Chapter 2 #2
I turned to find her standing nearby, two fresh glasses of scotch in hand.
She offered me one, her expression more sympathetic than smug.
The amber liquid caught the dim lighting of the ballroom, swirling in the crystal as she extended it toward me.
Corrine’s fingers, adorned with those heavy silver rings that marked her family’s wealth, brushed briefly against mine as I took the glass.
Her ice-blue eyes held a momentary softness that was unusual for her, as if she recognized the strain between me and Larkin not as gossip-worthy but as something almost personal.
For a fleeting instant, the predatory glint that usually characterized her gaze was replaced by something closer to understanding, though I knew better than to mistake it for genuine concern.
Corrine was a strategist first and foremost; sympathy, when she offered it, was simply another tool in her arsenal for navigating the treacherous waters of Eastern Washington land politics.
“Marriage has its seasons,” she said philosophically. “Particularly when both partners are strong-willed.”
I took the glass, the alcohol warming me from the inside out. “Larkin just needs to adjust her focus. She gets distracted by sentimental projects and loses sight of our larger goals.”
Corrine nodded in understanding, her blonde head cocked to the side in a gesture I found oddly appealing. “She’s lucky to have someone who can see the bigger picture. Not everyone does.”
The unspoken implication hung between us that I was that someone, that I was the visionary while Larkin was merely the support.
It should have felt like an accurate assessment of our dynamic, but instead, I found myself irritated by the simplicity of it.
Larkin had always been more complex than that, her insights and values often providing a balance to my more aggressive business approach.
But lately, that balance had felt more like opposition, her principles seeming more like obstacles than complements.
“I need to speak with the McCulloughs before they leave,” I said abruptly, needing to escape both the conversation and my own confusing thoughts.
Corrine’s smile was understanding. “Of course. And Ephraim?”
I paused, turning back to her.
“Don’t worry too much about Larkin,” she said softly, her expression surprisingly kind. “Sometimes women need space to find their way back to what really matters. Give her time.”
I nodded, not entirely comfortable with the advice but grateful for the exit.
As I moved across the room toward my targets, I glanced back at Larkin, who now stood alone near the massive windows, her silhouette stark against the darkened view of our valley.
She was looking out at the land we had built together, and for a moment, I was struck by the isolation of her posture, the straightness of her spine suggesting a barrier I hadn’t realized was growing between us.
Shaking off the disconcerting thought, I approached the McCulloughs, my mind already shifting to water rights and grazing leases.
That was where my focus needed to remain, on the expansion and security of Holt Enterprises.
Everything else would fall into place once the business was secure.
That’s how it had always worked, and that’s how it would continue to work.
It was the mantra I repeated to myself as the evening wore on, even as I caught glimpses of Larkin moving through the room with an increasing detachment from the role she had played for years.
Something was changing, that was undeniable.
But change wasn’t always bad, I told myself.
Sometimes it was merely a prelude to necessary adjustments.
By the time the last guests departed, leaving behind a house echoing with emptiness, I had nearly convinced myself that the tension between me and Larkin was temporary, that the foundation we had built was too solid to be shaken by one difficult evening.
The scotch had helped blur the edges of my concern, replacing it with the familiar confidence that had carried me through every business challenge.
“Good night, darling,” I said as I found Larkin in our bedroom, already changed into a simple nightgown that contrasted sharply with the elegant dress from earlier.
She looked up from removing her jewelry, her eyes meeting mine with a directness that momentarily sobered me. “Ephraim,” she said simply, no endearment, no additional comment.
As she moved toward her side of our massive bed, the space between us seemed wider than the physical distance suggested.
I hesitated, part of me wanting to bridge that gap, to reclaim the connection we had once shared so easily.
Instead, I turned toward the bathroom, the automatic nature of the movement feeling almost rehearsed.
“Sleep well,” I called over my shoulder, hearing the hollow sound of my own voice in the cavernous space.
I didn’t see the expression on Larkin’s face, didn’t witness the moment she may have given up hope that I would follow.
In the privacy of our bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, seeing the face of a man who had built an empire but couldn’t quite remember how to connect with the woman who had once been his partner in that building.
The knot in my stomach had transformed into a dull ache that no amount of scotch could numb.
Corrine’s words about marriage having seasons echoed in my mind, but seasons change, I reminded myself.
Winter always gives way to spring. I just needed to weather this particular cold spell until warmth returned.
I wished I could say more than that I had known Larkin would come around, but the truth was, I barely thought about it beyond a passing concern.
The land deals, the cattle futures, the water rights, those were the issues that consumed my thoughts.
Larkin would adjust as she always had. It was what she did, what she was good at.
As I climbed into bed, the space beside me already growing cool from her absence of body heat, I told myself that tomorrow would be different, that I would make time to address the distance between us.
But even as I formed the intention, my mind was already racing ahead to the conference call with investors scheduled for morning, the documents needing my signature in the home office, the hundred details that required the attention of the man who had become synonymous with Holt Enterprises.
I fell asleep with the comforting thought that I was exactly where I needed to be, doing exactly what I was meant to do, and that everything else, including my marriage, would fall into place around the solid foundation of my success.
The man in the mirror had been confident, decisive, and in control of his empire.
It never occurred to me that the same face might look very different in the morning light of Larkin’s perspective, or that the foundation I took for granted might be developing cracks I couldn’t yet see.