Hidden in Lies (2 page)

2016.

Seems there are a few who want Cal to run for president. I know his advisors have been running the numbers to see if he’s a viable candidate, but he hasn’t mentioned it to me. Of course, he usually doesn’t until a decision has been made. The thought of him running for president makes me cringe slightly. Senatorial elections are tiring enough, I can’t imagine what his schedule will be like when he’s having to tour the country. Plus, there will be the added pressure to keep up appearances twenty-four/seven for the public, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I feel Cal lean into my ear and say, “You ready to get out of here?”

“I’m ready when you are.” Cal’s warm gaze travels all over my face before guiding me off, his hand on the small of my back. At the bottom of the stairs, we’re met by Cal’s chief advisor, Aaron.

“Great speech, Cal.” Aaron claps him on the back a few times as we walk toward the Town Car waiting for us.

“Thanks. Do you think it’ll affect the polls any?” The driver of the Town Car spots us and opens the back door. Cal gently guides me in before shutting the door and continuing his conversation with Aaron without me. Early in our relationship, I didn’t take his unwillingness to include me in his business matters personally. Now that we’ve been married for a while, it pisses me off. Internally, I’m fuming that Cal feels like he can’t talk about this stuff in front of me, but on the outside I’m poised and calm, waiting for him to join me. He does this often, but I think it’s just the way he was raised and I have no choice but to accept it.

Soon, the door is opened and Cal slides into his seat before the driver gets into his up front. He gives me a smile and plants a small kiss on my lips. Returning his smile, I place my hand in his as the car starts to move.

“I know I’ve been working a lot lately, but I’m all yours tonight,” he says to me with a warm smile.

“That sounds ama—” I’m cut off by the ringing of his phone. Pulling it out of his jacket pocket, he looks at the screen and sighs.

“I’m sorry, love, but I have to take this.” He looks apologetic and I give him a reassuring smile before he slides his finger across the screen to accept the call. “Fitzgerald here,” he says into the receiver.

My attention turns to look through the window as I watch the buildings pass by. It won’t be long until the buildings are replaced by trees and we’ll almost be home.

“No, that’s fine. We’ll go over it all first thing in the morning to see if we have enough votes to pass the bill. If we don’t, then we’ll throw in some extras to sweeten the pot for those who are on the fence.”

Cal, always the strategist.

Bringing my gaze back to him, I look at our hands that are still joined, his thumb slowly gliding over the back of my hand. I’ve always marveled at how soft his hands are. They’re the hands of a man who has never done hard labor, hands that have only seen the inside of a desk and grasped nothing larger or heavier than a pen. Hands that are used to the finer things in life. Hands my mother would approve of.

Lifting my eyes up to his face, I study his profile. He’s a handsome man in the stereotypical well-bred kind of way. His face is angular and masculine with dark-brown eyes and brown hair with a reddish tint with some gray at the temples. There’s a slight age difference between us. I’m twenty-nine to his thirty-six. It certainly doesn’t bother me, but Cal made a comment in passing about him looking like he could be my father when the gray started coming in. I suggested coloring it if it bothered him, but that idea was quickly shot down by Aaron. Apparently, graying was a good thing. It makes him look older, wiser, and more trustworthy to his constituents, so the gray stayed. Everything has a strategy. It’s actually quite ridiculous.

“Alright, bye.” Cal hangs up and turns toward me. “Sorry about that. I’m all yours now.”

“That’s okay, I understand.”

“You’re always so understanding. What do you say when we get home, we have a glass of wine and I’ll run you a bath?”

“That sounds lovely.” Leaning in, I place a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing him to smile. We spend the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Something that has become the norm in our marriage.

Our home is located outside of our nation’s capital in McLean, Virginia. The house is incredible, and as a child I couldn’t fathom living in such a spacious and extravagant place. But, as I got older, it became a goal of mine. A goal that was nurtured and encouraged by my mother.

As we travel through the massive wrought-iron fence and up the long driveway lined in trees, the house—more like mansion—comes in to view. The circular driveway comes around to the front of the house, and the first thing that stands out are the four large columns that are the height of the two story home. The pillars give off a plantation feel and hold up a balcony that extends off the roof. There are a dozen or so windows adorning the front, which let in a lot of natural light. White brick dresses the entire home and is set off by a gray roof and a bright-red door. It’s the type of home I always dreamed of when I was younger; a home I never thought was actually obtainable. The lawn is manicured to precision with perfectly-pruned shrubs and gorgeous flowers framing the walkway leading up to the door. Inside, there are seven large bedrooms upstairs, each having its own bathroom. The master suite is located in a separate wing that connects to the side of the house.

No expense was spared and every luxury I could have imagined is located within these walls. From a state-of-the-art kitchen, home gym and theatre, to a room that’s sole purpose is to entertain Cal and his friends while they discuss business, drink brandy, and smoke cigars. It doesn’t get more lavish than this. The house screams money and elegance, but a senator’s salary is pennies compared to the money Cal and his family has. In fact, his income as a senator wouldn’t be enough to cover the expenses of this home.

Cal’s family comes from old money. There’s not a Fitzgerald alive who can tell you about a family member who didn’t have more money than they knew what to do with. As if a poor—or even middle classed—Fitzgerald has never existed. The idea is almost unimaginable to me since I’m on the opposite side of the spectrum. They invested everything they had into steel when they came to America in the late seventeen hundreds. Soon, they had one of the fastest growing steel factories in the country, which led them into the railroad business. The Fitzgerald family not only provided the steel for the expansion of the railroad system, but they started building them as well.

Each new generation added more and more to the net wealth and found ways to adapt to changing economies and technologies. While they’re still a major steel producer, they dabble in everything from contracts with shipbuilders, to investment banking. They’re one of the few who have managed to maintain their status as “old money ” while making new money to increase their prosperity. Each son has mastered in something new, bringing in a lot of money and prestige to the family name. This is a sense of pride among his family and a story that gets told so often at functions that I can recite the details word for word.

Cal helps me out of the car and guides me to the door, always the gentleman. After unlocking and opening it, he places his hand at the small of my back, gently guiding me through the threshold.

“Do you want to head upstairs and run a bath? I can bring a glass of wine to you.”

Standing up on my tiptoes, I kiss him softly on the lips. “That sounds great. I’ll see you up there in a few.” His hands travel down my back to my ass where he gives a little squeeze before releasing me. I throw him a coy smile over my shoulder as I walk up the stairs. I know what he’s expecting from me tonight, and even if I’m not up for it, I’ll still give it to him. A few years after my mother taught me that security and stability were more important than love, she gave me tips on not only how to meet and date rich men, but how to keep them happy as well. ‘If you’re not keeping him satisfied, he’ll trade you in for someone younger and prettier who can,’ she used to tell me. That’s why I’m about to slip into the hot bath I have running, lather my body in lavender body wash to make it soft and fragrant, and shave so that I’m nice and smooth to the touch.

Lowering slowly down into the water, I lean my body against the back of the claw foot tub that’s sitting in the middle of the bathroom where the walls, floors, and countertops are covered in marble. This is probably my favorite part of the house and the one place I can truly relax. I close my eyes and let the steaming water wash away the exhaustion from the day.

I hear him before I see him. The sound of his belt unbuckling alerts me to his presence. Lying still with my eyes closed, I relish in the last few moments I have to myself.

“Here you go, darling.” Opening my eyes, I see Cal holding out a glass of wine, standing before me completely naked. I will my body to respond to the display in front of me, but nothing happens. There are no butterflies in my stomach, no tingling or heat pooling in my center. Nothing.

Sitting up, I reach for the wineglass and take a sip. “Thanks, care to join me?” I ask in a seductive voice, my intentions clear. Although my body doesn’t respond, I still have duties to uphold as a wife. Watching him become slowly aroused, there’s no mistaking that he understands where I’m going with this.

“Maybe, what are you going to do for me?” He looks down at his semi erection before bringing his eyes back up to mine and stepping back several steps so he’s leaning up against the sink. And this is where I play my part. It wasn’t always like this for me. Cal is an attractive man with his toned arms and shoulders, but lately intimacy feels like work.

Cal is a selfish lover, always has been. He’s more concerned with his own pleasure than mine. I had to learn how to work around it, doing things to slow down his release while ensuring I could get myself off. Now, it hardly seems worth the effort and I just focus on making sure he’s taken care of.

“Well,” I say as I stand up, letting the water and bubbles slide down my body, “I can think of a few things.” I place my glass of wine down on the edge of the tub. Looking up at him through my eyelashes, a cocky grin appears on his face. Slowly, deliberately and seductively swaying my hips as I go, I make my way to my husband with my eyes fixated on his ever-growing cock. When I reach him, I take his hardness in my hand and squeeze it, causing him to close his eyes and groan in the back of his throat. My fingers touch the precum beading at the tip and rub it around the head of his erection. “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” I whisper close to his lips.

He shakes his head. “No, right here is fine.” Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, I think he’s going to draw me in the rest of the way to kiss him, so I open my lips slightly. But instead, he slides his hand to the top of my head and pushes me down until I’m on my knees. With my head tilted back to see his face, he gives me a little nod before letting go of my head. It’s really hard to keep up this sexy façade when your insides are sagging in disappointment. I know once I’m done here, he’ll make no attempt to reciprocate the gesture, leaving me completely unattended to. Disappointment is soon replaced by anger as familiar feelings coil within me.

Used.

That’s the one word that flashes in front of my eyes over and over as I close my eyelids and take him in my mouth, knowing fully I will once again go to bed unsatisfied.

“Open your eyes and look at me as you suck my dick,” he grunts out. “Suck it hard and fast.” I immediately obey, my eyes flying up to connect with his which are filled completely with lust. I continue to work him over and over again with my mouth and tongue, keeping a firm grip on the base of his shaft with my hand. Finally, I feel him tensing beneath me, his words becoming inaudible gibberish as he gets closer. As much as I hate being on my knees for this man, the finale is something I dread each and every time.

“That’s right, my dirty little slut. You’re about to suck me dry, aren’t you?” It takes all my inner strength not to roll my eyes and leave him hanging, but his degrading words are nothing new. He likes to demean me during sex quite often. At first I thought it was just his form of dirty talk and foreplay. But over the years it became clear that he gets off on making me feel like trash. Those thoughts are quickly shut off when I feel the hot burst of come hit me in the back of my throat. My eyes water as I struggle to take it all in and not gag. Once every bit is cleaned up, I pull back and look at him with a smile on my face. I make a show of wiping the corners of my mouth and licking my fingers, causing his eyes to widen and darken again with desire.

“Wow, Elizabeth, that was amazing.” He kisses me on the cheek, always refusing to kiss me on the mouth after I’ve given him head. “Do you want to finish your bath now?” I simply nod, glad that my duties as a wife are fulfilled for the time being.

I sink back down in the now lukewarm water and watch as he walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts. With my head resting against the back of the tub again, I reflect back on my life and how I ended up here in a marriage that I can’t get out of. And, as they often do, my thoughts always go back to that fourteen-year-old girl listening to her mother as she painted her toes. If security and stability are so important, then why am I so miserable?