Chapter 98: Fidelity Clauses

"Was that Sterling?"

The question was ridiculous because he had very clearly seen Callum sitting in the back of that Bentley, lowering the window like some smug bastard in a movie and giving him that little salute.

Still, Dorian wanted to hear her say it.

"Yeah," Naomi answered carefully. "He insisted on escorting me."

"You went to see him?"

Naomi frowned. "I didn’t go to see him. He showed up."

"Where?"

"At the house. My aunt’s husband must have invited him."

Dorian stood there, trying very hard to pull his emotions back under control. This was jealousy. He knew what jealousy felt like. He had spent enough years being destroyed by it to recognize the taste.

And jealousy was absolutely not what this arrangement needed. They had literally made a pact less than twenty-four hours ago.

His brain had agreed while the rest of him had decided to operate independently. Dorian shoved his hands into his pockets and curled them into fists. He could handle this.

Naomi hadn’t done anything wrong . Callum showing up wasn’t her fault. "I saw the boys leaving."

"Yeah." Dorian started walking toward the stairs. "They stayed late. Wanted to compliment you on your chicken wings but apparently you were spending time with your ex-fiancé."

The words were out. He nearly winced but he kept walking.

"Excuse me?"

Dorian stepped past her and headed upstairs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Naomi demanded, following him.

"I don’t know."

"You obviously do."

"I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it." He didn’t even look back.

Naomi hurried after him. "You said it already! How am I supposed to forget about it?"

Dorian climbed another step. "I don’t know."

"stop walking away and tell me what your problem is."

He stopped. She almost walked into him. He turned around. She looked genuinely irritated now. "I don’t know the terms in this situation. I don’t know how this is supposed to work in this fucking situationship."

None of it made sense. They were married but not really. Sleeping together but not supposed to feel anything.

"All I know is you better not go back to fucking him!"

"Oh, everyone is on fire with the fucking tonight, eh?" Naomi snapped and threw both hands into the air. "Everyone wants to know if I am fucking you! You think I am fucking Callum! Infuckingcredible!"

"I have a fucking right to know!"

"No, you do not!" Naomi shot back. "You do not. You do not own me. You do not control me, and you do not tell me what to do."

"Thank God for contracts then, I guess." He knew he should stop. "The contract clearly states that you cannot fuck anyone else. It clearly states that for the next five months, I fucking own you!" He had gone too far.

Her face slowly hardened. "For a minute...I was hoping you were different. I wanted to believe so strongly that you are a diamond in the rough. But you are just the same as everyone I know. Condescending, selfish, egotistical and controlling."

"I have walked this road before, Naomi." His voice lowered, but the anger remained underneath it. "I have been told the same thing you are telling me right now before. I was the crazy one. I was the jealous one. I was the needy one. I was the insecure one."

Memories came faster than he wanted them to. Reassurances that he was imagining things. That he was being suspicious.

That he needed to trust her. Then finding out he had been right. Finding out he had not even been suspicious enough.

Dorian’s hands curled at his sides. "And guess what? I was right all along. Do not think you can gaslight me. You’re telling me I have no right to react when your ex-fiancé escorts you home, a house we live in together, after you spent the evening with him."

"I already told you I did not go there to see him!" Naomi stepped closer. "I’m not any of your ex wives, Dorian. Do not compare me with them. Arguing with me about things another woman did to you and using that as proof that I must be doing the same thing? I am not responsible for your PTSD and I do not intend to stand here and be punished for it."

"Tell me exactly what I am supposed to think, Naomi. You were supposed to marry him. You would have married him. Apparently, he can come and go as he pleases to see your family." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Me? Oh no. I am not worthy of that honour!"

"You pushed this alliance, not me," she reminded him. "You wanted this marriage, not me. You get what you get!"

Right.

He had been the one who insisted on the six-month arrangement. He had been the one who decided they would stay married because another immediate divorce would make him look ridiculous. He had drafted the contract, established the terms and created this temporary little universe they were now apparently both losing their minds inside.

None of that made seeing Callum Sterling escort his wife home any easier.

"I guess I should maintain my status as placeholder then."

Naomi’s eyes narrowed. "Think whatever you want. Do whatever you want." She threw her hands up. "God forbid I control your thoughts and actions."

Then she turned and stormed upstairs. Dorian remained where he was. He heard her footsteps disappear above him, followed eventually by the sound of a door closing.

He should have left it alone. He should have kept his mouth shut. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked toward the stairs. He had been here before.

The horrible feeling that something was happening just beyond his reach while everyone around him insisted he was imagining it.

At least this time, there was one difference. He knew how the marriage would eventually end. They had a date for it.

Five months from now, Naomi would walk away. Tonight was simply a reminder that perhaps knowing exactly when something would end didn’t make the process any easier.

******

Dorian was having a bad Monday morning. A very bad one. His bad mood had technically begun Saturday night and somehow managed to gather momentum through Sunday.

By Monday, he was irritated with Callum, irritated with Naomi, irritated with himself and generally prepared to dislike anyone who happened to breathe incorrectly within his vicinity.

Sunday had provided very little relief. Naomi had gone to mass, or at least that’s where he believed she went off to that morning. He had gone to his sister’s, Alex’s house to see his nephews and also because Alex was the only member of the family who wasn’t interested in emotionally decimating him.

Dorian was safe with Alex. They discussed normal family nonsense that didn’t require anyone asking him whether he was really sleeping with his wife.

Daniel helped too. He had enough jokes and sarcasm to keep the atmosphere light, and for a few hours, Dorian managed to stop thinking about Naomi, and the argument.

Eventually, though, he left Alex’s house and headed back to the townhouse. Maybe Naomi would be there.

When he got home, Naomi was nowhere in sight. Her bedroom was empty. The kitchen was quiet.

Her office was dark. So he waited and waited. By eleven, he had stopped pretending he wasn’t listening for the garage.

A few minutes before midnight, he finally heard the garage door open. He heard Naomi cross the house.

A door slammed.

Dorian stayed exactly where he was and that ended that.

Monday morning did not improve his mood. By the time Dorian arrived at Heathcliffe & Associates, he had already decided he disliked humanity in general.

He stepped into the elevator. He had barely entered when someone came in behind him.

Uncle Alistair.

His father’s younger brother. The man who had ruined Dorian’s first marriage. The man who had fucked Dorian’s wife behind his back for years.

And then, barely five minutes after Dorian’s divorce from Lillian became final, married her. Dorian had stayed away from him in the early years.

In the beginning, avoiding Alistair had been relatively easy. Dorian had started his career at the District Attorney’s office, so they rarely had any reason to cross paths professionally.

Then Maurice had convinced him to move to Heathcliffe & Associates. Even after that, avoiding Alistair hadn’t been particularly difficult.

Dorian practiced criminal law. Alistair was a family lawyer. Their work existed in different corners of the firm, which suited Dorian perfectly. He could arrive then leave without having to speak to the one man in the building he personally considered worse than half his clients.

Unfortunately, things had changed after Maurice retired. Dorian became partner. That moved him onto the associates floor.

And with increased responsibility came increased meetings, shared spaces and the deeply irritating reality that Alistair existed in the same building.

They ran into each other more often now. Dorian still hated him. Time had done absolutely nothing magical there.

Thirteen years had not softened the betrayal. And his hatred wasn’t only because Alistair had done one of the most despicable things a man could do to his own nephew.

That alone would have been enough. The bigger problem was that Alistair, in general, was a despicable man with low morals.

If Heathcliffe & Associates were ever left entirely in Alistair’s hands, Dorian was fairly certain the firm would have no integrity left within a year.

Possibly six months.

Alistair had a gift for making questionable judgment.

Dorian stood on one side of the elevator, hands in his pockets, while Alistair remained on the other. There was enough space between them to make the silence obvious.

"Morning, Dorian," Alistair said.