The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh

Sixty-Nine

Saylor

Disbelief makes me lightheaded as I stare at the man I thought I knew but haven’t really known at all.

“What do you mean you’re blackmailing me?”

“Exactly that.” He shrugs, like his mind-blowing revelation means little. “From the moment we met, you’ve put me in a box. Mr. Nice Guy. Dependable Lloyd. Charitable Lloyd who works with kids in the youth ministry and would never do anything wrong. Stupid, gullible Lloyd—”

“I don’t think of you like that.” I lie, because he’s right. I have labeled him as nice, dependable and sweet; but not once since I’ve perpetuated this sham have I thought of him as gullible.

“Then tell me, dearest wife. How do you think of me?”

“I love you—”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, cheating on me after we’ve been married for three months.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, a testament to my mortification. I knew we’d need to have this conversation at some point, but now the time has come my chest is tight and my throat dry, and it’s difficult to get the words out. How does he know?

“That night was a mistake. But to explain, I need to tell you about Ruston.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “What’s that pretty boy got to do with it?” Fury lights his eyes. “Don’t tell me you slept with him too?”

“Not recently—”

“What the hell does that mean?” He leaps off the couch and starts pacing, shaking his head and muttering something I assume are nasty names for me under his breath.

“Please sit and listen. I should’ve told you this at the start, when we first met, but I didn’t want to ruin the best thing to happen to me.”

I’m not sure if it’s my plaintive plea or hand wringing or tears slowly trickling down my cheeks that get to him but he finally takes a seat on the sofa. His arms are folded, a deep frown grooves his brow, and he can barely look at me.

I know what I say next will make or break us.

“You know my parents. How upstanding they are and how revered in the church. To them, Ruston was their biggest nightmare. He was my first boyfriend, my only boyfriend, as a senior and beyond. I wanted to move to the city with him and they were horrified.” Shock widens his eyes and I continue. “You’ve met him, you know what he’s like, has to be the center of attention, expecting every woman in a room to fall at his feet and, sadly, I did for too long.”

I’m explaining it clinically, but what I can never tell my husband is how consumed I was by Ruston, how he was the focus of my every waking thought and most sleeping ones. It irks that, even now, seeing him again has affected me when it shouldn’t. Not that I love him—he’s still the same jerk he always was—but it’s only a year since we broke up that last time and he’s like a persistent virus I can’t get rid of.

“Did you know he lived here when you insisted we move to Hambridge Heights?”

His narrow-eyed skepticism implies he won’t believe me whatever I say.

“No, I swear.” I press my hand to my heart. “I was shocked to see him and wanted to avoid him.”

“Then why did you invite him to that bloody dinner party? You could’ve said no when I insisted we ask him.” He flushes an angry puce. “I had that prick in my house and I had no idea he’s already screwed my wife.”

“Ruston and I were finished before I met you.”

“How long before we met?”

“A week.”

That’s when the truth dawns and he visibly recoils. “Your parents set us up, didn’t they? You just said they hated Ruston and they wanted you in a relationship pronto so you wouldn’t fall back into old patterns.” He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching. “What I don’t get is why you went along with it, me being rebound guy and all.”

“You weren’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells and I jump. “Haven’t you done enough of that to last a lifetime?”

“You weren’t my rebound guy. Honestly? I was prepared to dislike you because the more my parents insisted I meet you, the more I rebelled. But then you turned up and… how could I not love you?”

Some of the anger drains from his face but his back is rigid, like he’s sitting on a poker. “This is seriously messed up. All of it.”

I agree, but the most messed up thing is my husband blackmailing me.

“It is messed up. I shouldn’t have been fixated on Ruston at a wrap party one night after a job, but I was, and seeing him all over another woman made me go a little crazy. That’s why I slept with Andre, to make Ruston jealous, which is truly awful, and something I’ll never forgive myself for, but you have to know, there’s nothing going on between Ruston and me now.”

The softening I glimpsed a moment ago hardens. “Nothing you say changes the fact you had sex with Andre three months after we married.”

I reached an all-time low the night I had sex with Andre. I don’t blame the drugs, the alcohol, or the inane urge to prove I was still attractive because I felt some of my identity slip away after I married Lloyd. I blame my stupid addiction to Ruston. I’d organized that shoot so it had been easy to put forward his name as the main photographer. I’d wanted to see him, to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake in marrying Lloyd. But it had backfired, because the moment I saw him I remembered how good we’d been together, so when I glimpsed him making out with one of the sound technicians I lost it, making a determined play for Andre in some crazy, party drug-fueled haze to make my ex jealous, surprised when Andre reciprocated and unable to stop what I’d set in motion.

“If I could erase that night, I would.”

Shame makes me want to reach out but by the sneering curl of his upper lip Lloyd won’t welcome the contact. “You can’t erase it. You’re a married woman, Saylor. This isn’t high school where if you muck up you can take the test again. There are no do-overs.”

“I know, but I need you to understand—”

“What I understand is the night of the shoot, when I popped in to surprise my wife because I couldn’t get enough of you, I missed you and wanted to be with you, was the night you broke my heart.” He eyeballs me, and my heart lurches when I see his agony mixed with anger.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t see me, considering you were screwing Andre and I witnessed it.”

Shame fills me. I’ve regretted what happened that night ever since I lost my head and slept with Andre, but to think my husband saw… I’m mortified. “Why didn’t you confront me then, or afterward?”

“Because I was reeling and relied on my faith more than ever. I prayed on it for weeks, hoping to gain some clarity, and I acted my ass off so you wouldn’t figure anything was wrong. Either I deserve an award for my drama skills or you’re so self-absorbed you’re clueless, but you had no idea how I was falling apart on the inside.”

Which only makes this entire situation worse. To think I caused him irrevocable pain, and while he struggled with it I hadn’t noticed. It’s unfathomable. He’s right. I’m selfish and I never deserved him.

“By the time I decided to talk to you about it, you’d announced you were pregnant.” He shakes his head. “It changed everything and I hoped it would be a turning point for us. Until you told me your due date and I realized the baby could be his. And you didn’t breathe a word of that possibility to me.” His expression hardens again and he’s glowering at me. “That’s when I decided to teach you a lesson.”

“By blackmailing me for fifty thousand dollars?” I shake my head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“I hoped you might confide in me after I first blackmailed you, that if you trusted me enough you would tell me everything and it’d prove our marriage is solid and you believe in me.” He grimaces and appears sheepish for a moment. “And stupidly, I kept hoping that every time I called you, it would force the truth out of you. But you didn’t tell me and it spiraled out of control… I guess it proved you don’t love me enough.”

“You’re wrong. I do love you—”

“So whose baby is it, his or mine?”

My head dips in shame. “I don’t know.”

“Let me guess. You told Andre if he didn’t pay up you’d tell his wife.”

Shame crawls over my skin and I can’t sink any lower. I nod.

He scowls and I see how much he despises me.

“What would you have done if I paid you the money?” I ask.

“Put it into an account for your baby, because that poor kid’s going to need all the help he can get.”

“And if I hadn’t paid up?”

“I wouldn’t have ruined that asshole’s marriage, it’s not my style, and I certainly wouldn’t have dragged your folks through the mud. They’re good people and don’t deserve that.” He shrugs and I see a glimmer of the man I love behind his anger. “I would’ve confessed to you to make you feel guilty. I’m not the bad guy here, Saylor. Learning my wife cheated on me three months after we got married messed me up.” He makes circles at his temple. “I wanted to test you, and you failed.”

This is so warped. Like something out of the B-grade movies we like to curl up together and watch. That’s the moment I realize I’ll never have that again with Lloyd. Our marriage is over and the sadness I feel intermingles with intense regret.

“I’ve really screwed this up.” I shake my head.

He nods and I glimpse a flicker of sympathy.

For a moment I consider appealing to his belief in forgiveness and begging him to give me a second chance, to attend couples’ therapy, to stay and try to make this work. To be with me. To raise my son. But this entire situation is twisted and we can never recover from this. I may have made some poor decisions the night I conceived but he’s put me through hell and I hope to God the stress hasn’t affected my baby.

“I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight,” he says, standing. “I’ll move out in the morning. And if the baby turns out to be mine, I’ll help you raise him with clear-cut custody arrangements, but you and me are done.”

I nod in agreement and watch him pick up my wine glass, move into the kitchen and tip it down the sink before heading upstairs. And in that small, considerate action, even after I’ve proven what a lying cow I am, I realize how much I’ve lost.