“Sounds familiar,” he teased, slipping his hand down my pajama shorts to massage my clit.
“Shh, stop,” I hissed, removing his hand. “Your son is still up.”
“He went to bed ten minutes ago while you were having a bath,” he said. After gaining full custody of Damian, we celebrated the boy’s emancipation from years of neglect by repainting his room forest green, a symbol of renewal and growth.
“I needed that relaxing bath,” I admitted, already bracing myself for the next battle. “I’m not looking forward to seeing Erin and Oliver at your parents’ fundraiser in a few weeks.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be fine,” Alistair assured.
Saturday, December 22
How I wish Alistair were right, but trouble seemed to come with Erin wherever she went. Held at a deluxe hotel, the gala event saw families of fallen heroes mixing with the usual crowd of the rich, famous, and infamous. By now, I was accustomed to socializing with the Scotts, Cavallis, and other families.
Alistair and I chatted with a group when I noticed Erin scolding her daughter’s nanny. The green-eyed toddler held her nanny’s hand tightly. I felt a sharp pang in my empty womb, wondering what it would be like to be a mother. Expelling that thought, I masked my pain behind the smiles, nods, and conversations with the people around me.
One hour later, after Elizabeth and John made formal announcements and food was served, I walked toward the end of the buffet table to refill my empty glass with apple juice.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Erin’s sickly-sweet voice bit the air.
Not bothering to turn my head, I replied, “You have your entire life to be a bitch. Why don’t you take the day off?”
“Nice dress. Walmart?” Erin jabbed. “I could give you some styling advice.”
Slowly turning to her, I eyed her plumped lips and Botoxed forehead. “No offense, but I’ll pass. Is your plastic surgeon doing the social media package again?”
“Ooh, social. How’s that going? I saw pictures of Alistair circulating on Instagram and TikTok. It’s nice to know he’s cheating on you again. How does it feel to see your man with other women?”
“Honey, the photos are ancient, before he and I met. Be a little more innovative next time.”
Erin’s brown eyes feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “If you believe we’re clueless about the leaks, that’s cute. We know.”
We glared at each other for a few long seconds before Erin broke the silence with a smile. “You know very well what you’ve done to me,” she said coldly. “Alistair and I were in love until you came along.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“You’d better watch out,” she said, grabbing my arm. “I’ve taken on a new hobby. Pistol shooting, and I’m quite good at my aim. I get better and better each time I think of you at the center of the target.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You know this counts as assault, right? Imagine how embarrassing it’ll be when I slap you with a restraining order.” I smacked her wrist away, hard.
Erin smirked. “Do you want to know something?”
I rolled my eyes. The woman was a pathological liar. Nothing good came out of her lips.
“Look who came without her husband again?” she pointed out. “Don’t you think it’s oddsheturns up to events when Alistair is around? Do you know they’re having an affair?”
I caught a glimpse of the beautiful Bianca Cavalli in an intimate conversation with my handsome boyfriend. She stood out from the crowd in a low-cut lilac dress, revealing a good dose of cleavage. Alistair’s eyes traveled down her breasts, no doubt to get a glimpse. She laughed as he whispered into her ear, and she patted his forearm with affection. They continued their playful exchange while she picked imaginary lint off his shoulder. He looked immaculate as usual, dressed to kill.
“Bianca’s message is clear. She’s telling the world she owns Alistair Scott,” Erin declared.
I faced her, my Louboutins tapping out my impatience. “It’s harmless flirting. Bianca knows Alistair’s taken. I have to ask you something, though. Are you the one behind those media attacks on me?”
She frowned at her shoes, probably feeling inadequate, then placed her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to ask Bianca that question. She’s the media queen. She’s Alistair’s side dish, whether you know it or not. Possibly, even his true and only love.”
“Are you blaming the media smut on Bianca?” I eyed Erin carefully. “I mean, why would she do that to me after investing in the media training? The attacks didn’t come from her magazines or newspapers.”
Erin’s left lip corner twitched. “Bianca likes to keep her enemies close to her. She has control over most of the media in this town.”
