[Cordelia]
I never get my husband’s love. He is too busy giving it to others while I’m stuck here watching them, helpless to do anything about it.
Keeping the newspaper firmly in front of my face, I try to seem casual as I take a small sip of my cold, bitter coffee, grateful that I grabbed my gym hoodie, sweatpants and a pair of sunglasses from my car as a last-minute disguise.
I don’t want anyone to recognize me, especially not him. It’s bad enough that my marriage is a joke to everyone who knows us, I don’t need to make it worse by making myself look like a jealous stalker.
She must have said something funny because I hear the faint echo of his laughter from across the cafe. I can’t believe how casually he is flaunting his relationship with this…girl. She can’t be any older than me. He’s always saying I’m such a child and yet here he is with a silly blond at least a decade younger than him.
He told me he couldn’t come to my family brunch this morning because of work. I had to endure listening to my parents judge me because I couldn’t even bring my husband to our once-a-month meeting.
This doesn’t look like work.
A tear falls on my newspaper. Grabbing a napkin I blow my nose quietly, wiping my eyes, and adding it to the pile already on the table.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, Ma’am,” a young male voice interrupts my thoughts. “but if you don’t need something else, I’m going to need to clear this table for a paying customer.”
“I am a paying customer!” I say a bit louder than I intend. A few confused faces look my way. I can tell that some of them want to say something, but they turn away, embarrassed for me. “See!” I point at the cheap cup of stale coffee. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to read my newspaper.”
“It’s the funny pages,” he points out, his finger tapping on one of the comics. “And you are holding it upside down.” He then takes a look at my scruffy appearance and asks. “Do you have enough money to pay for that coffee?”
“Here!” I pull a grimy bill out of my pocket and hand it to him. “Now can I…”
I look around.
Atlas and the girl are gone.
Pushing past the waiter, My head whips from side to side as I search for any sign of them.
I can’t find them. They must have taken a car. Slumping onto the dirty, LA sidewalk, I lean against the wall.
Removing my sunglasses and rubbing my tired eyes with the palms of my hands I rest there for several minutes, taking deep, long breaths, listening to people pass.
My phone buzzes. I see the words “unlisted number” blink in bright, bold letters again.
This is the 6th “unlisted number” message I have received from the anonymous texter this month. Whoever this unknown messenger is, they want me to see the truth. Maybe it is the blond, doing this to make me jealous, to show off how much closer she is to my husband than I am.
“Executive suite. Room 1145.” The message contains a single line of text, and a photo showing them entering a five-star hotel. One I recognize instantly. It is one of many owned by his family.
To Atlas, our marriage is little more than a business merger. I’m not even the wife he was supposed to have. He was supposed to marry my beautiful, perfect sister Angelica. But when she disappeared, I was all that was left.
But that doesn’t mean he should rub his affairs in my face. He isn’t even trying to be discreet. Doesn’t he know the employees at the office are already talking about us behind his back?
I am done feeling like a second-class substitute for my lost sister.
This time I’m going to do something I haven’t dared to do before. I’m going to confront him, catch him red-handed, and let him know exactly how disappointed I am in him. He needs to learn how to respect the wife that he has, not the wife that he wishes he had.
It takes me minutes to reach the hotel. As soon as I cross the threshold I march towards the elevator.
“Miss!” a sharp voice calls out. I turn around to see a snotty-looking concierge coming around the front desk. “You need to check in before entering the hotel.”
I take a moment to do a quick survey of my appearance. My makeup is no doubt smeared down my cheeks making me look like a deranged raccoon. Flip-flop sandals are peeking out underneath my old gym sweats with my dress only partway tucked. An oversized hoodie pulled down over my head completes the look. No wonder he stopped me.
Fed up with everything I’ve already had to deal with today, I pull my sunglasses off to give him the full effect. I say in my most confident voice, “My name is Cordelia Steele.”
I pause after I say my name to give him time to hear my last name clearly. “My family owns this hotel and as an owner, I do not need your permission to be here.”
The concierge is visibly startled and he comes to a complete stop. Looking at me he is uncertain that I am telling him the truth. I think he is expecting someone more elegant and poised to have the last name “Steele.”
“If you don’t mind, Miss,” The concierge coughs into his hand, looking away from my glare. “I need to see your ID and confirm your information. I am sure as an owner you understand.” He then stands there, waiting, his hand extended.
After a few minutes of silent glaring, neither one of us budging, I take a deep breath and pull out my ID. After he is satisfied that I am who I say I am. I turn on my heel and rush towards the elevator.
Once the doors close I wipe away a single tear. I am not going to cry. I refuse to cry.
As the elevator rises to the third floor, I feel my anger rising to match. I keep picturing the two of them together and my mind is a filthy place. Even though I’m a virgin, that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m going to find once that door opens. In my mind I can see her riding him, her skirt pushed up to her hips, her sharply tipped stilettos on either side of his thighs. Her perfectly formed breasts bounce up and down as she screams “Atlas!” over and over again.
We have never had sex, not once in our five years of marriage. Not because I do not want him, but because he has never wanted me.
Vision blurring with rage and tears, I march to room 1145, lift my hand high, and pound on the door with as much force as I can manage.
“Open up, you son-of-a-bitch! I know you’re in there!”
I hear a shuffling of papers on the other side of the door. I am leaning forward, about to hammer my fist against its surface again when it opens in a rush. Tripping over my own feet I fall forward and my hands land on a warm mass of muscle.
Taking up the entire door frame is the well-dressed muscular body of my arrogant, CEO, husband. Atlas Steele.
And he looks pissed.
[Cordelia]I regain my footing quickly and remove my hands from his well-formed chest. He has always been a handsome man with his classic Hollywood cheekbones, prominent chin, and gorgeous smile. My attraction to him has never been a problem between us. “Cordelia,” His brow scrunches in confusion. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at brunch with your parents?”I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure where to start. How do you accuse the person you love, the person who is supposed to love you back, of cheating? It would be easier if he were a mess, but he is as impeccably dressed as always, his three-piece suit still looking fresh and pressed even at midday. “Cordelia,” his confusion has been replaced with anger when I remain non-responsive. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Why are you here?”“You know why I’m here,” I try to stay strong but my body betrays me. I hate crying in front of him. It shows him that I am weak."Where did you put her? ” I
[Cordelia] I cannot remember most of the drive, but by some miracle, I made it home. April, the family maid, scrunches up her face when I approach. At first, I think she is going to deny me entrance due to my wet, muddy clothing, but then I remember that I live here too and she can’t keep me out in the cold. “Good Evening, April,” I greet her as I gently push past her. Not wanting to bring her body into contact with mine, she moves aside, letting me enter. “Young Miss,” she has never, in 5 years of marriage, ever used my proper name or title as wife of the oldest son and mistress of the house. “Please change before entering the rest of the house.” I know she would rather all of me stay outside. She has never been kind to me, knowing that I am not wanted by Atlas, or anyone else. Why should she be kind to a person out of favor that doesn’t even sign her paychecks? To appease her sensibilities, I take off my shoes and hoodie and let them fall to the floor in a heap near the door
[Cordelia]“Drugged the wine? Why would I do that?” His words stab right through my heart. How could he think so poorly of me? “After your little sob story about needing an heir, you suddenly end up in my bed?” He barks, harsh laughter springing from his lips. “I’m not a fool, Cordelia. Were you even drunk, or was that an act too?”“But I didn’t drug you?” I insist, my voice small. “I only had that wine because I took it from your hotel room,” I remind him as I try to remember the day before. That’s right, this wine came from his hotel room. The room he was in with his secretary…If anyone drugged this wine it must have been her. She was trying to seduce him!“Atlas,” I jump out of bed holding his shirt closed, “I just realized something about yesterday. Your secretary had…”“Save it,” he cuts me off as he moves towards the door. “I don’t know why I keep expecting better from you,” he sighs deeply, looking at me in disappointment. “You’re barely more than a child. I should have known
[Atlas]My body betrayed my heart last night. I’m disgusted at how quickly I forgot about Angelica while in the arms of her little sister. Yet I cannot get Cordelia out of my mind. When I close my eyes, my thoughts wander to the way she smells, the way she tastes, or the feeling of her soft, smooth flesh underneath my fingertips.I left work a little bit early today so I could talk to her about what had happened and clear the air between us. But as I pull up into the driveway I see a rental car. Who could be here in the middle of the day?The house is quiet except for some soft sounds I hear coming from Cordelia’s room. Moving swiftly, I make it to her door just in time to find her in the arms of my brother, Clark. He was supposed to call me when he got here, but instead, he rushed right over to see her. My vision goes red. “Clark!” I shout. “What are you doing in my wife’s room?”“I am doing what you should have been doing,” Turning towards me Clark stands up straighter, “I’m taking
[Cordelia] I was surprised this morning by breakfast in bed and a cheery smile. “Good morning, Madam,” April is in her full maid uniform today, including her nice dress and apron, even her hair styled in a neat little bun. “If it pleases you I have brought you breakfast.” If it pleases me? Something isn’t quite right about her today. “Th…ank you,” I say hesitantly. “Are we expecting company?” Maybe that is why she is dressed so fine and practicing her manners. “A foreign dignitary, perhaps? The President?” “No, Madam. It is just the two of us today.” A large smile stretches across her face as she glances out the window into the garden. “It is a beautiful day. I hear it is good to get a little exercise as you recover from being ill. When you are done with breakfast, might I suggest a walk in the garden?” “I’m not sure it is a good idea,” I say honestly. Even though I am feeling so much better with more energy, there is something about April’s behavior that is making m
[Atlas] Cordelia pushes past us as she rushes up the stairs. A few seconds later I hear the sound of her door slamming. I could tell that Sydney’s presence was causing her pain. Maybe I should go upstairs and apologize but I was feeling petty after our argument this morning. Sydney coughs. For a moment I had forgotten the guest I invited over that I hadn’t meant to invite over. “I’m sorry you had to see that. My wife and I…” how do I phrase this without giving too much away. “she can be a bit…well dramatic.” I settle on a word. It doesn’t feel fair, but it also fits. Sydney shrugs as if none of it matters. “Um…where should I put this,” she indicates my oversized suitcase. I ask her to set it down near the stairs and I notice that she has a slight limp. Cordelia must have pushed her down harder than I thought. “Hey, wait,” I stop her before she can reach the stairs. Taking the suitcase from her, I bring over a nearby chair and instruct her to sit while I take the suitcase an
[Cordelia–earlier this evening] He doesn’t believe me. He can’t even see me. And he thinks this is all my fault. Watching Atlas speaking with his secretary in hushed tones as turns his back on me reminds me of the scene from the other day in the cafe. All the small, tender touches between them, are so different from how he treats me. Even right now, his hand is on the small of her back protectively as he pulls the suitcase across the threshold. I watch the scene unfold, helpless to do anything. Here I am again, the fool, watching him love another like a stranger in my own relationship. Only now he is bringing her into our home, flaunting his relationship right under my nose. My world is spinning. With blurry eyes I rush past them on the stairs, heading to my room. I slam the door behind me and land with a crash on my bed. The mumble of their voices in the entryway below just confirms what I already knew. “He doesn’t love me and he never will,” I mumble into my pillow. “Fo
[Atlas] A letter from Cordelia’s lawyer arrived two days later requesting that I schedule a day for us to meet and go over the terms of our divorce. When she left that stormy night, I never thought she’d seriously go through with it. I expected her to come crawling back the next day, wet and resigned. She never learned how to take care of herself alone. She moved from her parents' house directly into mine. She’s never had to do anything for herself. When her lawyer’s aide dropped this letter off at my office he was swift and kind. It has all been handled in such a mature and professional manner I find myself glowing in pride for how much Cordelia has grown. I guess she grew up while I wasn’t watching. Eventually, I’m going to need to call her lawyer. Set up an appointment to speak with Cordelia. Maybe even convince her to not go through with this divorce. But not today. Today I am finally finalizing the deal with Bryant Textiles. The letter has been on my desk for a week