"Last week you said you were going to pay Mr. Grayson off. Do you mind … if I do it?"
"Um … " I blink, trying to reorient myself. "I thought you didn't have the money."
"I don't, but … " She hesitates, then straightens herself. "I want to use your money to pay him off. But I'll pay you back."
"Not necessary," I interject. From the way she tightens her jaw, I doubt she agrees with me.
She continues, "I want to see him face to face … let him know he can't try to control me anymore."
Closure on your own terms. I can understand that. Still … "Isn't he dangerous?"
"I don't think so." She shakes her head. "I mean, yes, I think he is a user and not aboveboard, but I don't think he's going to get violent if that's what you mean. Also, I plan to meet him someplace public."
I consider. She's probably right. Grayson works for Keith, and Keith may be a snake, but he's also a coward. He won't ever do his dirty work in the light of day, and certainly he doesn't have the guts to get physical. When I discovered he was stealing from me and Lucas, I hit him in the jaw-twice-and he just cowered and covered up. It is as though he's afraid to fight back.
Nevertheless, this is my wife we're talking about, and I don't like the idea of her going out there to confront his agent on her own. I open my mouth, about to gloss my real thoughts and then go ahead and do what I think is best anyway, but stop. If I want to fix what's broken between us, I can't just do whatever the hell I feel like regardless of her wishes. "Hmm … I don't like it."
"I know, but it's important to me."
"How about if I come with you?"
"I don't think that would be wise. Like I said before, he's my problem, and I want to deal with it."
I stare at the red light. Traffic's heavier than I expected, and the bright sunlight reflects off the roofs of the cars around us. I squint through my shades and tap the steering wheel with my thumb. Belle turns toward the window and looks out at the street on her side with various shops and slow-milling pedestrians.
"It is okay for you to lean on me once in a while," I say as the light turns green and I hit the gas.
She doesn't speak or react in any way. We're in the same car, but somehow I feel like we're miles apart.
"Can we start over?" I ask suddenly.
"I thought the honeymoon was the new beginning." She crosses her arms. "Elliot, this isn't some … computer game. We can't just 'start over' every time we don't like the way things are going."
I swallow. She's right, and I can't think of anything to say.
Just … don't be too stubborn and turn her tender feelings for you into pain. Because the next stage will be indifference.
I can't be too late. My wife isn't indifferent.
But I can't help but feel that she's slipping away, grain by grain like sand clenched in my fist.
* * *
Annabelle
By the time Elliot and I finally make it to the penthouse in L.A., I'm exhausted. The flight was short, but still felt grueling. My shoulders have been almost touching my pendant earrings ever since we boarded, and the tightness has spread to my skull and mid- and lower back. The pain hurts worse than the injuries from last night. I'd like to think it's the trip making me tense, but I know better.
It's the prospect of facing Nonny.
She's at the dining table, working on her homework. When she spots us, she manages a smile for Elliot, but nothing for me. "Welcome home."
"Don't be cold," Elliot says. "Your sister just took a tum-"
I put a hand on his arm and shake my head. I don't want Nonny to know about the fall and worry her unnecessarily. I also don't want her being nice to me because I had an incident. I want her to be nice to me because that's what she wants.
Her lips flatten and she gathers her things. "I think I'll go back to my room. Let me know when it's time for dinner."
Watching her leave, I let out a rough sigh. I know why she's doing this. She's been avoiding me, treating me like some kind of leper. If she were like any other spoiled teenager I'd have some clue as to what to do, but she isn't. She's always been so perfect, so sweet-tempered. I have no idea how to deal with her attitude or refusal to listen and understand things from my perspective.
A frown creases Elliot's forehead. "This is unacceptable," he says quietly.
I agree, but say nothing.
"How long are you going to let her do this?"
"I don't know, but please don't try to talk to her on my behalf."
That stops him. "You want me to stay out of it?"
"Yes." To soften my curt answer, I add, "She's my sister, my responsibility."
"She's my sister-in-law."