Chapter Forty-One
Grace
Huxley sends me a little bouquet of daisies the next day at the office, giving me a lift amid the foundation’s typical morning bustle. The card reads:
A little something to bring a smile to your beautiful face.
–Your devoted husband
Is the message something he came up with, or one of the default options the florist offered? His current attitude is nothing like how harsh he was when he found out that I was Nelson’s daughter. Has Huxley realized that I never meant to deceive him and now wants our marriage to work?
I noticed he’s trying hard to include me in his family gatherings, too. His efforts have given me a sense of belonging I’ve missed since Mom became sick. My mind whispers things are just too good to be true. But don’t I deserve something good after years of hardship?
Just enjoy it while it lasts.
True. Angsting won’t make a difference.
My eyes return to the flowers. They’re lovely. So is the sentiment. I pick up my phone and send him a photo of the bouquet.
–Me: Thank you. They’re so pretty.
–Huxley: I would’ve preferred to see a shot of your smile.
He attaches a cartoon brown bear GIF that looks out from the screen soulfully with its forepaws clasped together. I laugh at the unexpectedly sweet response, then snap a selfie and send it to him.
–Huxley: Beautiful.
–Me: The flowers add to my desk.
–Huxley: And you add to my day.
I smile. When he’s like this, I really want our marriage to work. I just wish I could be sure that it’s on a solid foundation. That, despite the prenup, we will be together, so I don’t feel like our future is hidden in some kind of fog.
–Me: I gotta go to a meeting. Talk to you later.
I confirm the final details of the art auction for next week. Everything’s all set, all our hard work finally paying off. The proceeds will go to shelters, kitchens, mental health counseling and more for veterans. Elizabeth was horrified to see some recent studies on the bleak situation many veterans face, and she wants to help them get back on their feet and lead productive lives with dignity and pride.
She was a little nervous, since the foundation used to spend its energy on women and children, but she shouldn’t have worried. So many people have promised to come. They know she’ll use the funds wisely. She doesn’t even draw a salary at the foundation, and puts her personal money into paying for a big chunk of employees’ salaries and benefits. I asked her once what would happen if she ran out of personal money, but she told me there’s plenty, and her financial advisor, Gavin Lloyd, is doing a fabulous job of getting her the return she needs to fund the foundation for as long as necessary.
As soon as I’m done with the checklist, an email from Dr. Blum hits my inbox. I open it immediately.
Your mother’s progress is very good. Her fingers twitched when we played your baby’s heartbeat. We start every morning that way, and let her know it’s her grandbaby. I think it may be giving her the will to wake up. She isn’t fully awake yet, but sometimes she taps once or twice with her index finger to indicate yes or no. However, her eyes are still closed. We aren’t sure why, but we are now quite optimistic about recovery. I hope you are too. Here are some photos from last week. And she was very fond of the pink orchids you sent because the nurse said she thought she saw your mother smile.
As I read, I put a hand over my mouth. My eyes grow hot with tears, and they fall in rivulets. This is by the far the most positive note from Dr. Blum yet. My heart swells, and I read the email one more time, slowly, to make sure I didn’t miss anything the first time.
Mom is making progress.
She will recover.
All the abuse I put up from Nelson and his family was worth it.
“What’s wrong?” Tolyan asks, plucking a tissue from his desk and handing it to me with a small frown.
“Nothing. It’s my mother. She’s doing better.” I dab my eyes, then blow my nose. “Excuse me. I need a moment.” I stand and head to the elevator. The joy inside my heart is too big to contain, and I simply can’t sit still.
What wouldn’t I give to be able to fly to visit with Mom right now, but I can’t leave with the auction happening so soon. Besides, I’m going to see her soon—her birthday is in a few weeks.
Maybe I’ll ask HR if I can extend my time off, so I can spend more time with Mom this year. I’d love to read her the latest romance novels by her favorite authors, and tell her all the ridiculous things Huxley is buying for the baby, like that gold-plated stroller. And the bespoke silk onesies he ordered from his tailor in London!
The stroller was crazy enough, but the onesies are whole another level of madness. I told him as much, and he said, “They’re really nice. Why shouldn’t our baby have the best?”
She’ll find it amusing. And outrageous. But it’ll reassure her that I married a generous man, who won’t make me or the baby suffer like Nelson did with her. I’ll pick out flowers myself and bring them to her every morning during my visit, too.
Suddenly I want to see Huxley. I want to share the news and thank him for taking over Mom’s bills. When she wakes up, it’ll be in no small part due to him. Plus, I can’t forget him giving me a ride that rainy night two years ago.
It’s almost like the universe sent him to help me when I was at my lowest. It sounds so whimsical and superstitious, but what else could it be? I used to think that nothing good happens in life without bad, but maybe that isn’t true. Nelson and Karie’s bad mojo drove all the positive energy my way.
When I exit out of the elevator to the garage, a figure steps out of the shadows. I yelp and place a hand over my racing heart. “Karie? What are you doing here?”
She’s impeccably put together, as usual, although her dress is still too tight and revealing for her age. Her forehead and eyebrows don’t move at all—a Botox-induced condition that’s gotten worse over the years. “Why aren’t you answering my calls and texts?”
“Because I blocked your number after the wedding.”
“You blocked me?”
“Sure did. I figured, why subject myself to your insults and mistreatment now that my husband has set up a trust to pay for my mother’s health care?”
Her expression turns stony. Guess that never occurred to her. She probably thought she would always lord it over me as long as Mom was at Johns Hopkins. After taking a moment to gather herself, she stiffens her spine. “You have to stop with this unjust harassment of Viv.”
“Unjust harassment?” I cock an eyebrow.
“All those videos! How could you put fake stuff like that online? We all know the woman isn’t her.”
“Uh, I walked in on the two of them. In person. It was most definitely Viv.”
“Says you.”
“The videos show her face. Among other things.”
“You faked them! And you’ll apologize to her for what you’ve done!” Karie commands, full of confidence that I’ll do as she asks.
I give her a cold look. “Or what?”
“Or—” She stops. She was going to throw Mom’s bills in my face, except she just remembered Huxley is now paying for them, not Nelson.
“You know what? You’re pathetic, Karie. Simply pathetic. Without money, you’re nothing. Even with it, you’re not much.”
“At least I’m not a whore who slept with another woman’s husband,” she sneers.
Her words don’t even hurt because they aren’t true—and she knows it from the way her chin hardens stubbornly. “The same old, same old, huh? Well, creativity was never your strong suit.” My back straight and chin up, I rest my hands on my hips. “I’ll tell you who the real whores are. One, your disgusting swine of a husband, who seduced my mom, who was over ten years younger than him, without revealing he was married. Think that might make him a whore?”
“Nelson had—”
“Think carefully before you answer because it may reveal your misogyny. There’s something really ugly about women who go after other women because they don’t have the guts to go after the men who are the real culprits. Oh, and also, your precious Viv decided to sleep with Peter, knowing he was my boyfriend at that time. Then she had the audacity to claim that I stole Huxley from her.”
“Because you did!”
“We all know that isn’t true. If she’d ever slept with him, she would’ve revealed something about Huxley only somebody who’d been intimate with him would know.” Viv never said a word about his piercing. “By the way, you know what’s ironic?” I lean forward and smile. “If Viv hadn’t stolen Peter, I would’ve never gone out to that bar that night. Wouldn’t have spent the night with Huxley, which means I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant with his baby, which means he wouldn’t have picked me to be his bride. Guess that’s just proof that karma exists.”
Karie shakes, her knuckles white. If she thought she could get away with it, she might try to slap me. “You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. You pathetic, ignorant child. You’ll be sorry, but no amount of begging will earn you our forgiveness!”
“Ever thought about seeing a therapist? They might be able to prescribe you something to help you see reality more clearly,” I say as I walk to my car.
Karie doesn’t follow or make a scene, probably due to the security cameras. She wouldn’t want me to do to her what I did to Viv.
That woman is delusional to think she has any influence over me now. If she’d shown me kindness when I was alone and without support, I might reconsider. After all, she does love her daughter very much.
Maybe a therapist would also help her understand you have to be good to get rewarded by karma. You always reap what you sow.
I mentally push Karie aside and focus on the amazing report from Dr. Blum. And how awesome it will be to share it with Huxley, so he knows that he’s making a huge difference in my life—that he’s saving my mother. Maybe we can grab some lunch. It’s a little early, but I’m hopeful based on our much-improved interaction over the past few weeks.
Security at 4D lets me in after I show them my ID and sign in. My steps are light as I cross the lobby and walk out of the elevator toward Huxley’s office.
Madison stands up from her desk and blocks my path by extending an arm in front of me. The move invades my personal space, and I get a whiff of her floral perfume, which instantly gives me a mild headache.
“Excuse me. You can’t go in there.”
“Is he in a meeting?” I ask. Maybe I should’ve texted before coming over.
“His schedule is full. He’s a busy man, and people can’t just barge into his office to see him without an appointment,” she says with a marble-smooth voice. “He isn’t at your beck and call.”
Her proprietary attitude grates on my nerves like sandpaper. Who does she think she is to talk to me like this? “I never said he was. But he’s also my husband, and it’s almost lunchtime.”
“He’s my boss, and I know his schedule and what he has time and energy for.” Her gaze sweeps over me as her lips twist into a barely perceptible smirk.
If she’d merely said Huxley was busy, I would’ve left without a word. But she’s picking a fight, as though she has some claim on him. I won’t tolerate that from his employees, no matter how long she’s been at the company.
“Do you think just because he wanted our wedding theme to be ‘Amazing Grace’ that you get to disrespect me? I am his wife and the mother of his child.” I put a hand over my belly. “He’ll make time for me. And if he can’t, you will find time for me in his schedule.”
The smug superiority vanishes from her face. “You can’t talk to me like that. I don’t work for you.”
“No. And you won’t work for him for much longer if you keep up with that attitude.”
I arch my eyebrow, and she glares at me then steps aside. I walk into his office, only to find it empty. Vague disappointment unfurls, deflating my buoyant heart. Even if I’d texted him, it wouldn’t have mattered—his phone sits gleaming on his neatly organized desk.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Obviously not in his office.” Madison’s tone is polite, but her eyes glint with smugness. Instead of telling me like she would if I were anybody but his wife, she’s opting for passive aggression.
“So you don’t know? What a fantastic assistant you are.” I shoot her a disdainful smile. “Tell him I stopped by. You can manage that much, can’t you?”
Then I turn and leave without waiting for a response. My previously bright mood has darkened. I grab a box of fancy Belgian chocolate on my way back to the office to soothe my annoyance. The indulgence feels good, especially since I haven’t been able to buy what I want without worrying about money for so long.
Later that day, Huxley comes home, smelling like Madison’s perfume.