Wicked Game: a Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

“Should I be?”

“Damien isn’t too happy about it.
 
Well, he wouldn’t be if he knew.”

I remembered catching them fighting in the dressing room and how loud she had screamed at Damien.
 
And then I remembered how she clung to him and nearly ripped his pants off in public and decided I hated her.

I ignored the question of why I felt so angry about another woman getting her hands on Damien.

“Did he really not tell you who I am?” she asked, curling her lip.
  
“About our
history
?”

I hated the way she said
history
.

That never meant anything good.

“Of course I know who you are,” I said, self-consciously.  I was so out of sorts in Damien’s world of charity balls and celebrities.  Was that the right answer?  Or were you supposed to pretend to not recognize them?  It was bizarre enough to be thrown into rich people land without one of them apparently seeking my slow and agonizing death.

Her lip curled up, and her eyes studied me like a viper about to strike its prey.

“He hasn’t told you, has he?” she asked.  “Oh God, that is such a Damien thing to do, isn’t it?  You have no idea, poor thing.”

“No idea?”

My heart beat hard against my chest, and my head was spinning.  I didn’t know a lot about Damien’s new life, but I knew a lot about Damien.  And I knew that that couldn’t mean anything good.
 
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“You know he’s just using you, don’t you?” she asked, leaning forward with a vicious smile.
 
My stomach dropped.
 

No.
 
Please, God, no.
 
Not this again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth with all of my will.

“Oh honey,” she said, pouting.
 
“Of course you don’t.”

I wanted to snap at her to mind her own damn business, but I couldn’t choke out the words.
 
Sure, she was an actress, which meant she was probably a good liar.
 
And she seemed to have something against Damien, so I knew she wasn’t the most unbiased person in the world.
 

But she was getting to me.
 

This Damien sounded familiar.

Damien himself appeared through the crowds, storming toward us from the other side of the room.
 
My lips parted in confusion as I saw his clenched fists and burning gaze.
 
His expression was violently furious, and he marched forward as fast as his legs would take him. I turned to Audrey Grace and realized she was smiling triumphantly.

This was all too much.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Why is he so mad?” I asked in a haze, still trying to collect my thoughts.   The glint of sweat gleaming on Damien’s forehead was visible even across the room.  His fists were clenching and unclenching nervously.

Sweat?  Damien was worried?  Nothing worried Damien Blackwood.  

Except this, I thought as I turned back to Audrey.

This must be bad.

Bad
bad.

I looked up at her elegant face with worry as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“You really want to know?” she asked with a gloating smile.

“Yes,” I answered numbly, already knowing I didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Because,” she said simply.  Her pink lips curled into a grin.  “I’m his wife.”

I felt the world collapse beneath me.

Wife, wife, wife
.

The word was still ringing through my head the morning after.
 
I hadn’t been able to sleep at all through the night, locking myself in the bedroom and ignoring Damien as he sat outside.
 
I had torn the ball gown off and was in my pajamas again, but I couldn’t sleep.
 
Not with that word ringing through my head constantly, teasing me and confusing the hell out of me.
 
My world had turned upside down within the space of an hour.

Wife, wife, wife.

I rested my head against the frame of my bedroom door, fighting off the sleep that weighed down my eyes.
 

Damien hadn’t left his side of the door all night either.
 

I heard his sigh from the other side.

“Cleo,” he said, his voice raspy.
 
“Ellison is here.
 
Will you let us explain now?”

“Explain that you’re already married and lied to my face.”

“I told you,” he croaked.
 
“It’s not like that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Miss Bishop?”
 
Ellison’s voice now.
 
It was weary and frustrated, but not choked by sleep and desperation like Damien’s was.
 
He knocked lightly on the door.
 
“We need to discuss this.
 
Meet us in the library in thirty minutes.”

I heard his footsteps pace away.
 

After a few minutes, Damien’s followed.

I crossed my arms and rested my head.
 
Was I really willing to discuss this?
 
Was I really willing to see Damien again?
 
Then again, I wasn’t ready to test a high powered lawyer.
 
I got the feeling when Ellison set an appointment, you attended whether you signed up for it or not.
 
I was still a part of this crazy situation, even if I didn’t want to be.

And, goddamnit, I wanted answers.

With a groan, I grabbed my robe and slipped out the door.
 

Damien was already there, waiting for me.
 
“Five minutes, Cleo,” he begged, as soon as I turned the corner into the hallway.
 
I glared a hole into him, but he ignored it.
 
The dark bags under his eyes looked deadly.
 
“That’s all I need to explain this.”

I didn’t answer him, just pushing past him to walk into the library.

Damien sighed in relief that I was playing along.

“Five minutes,” he said, following in after me.
 
“That’s all I need.”

One steaming cup of black coffee later, we sat in his library. I promised myself I would keep myself from killing Damien, at least for the next thirty minutes.
 

After that, all bets were off.
 

I leaned back into the leather chair, the warm coffee mug melting the chill out of my fingers.
 
I inhaled the strong scent of it, trying to clear my head.
 
Behind his desk, Damien was holding his head in his hands.
 
Ellison was pacing the room, his hand to his forehead as a frustrated expression took over his face.

I gathered my thoughts and cleared my throat.

“Explain,” I ordered.
 
“No more lies.”

I had already heard this story so many times last night as Damien tried to shout it through the bedroom door, but I still couldn’t get it through my head.
 
Not through the voice inside that was screaming
wife, wife, wife.

Damien raised his head for a moment to look at me.

“We
were
married,” Damien repeated for the millionth time.
 
“Not are,
were
.
 
We are divorced now.”

They were married.

That shouldn’t hurt me.
 
But it stung anyway.
 

Ellison nodded along, assuring me the story was true.
 

Damien continued.

“Only for four months.
 
I was trying to please Dad.
 
He said I needed a wife, and Audrey and I got along.
 
Her publicist thought a marriage would be a good idea.
 
Dad pushed me to go through with it.
 
It turned out to be terrible.
 
Like all of Dad’s ideas.”

It still pissed me off, the idea that he had been married.

No, stop it.
 
Stop feeling like that.

He means nothing to you.

Not now, at least.

“We hated each other, and we got a divorce,” Damien continued, not moving his head from where it rested in his hands.
 
“It was a stupid idea from the start.
 
And now it’s coming back to bite me.
 
But she’s not my wife.
 
She wishes she was, but she’s not.”

I took a deep breath, trying desperately not to scream at him.

“And she’s back now because….” I said.

“Because of the money,” Ellison added, nodding to himself as he thought.
 
“The reason she agreed to marry him in the first place.
 
She must have heard about the terms of the inheritance, and now she’s back to claim her part.
 
If she can prove that she is Damien’s wife according to the terms of the agreement—and if Damien doesn’t marry anyone else within the time period it requires—she stands to inherit a massive sum of money.”

“And does she have a good argument that she’s the real wife?” I asked.

Ellison shrugged, but his frustrated expression and the pulsing vein in his forehead let me know that her claim was watertight.
 
I collapsed back into the chair.

“She’s the woman Dad wanted me to marry,” Damien admitted, his voice weak.
 
“He didn’t name her explicitly in the will.
 
But it was obvious that’s who he wanted me to marry.
 
And she knows it too.”

“It’s complicated,” Ellison added lightly.

I don’t know why I cared so much about this.
 
It’s not like I cared whether or not Damien inherited his father’s money.
 
And it’s not like I cared that they were married.

Stop caring, I added to myself silently.

Caring about Damien is always trouble.

Damien’s head snapped up again.
 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, a new power in his voice.
 
“Like you said, if I remarry in six months, her claim should go out the window.
 
I’ll still inherit the business.
 
I’ll pay her whatever she wants after that.
 
We’ll get through this.”

I didn’t answer.
 
I watched as Ellison gathered up his papers into his briefcase and leave for his next appointment, the vein in his head still throbbing.

That just left me, Damien, and the massive black hole between us that was the sudden existence of his ex-wife.

“We’ll get through this,” Damien repeated, like it was a fact.
 

I sat alone in my seat, staring into my coffee, thinking over this last night.
 
A small realization was dawning on me.
 
I couldn’t pretend this was okay anymore.
 
I couldn’t pretend that this situation was anything but fucked up.

And I couldn’t keep pretending Damien cared about me.

“I don’t know if we will, Damien,” I said slowly.

Damien froze.
 

“What do you mean?”

I glanced over at him through my bleary eyes.
 
I couldn’t tell if they were bleary with sleep or tears.
 
“You lied to me.”

My voice was slow but sure.
 

Damien’s jaw dropped.
 
“Cleo.
 
You know it’s not like that.”

“You hide things from me.
 
You lie to me.
 
You pretend to love me one minute and stab me in the back the next.
 
You haven’t changed a fucking bit, have you?”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I’m not an idiot anymore!”
 
I slammed the mug of coffee down so hard that the ceramic nearly shattered.
 
“Because I’m not going to keep lying to myself!
 
And I’m sure as hell not going to let you keep lying to me!”