Chapter 17
Nate
It took longer than ten minutes to get things back in order.
Dare got a quick handle on the app side, but I’m shit at client outreach and I know it.
Finally, I patched together enough automated apology, explanation, and excuse-bearing emails to leave my laptop—then I couldn’t find Grace anywhere.
I didn’t let myself panic this time. The outdoor camera feeds on my phone showed her heading down into the cove.
Remembering her delight in my collection of sea glass, I knew just where I’d find her.
And there they were: my girl and my dog, standing on the beach with Mihi.
They headed off for Shep’s usual morning walk and, though I was tempted to run after them, I know better than to get between Mihi and someone new.
She’ll make her own assessment of Grace, and interference from me would only make her ask the wrong questions.
I went back to the house and did a quick tidy of the kitchen while I caught up with Watson.
The lawyer confirmed that the marriage paperwork went through without a hitch.
I transferred him a bonus, then instructed him to change my will to leave everything to my new wife.
My conversation with the PI came next. Graves accepted my thanks and hinted that Constance Reid’s early history might merit an even deeper look.
I gave him the go-ahead, topped up his retainer, then grinned inwardly at the idea that the Munchausen bitch might have even more skeletons in her past. Grace’s dad died when his daughter was three, and Constance seemed to have heightened the abuse that same year.
Now I’m in the bedroom, clearing the clothes off the floor and double-checking that everything Grace needs is stocked in the bathroom.
Keeping her cycle in mind, I put together an online order from the chemist, then I check on the movers down in Dunedin.
They’re making progress, though it’s definitely time for Grace to make that list of what she wants shipped up here.
Speaking of whom, Grace appears on the deck outside just as I end the call with the movers. I get the urge to run, snatch her up, and keep her in my arms until the sky darkens and the stars come out.
“How was the walk?” I call, looking beyond her to see if Mihi has decided to come up for a visit. My neighbour is nowhere to be seen.
Good.
Despite my possessive feelings, I know it’s best that they’ve met; Grace will settle in faster knowing there’s a strong woman nearby—who is on my payroll, of course.
“Did you get on with Mihirangi?”
Grace hovers by the rattan chair. “You knew I would.”
I give a shrug. “I’ve got some work for you, if you’re up for it after your walk?”
She shuffles her sand-coated feet. I admire the sight of her in rolled-up leggings and the tunic I bought months ago.
Grace takes one last look down at the beach, then sighs and comes the rest of the way to the house.
I hold out my hand to help her step over the threshold, but she ignores me. I take her elbow instead.
“The movers need to know what you want from Dunedin. They’ve sent a list for you to check. Want me to print it out for you, or would you prefer to go over it on your phone?”
“My phone is dead,” she mumbles, pulling away. Sand trails from her feet onto the hardwood floor.
She heads into the bathroom, the lock engaging with a click. I want to kick the door down, force her to answer me in sentences longer than four words, then wrap my fingers around her throat and kiss her until she’s breathless. Instead, I retrieve her phone from where I plugged it in.
Grace emerges a few minutes later, her feet freshly rinsed. She gestures at the trail of sand. “Where’s your vacuum?”
“I’ll get it.” I hand over the phone. “You get to the list. I want your things up here within the next day or so.”
Her eyes turn suspicious. “Why?”
Because so far Mommy Dearest hasn’t interfered with the movers, and I don’t want to push my luck.
“Because my girl deserves to have everything she needs.”
“And,” she turns the phone over in her hands, “did you…?”
The unfinished question hangs between us. I smile.
The answer is a resounding yes, I did snoop in her phone. I needed to confirm that the Munchausen bitch didn’t reach out. I also installed Graves’s favourite spyware, which I linked to my own phone. If Constance calls or texts, I’ll know.
I raise my brows as I approach, wondering if Grace will spook again. She stands her ground, chin tilting slowly.
“The phone isn’t even on, love.”
“Do you…” she stares down at the phone as if she’s never seen it before, “do you think Mother texted me?”
“Only one way to find out.” I take her hand, pressing her finger to the power button. “Come on, Grace. Even if she did text, I think you can handle her. And if you don’t want to handle her,” I lean down, speaking into her ear, “I will.”
Her eyes are huge and innocent—almost trusting. I want to expand that look. Deepen it. See it while I’m inside her.
The phone vibrates, and she checks it.
“Just an email from you.”
“The list,” I say. Then I guide her to the desk, seating her by the bowl of sea glass. “Let me know if you need help, Grace. I’ll run and grab the vacuum while you get started on that.”
It takes everything I’ve got to leave the room.
I want to stand over Grace and watch her decide what she’ll bring from the past and what she’ll leave behind.
But giving her a bit of freedom has worked well this morning; she had the opportunity to run while I slept, and I know Mihi would have come for me had Grace indicated she wanted out—payroll or no.
Instead of leaving outright or trying to turn my neighbour against me, she’s still here.
I smile as I grab the vacuum and return to the bedroom—to my wife. The notion remains fresh, stimulating.
I do a thorough vacuuming of the bedroom, even though the cleaners will be in tomorrow for a full rundown of the whole house.
Grace seems to be fully absorbed in her task, so I leave her to it, checking in with Dare to confirm that all fires have been put out at the office.
I’m about to offer Grace some lunch when my security app pings.
At the same moment, Shep gives a booming bark.
I head outside and down the driveway, the corso at my side like a four-legged shadow.
He’s in guardian mode, a low growl already rumbling from him as we approach the gate.
The courier tries to hand me a slim package through the bars, but I shake my head.
“Show me your list, man.”
“Um…” He looks from me to the dog. “What?”
I give Shep a silent signal and the corso raises his hackles and gives a snarl. The courier backs away, holding the package out in front of him like a shield.
I snap my fingers and Shep quiets immediately. “Sorry, he’s a little on edge. I want to see where my delivery sits on your list.” I reach into my pocket, pulling out my money clip.
“Oh, okay,” he says, holding his tablet up for me to see.
“There I am.” I point to where my address is at the top of the list, then move my finger down. “But these little checkmarks tell me you didn’t come here first, did you?”
The guy turns the tablet, his face going red as I watch. I signal Shep again. The dog breaks into a series of barks, approaching the gate with his teeth on full display.
“So here’s what I want,” I continue, just loud enough to carry over Shep’s snarling. “I want you to remember that top-of-the-list priority means first. That means you come here first, because that’s what I fucking paid for.”
“Of course, sir,” he says, stumbling back a few more steps, his eyes on Shep, whose his muzzle presses between the bars. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
With another snap of my fingers, Shep subsides, pacing quietly behind me. I reach through the bars and take the package off the guy.
“See that it doesn’t.” I hold out a hundred-dollar note. “Don’t you want your tip?”
“No,” the guy answers, shaking his head. “No, we’re not allowed to accept tips, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“See you next time—first.”
He stumbles to his van. Shep gives a few satisfied pants as the courier truck peels out, and I put the money away.
“Good boy,” I say, walking back to the house.
The bullet journal is in my hand a second later, and I grin.
Despite my warning to the courier asshole, the timing is perfect.
Turquoise cover, gilded pages, and all the information I need.
I check Grace’s progress on my spyware. She’s not even midway through the list, so I head to my office with the journal.
A few minutes later, I’ve scanned the whole book and stored hard copies in the safe.
Only then do I let myself look at its contents properly.
The journal is… beautiful. Each month has its own cover page with a unique theme.
Clouds for November last year. The moon phases for April.
Mushrooms for July. Each features a unique colour scheme and design.
Grace has monthly trackers for most of her symptoms as well as for sleep, reading, and even gratitude.
I see my name among her gratitude lists more than once, often connected with support for her degree, but sometimes just on its own.
I suppress the urge to go and wrap my arms around her to show my gratitude.
The richest information lies near the front of the book.
Across a few pages, Grace has mapped out her menstrual cycle for the entire year, filling in each value for each day.
It’s a sophisticated graph that must have taken her quite some time.
I snap a few pictures so I can create a spreadsheet later.
Soon enough, I’ll have the fertility windows of the next few months.
Excellent.
I close the book against my heart. Grace’s originally; it’s mine now. Her voice calls from a few rooms away, and I realise I’ve been looking at the journal for almost twenty minutes. It felt like five. I slip it back into its packaging.
Grace is in the hallway.