Chapter 3: Sell It

Melody's POV

The moment I got home, I walked into the living room and sank down into the sofa. The silk of my haute couture dress, which I’d specifically chosen for my meeting with the lawyer, draped over my legs.  

Normally, I’d head straight to the kitchen when I got home to tackle the never-ending list of chores.

But not today.

Today, I didn’t care about making Adam’s dinner, or ironing his clothes, and ensuring that the faucets in the bathroom didn’t have fingerprint marks on them. Instead, I was going to just relax. Maybe order dinner in. Enjoy a nice glass of merlot.

That is, until a small, sticky projectile slammed into my stomach.

"Gotcha!"

Church stood there, a proud grin on his four-year-old face.

He lounged at me, and I realized a moment too late that his hands were smeared with thick, black chocolate syrup. He wiped it onto the front of my dress, staining the ivory silk.

"Church!" I gasped. “Look what you’ve done!”

"It looks like poop, Mommy!" he giggled, bouncing up and down from one foot to the other. “You have a poopy dress now.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” I exclaimed. “You’ve ruined Mommy’s special dress.”

Church didn’t seem to care though. Instead, he began hopping around the room, pumping his arms in the air as though he were doing some sort of victory dance.

Just then, Adam’s mother, Margaret, swept into the room. She took one look at me and her face twisted with righteous indignation.

"Oh my goodness, Church,” she said, rushing towards him. “You’re covered in syrup.” Her eyes landed on me, accusatory, as though I’d smeared the syrup all over her grandson and not the other way around. “What’s wrong with you?" she demanded. "Why aren't you in the kitchen preparing dinner? And why haven’t you cleaned up Church?"

I stared at her, my thoughts strangely calm. "I just got home, Margaret,” I replied. “His hands were dirty when I got here. Perhaps you should have washed him. Or even better yet, perhaps you shouldn’t allow him to have so much chocolate syrup in the first place."

"Don't you take that tone with me," she spat. “If you weren’t such a negligent mother, Church wouldn’t be misbehaving in the first place. This is a cry for attention. Don’t you dare try and blame him for this. Good god. Did your infertility cause you to lose your mothering instincts too?” 

She turned to Church, cooing. "My poor baby. Come now. Let’s get you all cleaned up. Your mother has to go and get changed. You can’t wear that…thing…” she waved her hand derisively at my stained dress, “to dinner. We’re having a guest. Go and put on something else before you humiliate us all.”

Standing up, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Soon enough, I wouldn’t have to put up with Margaret and her ridiculous insults any longer.

“And while you’re at it,” Margaret added snidely, “make sure the silverware is polished. I don’t want guests thinking we live in a pigsty.”

I opened my mouth, but then closed it. Arguing with a woman like Margaret was pointless.

Just then, the front door opened. Adam walked in, loosening his tie as the scent of expensive cologne filled the room.

“Is everything ready for dinner?” he asked. Then his gaze swept over us. “What’s going on here?”

"What’s going on….is that your wife is neglecting the child again," Margaret complained with a frown. She enunciated the word ‘wife’, as though it were some sort of insult.

Adam sighed. It was a long, suffering sigh.

"Melody, please," he said, his voice weary. "I know you're stressed about the IPO, but neglecting our son? Do you really think that’s appropriate?"

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through messages. "Lily is exhausted. She’s been working hard on the marketing materials. She’s really looking forward to a nice meal. And so am I. So please, get changed and then set the table. We’ll eat in the formal dining room."

His audacity caused me to stifle a laugh. Who did he think he was, lecturing me on what’s appropriate? Now only was cheating on me with my best friend, but he’d been lying about Church’s true identity for four years! Plus, he’d forged our marriage certificate.

"Dinner isn’t ready,” I said bluntly. “And I’m not cooking.”

He scrutinized my face for a beat. Then he shrugged.

"Fine, I'll take Lily out to eat.” He dropped his briefcase on the sofa. "We have to discuss our upcoming business trip to the Maldives. That’s why I invited her to dinner. But we just as easily discuss it at Scoozi’s.”

Scoozi’s was the best 5-star restaurant in town.

“Business trip?” I asked. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“It has to do with launch,” Adam snapped at me, annoyed that I was asking questions. “We have to finalize a partnership there. We leave tomorrow.”

He looked at me expectantly, as if I should run along right away and pack his bags.

"The Maldives," I repeated, my voice flat. "For business."

“Yes, for business. What else would it be for?" He was lying, but his lie was smooth as silk.

I knew exactly what Lily and Adam were going to do in the Maldives, and it certainly wasn’t ‘business.’

 "Oh, and by the way, my cousins and aunts are coming tomorrow. They’re excited to visit, so make sure they have a fantastic time. Be a good hostess? Yes?”

“Whatever you say, Adam,” I replied dryly. He hadn’t even extended me the courtesy of telling me that we were having visitors.

“Mother, would you like to join us for dinner?” he asked.

“That would be delightful,” she replied with a grin.

“What about me and Mommy?” Church asked.

“It’s an adult restaurant,” Adam said. “Mommy will stay home and have dinner with you. Then you can help her pack for my trip! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Yay!” Church said.

Yeah, yay. So much fun. Hoorah.

My thoughts were becoming increasingly sardonic and brittle.  

Once they were gone, I pulled out my phone.

The real estate agent picked up on the first ring.

"Miss Melody," his crisp voice answered. “Lovely to hear from you.”

David was a real estate shark I’d met through my new financial advisor.

"I need to sell the house," I said.

There was a brief moment of silence. "You mean your villa? But the market isn’t really…"

"I don't care about the market. I don’t even care about the price. I just want it sold.”

“Well…” David said. “I do have a possible buyer. He’s been wanting into this neighborhood for quite a while. And he’s an all cash kind of guy.”

“Perfect. Offer him 20% below market value. The only condition is a wire transfer to an offshore account.”

David whistled low. "That's... a pretty significant hit on the equity. Are you sure, Melody? We can look for another buyer if…”

"I’m sure,” I cut him off. “Like I said. I want it sold. Preferably tonight. You heard my offer. Now make it happen."