Chapter 44 Katie Morrow
Katie Morrow
“Mark and Katie got married at the courthouse. I always thought it was odd. I mean, the man could give her a wedding at the Hearst Castle if he wanted to, but they just had a quiet ceremony at the courthouse, followed by a reception at his agency’s beach house.
Katie seemed fine with it all, but personally, I would have been pissed.
But Katie is very go-with-the-flow about things. ”
“Okay, so Willow’s here. People can see her. She can talk to the police. She doesn’t have to stay at our house, Mark. That’s weird. Very weird.” Katie chopped an onion into halves, then quarters, lining up the pieces and hacking the blade through the tender white chunks.
“It’s not weird. Willow was my best friend, Katie. For almost a decade. When your cousin comes to visit, she stays here.”
“Michelle?” Katie whirled around and pointed the knife at him.
“Don’t even try to put Michelle in the same category as your ex-wife.
I never slept with Michelle, Mark. I didn’t drop to my knees and burst into tears at the sight of Michelle, Mark.
” She jabbed the knife with each mention of his name, and the aggression felt good.
Maybe this was why people went to those rage rooms and threw plates and smashed windows.
Right now, driving a sledgehammer through a microwave seemed cathartic in a way that the fajita prep was not.
“But Michelle did stay with us for a month,” Mark countered, and he was not this stupid of an individual. There was no way he was this dense.
“Say Michelle one more time,” Katie threatened. “Say her name one more time and I’ll jab this knife into you.”
He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “You will not, and you know it.”
She sagged against the counter and turned back to the cutting board. Her eyes were tearing up from the onions, and she wiped them with the back of her knife-holding hand. “Just . . . put her in a hotel.”
It wasn’t a difficult request. It was reasonable, one that any wife would make. One that any husband would yield to. Okay, honey. Sure. No problem. I’ll call and let her know.
But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead, he walked to the beverage fridge and opened the door, withdrawing a seltzer beer for her and a Heineken for him. Putting hers on the island, he popped the cap on his and took a swig.
“I’m not drinking.” She pushed the can back and waited for him to ask why.
Not that she would tell him the news—not right now.
And not because of the timeline, but because of her.
Willow wouldn’t taint this for Katie. If she had to wait to share the news until she pushed that woman and her luggage out the door and locked it behind her, she would.
Mark didn’t notice, didn’t even think about the possible reasoning; he just picked up her beer and returned it to the fridge.
Willow was my best friend. For almost a decade.
She thought of the lace thong tucked in his suit pocket.
How could she compete with that? If Katie left him, right now, and walked out the door—in five years, would he say the same thing about her?
Would he welcome her into his home? Break down in tears at the sight of her?
No. No way. The father of her future child, and she wasn’t sure she would get much more than a bewildered What are you doing here? from him.
She chopped faster, the blade blurring through the tears.