Chapter 19 Elodie
Elodie
The house is quieter now.
Night fell a few hours ago.
Most of the staff have gone, and my boxes are all in my room, mostly unpacked. The day seems to have reached that natural pause where everything stops and takes a breath.
Skylar left before nightfall. Surprisingly, we had quite a good day.
Dorian has three members of staff—Joanne and Vanessa, who cook and keep the house clean, and Albert, who brought me the contract. He takes care of everything else.
When Skylar and I went downstairs to explore the house, Albert gave us a tour that took nearly two hours, not surprising for a seven-bedroom mansion with an Olympic-sized infinity pool, a tennis court, a private beach, and a sailboat.
Even thinking about all of it makes my mind trip.
Now, though, my surroundings are… still.
I’ve been in my room sorting through my things since Skylar left.
Joanne offered to help me unpack, but I insisted on doing it myself.
It’s been a good distraction. Almost therapeutic.
I’ve kept the lights low, the double doors open so the sea breeze can drift in, and the radio playing softly in the background.
I thought maybe I could get some work done until Dorian came home. That’s if he was coming home at all. I have no idea. I still haven’t spoken to him. Every communication from him has come in the form of a message from either Albert or Joanne.
It’s okay. I guess I won’t see him tonight. Maybe it’s for the best to give us both some space—or rather me. I suppose it also helps us get used to living separate lives. Even though we always did.
I just wanted to see him to get a better idea of what is happening. I go back to work in two days, and I want to know if we’re doing anything this week. I suppose I’ll find out eventually.
We live in the same house now. It’s not like I won’t see him at all.
I close the box I’m packing and stand. It’s filled with all the things I don’t need. Things from the past. Things I should probably throw away but can’t bring myself to.
Like the old, battered gardening glove that belonged to my mother.
There’s a massive hole in it, and it’s always looked like something that should have been thrown away. But I keep it because I think it still smells like her.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling really low, I find it, look at it, and it cheers me up.
At that thought, I take it out of the box and place it back in the one I want to keep in the room.
Mom may not be with me in the flesh, but I feel like I need all the help I can get over the next few weeks. And if that means keeping something close that still carries her scent, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I head out of the room and make my way to the attic. Albert told me to put whatever I don’t need up there.
I step onto the landing and glance over the balcony to see if he’s still around. He said he’d be leaving at around ten. Apparently, he’s always the last to leave the house at the end of the day and the first to arrive in the morning.
I wondered why Dorian didn’t just let him live here. Then I was told Dorian liked his privacy, so the staff were only here between seven in the morning and ten at night.
I climb the stairs to the attic. They’re much narrower than the other set of stairs.
When I push the door open, the automatic light snaps on, revealing rows of neatly arranged stacks of boxes. It’s the tidiest attic I’ve ever seen. The room is immaculate, not even a speck of dust in sight.
I’m almost nervous to add my little box to the collection. It feels like it doesn’t belong here. A little like me.
I walk further inside, heading over to the opposite side of the room. There I spot a space where I can put my box. It’s far enough that it’s out of the way and easy for me to access if I need anything.
I set it down, then glance around. All this stuff in here is Dorian’s. I can’t imagine what he must be keeping up here.
Maybe all his high school and college stuff from Princeton. It’s strange to think that Jack would have been part of his life then.
Something catches my eye at the end of the row. It’s an opened box.
“Well, you’re out of place,” I mutter, leaning forward to get a better look.
Of course, I can’t make out anything. I know I shouldn’t be tempted to look, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself drifting toward the box.
I kneel beside it. Inside are a bunch of notebooks, copies of Scientific American from what looks like ten years ago, and a big photo album.
From the way the album is positioned, it looks like someone was looking through it.
Curiosity stirs again, compelling me to take a look as well. What harm could come of it? I’m all the way up here, practically a ghost in the house. And Dorian’s not home.
It’s not like we’d be sitting down for a heart-to-heart.
I know him, yet at the same time, I don’t know him at all. Before the whole Marcus thing, we hadn’t seen each other in over eight years. The only things that may give me some insight into the man I am marrying are pieces like these.
I open the album.
It’s one of the old-style versions with the thick, cream pages and thin sheets of tissue paper between each photograph.
The first picture makes me smile.
It’s him, maybe in his late teens, standing on the beach looking like a badass with his surfboard behind him. And he’s actually smiling. A rare thing.
I turn the page and find a set of pictures of him and his brothers.
The next one is of him and Jack. I’m actually surprised to see it.
Jack threw out all of his pictures of himself and Dorian.
I stare at the picture and feel sad when I take note of their easy smiles and closeness. They’re standing together outside a restaurant, and they look like they’ll always be friends.
No one would ever believe that almost ten years have gone by during which they haven’t been anything of the sort.
Honestly, there’s no one to blame but Jack.
When the business was falling apart, all he focused on was how evil Dorian was for not helping. He hardly even mentioned the fiasco with Catherine. He didn’t even express any sorrow.
I know he wasn’t the only one at fault. Catherine was, too. I wasn’t overly fond of her back then—and I’m not now—so I can’t imagine why she thought it was a good idea to sleep with her boyfriend’s best friend.
“Find something interesting?”
Dorian’s deep voice startles me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I have to steady the album to stop it from falling out of my hands.
I look up and find him standing a few paces away, watching me. He looks like he might have been there awhile.
God, how did he get so close to me? I didn’t even hear him come in.
My breath catches, but I push to my feet, closing the album.
Shit, me and my damn curiosity.
I meet his gaze and try to come up with the best excuse for my obvious snooping.
“I’m sorry. The box was open, and I was just looking.” Great excuse, Elodie. And you call yourself a school teacher. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Okay. I can’t tell if that means he’s mad. His face has that same bland expression he uses with everything. It gives nothing away.
His gaze flicks briefly to the album in my hands. I quickly set it back in the box.
“Settle in okay?” he asks, his eyes finding mine again.
“Yeah. I’m unpacked. I was just putting a box up here of things I don’t need.”
“That’s fine.”
At least that’s something positive.
“Things will be different starting tomorrow,” he says, straight to business.
“Oh, what’s happening?”
“The wedding planner will be here. She’ll liaise with you, but if you like, she can handle all the planning, and Albert will take it from there.”
I can’t imagine handing something like that over to a stranger. I want to be involved. It’s my wedding, whether it’s a real marriage or not. “I’ll work with her.”
“Great.”
I take it he won’t be involved.
“There’s a yacht party on Friday. We’ll make our first public appearance then.”
My stomach squeezes. “A party? That sounds great.”
“It’s the first step in making us visible. I don’t think we’ll need to do any more public appearances after that. So, we can just focus on the wedding.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
“Great. I’m going to be busy for a few days, then I’m away, but Albert will sort everything out.”
“Where are you going?”
He gives me a clipped smile. “L.A. on business.”
Business. That sounds legit, but I suppose I’ll never know if it’s the truth. For all I know, he could be seeing Grace, or someone else.
Geez, listen to me. Day one, and I’m already failing with the whole living separate lives thing.
Before I can say anything else, he reaches into his pocket and tosses something toward me. “This is yours.”
I catch it. It’s keys. Car keys. I stare down at them, confused. “These aren’t mine.”
“They are now.” He grins. “Your new car will be outside in the morning.”
I gasp. “You got me a new car?”
“Yes, and that thing you’ve been driving around will be scrapped.”
“But I—”
“Just take it, Elodie.”
I give him a small smile. “Thanks.”
He turns as if that’s the end of the conversation, and I realize he’s leaving.
“Wait.”
He pauses but doesn’t turn fully. “What?”
I step closer. “Is that it?”
“That’s it.” He looks at me properly. “What’s wrong?”
“I just thought we’d talk some more.”
“About what?” The question is flat, like he truly doesn’t see the point.
I hesitate. And now I can’t think of what I want to talk about. “Well… maybe we could talk like normal people. You could tell me how your day was.” God, that sounds so lame.
His expression doesn’t change. “My day was fine. Good night, Elodie.” He walks away without another word.
And that’s it.
I watch him go.
The door closes softly behind him, but the silence it leaves feels louder than anything else.
I stand there for a moment, the keys still clutched in my hand, staring at nothing.
Is this how it’s going to be?
Just… this?
Business. Terms. Conditions.
I glance back at the box, at the photo album resting inside it.
I think of the version of him from the past that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
I look toward the door again.
Well, this is what I signed up for.