The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 88

Niamh didn’t refuse, and when they met, she asked Giselle to keep her identity’s secret

Giselle Westmore kept her promise

They hadn’t seen each other in three years. Niamh had assumed Giselle would have long forgotten her, but to her surprise, Giselle greeted her with the same warmt always.

Dinner was on Giselle, and Niamh didn’t protest–there was no point in pretending otherwise.

But the Piano Queen pendant Giselle offered was far too extravagant. Namh farly refused to accept it, only for Giselle to threaten–half–joking, half–serious the Niamh kept turning her down, she’d divorce her husband on the spot

Niamh was left speechless, unable to see how the logic added up

In the end, she took the jewelry, but didn’t wear it–afraid it would draw too much

attention.

She was waiting for a cab by the curb when her phone rang before the car even arrived.

The caller ID was a number she didn’t recognize, but the series of repeating digits made it obvious someone had paid extra for that number.

Niamh hesitated for a moment, then answered.

“Hello?”

“Niamh, you have to get over here

quick!”

It was Preston Winslow’s voice, and Niamh’s eyes widened in surprise.

When she didn’t respond right away, Preston hurried on, “Jonathan’s drunk, were at the club right now! He says if you don’t come, he’s just going to drink himself into

oblivion.”

Niamh almost wanted to ask where Marina was.

But she remembered Giselle had dragged her straight into the elevator earlier, so she wasn’t sure whether Jonathan had stayed with Marina afterward.

Still, even if Jonathan wasn’t with Marina, why was he out at a club getting wa

Chapter 98

Was there some urgent reason to drink himself silly?

She couldn’t figure it out.

It couldn’t be because he saw her getting along so well with Giselle, could it? Was that why he was upset?

She gave a bitter laugh, thinking she was overanalyzing.

“If he’s drunk, just get him home. Or call Prescott.”

With that, Niamh hung up.

Not three seconds later, the same number popped up on her screen again.

Preston Winslow.

“Niamh, please, I’m begging you. Jonathan really wants to see you. He won’t listen to any of us!”

Niamh hung up again.

Then Preston called a third time.

“You know what Jonathan’s like. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s really drinking because of you this time. He won’t go home unless he sees you–only you can get him out of here.”

Preston’s voice was growing more urgent and anxious, and Niamh found her grip on her phone tightening with each word.

It was late.

The cab pulled up in front of The Gatsby Club.

The lighting inside was dim, and though the hallway wasn’t exactly narrow, several guests were crowded together, arms draped around scantily clad women.

It was Niamh’s first time here.

She wove her way through small clusters of guests, searching for ages before she finally found the private room Preston had described.

She pushed open the door, and the first thing she saw was Jonathan on the couch.

He looked perfectly at ease–his tie undone, the top three buttons of h the elegant line of his collarbone just visible.

hirt open,

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, a half–smoked cigarette in one hand, his other arm around Marina-

He didn’t look the least bit like the hopeless drunk Preston had described over the phone.

Even in the dim light, Niamh caught the glint of a smile in Jonathan’s dark eyes as he saw her.

“Damn it! How did I lose again!” a guy nearby exclaimed, stomping his foot.

At the same time, Preston was doubled over with laughter, slapping his knee.

“I told you, didn’t I? I said I was going to win!”

Standing in the doorway, Niamh understood instantly-