Chapter 19
19
SAMANTHA
W hen I wake on Saturday morning, I feel like I’ve been crushed beneath a tower of client files. Every muscle in my body groans when I try to shift position. My legs are so stiff I need to clutch the wall as I maneuver into the shower.
But I make it to breakfast on time.
Braiden sits at the head of the table in an immaculate charcoal suit. His white shirt looks freshly ironed. The knot on his dark green tie is perfect.
He raises his eyebrows as I enter, his lips curling in the smallest of smiles. He sets aside his stack of newspapers and, mercy of mercies, he pours me coffee at the sideboard. He remembers I take it with a single splash of cream.
Aiofe notices my wince as I reach for the butter. A frown creases her face, and she gets up from her chair. She carries the butter around the table to me, along with the sparkling dish of marmalade.
After she places them close to my plate, she brushes my forehead with the back of her hand. It’s the gesture of a mother testing a child for fever, offering comfort through illness. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” I say, the endearment falling from my lips without thought. Then, to distract her, I ask, “Who was playing piano in the middle of the night?”
Braiden wrestles his expression to something as neutral as Aiofe’s tea-splashed milk. “Piano?”
“It sounded like someone was practicing the same piece, over and over.”
“You must have been dreaming.”
“I looked at the clock. It was 1:37 in the morning.”
His shoulders twitch in the slightest of shrugs. “I didn’t hear anything. I think you were asleep. Did you do anything yesterday to tire you out?”
My blush is so strong it makes me cough. I try to cover by gulping my coffee, blinking rapidly when I realize it’s still hotter than the molten core of the earth. After that, I apply serious attention to my breakfast.
Braiden pushes back from the table while Aiofe and I are still eating. “Enjoy your day,” he says.
“Where are you going?”
“Downtown,” he says. “I have bad news to deliver to the wife of one of my lieutenants.”
The suit… Bad news… I remember his raw fury yesterday, and I have no doubt that someone died. My suspicion is only strengthened when he shoots the quickest of glances toward Aiofe.
He’s telling me not to ask more. He doesn’t want to upset the child. So I dutifully change the topic. “May I have my computer, please?”
“Our honeymoon lasts through the weekend.”
“ Our honeymoon connotes that my husband will be here to keep me company.”
“I promise you: Your husband would much rather be here with you than doing what he has to do.”
He leaves before I can reply—either with another challenge or with condolences. For one brief moment, I consider ransacking his office to find my laptop. But I’m not sure I could walk after whatever punishment he would hand out.
And I am absolutely positive he would punish me.
I’m not sure what people do with down time. Aiofe bundles up in her puffy pink coat and ventures through the back yard, toward the pool house and the cottages beyond.
I assume she’s going to visit Grace. Even if I follow her, I won’t get any details about Aiofe and her brother, not with the silent child there to listen.
And—I’ll never admit this out loud—Grace frightens me. Maybe it’s her intensity. Or the sly look that makes it seem like she knows exactly what Braiden and I have done. Or it could just be the stench of whiskey, seeping from her pores.
So I spend my Saturday in the library on the ground floor. I curl up on one of the overstuffed couches, warm beneath a cashmere throw. I read a copy of Gulliver’s Travels that I borrow from one of the shelves in the hall, spending almost as much time napping as I do revisiting the childhood favorite.
Sunday isn’t much different. I come downstairs to find a note from Braiden. He’s already left for work, and Fairfax has the day off. Aiofe’s nowhere to be found, so I raid the refrigerator.
Eat. Read. Doze.
I vow things will be different tomorrow. It will be Monday. Our lives will go back to normal. I’ll get my computer back. Braiden and I will both go to work. I’ll get a new phone.
At least Monday starts as a better day. I come downstairs in my favorite Alexander McQueen suit. The black wool feels like armor. My matching leather pumps give me three extra inches of height and the feeling that I’m conquering the world.
Fairfax’s breakfast spread finally seems to have a purpose—it’s ballast for a long day of meetings. Aiofe finishes her milk tea and gives Braiden a kiss before she heads up to the nursery, where her tutor waits.
“I’ll need my computer now,” I say to Braiden once she’s gone.
“It’s already in the car.”
“Car?”
“You negotiated for a driver. I’m a man of my word.”
As if I don’t already know that.
“Liam Murphy is one of my best men. He’ll stay with you during the day. As protection.”
That’s what he promised, the day I bargained myself into this marriage. But it feels like overkill now. “That really isn’t necessary,” I say. “I won’t even be leaving the freeport grounds.”
“Humor me.”
Those two dry words sounds better than a direct command, but I’m not fooled. If I don’t accept Liam as my protection voluntarily, I’ll be ordered to do so.
I discover a Burberry briefcase on the back seat of the town car. Its dark charcoal grip fits my hand perfectly. My computer nestles inside, gleaming silver against black. A matching metallic monogram finishes the case: SMK. Samantha Mott Kelly.
I haven’t told Braiden yet. I’m not changing my name. Especially not at work, where I’ve spent years building the identity I chose—Samantha Mott. Sam to my friends.
Yet another bridge to cross with my husband.
I’m pleased, but not surprised, that Liam is good at his job. He drives with a steady competence, handling the open freeway as well as he navigates the smaller streets by the freeport.
I sign him in as my guest at the office building. When we get upstairs, Mary greets us at the elevator. She introduces herself as she hands over Liam’s freeport ID.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“Mr. Kelly requested it last week. Alix signed off. If it’s a problem…”
It isn’t a problem. But I’m annoyed that I wasn’t brought into the loop.
Mr. Kelly also requested a chair for Liam, outside my office door. And he requested an email account for my guard.
None of this is Mary’s fault; it was all run through Alix. But I’m annoyed at being managed.
As I open my office door, I say, “Let’s get started with?—”
But I stop, because Mr. Kelly clearly requested something else. An enormous vase sits in the center of my desk. Its emerald glass holds three dozen long-stem red roses.
The air is heavy with the flowers’ perfume. A white note card leans against the foot of the vase. I open it and read: “Welcome back to work, Mrs. Kelly.” It’s signed, “B”.
Mary says, “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” I just nod.
I call Braiden before I turn on my computer. “Thank you,” I say, the instant he picks up. “You’re spoiling me.”
“What does that even mean?” He’s laughing at me.
“The briefcase… The roses… They’re gorgeous.”
“Like you.”
I feel a blush roll down my spine. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Compliments. I don’t de?—”
“We’ll work on that, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Work on what?” My heart is beating so fast, I don’t even try to correct him on my name. Mary comes in with my coffee before he can answer. At the same time, two lines ring on my office phone. “I have to go,” I say.
“Have a nice day,” he says. “But don’t think you’ll get out of this conversation when you get home.”
My belly flutters in anticipation. But I force a bored tone as I say, “Promises, promises.”
His laugh is tinged with evil as he cuts short our call.
Mary ferries in stacks of paper. I’ve only been out of the office for five days, but this tsunami looks like a year’s worth of correspondence. “I’ve got one thing that’s top priority,” I tell her. “Can you get me a new phone from IT?”
“Did that operating system upgrade get you? I’ll take your old one down when I put in the request.”
“I don’t have the old one.”
She blinks. “IT needs the old phone to make the swap.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s a brick. They just need something to keep their records straight.”
“Then draw them a pretty picture. Because that’s all they’ll get from me.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. Stops. “I don’t think…”
“Tell them I lost it on my honeymoon,” I suggest.
“On your…” Her voice trails off, and her eyes get as big as megaphones. “I’ll take care of it,” she says.
As she heads off, I settle down to excavate my desk. I leave my door closed, which helps me to avoid gossiping co-workers, as well as to forget Liam stationed outside my office.
It also makes it easier for me to stare at my roses. The red petals are so intense, the color so beautiful…. No one has ever sent me flowers before. Braiden shouldn’t have sent them now. But I’m very glad he did.
I work through lunch.
I skip a birthday party for one of the curators.
I barely look up as Mary tells me she’s on her way home.
I work through dinner.
I’m startled by a knock on the door—at 8:17, according to my computer clock.
“Come in,” I call.
One of the junior technicians enters, carrying a sleek white box. “Your new phone,” he says. “Sorry for the delay. We got everything configured from your most recent back-up, last Tuesday night.”
Before I can ask him to close the door on his way out, I catch a glimpse of Liam’s knees. I follow the tech out and say to my bodyguard, “Have you been sitting here all day long?”
“Except for bio-breaks. I coordinated with freeport security to keep my station manned.”
He thinks I’m criticizing him for taking a piss. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking. With the backlog from my vacation…”
Liam shrugs. “Mary brought me some cake from the birthday party.”
I’ve never had a bodyguard before. I need to do better. “Well, she keeps emergency peanut butter crackers in the bottom right drawer of her desk. Help yourself, and I’ll be ready to leave in about two minutes.”
“Take your time,” Liam says, which he has to, because he reports to my mob-boss husband. But he goes for the crackers.
I’m unplugging my laptop when my new phone rings. I’m about to let it go to voicemail—I owe that much to Liam—when I glance at the screen for the caller’s name.
EC.
Eliza Canna.
But there is no Eliza Canna, not anymore. She became Elisabetta Russo, and she’s dead.
My stomach twists, and I’m suddenly grateful I haven’t eaten all day. My finger shakes as I tap the screen.
“Mott,” I say, from years of habit.
“You are a difficult woman to reach.”
Of course it’s Don Antonio. I’d know his grit-and-skewer voice anywhere. “What do you want?”
“Ah, Giovanna… Always full of fire.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“I would not do that,” he says.
And God save me, I can’t. “Why are you calling?”
“So that you will have my private phone number.”
“I don’t need it.”
“But you will, Giovanna. Not today, and not tomorrow. But I promise you, you will.”
He ends the call before I can.
I do the right thing. I tell Liam I’ve been threatened. I let him draw his gun and lead me out of the building and into the car. I stare at his tense shoulders all the way back to Thornfield.
And when I get home, I go straight to Braiden’s desk.
“Long day at the office,” he says, with a calculating smile that tells me I may have broken a rule. “But before we discuss that, shall we get back to our interrupted conversation? About compliments you say you don’t?—”
“Don Antonio called.”
“What the?—”
I cut him off to repeat every word of my conversation with the Russo family don.
I expect Braiden to ignite. Instead, he gets quieter and quieter as he listens. His rage concentrates, like coal becoming a diamond. And when I’m through, he says, “New rule: No more work at the freeport.”
“We have a deal!”
“I just changed the terms.”
“If you keep me penned up here, then Don Antonio wins.”
“Nice try.”
“Trap will never go along with this.”
“Trap knows something about protecting women under his care.”
I could continue arguing. Eight years of practicing law have taught me how to muster facts. I’m an expert on harnessing laws—real ones, and the rules Braiden makes up out of whole cloth.
But the truth is, I’m more afraid of Don Antonio than I am of losing my freedom.
Still, I have to say: “If I’d known you’d do this, I would have brought things home from the office.”
“What things?”
There are files, but Mary can send those. There are books, but Braiden will buy me a library. There’s really only one thing I wish I’d carried home. “My roses,” I say.
Against all odds, he laughs. He knows he’s won this fight. “You’ll have fresh flowers every morning,” he promises.
“I want those flowers,” I sulk.
“I’ll send Liam back for them tomorrow.”
He would too, if I let him. But I shake my head. “The man had a long enough day today.”
“As have you,” Braiden says. “And I suspect you forgot to eat.”
He’s already leading me to the kitchen, no arguments allowed, before I think to lie.