A Fragile Wife: Billionaire Romance (14 page)

I really am a loser, though.
That thought cut short her climax, but not her husband’s. He came long, hard, and deep within her, his hot breath slamming against her chest as he stilled within her and unleashed himself.

Usually Lana found that moment the hottest. Her husband, a usually composed man, unable to control himself to the point his biological impulse took over and attempted to… well, did it really have to be said?
We’ve role-played impregnation a few times…
Lana wasn’t interested in becoming a mother, but damn if it wasn’t hot to hear her husband, her Master, whisper, “I’m gonna own your body,” just moments before his orgasm.

The reason that sort of thing turned her on was because, until now, Lana believed that she was the only woman her husband “owned.” No matter who else they played with, how many women they took on, Lana would always be Ken’s one and only when it came down to it. She didn’t hesitate to believe that, if her husband had to choose one woman for the rest of his life, it would be her. Wasn’t that what he declared when he married her ten years ago?

“Merry Christmas,” Ken said, long after he untied her and removed her brand new collar from her throat. He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arm around her as the lights went down and he fell into an undisturbed sleep.

Lana had to get up and head to the bathroom. She watched Ken roll over and continue sleeping, her feet taking her to the sink in the adjacent room.

She stood in front of the mirror, her naked body more pathetic than usual. She saw every crease, every wrinkle of age. The lines she worked so hard to keep at bay. What she once thought was vanity she now believed was
fear.

Fear that she would get too old. That she would go from being Ken’s wife to his stand-in mother. The more she looked at herself in the mirror, the more she realized her body was closer to forty than she ever anticipated.

Lana whipped her arm across the counter and knocked her husband’s shaving cream and razor onto the floor.

I need help.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, blond hair cascading against porcelain.
I’m gonna lose it at this point.

She had two options: keep staying the course, wondering if her husband was cheating her on, or tackle the issue head on.

She may regret it. She may make a total fool of herself if her instincts were wrong. But Lana Andrews could not continue to live with the constant worry and misery that her husband was anything less than the wonderful man she always thought he was.

Ten years of marriage depended on it.

Chapter 9

“Stay Away From My Husband.”

Lana was more than grateful to put the rigors of Christmas behind her. As soon as she and Ken returned home, she slept for a day, putting off all work in those pivotal few days between Christmas and New Year’s. Her husband asked if she were ill again, and all she could say was that the weather – which was unusually wet and chilly that year – was dampening her spirits. He responded by closing the curtains, keeping a fire stoked in their room, and turning the flat screen hanging above the fireplace to every tropical travel show he could find. By their anniversary, on the 29
th
, Lana swore she would never go to the Caribbean again.

Ugh. Their anniversary.

Due to her health, Lana could not join Ken for their reservations at their favorite restaurant in town. They also had to cancel their plans to occupy a honeymoon suite at the Presidential Hotel, something they had been planning all year – the equipment they had accumulated remained unboxed in the closet. The last thing Lana wanted to do was have kinky sex with her husband. Something he caught wind of fairly quickly, often asking her if she wanted to go to a doctor – any kind of doctor.

Her therapist was away for the holidays. Too bad.
I’m sure he would love to hear my recent paranoid ramblings.

“Bunny,” Ken said on their anniversary, sitting on her side of the bed and patting her hand. Lana turned off the TV to hear what he had to say. “What’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”

She shrugged, as if how she felt meant nothing.
I don’t want to talk about it right now.
She wanted to sleep, to play mindless games on her tablet, and to read all those literary classics she had yet to catch up on.

“Perhaps it’s seasonal depression,” she offered.

“You’ve never been this bad before.”

How kind of him to notice over the years.

“You’re not…
depressed
depressed, are you?”

Oh, Ken… he had such a way with words. Sometimes. Not all the time. “Maybe. I don’t know, Kenny. There are things weighing me down right now.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined our big anniversary…”

“Don’t do that. You haven’t ruined a thing.” He wiped away one tear, but missed the other one. “I don’t care what we do, as long as we’re together. Besides, we can make up for it on our honeymoon next month. Are you still looking forward to that?”

She nodded.
I had been, anyway.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you. When have you not been able to tell me anything?” Ken squeezed her hand, a touch she would usually welcome with everything she had. “You know I like knowing what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. Please, Lana, you’re starting to scare me.”

Scare him?
Scare
him? Lana was the one wasting away here. She was the one battling her subconscious in a game of wills she could not afford to lose. She had hoped to have the air cleared regarding her husband’s fidelity by now, but her illness put her behind schedule to the point she refused to let Chloe into the master suite, citing that she didn’t want to possibly spread anything. Either Roberta brought things directly to her or Ken took care of everything when he got home. He didn’t even complain when Lana was too sick to go to an important business meeting right after Christmas.

“Lana?”

She squeezed his hand back. “I’m worried that I’m seeing things that aren’t there.”

Her husband sat back with a start. “What do you mean by that? Do you mean like…?”

“I don’t mean mental illness.” She snorted. “Unless I really am depressed or anxious, I guess. I’m not turning into my mother.” Another snort, this time of derision. “I mean I think my brain is fabricating situations that aren’t really there, because it can’t believe that happiness lasts this long.”

Although his face said he didn’t understand a damn thing she said, the words coming out of Ken’s mouth were completely different. “Bunny,” he began. “Come downstairs. I have something I want to show you.”

He helped her into her nicest silk robe and led her down the hall, down the stairs, and into the dining room, where an elaborate candlelight dinner was set. Lana sat down, shocked but unable to express it. Ken sat next to her, his hand never letting go of hers.

“Happy anniversary, Bunny. Here’s to ten more.”

Champagne, a delicious meal, and their mutual favorite of chocolate pecan pie. It overwhelmed Lana, who started sobbing halfway through their meal. Ken didn’t say anything. He held her hand and cleaned up the carrot she had dropped with her fork.
I don’t deserve this man.
Even if he were cheating on her, she didn’t deserve him.

That was a dangerous thought.

***

Luckily, Lana was a woman who could get over herself as quickly as she fell into the trap of being
so into
herself.

By New Year’s, she was better. Out of bed and back to work, at least. She and Ken attended a party at Le Château with most of the other patrons and a few of their guests. They were congratulated on their ten year anniversary and asked if they had any advice for the budding couples around them. Ken said it took “a lot of patience and communication.”

Their love life returned to somewhat normal. Not as kinky, but at least Lana was in a place where she felt good enough letting her husband back into her body. Ken did not complain. It tired Lana having the model husband who only served to make her feel guiltier for her suspicions.

By the first week of January she was back downtown, attending meetings, busting balls, and having lunch dates with people beside her husband. If it weren’t for the ghost haunting her brain, Lana would consider herself back to completely normal and business as usual.

Except things could never be left alone. Not when she and Chloe lived in the same damn house.

More than once she considered firing the girl, giving her a nice severance check and referral, and hiring a butler – not that it would stop anything. If Ken had been cheating on her with the maid, he would move on to someone else – including the butler. Her husband’s tastes for men were nowhere near as strong as they were for women, but with Lana’s paranoia cranked to the max, she trusted no one, man or woman. Her best bet was hiring an older maid who had the sex drive of a eunuch.

She saw her chance to tackle things, however, one sunny – but cold – day the second week of January. It was one week before she and Ken boarded their flight for their second honeymoon, and she was not going to let certain opportunities pass her by.

Especially when she found Chloe sitting on a bench during her break, flipping through more of Ken’s personalized stationery.

“What is that?’ Lana demanded, swiftly approaching the young maid before she could see the oncoming storm and put the evidence away. “What has my husband given you?”

Chloe gaped at her, caught red-handed. God, she looked barely a day over eighteen. In truth, she was in her early 20s, but had such a baby face that Lana wouldn’t blame her husband for lusting after her.
In another situation, Lana may lust after her as well.
We would both devour you, girl.
Lana didn’t want to consider the thought right now. Not with the
help.

“It’s nothing, ma’am. Just a list of instructions.”

Bullshit.
Chloe made a grave mistake not hiding those papers. Lana attempted to snatch them right out of the maid’s hands… but Chloe’s grip was so strong that the papers tore in half. All Lana had to show for her tantrum was the letterhead and the tops of words she could not make out in her husband’s cursive writing.

“Look here,” she growled, pointing a steel-tipped boot in Chloe’s direction. “I know what’s going on here. You’re staying low for now, but a wife knows when hanky-panky is underfoot. My husband is an idiot who thinks he can get away with it. You?” Lana cackled. That same cackle that sent so many of her colleagues running and calling her “crazy bitch” behind her back. Or right in front of her. “You’re nobody. I can wipe the floor with you. I can make sure nobody hires you in the city for as long as you live. Got it?”

At first, Chloe merely looked
petrified.
Now, Lana did not enjoy scaring a girl shitless. It wasn’t as satisfying as, say, scaring a fellow CEO shitless. There was no joy, no pride in making some little no-name girl quake in her flats and act like she was going to relieve her bowels in front of the boss.

Then Chloe changed. Knowledge overcame her. Soon enough, she knew exactly what her crazy-ass boss was referring to.

“Oh my God!” she cried, crumpling the yellow stationery in her hands. “I swear I’m not… no… you have the wrong idea, Mrs. Andrews!”

“Do I? You think I haven’t played this game before?” A part of her wished the change in Chloe’s demeanor meant a tiger cub was about to burst out. Threatening, but nothing she couldn’t deal with. Instead she got a scared and defensive little girl who probably really believed what she was saying. “You would be remiss, Chloe. I know exactly what my husband is up to.”

“You… do?”

“Oh, yeah. And I know your role in it, if you know what I mean.”

Now the maid looked confused.

“Mind yourself,” Lana said as a final warning. “I wouldn’t merely destroy you, girl. I would make your life such a living hell that you would have to move to the other side of the country to get a break from me. And even then? I would find you. Stay away from my husband.”

“I…”

“Shut up.” Lana turned, a satisfied grin taking over her pale complexion. “Oh, and I believe your break is now over. Roberta has some things for you to do.”

Lana learned nothing from that encounter, but damn if she didn’t feel better!

Chapter 10

“Do You Think I’m Pretty?”

“Oh, boy,” Elle said over margaritas the next afternoon. “Bullying your maid? That’s a new low, even for you.”

Lana slammed her margarita on the table between them and squared her shoulders. “I did what had to be done. You think I liked doing that?”

“Yeah, I do. At least a little.” Elle laughed, pushing out her fake tits and brushing her manicured nails through her crunchy black hair.
Outside of the club, you can really tell she does shit to herself.
Lana hoped she never reached that level of delusion. “You like throwing your weight around. Nothing wrong with that, especially from a badass bitch like you, but was it really necessary to make your
maid
piss herself? Even if you think your husband is hiding his sausage in her taco, that was brazen. Jesus, Lana.”