Heath Page 9

“No! And even if I did, so what?” I push his chest and he stumbles back a couple of steps. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

  “So what?” he barks. “So fucking what? You’re my wife! I don’t need you behaving like a goddamn whore!”

  “I’m a whore?” I snigger. “Your sister was the one getting fingered by him in the car!”

  Elliot’s eyes widen in shock and horror. “Is that why you attacked her? You were jealous?” He snorts. “Jealous of her being with that flea-ridden mutt?”

  “Heath is not a mutt!” I shout. “He’s my best friend and I love him. You’re the one who’s jealous because no matter how much money you spend on me, I’ll never love you the way I love Heath. You’ll never satisfy me the way he satisfies me. Every time we have boring sex, I wish it were him. Wish it were him fucking me. You know why?” I taunt. “Because unlike you, Heath fucks me like a man is supposed to fuck a woman. Hard and rough.”

  Elliot’s palm cracks against my cheek and my face whips to the side, but unlike his cunt of a sister, I don’t shed a single tear. No. Instead I look Elliot dead in the eye and cackle loudly.

  “While I love to be slapped, I prefer it to be on my ass as Heath is fucking me from behind.” I raise my brows and lift my chin high in defiance. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that since the only position you’re familiar with is missionary.”

  I watch as metaphorical smoke comes shooting from Elliot’s ears. “Catrina, that’s enough! You are my wife. Or have you changed your mind?” Elliot’s nostrils flare and he sneers at me. “We could divorce,” he taunts. “Then you’ll be left with nothing. Is that what you want, love? To void your father’s will and be penniless?”

  Feeling backed against the wall, I let out a shriek and slam the door that separates our bedroom from the sitting room and lock it. Then I go to the other door and lock it as well. Then just to ensure the asshole can’t get in, I grab the chairs from the corner of the room and push them against each door.

  “Catrina!” Elliot bangs on the door. “Will you just let me in?” Bang. Bang. Bang. “Stop behaving like a child, please.” Bang. Bang. “We both said things we didn’t mean. Come out and we can talk.”

  What a pussy! Well, fuck him! I pick up the lamp and chuck it across the room, watching it smash into pieces. Fuck him with a goddamned ten-inch dildo. He knows he has me. He knows I’m not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter that my body, heart, and soul belong to Heath. I’ll never divorce Elliot. It would destroy my father’s company, his legacy. It would void my trust funds, leaving me with no money. Not able to hold in my heartbreak any longer, I fall to the floor in a disheveled heap as my grief pours out in a flood of uncontrollable tears.

  I hate this. I hate the hold Elliot has over me. I hate my father for not changing his will sooner. And I hate Heath for letting Isabel touch him. He knows he’s mine. All he would have to do is accept that I have no choice but to remain married to Elliot. We could still be together.

  Why does it have to be all or nothing with that man? Damn him! Lying down in bed, I snuggle into my pillow and cry myself to sleep, wishing for a solution that doesn’t involve me losing everything.

  I wake the next morning, tired and groggy, from a restless sleep. I use the bathroom and notice my eyes are puffy from crying. After showering and getting dressed, I find dozens of notes that were slipped under the door from Elliot, begging me for forgiveness and to open the door. I crumple them all up and throw them into the trash can. Then I call Windy Hills.

  “Crenshaw residence,” Francesca answers.

  “Francesca, it’s Catrina. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m good, dear. And you?”

  “Just fine. Is Heath home?”

  The line goes silent for a moment and then she says, “He is, unfortunately.”

  Ignoring her rude comment, I ask if I can please speak with him. I hear shuffling and then Heath’s voice comes over the phone.

  “Catrina, did you have a good night, love?” Smug bastard.

  “You know I didn’t, Heath.” I try and fail not to whine. “Elliot is being mean to me and I locked myself in my room.”

  Heath lets out an amused chuckle. “Would you like me to come and get you?”

  “Would you?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Are you ready to divorce and leave him for good?”

  “You know I can’t!” I shout through the phone. “I love you, Heath. Please.”

  “No.”

  “Please,” I plead. “If you would just see reason—” Before I can finish my sentence, my stomach begins to contract so violently that I find myself bolting to the bathroom. I don’t make it in time, though, and I end up vomiting all over the tiled floor. The smell has me gagging as I try to catch my breath and get my body under control. And just when I think my stomach and heart have calmed, I feel the pain in my stomach building again and I drop to my knees over the toilet seat just in time to release whatever is left in me.

  “Catrina!” I hear Helen shout through the door. I wait until I know I’m not going to puke again, then, moving the chair from the door, I open it to let her in.

  “Oh, dear, are you okay?” she coos, placing her hand up to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. I was just fine and then I wasn’t.” Remembering I left Heath on the phone, I make my way back into the bedroom and pick it back up.

  “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he says, his voice full of concern. “What happened?”

  “I threw up,” I admit, “a few times.”

  “Get off the phone, so you can rinse off and I can clean up the mess,” Helen instructs.

  “I have to call you back.” I hit end before he can say goodbye, still pissed off over everything.

  “Come on. Go shower.” Helen takes the cordless phone from my hand and places it on its base before leading me into the bathroom where a warm shower is waiting for me. I remain in the shower until the water turns cold, and once I get out, I see the bathroom is back to its pristine condition. Grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack, I dry off and wrap myself up in my robe. Taking my brush from the drawer, I begin to brush my wet strands when my eyes land on a white and blue box. Dropping the brush to the floor, I stare down at the box for several beats, my heart beating erratically. Then, with shaky hands, I snatch it up and read the label: Pregnancy test. Helen must’ve left this here. But when did she buy it? Did she notice something I didn’t?

  This can’t be happening. But isn’t this what I wanted? To get married to Elliot and have his baby so I could receive the money I deserve?

  With shaky hands, I tear the box open and read the instructions. I do as it says and when I’m done, I begin pacing back and forth across the bathroom—impatiently waiting for the results. I’m not sure what I want the outcome to be. If I’m pregnant, will Heath and I be over for good? Of course we will! I’ll be having another man’s child. If I’m not pregnant, is this a sign to leave Elliot and choose Heath? But then I’ll lose everything.

  I wait and wait and wait for what feels like hours, pacing back and forth, back and forth. Confused. Scared. Nervous. When I check the clock for the millionth time, I see it’s time.

  I stop in front of the test and count the number of pink lines. One. Two.

  I’m pregnant.

  With Elliot’s child.

  Heath will never forgive me.

  I remain in bed for the next few days, refusing to see anyone except for Helen, who brings me soup and holds my hair back while I throw up. I write in my journal every emotion I’m feeling. My thoughts are a jumbled mess but writing them out always helps. Elliot begs to see me, but I refuse him access. Helen tells me I’m behaving like a child but I don’t care. The things he said to me were vile. And then when he slapped me. Him being exiled from our bedroom is the least he deserves.

  “Is it true?” A familiar baritone voice has me sitting up. “Is it true, Catrina?” Heath stalks across the room to the side
of the bed. I know what he’s asking, but I can’t say the words out loud. It will mean admitting everything is about to change—again.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and I slide up into a sitting position. His hand cups the side of my face. I avert my eyes, not wanting to see what’s going through his head, but when his thumb and forefinger grip my chin and jerk my face to the side, he forces me to look at him. And there it is, written all over his face like permanent marker scribbled all over the wall.

  Disappointment.

  Heartbreak.

  Disgust.

  Love.

  He stares intently into my eyes and I blink back the tears that are threatening to fall. “I’m so sorry,” I finally whisper, my words coming out hoarse from the giant ball of emotion stuck in my throat.

  “No, you aren’t,” he replies, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Don’t go soft on me now, love.” He leans in and places a chaste kiss to my lips. “Run away with me. We can leave it all behind. I’ll raise this baby like he or she is my own.” His eyes plead with hope even though he already knows my answer.

  “Stay,” I beg. “I only have to stay married to him for four more years and then we can have it all.”

  “We can have it all now, Catrina. You and me, that’s all we need to be happy. You’ve been surrounded by wealth and luxury for the last twelve months. Did it make you happy?”

  My lips begin to tremble as a single tear falls down my cheek. “It’s too much money, Heath. You have to understand. And it’s not just me. My father’s business could fail. We’ll lose everything. The estate, our inheritance. You’re asking me for the impossible. It’s not fair.”

  “Then you’ve made your decision.” Heath stands and I reach my hand out for him.

  “No, you’re making it for me,” I cry. “Don’t make me choose, please.”

  “Don’t you dare blame this on me,” he growls, his jaw clenching with fury. “This is your doing.”

  “No.” Gut-wrenching sobs wrack my body as Heath backs up, the distance between us growing. “You have my heart, Heath.” I stumble from the bed in an attempt to bridge the gap between us. “You own me, body and soul.”

  “Yet you refuse to give me all of you,” he hisses.

  “I’m giving you every part of me that I can.” My eyes plead for him to understand.

  “I want it all!” he booms. “Every goddamned piece of you. I can’t share you.” He steps toward me and kneels down at my level. “Can you give me all of you?”

  And I know in this moment I’m about to lose my best friend. My lover. My soul is about to become detached from my body because I am nothing without Heath, yet I can’t be what he needs me to be.

  “I didn’t think so.” And with those parting words, Heath walks out of my bedroom and out of my life.

  The next several days go by in a blur. I continue to remain in bed, still refusing to leave the room. Elliot is no longer exiled, but he hasn’t come to see me. I don’t know if it’s because he’s mad at me for the way I behaved or if he’s embarrassed for the way he behaved. Either way I welcome the quiet. Then one afternoon I hear shouting from downstairs. Too curious not to go down and listen, I pull my robe on and tiptoe down the hall to the top of the stairs. I can see Elliot pacing back and forth in the foyer with the cordless phone glued to his ear. His face is bright red with anger and the hand not holding the phone is clenched into a tight fist.

  “You made your choice, Isabel, and you shall live with it! As of this moment you are no longer a Lincoln. You are dead to this family, and when you wake up one day with regret for leaving with that low-life bottom feeder, and you will…do not even think about coming home because as of now you no longer have a home here.”

  My hands come up to my mouth to muffle my gasp. Isabel left with Heath…this can’t be true. Elliot slams the phone against the wall then darts his eyes over to mine.

  “Did you hear that, wife? It seems my sister has given up everything to run away with Heath. She chose him over this family. I guess your choice has been made for you.” Then, without waiting for my response, he stalks out of the foyer and into his study, slamming the door behind him.

  Heath

  Five months later…

  “PLEASE JUST TALK TO HIM,” Isabel whines from the other side of the door. “I’ve learned my lesson, Mother.”

  Delores’s voice can be heard yapping from the other end of the phone, but I can’t make out the words.

  “I know how the Lincoln men are. Stubborn.” Isabel sighs heavily when her mom yaps some more. “I know I chose this path. You guys gave me everything, but I denied it to run off and marry him.”

  I grin at the mention of myself.

  Her mother bitches some more and then Isabel groans. “Surely you can convince Elliot to let me come home. You have to try, Mother. Father agrees with him now, but he can be persuaded too.”

  She’s quiet as her mom babbles some more.

  “I can’t just put on a brilliant smile and fake it until my brother and father soften,” Isabel whines. “I can’t. And you’re wrong, it is as bad as I say. Money isn’t everything. Just because he’s found some money somewhere doesn’t suddenly make him tolerable.”

  Some.

  Ha.

  Isabel, the crybaby of the fucking century, sobs to her mother. “Please. I can barely function here. He’s not nice to me.” Then she screams out in frustration. “I know Heath was never nice to anyone, Mother. But I thought it would be different with me. I thought I could change him.”

  Fucking liar.

  She wanted to make Catrina jealous.

  And I wanted something in return.

  We both had our agendas and we must deal with the consequences.

  Her mom must say something that sends Isabel into a panic because she turns to begging. “If they’re coming for dinner tonight, plead for me. Beg of my brother to allow me to come home. Please.”

  She sniffles. “I love you too.” Then, she makes a kissing sound before hanging up.

  I wait a moment before pushing through the bedroom door of our swanky London flat to find her sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her palms. She looks terrible. All she does is cry, secretly smoke on the balcony as if I don’t know about it, and nearly starve herself. And all it does is make me angry. She has everything she could ever want. It’s not like I’m abusing her. Isn’t that what these motherfuckers want? Money? Isn’t that the answer to all their goddamned problems?

  “It’s late,” she mutters before lifting her head and staring at me with pitiful hazel eyes that are red from crying. “Where were you?”

  Nearly every other day she accuses me of cheating on her. The only cunt I put my cock into is hers. It’s getting to be annoying that it’s this she chooses to fight with me about every day.

  “Her name was Lola. She tasted fucking divine,” I lie just to watch her lose her shit.

  She stands from the bed and throws the cordless phone at me. It hits the floor with a crack and slides under a chair. Her skinny body launches at mine and she pummels her useless fists into my chest. I let her throw her tantrum for all of thirty seconds before I lay down the law.

  Grabbing a handful of her hair, I draw her to my face. “I only fuck you, my wife.” Unfortunately.

  Her nostrils flare, but the fight leaves her. I walk her backward to the nearest wall. She may not be my Catrina, but she is my wife. When her ass hits the wall, I rip at her gown and send it careening to the floor. She cries out when I push her panties down her thighs. I grab her hips and twist her away from me. Her fingers dig into the plaster walls as I unzip my slacks to pull out my aching cock.

  Upon my first attempt, she’s too dry. My cock can’t go in, not without hurting her. But this wife of mine is easy to manipulate. She gets off on sweetness.

  “Why aren’t you wet for me?” I demand, my mouth at her ear as I rub my dick along the crack of her ass.

  “Because I hate you,” she mutters.

 
I kiss her ear and then the side of her neck. A small moan escapes her when I suck on the flesh. “I hate you too, but we both like to come.”

  My hand wraps around to her front and I massage her clit. She whimpers and pushes her ass into me. With my other hand, I tease her slit that’s growing with wetness.

  “When are we going to make a baby?” I coo, loving the way she shudders.

  So. Fucking. Easy.

  “I don’t know,” she breathes.

  Slowly, I ease the tip of my dick inside her cunt. “Maybe if you weren’t so miserable all the time, your body would accept what I have to give you. I thought you liked gifts.”

  She cries out when I slam into her hard. Her body thumps against the wall. Her bony hips will no doubt be bruised. I rub her pussy until she’s writhing and giving up the bitch act for now. I know the moment we come, it’ll be back to business as usual.

  “Beg for me to come inside you,” I snarl, my free hand sliding into her hair to fist it. “Beg to be defiled like a whore.”

  “Ah,” she hisses. “Please.”

  When she unravels with a ragged orgasm, I grunt out my release. I wait until my cock stops throbbing to let go of her hair. My lips find her shoulder and I kiss her. It’s the only way to make her compliant when I want something. As my cock softens and slides out of her, she relaxes. I turn her to face me. My fingers, still wet from where I massaged her, dig into her dainty jaw as I lift her gaze to mine.

  “Isabel, my fragile and lonely wife?”

  She blinks at me as tears well in her eyes. “Yes?”

  “I want you to throw out the birth control pills. I’m going to give you a baby.”

  Her expression turns into one of horror. This isn’t her decision. It’s necessary. She’ll bear my child and that is the fucking end of it.

  “What if I’m not ready?” she challenges.

  I could fight her. Yell in her face and tell her how it’s going to be. But this little girl isn’t played that way. With her, it’s simple.

  “Sweetheart,” I coo, my voice soft and caring, “I’m ready.” I kiss her mouth gently at first and then I devour her. Desperate to be loved and for any sort of attention, she throws her arms around my neck, kissing me back.