Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Astor
My stomach is in knots as I carry the tea down the hallway. Something’s got to give. I can’t please Valerie, Sabine, or my business in the way each deserves.
Cillian has taken a tremendous load off me, but I’m still involved in almost every decision. Valerie needs me full-time. Sabine needs me full-time—and I need her full-time. I’m getting the sick feeling that the other shoe is about to drop.
I push open the master bedroom door.
Valerie is sitting up in bed. Brittney is next to her, leaning next to her face.
I stop. Valerie is speaking again? To someone besides me?
“Valerie?”
Both women turn to me. Brittney backs away from the bed.
Brittany’s cheeks are flushed—though I don’t think that’s anything new. I’m beginning to think embarrassed is her natural resting state.
“Can Valerie and I have a moment, please?”
Brittney dips her chin and all but runs out of the room.
“Were you and the nurse just speaking?” I ask as he closes the door.
Valerie frowns, then sputters a deep cough. She shakes her head.
“But I’m sure I heard whispering when I came in.”
She waves her hand dismissively.
I’m certain she and Brittney were speaking when I walked in. Why would she tell me they weren’t?
She’s playing you . . .
I slide the tea cup onto the nightstand. Usually, we’d have a pleasant surface-level exchange here, then I would leave. Not today.
“I know about the affair, Valerie.”
“Which one,” her eyes narrow, “mine or the dozen you’ve had while we were married.”
“Fair enough.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s dead.”
I pause. “How do you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you don’t remember anything that happened that day.”
“I don’t. I saw it on the news days later.”
I don’t know what to say here. I’m sorry for your loss?
I sigh. “We never should have gotten married.”
“Hand me the tea.”
I lay the bed tray over her lap and set the tea on top. “I’m not mad about your affair. But I am confused.”
“I don’t know why you’re confused. You married me because I got pregnant and then sent me away after my baby died.”
“ Our baby. I understand why you’re mad and I understand your feelings. And I understand why you had an affair. What I don’t get is why create such an elaborate scheme? You faked a kidnapping and your own death. Why not just divorce me?”
“You wouldn’t have allowed it.”
I open my mouth to respond, but close it. She’s right. I wouldn’t have allowed it, not only from a safety standpoint, but also because she knew too much about me, my life, our daughter, our home life together. I would have thrown more money at her, more leniency.
God, I am an asshole.
“Fine. Maybe you’re right but wouldn’t it have been worth a shot to ask? Carlos had plenty of money, so it’s not like your lifestyle would have been affected dramatically.”
“He did have money until you sent him into bankruptcy,” she snaps, showing a hint of the woman I knew before our lives got flipped upside down.
“Okay—but this doesn’t explain your sudden fixation with our daughter. Why did you write her name on the shower wall?”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
I groan in frustration. “You’re not telling me something about Chloe. I know it. . . . I get the vibe you’re not telling me a lot of things. Valerie, it’s time. Talk. Start with why you staged your kidnapping but then emailed me weeks later for me to come save you.”
Say it. Admit that part of your plan was to have me killed. Say it.
“Valerie—”
“Carlos couldn’t handle me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t realize how bad my depression—my schizophrenia—was. It was apparent within days of us being together. I was a lot more than he could deal with.”
I don’t doubt that.
She begins twisting the comforter between her fingers and looks down, sadness—or is it regret?—washing over her face.
She continues, “At least with you, I had proper medical care.
“You’re welcome,” I deadpan.
She snorts. “Anyway. I told Carlos that I wanted to go back home and he allowed me to email you a location for you to come get me—the hangar. I swear I didn’t know Carlos and Prishna were working together at that point.”
“So you didn’t conspire with Carlos to kill me that day?”
“No.”
She’s lying. I feel it in my bones. I want to press the issue, make her confess, but at the end of the day what difference does it make? What’s done is done.
Resigned, I tuck the comforter around her and stand. “Try to go to sleep.”
“Astor?” She calls after me as I cross the room.
“Yes?”
“Tell the maid to wash these sheets tomorrow. They stink.”
“Fine.” I turn away.
“Also . . . tell Brittney to come back in here. I like her. A lot.”