How could she do this?
“Will anyone really believe that? Think about how your precious company will suffer. Who wants to buy organic products from a man who beats his wife? It goes against your entire brand, and people will flee from your brand like rats deserting a sinking ship.”
“What do you want?” I ask between clenched teeth.
She grins. “My lawyer will be contacting you. Bye for now, lover.” She blows me a kiss before pulling down her shirt and walking out of my study, putting a little sway in her hips as if I would even be interested.
Picking up my phone, I dial my lawyer, who also happens to be a good friend.
* * *
After an hour talk, I slam my phone down on the desk in frustration. Turns out there’s no way I can prove I didn’t touch her. Marine had been smart. The doctor visits had been on nights we were home together. She had even bribed some of the staff to back her story.
The crappy part is, I can’t even fire them now because it would look like retribution. It appears the only people who hadn’t sold me out are my chef and my housekeeper; they both denied they ever saw me put hands on my wife. That should be enough, right?
Threading my hands through my hair, I tug hard. Marine had time to talk to her lawyer and put me on hold. She wants fifty million dollars, all the assets she acquired during the marriage, and a house in the city plus a vacation home of her choice.
For a man with a net worth of six billion dollars, her demand is a drop in the buc
ket; but my reluctance is a matter of principle. I’m not sure how I didn’t see her black heart before getting married to her, but that is one mistake I will never make again.
2
PIPER
two weeks later…
Pulling up in my beat-up Toyota to my mother and stepfather’s house, I always seem to get this funny feeling being here. The house is massive, in Italian style, and beautiful as can be. I’ve only been here a handful of times, as I’ve always been too busy with work and school. There just wasn’t much time. Well, if I’m being honest, I didn’t make any effort because I don’t have much of a desire to see my mother, as bad as that may sound.
We’ve never been close. I mean, she just came home one day, told me she was marrying a billionaire and promptly sent me to live with my aunt until she could get me into some posh boarding school.
My situation was like that of a fish being thrown into the deep end of the pool without any warning.
The girls, my cousins, had been mostly kind, but their world is so different from mine; with them, I felt like I was from another planet.
I’ve never even met this illusive stepfather of mine. He’s been married to my mother for three years, and it seemed Mom only invited me for visits when he was out of town on work.
I spent holidays with my favorite aunt; mom preferred it that way, and so did I. I wanted nothing to do with the lavish parties she kept throwing for her husband and his friends.
Now though, she’s my last resort. Aunt Jenny offered for me to stay with her, but considering she had four kids living in her small house, I didn’t want to be one more thing she needed to take care of. So, here I am, at the mercy of my mother.
A bad breakup, academic probation, losing my job and my apartment are circumstances that’d relegated me to this position. I just couldn’t seem to pick myself up after Jacob left, and worse still, my once stellar grades plummeted. I stopped going to work and classes, I stopped showering, and I ate sparingly. The only positive thing that came about because of my situation is the freshman fifteen I shed. I looked better than I had when I graduated from high school. Apparently, heartache is the best diet.
My mother might be married to a billionaire, but other than catering for tuition and my basic living needs, she isn’t much help. She’d told me, the day we had this conversation, she earned her own way, and as such, I needed to do the same. So, while she wore 800-dollar face cream and drove a Bugatti, I lived in a ratty one-bedroom and drove a beat-up Toyota. But that’s just the way mom is — selfish to the brim.
Oh, how she pretends to be the best wife and mother in the world, but yet it’s all just a facade. She also fooled my father with her charm. Initially, she accepted my father’s proposal and even married him, but once she realized he wasn’t going to make money as a public defender as he would in private practice, she bailed out. He died when I was twelve in a car accident, and I was once again thrust into my mother’s care.
While still stuck on reminiscing bad memories, I key in the code to the garage and slip under the door. This is only temporary; as soon as I can get back on my feet, I’m out of here.
The numerous cars I meet lined up in the massive garage as I walk in, prompts me to shake my head. Thereafter, I let myself into a mudroom bigger than my apartment.
The sound of deep baritone singing in Italian brings a smile to my face. I hurry up the stairs, put my things in my room before rushing down to the kitchen.
Mom never really spent time with me during my visits, which was usually around my birthday or random times throughout the year. She would give me a few lavish gifts and then be off to her next social engagement.
I usually didn’t know what to do with myself. One of those days during my previous visit, I had wandered into the kitchen and met Antonio. He was an Italian native, and his food is to die for. He took me under his wing and started teaching me all sorts of dishes and desserts.
In the process, I discovered I had a knack for cooking. I even for a brief moment thought about dropping pursuit for my creative writing degree, and switching over to culinary school thereafter; but I just couldn’t. Writing was my first love, and as such, I couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning it.