She starts texting again.
My phone buzzes. I look down, then still at my sister's question. Did it happen for you and Elliot? I raise my head and look at her, suddenly unsure why she's asking. "Nonny … "
She raises a finger, then types again. I mean the cooling thing. I know you guys fought at least once.
I sigh. People occasionally fight. You and I fight sometimes too.
But you said our bond is greater-blood and all. I'm your family forever.
A tight lump forms in my throat. I swallow, then answer, Yes, you are. But that doesn't mean what I have with Elliot is any less. I love him, Nonny.
What about him? Does he love you, too?
I think-I pause, wondering what he feels about me. He hasn't said the L-word, but surely he feels it. Why else would he have ripped up our contract? I delete what I wrote and just type, Yes.
I watch her expression as she reads my text. Her mouth curls into a brilliant smile. She turns to me. "I'm so happy for you, Anna. You deserve happiness more than anybody."
"Everyone deserves to be happy."
"Not the way you do. I know what you gave up for me."
"I didn't give up a thing for you," I say as the skin around my eyes grows hot. "I did what any older sister would've done, and I wanted to do it. It was no trouble."
"You could've let someone foster me."
"Over my dead body." I exhale slowly so I don't start crying. "If you love someone, nothing you do for them is really a sacrifice."
She reaches over and holds my hand. "I love you too."
I squeeze hers back. Moments like this I can believe my life will always be perfect … with a fairytale ending.
* * *
Elliot
Belle is out with Nonny getting a massage and having her nails done. I encouraged them to indulge-I could sense they needed some sisterly bonding time, plus I wanted them to treat themselves. I love the way my wife glows after a good pampering.
Meanwhile, I shop. I don't generally shop for gifts myself, but I can't have my assistant do it when it's for my wife's birthday next week.
The problem is I'm not sure exactly what I want to get her. It has to be something very special. Not jewelry-too obvious. Beyond that, price isn't a consideration. My wife knows I have money, and getting something expensive will appear thoughtless. Unlike most women, she isn't overly impressed with my bank account.
Perhaps something sentimental and sweet.
Photos? Music, maybe? She might enjoy a concert … or sports. I realize I know very little about her likes, and I feel guilty. I should've spent some time getting to know her along with all the seduction, as enjoyable as that is for both of us.
I get a text from Paddington. AU in L.A. and coming your way. Will arrive in twenty minutes.
I almost ask how he knows where I am, but it's his job to know. I call him.
"Yes?" he says.
"How quickly can you set up surveillance?"
"What do you want?"
"I want you to record our conversation."
He doesn't miss a beat. "It's illegal in California to record without her consent," he says matter-of-factly.
"So make sure to have plausible deniability."
"I can do that, so long as you don't think about using it in court."
"It won't be for something that silly." Court won't stop someone like Annabelle Underhill.
I fool with my phone, checking the market news while making my way slowly to a café. Annabelle's got to be having me tailed, since she couldn't know where I am otherwise. I want our scene to take place in a very public venue with no expectation of privacy.
The café I have in mind is faux-Italian. The coffee is horrible-especially if you've been to Italy-but it has a small outdoor seating area, and is generally busy enough. It'll do for what I have in mind.
I tell the server I want an outdoor table. He tells me one's just opened up. Serendipity.
Without looking at the menu, I order cappuccino and a blueberry scone. The waiter leaves, and I keep fooling with my phone. It doesn't take long before a shadow darkens my table. I look up.
"Hello, Annabelle," I purr.
"You fucking bastard," she spits.
I put down my phone and look at her. Her dark hair is swept up; perfect makeup covers her furious face. Sapphires glitter from her ears and throat, and the sleeveless violet dress she wears looks spray-painted on. The color reminds me of the fading bruises on my wife's body, and my mood darkens instantly.
I note with derision that Annabelle's arms are unmarked. Stanton has probably never laid a hand on her.
What a way to squander the one bit of leverage she had over me. Not that it would've meant a lot once I knew what she was after. I owed Marlin, but not that much.
"If you must insult me, at least have the decency to sit down first so I don't get a crick in my neck." I turn my attention back to my phone.