Page 20 of Deadly Scandals

Mia

“Grant, do we have to go to Paul’s parents’ home?”

Grant gave me a hard glance and finished combing Julián’s hair. “You know we do. It’s a command party. We can’t get out of it.”

Dammit. Grant was right. This was one part of being a Team wife that I hated with a passion. Playing the game. Pretending to be nice to women who had openly mocked me. Every time I’d seen Dara since Joaquín had been arrested had been a nightmare. When I first saw her at The Pickled Frog before I had gone undercover, she had greeted me with a condescending hug and a bitchy remark.

Oh Mia, honey. So sorry to hear about Joaquín. But who knew he was into fucking strippers?

Fuck her. Her husband was no saint.

Grant had remained tight-lipped since he had no choice, but I still believed Paul had something to do with Joaquín’s shady dealings. But Joaquín had laughed off my questions. So I was left on my own to investigate. Again.

I hoped Ashley had looked into Paul, though I hadn’t seen her around the base in months. Grant said she had vanished, even though Mitch couldn’t stop talking about how much he wanted to fuck her.

She clearly hated my guts and believed I was in cahoots with my brother. Even worse, that bitch played me from the start and pretended to be my friend. Well, in her defence, I played her, too. I didn’t give a fuck what she thought about me. I knew who I was. I’d done nothing wrong. Nothing wrong but believe in my brother’s innocence. Even though he made a fool out of me, I didn’t regret a second of my actions. It had brought me back to my son, brought me back to Grant. Believing in Joaquín’s innocence had given me a new life. And I was truly happy.

And sometimes, I prayed that this entire ordeal was an awful nightmare. That Joaquín was truly innocent and there was some rational explanation for what had happened. That he had been lying to me when he’d admitted that he wanted me. That he had never raped me. That he was still the brother I had always loved.

At night, I would close my eyes and fantasize about what life could’ve been like if Joaquín had been saved from his demons years ago. If my parents had never lied to him. If he had never been kicked out of the house. There were so many what-ifs.

Joaquín could’ve led an honorable life as a SEAL. Found his own love. Been a loving and supportive brother to me and an uncle to Julián.

I’d go crazy if I kept living in a fantasy world.

Grant was supportive as always. But every time I mentioned Joaquín, he changed the subject. It was hard for him too—losing his best friend and his swim buddy. I didn’t want Grant or my therapist to think I was delusional, so I kept my dreams to myself.

Grant kissed Julián’s forehead. “You look so handsome, buddy. Go put on your shoes.”

I completely melted. He was such a good, warm, loving dad.

I grabbed the diaper bag, and we headed out to Paul’s parents’ house. The legit scene of the crime. The place where my brother committed murder. The place where he’d lost his freedom. The place where he had finally come to reckon with what he had done to my son and me.

Fuck. My. Life.

I marveled at how my life had changed since last year. A year ago, I had just had plastic surgery and was pretending to be a stripper. Now I was married, sitting in a minivan while the son who I’d thought was dead was singing songs.

We approached the mansion on Neptune Avenue in Encinitas. This place was on the beach. Unbelievable. Paul’s family was so wealthy—why would he want to be a SEAL? Just because his father had been one also?

Grant parked the car and picked up Julián. I wished Grant had picked me up; I wanted to puke.

Dara opened the door and took the bottle of wine I handed her.

“Oh, Mia, darling, so nice of you to join us. Please come in.”

I used my acting skills and made my best impression of a smile and forced myself to walk in the door.

Julián took off and went to play with Gabriel, Pat and Annie’s son. While the rest of the SEALs were out drinking on the deck overlooking the ocean, Grant obediently stayed by my side. I loved my husband; he must’ve sensed how uneasy I was.

But even his strong hand clutching mine did little to ease my anxiety.

“I feel sick. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

Grant smirked. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”

I poked him. Grant was insatiable, and believe me, I was not complaining at all. But I wasn’t ready for another baby, not yet.

“I’ll be right back.”