Capital Wives (16 page)

“May I please have everyone's attention.” Wesley had raised his voice to be heard above the soft conversations going on around the table. “Firstly, I would thank you for taking time out to come here this afternoon.” He nodded to a woman holding a basket. “Robyn is going to come around and give each of you a little something from me to show my appreciation for your dedication and hard work that helped me to win my congressional seat. Please don't open them until you leave.” One black eyebrow rose a fraction. “Marisol, Robyn will give you something for your husband. I know everyone here has heard me say more times than they can count that I wouldn't be here without Bryce McDonald.”

“Here, here,” came a chorus from the assembly.

“Last and certainly not least,” Wesley continued, “I'd like to thank Damon Paxton. Some of you may not know it, but
without Damon you would've become volunteers and not paid staff.” He raised his water glass and there was another chorus of approval.

The gathering lasted for another hour, when a variety of desserts, ranging from sliced fresh seasonal fruit, tarts and compotes accompanied by coffee, tea and cordials was served. Marisol lingered behind the others when Wesley said he wanted to give her something.

When he took off his glasses she realized why he'd worn them. His eyes were red and swollen. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“Allergies. I'm going to take a couple of Benadryl before I go to bed tonight.”

“Why didn't you take them earlier?”

He smiled. “I didn't want anyone to think I was under the influence.” He took her hand. “Come with me.”

Marisol followed Wesley down a wide hallway to a room he'd set up as a home office. It was quintessentially masculine, with an ornately carved oak desk, matching built-in bookcases, leather chairs, walls covered with framed prints and photographs of athletes. He picked up an envelope off the glass-covered desk, handing it to her.

“In there are tentative plans for our trip to Puerto Rico. If the dates don't fit into your schedule, then please let me know.”

Marisol scanned the single page of type. Wesley had arranged for them to spend two weeks on the island. They were scheduled to fly into Ponce on a private jet. A driver would pick them up at the airport and drive them to Guánica. She looked up at him. “I don't think it's going to take me more than a week to set up plans for each room.”

“I realize that. But I just thought you'd want to spend some time with your relatives in Palomas and Guayanilla.”

Her pulse quickened. “Are you sure you don't mind hanging out with my relatives?”

“Of course I don't mind.”

She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Wesley.”

“You're welcome.”

Wesley walked her outside where he hailed a taxi, waiting until she was seated, and then he closed the door. Gazing out the back window, she stared at him until he became smaller and smaller, then disappeared from her line of vision.

A week from now she would be on a jet flying to Puerto Rico for business and pleasure. But the man accompanying her wouldn't be her husband, but her client. The last time she'd gone to Puerto Rico to visit relatives Bryce refused to go with her, saying he hadn't wanted to impose on her time with her family. When her aunts and cousins asked her about her husband, Marisol had lied and said he was working.

What she didn't want to think of was that her husband had stayed in D.C. to see another woman.
Damn you, Cynthia!
Why had Bryce's mother waited six years to tell her about Bryce's sexual escapades? As far as Marisol was concerned, what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

T
he driver got out and came around to help Bethany out the car, then waited for Damon to emerge. “Please call me, Mr. Paxton, when you're ready to leave.”

“I won't need you until tomorrow morning,” Damon told his driver. “Enjoy your evening.”

The driver smiled. “Thank you. The same to you and Mrs. Paxton.”

Damon caught Bethany's hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he led her to the entrance to the Victoria. It had been a long time—in fact, it was before he and Bethany were married since they'd checked into a hotel to do nothing more than make love. He'd had a few reservations about marrying a woman twenty years his junior, but Bethany had surprised him because she appeared genuinely happy as a wife and mother. He hadn't asked much from her, with the exception that she remain a stay-at-home mother until Connor and Abigail were older. He'd witnessed the negative effects on
children of two working parents: lack of boundaries, higher incidents of substance abuse and unplanned pregnancies.

The doorman held the door. “Good evening. Welcome to the Victoria.”

Bethany gave him a friendly smile. “Thank you. How did you find this place?” she whispered to Damon.

“I told you it's a stash house for mistresses.”

“Did you ever bring your mistresses here?”

“No, but I know quite a few men who do.”

“It's beautiful.”

“It is,” Damon agreed.

“I've never been in this neighborhood,” Bethany admitted.

“The two square blocks that make up this section of D.C. are a well-kept secret. The town houses belong to some of the wealthiest families in the city. Before this place was converted to a hotel it was the residence of a wealthy banker who'd lost his fortune in the Crash of '29.”

“I feel as if I should be wearing one of those high-necked white dresses with the bustles from the Victorian era.”

“You would've been an exquisite Victorian lady.”

“I doubt it, Damon. Remember, my family was and is still dirt-poor.”

He had no comeback to Bethany's reference to her humble beginnings. Damon had thought that she would've become accustomed to her new upscale lifestyle. Now he realized why she hadn't wanted to live in one of the more affluent D.C. or northern Virginia suburbs. He'd wanted to live in Georgetown, Washington's oldest and wealthiest neighborhood, but Bethany had preferred Falls Church because she wouldn't have to run into those who'd been Jean's close friends and staunch allies.

Damon realized once he'd begun seeing Bethany publicly he'd put her in a tenuous position where she'd become a much
maligned pariah as a home wrecker, and there was little he could do to counter the accusation without outing the mother of his daughter.

Resting his hand in the small of Bethany's back, he led her to the concierge. The man was dressed in a dark gray tailored suit, white shirt and charcoal-gray silk tie. “I'd like a suite for the night.”

The concierge nodded. “We happen to have a charming suite on the third floor. If you have luggage, I'll arrange for someone to bring it up for you.”

Damon and Bethany shared a secret smile. “There's no luggage.”

“My name is Philip and I'll be here until midnight. Clarence will relieve me, so if there's anything you need he will be available for you. How would you like to check in, Mister…?”

“It's Paxton. Damon and Bethany Paxton.”

Philip took a surreptitious glance at their matching wedding bands, smiling. “Would you like dinner in your suite?”

Again, Damon and Bethany exchanged a glance, she shaking her head. They'd sat down to eat at three at Wesley's. “We'll have something light in the bar, but I doubt whether we'll want a full dinner.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, Damon removed his credit-card case, handing Philip one.

After they were checked in and given room keys, Damon steered Bethany into the bar, seating her at table for two in a corner where a towering palm provided them with a modicum of privacy.

Light from a candle on the table was reflected in Bethany's brilliant violet eyes. “I like this place,” she said, glancing around the rosewood-paneled area.

“Would you like us to rent a suite here?”

Settling back in her chair, she stared at something over his shoulder. “What would we use it for?”

“Date night. If the president and the first lady have date night, why shouldn't we?”

“You want to date me?”

Reaching across the table, Damon held on to Bethany's hands. “Yes. Only because we've never really dated. It's true I would meet you in hotels, but those weren't actually dates. The few times I took you to a social gathering because it required a partner didn't count. I want to take you out to dinner, or to a movie, but instead of going home we can come here and you can make as much noise as you want when we make love.”

Bethany blushed. “I'm not the only one who makes noise.”

“You're the screamer, Beth.”

“I only scream when you hit the G-spot.”

Damon angled his head and rested his arm over the back of the chair. “But I don't hit it every time, do I?”

“If you're asking me whether I have an orgasm whenever we make love, then the answer is yes.”

“But I don't make you scream every time.”

Bethany hesitated, her expression tight, lips compressed. “What are you getting at, Damon? Are you asking if you satisfy me?” He nodded. “May I be honest?”

He nodded again. “Please.”

“Sex…I mean making love with you is glorious. We don't make love as often as we did before we were married, but that's to be expected.”

“Because I'm getting old?”

Bethany reversed their hands, her thumbs making tiny circles over his knuckles. “It has nothing to do with your age, darling. It's different now that we have the kids. We can't run
around naked or make love anytime the moods hits us. If you want to rent a suite here I definitely won't be opposed to it.”

Damon's gaze was as soft as a caress. He wondered how he had gotten so lucky. It was as if he'd been repaid for making a mess of his first marriage. “Have a drink with me.”

Bethany affected a sexy moue. “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”

“Yes.”

Throwing back her head, she laughed softly. “Then I'll have what you have.”

“Are you certain you can handle a martini?”

“Have you forgotten that my introduction to booze was moonshine?”

It was Damon's turn to laugh. “Do you want to drink them here, or go upstairs?”

“I'd rather sit here. The atmosphere is conducive to seduction.”

Raising his hand, Damon signaled a waiter and placed an order for extra dry gin martinis with a splash of Dubonnet and a twist. Waiting until the man walked away, he gazed deeply into Bethany's eyes. “I love you so…”

The rest of his declaration died on his tongue when he heard a familiar voice come from a table behind him. He didn't have to turn around and peer through the fronds of the palm to know who it was. Placing a finger over his mouth, he signaled for Bethany not to talk. He'd cautioned Spencer Tyson to stop seeing Jenah Morris, but apparently from what he was saying to her, it had come back to haunt him.

 

“You can't be pregnant,” Spencer spat out between clenched teeth.

“Do you want to see the results of my test?” Jenah asked.

If he was like some of the guys he'd known in his old
neighborhood he would've slapped Jenah off her chair. He'd asked Jenah to meet him at the Victoria not to make love to her but to break it off—for good. He and Deanna had agreed to start trying for a baby, and that meant a total commitment to his wife. He'd cheated on her for the last time.

“I tell you it's over and you come at me with phony ‘I'm having your baby,' nonsense. It's the oldest trick in the book and I'm not falling for it.”

“It's not a trick, Spencer.”

“What happened to your IUD?”

A sly smile parted Jenah's lips as she peered at Spencer through the fringe of hair covering her blue eye. “I had it removed.”

“What the hell for?” Spencer was hard-pressed not to scream at Jenah.

“My periods were too heavy and I was losing time from work, so I went to my doctor and had him remove it.”

“Why didn't you use something else?”

“I had to decide whether to go back on the Pill but…”

“But what, Jenah?”

“I thought about how nice it would be to have your baby.”

Spencer's hands curled into tight fists. “You scheming bitch! You deliberately got pregnant because you thought I would leave my wife, didn't you? Well, let me tell you something. I wouldn't give a fuck if you had a dozen of my kids, I still wouldn't marry you.”

Jenah's eyes filled with tears, but somewhere she found the strength not to let them fall. “But you told me you loved me,” she said in a strangled voice.

“A man will say anything when he has his dick in a wet pussy.” Reaching into the pocket of his suit trousers, he took a money clip and placed a wad of bills on the table. “Get rid of it, bitch, or I'll make you regret you ever drew breath.”

Jenah slapped at the money. “Do you think you can buy me off?”

Spencer stood up. “Everybody has a price, Jenah. Even you.”

Jenah also came to her feet. “Maybe Deanna needs to know that her husband has been creeping on her.”

“You stay away from my wife or you'll find D.C. hazardous to your health.”

“Are you threatening me, Spencer Tyson?”

“No, ho.”

“If I'm a ho, then you made me one.”

Spencer had heard enough. “You were a ho before we met. Someone who isn't wouldn't open her legs to a man within hours of meeting him. Have a good life,” he said in parting as he walked out of the Victoria, unaware that the couple sitting behind him had overheard his damning conversation.

 

Bethany's eyes were as large as silver dollars as she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh!” she whispered through her fingers. “Do you think I should tell Deanna?”

Damon ran a hand over his face. “Stay out of it, Beth.”

“But she's my friend.”

“I don't care if she was your sister, I want you to stay out of it. If Spencer doesn't say anything to his wife, then you shouldn't.”

“Didn't Tiffany Jones tell Jean about you and me before you did?”

“It didn't matter if she did, because my marriage had been over for years. All that was left was a divorce. Tyson and his wife are still very much together.”

Bethany recalled the conversation she'd had with Deanna about cheating. The event planner had said if her husband was
cheating, then she didn't want to know about it. But if she'd discovered it was true she would “cut his balls off.”

“I won't say anything to her.” She'd promised Damon she wouldn't tell her friend about her unfaithful husband, but she didn't promise him that it wouldn't appear in her column. “Who is she?” she asked instead.

“She works for congresswoman Earline Canton.”

“From which state?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“I feel sorry for her, Damon.” He looked at Bethany as if she'd taken leave of her senses.

“Why?”

“Because she fell for the oldest trick in the book. Spencer tells her he loves her, so she deliberately gets pregnant in the hope that he'll leave his wife and marry her.”

“She's pathetic, Beth. She's a girl trying to play a woman's game.”

Bethany had to agree. She didn't know how old the woman Spencer had called Jenah was, but she couldn't have been that naive. Even in her early twenties Bethany was smart enough to know not to play the pregnant game. It had taken her a while to come to the realization that she was actually Mrs. Damon Paxton, and it had become more of a reality once Abigail was born. She'd succeeded where so many women had failed. The country girl had come to the big city and landed not only a wealthy man but one that was rumored to have as much power as the president. As a lobbyist Damon's power didn't come with two four-year limits or checks and balances. And everything he did wasn't subject to scrutiny
and
transparency.