The Billionaire’s Wife (The Billionaire’s Wife #1)(9)
Author: Ava Claire

But his back was to me, the muscular expanse tight and unyielding.

"Jacob? If there’s something going on-"

He turned to me, his face stony and unreadable. "There’s nothing going on," he said gruffly, buttoning his shirt. His pants were next. When he faced me, I realized we really were doing some sort of history lesson. All the greatest hits: the trench coat, the chaise, and the impenetrable wall Jacob used to keep up to keep me out.

His blue eyes were like ice as he yanked and tugged his slender black tie into place. When he spoke I honestly expected him to tell me that it was none of my business. Chew me out for sneaking around and keeping this to myself for days. Instead, he ticked the box that read ‘none of the above’.

"Everything’s alright, Lay." He turned back to his desk with a sigh. "I’m sure you just overheard my mother being her usual self and me calling her on it.” He shrugged, his way of closing the book on the subject. “I really need to put a dent in this." He glanced at me over his shoulder with a half smile that I almost bought. "That was incredible."

All the books and blogs about marriage and being a supportive partner said I should give him space. Let him open up to me when he was ready. But slipping that coat back on, a coat that was supposed to represent how far we’d come, just magnified the fact that even after a year of marriage, we couldn’t talk to each other.

I smiled too, my heart heavy. My head filled with questions. I didn’t ask any of them.

"I’ll see you at home." I paused at the door, a knot in my throat. "I love you."

"Love you too," he said smoothly, already lost in his work again.

I held onto those three words as I climbed back into the cab, pointed home.

He loves me.

There was nothing going on.

Only one of those statements rang true. The other sat in the pit of my stomach like a stone.

SIX

****

This was a measure of last resort.

After Jacob walked around like everything was normal, when the truth flashed angrily in his eyes before he rebuffed my questions, I was left with one single, exceedingly uncomfortable alternative.

I could ask the other person on the phone—his mother, Alicia Whitmore.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," I sighed, a few minutes away from what my head was telling me was a huge mistake. I focused instead on how picturesque Granite Falls was compared to the city. The roads weren’t full of cars stacked like sardines or riddled with potholes. The scent of exhaust fumes and asphalt didn’t invade my vents. All the not so charming things about the city were non existent out here. Even the modest homes looked extravagant, and were flanked by white picket fences.

Instead of smoke, money hung on the air out here. As beautiful as everything was, there was something off putting about the manicured lawns and the perfectly painted homes without a smudge of wear or tear. Everything was a little too impeccable. Bad things happened in Granite Falls too, they just had the money to cover their tracks.

What bad thing was Alicia and Jacob covering up?

I pulled up to the gate in front of the Whitmore property. With the iron fence and extensive landscaping, you couldn’t even see the house from the street. If my GPS wasn’t barking that I reached my destination, I almost would have driven right past. Alicia Whitmore wasn’t the kind of woman that did secluded or discreet. Money was important to her and showing just how much she had was doubly so.

The security guard snapped to attention, reminding me of the cold seriousness of the Buckingham Palace guards. He stared at me like I was wearing a ski mask and had ‘I’m up to no good’ stamped on my forehead.

"Can I help you?" he snapped, not sounding very helpful at all.

"I’m Leila Whitmore. Alicia is expecting me."

The stern expression on his face relaxed and he touched the rim of his ball cap. "Of course. Have a good night."

He returned to his post without another word and I gripped the steering wheel, suddenly getting cold feet. The gate creaked open and I tapped the gas, pulling the car into motion whether I was ready or not. Even in pitch darkness I was in awe of the estate. The drive was as smooth as butter, each side flanked by lush green grass and weeping willows. The mansion sat at the end of the drive, gothic and intimidating. It reminded me of some far off castle in Europe. I expected a horse drawn carriage to be parked out front but there was only a Mercedes. Even though I’d talked to Alicia a little over an hour ago to arrange all this, the house was dark and foreboding.

The only power Alicia has over you is the power you give her. Even though you’re coming to her for answers, that doesn’t mean you’re weak. But I suddenly felt like every move was torture, my legs filled with lead. My heart clenched and released in time with my fists. My sweaty palms were unable to hold my grip on the keys, which led to me fumbling around in the dark for them.

I exclaimed as flood lights flickered on, my vision blinded by the brightness. I covered my eyes, trying to adjust to the football stadium strength illumination.

I heard the click of heels and struggled to get to my feet.

"Quite the entrance, Leila." Alicia’s voice was as cutting as the cobblestone slicing into my knees. "Is there a reason you’re on all fours in my driveway?"

"It’s all the rage nowadays, crawling around on all fours," I joked. I was finally able to see the lady of the manor. She wore a cream colored sweater, a black peplum skirt, and a frown.

Her eyes were silver as she looked me over and shook her head. "I’m sure you would know about such things considering your particular tastes."

I guess I should have been happy that she was no longer calling me a gold digging skank, willing to debase myself for a lavish lifestyle, but it still stung.

"I dropped my keys," I said, purposefully changing the subject. "I just-"

She bent down way more gracefully than should have been possible in her red bottom stilettos. She rose, dangling my keys between her pointer finger and thumb like it was a pair of dirty underwear.

"Thanks,” I said with a forced smile.

There was no you’re welcome, she just dropped it into my palm and sashayed back the way she came.

I scurried behind her, reminding myself that we had made progress over the past year. She was pretty good at hiding her disapproval in public and her private disdain was a little easier to bear. After all, she didn’t have to agree to talk to me at all. Or invite me to her home. Baby steps were better than no steps at all, right?

I swallowed nervously when she stepped aside to allow me entry and the nerves melted into awe as I took in the decor. It was classic elegance with modern sophistication. Pieces of antique furniture were perfectly paired with sleek side tables. Artwork worthy of the best museums were framed in chrome. I couldn’t wait to see the—