"I'll send you what you need," Elizabeth says. "But I also want you think about what I said. I know it's only for a year, but it could be a very good year if you let it."
"I know."
And it could've been more than a year. I realize that I've been subconsciously dreaming of more, and that's why I have such extreme depths of feeling concerning Belle, why I flew off the handle at the possibility she would betray me the way Annabelle Underhill did.
But my past is mine to bear. If I'm not careful, it'll tear us apart.
First … I need to take care of the problem of Annabelle Underhill. I text Paddington: Tail Annabelle Underhill. I want to know what she's up to.
He responds: Anything in particular you're looking for?
Anything that relates to me or my wife. If she so much as sneezes in either of our directions, I want to know about it.
That done, I stare out the window, thinking about Belle. Her actions prove she meant it when she rejected my offer of a fresh start. But then, why wouldn't she? Words are cheap. And from her perspective, I haven't done anything to show her I can make her happy, that I'll be there for her no matter what.
I'm going to need something better than "Let's start anew" to put my relationship with my wife on the right track-a grand gesture that will put me at a risk as much as her should our marriage fail. My palms slicken at the thought. Betrayals early in life have made me cautious, and now I'm always careful to insulate myself. But that path will mean Belle and I are already finished.
I can't accept that. I won't.
Chapter Seventeen
Annabelle
When I arrive home around five, Nonny's in the dining room, working on her homework at the table. Her biology textbook and notes are spread out, and I hesitate for a moment. The only sign that she notices me is a slight pause of her pencil, then she resumes jotting answers on a worksheet.
"I'm home," I say lamely.
She says nothing.
O-kay. I inhale slowly. "I should change … unless we're going out for dinner?"
"We're not."
"What are we getting?"
Her expression goes scrunchy, like she just bit into a lemon. "Thai." Since she loves Thai food, the facial histrionics are for my benefit.
I press my index and middle fingers against the throbbing points on my temple and jaw line. She really ought to be over it by now.
Sighing, I drag myself up the stairs. Once in the walk-in closet, I immediately dump my purse on the shelf built specifically for purses and toe off my shoes, which feels like heaven. I'm just not used to wearing pumps for hours on end. My toes look red and squished, and god, the balls and arches throb like mad. I strip and get into a loose sleeveless black cotton dress that ends right below my anklebones. It has a side slit on the right that goes up to my knees.
As I start to leave, I catch my reflection in the mirror inside the closet. I look overly tired and maybe even a little bit defeated, my eyes uncertain, my cheeks colorless. Dismayed, I pat my face a few times. Who the hell is going to give me a job? I wouldn't want to hire a girl who looks as fatigued as I do.
"One day at a time" has been my mantra ever since my parents were gunned down. Every day that passes is one day closer to the end of The Crappy Phase Of My Life. Surely the rest of my existence can't continue like this.
Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Maybe the cold will jolt me, help me get my head right. I need to gird my loins if I want to get through dinner without losing it. As it is, I'm strung tighter than piano wire.
When I hear the bell, I make my way down. Elliot heads out of his office to the door, yanking the Bluetooth piece from his ear and shoving it into a pocket. He's in a blue shirt and black shorts, his feet bare. From the closed-off expression on his face, he's had a less-than-great conference call. It still shocks me that he's in such demand that he dictates his own terms and decides who he's going to work with. When you're brilliant and rich, you don't have to hustle like the rest of us mortals.
He hands the guy a few crisp bills and brings the food in. When he notices me, he changes course and places a kiss on my mouth. It's such an everyday gesture, the kind any husband would give his wife along with "Welcome home." The sweet normalcy of it startles me, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. Any semblance of normalcy is good, because my life is anything but.
Meanwhile, Nonny helps to spread the food out on the table-pad Thai, crispy pork with kale, tom yam goon, and a few other dishes I don't recognize but look yummy nonetheless. She also grabs plates, since the delivery place didn't send any disposable ones.
My sister doesn't look at me or say a word. She waits until I take a seat to Elliot's right, then takes the one to his left. He doesn't comment, although his jaw flexes and his eyes go remote in disapproval. We eat in silence for a while.