The Chase

Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, everyone. The final chapter took longer than I wanted it to. I hope you'll find that it was worth the wait.

"Damn it," I whisper to myself as I smudge mascara across the bridge of my nose. Our dinner guests are due to arrive soon, and if anyone shows up obnoxiously early, I'm going to lose my shit.

My hands are a bit shaky. I should have tried to eat something this afternoon, but my stomach was too damned queasy. I take a slow inhale and reach for the eye makeup remover.

"Can I do anything for you, dear?" Mrs. Lindblom says as she peers into my dressing room. I turn to her with a deadpan expression, waiting for her to see the smeared mascara. She laughs and shakes her head. "Hand me a Q-tip, dear. We'll fix it."

"Honestly, I should be helping you in the kitchen," I say as she gently swabs off the mascara. "I'm a wreck."

"No, you're not. You're radiant, and everyone is going to have a wonderful time." She stands back and looks me over. "You're positively glowing."

"Don't say that."

She presses her lips together and grasps my hand. "It's going to be okay, you know."

I nod as I squeeze her hand. "Thank you," I whisper, and I hope my eyes convey at least half the gratitude that I feel. Mrs. Lindblom has been an absolute godsend today. This morning she brought me ginger ale and saltines when I finally stopped vomiting, and while I was sleeping, she picked up a pregnancy test. And when I felt faint upon watching two lines appear in the little oval window, she silently led me to a chair and instructed me to sit with my head between my knees.

"He's going to be over the moon," she said as she patted my back, "and I hope you'll be happy, too, my dear."

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. Cameron texted me several times from a wine auction at Sotheby's; he had apparently placed the winning bid on a rare Cabernet Sauvignon that I knew I wouldn't be drinking. I sat quietly as Gaspard, my on-call hairstylist, gave me what he called "Old Hollywood waves." Luckily, he was too busy blow-drying and recounting his most recent Grindr dates to notice what a mess I was. When it was time to do my makeup, I regretted having insisted on doing it myself, but the process of shading and buffing and blending was surprisingly relaxing...at least until I fucked up my mascara.

Now, as Mrs. Lindblom and I stand in my dressing room, I can hear Cameron's voice in the foyer.

"I'm going to check on those scallops," she says as she gives my hand a final squeeze. I turn to assess my reflection and breathe a sigh of relief. I don't look like a woman who spent her day throwing up and freaking out; I look...well, about as close to glamorous as I'm going to get. If it weren't for the slight tightness of my dress across my breasts, I could almost forget that I'm pregnant.

"Baby, are you ready? I want you to see--" Cameron stops at the dressing room door and stares at me, his fingers still on the clasp of his cufflink. He's wearing a navy Tom Ford suit that makes him look like James Bond. I blush as his gaze sweeps up and down my body. "Fuck, Tessa."

I know that tone. He's mentally undressing me, and if I don't distract him, he'll turn thought into action. "You're not half bad yourself." I open a drawer and hold up the Chopard necklace he gave me. "Will you fasten this for me? I think it'll go well with the dress."

"Come here." His voice is still husky.

"Cameron, there's no time."

"I said come here." He holds out his hand.

I walk to him, avoiding eye contact, and place the necklace in his hand. Then I turn my back to him. I see a flash of diamonds as he lowers the necklace into position, and then I feel the cold weight of it on my chest. Cameron fastens the clasp, but before I can step away from him, his hands grip my waist hard.

"Let go. I want to see how it looks." I lunge forward, but the movement only presses my ass against his erection. His hands start gliding up and down the satin bodice of my dress.

"I'll tell you how it looks." He kisses a trail from my shoulder to my neck. "It looks like you're trying to make me lose my fucking mind." Before I can stop him, he grabs my breasts, and I hear his breath quicken. I guess I was foolish for thinking I could wear a close-fitting bustier dress and not get felt up immediately. He must feel my nipples getting hard through the black satin because he starts teasing them mercilessly. I watch his hands work their magic and try so hard not to moan.

The doorbell rings.

"Cameron, let go--"

He spins me to face him and grips my ass hard. I feel his erection as he watches my breasts press against his chest.

"Cameron!" I keep my voice lethally quiet. "Do you want our male guests to get hard listening to me come?"

His whole body stiffens, and he releases me. This isn't the first time I've used his own jealousy against him. It's one hell of an effective tactic; I'm careful not to overuse it.

I start to walk ahead of him, but he clutches my arm and tucks it underneath his. "In case I didn't make it clear, you're stunning. Tonight and always," he whispers.

"Well, you look stupid hot in that suit." I sneak a glance and see that he's smiling as we descend the stairs together.

Grace Van Leeuwen and her husband are the first to arrive. "You two should be on a red carpet," Grace coos as we say our hellos in the foyer. Adam Van Leeuwen eyes me appreciatively, and I immediately check to see whether Cameron has noticed, but he's stepping aside to confer with Mrs. Lindblom about the appetizers. Thank God.

"This place is so beautiful," Grace says as she gazes at a crystal chandelier and then at an antique bench. "Please don't tell me you decorated it yourself. I'd have to hate you for being so talented at such a young age!"

"I don't have a decorating bone in my body," I reply, "so no need to hate me just yet."

The next few minutes are full of effusive greetings and compliments as three more couples arrive. It's true that I'm the youngest person in the room--everyone else is in their mid-30s if not older--but at 23, I'm a tad too old to be a prodigy in decorating or anything else for that matter.

I do feel a tad young to be a mother, but now is not the time to think about that.

Cameron ushers our guests into the living room. I hang behind in the foyer for a moment and quiz myself on everyone's name and occupation. Adam and Grace Van Leeuwen are therapists who treat the city's wealthiest and least happy couples. Steve and Emily Hildebrand are...well, one of them is an anesthesiologist, but I can't remember which one. There's Emerson Duncan, a hedge fund manager, and his wife Mariah, a financial analyst...and I have no idea what those job titles mean. I do know that Emerson is rather sexy, but I keep that observation to myself. Finally, there's Benjamin Lieberman and his husband Scott Darrow. Scott is a high-profile trial lawyer who makes appearances on CNN every now and then. I'm trying to remember whether Benjamin is in TV production or whatever when the doorbell rings again.

"Hi, honey," Alyssa Bainbridge says, leaning in to give me air kisses. "We're not late, are we?"

"No, no, we're just now starting cocktails." I glance behind her and greet Howard with a tentative smile. I hope he doesn't notice as I scan his face for any lingering sign of a black eye. I'm not exactly sure when Cameron punched him.

"You look damn hot!" Alyssa says as she looks me over. "I should have tried harder."

"Oh, hush, you look gorgeous. Love that red on you." I walk with the Bainbridges into the living room and try to figure out whether introductions are necessary. I look to Cameron for guidance, but he's watching me over his martini glass as Scott and Benjamin make small talk with him. I turn to Alyssa instead. "You guys know everybody here, right?" I ask in a half-whisper.

She nods absently, and I follow her gaze across the room to Emerson Duncan, who is staring rather shamelessly at her. She turns back to me, looking slightly flushed. "Yes, I think everyone here knows each other." Her voice sounds breathier than usual.

"Well, how about a drink?" I ask, trying to appear as if I didn't just watch Emerson undress Alyssa with his eyes. "Mrs. Lindblom is our bartender tonight."

"Is there anything she can't do?" Alyssa turns toward the dining room. "Oh, here she comes now."

Mrs. Lindblom approaches us with a silver tray. "Here, my dear, I made your favorite," she says, handing me what appears to be a Negroni. We smile at each other as I raise the glass to take a sip. It's iced tea--probably decaf. She thinks of everything.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Lindblom."

"And here's a gimlet for Mrs. Bainbridge."

"Oh my God, you remembered! This is so fabulous," Alyssa says, taking a sip. "Thank you." She takes a larger swig and then leans in as if she's about to tell me a secret. "I'll let you play hostess for a bit. And by the way, your boobs look so good in that dress that you're gonna turn Scott and Benjamin."

I laugh and smack her on the arm as she saunters toward Howard. She's right; I should try to chat with everyone before dinner. I begin with the Hildebrands and discover that Emily is the anesthesiologist, though after just a few minutes of mind-numbing conversation, I decide that she doesn't need desflurane to put people to sleep. I then chat awhile with Scott and Benjamin, who keep me so entertained with celebrity gossip that I forget how fucking stressful this day has been--until I feel Cameron's hand settle at the small of my back. He appears to my left, and I grudgingly inhale the delicious scent of clean male skin and expensive cologne.

"Well, hello, handsome," Scott says with a smile that has undoubtedly helped to acquit a guilty client or two. "The suit is Tom Ford, yes?"

"Yes," Cameron replies. His hand wanders to my hip; he gives it a possessive squeeze.

"I think it makes him look like James Bond," I say archly. I want to keep the focus on Cameron. If Benjamin and Scott start complimenting my dress, Cameron will get all weird and territorial despite the fact that these men have exactly zero sexual interest in me.

"Yes, James Bond! Totally. Oh God, please stop me from making a Pussy Galore joke," Benjamin says in a mock whisper to Scott.

I let out a throaty laugh, and even Cameron cracks a smile, but I feel his grip on my hip tighten. I can't tell whether it's his way of nudging me to go chat with other guests or just his martini-fueled jealousy; either way, I need to get away from him. The mere scent of him is making me wish he had fucked me in my dressing room, and I'm also irrationally afraid that he'll figure out my secret just by looking at me. If any man could detect a pregnancy through telepathy or some shit, it would be Cameron.

"I'm going to see if Mrs. Lindblom needs any help in the kitchen," I announce as I lean toward Cameron. He assents by kissing me just a beat longer than necessary. I know I'm blushing as I take my leave of Benjamin and Scott, who are both grinning ear-to-ear.

I move toward the kitchen, but once I'm in the dining room, I turn back to make sure Cameron's not watching. Weirdly, the living room looks emptier now. I realize that it's because Alyssa has apparently gone somewhere--probably to the powder room. The important thing is that Cameron is busy chatting with Adam Van Leeuwen. I make a beeline for the staircase and grab my phone from the foyer table. I want a quiet place to call my mom. I know she'll squeal with delight when she hears my news, but I'm not going to tell her yet. After such a batshit day, I just need to hear her voice for a few minutes.

I reach the second floor and turn toward the master suite, but a noise stops me in my tracks. It's muffled, but it's decidedly a feminine moan of pleasure. And another. My eyes widen as I follow the sound down the hall. The noises get louder and clearer as I approach one of the guest bathrooms. I should be clearing my throat or stomping or something, but I'm tiptoeing and holding my breath.

I make sure the hallway is clear before leaning in to listen at the door. Someone is definitely enjoying herself in there. Time stands still as the kissing noises and soft moans intensify. I'm absolutely mortified, but I'm not moving; instead, I'm biting my lip and squeezing my thighs together, waiting for the mystery woman to let out another "mmm" or a breathy "ahh." Jesus, what's wrong with me?

"You're so wet."

My breath hitches as I realize that it's a second, slightly smokier feminine voice.

"Please," the first voice purrs. "I need to come so bad."

Oh my God. It's Alyssa. And the person who's about to get her off is most certainly not Howard. I rack my brain as Alyssa murmurs unintelligibly to the other woman and then moans her approval. Who's the other woman? I try to figure out who exactly was missing from the living room right before I came upstairs, but I was too focused on making sure Cameron was occupied.

I check my phone for the time. How long before people notice that three women have wandered away from the living room? I want to stop this scandalous scene before people get hurt, but as Alyssa's whimpers get more desperate, I find I'm paralyzed by embarrassment, confusion, and arousal.

"Fuck, I'm close! Don't stop...God, I need it," Alyssa pleads before reverting to less coherent noises. Her partner's moans are muffled, which leaves me with one guess as to where her mouth is. I stay frozen in place as Alyssa holds her breath for a beat before releasing it in a long, broken cry. As she gasps and moans for nearly a minute, I imagine that her lover is doing everything to prolong the orgasm.

My phone pings. It's Cameron. As much as I hate to break it up, Alyssa's little tryst needs to end now. I assume neither of these women wants to be discovered. Without giving it another thought, I burst through the door. My heart pounds as I take in the sight of Alyssa perched on the bathroom vanity. Her dress is up around her waist; the neckline of her dress is propping up her bare breasts. The woman kneeling in front of her, Mariah Duncan, is in a similar state of undress. Her vague, glassy-eyed expression makes it hard to tell whether she's sexually sated or frustrated, but there are two pairs of panties on the floor, so I assume she got her share.

"How long have you been standing outside?" Alyssa asks, still out of breath.

"Better me than someone else!" I know I'm not answering the question, but I'm mildly hypnotized by the sight of Mariah's hands gliding up and down Alyssa's thighs. I had no idea she was into women...or into getting it on with married women at parties. Clearly, I don't know Mariah Duncan at all. I'm realizing that I don't know Alyssa so well, either.

"Well, hello," Mariah drawls. She arches her back as she slowly stands to face me.

I take a steadying breath and turn to Alyssa. "I kind of assumed you were sleeping with Emerson Duncan," I say flatly.

"I am," Alyssa mutters. She yanks up the neckline of her dress, but not before I notice that her nipples are glistening with traces of lip gloss. "It's complicated."

"I'll say," I reply, averting my gaze as Alyssa gets off the counter and puts her panties back on.

"You're gorgeous," Mariah coos as she approaches. She locks eyes with me as she licks her middle finger clean.

"Mariah, you do not want to end up on Cameron Wainwright's shit list," Alyssa warns as she smooths her dress over her hips.

"I'm just stating the obvious," Mariah says as she ogles my cleavage. "I think she liked listening to us," she remarks to Alyssa, though her heavy-lidded eyes stay focused on my chest.

"She's a little drunk," Alyssa informs me apologetically. She addresses her next words to Mariah. "Look, you need to, like, mentally take a cold shower because we've been up here longer than you think. Time to get back to the party."

Mariah pouts, but she scoops her panties off the floor and somehow manages to stay balanced long enough to put them on. I shake off my discomfiture and begin devising an exit strategy. Thank God I'm not drinking tonight. I need all my faculties to put this party-turned-porno back on track.

First, I answer Cameron's text and assure him that we'll be down in a minute. Then I direct Mariah and Alyssa to follow me into the master suite. "Okay," I say with all the gravitas I can muster, "Mariah, go to the master bathroom and freshen up a bit. You need to go back downstairs ASAP. If anyone asks--and Cameron will ask--say that you and Alyssa wanted to see the jewelry I got on my honeymoon and that we just lost track of time. Then tell him that Alyssa and I are up here brainstorming ideas for the charity auction. Have you got all that?"

Mariah still looks a bit unfocused, but she nods and heads obediently to the master bath. I turn to Alyssa.

"Follow me to the dressing room," I say firmly. I close the door behind us and gesture to the vanity. "I'll help you look presentable, but if you want to keep all this stuff with the Duncans quiet, you need to answer my questions."

"What questions?" Alyssa frowns in the mirror at her smeared lipstick and mascara and reaches for a makeup wipe.

"I want to know why Cameron punched Howard. I assume it had nothing to do with you fucking one or both of the Duncans."

Alyssa stiffens. "He did it because Howard can be a dick."

"I'm gonna need you to be more specific."

She works on her makeup for so long that I start to worry my little extortion scheme is about to backfire, but then she finally meets my eyes in the vanity mirror and takes a deep breath. "Remember when you graduated high school?"

The question is so random that I almost laugh. "Yeah. What the hell does that have to do--"

"That's where he saw you." She blots her re-applied lipstick with a tissue. "Don't you dare tell him that I told you this."

"That you told me what? I don't even know what you're telling me!"

She stands and faces me. "Howard's daughter from his first marriage, Laura, was in your class. She interned at Cameron's downtown offices for a couple years. He was kind of a mentor for her. Helped her get into Columbia."

My stomach churns as I imagine how Cameron might have "mentored" this girl. Alyssa rolls her eyes, having apparently read my thoughts. "No, not like that. Laura was basically the kid sister he never had. Anyway, Cameron came with us to her graduation, and then he saw you." She regards me thoughtfully. "You apparently asked him to take a picture of you and your mom after the ceremony. You don't remember that, do you?"

I shake my head as I search my memory. "No...I mean, I still have the picture, but I didn't know he was the one who took it. I--I was excited and the whole day was kind of a blur." I remember Cameron's first words to me when he cornered me in the Wilsons' kitchen that fateful night: "We've met before." He must have been disappointed when I didn't remember seeing him at the graduation.

"Well," Alyssa says, taking one last look at herself in the mirror, "when he couldn't get enough info about you out of Howard and Laura, he took matters into his own hands."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. He probably hired investigators, you know? Howard thinks, uh, some of your college friends were on Cameron's payroll."

I gulp hard as I grapple with her words. There is no fucking way that Bertie was paid by Cameron. What would he have paid her to do? Scare off the few boyfriends I had? I refuse to believe it, but my stomach drops as I remember the too-good-to-be-true job offer that Bertie received immediately after my wedding. Did Cameron just want her out of the city? Was she in on it the whole time? But then why did she help me run away from him? I must look truly appalled because Alyssa looks genuinely sorry as she pats my arm.