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“Get dressed,” he says. “I’m not asking again.”
DEPRESSION IS A BITCH. One that keeps me curled under my blankets, locked in my room for days on end. If my mother didn’t bring me groceries and unpack them, I probably wouldn’t eat.
I’ve become such a hermit that I’ve forgotten what having my hair and makeup done feels like. My dress feels tight, the padded bra uncomfortable. I want to be back home in sweats and a t-shirt.
Noah wraps an arm around my waist in a dominating gesture. He talks to his lawyer in a hushed whisper outside the courthouse where he’ll give his statement.
News vans have already begun to arrive, filling out the front steps with reporters and cameras.
I shift on my heels, the pointy shoes uncomfortable. Noah had a modest black long sleeved dress laid out for me with a matching pair of black heels, picked out by his personal shopper, I’m sure. I put on some light makeup while he watched over my shoulder. I didn’t curl my hair to his dismay, instead I ran my fingers through the dirty blonde waves and scrunched them with some of his gel.
I’m not model pretty, I don’t look worthy of being Noah Bancroft’s wife, but I look better than I have in a while. Noah still appreciates my looks though. After I was dressed and ready he cupped a warm hand over my cheek, tracing his thumb along my freckles. I saw the smallest hint of a smile and I wondered how long it’d been since he smiled. Since he was happy.
Then I remembered that I hate him.
I’m not listening to anything happening between Noah and his lawyer until I feel his hand flex on my waist, tightening his grip. My eyes dart from the new vans up to my fiancé.
“Are you listening?” he whispers in my ear.
I shake my head no. He nods to the lawyer.
The guy is probably ten years our senior, he looks sharp in his fitted suit and shiny shoes. His hair slicked back, he’s tall and handsome. For a minute I wonder what he’s like behind closed doors. Is he an asshole or is he nice? “Mikaela.” He looks at me with annoyance for having to repeat himself. “I want you to stand close to Noah, I want you two to look like the happy couple who just suffered a loss.”
I snort, the sound of my laugh making both men scowl at me.
“You think people are going to believe this façade?” I ask, a slight attitude to my voice.
His lawyer grimaces at me and then turns back to Noah. “I thought you said you two were good?” He looks worried. I feel a grin spread on my face, a smug satisfaction that he caught Noah in a lie.
Noah’s grip tightens around my waist again, a silent warning to behave. “We are,” he tells the lawyer. The guy sighs heavily, his hands hitting his hips, eyes looking out to the crowd that has gathered.
It’s a lot of people.
Mostly reporters. The case has drawn both local and national news.
A billionaire’s son on trial for murder is a big story.
Noah’s parents arrive next, his mother, Mariam, wears a black pencil skirt with a matching silk top. Her blonde hair is twisted back elegantly and she has huge diamond earrings on that match the ring on her finger. She looks chic and sophisticated. A proper wife, something I will never be.
Beside her is Noah’s father, Edward, a tall and thick built man sporting an all black suit. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back and matches the trimmed beard on his face. He wraps an arm around his wife as they stop in front of us. His gaze lands on Noah, sharing a look.
I imagine they’re silently communicating, a secret language made of looks and nods. Edward asking if I’m going to cooperate and Noah telling him yes. Even though he doesn’t know that for sure.
The lawyer speaks first, addressing the media and crowd and introducing Noah, not that he needs an introduction.
Everyone in Aspen Hill knows him.
The resident pretty boy, son of the town’s richest man.
The Bancroft Company hires half of the town.
“Hello,” Noah begins his statement. I stand at his side, my fingers interlaced in front of me while he speaks. I want to drone him out, I want to look away, but I can’t. I need to hear what he says.
I need to know why he thinks he’s innocent.
“I would like to extend my deepest sympathy to the family of Auden Wilder.” He looks over at me. “Including my fiancée, Mikaela, Auden’s sister.”
My chest tightens, and I regret coming with him, not that he gave me much of a choice. I feel like my legs might buckle if I stand here any longer, but I’m frozen, caught in his warm gaze.
