As the Moon Sinks in the West

Back when I was playing my part best, I'd packaged myself as the stubborn heiress earning her own tuition.

After I landed Neal Gilbert, crown prince of the East Coast elite circle, he covered every expense of my years studying abroad.

I even fleeced him hard right before I cut him off cold and came home.

But he loved me so deeply that the harshest thing he ever said to me was only this.

"Georgia Henson, you have no heart."

Until eight years later, when I saw Neal Gilbert again at the club where I worked part-time.

He found out I badly needed money for Grandma's treatment, and he cornered me in the restroom.

"Georgia, be my secret mistress. A million a month."

"You've always been someone who'll throw out every line for money. This offer, you can't turn it down."

...

I said yes.

Neal froze for a second, like he hadn't expected me to nod without a moment's hesitation.

Then he pulled a black card from the inside pocket of his suit, pinched it between two fingers, and waved it in front of my face.

"When do I get the money?"

I stared at the card and asked.

"What's the rush."

Neal slipped the card back into his pocket and looked me up and down, his gaze landing on my shirt, washed pale from too many washes.

"Change your clothes. You're coming to a dinner with me."

His people moved fast. Before long they'd sent over a champagne-colored slip dress.

The style was one I used to like, only the size ran a little large.

When Neal saw the ribs pushing sharp against my chest, his brow tightened.

"Eat more from now on. I don't want people thinking I mistreat you."

I didn't say anything, just followed him up to the top floor of the club.

He pushed open the door to the private room. A few men lounged across the sofas, each with a woman tucked against him.

Someone whistled.

"Mr. Gilbert, and this is..."

Neal wrapped an arm around my waist and said, careless about it.

"New little girlfriend."

"Yeah? She looks kind of familiar, though."

The man who said it was a regular at the club. Back when I'd just started as a hostess, he'd made a pass at me too.

A glass of liquor was pushed in front of me almost at once. On instinct I turned my head to look at Neal.

Back when we were abroad, when people at parties tried to make me drink, he always put out a hand to block them, smiling as he said, "She doesn't drink. I'll take it for her."

But this time Neal just leaned back into the sofa and said nothing. He didn't even glance my way.

I picked up the imported liquor, tipped my head back, and threw it down, then reached for a second glass and a third.

By the fourth my head had started to swim, and I told them all,

"Sorry, I can't drink any more."

Someone jeered that I wasn't playing along.

Neal turned his head to look at me, half a smile on his face.

"If you can't drink, then I'll have to think about finding a different girlfriend."

I pressed my lips together and didn't answer, dropped my eyes and downed two more, until I couldn't hold it back and rushed into the restroom to throw up until the world spun.

Neal followed me in, took the glass out of my hand, wiped my face with a tissue in a few rough passes, then dragged me down the hall and shoved me into the car.

"If you drink yourself to death, you don't get the money."

I found it a little funny, and shot back without any softness.

"And here I thought Mr. Gilbert was trying to drink me to death on purpose so he could weasel out of paying."

Neal let out a cold snort.

"Georgia, that mouth of yours is going to be the death of you one day."

The car stopped at the foot of a downtown apartment building. A brand-new pair of pink slippers sat at the door, and there were new toiletries in the bathroom too.

Like someone had prepared it all long in advance.

"From now on you live here."

Neal said it as he tossed me the entry card for the lobby.

"When you get a chance, go register your face with building management. Spare keys are on the coffee table. The door code is your birthday."

He paused, then added,

"Don't read into it. I just got used to using it. Too much trouble to change."

"Mm."

Whatever the man paying says, goes.

The next morning when I woke, Neal was already dressed. He stood beside the bed, his outline against the light overlapping with the one from eight years ago.

"There's an engagement party the day after tomorrow. You're coming with me."

"Whose engagement party?"

Neal turned, looked into my eyes, and said it one word at a time.

"Mine."

The engagement party was at the Hillcrest Hotel, which told you just how much the hosts cared about getting it right.

The place was full of roses flown in from Ecuador. The smell was a little too much for me, so I picked the seat farthest into the corner and sat down.

I bent over the menu on the table, pretending to read it very carefully, telling myself that all these rich and important people wouldn't notice me.

But before I could even work out the tongue-twister of a dish name, a hand landed on my shoulder.

"You're Miss Henson, right?"

A short-haired woman was smiling down at me. Friendly as she looked, I knew she hadn't come over with good intentions.

"Why are you sitting all the way back here? Come on, we saved you a seat up front."

Before I could get a word out, she had already hooked her arm through mine and was half pulling, half dragging me to the first row.

The first row faced the head table directly. Best view in the room, and the most exposed.

A whole table of people looked up at me, their eyes doing that knowing kind of appraisal, and I finally understood exactly what the short-haired woman was after.

She leaned in and dropped her voice.

"Georgia, you don't mind if I call you that, do you? This is the first time we've met, but I know all about your situation."

Then she gave a little smile and tipped her chin toward the head table.

"Mr. Gilbert and our Layla grew up together. The two families know each other inside and out. In family and in looks, they're the perfect match."

"You being invited to the engagement party means Mr. Gilbert has some feeling for you. But you need to know your place. Don't go entertaining ideas you shouldn't have."

I didn't say anything. I just smiled and started eating the little cake on my plate.

After all, the ones who'd done this before me always said the most important thing about being a secret mistress was having thick skin.

Neal Gilbert and his fiance, Layla Whitney, sat side by side at the head table, the very picture of a golden couple.

When the ceremony was over, they went table to table with their glasses. When they reached ours, he clinked glasses with everyone in turn, his smile warm and gracious.

Only when it was my turn, his gaze slid right past my face, and he held his glass out to the short-haired woman beside me instead.

"Bernice Dickerson, thank you for all your work today."

The old me, if Neal Gilbert had dared to ignore me, I'd have torn the whole place apart and made him buy me ten designer bags to say he was sorry.

But now I just tucked myself off to the side, and once they'd moved on I sat back down and went on studying that French dish whose name I couldn't pronounce.

"Hey, who's that woman? How'd she get a seat in the front row?"

"You don't know? I think she's the one Mr. Gilbert keeps on the side tsk, some nerve, showing up to the real wife's engagement party."

"I heard they met at that club. What kind of shame could a woman out of a place like that have?"

""

The talk around me wasn't loud, wasn't quiet, just enough to reach my ears.

Everyone in the room today knew who I was.

Neal Gilbert had brought me here for exactly this, so that everyone could see just how low his shameful mistress really was.

Once he'd finished the round of toasts and circled back toward the head table, his steps paused behind me.

He bent down, pretending to pick up a napkin that had fallen to the floor, and murmured quietly at my ear.

"Georgia Henson, this is what you owe me."

Eight years ago I was the one who called it off. Neal Gilbert wouldn't accept it, and chased me all the way to my dorm to ask why.

My roommate was throwing a party right then, and in front of a dozen people I threw my cruel words in his face.

"Because I don't love you anymore, Neal Gilbert. That's why."

"If you come looking for me again, I'll let everyone see just how low you really are."

The reckless things you do when you're young always come back to collect, one day or another.

My thoughts pulled loose from the memory. Someone was calling to me from a little way off.

"Miss Henson."

Layla waved me over, elegant as if she were summoning a waiter.

I didn't move. It didn't seem to bother her. She went on.

"I hear you hold your liquor well, Miss Henson. Come pour me a glass."

The whole table went quiet, waiting, I supposed, to see how I'd make a fool of myself.

When I still hadn't moved, Layla tilted her head, the smile unchanged.

"What, you won't?"

I glanced at Neal beside her, his face cold and blank, then smiled and stood, picked up the decanter, and walked over to her.

I'd started out as a club hostess anyway. If they wanted a show, if they wanted a laugh, then fine, they'd get one.

"Congratulations on your engagement, Miss Whitney."

I bent slightly to pour into her glass. The wine had barely covered the bottom when her wrist jerked up.

Before I could react, most of the wine in the decanter splashed across Layla.

"You"

She shot to her feet, staring down at her ruined dress, her eyes reddening in an instant.

She played it well. Well enough that even I almost believed my hand had slipped.

"You're a waiter and you can't even manage something this simple?"

Her voice carried just the right measure of hurt and outrage. A few men in security uniforms strode over. She pointed at me and turned her face away, refusing to look at me anymore.

"Miss Henson, this way, please."

I set down the decanter, turned, and walked out.

The whispers followed me.

"That's the real lady putting her in her place. Everyone in the room can see it."

"So what? At our level, what man doesn't keep one or two on the side? But the wife is the wife. No one gets over that."

"Still, Mr. Gilbert. Keep her if he wants, but bringing her to the engagement party? That's a slap in Layla's face."

"Men. Play all they want. Once they're bored, toss her a little money and be done with it."

No one condemned Neal. No one thought he'd done anything wrong.

In their circle, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

The wife handled the pedigree and the appearances, the mistress handled the amusement and the appetite. Clean lines, an unspoken understanding.

I'd just stepped out the hotel doors when my phone buzzed in my pocket. A payment reminder from the hospital.

I hailed a car straight there. Waiting in line at the payment window, the nurse checked the system and looked up, puzzled.

"Ms. Henson, the balance in the patient's account was withdrawn in full the day before yesterday. The withdrawal was made by a family member, Duke Henson."

Hearing that name, my heart dropped.

I walked out of the payment hall, leaned against the corridor wall, and dialed Duke.

"Dad, you took all the money for Grandma's hospital care?"

"Yeah, took it. Something wrong? If not, I'm hanging up. Don't bother me while I'm at the table."

"That was Grandma's money to save her life!"

My voice climbed before I could stop it.

"Transfer it back right now. Grandma, she"

Duke spat on the other end and cut me off, impatient.

"How old is your grandmother? Treat her all you want, she'll end up the same either way."

"When people get old, they're supposed to die. All that money you're pouring into a hospital, you'd do better showing your mom and me some respect."

I clenched my teeth, my voice shaking as I spoke.

"But I've already given you millions. Isn't that enough?"

"Not enough!"

My mother, Amber Swanson, snatched the phone and screamed.

"Georgia, I'm telling you, if you dare talk back again, tomorrow we move the old woman back home and let her fend for herself!"

I was a child raised by my grandmother.

And now everyone was using her to threaten me.

Neal used her to force me into being his mistress. My parents used her to squeeze more money out of me.

Everyone knew she was the most important person in my life, so everyone made her their bargaining chip.

And that old woman lying in the hospital bed knew none of it.

I paid the last of my money toward Grandma's hospital bill, then filled a basin with warm water, wrung out a towel, and began to wipe her down.

The illness kept her mind clouded most days, but today, for once, she knew me.

"Georgia, you've gotten thin."

My hands stopped for a second, then went on wiping her arm. I smiled.

"Grandma, I've been on a diet lately."

She said nothing, only looked at me, her eyes full of hurt for me.

"I know you've swallowed a lot for me. If it's too much, we can stop the treatment. Grandma's lived over seventy years. That's more than enough."

I dropped the towel back into the basin and turned to wring it out, biting down hard to force the tears back, and when I turned around my face was still smiling.

"Don't think like that. Just rest and get well."

"When you're better, I'll take you to see the school where I studied abroad. Wouldn't that be nice?"

She nodded and said yes, smiling too.

When I got back to the apartment, I found Neal sitting in the living room.

"Where were you?"

I answered with something else entirely.

"Why aren't you with your fiance? What are you doing here?"

His face went a shade colder.

"Answer me."

"Neal, you know what I hate most is being controlled."

He didn't say another word. He simply scooped me up crosswise and carried me toward the bedroom, and no matter how I struggled, he didn't let go.

He said,

"Georgia, do you still think you're that proud little heiress?"

I'd thought that somewhere in Neal's heart there was still a trace of feeling for me, and that with that much I could keep Grandma and myself alive.

But now it seemed I had misunderstood him.

What Neal wanted was to grind every last shred of my dignity into the ground.

Afterward Neal leaned against the headboard and lit a cigarette.

"Georgia, remember this. You're in no position to question me anymore."

A wave of exhaustion came over me.

He was no longer the man I'd once been willing to stake everything on.

I stared at the ceiling and said, one word at a time,

"What exactly will it take for you to let me go?"

Neal was silent for a long time, so long I thought he wouldn't answer, and then he said it slowly.

"I can let you go."

"Give me a child, and maybe I'll consider giving you and the child a proper title."

My whole body went rigid, and I refused almost on instinct.

"No."

His face changed in an instant.

"No?"

He let out a cold laugh, threw off the covers and got out of bed, and turned his back to me to dress.

"Then there's nothing to talk about. As for your grandmother's medical bills"

Before he finished, his phone rang, and mine rang too. It was the hospital.

The doctor said Grandma had developed a sudden complication and needed surgery right away, but the deposit already paid wasn't nearly enough to cover it.

I gripped my phone and looked at Neal. He was still gently soothing Layla on the other end of the line, and only made a shushing gesture at me.

I climbed off the bed, shaking so hard I could barely hold myself together.

"Can you lend me the surgery fee first? I'll work myself to the bone to pay you back, my grandmother, she"

Neal hung up and cut me off, impatient.

"Georgia, I'd think it through before you open your mouth."

I knew he meant the child. But there was nothing I could promise him now.

"I'm begging you"

He clearly had no wish to hear any of it. He walked past me to the front door, and when he opened it I saw Layla standing outside.

She stood in the doorway as if she hadn't seen the wreck of me at the bedroom door, then turned with a bright smile and slipped her arm through Neal's.

"Let's go. The driver's waiting downstairs."

I threw on my nightgown any which way, meaning to rush forward and beg Neal to just wire me the surgery fee first. If it would save Grandma, I would pay any price.

But Layla's bodyguard blocked me at the elevator.

He passed on a message for her.

"Stop wasting your effort."

By the time I reached the hospital, Grandma had one breath left.

I held her in my arms and watched her mouth open and close without any sound coming out.

I think she wanted to say that once she was gone, I had to take good care of myself.

So I answered her softly.

"Okay."