Chapter 17 #2
“It’s done,” she says, brandishing her phone. Then her eyes widen. “Wait, is that my bullet journal?”
I hand it over, taking her phone as if in exchange. She makes a displeased sound.
“Nate,” she turns the package over, “you opened this!”
“I always check packages.”
I scroll down the checklist. She’s selected most of the clothes, a bunch of books, and a number of little keepsakes. No furniture. No pictures. She grabs my hand, forcing my attention off the phone.
“When did it get here?”
I take her wrist, pulling her close, though I keep my eyes on the screen.
“Let go of me,” she whispers.
“Just a second, little heart. I’ve got to make sure we’re both happy with this before I send it to the movers. They’ve been waiting all morning. Are you sure you don’t want any furniture? Not even the antiques?”
“What did you do with my bullet journal?”
“I admired it, Grace.” I meet her eyes with a shrug, trying to keep things light. “It’s a beautiful thing you’ve created. And useful.”
“It’s private—you had no right to look!”
“You’re half-right. It is private, but privacy doesn’t exist between you and me.”
She looks at the phone then back at my face.
I try to neutralise my expression as a flicker of realisation narrows her eyes.
I wait to see if she’ll voice her newfound suspicion that I’ve looked at everything in her phone, too.
In tightening my grip on Grace, I’ve relied on the habitual submissiveness Constance Reid taught her.
Now I get to see how it looks when she breaks away from her default.
As it turns out, my girl gets very quiet as her eyes fill with a hardness I’ve never seen in her before.
Gorgeous.
“So,” she says coldly, “you want access to everything? What’s next—you’ll demand to see my phone at the end of every day?” She wrenches away from me, the journal falling to the floor between us. “I’m an idiot for even thinking about staying here with you.”
Grace turns to walk away, but I’ve got her back to the wall in a matter of seconds, her phone clattering to the floor beside the journal as I grip her shoulder in one hand, her throat in the other.
I’m relieved that she didn’t ask me directly about the spyware, but I’m not about to let her walk away from me.
She breathes fast in my grip, her fury transmuting into panic.
“What upsets you more,” I whisper, “that I’m taking control, or that you desperately need me to?”
“I don’t!”
She tries to push me away, her palms against my chest. I step closer, seeing if she’ll engage in a real fight.
When she tries to slide away along the wall, I press my hips to hers, bracketing her shoulders with my hands.
I could take her down in a matter of seconds. I won’t, but I want her to know I can.
“You’re right.” I lean in, trailing my lips along her ear.
“You don’t just need me to take control; you want me to, don’t you?
You laid out all that information in all those pretty charts, and I’ll bet Nick never even glanced at them.
But I’m going to look at them every day.
I’m going to study the copies I made. Then I’m going to take care of you the way he never did because I don’t buy for one fucking second that you do all that work just for yourself, Grace.
You might not have known it before just now, but you’ve made all those pretty charts for me. ”
I feel it when she lets herself give in for a moment.
“That’s not true,” she whispers.
She tilts her head, exposing the line of her throat. I trace it with my teeth before pulling back to look into her eyes.
“I’ve never lied to you, Grace. Not once. Do you know why?”
I release her abruptly and take a long step back. I don’t miss how she catches herself, her eyes dazed, her hand going to her throat.
“I don’t need to lie to make you mine.” I motion up the corridor. “Lunch time, then you’ve got your doctor’s appointment to get ready for. And tonight, Grace, we’ll have an in-depth discussion about how this marriage is going to work.”
“I don’t want lunch.” She looks down at the phone and the bullet journal by our feet. “I don’t want anything.”
“You wanted a nice big fight just now.” I bend down to pick up her things. “And I think you want to keep telling me all about your boundaries. Everything’s negotiable, as far as I’m concerned.”
That gets a sarcastic laugh out of her. “I thought you didn’t need to lie to me, Nate.”
I guide her down the hallway, ignoring the jibe. I can’t micromanage every single moment, much as I’d like to—not when both of us have things to do. Starting with getting her a healthy lunch.
In the kitchen, I sit her down while I prepare some food.
My favourite caterer supplies me with ready-frozen meals, and I bring out some butternut squash soup, which I heat on the stove.
I chop up some fresh veggies, then open a packet of quinoa crackers.
I plate it all, then set it down in front of my wife.
Grace looks pointedly at where I’m standing across from her with nothing more than a glass of water. She lifts the spoon. “Why do you only eat one meal a day?”
“Keeps me lean and clean.” I smile at her. “But I doubt that’s the approach Eileen will advise for you. Have you thought about what you’ll tell her?”
Grace gives me a flat look then starts eating. I’m tempted to demand that she consider how she’ll approach the appointment, but I know it’s unnecessary. Eileen will take care of it like the professional she is.
“I’ll sit in,” I say, “make sure everything goes well.”
“Absolutely not.” She puts her spoon down, her cheeks pale. “Though I guess you’ll just get the doctor to tell you all about it? You’re the one paying her, after all.”
I smile. “Eileen can’t be bought, though I’ll admit she charged me plenty to clear her schedule this afternoon. She’d never breach your privacy, Grace. You can trust her.”
“Interesting.” She pushes the half-eaten food away, eyes brightening. “I wonder what she’ll say when I tell her about you breaching her privacy standards by stealing the contents of my bullet journal.”
“She’d probably see it the way I do. I’m a friend making copies of valuable documents, which we can use together to help you.”
She regards me. “A friend?”
Little shark, scenting blood.
I’m almost proud of her, using the situation I’ve created against me. I need her to meet Eileen of her own free will and to be fully engaged. I decide to make a concession, though it rankles.
“We’ll discuss that tonight,” I say. “For now, you can keep your appointment private, as befits Eileen’s standards.” I take the dishes to the sink then put the water on for tea. “Sound good?”
I turn to see the question land, only to find that Grace has already walked away. Peering down the curving corridor, I see her retreating shape. I want to run after her, bring her to heel, make her obey me.
Tonight, I promise myself.
Tonight, I’ll make everything clear to both of us.