Page 14 of Need to Know

“No shit. Sorry to wreck your plan to dodge the consequences of your actions. We need to talk, but first things first…Cole, get the fuck out of my home,” I said coldly. Whatever was said between my husband and I was no business of his. He stood erect and haughty as if he would demand to stay, and indeed, had a right to be here. I glared at him and lurched forward. He flinched, and then scowled.

“I’ll be in the car. Don’t be long, babe,” he directed at my husband, and then turned to glare at me. “I hope your shitty movie bombs, asshole,” he added peevishly. Then, as if he thought he’d be out of attack range he dragged the silver case taking the longest route around the L shaped sectional couch. I’m not a violent man and I wouldn’t hurt the dude for becoming Erik’s latest toy. I’d known Erik for long enough to understand that the boy could not have seduced my husband if Erik wasn’t open to being seduced. It seemed Erik was up for it with anyone with a hard dick and a pulse.

Among the swirl of emotions, the anger, betrayal, and pain, I saw a chink of light and I was buoyed by the realization that, finally, Erik Thorne wasn’t my problem anymore. I was no longer responsible for cradling Erik’s fragile ego, no longer the vessel for his worries about having lost his creative edge, or his constant fears about aging. I listened for the sound of Cole’s wheeled case being dragged into the elevator, and when the doors slid closed and the car began its descent, I finally spoke.

“What happened to us?” I asked my tone crestfallen. In the forty-eight hours since the blogger blindsided me on camera I’d moved through all stages of grief at light speed. The blinders were finally off. Now I was seeing Erik as he truly was, a talented, creative, yet flawed, vain man, desperately trying to cling on to youth...by fucking a youth! He’d achieved a lot of amazing things throughout his career, and the fact he was the head of a global architecture firm put him in the annals of architecture history along with the likes of Frank Gehry, Zaha Adid, and Santiago Calatrava. I’d always be in awe of his designs, but now I was able to see his genius as separate from the man—mine no longer. My stomach twisted into knots, but not with attraction, desire, and want. Thanks to Jack I now remembered what those emotions felt like. I was knotted up inside thinking about the years of lies Erik had told me, and the years of me lying to myself, telling myself that I was in a happy, fulfilling relationship.

Erik stood before me in one of his signature black tailored suits and a bright white tee, his hands placed on his hips, his glare of disdain and disappointment drilling into me. I’d always thought he was channelling old skool Miami Vice with his fashion sense, but I’d accepted him and his peculiarities because I’d loved him and believed he loved me. Despite the combative stance he didn’t say a word to refute what I’d just seen, or offer excuses. Was his tanned, leathery skin flushed with embarrassment or anger? I wasn’t sure.

“Life happened,” Erik stated. “We haven’t been on the same road for years, Nate. I can’t continue like this.”

“You couldn't just break up with me like a normal person? You couldn’t talk to me?” I asked as I sauntered towards the table with the brown envelope and the platinum wedding band I’d bought for him all those years ago. “Well, your secrets are out in the open now, splashed all over the internet. Real classy Erik, real classy! How many men is it? Sixteen, twenty? More? They’re coming out of the woodwork to get a pay-day, dear husband! I’m sure your homophobic Russian buddies will be interested,” I said dryly. Erik flinched when I mentioned his Russian friends, and for a moment he looked a little scared, but he rallied quickly and schooled his features.

“And of course, your clients will be delighted with Thorne Architecture getting all of that free exposure,” I added the barb with glee. I could imagine his colleagues around the world were furious with him for sullying the Thorne brand.

“I thought about giving you the benefit of the doubt, maybe suggesting that we go to couples therapy, but the little stunt with Cole…that was the final nail.”

“Stunt? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That silver suitcase was in our walk-in wardrobe when I came home after my last shoot. I’d thought it was yours, but it’s Cole’s. You moved him in here while I was filming in Toronto.”

"I…I told you that I didn't want you to take that job. I told you I wanted you to stay home," he stuttered derisively as if it was my fault that he’d found a fuck toy. “Did you expect me to be a monk when you spend so much time away?”

"Don't you dare put this on me! I didn't give you permission to move your boy into our bed. Christ, Erik!” I fisted my hair in exasperation.

“I have needs!” he justified.

I paced towards him. “I’m surrounded by beautiful men on every show, every film set, and they do nothing for me. I’ve shut down anyone who came-on to me because I loved you and believed in our marriage.”

“Is that what you tell yourself,” Erik chuckled disdainfully. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!” he spat.

I was aghast, infuriated. “Who do you think I’ve slept with?”

“Jack Boyd,” he said with a wide victorious smile as if he’d scored a point.

“Jack’s my co-star, my friend. I’ve never fucked him.”

“You sure about that? I saw you change right in front of my eyes. You wouldn't shut up about him,” Erik growled derisively. “And that act on the red carpet in Paris…he floored an attacker for you like a love-struck action hero.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? It’s pathetic. You're fucking a guy who’s young enough to be your grandson and you’re jealous...of my co-star? Of the fact he saved me from getting stabbed? Would you have preferred I got stabbed? What the hell Erik?”

“Are you really so oblivious Nate? I've seen the way you are with him during interviews. You’re a kid on a sugar high. You glow...your eyes melt…you used to look at me that way—” He paused, before adding “And Boyd looks at you like he’s lost in the desert and you’re a fucking popsicle.”

I barked out a laugh. This had to be a joke.

“You can't deny that you're interested in him. Admit it, you’re fucking him!”

Erik had no claim on me anymore and I could do what the hell I wanted with whomever I wanted. “You've got a nerve to accuse me of infidelity when photos of you going down on Cole are splashed all over the entertainment gossip sites.” Erik looked a little sheepish at hearing that.

“Whatever victory you think you’ve achieved with your little game; it doesn’t matter to me. We’re done.” I removed my matching platinum ring and threw it at my soon-to-be ex-husband. Saying those words out loud lifted a weight off my shoulders that I hadn’t known was such a heavy burden. The ring hit Erik in the chest and fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up and slipped it into his pocket.

“The summons with notice papers were drawn up and filed last week,” he informed. Those words were another sharp punch, a football to my sternum. He’d filed the divorce papers as soon as I’d left the country. Bastard!

“A court official will deliver your copy tomorrow. I figure, in the circumstances the divorce will be uncontested. The settlement details are in the envelope. As per our pre-nup, because I cheated, you’ll get twenty million and one property. I’ve signed this place over to you; the deeds are in the envelope too. You’ll have nothing to do with the rebuild of Casa de las Estrellas. Let’s make this process as quick and easy as possible, yeah?”

I glared at Erik but had nothing left to say. It irritated me that I’d no longer be involved in the rebuild of our Palisades home. The devastation wrought by the fire was horrifying, but thinking about it, the destruction of that house and the memories of made in the years we’d spent in it…were a beacon, a sign…the fates had decided long before we realized our marriage was over. Another thread between us was cut.

“Get your lawyer to look over the settlement. We’re taking the jet to LA. Contact me via my lawyer only.” Erik added with cold finality. He strode to me, placed his hand on my cheek, gave me one final kiss on my brow and then he strode towards the elevator. That was the last time he would touch me. The divorce would not be contested. I had my own wealth and didn’t need the settlement money, but I was sure my lawyer would have a thing or two to say about that!