I dropped my eyes to my jean-clad thighs. “I try not to think about it.”
“You’re better than me. What else did the journals say?”
“There’s so much, Kell.” I rubbed my forehead. “Honestly, half of it doesn’t even seem real.” I sat forward, placing my coffee down on the table too. “She was very promiscuous. Like, she admits that she loved sex, loved to feel in control with men. It almost came as no surprise to me that she cheated with Roland’s cousin after explaining how she was, in the journals.”
“Does Roland know about her and the cousin?”
“No. I don’t think he does. He still hangs around—the cousin.”
“What?” Kell’s mouth hung open.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Wait . . . you don’t think he might’ve had something to do with it too, do you?”
“I don’t know. All I know is Melanie cheated with the cousin and that Roland clearly doesn’t know about it because they’re still really close. You name me one guy who would still be close to a family member who had an affair with his wife.”
“Not one,” Kell murmured, then sighed.
“Exactly.”
“Shit.” He sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “What if this is some big, elaborate scheme?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—and maybe I’m thinking too much like a publicity rep—but what if both of them have something to do with it? Or what if the cousin knows something and Roland keeps him around so he doesn’t say anything?”
“I don’t know. I thought that for a while too . . . but then I think about Melanie’s sister. The way she just disappeared after Melanie died. She also slept with Dylan—Roland’s cousin—and Melanie tried to split those two apart a lot, just to have all of Dylan’s attention.”
“What?” Kell frowned, confused. “What kind of shit is that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Damn.” He sat back. “This is fucked up, sis.”
“I know.”
“And you really don’t think Roland is involved at all?”
I released a shallow breath and sat back against the leather of the sofa too. “I want to believe he isn’t. He promised me he isn’t.”
“Dudes lie all the time. They’ll promise anything, especially men like Roland who are famous. Trying to make a fresh start and a new name for himself. To me, it looks like he’s trying to rebrand himself and make people forget about that whole scandal—show that he’s moved on from it and that the world should too.”
I didn’t want to think that was the case. I loved Roland so much and I wanted him to be good, but what if it was true? What if Roland had only married me to make people forget? To make the world realize there were still women like me out there who believed his innocence?
If he was invited to Lola Maxwell’s mansion party and even her gala months ago, he was purposely putting himself in the public eye. He knew there would be important people around and that, more than likely, people would speak to him, despite what’d happened. Innocent people don’t hide and he was proving his innocence. He was gaining respect again. What if all of that was just for show?
Kell’s phone rang and he dug into the pocket of his hoodie to take it out, then he groaned and turned the screen toward me. There was an image of Ana kissing him on the cheek, her blond hair curtaining the side of her face and her name at the top of the screen.
“Let me take this,” he said, then he stood and left the den, rounding the corner to get to the kitchen.
I picked my coffee back up and as I sipped, I heard a door shut. Down the hallway, I spotted Dylan shrugging out of his coat, and I froze. The sight of him walking in here, using the key Roland had given him, made me uneasy and made every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I didn’t like the thought of him having a key—not after finding out how involved he was with Melanie—but what was I going to do about it? I couldn’t exactly bring up what I’d read in the journals right now, and if I told Roland that I wasn’t comfortable with Dylan around, I would’ve needed a reason, and I couldn’t tell him what I’d discovered yet. I was certain at this point he had no idea Dylan slept with Melanie, and something told me Dylan wanted to keep it that way.
He came down the hallway and into the den with a smile. “What’s up, Samira?”
“Not much.” I pressed my lips, looking at him more intently than before. His long-sleeved shirt was rumpled, and he had on a pair of jeans with black marks on them that looked like grease marks from a car.
“Where’s Roland?”
“He went out.” I didn’t really want to talk to him so I kept it brief.