“Your father’strial has been moved up, Piper. It starts next week. I wanted you to be prepared. The Barclay name is going to be splashed across every headline, and it’s not going to be pretty.”
My mother’s voice wavers a little as she speaks. I don’t catch it at first, because the impact of what she said is like a slap in the face. Her tone is hard and matter of fact, another thing I’m not used to from her, though the wobble in her words is more familiar. More her.
“I’m so sorry you’re going through this because of the choices your father made,” she adds, the wobble gone. “It’s not fair to you, and I can only imagine how it’s affecting your life. I hope you know that you can talk to me if you need to.”
She normally tries to hold everything together as cheerily as possible while slowly breaking at the seams. Right now, she sounds…angry.
I’m not sure how to respond.
“I know, Mom.”
She hesitates and then says, “Are you sure? It’s just…you’ve seemed so distant lately. I wasn’t sure if you were mad at me. I know I’m partly to blame for not getting us away from him. If I had separated from him years ago, this whole situation never would have dragged you under?—”
Guilt hits me hard. “Mom, no! Nothing about this is your fault, and I’m not mad at you. Not at all. It’s just that I’ve been really busy. With…my teaching.”
I feel even more guilty knowing that I can’t tell her about Nate, or the deal that I have in the works with The Quattuor Group. I have no idea how I’ll explain it to her later. Unless…maybe she never needs to know. I can just pretend I fell in love with whoever wins my auction, and Mom can believe in the fairy tale version of my marriage.
“Alright, Piper. But I mean it. If you need me for anything at all, just call. Please.”
“I will. Is there anything that we need to do? Legally, I mean?”
“No. Your father’s lawyers will let us know if we’ll be required to testify. I’m going to sit in on the trial of course, but you stay far away, Piper. You don’t owe him your support.”
Good, because I have no support to give.
It’s funny. My father hasn’t spoken to me since that nasty call about using my body to win over Nate, and yet I’ve felt no real sense of his absence in my life. He’s going to be convicted; I have no doubt about that. And yet the thought doesn’t bother me. Is this how I’ll feel when he’s sent to prison? Detached and disgusted? And a little bit…relieved?
I can’t imagine having to sit through his trial andpretend to be the supportive daughter while his crimes are recounted in detail. Not only that, but what about the people he’s hurt? They might be there, too, sitting by and watching, waiting for some semblance of justice. My father’s conviction won’t get them their life savings back, but they’ll be glad to know he’s going to rot in a cell for robbing them blind.
“Okay, well. That’s good,” I say, because it’s all my brain can think of.
“The press have been lined up outside the guest house since dawn. I know they’ve been hounding you, and it’s only going to get worse. I’m looking into getting you a bodyguard.”
Gripping my phone harder, I glance at Nate as he walks in the door. His eyes catch mine and he raises a brow questioningly. I’m sure he can tell by the look on my face that something is wrong.
“I have one already,” I blurt, then curse myself silently. How am I going to explain this to her? She thinks I’m living with Cleo.
Cleo. Right.
“Well, he’s not exactly my bodyguard. But Cleo’s mom was getting some threats before she left for Europe, so she hired someone to watch the house. And then she paid him to stay and watch over Cleo while she’s gone, just to be safe. So don’t worry about me.”
There are some definite holes in that explanation, and I hate that my list of lies keeps growing longer. Gritting my teeth, I wait for Mom to question my story, but she doesn’t.
“That’s a relief to hear,” she says. “Have Cleo stay closeto you for a few weeks until the trial is over, that way the guard will be able to keep an eye on you both.”
Nate sets down his laptop bag and shrugs out of his suit jacket. He moves closer to me now, the talk about a bodyguard getting his full attention.
It’s still surreal watching him come home from work like this. Eliza left almost a week ago and I never moved back into my little apartment. I’m still sharing Nate’s bedroom, and his bed, every night. And our sex lessons? They don’t feel like student and teacher relations anymore, but more like two people exploring ways to give the other pleasure.
I’m here when he leaves for work in the morning and I’m here when he gets home. We’ve even had dinner together a couple of times in the kitchen, and it’s an unsettling combination of nice and strange. I just can’t tell where I stand with him, and I’m too afraid to ask. Logically, I know this is all part of our deal. But emotionally…it feels like more.
Nate didn’t explicitly ask me not to move back to the apartment. But he didn’t tell me to stay with him, either. He just hasn’t kicked me out yet.
“I will, Mom. Don’t worry. Keep me updated, okay?”
“Of course I will. Lunch on Wednesday? I’m making chicken piccata. You like capers, right?”
Her voice lifts as she says this, as if she’s clinging to our lunch date for dear life amidst this shitstorm my father stirred up.