Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes.
It felt like forever before Edward responded. When he did, his words were warm but firm. “I am not your sir, Marion. Not anymore.”
That felt as good of a cue as any. Blinking back the urge to cry, I came around the corner of the nook with gusto.
Both Edward and Marion turned toward me at my entrance. They stood several feet apart from each other, and while I was glad for that, I was disappointed that I couldn’t look at both of them at once.
I chose to focus on her. She was notably surprised they weren’t alone, but she covered quickly, and when she did, it was impossible not to stare. She was beguiling with her dark hair, her olive skin, her bright eyes. Much more beautiful than I’d gleaned from her pictures. They hadn’t been able to capture her presence, which was breathtaking in its unpretentiousness.
It was terrible how strong the urge was to claw her eyes out.
Maybe I hadn’t changed as a person after all.
“Marion, this is Celia,” Edward said. “My wife.” My jaw tightened at the way he’d amended my title, as though it were an afterthought. “Celia, this is Marion.”
I crossed the room to stand next to him, hoping he’d put an arm around me or take my hand. Something to claim me as his.
But his hands remained at his sides.
“Yes, I’d heard you’d remarried.” Her eyes darted from Edward toward me, then back to him, as though she were seeking his permission to look somewhere other than at him.
Only then did he put his hand at the small of my back, automatically almost, as though sensing what she needed from him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, her gaze firmly on mine now. “I have heard good things of you from my children.”
I wondered exactly what they’d said. I’d become a little closer to them over the past six months, but before that, I’d spent the entire first year of my marriage to their father on an island in the Caribbean. I could only imagine the awful impression it had given them, let alone their mother.
“Likewise,” I said. I could feel an old familiar mask falling into place. One that I hadn’t worn in a while but had once been second nature. “I must say, though, they never told me how beautiful you are. I see where Genny gets it.”
She flushed, seemingly thrown by my compliment, which had been the intention. She was gorgeous, but she was also a decade older than I was. There was likely some insecurity about her ex having married younger, whether she admitted it to herself or not.
“Merci beaucoup,” she said, flustered. “But I can say the same for you. Edward has chosen well for himself.”
Edward’s hand fell from my back, and with it, Marion’s gaze fell from mine.
“I must admit,” she continued, looking at him. “I’m surprised to find he married a Werner.”
My stomach clenched. Of course she would have known about his having it out for my father. It hadn’t occurred to me until just then. She might even think our marriage was part of his revenge schemes. Which, it had been, but not now. I couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking we weren’t real. But how the hell was I going to correct it?
I glanced toward Edward, hoping he’d step in.
“Well...yes,” he said returning her gaze. “That’s a complicated story, actually. Too long to get into at the moment.”
Was it really? I was sure it could have been simplified if he tried.
“Ah, well. Another time, then.” Marion’s smile was small but sweet. I would have pushed him for more info right then. I was too curious about shit like that to let it slide.
Her eyes said she might be curious as well, but she didn’t press. She was so serene. So demure.
And he’d loved her.
Why the hell had he ever stayed married to me?
An awkward beat past, long enough to make me too unsettled to stay silent or behaved. “So Marion,” I said, threading my arm around Edward’s. “What brings you by the office today? I thought you’d be staying closer to Genevieve. I didn’t expect to see you in London.”
She went pale, her mouth falling slack.
“Marion was in town to see friends. She stopped by to see if there was anything last minute she could help with before she headed up to Cambridge.” He patted my hand. “I assured her you had everything taken care of.”
I wanted to kick him for stepping in for her. Then I wanted to kick myself for being so bothered by it.
“Exactly that,” she confirmed, obviously grateful for the excuse. “I didn’t feel comfortable just stopping by your house since you and I had never met. And I was in the neighborhood, so I thought why not. Thankfully, my name was still on the security list here, and I was able to come up.”
Dizziness swept through me again, making me glad that I had Edward to clutch onto. Her name was still on the security list. Sure, it could have been an oversight, but after ten fucking years? Edward wasn’t the type of man to overlook those things, and I highly doubted he tolerated employees who did either.
If her name was on there, it was because he wanted it to be. Because he wanted her to stop by. Because he hoped.
I couldn’t decide if I were more jealous or hurt. The emotions felt too similar, and both felt like shit.
I smooshed the feelings down, way down inside and put the mask back on. “That was so nice of you to offer. Everything’s handled, though. Since I have a job as well as a house to run, I made sure to delegate those tasks early on. I find it’s the only way to balance it all.”
Edward stiffened beside me.
Sure, it was catty. Marion had only ever been a housewife, a job that I admitted was incredibly difficult, but she had also had a full staff to assist her, and I was desperate to make myself feel better, seem better, in whatever way I could.
“That’s very wise. It was especially hard when the children were little. Nothing got done around the house without delegation.”
Unlike when I’d spoken, there was no spitefulness in Marion’s tone. She was just being honest, and that hurt somehow more than if she’d been malicious. She was the mother of Edward’s children, and that was something I was not. While he’d agreed to having one with me, his last addendum was a no-go for me. I wouldn’t give him Hudson’s name. Not for a baby. Not for anything.
And since I’d yet to find something Edward truly yielded to, there was a chance I’d never have his child.
Standing in front of Marion, it was an even more bitter pill to swallow.
Thankfully, the office door swung open, and Camilla peeked in. “Eddie, Barry is waiting for you in conference room three.”
“Thank you, Camilla. I’d lost track of time.” Edward stepped away from me, moving around his desk and straightening it as I’m sure he always did before he left his office.
Camilla’s brows lifted in surprise when she saw who else was in the room. “Marion! I didn’t know you’d arrived yet. How are you?”
Of course Camilla and Marion would have had a good relationship. Fuck me with a side of ranch. Could this situation get any more mortifying?
I tuned out their reunion and focused on Edward. He was as unreadable as ever, his jaw hard, his expression guarded.
I wished I could get inside his head. Even more, I wished he was inside mine, wished that he saw how I was hurting. Wished he would say what I needed to hear to make it better. I didn’t know what that was, but he should know. He usually did.
But he wasn’t aware of me at all. He busied himself with his desk, then, once satisfied, he nodded toward the door, silently ushering all of us out.
I lingered and ended up being the last one out, following even him, which meant I had a bird’s-eye view of his hand resting at Marion’s back as he escorted her out. It was probably automatic. He likely didn’t even realize he’d done it.
That didn’t lessen the sting.
“Sorry to cut this short,” he said to her. “There’s even more to do today than usual since I’m taking tomorrow off
.”
“An empire doesn’t run itself,” Marion said in a tone that suggested she was merely repeating something that he’d said to her before.
“No, it never has.” He glanced down at his hand on her back then quickly dropped it, as though he’d only then realized it was there. “See you tomorrow.”
Then he went down the hallway leading away from the elevators toward the conference room. He walked three steps then, just when I was convinced he’d forgotten me altogether, he turned around.
“Oh, Charlotte. Can you please call for Celia’s car?”
Maybe I should have been glad he was taking care of me, the way he said he always would.
It wasn’t close to being enough.
But then he turned to me. “Celia,” he said, his voice summoning.
I was in his arms instantly, relief flooding over me as his warmth surrounded me. I was overthinking all of this. I was over-feeling it. As usual. He’d probably call me out on it later, when we were alone. He’d remind me that I was the one he loved then, when it was just the two of us. When it mattered.
He kissed me chastely on the cheek then tilted up my chin so he could look at me. “I know what that was back there,” he said softly. “You’re past catty behavior, and I most certainly won’t tolerate it in my wife.”
Adrenaline rushed through my body, a combination of rage and heartbreak.
To anyone else, it would look like he was simply telling me goodbye, not reprimanding me like I was a child. Like I was his doormat. Like I was Marion.
I had a feeling that was how he’d behaved with her all the time when they’d been married. She’d probably liked it.
I, however, did not.
Especially when what I needed was reassurance of his love. Not reassurance of his ownership.
But we were on display, and I had as much reason as he did, if not more, to want Marion to believe we were as happy in our relationship as they’d ever been.
So I cupped his cheek and made sure to smile when I whispered my reply. “Then perhaps you should exchange your current wife for an older model.”
More loudly I said, “See you tonight.” To remind Marion that I was the one he was going home to. Because I was his wife, and I was that catty.
Before he could say anything else, I pulled away and crossed to the women, leaving him to go to his pretend meeting. I didn’t know if he lingered in the hall. I didn’t look back.
The elevator had arrived by the time I reached the others.
“Marion and I are going to grab some coffee and catch up in the downstairs cafe, if you’d like to join us,” Camilla said as we walked into the elevator.
“No, thank you. I have to be getting back.” There was no way I could stomach sitting with the two of them feeling like a third wheel.
Though, if Marion was staying in the building, there was a chance she might see Edward again. He’d clearly been the one to get out of visiting with her, which meant I shouldn’t worry, but maybe that had been because he hadn’t wanted to be with her and me.
I almost told her I’d changed my mind.
But if Edward wanted to see Marion alone, he’d see her alone eventually. Me hanging around trying to prevent it wasn’t going to change anything.
Camilla and Marion continued to chat as we rode down. I pulled out my phone, just to have something to busy myself with so I wouldn’t have to talk with them.
“I was sorry to hear about Frank,” Marion said, somberly.
“Were you really? I know how you and my brother felt about my marriage.”
I couldn’t help looking up. I hadn’t had any idea that Edward hadn’t approved of his sister’s relationship with her dead husband.
“It was a terrible situation, nonetheless.” Marion paused. “I saw Edward around then, and I wondered if he…” She broke off, her gaze fleeing to me, as though she’d forgotten for a moment that I was there.
“Wondered if he...what?” I asked.
But then we’d arrived at the lobby, and the elevator doors opened, and the security guard was waiting for me with a message to meet my car down the block.
“See you tomorrow, Celia,” Camilla said, then she and Marion headed to the cafe without a second glance.
I cycled through several emotions as we made the drive home, replaying the entire office visit in my head. By the time I shifted myself through the hurt and confusion, I found I was angry.
Fuming.
Because he’d never told me anything about him and Marion. Because he was a closed book most of the time no matter how open I’d been with him. Because he demanded I share every last secret, including Hudson, when he’d shared so little with me. Because of the asshole thing he’d said when I was leaving.
If he hadn’t been such a major prick, maybe I wouldn’t have had to act catty. Did he think of that?
Well, I had no qualms about telling him. In fact, when he got home that night, he and I were going to be talking about a lot of things, whether he wanted to or not.
I spent most of the afternoon working on the finishing details for Genevieve’s graduation party. Then I arranged with the cook for dinner to be light so Edward and I could have plenty of time for the arguing that was very likely to follow. And, after a late afternoon swim, I changed into the dress he’d laid out for me, to show that I could be what he wanted, even when I was so very often not.
And when Jeremy came to me with the message that something had come up and Edward wouldn’t be home for the night, that he’d meet me at the graduation tomorrow, my rage disappeared inside the pain of betrayal. I somehow managed to keep my tears in until I had reached my bedroom and was alone.
Sixteen
Edward
I parked the car on the pavement at the side of the house and used my key to go in the side door. It was immediately apparent that preparations for Genny’s party had already begun. The mudroom was stuffed with odds and ends, knickknacks and such that usually adorned furniture but had been moved to accommodate trays of food and glasses for wine.
The kitchen, on the other hand, was immaculate, every surface having been cleared so that the caterers could unload their goods in the morning. If it weren’t for the smell of pasta baking in the oven, I’d have wondered if I’d mistaken the invitation for dinner.
I pulled out my mobile to check my earlier texts and saw three missed calls from Celia. I’d had it on silent as I’d driven to Bluntisham, which had taken me nearly two hours. I was debating about calling her back when the house manager of the country estate appeared.
“Good evening, Edward. You’re looking well,” she said, her voice cheery despite the late hour.
“Thank you, Iba. The same to you. The little one keeping you young?”
She beamed at the mention of her newest grandchild. “Keeping me busy, anyway.”
“Good busy, I hope.” When she nodded, I changed gears. “I was supposed to meet—”
She cut me off, our relationship informal enough to disregard the strictest rules of polite conversation. “Already outside waiting for you. I pushed her to start without you. Told her you wouldn’t mind.”
I put my phone back in my pocket. “Of course not. Thank you for looking out for her.”
“No worries. Get on out there, and I’ll follow with a plate for you shortly.”
I made my way through the kitchen door to the solarium. Before continuing out onto the patio, I paused to gaze at the woman sitting outside while she didn’t know she was being watched. Her profile was to me, her mobile in one hand, her fork in another. She seemed older than I usually thought of her—something about her posture or her facial expressions as she swiped the screen of her device. And she was breathtaking. More so than ever.
As if she could feel my eyes on her, she looked up, her face breaking into a grin when she saw me.
I took the cue to push open the door and join her outside.
She set down her phone and stood as I approached her. “You’re late.”
&n
bsp; “I am. I didn’t get out of the office until seven, and traffic was horrendous.” I embraced her, placing a kiss on her temple.
“I suppose I’m lucky I got you here at all. Frankly, I’m surprised you said you’d come. Especially on such short notice.”
Genny’s casual tone didn’t match the implications of her statement. How many times over her lifetime had I been too busy for her, too involved with business or schemes to give her the attention she desired?
The reality sat like a hard lump of coal in the pit of my stomach. Especially, when the truth was, if I hadn’t already been feeling guilty about my relationship with my children when she’d texted, I would likely have blown her off this time as well.
I forced a smile. “I’m glad I could make it work, princess.”
“Me too. Thank you.” She gestured for me to sit. “I’m sorry. I’ve already started, as you can see. I’ll get Iba—”
On cue, the sprite older woman appeared with a plate of food and an uncorked bottle of wine. “Pinot, good?”
“Is that what you’re drinking?” I asked my daughter as I took the wine bottle and examined it. It was a decent choice paired with the tomato-based pasta. I wondered if she’d selected it herself. It was funny to realize that I didn’t know her preferences for alcohol or whether she drank much at all.
“I was a bit overwhelmed with the wine cellar,” Genny admitted. “Hope I didn’t choose poorly.”
“You didn’t.” She glowed when I praised her, and for the millionth time in my life, I told myself I needed to do it more often. What was it about me that made it so hard to love my children openly? Was it because I’d lost my own parents when I was still young? Was it because my father hadn’t been that affectionate when he’d been alive? Was it because expressing emotion made me feel vulnerable?
Most likely it was all of those combined. It set me up to be a mediocre parent at best.
And Celia wanted me to go through all of it again.
I poured the wine and took a long swallow. The day had been one that deserved something harder than this at its end. For now, this would have to do.
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