The Wife

Lydia

“What you are selling is the idea of a rags to riches story,” Prisha explained. “They want to see that you are thankful, that you are grateful for what Patrick has given you. They are going to want all these tearjerker stories of growing up poor.”

I hated the idea that I had to be “grateful” for my relationship with Patrick. I loved him, I was incredibly lucky to have that kind of stability in our lives, but really, he didn’t take pity on me for not being as wealthy.

Worse still was that I hated the implication that I had to play into certain stereotypes just because of my upbringing.

“They want me to be a yokel?” Black Book Publishing could not be serious with this bullshit. “What does that do for me? Isn’t that just going to make people say worse things?”

She shook her head and leaned back to cross her legs.

Prisha was a public relations consultant that BBP sent over to help coach me for press events. She was tall, dark-skinned, with thick black waves that fell just past her bust and golden eyes that made her seem even friendlier than she already was.

But Prisha was fake, as fake as the white Louis Vuitton bag on the chair next to her.

She was nice, she kind, and she had a soft giggle that made me smile, but she had that sort of guard that you can feel when someone isn’t being truly authentic. And, unfortunately, that was what she was here to coach me to be.

Beside her sat Jordan, my editor and the first man to ever make me want me to rip my hair out. That was probably why he was bald.

The two of them made a great team, that much I could vouch for, but Jordan wasn’t scared to absolutely shred my work which just fuelled my nervousness at having to sit here with both of them now.

“It will make you more palatable to people who see you as—”

“A lying bitch?” I offered.

“An intruder.”

“Well, I guess that works too.” I wasn’t invited into the rich people club, I just got dragged into it and they weren’t the type to appreciate that.

“Lydia,” she began, setting her drink aside. “The target demographic is not going to be women like you, they won’t be interested in this type of story. Your demographic is going to be older women, upper class, and social commentary figures. People who want to know why two huge players of the game are suddenly sidelined.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if that was a hockey metaphor or a football metaphor, but I didn’t want to be an ass to the woman getting paid to put up with my bullshit. I had to wait until she got the bonus when my book was published at least.

“We just want to set you up for success,” Jordan soothed. “Having Prisha coach you on your answers and mannerisms will go a long way to make this happen.”

“Yeah, I get it, I get to be the animal everyone is expecting to do a trick,” I replied. “So, this party…”

“Try not to think about that right now,” Prisha cut in sternly. “That’s months away and I don’t need you becoming even more stressed.” She gave me a sharp look until I sighed and nodded.

“Fine, I’ll stop bringing it up.” I wouldn’t stop thinking about it though.

“Speaking of parties…” Jordan trailed off as rifled through his bag for his iPad. “This last chapter you gave me references one, but I was hoping you could add some more details, especially about Mr. X.”

I took the iPad and skimmed over the notes. Mr. X was Morgan, the party was at Plaisir and I had it vetted by both Pat and Jon to make sure that nothing identifying him was left in there. I already knew there was nothing else that I could add about him. “What else do you want to know about him?”

“His appearance, or even his initials—” He broke off when I glanced up and Jordan cocked his eyebrow. “There has to be some leeway, Lydia. We want to titillate people, to spark their interest and make them wonder if they know this person.”

Some. I had to be careful about what I said, and the guys were helping me navigate this minefield, so far this was all I thought I could safely share. “I’ll bring the notes to Jon,” I replied finally. “Did you already email me the notes?”

“I did, but don’t worry about it right this second, just try and get this back to me by Monday if you can.”

He was calm and sort of laughed it off but I noticed the edge to his tone, the irritation that I wanted to seek approval before moving forward. That was probably why Jordan had tagged along with Prisha today, to try and get to me when I didn’t have Jon or Patrick looking over my shoulder. I didn’t really blame him.

“Perfect!” Prisha clapped her hands together with a wide grin and made to get up. “I need to make a call to Candace, but I will email you a few things to read over before your interview. Okay?”

“Sounds great.” My voice came out strained and I hoped she didn’t hear it. “Thanks Prisha, thanks Jordan.”

“Not a problem, Dia,” she said chipperly.

Jordan smiled and got up with her but didn’t meet my eyes. The two of them made their way out of the café, leaving me alone on the couch, watching as they got into their Uber.

Part of my issue with Jordan was his perception that I was keeping things from them that could help sell the story, like my pregnancy. He knew something was going on, but we hadn’t announced our pregnancy to everyone yet and I didn’t know how to drop that bomb on them. I mean, BBP had a freak out when I told them I was engaged to Patrick and insisted that we keep that under wraps for now.

I pulled my phone out and skimmed through my emails from the publisher and the panic inducing ones about fast-approaching due dates. I had to tell them soon, just looking at this tentative interview I felt my palms start to sweat at the realization of it being on the same day as my ultrasound and the launch party being so close to me giving birth.

The desire for privacy was there but the ability to have it now was gone – I’d signed that contract. I didn’t want to tell the entire world about my pregnancy right this second, but I just had to accept that it was part of the deal to have to write about it or publicize it at some point.

With a sigh, I got up from my seat and pulled my jacket on before heading for the door, hoping that Allie and Maritza would be able to take my mind off of it while the guys were out playing basketball.

As I stepped out on the street I was greeted with the roar of heavy traffic and the blaring of horns. The sidewalk was wet with melted snow and every storefront was decorated with lights and Christmas displays. Fifth avenue was gorgeous in the winter and it made my mood perk to see all the gorgeous shops setting up holiday party wear. I already had a dress for Lucy’s party, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t indulge myself a little bit while I was out.

Allie and Maritza were either still at Bergdorf-Goodman or in one of the rows of boutiques off 57th. I figured walking would be the best option since I wasn’t bougie enough to call a ride when it was less than a block away. I glanced in the windows as I passed by, looking for the girls when I caught them trying on shoes in one of Allie’s favorite stores.

I pushed the door open and waved to them before shrugging my coat off.

“Dia, come here for a minute,” Allie called. “It’s vegan leather, what do you think?”

“They’re cute,” I answered. “Hey Mari.”

“Hey.” She leaned down and undid the gladiator sandals. “How was the meeting?”

“Eh, it’s done.” I paused and thanked the clerk as she took my purse and coat from me. “What are you guys looking for?”

“Nothing specific, just something cute,” Allie answered. “But I think we have something special to plan for.”

I grinned and sunk down into the spot beside her. “I told you that it’s not a big deal—”

“It’s a huge deal,” she interrupted. “You can’t get married without a bachelorette; mom won’t let you and neither will I.”

Mari caught my eye and rolled hers dramatically, I smirked and looked away quickly when Allie turned to her girlfriend, ready to scold her. Their relationship made sense to me, more than ten years of friendship and hookups really only could lead one place. Plus, while they were together it took the focus off my relationship with Jon. It was a little awkward to explain to Michelin that her daughter was dating my boyfriend’s daughter, but she had just shrugged it off and accepted us without question.

I followed the girls around the store, picking up a pair of shoes here, a bag there, and a couple of flowy dresses. The click of my black card on the counter made the hair on my arms stand up, with every swipe of the card I felt more and more out of control and excited. Maritza and Allie had done this all their lives, they didn’t look twice at receipts or blink at the totals, but I felt my stomach flutter when I saw the numbers climb.

Jon and Patrick never said anything about my shopping, but it still felt like a dirty little secret that I was spending their money. Despite Allie’s anger at me using the card back in Monterey, she hadn’t mentioned anything during our little excursions. I knew now that she had been fighting and on the brink of a breakup with Vicki and that added to our fight, but I was still a little surprised that she hadn’t made any comments since.

We made our way further down the street, stopping in at a few well-known places before coming up to one last boutique that had a sizable maternity wear section.

Allie held up a shirt dress, admiring the sheer bodice and rhinestone collar. “This is cute. This and a pair of pleasers, maybe some thigh highs…”

Maritza’s face scrunched up and she shook her head. “When have you ever seen me wear something like that?”

“I just thought it was cute,” Allie defended herself. “Dia, I know you would appreciate it.”

I took the garment and held it up to myself. “For the bachelorette maybe?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to wear something under it, right?” Mari asked with a look of horror.

I rolled my eyes. “No, I think this is an ass out kind of look.”

Allie smirked. “Sounds like something her dad would want you to wear.”

“Gross, Allie!” Mari’s disgust was palpable, and she was quick to make her way across the store. “Can someone bleach my eyes now?” she muttered as she left us standing there.

I nudged Allie in the side and hung the dress back up. “Come on, man, I’m trying to mend some bridges here.”

“She knows that I’m just needling her.” Her arms wrapped around my waist as I sorted through the rack, her chin resting on my shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”

I shrugged it off. “I’m not, I’m just trying to make things work, you know? I want things to be good with us.” I wanted to show Jon that I wasn’t just shrugging Mari off.

Allie groaned and took a step back, her chunky heels clicked loudly on the floor. “Dia, you’re her dad’s girlfriend, not a step-mom, a glowing relationship isn’t going to happen overnight. You can’t force it.”

“I know but I’m still trying.”

I looked across the store to Maritza, watching her eye the bags and feel the leather on one. I was never really friends with her, just acquaintances, not like how Allie and I were friends, or even how Maritza and Allie were. But even if we weren’t close, I wanted things to be kosher between us if I was going to be with her dad for the foreseeable future.

“I don’t want her to feel like she has to do a bachelorette party for me—”

Allie scoffed. “Let me stop you right there, Miss Whines-A-Lot.” She pulled the dress off the rack again held it up. “See this? We saw it last week and she said she thought you would like it, she even suggested we come here to show it to you. Maritza is trying not to be entirely grossed out, and she’s even gone out of her comfort zone for you. She’s down for this party and she’s way more involved than you think.”

Really? I took the dress and looked back at Mari who was now chatting with the store clerks. “Maybe it’s just me,” I admitted quietly. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“That Jordan prick again?”

I nodded and led us over to the sitting area. Allie took the offered glass of champagne, but I waved off and thanked the clerk anyway. “They keep pressing for more info, stuff that we already agreed wouldn’t be in the book or the focus of it, and it’s getting to me.”

“Mom warned you about that,” she pointed out. “I think your boy-toys did to, from what you told me. It’s all part of monetizing your life.”

“I just thought that the story of the three of us would be enough…” I trailed off and shook my head as I picked at the hem of my skirt. “I thought writing about Jon and Pat and myself was enough, I didn’t think that I would have to include these other people that have it out for us.”

Allie laughed and leaned back on the couch, getting more comfortable for the time being. “Come on, Dia. Nothing ever gets easier when you try to keep it a secret. I would figure you of all people would know that by now.”

My cheeks heated and I finally turned to meet her insistent gaze. Come hell or highwater, Allie was always there. She even picked me over Vicki. I needed to trust having her beside me more than I already did, I needed to trust her to show me when I was being an idiot or an ass.

Trusting her meant trusting myself instead of looking to Jon and Pat to give me all the answers.

“Alright, wise one, I’ll think about telling them.” I paused and glanced back at Mari who was still deep in conversation with the clerk. “Now what should I pack for this bachelorette party?”

“Let’s start with the essentials; I need you to get a bikini, a clubbing dress, and something for a nice dinner.”

“You know I can’t drink, right?”

She snorted. “Please, I know the ins and outs of pregnancy, and just because we’re clubbing doesn’t mean we need to drink. You, anyway, I still plan to.”

“Oh, come on!”

“That’s what you get for letting them knock you up.”

I rolled my eyes at her smirk but played along with it. Yeah, getting pregnant when I did was my own fault and I shouldn’t have been so careless, but I was still glad that it happened and that she hadn’t written me off as being no fun. Hopefully the guys could take a page from her book.