37. Isabel
The face confronting me in the mirror this morning featured the kind of misery I’d read about in long dreary Russian novels, where tragedy played the main role for a thousand pages. Or more.
Despair and a hangover were the core components for achieving this look. In case anyone should be curious. And of course sobriety brought with it the grim reminder of what an absolute idiot I’d been.
Even so, disbelief lingered stubbornly. As if failing to get a grip on my new reality, my foolish alter ego whispered that I should cling to a sliver of hope that none of this was real. But it was. All too real. And if it wasn’t for Henry, I’d simply resign from my job via text.
Of all the days Emily had to be away from Belmont Manor, it had to be today. She sent me a friendly text this morning, saying she’d be absent from the residence until at least two o’clock.
Normally I’d reply with a friendly text back, but I couldn’t get myself to reply with anything other than See you later. After all, this was a woman who might have known Roman was a cruel, heartless liar and a complete bastard.
Didn’t it bother her that he gave his own father, the man she loved, a stroke? Why would she pretend Roman and I were so perfect together if it was all built on a lie? How was I so fooled by these people?
More importantly, why did I still want to crawl into Roman’s lap and bury my face in his neck? I wanted to hate him. I wanted him to suffer like I was suffering. And it was a safe bet that he wasn’t suffering at all.
The smell of very strong coffee wafted into my bedroom. When I joined Meg in the kitchen, she was sipping black brew and looking worse for wear. She pushed a mug into my hand. “You look terrible. Drink.”
I gulped down some coffee, fighting off nausea and a general feeling of hopelessness. In vain, I might add. “Maybe I should quit,” I said.
“No, don’t. You can’t let that motherfucker win.”
“I dread going to the house,” I answered, wishing I could be more enraged. “I’ve never dreaded anything more.”
Meg, on the other hand, had no problem expressing her anger. “You know, we should sue the assholes.”
“Please don’t start with that again.”
“Fine. But I think there’s a case here.”
“There is no case, Meg. He didn’t exactly hold a gun to my head.”
“If you put it like that then sure, we don’t have a strong case. But what I really want is for you to be okay.”
“I can’t see myself going to that place anymore. And I feel terrible leaving Henry. What chance does he have against people who want him dead?”
“Yeah, if this mess had a name it would be called Flustercuck. I’ve never seen things go so outrageously wrong in such a short period of time with so few people involved. But listen, if you think quitting is what you need, do it.”
“I’ll speak to Emily today.”
Meg cast me a steely look. “Please don’t get me started on that traitor bitch. Instead of warning you to stay away from that man, she rolls out the red carpet straight into the lion’s den.”
“Maybe she was as fooled by him as I was,” I said, refusing to believe the camaraderie and the bond between us was an illusion. “But I don’t know anymore.”
I pushed back on the tears welling up, yet again. Meg pulled me into a hug. “You don’t deserve any of this, sweet pea. It’s probably gonna hurt until it doesn’t hurt anymore, but you’re going to get over it. And I’m here for you. Tonight we call Marguerite and get you your job back at Le Petit Chateau. Fuck the Belmonts and their stupid hotels.”
“Le Petit Chateau already has a new pastry chef,” I reminded her.
Meg snorted. “Marguerite is head chef now, and she needs zero reasons to rehome a pastry chef and replace him with you.”
When the Navigator arrived at our apartment, The Terminator couldn’t be more aloof, and that was fine with me. The less interaction I had with any of these people, the better. I was perpetually hovering on the verge of tears, and the last thing I wanted was for one of them to see me cry.
Keeping it together was key, that and remembering to breathe in and out. Tomorrow would be better. And so would the day after that. I desperately hoped. For now, all I needed to do was get through today, not think too much and oh yes, banish Roman from my mind, deny him access to my thoughts and hide my shattered heart from the world.
But he was all I could think about, obsessively reliving every moment we’d spent together and trying to figure out how I could have been so blind. How could anyone fake all that consuming passion and be so wonderful? Did he say the exact same things to Celeste and every other woman he set out to seduce?
My stomach churned. This feeling of complete devastation felt soul-crushing. Meg was right, it was going to hurt until it didn’t hurt anymore, although the latter part of that didn’t seem a likely scenario any time soon.
This was going to be that thousand-page novel where the heroine crawls through fires and over spikes and broken glass only to end up ruined anyway, crushed by her love for some ruthless bastard. Granted, in my case the circumstances waved big red flags from the very start, which I promptly ignored.
My mom’s words came back to haunt me: When something feels like it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
I bit back my agony. It was one thing to be curled up in a fetal position licking your wounds, and another to be grinding dirt in your open gashes, giving the world the finger and asking what else it wanted to throw your way. One hour at a time, I reminded myself. Surely after today, it would be easier to move on because I’d never have to go back to Belmont Manor again.
And if I didn’t have to look up from the front steps and see the south wing where Roman was.
Pain sliced through me and every breath I took felt like thorns were punching through my chest. Dear God, it was excruciating.
When the Navigator arrived at Belmont Manor, the sprawling magnificence once again seemed wicked and imposing. The towers and spires scraped against a gloomy, slate-gray sky, a storm brewing in the north. Drops of water started plopping down, baptizing this disaster and sealing my fate.
I climbed the steps to the massive front door with its snarling-gargoyle knocker. For a moment I was tempted to look up at the south wing, but honor prevailed. I refused to give Roman any acknowledgment.
That was to say he was even at the window this morning. Who knew how quickly he’d pick up on the fact that not returning his messages or voicemails was a strong indication I was the one woman who wouldn’t fall for his sleazy ways.
Okay wait, I did fall for them. So rather, that I wouldn’t keep falling for them. So I successfully entered the house without succumbing to temptation, even if I did imagine for a moment that Roman was standing at that window, watching me from his office.
At least I didn’t have to face anyone in the staffroom, since Sophia made the chocolate éclairs today. I’d sneak back for some coffee after everyone left the staffroom. But as I climbed the stairs to go to the north wing, I crossed paths with Nelson. “Good morning, Isabel. You’re just in time to walk with me to the staffroom.”
“Morning, Nelson. If you don’t mind, I’m skipping the staffroom this morning.”
“I most certainly do mind. You have to see if Sophia’s pastries live up to your standards.”
“Well, it’s her first try so let’s be kind to her. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Nelson gave me a compassionate once-over before dragging me into his office, a few doors down from Emily’s. And then he proceeded to stare me down.
“Are you all right, Isabel?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Then why do you look like a cast member of The Walking Dead?”
My heartache went into remission for a fraction of a second as I stared at Nelson, flabbergasted. “You watch The Walking Dead?”
“Albert is a fan. Huge fan. He won’t shut up about it. But you still haven’t answered my question. You’re extremely pale and you look like you’ve been crying. Quite a bit.”
“Maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”
“This is not what coming down with a cold looks like. I don’t want to pry but does this have anything to do with what we discussed yesterday?”
I bit my lip. “I just feel terrible for Henry. So yes, I’m upset.”
Not to mention my broken heart in jagged fragments at my feet.
“It’s Mrs. Sheldon who told you, isn’t it?” Nelson wanted to know. “That woman loves to gossip.”
“Please don’t get her into trouble. She didn’t mean anything by it.”
I failed to mention elaborate details like Mrs. Sheldon showing me spine-chilling evidence of what a terrible man Roman really was. I couldn’t avoid the shiver rippling through me. That picture of Roman and Celeste would haunt me until my final breath.
Nelson was desperate to alleviate the tension. “It’s a terrible thing that happened, and we were all very shocked. But that’s no reason for you to torture yourself. What’s important here is that we move forward and do what we can to get Henry better, wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded, two seconds away from yelling that it would be impossible for me to move forward. That my entire world collapsed because I believed lie upon lie upon lie Roman Belmont whispered in my ear.
But then Nelson took a step back and contemplated me. “There is more to this, isn’t there? Does it have anything to do with the picnic basket you brought to the house two days ago?”
So much for being discreet. Suddenly my devastation was laid bare for Nelson to see. “It’s just everything, all of it,” I managed to whisper.
Nelson took my hand and held it between both of his. “Oh Isabel, I don’t know what to say. I hope it gets cleared up.”
It was confusing why Nelson would think any of this was salvageable. Surely he was aware of Roman’s social escapades. If Mrs. Sheldon knew, everybody had to know. Except me of course.
“You’re coming with me to the staffroom,” Nelson ordered. “A cup of coffee is exactly what you need. And perhaps Sophia’s pastries are not a complete disaster. What do you say?”
I was too tired to argue, so I nodded and followed Nelson. I’d grab a coffee and escape to the serenity of Henry’s room, where I could get my thoughts together on what to say to Emily later.
The mood in the staffroom was rebellious, to say the least. Sophia’s chocolate éclairs went mainly untouched, and I was relieved that she wasn’t there to see how ungrateful these people were. Although I had to admit, the éclairs didn’t look as appetizing as they should have.
I was greeted with a wall of evasive smiles, and Nelson shot everyone a warning glare. He was clearly in charge when Emily wasn’t around. In the time it took me to pour myself coffee I watched Nelson prepare Roman’s tray, even adding one of Sophia’s éclairs on a pretty plate.
Would Roman be in the library? Was he expecting me, or had he realized by now that I’d figured out the horrible game he was playing?
After his first text last night, I’d avoided any and all messages from him and refused to listen to his voicemails. My weakness for Roman was nothing to be proud of, and who knew how little it would take before I was willing to ignore his treachery for one more kiss, or whatever followed after that kiss.
You’d think if someone proved themselves to be a charlatan of the highest order, your mind and body would automatically reject all feelings toward them. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. There was no denying that all I wanted to do was be with him, even if it meant I had to suffer more of his lies.
Right then and there I decided to block his number. Roman and I had nothing more to say to each other, and it was up to me to end this once and for all.
I had to leave the staffroom before I broke down. The last thing I needed was for any of the staff members to get an inkling of what a fool I’d made of myself.
I pulled it together once I got to Henry’s room. He deserved more than me sitting next to his bed crying and feeling sorry for myself while he was trying his best to recover from a coma. And then there was the fact that Roman could still hear what was going on in the room and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’d successfully destroyed yet another gullible fool.