Chapter 27
Juliette
Flowers surrounded me. Bouquet after bouquet had been sent straight to my suite ever since I arrived. The floral scent stayed heavy in the air, so thick it almost made me sick. I had forced myself to read a few cards, curious as to what sympathetic words were being sent my way.
This must be such a terrible loss.
I can’t imagine your heartbreak.
We’re here for you in this dark time.
Please. I couldn’t wait until we moved on to the next phase of a person dying: when everyone who cared at the start eventually stopped checking on you and quit with the flowers and cards.
How did I skip to that? To the part where I was with Bridger and could let the facade slip away?
Because I had to keep that up later today when I went in to see Gordon’s lawyer to discuss his will.
I already knew he had left me with nothing, but still, appearances had to be kept up.
I hated that I was waking up in an empty bed when I could have been waking up with Bridger. I knew why we had to do it and the last thing I wanted was all of his hard work to go out the window, but still. I missed him.
It had been two weeks since Gordon’s death. Fourteen days of almost pure bliss. Almost, because being with Bridger would have made it perfect, but I had to stay patient.
When I got up in the mornings, the first thing I felt was that deep longing for Bridger’s arms, and then there was the happy realization that Gordon was dead.
My mornings used to be different. I’d wake up to that boring ceiling in that boring bedroom with my boring husband.
But now? Now it felt like seeing colors that had been hidden my whole life.
Stretching my arms over my head, I slowly sat up in bed.
For a while, I had to make it look like I couldn’t even stomach eating.
The hotel would bring me what they considered the basics—Belgian waffles with berries and cream and syrup for breakfast, grass-fed lamb sirloin for lunch, and veal Milanese for dinner—and I had to pretend like I wasn’t starving.
I’d sit there in front of the TV on the California King and take a few bites before setting my fork and knife down. A grieving widow couldn’t eat.
I figured I had waited long enough today. Two weeks was more than enough time, but as I stood up on that expensive carpeting, the thought of consuming even a quarter of those meals had me feeling a wave of nausea I couldn’t fight back.
Lips turned into a frown, I scurried off into the bathroom, right there on the edge of throwing up. I stared down at the toilet, waiting for that disgusting feeling to hit me, but it was just wave after wave of queasiness. I hadn’t even felt that when looking at Gordon’s dead body.
Still frowning, I stepped away from the toilet and leaned against the counter, letting out a shuddered breath.
My eyes closed slowly. The last few weeks had been an utter whirlwind.
A lot of drama, a lot of blood, a lot of lying.
Maybe my body was trying to give me a sign to just take off with Bridger already.
My skin felt all hot and clammy and gross and I suddenly just wanted to get in the shower and wash that all away.
As I stood there in the spacious bathroom, that unsettled feeling in my stomach fading slowly, I let my eyes open. I let my brain focus. And then it hit me.
Me and Bridger had sex weeks ago. It was in that moment that I realized I was late. I had been so caught up in everything that I didn’t even realize the few pads in my bag had gone unused.
I spun around, hands falling to my tummy as I slowly lifted up my shirt.
There was no bump. It was far too early for that, but…
could I be? Gordon had been trying so hard for so long that it almost felt like an impossible dream he’d never reach.
His dream, not mine, because I had never wanted his spawn growing inside of me.
I kept looking at my reflection. Was I? Maybe…
I was just about to use one of the pregnancy tests I had slipped into my bag when I realized the time.
Gordon’s lawyer would be waiting for me.
So, I slid into a black Gabriela Hearst dress, the material knitted and the sleeves and hem long.
There was a car waiting for me when I got downstairs that the front desk must have organized.
It was a quick drive to the building. I hadn’t ever been to it, but me and Gordon’s lawyer—Anthony Blackstone—had interacted a handful of times.
He was usually cold and rude and dismissive and I expected more of that today.
The driver opened up the car door for me, and I sent him a little nod that I hoped screamed grieving widow.
I had to keep the charade up all the way through the foyer and then in the unfortunately busy elevator and then until I got upstairs and into Anthony’s office.
He gestured for me to sit down across from his desk.
“I assure you I’ll make our meeting quick,” he said, white strands of hair all neat and swept to the side.
His suit was crisp and perfectly pressed, his office immaculately kept and painfully clinical and boring and white.
He was the perfect man to be my husband’s lawyer.
“I will be meeting with Gordon’s parents and siblings after you. That should be a much longer session.”
Hands folded neatly in my lap, I nodded. “I understand.”
Clearing his throat, he opened up a manilla folder and pulled out a stack of papers. He picked up one and put the stack to the side. “Mrs. Cavendish, your husband has left you with a dollar.”
I held in a laugh and instead forced a frown. “I’m sorry?”
“He left you with a dollar.”
“As in…?”
“Yes. He left you one dollar.”
“I don’t understand.” I laughed shakily. I expected that, but I had to act like I didn’t.
He turned the paper around, and looking back at me was exactly that: I leave my wife, Juliette Cavendish, with a single dollar.
I sniffled. “He always knew I never cared about his money.”
“The dollar will be sent to you in three to five days. Since the house was in his name, you will not be permitted to live there after tomorrow. You will be allowed to take home with you clothes and jewelry—things of that nature. But furniture, artwork, white goods, ornaments, and electronics will not be touched. Understand?” He peered at me over his glasses. “Not a thing but your items go to you.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I see. Thank you. I appreciate your time.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Cavendish.”
Gross. How long were people going to keep calling me that?
With a final nod, I took the singular piece of paper from Anthony and left his office. I was eager to leave and get my hands on that pregnancy test in my room.
A quick turn around the sleek hallway had me colliding with faces that I rarely saw. Standing before me were Gordon’s father and mother. They both loomed over me, hair gray, eyes cold, outfits black like mine.
“Juliette.” His mother gave me a curt nod. “I suppose you’re done with your meeting with Anthony.”
“I just finished up with him,” I said.
“I hope we don’t hear any complaints on your end about what he has given you,” Gordon’s father said. “Surely you weren’t expecting to get any of his money.”
“No, Mr. Cavendish,” I said softly, still very much trying to force my grieving widow voice. “And I didn’t expect him to. But I’m okay with the result. I never loved Gordon for his money. I loved him for him.”
“If you loved him, then you would tell the police what you know,” his mother said with gritted teeth. Her eyes were big with fury as she leaned in close, clutching on to the strap of her handbag. “You must have seen something. Anything. You were right there.”
“I told the police what I know,” I explained.
“I never saw a face or heard a name. I want to know who did it too. I’m heartbroken over this as well.
He was my husband. He was… He was everything I had ever wanted, and to see his life be ripped away from him…
You don’t know how badly I wish he was still here. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t.”
His father cleared his throat. “When you remember something, go to the police. I’m sure they’re closing in on the animal responsible for this, but you need to be smart for once. Think. Remember. Actually try.”
I nodded with wet eyes. “I’ve been trying since it happened.”
“Oh, you useless girl,” his mom snapped, her shoulder barging into mine as she stomped past me.
She had every right to be pissed off. Her son was just killed in cold blood. I had every right to not care, though. With big eyes, I blinked at her husband, but he just huffed and followed after his wife. What an annoying family. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with them anymore.
I left the law office behind and jumped into the car that took me right back to the hotel. After downing some water and taking in several shaky breaths, I took the test, and for the first time in a long time, I had butterflies in my stomach about what the result could be.
Two bold lines looked back at me. I had taken enough pregnancy tests and gotten the other result enough times to know what that meant. I took another test. Then the third. And then the last one. All came back with the same result: those two distinct little lines. Pink and bright and hopeful.
My hand trembled as I held the stick, resting up against the counter.
In my stomach was Bridger’s baby, and I couldn’t even fight the smile and the teary eyes as I ran a hand across my stomach.
My brain flashed with images of a tiny, little, chubby cheeked baby in his arms. Then in mine.
Us together. The way it was meant to be.
He had said all those things to me the other day in front of Gordon—about getting me pregnant, about getting the job done. I wondered if they were all said in the heat of the moment or if they came from a place bigger and warmer than that.
Maybe they came from a place where the future wasn’t just the two of us.