Chapter 6 Aiden
Aiden
My jaw is tight.
Mia isn’t behaving like herself.
She’s drifting through the festivities like she doesn’t give a damn, like she’s a guest at someone else’s party. Hell, she hasn’t even tried to talk to anyone until they approached her, and then, according to them, she was rude.
She asked me to get her a glass of champagne, which I didn’t have a problem with, but it’s not like her. Which, for the record, they noticed. Loudly.
Mama wanted to know if Mia was on a new medication.
Gianna wanted to know if Mia was having her period.
Dad told me that she was misbehaving. “You really need to get control of your wife.”
Control? Like she’s a volatile financial asset gone amok and not the woman I love.
But I can understand why they’re perturbed. She’s not behaving like my Mia. My quiet, patient Mia, who used to apologize for breathing too loud near my family.
She’s ignoring me—no, worse, mocking me with that comment she made to Diana about how much I appreciate her work. Something I’ve never said to her.
Does she know about the kiss?
But how would she? Maybe Diana told her? I wouldn’t put it past her, considering she always plays to win, and I’ve become a trophy for her.
“Have you been talking about me to your wife?” Diana hisses, catching me on the stairs as I’m going up to our suite to use the bathroom there, and hoping to bump into my wife and ask her what the fuck is going on with her.
We just finished with the gifts for the kids.
Mia got everyone something from both of us—she’s good at that. Thoughtful, curated, personal. I know there’ll be presents under the tree for every member of my family.
I got her something too—jewelry. Just went online, picked something from Tiffany, and had it wrapped. She’ll thank me prettily. Then she’ll watch me open hers, like she always does, eager to see my expression.
Like the year she got me golf clubs signed by Rory McIlroy. The year before, she tracked down a first edition of The Intelligent Investor and had it embossed with my name.
“She’s like a little puppy who wants to please you. It’s pathetic,” Tristan said last Christmas. I didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up about my wife. I just ignored him.
I should have said something. Should’ve stood up for her.
That stupid kiss with Diana has opened Pandora’s Box, releasing my sins. And now all my past fuck-ups are lining up in my head like Ghosts of Christmas Past—every silence, every missed moment, every time I didn’t choose her loud enough.
Well, I’m not going to let that happen any longer.
I arch an eyebrow, looking down at Diana from the step above. “Are you seriously asking me about private conversations I have with my wife?”
How dare she! How did I let things get this far?
You gave her a line of credit, and now she wants to buy the bank, Aiden. This is on you.
She swallows. “I didn’t like how she reduced me to nothing but someone who works for you.”
Fuck me!
“Diana, you do work for me.”
“We’re more than colleagues.” She grabs my arm. Her nails bite through my suit jacket and dress shirt.
I’m about to remove her hand when I see Mia stroll to the top of the stairs. She looks at us, and I see hurt in her eyes. But it’s not there for more than a fraction of a second and is replaced with…amusement?
“Fancy seeing you both here,” she chimes. “Better hurry, right? You know how much Edith hates it when we’re late for Christmas Eve dinner.”
Then, without waiting for either of us to say anything, she goes down the stairs, hips swaying in that red dress that should be illegal.
I patiently remove Diana’s hand from my arm. “You are a family friend and a colleague, Diana. But that’s all you are.”
She lifts her chin defiantly. “Your whole family knows that you’re in love with me. Don’t deny it.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I tell her grimly.
I chase my wife—something I never thought I’d do, that I’d have to do. I catch up with her close to the library, before we enter the dining room.
“Mia.” I grab her wrist, and before she can protest, I usher her into the library.
She’s smiling, I realize, when we’re in the old-fashioned, too-much-leather library. “Yes, dear.”
I drop her wrist. The sarcasm in her voice punches through my ribs. Anger surges through me. I want my wife back, not this caricature, this….
“What the hell is your problem?” I hiss. “You’re being a little—” I stop myself, but she tilts her head.
“Say it,” she dares, eyes glinting.
“Bitch,” I snap. Quiet. Sharp. “You are being a bit of a bitch tonight, Mia.”
Her mouth curves into a sneer. “I think I’m pretty good at it. Don’t you agree?”
My blood simmers. “What are you doing?”
“Trying something new on for size. You think it fits?”
Before I can say anything, the library door flies open.
“Mia, I told you I don’t like it when you’re late for dinner,” Mom snaps.
“I’m here with her,” I growl, stepping forward.
And just like that, it strikes me—has it always been like this? That they say these things to her and not to me, even when we’re both at fault? Like now. We’re both late for dinner, but only she gets scolded. And why the hell should either of us be scolded? We’re adults, for fuck’s sake.
“Better go.” Mia isn’t offended; she’s rolling her eyes.
“Mia, this conversation is not over,” I grind out. “Something’s off, and I want to know what it is. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.”
She tilts her head, smiles wanly. “Not expecting you to fix a damn thing, Aiden.”
Did she just say damn? My wife doesn’t swear—for the love of God, she never swears.
Something is wrong. I know it. And I’m scared I already know exactly what it is.