Thirty-One
Amelia
He said he wasn’t going to abandon me, but when I wake up the next morning, I’m alone.
The bed is cold where he lay, even though his scent lingers, mocking me.
Last night, he told me he would need to leave for work. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
Maybe he’s still here, somewhere. Having breakfast, perhaps. But I know he isn’t. If he was, we’d be eating it in here.
My body is sore… everywhere. The sheets are sticky, and so are my thighs. I pull myself up and go for a shower.
It feels like I’ve lost part of myself, and that’s incomprehensible. I hardly know this man who is now my husband, so why am I missing him? He didn’t give me a choice. This was supposed to be merely a marriage of convenience.
So why do I care?
As I stand under the hot water, the answer comes to me, and I don’t much like it. I care, because I can’t do things by halves. I care, because I said yes—or I didn’t, but then I did—and now it’s a commitment.
And I don’t even know if he feels the same way.
Oh, he talks a good game. Some of his lines had me convinced… momentarily. No, more than that. Enough to feel something like hope. But does he really know me? I don’t know him. It’s been weeks, not months, and certainly not years. And we’re married.
How much of a mistake was this?
A goddamn humongous one.
And now he’s left me again.
But that’s not fair. The work he’s doing is exactly what this marriage is based on: keeping me safe, my sister safe, and him too. Undoing the work that Serranto started, that ultimately I’m responsible for.
I never told him that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. But it was sitting behind every decision yesterday, taunting me. This is your fault. This is your penance. This is on you.
Despite that, I still tried to say no. And he knew I would; he was ready.
I won’t underestimate him again.
The shower has eased my soreness, but not my heart, and I shut it off and pull on comfortable clothes. I’m half grateful I still don’t have access to a phone. I should call my sister—or damn it, even Sierra—let someone know I’m married.
But I can’t bring myself to. Not when they’ll ask to whom, how, when, where… and the most damning one of all: why. I have no answers.
This was a mistake. And yet it was necessary.
That dichotomy is going to plague me forever.
The thought almost makes me cry, and he’s not even here to hold me. Am I a wife, or a convenience?
That’s the problem with a marriage of convenience… I’m both, and neither too.
I mope around for a few days, and he’s still not back.
Then that morning, Tony finds me at breakfast in the kitchen.
“Lukas asks if you want to go shopping.”
“Is he here?” I turn to look past him.
“No, but he’s left me his card.”
I sag as disappointment fills me. I don’t want his goddamn money, I want him.
But I do want to buy a phone. Will they let me?
“Are there limits on what I can buy?” I ask tentatively.
Tony slaps a card down on the counter. Van Wyk has left me his American Express, and it’s black with gold trim. “There isn’t a limit on this,” he says, tone neutral, then walks off.
That’s not what I meant at all, but screw Tony.
I finish my breakfast, staring at the card. No limit on it, and more than that, he hasn’t made me sign a pre-nup.
Fuck.
I could divorce him… I could take half.
The thought flies through my head, and I laugh. It’s all so ridiculous.
How would it even work? He gets his office, the garage, and the Maybach, and I get the pool, the sunroom, and Linda? I’d immediately lose his protection from the Volkovs, and Lucy would be vulnerable again.
Worse, I’d be vulnerable to him. Divorce a man like Van Wyk? It’s unthinkable.
“Make no mistake, Amelia. You’ll be wearing my ring, using my last name, and taking my cock for the rest of your life.”
My finger gleams with a diamond I’ve barely looked at, doing my best to ignore it.
I look now. It’s not the obscene rock I expected, but a modest round cut, set low on its rose-gold band.
It’s a beautiful stone, as clear as I’ve ever seen, catching the light when I lift and turn my hand, mini rainbows in every facet.
It suits me. That’s the thought that comes.
He chose what I’d actually want to wear, and that’s almost worse than if he hadn’t.
So I’ve accepted his ring, and his cock. Yet when he’s done what he’s said he will, when the threat from the Volkovs is over, there’ll be no reason for this marriage of convenience any longer.
Will he let me go? Or worse—what if he learns who I am and decides he doesn’t like me? What will happen then?
Questions I’m asking far too late. Damn it, what was I thinking?
Was it only Lucy’s protection that persuaded me, or was it my own guilt? Or more than that even—some part of me wanting this? Not him, specifically, but a man? Any man, if that man means protection and companionship?
Is that me? I can’t see myself in that description, but maybe it is.
Van Wyk does protection, there’s no doubt of that. But companionship? Breaking into my apartment doesn’t really count.
It’s all so confusing, but I can’t figure this out now. I shove the card into my pocket. I’m going to use it, and I’m not going to think about it. I’m not even sure I could put a noticeable dent in his bank balance if I tried.
Tony’s reading a book on a chair in the entrance hall as he waits for me.
“Can we go to a phone shop please?” I deliberately keep the question light.
“Apple’s flagship store is right off Fifth Avenue,” he says, rising.
I let out a subtle sigh of relief when he makes no objection. “There must be a hundred closer places to buy a phone.”
“Don’t you want to pick up a few other things?”
My eyebrows go up. “On Fifth Avenue?”
He shrugs. “Lukas won’t care.”
Of course he won’t.
I really want out of this house, and not just a trip there-and-back to a shopping center in Poughkeepsie.
A minute later, he rolls up outside the house in a sleek black BMW large enough to make parking a pain in the ass, and Jorge opens the door for me. Cream leather, plush seats, and a drinks cabinet.
“Want a whisky?” I ask Jorge, pulling out a bottle and waving it at him.
He gives me a flat look and, true to form, says not a word.
But I’m not letting anything ruin my good mood.
I’m out of my prison for the first time in weeks, even if my jailers have to come with me.
Two hours later, they stand around inside the doors of the Apple Store, glaring at everyone while I buy the latest iPhone and activate it with an eSIM bought online.
My first call is to Sierra, in an effort to offset at least some of my guilt. And because it’s easier than calling my sister.
“Amelia!” she cries down the line. “I was so worried! I’ve had the fire department and the police here for days. Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, closing my eyes and leaving it at that. “Listen, can you do the insurance paperwork? And then… just take a sabbatical or something. I’ll keep paying you, for as long as needed.” Until I figure out how to get back to my gallery. Assuming he ever lets me.
“Really?” she asks, her relief evident. She must’ve been certain she’d have no job, and the reprieve I’ve offered her costs me nothing.
Not really. The insurance makes me sixty percent on Fournier’s art, and I didn’t even have to sell any of it.
I don’t want that money, and even if I did, I could spend more on Van Wyk’s black Amex in one afternoon, and within a three-block radius of where I’m currently standing.
It’s all too surreal.
“Really,” I tell her. “I’m going to be away for a while, so text me on this number if anything comes up.”
“Thank you, Ammy! Yes, I will.” A brief pause, and when she speaks again, her worry has gone, replaced with concern for me. “Are you all right? You’re not in any… trouble?”
I almost laugh, but that would be too difficult to explain. “I’m fine. Would you let me know when the paperwork is done?” I don’t really care, I just want her to focus on other things.
“Of course I will.”
“Thank you. Talk soon.” Because I can, now.
I slip my new phone in my pocket, not wanting to call Lucy while I’m standing in the corner of an Apple Store. Tony is watching me, his face impassive.
“What? Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No, Princess.” His voice is softer than the tone he usually uses to me. “Let’s just say I’m not very often surprised.”
I suppose he heard the call. What that told him, I’m not sure.
“Why don’t we get some food?” I ask to change the subject. “It’s lunchtime. You two must be hungry, right?”
“We don’t eat on duty, but Cipriani’s is across the street.”
“One, I’m not eating alone,” I say as I walk outside. “Two, I don’t have a reservation. And three, I was thinking a burger.”
“You don’t need a reservation,” Tony argues. “You have his card.”
“That’s one point out of three.” I look around. There must be something quick and simple nearby that the boys won’t mind joining me for. Yet the first thing I see isn’t a bakery-café but someone I know.
He sees me at the same moment, stopping startled twenty feet away, clearly heading into the Apple Store.
“Scott?” Of all the people I expected to run into, my ex isn’t high on the list. This could be awkward.
Yet part of me feels we have unfinished business. That last text of his was uncharacteristically mature, and I half regret deleting it. I take a pace toward him, trying for a smile.
His face drains of color, and he turns and rushes away.
A frown furrows my brow. That’s not right.
At first, I think Tony or Jorge spooked him, but he didn’t even look at them, only at me.
“Wait!” I start after him. This, plus that text? It’s one more weird on top of too much weird, and I want answers.
“Do you know that guy?” Tony asks, keeping up as I hurry after where he disappeared.
“Ex-boyfriend,” I answer, distracted as I try to figure out where he went.
Then I see him, cutting across Fifth Avenue, heading for the park. That works for me, not least because there are food trucks that way. Karma telling me to follow.
But why is he running from me?
I jaywalk past the lights, ignoring the blast of horns as I cut the corner, heading Scott off.
Tony curses beside me, and Jorge runs ahead to hold the traffic up as I ignore the rules of the road.
I didn’t expect them to go to such lengths, and now I’m feeling guilty.
But I’ll fix it with burgers after I’ve caught Scott.
He’s looking over his shoulder, clearly having lost me, then he turns our way. My plan’s worked, and I run through Pulitzer Plaza, cutting him off.
He only notices me as I skid to a stop before him. “Scott, wait.”
I think he’s about to bolt again, but then Tony and Jorge hem him in.
Scott swallows hard, finding himself trapped. I didn’t tell my bodyguards to do that, but Scott speaks before I get a chance to say anything.
“Amelia, wait, please. I can explain.” It’s not just his words that make me pause, it’s the wild look in his eyes.
“Okay…” I reply, letting him lead on this one. I don’t know what he has to explain, but I’m as curious as hell.
“She meant nothing to me, really.” He glances at Tony, who narrows his eyes, and Scott focuses on me in desperation, like I’m his judge, jury and executioner. “I’m sorry I was cheating. I’m really, really sorry.”
My eyebrows go up. “You were cheating? On me?” I suppose I should be angry, but so much has happened, he’s so far in my past, I don’t really care. I’m just confused. Why is he telling me this? Why does he seem so scared?
“You… you already knew,” he stammers, unconvinced of his own words. “The photos…”
He’s not making any sense. “What photos?”
“The man said if I saw you again…” He spins toward Tony, retreats at whatever he sees in his face, and that puts him too close to Jorge. The big man shoves Scott away, and my ex-boyfriend screams in fright. A real, high-pitched sound of sheer terror.
“Please, no,” he begs, throwing up both hands.
Then he turns and runs, tripping over himself in his haste to escape.
I’m frozen to the spot, and can only watch him leave.
“Curious guy, this ex of yours,” Tony comments. “I take it you didn’t know he was cheating on you?”
“His hand,” I mutter to myself, then swing on Tony. “Did you see his hand? When he held them up?”
He meets my gaze but says nothing, and that only confirms what I already suspected.
Scott’s missing the middle two fingers of his right hand, the ones he likes to use most often.
The world seems to lurch, and I swallow bile, staring after Scott as he flees across the traffic, almost getting hit in his haste.
The cameras in my apartment. Were they there even when Scott came to visit, only what, three nights after the gala? Van Wyk works fast.
I always wondered how sharp that karambit was. Now I know.