Shaking nervously, I crawled out of bed and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. It was late at night – past midnight – but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d talked with Douglas. I grabbed my keys and drove across town, to the palatial mansion where Douglas lived with his second wife, Gabrielle.
The house was dark. I parked in the circular driveway and walked quickly up to the door, the soles of my sneakers slapping against the pavement like the staccato rhythm of my heart. I was nervous as I knocked at the door – what would happen? What would Douglas tell me? Did he know something I didn’t?
Gabrielle answered the door in a lacy pink kimono. She looked tired, but beautiful as always – she was a retired model, in her early thirties. Her blonde hair was in a messy bun and even though her face was free of makeup, she was more stunning than I’d ever be.
“Hello, Beth,” she said. She sounded tired, and almost nervous. “Are you here to see Douglas?”
I nodded numbly. “If that’s okay,” I said quietly. “I know it’s late.”
“We thought you would come earlier,” she said, but she didn’t smile. “Come with me.”
Normally, being in Douglas’s house filled me with a sense of awe. It was opulent and luxe and everything that I’d dreamed about – the floors alternated between marble and carpeting so plush I sank in to my ankles. The walls were painted ivory, with gold trim, and the ceiling were so high that I felt about three feet tall.
Gabrielle led me silently down a long hall, then into the open kitchen. Two copper ranges were fixed against the walls and a huge rack with copper pots and pans was hung overhead. The floor was checkerboard marble in pink and liver-colored squares, and something delicious was baking in the oven.
Douglas was sitting at the island in his bathrobe. His eyes were bloodshot and there was layer of grey scruff on his jaw and chin. It was hard not to gasp – normally, Douglas looked buttoned up and fit to lead a board meeting. Seeing him like this made the situation seem worse than ever.
It was starting to sink in that Michael was really and truly dead.
“Beth,” Douglas said. His voice was wooden and hollow. “I’m surprised it took you this long to come over.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I thought you would have been here immediately,” Douglas replied. He didn’t glance up from the paper in his hands. “What delayed you?”
I blushed. “I…I had to go to the police station,” I said. “A detective interviewed me about Michael.”
“And I hope you didn’t say anything that would cause him embarrassment,” Douglas said sharply. “I hope you didn’t say anything that would cause all of us embarrassment.”
I looked at Gabrielle as a feeling of confusion spread through my limbs. Why was Douglas acting like this? Was it out of grief? He’d never treated me so coldly before in my life.
Douglas hadn’t always liked me, but after a few years, he’d come around. He didn’t like that I’d grown up middle class, and that I’d gone to state university for my undergrad degree. But about two years into our relationship, Michael had gotten sick. I’d dropped everything to care for him over the course of a weekend, and since then, Douglas had been much kinder to me.
Douglas had always been rich – the Bennetts were one of the wealthiest families in New York. But from what Michael had told me, Douglas had taken Magnate Shipping and transformed it into a truly modern company that was responsible for changing the industry into something more powerful than ever. Michael had respected his father more than anyone else on earth, and I’d had to agree that Douglas was a powerful man worthy of such respect. He’d thrown himself into his work – Michael and Douglas hadn’t had much of a relationship until Michael was grown and in his twenties. Michael’s mother,
Brenna, had died when he’d been away at boarding school as a teen. I’d been shocked to learn that Douglas hadn’t even called Michael with the news for over a week, until after the funeral.
“He’s not cold,” Michael had said to me once. “He’s just a different kind of man. Things that matter to the rest of us don’t matter as much to him.”
I’d forgotten that comment, but now, standing in Douglas’s opulent kitchen, it came rushing back.
Gabrielle came forward and touched my arm. “Would you like some café au lait?” Her voice was lightly accented from growing up in Russia. “I just had the maid make some.”
“No, thank you,” I said, even though my mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted even worse. “I’m fine. Thank you for offering.”
“Sit down, Beth,” Douglas said sharply.
“Okay.” My heart was thudding anxiously as I made my way across the kitchen and climbed onto a stool facing Douglas. Up close, he looked even worse. His eyes were so red that he looked demonic, and there were lines in his cheeks and jaw that hadn’t been there last month. The last time I’d seen him was a few weeks ago – Michael and I had attended a charity event together, and Douglas had been in high spirits.
“I need you to understand something,” Douglas said calmly. “And I don’t want to hear any pushback.”
I nodded.
“I can’t continue to support you,” Douglas said. “You and Michael weren’t married at the time of his death, and since you were only his fiancée, that doesn’t entitle you to benefits from Magnate Shipping.”
My jaw dropped. “I never expected you to—“
“Please, let me continue,” Douglas said. “I want you to understand this now so there isn’t any confusion later. I don’t need you showing up six months later and demanding I foot the bill for your lifestyle.”