. I was so caught up in ignoring Asanti that I hadn’t realized he could hear the phone as well.

“I really don’t want to talk to them.”

“Who is it?” He asked me casually, the same way he had been doing since we’d met.

“My job,” I lied.

“Since when do you put your phone on vibrate? And since when do you not want to talk to your boss?” His questions were innocent. A husband talking to his wife. A husband unaware of his wife’s extreme betrayal.

“Since I’ve come to realize just how much I love my family and want to be with them right now.”

He said nothing more. Simply reached out and held my hand while playing with my wedding ring. Immediate guilt swamped me. Him playing with my ring gripped me. I was a married woman. Married to two men. My betrayal knew no boundaries.

When the vibrating continued for twenty minutes longer than what I could take, I wanted to forget again. So I moved closer to Ashton. Reached for him. And he took me again. Took me again to where I was safe. And memory free. And for the second time that night, I made love to my real, true husband. Keeping us wrapped in the comforting warmth of bliss. While on the other side of the world my husband, the other one, was wrapped in a blanket of worry, confusion, and slow building rage.

The next morning when I woke I was not yet ready to deal with the present. I wanted to linger in the past a little while longer so I avoided the phone. The phone Asanti bought for me. I knew that if I picked it up I would be tempted to answer it when it rang again. I would be tempted to check the multiple messages that I was sure he had left. I couldn’t handle that reality just yet so I ignored it. Left it in my purse unchecked and went on with my day. It felt good to be drama free and at peace again.

I was in a much better mood when the entire family sat down to that table for prayer and breakfast. A better mood than the one I was in the previous night at dinner. We laughed. We joked. We did all of the family things we had been doing since we became a family. The familiar kept me sane even if only for a little while.

It saddened me when breakfast was over and every one headed off to their separate days. The kids to school, and Ashton to his architectural firm. It made me a bit nervous to be alone again, to be faced with the prospect of dealing with my present and, even worse, my future. So I chose to avoid rather than deal. I chose to escape rather than face. I chose housework over thought. And after drowning myself in some much needed chores and blasting my stereo speakers as it pumped out my favorite Motown oldies, I was feeling pretty good in no time at all.

When I was done with all of the cleaning, and my mind tried to take me there, to Washington, to Asanti, I directed myself to prayer. I needed prayer, needed to get back to God. But with everything I had done, would God even hear my prayers? Would he even find me worthy to talk to him while I was married to two men at the same time? The sanctity of marriage was sacred and I had violated it in the worst way. Could I go to God and ask for help with something so heinous? Could I confess to being a whore and partly loving it?

I shook my head at those thoughts. I knew I needed to pray, to talk to God, to ask Him to make things right within me so I could make things right within my life. But my conscience wouldn’t allow me to ask for forgiveness for something I knew I would continue to do, even if it was just for a little while. So rather than pray and get my mind together, get my life together, I turned my thoughts to my office and decided to get some work done. Even If I was home a day early and could rest easy and relax for a minute, my mind had already shown me that it wouldn’t let me, so I chose to keep busy. I needed to keep busy.

“Hey Marilyn,” I spoke into the phone after dialing the number to my editor and very good friend.

“Hey yourself, London,” she sang back into the receiver. “Whatcha doing back so early?”

I was just about to question how she knew I was home when the answer dawned on me. I seemed often to forget that we were in the day and age of technology and that her caller id gave my whereabouts away.

“I missed the family, couldn’t wait to see them and now I can’t wait to see you either.”

“Oh, I’m so touched,” Marilyn feigned mushy gratitude.

I laughed out loud. It felt good. “But seriously,” I continued, “can we move our meeting from tomorrow to today? I really need to knock out a few things this week and I may as well start with what’s most important.”

“Actually I’m glad you called because the in-laws are coming in tomorrow from Maine and I was going to have to reschedule anyway. So you’re doing me a big favor,” she rushed into the phone. Marilyn usually rushed with everything. Being the mother of three sets of twins did that to a person. “I have a busy week ahead of me.”

“Why are they coming here?” I wanted to know.

“Because they really like being a pain in my ass, and leaving that for the holidays only is pure torture for them.”

I laughed again. Marilyn was nothing if not blunt.

And honest.

“So how about we meet at Greedy’s in about an hour?” I asked her. “Or is that too soon?”

“Not soon enough,” she informed me “The nanny’s here, I’m famished and I’m walking out of the door right now.” Before I could respond, I heard a series of clicks and quickly realized that I was hanging on the line alone. I laughed as I hung up the phone and less than an hour later, I was face to face with my editor and best friend since childhood as we ordered lunch.

“So, do you think you can handle it?” I asked her after going into great detail about my project.

“
Can
I handle it? Sure,” she answered with no pause. She was certain of her answer. “But do I
want
to handle it? That’s another question, another issue altogether.”

I stared at her, fully understanding her plight. I wanted her to edit a book I was writing about Hurricane Katrina. A storm that killed her brother, his wife, and their two kids. That was a lot for anyone to deal with and only a few years after the fact.

I hadn’t faced or dealt with how I chose to stay to get the story and wound up trapped in the city, fearing greatly for my life. I’d lost two fellow Journalists and that had stung like hell. But Marilyn, Marilyn had lost her only brother, her best friend in this world, and his family. That had to still be devastating.