of diamonds and dry martinis [hs]

Chapter One

She was lost; stuck as she always was in between reality and a dreamy haze.

Sometimes she thought she was watching herself from above, mostly when she mixed Xanax with the Grey Goose martinis her husband would order for her wherever they went. Tonight was no different.

The men crowding her in the lobby of the opera house talked business as she stood fiddling with the white gold necklace that clung a notch too tight to her delicate neck. As she came in and out of the conversation around her, she thought of what the night would consist of.

Have a couple more drinks in the lobby, go in, sit and watch the show, get in the SUV, go to an after-party, have more drinks and gossip with the other ladies, go home, get in bed, sleep, wake up, repeat.

She blinked out of her trance when her husband grabbed her hand gently, smiling down at her. He was handsome no doubt, with his salt and pepper hair pushed back and his teeth bright white against the lights in the lobby. His skin was tanned deeply from countless trips to their summer home in Bora Bora, and his eyes crinkled at the sides softly when he smiled.

She met him when she was still working as an escort. After hiring her from the agency she worked at, he knew it was over from the moment he picked her up for a company party. She was one of those girls that wouldn't sleep with the client even if he was willing to pay buckets of cash for it; he loved that about her.

He paid her well every time he had hired her. He took her on exclusive vacations to places she didn't even know existed, bought her bags from designers she had never even heard of, and gave her money she couldn't have dreamed of having. He told her he would take care of her if she resigned from her agency; he wanted her and would do anything to make sure no one else could have her.

After her resignation was in, he proposed. She moved into his multimillion-dollar home in The Hamptons and they had a lavish wedding that included upwards of three hundred guests.

"I have lots of friends," he explained to the wedding planner. "Mostly from business, of course, but we can't do any less I'm afraid."

He was happy with her; or at least, happy having her. When he brought her to the company Christmas party, all heads turned to them. She was stunning and held herself well when in the presence of millionaires and tech moguls. The best part for him was her age. He was nearing his fiftieth birthday, with his friends and their wives somewhere around or above there. She had just turned twenty-three, leaving the need for costly plastic surgery and routine dermatologist visits in the dust.

When he proposed to her, she was thrilled. He was nice enough, handsome, and promised to take care of her for the rest of her life. She had never imagined herself getting married and becoming a housewife, but she liked the idea of it. Until she was a year deep; that's when she realized she was living in her own personal hell.

"Another round of drinks, gentlemen?" A waiter asked courteously.

"Yes," one of the friends spoke up. He was much older than her husband, somewhere in his seventies. He was a trust fund baby from one of the biggest banks in America. "The same, everyone?"

Everyone agreed and the waiter walked off towards the bar on the side of the room.

"Say," her husband spoke up curiously to the group. "Is the youngster coming tonight?"

"He should be," the oldest in the bunch pulled back his coat sleeve to look at his gaudy Rolex.

"Who's this?" She asked as she tucked her arm into her husband's against his chest.

"Some young guy," he said with a shrug. "New money; just moved here from London, I believe?"

"Met him at my tennis club," The oldest said with a smile. "Real stand-up guy. He just bought a home in Southampton Village." He glanced over his shoulder when a bright smile lit up his face. "Well speak of the devil!"