Hillwood, February 2016
At a huge suite in the Ritz-Carlton at exactly 2:53 in the afternoon, the bed shook as a woman screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"
Her hands turned white, gripping her lover's silk shirt to hold on for a bumpy ride. The man's breathing had become shallow and quick, hot on her neck. She bounced on top of him as he let out a long hiss. They were both so close. Just a little bit more.
At the peak, he let out a guttural yell and they both exploded before sagging onto the soft mattress.
…
"I didn't plan for that to happen," Rhonda announced after five minutes of staring at the ceiling. She was trying to get her breath back. The green light on the smoke detector had flashed about a 120 times. She had counted. Beside her, a man gave a slight snort. He drapes a hand across her stomach.
"You always say that."
"But this time, I really meant it. I was only going to talk to you about my portfolio."
She could almost see the smile that forms on his face. There was laughter in his voice.
"Your financial portfolio is fine if I have to guess. Don't you have people to take care of it?"
His hand made its way to her breast. He gives it a slight squeeze which earned him a tight cautionary slap on the hand. He merely laughed and leaned in closer to give her a short kiss on the cheek.
"I want you to look at my money," she said as she played with his hair.
"Why?"
Because she was planning something. Something precious that she didn't want to share yet. It's stupid, she knows, but she feels like if she tells anyone she'd jinx it. It's better to know all her options first before taking a course of action. The Lloyd way.
Stew first. Act later.
It's served her family well in the past. Millions of dollars can't be wrong.
"Nothing. I trust you, that's all. I also want to see which areas I can take some risk, make more investments. Increase my wealth. It's the kind of thing we rich snobs think about all the time."
His hand stilled which meant that he was suspicious.
"Rhonda, what's this really about?"
She had no need for his prying so she turned to give him a carefree smile. For effect, she flipped her long hair over a tanned shoulder. Throw him off scent. He almost groaned. She was so beautiful like this.
"Exactly what I said. I just need a good pair of eyes to look over my things. Come on, you'll be really doing a me solid."
His brown eyes narrow but he let it go. Rhonda breathed an inner sigh of relief.
"I'll do it. But what do I get in return?" he teased.
"Oh, you know…"
Naughtily, Rhonda's hand slid down his torso and they forgot all about stocks and portfolios.
…
"Where were you?" Eddy asked as she sauntered in the living room. He had come home from Paris earlier that day. Normally, he wouldn't care where his wife went but it was late. He expected her to be waiting for him to come home. Instead, an empty house greeted him when he arrived from the airport. Well, the staff was inside but they didn't count. He asked Vanessa, the housekeeper, where his wife was and the woman only shrugged.
"Madame doesn't tell me about her business," the old Puerto Rican lady said before going back to her duties. That was four hours ago. His wife walked in at exactly 11:05 pm with a breezy attitude.
"Oh, I was just out. Shopping," Rhonda replied, making her way up the stairs in long strides. He followed her.
"At 11pm?"
She sighed and spun around, one of her perfectly plucked brows arched. "Alright, fine, you got me. I wasn't shopping. I had a meeting with a firm."
He gazed up at her. At the top of the stairs, she looked formidable, her long legs accentuated by the height of the steps. He had always known she was a powerful woman and sometimes had even been scared of her but he wore the pants in this relationship. And he made damn sure she remembers that.
"Again, at 11? Which firm is this?"
Her lips tightened. "Why are you suddenly so interested?"
"I want to know what my wife is doing outside so late on a Sunday night," he said, getting increasingly irritated with her vague and evasive answers.
"It's none of your business."
He didn't like that. He rushed forward and closed the distance between them. Now, they were of equal height, staring eye to eye.
"You're my wife, it's my business," he said in a slow, low growl.
She leaned in, never taking her eyes off his.
"I don't ask you about yours don't butt in mine."
Her deep voice which was so sexy when they first started dating now sounded menacing. A pit in his stomach opened and a sneaking suspicion bubbled in his head.
"Are you cheating on me?" he asked. He was caught off guard by the question but now that the words were out there, he was sure he was right to ask.
She laughed bitterly before instantly turning sombre. "Isn't that your area of expertise, darling?"
He had never wanted to hit a woman more. She knew. She had found out. This was her way of getting back. Being spiteful. He was so careful. How could she kn–
No matter. Nobody bested Edward Smith. She was going to learn today. She turned to go but he grabbed her arm causing her to wince in pain and stay in place.
"Let me go!" she squeaked.
She squirmed but his grip was tight and a sick grin formed on his face.
"You didn't answer my question," he hissed.
He should have seen it coming but he didn't. Her hand made contact with his face with a loud stinging sound and his head whipped back at the assault. On instinct, he let go of her arm. As he cradled his slapped face in shock, she taunted, "How was your trip to Paris, sweetie? I bet you had a good time."
After which, she ran up the stairs and he heard a door slam.
Eddy got up to the second floor as fast as he could. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he noticed that the guest room door was closed. He marched down the hall and banged his fist against the wooden door. He heard frantic steps and movement of furniture on the other side. He twisted the knob but it was locked.
"Open the goddamned door, Rhonda!" he screamed, still erratically twiddling the door knob.
"Go to hell!"
He let out a yell of frustration. "I mean it. If you don't open this door, I will kick it open."
There was no sound for a brief moment. Then a challenge.
"Do it."
Edward's fury was bottomless. He went to the other side of the hallway before running into the door with his right shoulder out. His shoulder made contact with a sharp burst of pain but the door didn't budge.
"Fuck!" he cried out in agony.
The pain only fuelled his anger. Before he knew it, he was kicking at the door with such ferocity that the sounds echoed throughout the whole house.
"Open. the. fucking. door!"
His leg was raised ready to kick when Rhonda opened the door. Without the wood to catch his kick, he tumbled inside the room in a clumsy roll. He laid on the floor, his whole body hurting and paying for the stupid endeavour.
Above his face, Rhonda was peering at him. She had an impassive expression as if this kind of thing happened everyday.
"You just made a big mistake," he said.
It was humiliating to be on the floor. A loser in their fight. But he didn't care. He stood up slowly. She didn't help him. His knee was shot from kicking the door so much, his shoulder was starting to swell and his head felt woozy from the way it hit the floor when he fell.
"You…" he said, pointing a finger at her face.
He looked at his wife who had her arms crossed and her feet apart in a wide, defensive stance. In her eyes, he saw fear and defiance. The kind of expression she had when she defended him against his parents one dinner after they were not-so subtly hinting about his lack of direction. Rhonda shut them down with a speech of Edward's achievements and good qualities. After that, he held her hand under the table in gratitude.
The fall made him see clearer. He can't hit his wife. What was he thinking? Why would he let himself get so riled up? How could he hurt her further when he had already betrayed her?
He lowered his hand. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
Rhonda tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "What?"
She didn't hear him. But it was still embarrassing having to repeat himself.
"I said I'm sorry."
She jerked back, stunned. Then her face softened. Her arms dropped to her sides. He breathed a sigh of relief as the fear left her eyes.
"I knew you weren't going to hit me," she whispered.
She was so fucking understanding. He stifled the prickle of emotion he felt.
"I was close," he admitted.
She shook her head. "You're not like that."
The words were there.
You're not your father…
It was so painful. He felt like the scum of the earth. This woman believed in him and he screwed around on her. And she knew, God, she knew.
"I fucked up," he said, voice wobbling with emotion. Oh no, he was not going to cry. Not now. As the adrenaline rush died, his chest constricted. She wasn't going to forgive him. She'll cast him out. There was already weariness on her face.
Rhonda sighed, tucking her black hair behind an ear. She sat down at the edge of the bed, watching him.
"Yes. You did."
He really wanted to cry out. There was a sense of the end. Their five-year marriage crumbling around them. His mind suddenly played a condensed version of all the good times.
"How can I make it up to you?" he asked.
…
She was so tempted to say 'You can't' but the truth was she was just as despicable as he was. At least, now that she confronted him about it, he owned up to his mistakes but for the life of her, she couldn't tell him about Thaddeus. Because then they would be even. He cheated. She cheated. The quantity didn't matter. They were both adulterers. The shame that would appear only once in a while now suddenly filled her from head to toe.
"I don't know. Being around more often would be a start."
"Done," he said.
That made it even worse. His willingness to make it up to her made her want to vomit out of guilt. She didn't trust herself to speak. The silence was so awkward she looked around at anything but him.
"I think we should continue this discussion in the morning," she heard him suggest. She felt herself nod. Instead of glancing up at him, her eyes were trained on the ground. They need to buy a different carpet to go with this room, she thought to herself. The blue doesn't match the subtle pastel shades.
She heard him walk out with a sigh.
They were both tired for different reasons.
As he reached the door, he murmured, "Good night, Rhonda."
She looked up and their eyes met. His baby blues were begging for forgiveness. She turned away. The door shut close. She burst into tears. Mr. and Mrs. Smith's days were numbered.