Page 33 of The Awful Truth

She thought about it. “Maybe we should scrape some cash together to invest with Winslow.”

He grinned back. “Or we convince Travis to double our salaries for the next contract.”

“Do you think we might be able to do that?”

He sat up and lifted his legs off the lounger so he could face her fully. Setting his feet on the deck, he let his fingertips rest on her forearm—something he hadn’t done in a very long time. “Our ratings have never been better. I think if everything goes well enough this week, there’s no reason we shouldn’t expect a huge raise.”

A warmth spread through her body. Not about the money, but about his fingers. Strange how she still reacted like this at just the slightest touch. After all these years and every ounce of resentment she had for him, he still did something to her. She knew exactly what question to ask. “So? What do we need to do?”

“You know exactly what to do with a man like him. We flatter him, pump up his ego, and prove that we can be very useful.” He smiled at her, completely unaware that he had just described himself. But that was a nasty thought, and Antonia felt instantly terrible entertaining it, especially when they were finally having a moment of pure connection. One that hadn’t happened in so long, she couldn’t remember the last time.

Maybe this would be the start of them falling back in love. She hadn’t expected it to happen, but maybe it could. Maybe these last few years of struggle and terror and blurred lines between their relationship and their bank account would finally come to an end, and it would all be worth it. Maybe they’d finally have it all. Success and happiness. They could be calm and connected and joyful, cooking side-by-side again like they used to, and playing cards after dinner instead of going off to separate corners of their massive house to be alone. They could write a book about it, called Having it All, and open up a little to their fans about the troubles they’d been having. Not too much, of course, or they would look like hypocrites, but just enough so they were still relatable. Antonia could start hitting the gym with him and eating healthy. Maybe get off her sleeping pills so she could be awake long enough in the evening for sex. She’d get all lean and toned for the first time in her life so they’d match again. She would tell people it was all about longevity, of course. I’m not getting any younger and if you don’t take care of yourself, things start to fall apart. She’d have enough energy that she wouldn’t need to nap every day like an old lady. And they could finally start saving money so they wouldn’t have to continue relentlessly running on the hamster wheel of their own making. That one moment held infinite possibilities for them, and she felt her heart surge with joy. She flipped her arm so he was touching the inside of it, as if opening herself up to him. “I’m in.”

MERCY

Mercy was hiding in the air-conditioned library. Travis, Ted, Winslow, and Oliver were out on the speedboat for a fishing expedition, and based on the amount of booze she’d seen Oliver packing, Mercy knew they’d be gone for quite some time. Antonia had returned to her suite to do some work, Charlotte hadn’t emerged from hers yet, and Mercy hadn’t seen Miguel for a while.

She’d called home again while she watched the men disappear into the distance, which, as it turned out allowed her to calm down a distraught Grace, who had come home early from school with a stomachache. It happened at least once a week, even though her teacher, Mrs. Milton, was a patient, kind woman who tried everything to get her to stay the whole day (including a sticker chart, letting her erase the whiteboard, and special coloring pages). Today, she’d only lasted until eleven in the morning.

Mercy spent forty-five minutes reassuring her that she would most definitely, one-hundred-percent come back in five days, that Auntie Faith did know how to clean out the fishbowl properly and wouldn’t kill her goldfish, and that no, Auntie Faith was not going to force her to eat ‘liver with fava beans’ (something Rhett threatened her with to get her in the car earlier that morning, and she would have to talk to him about). By the time she hung up, she was worn out, and the last thing she wanted was to spend the afternoon engaged in small talk with their other guests. She’d get enough of hosting and conversing at dinner when the men returned.

So she’d pulled on a hoodie and some yoga pants, then sneaked down the hall from their suite to enjoy one of life’s most pure luxuries—reading a novel. Snuggled on the white couch under a crocheted blanket, Mercy sipped her mug of green tea and cracked open the hardcover of Little Fires Everywhere, needing to know who set fire to the Richardsons’ house. Mercy grew up devouring books, but as soon as she moved to Hollywood, her life had taken off in a way that made finding the time for this simple pleasure nearly impossible. So, having had enough of the sun and people for one day (actually, lately it felt like enough for one lifetime), she was gloriously happy to have the cool air, a warm blanket, and some solitude.

But just as she opened the book, the door to the library swung open and in walked Miguel in his swim trunks and a linen button-down shirt. “Oh! Chilly in here.”

“Yes, a little,” she answered, resting the book on her lap, but keeping her finger in to mark the page.

“I’m glad I found you,” he said. “Can we talk?” he asked, giving her a pointed look. “Like, really talk?”

“Of course.” She smiled and patted the couch cushion next to her, even though it was the very last thing she wanted to do.

He planted himself next to her and shivered. “God, it’s cold in here. Is that on purpose?”

“Yes, sometimes it’s nice to have a break from the heat.”

“Hmph, I don’t understand wanting that,” he answered, tugging a blanket off the back of the sofa and covering himself. “But my people are Cuban and I grew up in Miami so…”

She chuckled politely, hoping he would get to the point. “England must be too cold for you then.”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m always freezing. I should have fallen for a rich man from Portugal.”

“If only it were that simple, right? Choosing who to fall in love with, rather than having our hearts do it for us.”

“Amen, sister,” he answered. “You know where I’m definitely going to be too cold to function?”

“No, where?”

“Canada.” Miguel nodded gravely. “Oh yes, I might die from the cold. I never should have agreed to do the show.”

Mercy blinked a couple of times wondering what the hell this was all about. She didn’t have to wait long to find out, however, because Miguel immediately launched into a long, woeful tale about how he was so thrilled when Enid called him with the offer. Do you know Enid Stoll? Of course you must. Everyone knows Enid. Anyway…

He went on and on about how Winslow had said no to him straight out of the gate. Not ‘let’s talk about it’ or ‘here are my concerns,’ but no. N.O. Not happening. Ever. And what could the poor man do but to book himself into a suite at the Plaza for the night so he could think. (Pout, was more like it.) But seriously, who says no to your dream? Who does that?

After five long, meandering minutes, Miguel spilled the proverbial tea. He was lying to the love of his life about their future, and, about to get caught, he had begged Travis for help this morning. Begged, Mercy. Begged. But Travis was the second powerful man to tell him no, only this time, it was no, I won’t let you swap out the mansion the network already bought for one we don’t have, and no, I won’t help you lie to Winslow and pretend you turned it down but now are being forced to go to the Canadian wilderness. “So, I am here, hat in hand, to ask for your help. Do you think you could talk your husband into helping me save my marriage? I love Winslow so much, it would kill me to lose him.”

She stared at the handsome man. He was roughly her age, and like her, he came from nothing. She should want to help him. In his own words, he’d been impulsive, and now was filled with terror and regret. She wished she had it in her to care, but the last thing she needed was yet another problem to solve. Especially not an unsolvable problem. Travis would never allow her to sway him to do even a tiny favor for someone he cared about, let alone helping someone he’d call ‘new talent.’ She couldn’t even get him to have an ounce of patience for their own children, and they were his flesh and blood. And she didn’t want to think about that right then. She didn’t want to face the fact that she was married to someone so cold. She pushed that thought aside, telling herself it wasn’t true. He was complicated and extremely busy. But that’s how powerful men are. They don’t have time to coddle anyone. Even their own children.

“God, you’re so quiet. I am sorry to ask. I know you’ve got problems of your own. But I am begging you for mercy.”