Reverence (2 page)

DEVIN

I arrived to my anniversary party thirty minutes after eight, and an hour and a half after she was expecting me. Knowing I’d raised my wife’s blood pressure considerably before I’d got there was a small victory. Eileen’s parents and sister were seated in our dining room and looked at me expectantly for an explanation, which I didn’t give.

“I apologize,” I said, quickly taking my seat at the head of the table then grabbed my glass. “To my wonderful wife, happy anniversary.”

The rest of our guests, minus her sister, raised their glasses in praise of their fair hostess then began to devour the first course. Always in fucking courses with Eileen. She considered dinner an event. It was never a quick bite, just a slow and agonizing task, especially with her choice of company. Our anniversary gave reason to prolong it even further, a celebration of our farce of a marriage. She’d even brought out her eighteenth century china. As the drab conversation rolled on, I drank, heavily, ignoring the second and third course¸ opting for a courteous nod or short sentence of reply. Looking over at Eileen, I recalled our wedding day. I was fond of her then, and she was once a tiger in the sac. I was never a man for sentiment, and love wasn’t a requirement for me. Love wasn’t the reason for my union, though I couldn’t deny I’d felt strongly about the possibility when I married my wife.

It was a partnership. I didn’t need her money. I wanted to play the game. I was in it for the thrill. I wanted to drive a stake into the heart of the city, make my claim and start my empire. Although I had my partners, I needed the connections she had in Charleston to grow my business. I married her for her name, but it didn’t hurt I was fond of her classic beauty and her wit. She was sharp and stealthy when she worked a room and I needed someone beside me that adhered to the wealthiest appetites, to attract them and bring them in. I was old money, but when I moved here from Savannah ten years ago, I needed a shoe-in, a way to easily marry myself with the elite. Something she could do with her name alone. The world was my oyster at twenty-nine when I married her.

I got that so fucking wrong
.

After a few years of ignorant bliss, she started withholding sex at her whim. She’d made it perfectly clear that I was to do as she wished.
Happy wife, happy life
.

I ignored her. I was busy growing my firm and didn’t bother to try and save the marriage. She had her agenda: to live and die exactly like her mother. And I had mine. She thought I was weak.

Stupid cunt.

“Seven years, Devin,” her mother piped. “It’s time for the itch.” She couldn’t have handed me a more loaded statement. I caught Eileen’s gaze that told me not to go there and gave her a small smirk. “I have a feeling I will fare well.”

Eileen plastered a smile on her face. The truth was, no one at the table was blind. There was a large elephant stomping all over the renaissance style, oak dining table that we all ignored. Her mother numbed herself with her anti-depressants while her father aided me by taking advantage of my abuse and cruelty with my new ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Macallan, an anniversary gift from my wife. Her sister, Sandra, glared around at all of us while we ate. She apparently was in a good mood, because insults weren’t flying between her and Eileen. When the two were amicable, it usually had something to do with me. There was only one woman I despised as much as my wife, and that was her sister. Sandra lived in Savannah in what I was sure was a dark cave where she sacrificed defenseless animals and small children before cleansing herself in their blood. There was no deity worthy of her praise that she could possibly hold in higher regard as much as she did herself. She radiated evil and I, along with my wife, shared open contempt for her. I would normally question her presence in the house, but it was clear to me Eileen had her here as a subtle reminder of her case against me and to keep me on my toes. Sandra was as much to blame as my dear wife for my predicament. “Sandra, how good of you to come.” I raised my glass, prodding her with my wolf grin. “Will you be staying long?”

“Just long enough for dessert.” She smiled. “And maybe while I’m in town, visit an old friend or two.”

Touché, cunt.

And finally there was Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Marion, Eileen’s closest friends and two of the wealthiest people in Charleston, because it was completely fucking necessary for them to share in our wedding anniversary celebration. Everything was an occasion. Honestly, I was surprised this was the extent of our guests. Two years ago, before I’d met Nina, I’d asked my wife for a divorce.

Two years ago, she declared she wouldn’t grant me one and swore she’d find leverage to keep me.

Two years ago, my wife had fumbled around blindly in the dark and found that leverage with the help of her sister. Two years ago, I became a slave to her will.

I had no choice but to trust her out of desperation and she’d turned the tables, demanding my loyalty and public fidelity in exchange for bailing me out. She kept secrets for me, and in exchange I had turned into the puppet she’d always wanted. One short month later, my salvation walked into the Admiral’s Club and I saw a glimmer of hope. After months of meetings, I’d purposefully avoided a few appointments to avoid fucking her. I needed her business. Nina was the key to getting my life back since it had all fallen apart. I rolled the liquid around in my tumbler, thinking of the last bottle I’d savored. My body tensed in recognition. I was christening my sailboat,
The Talisman
, with Nina. I had met with Nina again several times and over the first year I’d known her, I’d never gotten close enough to where I couldn’t resist her. She had been my biggest challenge. When Eileen agreed to let me take residence in downtown while she remained on Seabrook Island, I had rejoiced in the prospect of my prison break. My first priority was becoming free of her and because I was so damned close to my goal, I rewarded myself with Nina.

She was my one and only affair. Nina had done what I had advised. She’d formed her company, Scott Solutions, and had given me millions to play with. I was fine gambling with her money, but never my own. That was my rule. It was also my job. And when it came to Nina and investing, I could do no wrong, hence the name of my boat. It was named after her, though I’d never told her. She was my talisman, my charm, my fresh air. I’d never made a single dollar on poor investments, or done a shady deal. Even the flipping of that fucking land and its consistent sale was legitimate, if only a little gray. No, it wasn’t poor business choices that got me here, it was my fucking heart, my conscience, my misplaced loyalty. Things I didn’t need to survive. Things that now mattered more than playing the game I set out to win. I had a new agenda: Get my life back, and if the gods saw fit, get Nina back as well.

For now, all I had was a cold bed and cold hearted bitch who threatened to keep it that way. I spent the rest of my meal growing hard underneath my napkin at thoughts of Nina on my new sail boat.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, turning to me with a wink. “Just how much am I paying you?”

I smiled broadly. “Full disclosure, Ms. Scott. Check your email.”

“I think it’s safe for us to be on a first name basis,” she said, grabbing my hand as I guided her onto the deck. It wasn’t an obnoxious boat, but it was impressive. I had enough to buy any of the fucking boats on the harbor, but sailing was my passion and I wasn’t doing this for show. This was what I loved and it seemed even more complete with the woman who had just graced the deck. “You look beautiful,” I said carefully.

“Thank you,” she said, scanning the harbor. It was the start of summer, but the breeze was heavenly and lifted her long hair off of her shoulders. “Alright, captain, I learned a few things. I’m ready to help.”

I chuckled as I took her in. She was overdressed in a yellow sundress and sandals, but it was subtle, and something deep inside my chest tugged in the moment she waited on me, her eyes expectant. She had put on a small amount of weight, and seemed to be polished well and was glowing. I pictured my mouth on her then, my tongue plunging deep inside her pussy and wondered what her moans would sound like.

“I’ve got the whole of it,” I said, tying off then starting the motor.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” she said, watching me steer out into the harbor.

“Well, beautiful, we could spend the day trying to row ourselves out, but we’d be exhausted.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks reddened. “Shit,” she said, further embarrassed.

“Hey, beginner,” I said, hoping it helped, “make yourself useful and get me a beer.”

“It’s like when I’m around you, what comes up, comes out an avalanche of stupid. I can’t imagine what you think of me.”

I studied her long and hard before telling her what had more than once graced the tip of my tongue without spilling out. “I happen to like it that you are so candid with me,” I said as she smiled. “I also think you are fucking beautiful and prefer this view over any I’ve ever seen. As far as what I think about you, I think you know I do a lot of it.”

She swallowed as she handed me a beer and looked around the flawless harbor. “I could get used to this.”

“What?”

“You calling me beautiful,” she whispered as she looked back at me. I’d seen it a few times since we met, but here she was making it perfectly clear. The feeling was mutual.

“I’m curious, Nina,” I said, busying myself around the deck, completing the steps my father taught me, focusing the boom and getting ready to set the main sail. “How did you do it?”

She stiffened as she studied me, using my advice against me. She would make me earn it. “How did I do what?”

“How did a twenty-seven-year-old college drop-out, become a multi-millionaire in a year?”

She smirked. “I did what you did. I saw an opportunity to gamble and I took it. Except, I didn’t have to seek it out. It came to me.”

I stayed silent as I released the jib and set a cleat, urging her to continue.

“I was a fat kid. I think it’s ironic now how my past torment is now the reason for my fortune. I was the epitome of an ugly duckling. I learned early on you had to have something going for you, either looks or money, and I had neither. So I made it a point to do something about it. I started young, thirteen or fourteen, I think. I wiped everything out of my diet except for rabbit food, began working out vigorously and in a year’s time … You get it. Anyway, I realized it was my only saving grace. I made it a hobby, I worked my ass off, literally, and it paid off. I was no longer the last girl to get invited to the dance. I was the first. Boys didn’t seem to worry about my bank account…then. So when I had to choose a major in college, I chose nutrition. I started to design a program for a class project and the rest is history.”

“And you found an investor,” I said, watching her skirt tease me as it whipped in the wind with a near glimpse of what lay underneath.

“She found me. Actually, it’s funny because that woman hadn’t ventured out as an investor in years. I sent it to the market to test it and she was the first in the pool to pick it up. She was convinced it was the next Atkins.”

“She was right,” I said, grabbing my beer to join her and take the wheel. She was sipping a glass of the second bottle of champagne she brought. The first’s remains sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic after I gave it a love tap to christen the boat. “And are you happy with the results?” I asked, taking my place at the wheel.

“Yes, no, I mean…” She looked at the heavens, shaking her head. “I’m happy that it helped so many people. I am still kind of reeling from it all. It was definitely a case of too much too soon.” She turned to me. “I’m not complaining and I’m thankful to you for steering me in the right direction.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, opening a fresh beer.

“It’s been a ride,” she said distantly. “And it’s only just begun.”

It was then I saw her sadness. The kind of sadness I see in most of my clients when they realize money doesn’t solve everything.

Money doesn’t solve people and those were the hardest burdens to bear.

“Nina, you realize that with or without the money, you would still feel the way you feel.”

“I should have known he was an asshole,” she said quickly. “How could I not see that? And everyone around me, it was like I was a pariah, even to my close friends. The friends I had long before my husband, they made me feel … guilty for the wealth. As if it was my fault they were still struggling. Suddenly we had nothing in common. I didn’t have kids and they were all starting families. I ran out of excuses to call and they didn’t bother to call me. I mean, what the hell is wrong with people?”