Chapter 10
Ten
Ellie
“Have you been sleepwalking again?” Jack’s eyes shoot from me to Aubrey and back again.
“No, it’s not even ten o’clock—Aubrey and I went out,” I defend.
His eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe me. It’s not lost on me that he hasn’t been home at a decent hour at all this week,
and then the one night I go out, here he is, accusing me of . . . what exactly? I’m not sure. Anger sparks to life inside
me but I take a deep breath, trying to dampen it with the awareness that he’s probably just concerned for my wellbeing. Especially
after everything that’s been happening the last few months.
“Well, have a good night, guys.” Aubrey sends us a quick wave and then heads off down the hallway in the direction of her
apartment. I wish she wasn’t leaving. I like when she’s there as my buffer, not just for fancy cocktail parties, but with
my husband, too.
“Night, Aubrey, thanks for coming with me!” I call after her.
Jack just grunts. I have half a mind to follow Aubrey down the hallway and leave this man to his own devices, but that wouldn’t be very mature of me. And so I stand there, ready to take his verbal assault. Just like always.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? And what the hell are you wearing?” He looks me up and down.
“You don’t like it?” I drop my bag on the table by the door and then twirl. “It’s new.”
He grunts again. “It’s a lot. Plus the red lipstick—I hardly recognize you.” He scans me over accusingly. “Where’s your wedding
ring, El?”
My heart sinks. I forgot to slip it back on my finger. “My fingers were swollen this morning—it was hurting so I took it off
with some lotion.”
He huffs. “A new dress, no ring, no explanation where you were tonight—it makes a man wonder what his wife’s been up to.”
“Is that so?” I kick off the satin pumps and head for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. “It was nothing, trust me.”
“Trust you?” His chuckle is rueful. “I found broken glass in the sink when I got home. I thought you were hurt, I thought . . .
I don’t know, I was worried. Where were you at?”
“The women’s group I’m a part of had a gathering they wanted me to attend.”
“Is that it?” he asks. “A gathering?”
He thinks I’m lying. Good, let him. Anyway, what am I supposed to say? I went to a cocktail party to land a date with a well-connected
rapist?
“You’re not going to tell me anything else?”
“Should I?” I pour some wine, take a sip, then tip my chin up at him. “Would it make you feel better to know where I am at
all times? Like a little kid?”
“Yes,” he admits. “I feel like you need someone to take care of you, especially lately. With the sleepwalking and the bruises . . . I mean, where are you going at night, Ellie?”
I don’t reply. Let him think what he wants to. Anyway, Kat made me vow to keep everything that happens pertaining to The Society
confidential.
“Maybe I should set up security cameras,” he utters.
“Is that a threat?” I shoot back.
“Do you think it is?” he replies. “Jesus, El—I’m doing what I can to keep you safe, why the fuck do you have to make everything
so difficult? How am I supposed to work and build a life for us when I’m always worried about you?” He finishes, watching
me closely. The silence in the apartment feels deafening. “Maybe it’s time for medications after all.”
“What?” I reply.
“Just a low dose, just enough to help you sleep through the night. Dammit, El—every time I come home I search your arms for
new bruises. I can’t keep living like this.”
“I’m not going on meds. We’ve talked about this,” I say, nonchalant. This is not up for discussion.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little prescription, something to take the edge off. It’s not your fault, El—your illness is
inherited.” He takes a few steps closer, resting a hand on my shoulder in an effort to comfort me. “Listen, you came by your
crazy honestly.” He smirks but I’m not laughing. “Now I know how your father must have felt all those years with your mom
and her struggles. It’s damn hard to focus and provide for a family when you’re worried your wife is going to undo everything
you’ve worked for in one manic moment of madness.”
My eyebrows shoot up with his words, but I let him continue to dig his own grave.
He gives me a long look, as if he’s trying to determine if he should say any more.
“Babe—if you don’t start taking something .
. . well then, at what point are you orchestrating your own downfall?
Left untreated maybe you’re destined for the psychiatric ward too, have you ever thought about that? ”
“Wow, that’s a low blow.” I get a sinking feeling as I let his words settle. I’ve always trusted this man with my life, but
that was before sleepless nights and workaholism and run-of-the-mill stress took hold. While my husband may be direct to a
fault, I’ve always thought he meant well. Is he right? If my mom had taken medication when her issues started, would she still
have spent the last few years of her life in a psychiatric ward, forced into the confines of full-time care with no say in
her future?
“I’m going to bed. Are you headed back to the office or will you be joining me tonight?” I finally say.
“I just stopped in to grab some client files; your father is expecting me back about now.” He glances at his watch and then
back at me, eyes softening. “I’m sorry, El—I know I get pushy sometimes but I love you and I’m worried. You know that, right?”
Jack pulls me in for a hug. I gulp down the ball of frustration that’s lodged in my throat and nod as he walks out. I love
my husband—I love him with every fiber of my being—but moments like these make me think the line between love and hate is
a thin one. It’s something I never would have believed when we first started dating.
Thoughts enter my mind then about one of our first dates.
The sun is warm against my shoulders, and for once, New York’s sharp edges feel soft.
A breeze blows gently through the trees, carrying the scent of fresh grass and something sweet from a nearby food cart.
Jack spreads the blanket on the lawn like he’s done it a thousand times, every move easy and unbothered, like the world was made to accommodate him.
He looks up at me with that smile—wide, bright, maybe a little cocky—and pats the spot next to him. “Your throne awaits, m’lady.”
I laugh, smoothing the skirt of my sundress as I sit. The fabric is light and floral, something I almost didn’t wear because
it felt too hopeful, too unguarded. But now, under the spring sky with Jack’s eyes on me like I’m the only thing that matters,
it feels just right.
He pulls a little Tupperware from the picnic basket and grins. “I brought the good stuff. Strawberries, brie. Sourdough I
didn’t bake, but let’s pretend.”
“I’m impressed,” I say, accepting a strawberry from his hand. Our fingers brush—brief, electric.
“You should be. I scoured a Whole Foods at peak rush hour for you.”
“And lived to tell the tale?” I tease.
“Barely.” He leans back on one elbow, looking up at me. “But honestly, worth it.”
He says it so easily, so earnestly, I can’t help but blush. I glance away, pretending to study a dog chasing a squirrel across
the quad.
“You’ve got this . . . glow,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s the dress or the sun or just you.”
I laugh, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Do you always lay it on this thick?”
“Only when I mean it,” he says. “And only with you.”
I look at him—really look. His eyes are soft, sincere, crinkled at the corners from smiling too much. It’s disarming. I’m
not used to this kind of attention. I’m used to going unnoticed—being the quiet girl in the front row, the number nerd, the
reliable daughter, the one who makes sense but never sparks.
Jack makes me feel like a spark.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Last semester of law school. Busy year?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Kind of.” And then: “I’ve been seeing you around campus for a while.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, picking up a piece of brie. “Library. Econ building. That weird bench near Philosophy Hall you always sit
at with your coffee.”
I laugh. “You’ve been stalking me.”
He grins. “Observing. With admiration.”
I shake my head. “I honestly never noticed.”
“That’s the part that kills me,” he says, mock wounded. “I can’t stop noticing you, and you didn’t even know I existed.”
“I mean, I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true.” He turns serious for a moment. “When I ran into you at the library . . . I swear, it felt like everything
just clicked. Like the stars had been waiting for that exact moment.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Now I’m starting to think you orchestrated that run-in.”
He laughs, low and warm. “God, I wish I had. But no—fate was driving that day. I was just lucky to be in the car.”
I smile. “You’re very good at this, you know.”
He leans in just a little. “Only with you.”
And suddenly I feel like I’m floating.
I’ve never had a man look at me like this. Like I’m not just enough—but rare. Precious.
I lean back on the blanket, looking up at the sky.
The sunlight dances on my skin, and I think—for the first time in a long time—that maybe I really am lucky.
Maybe this is what falling in love feels like.