Love Lies Read online

  She had thought, even worried, things might change as she began to get bigger, but it wasn’t so. Victor was as passionate and uninhibited as ever, and he adored her body—belly, larger breasts and all. He was fascinated by the anatomical changes in her, so much so that she didn’t hesitate to wake him at two o’clock in the morning the first time she felt the baby move. They lay awake together for another hour, hoping, but the baby didn’t oblige them again.

  Since then, of course, she had felt frequent movement. She was in her fifth month, after all, her second trimester—over halfway there. She had loved the baby even before feeling those first tentative nudges, but now the emotion she felt for him or her was almost frightening in its intensity. Unlike what she felt for Victor, about the baby she had no ambivalence. And there were times when she thought she must love Victor if for no other reason than gifting her with this incredible creature…and what did it matter exactly how she had gotten pregnant?

  Other times, she thought back to the horrible words he had said to her in Derik’s dojo, about how an accomplice to murder wasn’t a fit mother to raise his child. About how he would fight her for custody, and thought she couldn’t bear to stay in his house another day.

  Jeannie moved out, sensing Ashley’s unhappiness. “You’ve got to deal with the issues of your marriage,” she had told her firmly, ignoring Ashley’s pleas that she stay. “And it’s too easy to ignore them or put them off if I’m here…a nice, convenient distraction. Besides, I kind of miss the gang at Carlson-Musch, and someone has to torment the good Dr. Langenfeld. And really, Ash—didn’t you know? In this case, three is most definitely a crowd.”

  So, Jean left. Surprisingly, things were a little easier after that. And Victor was definitely more relaxed. She supposed having Jean live with them had been a dear concession indeed, but he had never indicated in any way he wasn’t happy to have her there.

  Victor vowed his love for her frequently, and never seemed to expect reciprocation. But every time she heard the words, she felt like flinching. They reminded her that she didn’t, or couldn’t, love him, or that she did love him, but was too cowardly to admit it. Either way, every time she heard the dreaded three little words, they just made her feel worse.

  She started a journal, and seeing her thoughts on the screen in front of her was very helpful, though when she had to describe the rape her fingers shook so that she had trouble typing. But once it was done, it didn’t seem so bad, reading over it. Hell, she’d thought with a ghost of a grin, she’d been to social events that were almost as awful. And she was able to get fresh perspective on him, because she was forced to realize that never before or after had he tried to force himself on her. Never had he hurt her by entering her before she was ready…if anything, her pleasure was more important to him than his own.

  March 27—Victor surprised me with flan for dessert for supper…I mentioned once, a few weeks ago, that it was my favorite, so he and Marnie, our cook, have been practicing so they could get it right. I suspect Marnie did most of the work, though she swore up and down she couldn’t have done it without him. Ha! Without his money to buy the ingredients, maybe…anyway, it was delicious and I had two pieces, God, I am getting so fat. Sharon Opitz is thrilled, of course, she’s always bugging me to eat more. So is Vic, for that matter. I think I know what it’s like to have a mother, now, because he’s always after me to eat, eat, eat.

  He told me over breakfast that I was the prettiest pregnant lady he’d ever seen, and I accused him of being just slightly biased. He wanted to know what that had to do with anything, and he said it so seriously I had to laugh. He seems happy most of the time, especially about the baby, but I often get the impression he’s waiting for something, and I keep catching him looking at me when he thinks I can’t see. I don’t know what to—

  “Hi, Ash. Working on the book?”

  She shrieked in surprise, then quickly saved the document and exited out of the application before turning around and seeing him in the doorway to her home office. “Okay, we’re putting in hardwood floors and you’re wearing tap shoes in the house, all the time,” she said by way of greeting. “Cripes, you’re like Batman, sneaking up on me all the time.”

  “Fine, thanks, and you?” He was shrugging out of his suit coat, and raindrops gleamed in his dark hair. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “That’s all right. I didn’t realize it was so late.” She laughed shakily. “You startled me, to put it mildly.”

  “I’m sorry, honey.” He looked at her face and apparently didn’t like what he saw there, because his next words were concerned, almost sharp. “How long have you been working?”

  “Oh…er…”

  He was frowning at her, hands on his hips, and his handsomeness struck her all over again—would she never get used to his dark good looks? “Since late this morning, I’ll bet, which means you didn’t have lunch.”

  “Oh, lunch,” she said with a weak attempt at dismissiveness, but he wasn’t having it. He crossed the room in three strides and gently pulled her up from her chair.

  “Come on. I’ll fix you a sandwich or something…Marnie made tortellini soup, how about some of that?”

  Her stomach goinged noisily and she laughed, then gasped as the baby kicked, hard. “Oof! I guess that’s a pretty great idea. Maybe two bowls?” she asked hopefully, following him into the kitchen. Before long they were consuming Marnie’s excellent homemade soup with gusto, and he was telling her about his day.

  In truth, Victor found day-to-day business intensely dull these days; his thoughts were always turning toward Ashley and the baby. The office practically ran itself, and he was seriously considering working out of the home and only going in for board meetings and the like. He wasn’t sure how Ashley would feel about having him around all the time, and so was waiting for the best time to bring it up.

  He knew she was unhappy, and it frustrated and saddened him. Used to ‘fixing things’, he was at last up against a problem—a person—he couldn’t instantly make better, and it was breaking his heart. He gave her all the material goods she would accept, made her life as easy as possible, but she was still unhappy, and there were times when she had an odd look on her face, almost as if she were trapped…or thought she was. He knew her unhappiness was a result of a failing in him, and all he could do was try to be patient, try to prove that he loved her and she need fear nothing from him. But it hurt knowing the love of his life was sometimes wary of him, and almost never trusted him.

  She never refused him sex anymore, and that was a straw he clung to. They were very, very good in bed, and she was as thrilling a partner as he could have hoped. She was completely, utterly there for him in bed, never distant, never cold. Afterward she was sometimes unhappy, as if letting her passionate nature assert itself was shameful, a failing of sort. He could do nothing about that but try to show her with his body that he loved her, that she would come to love him, that everything would be all right.

  “Derik’s going to be in town over the weekend,” he said, watching Ashley work her way through chocolate ice cream heavily sprinkled with walnuts. “Should I invite him over?”

  “Of course! I haven’t seen him since before we were married.”

  “Since the day I threatened you and bullied you into marrying me.”

  Her spoon clattered against the bowl. “Yes,” she said, and she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Ashley…” He leaned forward, trying to capture her gaze. “Ashley, haven’t you figured it out yet? You’re so smart, I was sure you’d have guessed the truth by now.”

  She looked up, startled. “What truth?”

  “It was all a lie,” he said gently. “I made it all up. I bluffed you into marrying me.”

  Silence while she stared at him, mouth open, ice cream dripping from her spoon. “But—you said—you said any judge would—”

  “It was a lie. I was desperate to be with you. I was terrified you’d leave the state and hide my child away, terrified I�
�d never see you again. I knew you were afraid of me, I knew you’d never give me a real chance, and I was too selfish to let you do that. I couldn’t let you keep yourself distant from me, so I made up all those horrible things so you would think you had to marry me, that it would be best for the baby. But I didn’t count on you believing me so utterly, never questioning that I could do such monstrous things to you.”

  “It was a trick?” she said unbelievingly. “You tricked me?”

  “And you threatening an abortion wasn’t a trick?” he asked quietly.

  “You—you—”

  “It was the only thing I could think of to do,” he said simply.

  She sat for a long moment, then moved—surprisingly quickly, given her increased bulk. Only years of martial arts training gave him the reflexes to duck in time; her ice cream bowl whizzed past his ear and shattered against the counter. “Well, that was pretty damn horrible of you,” she shouted, flinging her spoon after the ice cream bowl. The tension of the last few months overwhelmed her and she gave free rein to her temper, and as a result his eyebrows were level with the table in his efforts to avoid her missiles. “You tricked me—made me think you’d take the baby away—and all because you didn’t want to lose! Asshole! Monster! Egomaniac!” Each insult was punctuated with another missile: the salt, the pepper, the napkin holder.

  Victor, under considerable stress himself, also gave in to his anger. “Oh, like you weren’t being just a bit unreasonable yourself?” he shouted back, cautiously standing when he noticed the table was completely bare. “You remember how I found out I was going to be a father, don’t you? Pure luck! If Derik hadn’t happened to be getting lunch in the same building, I still wouldn’t know! If someone was trying to hide your child from you, wouldn’t you take steps to prevent that?”

  He had her there, he saw—she looked uncertain, wary. Then she shook her head firmly. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. How could you be so mean?”

  “Mean? Fixing it so the mother of my child doesn’t have to work sixty-hour weeks? So she doesn’t have to pinch pennies and go back to work two weeks after the baby is born? So she doesn’t have collection agents harassing her night and day? Oh, yeah, I was a real bastard to take you away from the good life!”

  Suddenly, shockingly, she burst into tears. His anger vanished and now he felt like the world’s biggest bully. She slapped her hands over her eyes and wailed like a child, “I hate you!”

  He stepped over the shards of glass, avoided the spilled salt and pepper, and tried to take her by the arms; she backed away, still crying, still covering her face. “Do you, Ash?” he asked anxiously. “Do you really?”

  “No,” she sobbed, then cried harder. More than a little confused, he followed her to the corner and then pulled her into his arms. Surprisingly, she allowed it.

  “Please stop crying,” he begged, “you know I can’t stand it.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Try. Please, Ash. I’m a desperate man.”

  She looked at him, her eyes puffy and teary and still so beautiful. “Did you really?” she asked in a watery voice. “Make it all up? If I hadn’t married you, you—”

  “I would have tried to be as involved with the baby as you would have let me. But I couldn’t have done anything to take him—or her—away from you. How could I do anything that would hurt you? I love you more than my life—don’t start crying again.”

  “I’m not crying,” she protested tearfully. Somehow her arms were around him, her fingers locked loosely behind his neck. “I’m just glad you told me the truth. Even though it was a horrible trick.”

  He tensed, waiting for her fingers to tighten as she smashed his head into the wall. Happily, this didn’t happen. “It was a horrible trick,” he said. “I was desperate.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “ I know about desperation.” Then, miraculously, she was rising up on tiptoe, the better to fit her body against his, and she kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’m glad you told me. It makes me feel better…about a lot of things.”

  He didn’t let her pull away. “I’m so sorry you believed me,” he murmured back. “It was integral to my plan...but I was sorry, all the same.” He kissed her on the mouth, feeling her soft belly pushing against him, her full, ripe breasts pressing against his chest, and suddenly it was difficult to hear because of the dull roaring in his ears. There was nothing in the world now except his wife, and himself. He could feel light taps against his belly and knew the baby was kicking, and a surge of love and desire rose in him so strongly his knees almost buckled.

  “Quick,” he gasped, trying to pull away from her, wanting to lead—hell, race—her to the bedroom. “Quick—I—”

  “Here,” she said, almost panted. “Right here. Help me with this.”

  In seconds he had her free of her tunic and leggings, was frantically unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants down. He lowered her to the floor, barely noticing the shock of cold tile against his elbows; she didn’t even flinch as her skin came in contact with the floor. They were both focused entirely on the other. He reached for her, parted her downy lips and felt her slick softness—she was ready for him, needing no loving preparation.

  He spread her knees wide, and entered her with one swift stroke. Her legs came up and helped him go deeper still, and they thrust against each other again and again. The only sound was their harsh breathing and the quiet burbling of the coffeemaker. He buried his face in her throat and sucked, relishing the salty taste of her sweat. She was moaning, deep in her throat, making almost guttural sounds, and he felt the pain/pleasure of her nails digging into his back. Then he felt the glorious all-over tightening that was her body’s release, and followed quickly with his own.

  It was only after this that they noticed several things at once: that they were half-naked on the kitchen floor, that they were sprawled all over each other like a couple of teenagers, that the tile was exceedingly hard and cold. A little embarrassed at their ardor and urgency, they both got up and tried to assemble themselves. Victor thought that Ashley, fumbling with her clothes, her hair mussed and her cheeks glowing with passion and good health, had never been more beautiful. He stopped her and, placing his hand on her gently swelling belly, told her so.

  She grinned at him, for the first time in days. “You’re just saying that so I’ll clean up all the broken glass.” Then she stuck her tongue out at him, kicked his pants into the salt pile, and darted down the hallway, giggling.

  He chased her into the bedroom.

  * * * * *

  …so it was a lie? He tricked me but I can’t honestly say he did it entirely without reason. But now what? Do I believe him? If I do, does this mean we have a future together? Does it mean I can finally put the past behind us? After he told me last night, we had a completely childish fight, complete with him yelling and me throwing things, I mean, how lame can you get? Then things definitely got weird…we ended up making love on the kitchen floor in piles of condiments. It was fast and furious and incredible, and afterward we went to bed and we made love again, this time he took me from behind, so slowly and gently I wanted to cry, it was so nice. Then we talked about names for the baby, and then we fell asleep. All in all, it was one of the nicer days of the year—possibly the decade—and I feel so hopeful now. Even if I haven’t been able to get the salt out of the sheets. But my mood switch is pretty dumb, when you think about it—he confessed to tricking me into marriage, only slightly less nasty than blackmailing me. We had great sex. Twice. And now all of a sudden I’m happy about being married. It’s all very—

  Ashley had been putting off going to the bathroom, wanting to finish her journal entry, but the pressure on the bladder finally gave way to wetness between her legs. Great, she thought, you were so intent on your journal entry you’ve wet your pants. Have I finally found something that will turn Victor off? And more important, do they make diapers for pregnant women?

  Her good humor evaporated as so
on as she stood and realized she hadn’t wet her pants at all—the dampness between her legs was blood. A lot of it. For a moment she was so frightened and startled she couldn’t move. Just stood there, frozen, staring down at herself, and fear rose in her so quickly she choked on it. In a flash all her worries about her and Victor, all her fretting—do-I-love-him-if-I-do-does-that-make-me-weak—seemed too ridiculous for words. A single thought started and kept cycling through her brain: I’m losing the baby. I’m losing the baby. I’m losing the baby. It made everything else seem beyond trivial.

  Had she thought she was frightened the night Victor was mad with fever? That was the mild concern over a blistered heel compared to the consuming terror she was feeling now. She was scared to move to a phone or the car, afraid of doing further damage to the baby. But she couldn’t stay in her office all day.

  She slowly backed up until she was again sitting down, then picked up the phone and dialed Victor’s office number. His secretary answered on the first ring, and informed Ashley that her husband was already on his way home. “Snuck out early to go see you, I imagine,” she giggled. “I can patch you in to his car phone, if you like.”

  Ashley swallowed hard. “Yes, please.”

  She heard a couple of clicks, and then the line was ringing. She heard his voice and relief swept over her, so great that she closed her eyes.

  “Hello?”

  “Vic.”

  “Ashley? Speak up, honey, I can barely hear you.”

  “Vic, I’m bleeding. I’m—” A sob tried to escape and she choked it back. This was no time to lose it. And speaking of losing it… “I think I’m losing the—”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Vic…” She managed a wounded laugh. “I—there’s so much blood.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.” Had she referred to the house he bought with his money as her home before? And why was she thinking stupid thoughts like that, when her child’s life was ending? “In my office.”