Chapter 32: Mr Garcia: Chapter 32

Sebastian’s face falls, and he steps back as though hit with a physical blow.

“Oh, please,” I scoff, “Is that the best you’ve got?” I roll my eyes, disgusted. “You’re a fucking insult to my intelligence.”

She smiles. “Am I? Or is it you who’s the stupid one?”

“Do you really think that we’re that gullible to believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth?”

I glance over at Sebastian. He’s staring at her, rendered speechless.

“Give me the money, and I’ll disappear; you have my promise,” Helena replies.

The hide of this woman.

I step toward her, fury raging through my blood like never before. “And I have a promise for you, Helena,” I whisper. “Actually, I have two. One, you will never get another single cent from my husband. And two, you picked the wrong damn woman to mess with. I will not stand for one more single minute of your fucking shit, so get out my face before I put you behind bars.” I lose the last of my patience. “Do you understand me?”

Sebastian’s chest is rising and falling, his fists clenched at his sides.

I turn toward the door. Sebastian is still frozen on the spot.

What the hell is he doing?

“Sebastian!” I bark. His eyes come to me as if snapped out of a trance.

“Yes?” he says.

“Sebastian, don’t be a fool,” Helena replies. “You know what’s going to happen if you don’t leave that bag here.”

Sebastian’s eyes hold mine, and I raise my eyebrow.

Don’t even think about it, fucker.

He storms toward the door, bag in hand, and he marches out into the hall.

We walk down and get into the elevator in silence. The doors close behind us, and I take out my phone to call Bart. He answers on the first ring.

“April.”

“This is your crisis management, Bart?” I huff.

“How—”

“Yes, I stopped it,” I snap. “Bring a plain clothed police officer to Sebastian’s. We’re pressing charges. We need to release a public statement this evening. You need to prepare for it.”

“April.”

“Non-negotiable, Bart. Attack is the best form of defense. This has gone too far. It’s only a matter of time before the story breaks, and you know it. Our statement needs to hit first.”

Sebastian drags his hand through his hair. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

I hang up the phone, and he looks over at me, his eyes searching mine. “April…”

“Don’t,” I whisper angrily. My blood is literally boiling. “How could you be so fucking stupid?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator door opens. The security guards are standing around waiting for their precious Prime Minister.

We both fake a smile as we walk out and get into the back of the waiting car.

“To my place.”

“Yes, sir.” The car pulls out of the hotel, and I reach over to take April’s hand but she flicks me away. My heart drops.

She’s furious.

Who could blame her?

The phone call.

Oh no, my stomach rolls.

I feel sick.

The car weaves through the heavy London traffic. My mind goes back to that morning in the hotel when I woke with no memory.

I see the silver wine chiller and the two crystal glasses.

I remember the scent of perfume on my sheets. At the time, I was terrified, but then as soon as the security guard said he walked me back to my room, I dismissed my fears. I put it down to two glasses being delivered as standard practice, and the scent on the sheets as a strong washing powder, but now…

Why didn’t I get drug tested?

I thought there was no use wasting time at the hospital when no harm had been done. I thought it was about Bart and his wife—that I had accidently had a drink meant for him.

What if…?

Fuck.

I close my eyes as a dark sense of dread fills me.

This can’t be happening.

We walk in the front door to find Bart standing in the foyer. Sebastian brushes past him and walks straight into the kitchen,

“Are you serious?” I ask Bart. “Where are the police?”

“They’ll be here in half an hour, and don’t give me your crap, April. We were only trying to protect you.”

“By giving her six million pounds?”

“It was ten,” he splutters. “If this story broke about the two of you, the ramifications would be horrendous.”

“Oh my God. How could you even contemplate heeding to her demands?”

“She has footage, April.”

“No, she doesn’t,” I snap. “She was lying.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I had the club’s system hacked months ago, and I wiped all traces of Sebastian from the security footage.”

Sebastian walks back into the foyer with a glass of scotch.

“Why would you do that without clearance?” Bart asks.

“To protect him.” I throw my hands up in disgust. “Like you should have done. What the hell has he been paying you for, Bart? I would have assumed that you would have already wiped his sordid history slate clean.”

Sebastian tips his head back and drains his glass.

“As soon as she broke into this house, I knew she was up to something, and I couldn’t go on about it because it would be assumed that I was being the jealous new girlfriend. Why the hell wasn’t she charged back then for breaking and entering? I always assumed that she was.” I throw my hands up again. “I cannot believe the advice he has been given in regard to her.”

“Ex-wives are an entity of their own.”

“And you would know.” I huff as I begin to pace. “You lead by such great example, Bart. Did you know that Helena is now threatening that she’s pregnant with Sebastian’s child from the night that you and he were drugged?”

His eyes widen. “Is she?”

“No!” I bark. “Another lie.”

“Fucking hell.” He drags his hand down his face. “Why didn’t you tell us you hacked the system? How do you even know how to do that?”

“Because it’s illegal, Bart, and I didn’t do it by myself. Penelope, my friend, did it. She’s a computer scientist. I didn’t tell you because I assumed that I would have been told if there was a privacy breach. Never in a million years did I imagine that this stupidity would occur.”

“Calm down,” Sebastian says.

“Calm down?” I growl. “Calm down? How can I fucking calm down?”

Sebastian and Bart exchange looks.

“This is what’s going to happen,” I reply as I look between the two of them. “When the police get here, you’re going to tell them that Helena has tried to blackmail you with falsified images of you in a strip club. You have all of the emails as proof. You are going to show them the cash you withdrew to give to her.”

Sebastian rubs his forehead.

“She has images,” Bart replies. “We’ve seen them with our own eyes.”

“She has one image. I couldn’t delete that one image because it was on the very edge of the tape, and we couldn’t work out how to do it. But I know for certain it wasn’t incriminating, or that it even showed it was in a strip club. It could have been from anywhere, and my face wasn’t visible. We did a trace and deleted footage of every night Sebastian was ever there for his entire membership.” My eyes flick to Sebastian. “That conversation is coming later.”

Sebastian winces.

I know how often you went there, fucker.

“You’re also going to tell them about the night in Bath when you were drugged and the pregnancy threat,” I continue. “I want them to investigate where her mobile phone was on that date. We need to prove she’s lying.”

“April,” Sebastian whispers.

“Sebastian!” I snap as he hits the last of my patience. “Do. Not. Even,” I warn him. “We press charges, and then we issue a statement saying that you have been through a blackmail ordeal using falsified images.” I say in a rush.

“Issuing a statement isn’t needed,” Bart replies.

“You know that if we don’t, she will. We need to cut her off at the chase,” I reply. “We won’t say that the blackmail was from her, but at least if the statement is out, our story stands.”

Sebastian drops into his chair, unable to stand.

Knock, knock.

I look between them. “I have to go upstairs. I can’t be here without butting in and telling them what you two should be saying. I’ll ruin the whole thing.”

“Yes, go,” Bart says. “We’ve got it.”

Sebastian’s eyes search mine, and I force a smile. “See you soon.” I take the stairs two at a time, and I wait at the top, just out of sight,

I hear Sebastian open the front door. “Hello, please come in.”

The police were here for hours going through everything. The questioning was in depth, and I imagine it was very stressful for Sebastian.

Then the public relations team arrived, and the house was full of people as they organized the statement that was to be released to the press. It was a whirl of activity down there, and I should have perhaps been involved. After all, I used to be part of that crisis management team.

But I couldn’t. I stayed upstairs and cried like a baby to my sister Eliza on the phone, she wants to come over to be with me but she’s heavily pregnant and can’t fly.

I feel so alone and compelled to stay out of sight tonight. I didn’t want to see anyone.

And perhaps, if I’m being completely honest, I’m embarrassed that my husband is being accused of fathering a child while he was with me.

I feel sick to my stomach.

What if it’s true?

It isn’t.

He wouldn’t do that to me—I know he wouldn’t—and besides, I’m sure men can’t ejaculate while unconscious.

Everyone left about an hour ago, but Sebastian hasn’t come upstairs yet.

I don’t know what he’s doing down there. If I were a better person, I would go and comfort him, he’s had a really stressful day.

But I can’t help but feel resentment towards him.

By protecting her, he gave her a gun to shoot me.

He knew what she was capable of and yet he never pressed criminal charges.

I don’t understand why. I never will.

I keep seeing Helena’s face when she asked me if he’d told me about the night that they spent together, and that he had decided that he was moving on with me and so he wanted to say goodbye to her properly. He wanted to make love to her, one last time.

It makes sense.

We had just told each other that we loved each other. Things had just turned serious between us. If ever there was a turning point in time when he had decided that we were going to be more, that was it.

I know that it’s stupid, and I know she’s making it all up, and it never happened, but my insecurities are at an all-time high.

I’ve been that wife before who never thought that her husband was capable of such things. The one who would have defended his honor with her life.

Unfortunately, I no longer hold the ability to go gung-ho into publicly defending any cheating husband allegations. No matter what the story is, no matter how much I want to, I will remain silent.

I did all I could to protect him, and he hasn’t protected me.

I hear the top step creak, and I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I don’t know what to say to him, so this is the easy option.

The bed dips, and I feel him push my hair back from my forehead. He bends and kisses my temple.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he whispers.

I get a lump in my throat because, damn it, I love you, too.

So much.

I open my eyes, and we stare at each other in the darkness.

“Are you okay?” I eventually whisper.

He nods, but I know that he’s not.

“Have a shower and get into bed, babe.” I sigh. “It’s over now. You need to sleep.”

His eyes hold mine, and I get the feeling he wants to say something.

Gone is my powerful Mr. Prime Minister. This man is scared.

I hold my arms out, and he lies down to hug me. He holds me tightly, and I can feel his anxiety oozing out of him.

“It’s okay,” I whisper against his hair.

“Nothing about this is okay,” he murmurs.

I hold him close. “I know, but tomorrow we will have more perspective. We’re both tired and emotional right now. We need to stop thinking about it.”

“You’re right.” He drags himself up, showers, and then he climbs in behind me and pulls me close.

After a while, I hear his breathing regulate as he drifts off into an exhausted sleep. His big arms around me are comforting. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Hopefully a sense of calm.

For the first time today, I feel myself relax.

I wake before the sun, and I quietly slide out of bed. I put on my robe and sneak downstairs. I make a cup of tea and turn on the television to watch the news.

I already know the headline. Let me rephrase that: I’m dreading the headline.

Fuck.

Panic runs through me.

There are a lot of people who know that Sebastian went to strip clubs years ago.

He was on a lot of women’s radars because of his skills in the bedroom, they all knew his name back then, and he isn’t easily forgotten.

What if someone else comes forward?

There’s no footage; I know that for certain.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to myself. “This statement had to be made.”

If he is to survive this scandal, we had to come out swinging.

The news keeps going on and on about it, and I hear the shower turn on upstairs.

He’s awake.

I keep watching the news, and I make him a coffee.

“Hello,” he says from the doorway. I glance up and immediately hold up the remote to turn the television off.

Wearing his perfectly fitting charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt, he looks the epitome of Mr. Smooth.

“Good morning.” I smile.

He walks over and takes me into his arms. He kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine.

He doesn’t say anything, but what is there to say?

Both of us are unsure what’s going to happen with Helena, the loose cannon still on the run. We are both on tenterhooks.

I want to fight and yell and carry on like a child at him for getting us into this position with her, but then I remember that he was only trying to protect me, and my past is just as sordid as his.

He went to that club… but I worked there.

And nobody else besides the two of us would ever believe that he was my first client. My only client.

He has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I’m not adding to his stress levels, no matter how selfish I want to be and put the blame on him.

I know I can’t.

“I made you a coffee,” I say.

“Thanks.” He rolls his lips and picks up the mug. “Are you alright?” he asks.

I force a smile and nod. “Yep,” I lie. “Are you?”

“Uh-huh.”

We stand with our coffees in our hands, staring at each other in some kind of fucked-up, silent stand-off. Both of us knowing that the other isn’t okay. Both of us unwilling to bring up Helena’s pregnancy revelation.

My anger and his stress aren’t a good combination, so I’ll play nicely until I can act like an adult.

“I have to go,” he says.

“Yes. Go.” I smile, grateful that I won’t have to try and bite my tongue for much longer. I really need to get a hold of myself.

Why didn’t you just get drug tested?

How could you be so selfish? How could you put me through this?

“See you tonight.” He kisses my cheek. “I love you.”

I fake a smile, battling anger, disappointment and blind rage fury. “You, too.”

He turns and walks out the door. It closes quietly, and my eyes well with tears.

Disappointment runs through me.

Say something, you asshole. Reassure me.

For fuck’s sake, reassure me.

I walk into the restaurant to see Spence and Julian in our normal seats at the back. I make my way over to them and fall into my usual spot.

“Fucking hell, Garcia,” Spencer whispers. “You’ve aged me by fifty years.”

“Right?” Julian mutters into his coffee.

“Did you find out anything more?” I ask them.

I called them both last night when everyone had left. We spent an hour on Google together trying to find out if it’s even possible to have an erection while unconscious.

“Nope.” Spencer sighs. “Just that it is possible and probable, if stimulated, to get an erection and blow while unconscious.”

I drag my hand down my face. “I have this really bad feeling.” I pick up my coffee with a shaky hand.

“It will be fine.”

“She’ll leave me.”

“April won’t leave you.” Spencer sighs. “She loves you.”

“I should have told her when it happened.”

“You didn’t know what it meant,” Julian huffs. “None of us would’ve ever imagined this could happen. Helena is lying, I’m sure of it. Stop worrying about it. You’ve got bigger fucking issues. Have you seen the news today?”

“There is no bigger issue than having a baby with my ex-wife,” I whisper angrily. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about my job. Imagine that… newly married while my ex-wife is carrying my baby. Do you really think that’s going to fly with April?”

Spencer glares between the two of us. “Helena’s a bona fide fucking cunt.”

I put my head into my hands.

“How April?” Julian asks.is

“She’s acting fine. She’s strong. But I know as soon as this blows over, I’m getting it with both barrels. That’s if there is no baby. Can you fucking imagine if there is?”

“Well, if there is, you need to have her charged with rape,” Spencer whispers.

“Ha.” I scoff. “And everyone would believe it, wouldn’t they? It’s my ex-wife. Her word against mine, and we all know how this fucking looks.”

“Christ almighty,” Julian whispers. “This is a disaster.”

I walk through reception.

“Good morning, Mr. Garcia.”

“Morning.”

I walk into my office and lock the door. I put the code into the safe, and I go to my briefcase to take out the passport. I flick through it, seeing the name and photo of my beloved.

April Bennet

Without hesitation, I put the passport into the safe, slam it shut, and I relock it.

I need an insurance policy.

She can’t leave me. I won’t let her

The car pulls into the garage around 7:00 p.m.

Sebastian hasn’t called me once today. That’s a first. I know he’s probably busy being pulled from pillar to post, but with everything that’s going on, I would have thought…

I’ve made dinner and had a glass of wine.

I feel unusually nervous to see him. My heart hammers in my chest when he comes into view.

“Hello.” I smile.

“Hi, babe.” He bends and kisses me, and then pulls immediately out of my arms.

Oh.

He sits on the chair and rests his elbows on his thighs. His head hanging low, and he looks at the floor.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I watch him. Something’s up.

“I called her,” he says quietly.

I frown. “Who?”

“On the night I was drugged, my call register shows that I made an eight-minute call to Helena’s number,” he says softly.

Emotion rushes through me.

His eyes rise to meet mine. “And there were other things.”

My heartbeat pumps loudly in my ears. “Like what?”

“There was a…”

“A what, Sebastian?” I snap.

“A bottle of champagne with two glasses beside it.” He shakes his head. “But that’s standard practice, isn’t it?”

“And what about the bedsheets?” I whisper.

His eyes search mine as his nostrils flare.

My vision blurs, and I drop my head as pain sears through me.

“I… I didn’t think it meant anything,” he stammers in a panic. “It wasn’t even on my radar. I don’t—”

I step back from him as if hit by a physical blow.

“I swear to you, April,”—he shakes his head— “I don’t remember anything. I promise you.”

I get a lump in my throat as I stare at him, it’s big and painful and hurts all the way down.

I thought he was the love of my life but he’s just like the rest of them.

A liar.

I need to get away. I can’t be here. I turn, and he jumps from the chair and wraps me in his arms from behind.

“Don’t. Don’t!” he begs. “April, please listen.”

We struggle as he tries to hold me against my will. I turn, and with all my strength, I push him off me. He goes flying back.

“Stop it!” I cry.

“Please,” he begs. “I don’t remember.”

“You remembered to lie to me, though, didn’t you? That was the one detail you did get right.”

“Because I love you. I thought it meant nothing.”

We stare at each other, me with contempt, him with fear.

“Well,” I whisper. “It looks like you might have your baby after all. It just won’t be with me.”

His eyes well with tears. “What does that mean?”

My anger peaks. “It means stay the fuck away from me!”