Chapter 13
The kitchen smelled faintly of vinegar on Thursday morning, the sharp tang lingering after Felicity spent an hour wiping down the quartz island with an old rag.
She needed to feel the physical resistance of the stone under her palms, to verify that her hands were real and that the objects she touched remained exactly where she left them.
"Lissy! Oh my god, I was just thinking about you," Chloe said, her voice backed by the sharp clatter of a city coffee shop—the hiss of an espresso machine, the background hum of traffic that Felicity used to navigate without a second thought.
"How is the forest fortress? Did Tucker ever get those landscapers out to clear the trees? "
"Not yet," Felicity said, her fingers tightening around the edge of her mug. She had chosen her favorite blue one, carefully verifying its position in the shelf’s gradient before pouring her tea. "Chloe, I... I really need to talk to someone. Someone outside of the house."
"Of course. What’s going on? Is everything okay with the pregnancy tracking? Did you see the specialist?"
"No, it's not that," Felicity said, her voice dropping into a low, hurried whisper as she leaned over the counter.
She felt a sudden, ridiculous wave of heat rush to her face, a deep sense of embarrassment at how the words would sound when pulled out of the quiet woods and laid onto a city sidewalk.
"It’s a book, Chloe. A novel called The Inconvenient Wife.
I found it on my nightstand last week. It has things in it. Specific things."
"Like what?" Chloe asked, her tone shifting from casual warmth to a light, curious focus.
"My kitchen," Felicity whispered, her eyes tracking the smooth concrete floor.
"The exact arrangement of my cupboards. My rules about where we keep our toothbrushes because of the bathroom bacteria.
And... and the Berkshires, Chloe. There's an embarrassing story, one that only Tucker knew. It’s in the book. "
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The background noise of the coffee shop seemed to swell, a distant laugh piercing the static before Chloe spoke again, her voice entirely sympathetic but wrapped in a gentle, cautious layer of care.
"Lissy... honey," Chloe said softly. "Is this the story about— well.
Tucker told a story at the partner retreat last summer, I think.
I remember Mark coming home from the Maine trip and laughing about how Tucker got a little too loose after a few scotches and started detailing your early dating disasters. "
Felicity’s breath hitched. Mark knew too. The telephone game was wider than Tucker had admitted.
"Yes," Felicity managed to say, her throat tight.
"Tucker said he told the table. But the other things, Chloe—the mugs, the specific way the husband treats the wife like she’s unravelling...
it feels like it's predicting what's happening in this house.
The wife in the book doesn't survive. They make it look like a suicide. "
"Oh, Lissy," Chloe sighed, a small, sorrowful sound that made Felicity feel instantly small, instantly pathologized.
"You're cooped up out there all day by yourself.
You gave up a massive career to sit in a giant house surrounded by trees, waiting for a baby that hasn't happened yet.
An analytical brain like yours... you're doing what you always do.
You're analyzing data points that don't belong together. It’s a domestic thriller.
Every thriller has a gaslighting husband and a creepy house. That's why people buy them."
"It's not just a formula," Felicity whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek, hot and fast. "Things are too precise to be accidental.”
"Listen to me," Chloe said firmly, though her tone remained completely sweet.
"Put the book down. Throw it in the recycling bin and go take a walk in the village. Call Tucker and tell him you want to come into the city for the weekend. Get out of your head, Lissy. You’re letting the silence get to you. "
"Okay," Felicity murmured, her fingers numb against the glass of her phone. "Maybe you're right. Thank you, Chloe."
"Call me next week, okay? Let’s plan a lunch date."
The line went dead with a soft click. Felicity lowered her hand, setting the phone flat against the white quartz. It looked completely ordinary, a gray block of aluminum and glass, but it felt like another door closing, another latch falling into place.
By Friday evening, the atmosphere in the house had turned brittle.
Tucker had arrived on the eight-fifteen train, his briefcase catching the edge of the entry table with a sharp clack that felt unnecessarily loud.
He had barely taken off his coat before he noticed the half-folded basket of laundry still sitting on the bench in the mudroom.
"Lissy, did the washer break again?" he asked, walking into the living room where she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands tucked between her knees. He looked frustrated, his mouth set in a tight, unyielding line that signified his patience was wearing dangerously thin.
"No," she said softly, not looking up. "I’m sorry, I just... I forgot to finish it."
Tucker let out a sharp, impatient breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood over her.
"You forgot. Lissy, you've been here for five days alone.
You aren't working. You aren't managing the firm's compliance data anymore.
You're sitting in the dark reading a mass-market paperback and calling our friends in the city to tell them I'm trying to stage your suicide? "
Felicity’s head snapped up, her pulse giving a violent, terrifying leap. "Chloe called you?"
"Mark called me," Tucker snapped, his legal mask completely dropping, his handsome face flushing with a genuine, defensive anger.
"He asked me if everything was okay at home because his wife was worried you were having some kind of psychological break over a thriller plot.
Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is for me?
I'm trying to close a multi-million-dollar merger with Vanguard, and my colleagues are asking if my wife is losing her mind in the woods. "
"I'm not losing my mind, Tucker," she whispered, her voice trembling as she stood up to face him, the sheer height of the double-ceilinged room making her feel entirely unprotected. "The book?—"
"I don't want to hear another word about the book!
" he shouted, the volume of his voice echoing flatly off the concrete floors, making her flinch.
He instantly looked regretful, his expression shifting back into that cold, clinical solicitude that felt a thousand times worse than his anger.
He took a deep breath, lowering his voice into a controlled, professional register.
"Lissy. Look at yourself. You're jumping at every branch that hits the window.
You're constructing an entire conspiracy out of an old bar story and a generic novel.
It's an overactive imagination, and it's becoming destructive.
I'm trying to protect you, but you have to meet me halfway. "
The front door chimed, the low, elegant sequence of the security panel indicating someone had entered the code from the outside.
Brianne stepped into the foyer, her camel-wool coat damp from the evening mist, her leather tote balanced securely on her forearm. She stopped when she saw them, her sharp blue eyes instantly registering the tight, vibrating tension in the living room.
"Am I interrupting?" Brianne asked gently, her voice dropping into a soft, concerned register as she hung her coat up on its wooden hanger.
"No," Tucker said, his shoulders dropping with a massive wave of visible relief as he looked at his childhood friend. "Lissy and I were just... discussing the weekend schedule."
Brianne walked slowly into the room, her movements elegant and silent against the floor.
She didn't look at Tucker; she went straight to Felicity, reaching out to wrap her long, pale fingers around Felicity's wrists.
Her skin was cool, smelling faintly of the autumn air and her signature jasmine perfume.
"Lissy, Tucker told me about the phone call with Chloe," Brianne whispered, her expression filled with a deep, unvarnished sisterly concern that made Felicity’s throat tighten with a sudden, confusing rush of tears.
"Listen to me. Tucker's just frustrated because he doesn't know how to help you. He’s a lawyer; he looks at contracts, not feelings.
But I know how hard this transition has been on you.
It's totally normal to feel stir-crazy out here. It’s a massive change. "
Felicity looked into Brianne's clear, bright eyes, searching for the treachery, searching for the shadow she had read about in chapter ten. But there was nothing there but warmth, dependable and steady.
"Thank you, Bree," Felicity whispered, her voice cracking.
"Of course," Brianne murmured, giving her hands a final, reassuring squeeze. She turned her head slightly, looking over her shoulder at Tucker, who was standing by the wine fridge with his back to them. Her voice remained soft, but her tone shifted, carrying a quiet, complicit weight that cut through the space between them. "Tucker, go pour her a glass of wine. She’s had a long week, and we’re not going to spend our Friday night litigating a paperback novel. "
Tucker nodded, his expression softening as he reached for a bottle, entirely grateful for the intervention.
But as Brianne turned back to Felicity, her smile remained perfectly sweet, perfectly protective, while her thumb gently stroked the pulse point on Felicity's wrist—measuring the rapid, terrified beat of a heart that was already running out of places to hide.