James’s expression was dumbfounded. “Are you sure?”
“I can show the reimbursement. I called the hotel. He gets a room, and because I suggested that something went wrong recently, they’re throwing in an extra bottle of champagne for him and his female companion on their next visit.”
“That motherfucker.”
I nodded. “I’m not sure whether she’s a mistress or a prostitute. Do you want to find out?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Can you?”
“I can try.”
We’d managed a civil dinner, but that might have been because it was a working dinner. He told me about everyone who would be there, pointing out who we needed to be especially careful of, such as George.
After dinner, James was back to work while I did laundry and then watched TV.
The next day, New Year’s Eve, James was back at work. I worked a little as well, but then I went shopping. James said the New Year’s party was black tie, so I needed to get a nice dress. I knew I was a trophy wife, but I didn’t want to dress like the only thing I had going for me were tits and an ass. I chose a simple short-sleeved shirt dress. What made it fancy enough for a New Year’s party was that it was gold-sequined. It showed off my curves but in an elegant, sophisticated way.
After I’d bought the dress and headed home, it occurred to me that I should have called Vivie to join me. She lived in the ultra-rich world and would have been helpful in making sure I chose the right dress. I made a mental note to call her tomorrow and set up a time to have lunch.
Later that afternoon, I sat out on the terrace in the cool air having a cup of tea. I had my self-help book, reading a chapter on avoiding negative thinking. That seemed easier said than done. I suppose I’d have plenty of practice since James often frustrated me. So did the fact that I had no clue what to do with my life. Tomorrow, I’d be celebrating my one-week wedding anniversary. Seven days out of three hundred and sixty-five days. That left three hundred and fifty-eight, if I did the math right. Maybe I should think about it in weeks. Fifty-one left out of fifty-two. Nope. It still sounded like an eternity.
My phone rang, interrupting my math. Looking at the caller ID, I saw it was my mother. I stared at it for a long time, not sure I wanted to answer it.
Finally, I poked the answer button. “Hello.”
“Reyna. It’s your mother. My goodness, it’s been so long since you’ve called home. Your father and I miss you.”
I pulled the phone away and stared at it like it was defective. I put it back to my ear. “You told me not to come home if I didn’t marry Dean.”
“Oh, that. Well, you did cause us a lot of problems. In fact, there are still issues, but we had no idea you were in love with someone else.”
Oh, crap. She must know about my marriage to James. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us, honey? I know your father and I would love to meet James.”
I had no doubt that they did, but not because he was my husband. I’m sure they knew how rich James was. They saw dollar signs. “He’s very busy.”
“Too busy to meet his in-laws?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose with his father in prison... you know, we have some concerns about that. It could reflect badly on us. But your father could help.”
Tears flooded my eyes, surprising me. It’s not that I didn’t know my parents saw me as a pawn in their effort to gain power and riches, but it still hurt.
“Reyna?”
I whipped my head around to see James coming out onto the terrace. I quickly turned away and wiped my tears.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was stern.
I sniffled and was about to tell him nothing when he took the phone.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
His gaze went to mine as he listened. He arched a brow, and I imagined my mother was telling him my father could help his reputation.
I scribbled a note that told him she wanted to use him for his wealth and power.