Chapter Three-1
1257 Words
Chapter Three
“Well, that was the worst flight ever,” she remarked, as they traversed the white stairs from the plane to the runway below. She’d run back and forth at least five times and managed two mouthfuls of food, total. Of course, she’d brought it all up again.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon and I’ll get you some anti-nausea meds. You can put your feet up and watch the Daily Show with Trevor Noah.” Trent guided her by the small of her back, and placed a gentle kiss on her neck.
“Thanks, gorgeous,” she whispered, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a nightmare.”
“You’ll feel way better once we get to our place.” Trent slid his arm around her hips and held her loosely. He was so considerate, conscious of the fact that she didn’t feel good, and it made her want to ravage him, nausea aside.
They hit the runway and strolled along, hand in hand, talking amiably for the first time in two days. It was good to get back to some level of normality, though technically their relationship had been anything but normal.
They got to the conveyor, collected their bags and made their way out of the airport. A row of taxis waited out front, idling for people who didn’t have transportation or family members and friends to pick them up.
Trent led her past the yellow cars and out into the parking lot. A row of limousines waited beyond the taxis, and several of the passengers from first class stood beside them, watching as chauffeurs loaded their luggage into the respective trunks.
“This one’s ours,” Trent said, pointing it out. He strode powerfully towards it, carrying both their bags in one hand.
The back door of the limo opened and a sleek white leg ending in a black stiletto slid from it and hit the pavement. Michelle Van Heerden stepped from its leather-entombed depths, stinking of Coco Chanel and privilege.
“Mr. Dawson,” she simpered, fanning herself then sweeping a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “Welcome to Hades.”
“The temperature has climbed in, what, a day?” He laughed and the hair on the back of Adalia’s neck stood on end, driven by jealousy. Why was Michelle Van Heerden everywhere they went? It was like living in Legally Blonde.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon. Was the accommodation not to your liking?” Michelle looked Adalia up and down, insinuating what she meant by ‘accommodation’ with her eyes.
“Everything was perfect, thank you,” Trent replied.
“What are you doing here?” Adalia snapped, finally growing tired of chewing on the side of her tongue. She tasted iron and swallowed hard.
Michelle turned to her slowly, wearing a s**t-eating grin. “Oh, Miss Montclair, I didn’t see you there,” she murmured, “as impossible as that may seem.”
“Excuse me?” Adalia glared at Trent’s runway model of an assistant.
“Oh, just a joke. You’ve got such a large... character.” Michelle’s lips parted even wider.
“Oh, not that,” Adalia replied, letting a smile of her own slip to the surface. “You called me Miss Montclair. I’m Mrs. Dawson now. I suggest you address me that way. Now, kindly get the bags and put them in the trunk.”
Michelle took a step back as if she’d been physically accosted.
“What are you doing here, Michelle?” Trent asked, placing their luggage on the ground. He dusted his hands off and wrapped them around Adalia’s shoulders, nuzzling her neck with the tip of his nose.
“I came to talk about the impending release of our IPO.”
“The company’s IPO,” he corrected her. He straightened and arranged his cotton shirt, upper lip curling slightly.
Adalia chuckled to herself – the man was obsessed with suits, the casual wear had to be killing him, especially now that his assistant was here, talking business. That was her excuse at least. Adalia wasn’t fooled. Michelle had set her sights on Trent long ago; the fact that Adalia had married him had to be the worst t*****e for the spoiled b***h.
Trent wiggled his head from side to side in an uncharacteristic motion of indecision. “I’d much rather settle in and meet you at the office about this. Have we heard from –?”
“Withnail Harrington? Yes, yes we have. He’s determined to buy up most of the public shares once we go live.” Michelle folded her arms beneath her breasts to display what she thought of that. The tight red blouse and tighter black skirt did her body plenty of favors.
“And have there been any messages for me?” Trent let go of Adalia, his focus solely on his assistant now.
“Plenty, you’d think you were gone for more than just a day.” Michelle examined her lurid pink fingernails then ran her thumbnail over the hem of her shirt. “I’ll get us back to the office.”
“No, we’re going home first to drop Adalia off. She needs her rest.” Trent opened the door for his wife.
“Yes, I’m sure she does. Long trip, right?” Michelle reluctantly retrieved the bags and popped the trunk. She shoved them in and slammed it shut.
“Yeah. We’ve got wonderful news out of it though,” Trent said, extending a hand to Adalia.
She took it, brushing her fingers across his palm, picturing his hands on her breasts, neck, shoulders. Adalia was heat and desire for a moment again, lost in his touch and the gentle declaration of love in his gaze.
“Oh? What’s the good news, Trent?” Michelle watched from beside the limo, the noon day sun reflecting off her bleach blonde hair, absorbed by her perfectly tanned skin – someone had hit the tanning booth.
Trent looked at Adalia and smiled, then nodded proudly for her to relay the news.
She met Michelle’s gaze. “I’m pregnant.”
The assistant’s face fell into disbelief, the feigned adoration and respect was sucked into the stratosphere.
Adalia chuckled all the way into the limo and settled back into the leather seat. So, perhaps the honeymoon hadn’t ended on that much of a sour note after all.
***
* * * *
Sylvester Montclair stood on the porch, watching as Adalia walked up the cracked sidewalk. She met her father’s gaze and smiled warmly, even though they’d parted on rocky terms.
Sylvester stretched and scratched his neck. “Didn’t expect you to come around any time soon.”
“I know you’re not a fan of Trent, Dad, but it wouldn’t hurt to call once in a while,” she replied. She strode up the front stairs and stood in front of him.
Even in his old age, with grey in his hair and watery eyes, he towered over her. He’d finally overcome the vicious bout of flu which had taken him down for two entire months. He was larger than life, her dad, and even though they’d had their differences, she held nothing but respect for him.
“How’s business?” Adalia asked.
“Business, business,” he repeated, shaking his head, “that’s always the first thing on your tongue, girl. I’m fine by the way. Come on in and make us some coffee. I wasn’t expecting company.”
He turned and marched into the house, the shuffling gait and blanket absent.
Adalia shook visions of her ill father from her mind, and focussed on the old commanding one. The one she’d grown up with, not the frail man who’d kicked her out of his life because she’d chosen Trent.
She followed him inside, walking through the entrance hall, past the door to her old bedroom toward the kitchen. She hurried to take the cups from her father’s hands and placed them on the counter. She fished around in the cupboard for the coffee and a filter and brought out a teaspoon and the sugar. Adalia made the coffee as she would have normally if she had still stayed there.
***
- Writer
