Trophy Wife Read online

  Trophy Wife is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Noelle Adams

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780804181334

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: Konradbak/CANSTOCK

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Allison Davies Collins zipped the last of her suitcases, swallowing over a brief wave of nausea.

  She was now surrounded by packed luggage and a few taped boxes, all she had to show for eight years of her life.

  She was taking her clothes, shoes, and handbags—as well as her jewelry-making materials. She was leaving her precious jewelry, her car, and all of the furniture. Arthur could sell those. They were worth a lot of money, and they were his.

  He’d bought her wardrobe too, but there was nothing much he could do with that now—so she was taking it with her when she walked out on him. What she’d heard at the cocktail party last night had been the last straw, making it brutally clear that she couldn’t stay his wife any longer.

  He’d be home in about an hour, so she needed to get her belongings out of here right now.

  After she’d called her best friend in tears this morning, Vicki had hired a couple of guys to help her move the boxes and luggage. Allison walked into the beautifully decorated living room and told the movers, “You can go ahead and bring this stuff down now.”

  She stood out of the way as they carried her cases and boxes to the private elevator. She and Arthur had lived in the penthouse unit of an exclusive high-rise in downtown Charlotte for six years, but after today it wouldn’t be her home anymore.

  In thirty minutes the guys had loaded up all her stuff and were driving it over to Vicki’s.

  Allison was alone now. As tempting as it was to just call Arthur instead of talking face-to-face, that seemed cheap and cowardly to her. He’d never abused her. She wasn’t in danger from him. She’d been married to the man for eight years.

  She could tell him she was leaving in person.

  She felt sicker and sicker as she waited for his arrival. Arthur wouldn’t be expecting this. He thought she was under his thumb, willing to go along with whatever he wanted. After all, he’d rescued her when she was eighteen years old and her parents had declared bankruptcy after losing their entire fortune in some very bad investments. Her choices had been to try to work her way through an inexpensive college or to maintain the privileged lifestyle she’d been raised in, keep her friends and her social circle, and marry forty-five-year-old Arthur Collins.

  She’d married Arthur. He was an investment banker and had been a friend of her father’s. He’d just started showing interest in her when her parents lost their money. He was attractive enough—smooth and sophisticated and successful—and she’d been very young and terrified of her life changing so much.

  She’d wanted to date him, and he could be charming when he wanted to be. They’d been married three months later. She’d been an eighteen-year-old trophy wife to a rich older man. She’d thought she could live with it.

  The marriage had been fine in the beginning, but it had slowly declined until she couldn’t live with it anymore. Pretty soon, if she stayed, she would start to anesthetize her deep unhappiness with alcohol or prescription drugs.

  Today was the day. Today she was leaving—even knowing the consequences.

  In an attempt to distract herself from her anxiety, she walked into the small room she’d turned into a workshop for making jewelry. Arthur had complained for weeks about the transformation, but he’d consoled himself with the fact that at least he wouldn’t be stepping on tiny stones or snips of wire all the time. The room was empty now, except for a chair, a worktable, and one shelf of the unit against the wall, on which were the stones, metals, and tools that were too expensive for her to take with her.

  She’d gone to a jewelry-making seminar when she was twenty, and she’d kept on learning as much as she could. She was good now, and she had an eye for design, but Arthur had hated the time she’d spent on it. Eventually she’d told all her friends to give her materials and tools as gifts for Christmases and birthdays so Arthur wouldn’t have to pay for them.

  One day she was going to open a little jewelry shop in Charlotte. She had the neighborhood picked out and the design of the interior. The dream of that shop was the only thing that had sustained her for the last year, keeping her going when she’d wanted to give up completely.

  When she heard Arthur coming in the front door, her throat closed up, so she momentarily couldn’t breathe. She willed her body to relax and her lungs to take in air, and eventually she could turn around and walk down the hall.

  Arthur was pouring himself a glass of scotch at the bar in the living room when she walked in, as he always did when he came home. He was still attractive—distinguished, with silvering hair, broad shoulders, and an air of authority. He arched his eyebrows when he saw her. “We’re going to dinner tonight. Did you forget? You can’t wear that.”

  She wore a light cashmere sweater, leggings, and soft leather boots. Her face was carefully made up, as it always was, and her dark brown hair was pulled back in a loose braid. But he still looked at her like she was dressed in denim overalls. “I’m not going out. I’m leaving.”

  Very slowly he set his glass on a polished antique side table. “You’re not pouting again, are you? I thought you’d gotten past that.”

  Pouting. That was what he had always called any attempt of hers to address their relationship or express her unhappiness.

  “I’m leaving,” she said again. “For good.”

  This time he understood what she was saying, but instead of getting angry or outraged, he actually smiled. “No, you’re not. If you leave now, you’ll get nothing from me. There’s no getting around our prenup. You’re not that stupid.”

  “I don’t care about the prenup. I am leaving. I’ve packed my clothes and jewelry materials, but that’s all I’m taking with me. I know you paid for those too, though, so if you want me to leave them, I can bring them back.”

  “I don’t want your damned clothes, and I don’t appreciate childish stunts like this. Is this about college again? I let you take classes.”

  Very reluctantly he’d agreed she could start taking college classes last year—only online and only one at a time so it wouldn’t get in the way of what he considered her real responsibilities. He didn’t want his wife to be walking around a college campus with books and a notebook like an ordinary girl. Despite his deep snobbery, it didn’t bother him that she didn’t have a higher education. In fact, she was pretty sure he preferred it, since it kept her more dependent on him.

  When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Or is this about your jewelry nonsense? I’ve let you fill our home with all that clutter. Surely you
don’t expect me to throw away money by funding that fanciful business plan of—”

  “It’s not about any one thing,” she interrupted, even though she knew he hated when she did that. She’d cried so much over the years about his absolute dismissal of any interest or passion of hers that she was numb now to all of it. “I just can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried. And tried. And tried. But nothing changes. I’m just so tired of being nothing but young and gorgeous and vulnerable and completely dependent.”

  Those were the words Arthur had used to a business associate of his at the party last night. He’d thought she was still in the bathroom when she’d overheard him say it in that pompous, teasing tone he used when he was trying to be affable. I highly recommend a wife. Just make sure she’s young, gorgeous, vulnerable, and completely dependent. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

  Allison had been about to turn a corner to rejoin him and had heard him. She’d stood frozen for a long time, the world shuddering around her as she realized that Arthur’s words were perfectly true. That was what she was. It was all she was. And none of her attempts over the past few years to change it had done any good at all.

  So she was changing it now.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Arthur said, after his expression changed as he realized what she’d overheard. “I was just making a connection with him. You have no idea what it’s like in business. You say things you don’t mean, simply because the other person wants to hear them.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what it’s like to say what someone else wants to hear.” Her voice was getting rough, but she didn’t clear her throat. She didn’t want to show Arthur any weakness. “I’ve done it for years, and I refuse to do it anymore.”

  “Yes, I can imagine how exhausting it is to spend your days doing nothing and have a husband buy you everything you want.” His voice snapped with sarcasm, although he didn’t raise his voice. He never raised his voice. He never openly displayed anger at all except through this kind of biting sarcasm.

  “Things you can buy are not what I want. I’ve been trying to tell you this for more than two years now. I need to…to feel like a real human being and not like a pretty possession of yours.” Despite her exhaustion and numbness, she heard her voice break with a tremor of emotion. “I’m tired of always tiptoeing around your moods but never getting to express feelings of my own. I’m tired of this constant anxiety about gaining even a pound because you don’t want a wife who’s too fat. I’m tired of not being free to decide to go to college or to get a job or do anything I might want to do on my own, since that doesn’t fit your image of a wife. I’m tired of forcing myself to have sex, even when I really don’t want to, because you get to decide when we do it. I’m tired of it, and it’s never going to change.”

  “So in this fiction you’ve concocted, I’m the monster who dehumanizes you, and you’re the innocent victim who had no idea what she was signing up for in this marriage.”

  “No. I’m not blaming you. I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I thought it was what I wanted, but it isn’t. It’s not your fault. You haven’t changed. But I have. This isn’t what I want anymore, and it’s obvious that it’s never going to be. That’s why I’m leaving.”

  Her words must have gotten through to him because his impatient expression transformed to something very cold. “You can leave if you want. I won’t stop you. But don’t delude yourself into thinking you can get around the prenup. You came into this marriage with nothing, and that’s what you’re going to leave with. It’s your decision to go, and it hasn’t been ten years yet.”

  “I know that. I’m not expecting any sort of money from you.”

  “How do you expect to make it, then? You have no money, no skills, no education, no ability to support yourself. You’ll just end up dependent on another man.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “You think this is some great statement of independence for you, but you’re never going to make it. You’re soft, Allison. You’re not going to be able to do this on your own.”

  “Maybe not,” she admitted, close to tears—but not tears of grief. “But I’m going to try anyway.”

  He shook his head in clear disbelief, giving a soft, sardonic chuckle that was as demeaning a response as she could imagine.

  It didn’t matter. She’d faced him. She’d told him the truth. She’d at least had enough courage to do that.

  And now she could finally walk away.

  —

  Allison stared down at the signed and returned copy of her divorce papers. “I can’t believe it’s really over.”

  Vicki was pouring merlot into two glasses. “You’re happy, aren’t you? I mean, everything went pretty smoothly. It’s only been six months since you walked out on him. That’s incredibly quick.”

  “Yeah.” Allison sighed and accepted the wineglass. She and Vicki were sitting on stools at the marble bar in Vicki’s sleek, stylish kitchen, where they’d sat to talk a lot over the last several months. “It’s just that now I really have to get started with my life, and I’m not any clearer about how to do that than I was in the beginning.”

  “You can always stay here, you know. As long as you want.” Vicki was thirty—four years older than Allison—and she was married to a rich older man too. Her marriage, however, actually seemed to be a happy one.

  “I know. I really appreciate it, but I’m sure Russ is getting tired of always having me around.”

  “No, he’s really—”

  “Seriously, Vicki, you have no idea how grateful I am for you being here for me these last six months and letting me stay here while I…I recover from my marriage. But the renters are out of my grandmother’s house now, so I can go ahead and move in. And I feel like I’m ready to stand on my own feet. I’ve got to get started on building a life for myself, or I’ll always be dependent on someone else.”

  The other day she’d walked into Vicki and Russ’s huge, luxurious apartment, and it had felt like home. Except it wasn’t her home, and she’d suddenly realized she needed to get out before her dream of independence blew away like so much smoke.

  Being a helpless friend might be better than being a trophy wife, but Allison wanted to be more than that. She’d been hanging around doing nothing for too long, and she was getting comfortable with it.

  She didn’t want to be comfortable. She wanted to live a life that was really hers.

  “I understand.” Vicki had lovely auburn hair and the tall, slim figure of a model. Allison knew that Arthur had always wished she were built more like Vicki. “I just wish your parents’ house wasn’t so far away from Charlotte.”

  “It’s just an hour or so away. We’ll be able to get together plenty.”

  After her parents had lost their money, they’d moved into the house Allison’s grandmother owned in a small town in the mountains. Her parents had had Allison late in their lives—a surprise baby when her mother was in her late forties—and the stress of the bankruptcy had destroyed their health. Her father had died of a heart attack, and her mother had just sort of dwindled away afterward, dying about a year ago. All they’d left her was the house, the furnishings, and an old car. When her mother had died, Allison had started to rent out the house, hoping for a little money that she could use at her own discretion, but the year’s lease was finally up, and now she needed to actually move into the house.

  At least she had a place to live, rent free. There was no way she could get a job that paid enough to afford rent in Charlotte, at least not in the neighborhoods she was used to. Better to start from scratch in a completely different town. She had a house and a car fully paid for and about twenty thousand dollars that Arthur had given her as a gesture in the divorce so he wouldn’t feel like a complete monster. Surely she could find a job that would cover her living expenses.

  “I’ll miss you, though,” Vicki said, slumping against the counter. She’d just had her hair done, and it was even redder and shinier than ever.

 
Allison hadn’t had her hair done since she’d walked out on Arthur, although she and Vicki had regularly gotten manicures, since Vicki insisted they were a basic life necessity.

  “I’ll miss you too. Hopefully I’ll be too busy finding a job and trying to work for the first time in my life to get too depressed, though.”

  “I still think you could have fought for more in the divorce proceedings. Arthur owes you more than that pittance after eight years of marriage, especially since he wouldn’t let you go to college or build a career.”

  “No. Arthur wanted me to fight, so he could fight back and win. That prenup was airtight, and I just don’t want to beg Arthur for money anyway. I’m going to do this on my own.”

  “And you’re sure you need to go right now? Don’t you think it would be better to wait a few weeks until you actually find a job?”

  “I’m sure I can find something. I told you I called that dentist’s office in Fielding. They want me to come by first thing on Monday morning about the receptionist job. I think that’s a job I could do.”

  “I’m sure you could, but what if you don’t get it?” Vicki’s expression was torn in a way that made clear she was worried but trying to be encouraging. “You said that was the only job advertised in the area.”

  “Yes, but when I called the town about my water bill, the woman said that most of the local jobs are advertised in the newspaper, not online.” Allison smiled, nervous but hopeful at the same time. “People find jobs all the time. I’m sure I can find something.”

  “Okay. If this is what you want to do, then I’ll totally support you. But if you can’t find a job, you have to promise me you’ll move back here.”

  “I will.” Allison said that, but she had absolutely no intention of moving back. That would be a defeat, and she wasn’t going to let it happen.

  “Well, it’s going to be an adventure for you. That’s for sure. Maybe you’ll find a sexy small-town guy to keep you company.”