Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

“Oh, who?”

“A guy from the club who happens to be newly single and perfect, I think, for you.” I had invited Gregg Higgins, a trust-fund baby. He was in his late twenties and extremely good-looking, which was fortunate for him, since he didn’t have much going on upstairs. His father had given up hoping that Gregg would take over in the family business, but had given him a big office and title and let him spend his days having long lunches entertaining clients. He would be putty in Amber’s hands and falling all over her, which is just what I wanted Jackson to witness. He wasn’t in the same league as Jackson by any stretch, so I didn’t worry about him actually distracting her, but he would be irresistible to her for the time being — her ticket to the club, glamorous events, and someone to pamper her until she achieved her ultimate goal. I figured she was also smart enough to realize a little competition would be good for arousing Jackson’s interest.

Her voice was warm now. “That sounds interesting. What time should I be there?”

“Starts at six, but you’re welcome to come a little early. Why don’t you come at noon, and we can hang at the pool for a while and then get ready around two? Bring your clothes, and you can shower and dress here. In fact, why don’t you plan to spend the night?”

“Fantastic, thanks.”

I wanted Jackson to see Amber in her bikini, and given how she’d stepped up her game lately, I knew she’d come over looking like something from the pages of the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

I ended the call, grabbed my tennis racket, and left. I was meeting Meredith for a doubles game. Things were still a little strained between us since her confrontation with Amber. I knew Meredith was angry that I had bought Amber’s story about being on the run from an abusive father, but once she saw I was immovable, she’d finally let it go. I hated for our friendship to become a casualty of my plan, but for the first time in ten years, I felt a flicker of hope. I wasn’t going to let anything get in my way.

I ate a ton of carbs all the next week. Cookies, crackers, chips. Jackson had just left on a business trip, so he wasn’t there to stop me. The girls were thrilled to have some junk food in the house. Normally, he inspected the refrigerator and cabinets daily and threw out anything remotely resembling snack food. I had to swear the girls to secrecy and even hide it from Sabine, who’d already gone running to Jackson when I kept Tallulah up late one night watching a movie. But yesterday I’d insisted she take a couple of days off, and her delight outweighed her sense of duty.

I wanted to make sure to pack on a few pounds before Saturday, so Jackson would notice how much better Amber looked in her bathing suit than I did in mine. It’s amazing how quickly the weight comes back when you’re used to eating fewer than twelve hundred calories a day. I was on my fourteenth food journal — Jackson inspected it every day when he got home and kept all the completed ones lined up in his closet, his little keepsakes proving his control over me. Occasionally I would write down a food that wasn’t on the approved list — he was too smart to believe I never cheated on my diet. On those days, he’d sit and watch while he made me run five miles on the treadmill in our home gym to make up for it. I hadn’t decided yet whether or not I would include some extras on the journal this week or just pretend that perimenopause was to blame for the extra weight. The idea that my fertility was declining would make Amber that much more appealing in comparison.

I’d forgotten how good sugar tasted. By Friday my stomach had a nice little pooch to it, and my whole body was a bit puffy. I put all the wrappers and cartons in a trash bag and drove them to the dump. When he returned Friday night, the kitchen was in tip-top shape again. It was just past nine when I heard his car in the garage. I grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. I pulled roast duck out of the oven and set a place for him at the island.

He walked in the kitchen as I was pouring myself a glass of pinot noir.

“Hello, Daphne.” He nodded toward the plate. “I ate on the plane. You can put that away.”

“How was your flight?”

He picked up the glass of wine and took a swallow. “Fine, uneventful.” His brow creased. “Before I forget, I looked through the Netflix queue. I see that you watched some low-rate drama. I thought we talked about this.”

I’d forgotten to wipe the queue clean. Damn it. “I think it came on automatically after the biography of Lincoln I’d been watching with the girls. I must have left the Netflix on.”

He leveled a look at me and cleared his throat. “Be more responsible next time. Don’t make me cancel the subscription.”

“Of course.”

He scrutinized my face, put a hand on my cheek, and pressed. “Are your allergies acting up?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, why?”

“You look puffy. You haven’t been eating sugar, have you?” He opened the cabinet containing the trash and looked through it.

“No, of course not.”

“Get me your diary.”

I ran upstairs and retrieved it. When I came back to the kitchen, he was looking through all the cabinets.

“Here.”

He snatched it from my hands, sat down, and went through it, tracing each item with his finger. “Aha! What’s this?” He pointed to an entry from yesterday.

“A baked potato.”

“That turns right into sugar. You know that. If you have to be a pig and eat a potato, make sure it’s a sweet potato. At least that has some nutritional value.” He looked me up and down. “You make me sick. Fat pig.”

“Daddy?”

Tallulah was standing in the doorway. She looked at me, worry in her eyes.

“Come give Daddy a hug. I was just telling your mommy she has to stop stuffing her face. You don’t want a fat mommy, do you?”

“Mommy’s not fat,” she said, her voice cracking.

He looked at me and scowled. “You stupid sow. Tell your daughter that you need to watch what you eat.”

“Daddy, stop!” Tallulah was crying now.

He threw his hands up in the air. “The two of you! I’m going to my study. Put the crybaby to bed, and then I want to see you in my office.” Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “If you’re so hungry all the time, I’ll give you something to suck on.”

Amber reached for the bottle of tanning lotion and squirted some in her hand. After she applied it to her arms and face, she handed it to me. “Would you do my back?”

I took it from her and caught a whiff of coconut as I rubbed my hands together.

“Want to go sit on the bench in the pool?” It was sweltering, and I wanted to cool off.

“Sure.”

Amber’s bikini was practically pornographic — all she had to do was sit the wrong way and all the goods would be on display. I was glad Tallulah and Bella were out for the day with Surrey. It was obvious that she hadn’t missed any time at the gym, although with the hours she was putting in working for Jackson, I didn’t know how she fit it in. I had purposely worn a one-piece that hugged my body and revealed the little pooch my belly was sporting. Jackson would notice it as soon as he looked at me.

We sat side by side on the built-in seat in the shallow end. The water was a perfect eighty-five degrees and felt wonderful. I looked out at the vast stretch of blue and the beach beyond, relaxing as I took a deep breath of salt air.

Jackson came outside for his daily swim.

“Hi, girls, I hope you put some sunscreen on. Hottest time of the day.”

I smiled. “I have, but Amber here is covered in tanning oil.”