13. Astrid
Life was a blur.
I got to work an hour early and stayed an hour late.
I did whatever I could to stay out of the house and avoid my own husband, the man whose last name appeared on my driver’s license and passport. He was supposed to be my family and I should wear his surname proudly, but now he felt like a stranger.
He gave me the space I didn’t ask for. We slept in the same bed and barely spoke over dinner. To the outside, it looked as if that conversation had never happened, but to us, it was as if the conversation was still going, carrying on without words.
I preferred the company of silent paintings. Preferred the colors of fog and midnight blue over the watercolors of spring. Emails from clients came in, but there wasn’t enough work to keep me busy, so I stared at the paintings and tried to find new meaning that I hadn’t noticed before.
Life had been hard in the past, but it had stopped being hard after Bolton. Never once had I thought I’d be standing there alone, relying on a painting made one hundred and fifty years ago for support. I never thought I’d rely on work to keep me busy enough not to cry.
I stood in front of a painting of a Macedonian ship at sea, surrounded by Persian warships trying to sink it to the bottom of the ocean and take all the supplies on board. It was a new acquisition for the gallery after an estate sale by a client. She decided to downsize her accommodations after her husband passed away. It was a collector’s item, and now it was back in our hands to sell once again. Artwork was like real estate. You could sell the same painting again and again, its value only growing over time.
“This is new.”
I heard his voice, would recognize it anywhere, heard it in dreams I tried so hard to remember after I woke. I turned to see him standing beside me, dressed in his usual black attire, a long-sleeved shirt snug on his arms, his height making him a skyscraper. I stared at the side of his face, my heart going from a pace so slow it almost stopped beating to a sprint. “Yeah, we just got it yesterday.”
“How long will it take you to sell a painting like this?”
I was still shocked to see him there because he’d never stopped by unannounced like this. “It depends on the artist. Whenever we get something from one of the greats, it’s gone in a day. For a painting like this, probably a week.”
He gave a subtle nod. “What’s your commission?”
“Fifteen percent.”
“That’s a nice payday.”
I put my money in a separate account from Bolton’s because he said he didn’t want my money, but he always shared everything he had with me. I didn’t need to earn money, so it just built up in the account over time. Sometimes I spent it on expensive clothes and shoes, splurge items I didn’t need, even though Bolton was happy to pay for those things.
Just six weeks ago, I would have been so grateful to have Bolton as my husband. I would have questioned how I got so lucky to find someone like him to love me and care for me. But now, it was as if our years of bliss had never happened.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I swallowed and cleared my voice. “I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”
He turned to look at me directly, his eyes absorbing my stare the way it did over dinner. “I was driving by and saw you in the window. Looked like you were having a hard day.”
He saw past the distance, saw past the glare on the windows from the sunshine, because my misery was like a beacon from a lighthouse to a ship stranded in the dark sea. I wanted to lie and reject his assumption, but I couldn’t.
“If my being here crosses the line, I’ll leave.”
“No,” I said quickly. “If I wanted you gone, I’d tell you.”
The smile on his lips was so subtle it was hardly visible, remembering the words he’d said to me on our first night together. “Let me take you to lunch.”
We went to a café down the block, sat outside because it was a warmer day after all the rain we’d had the last week. The restaurant was on the corner, the other tables full of people who were enjoying their lunch breaks.
I ordered a latte and a croissant, not having much of an appetite the last few days.
He ordered a coffee and a sandwich.
Conversation between us had been limited. His intuition really was borderline supernatural because he seemed to know exactly how to treat me, how to tiptoe around my misery rather than confronting it head on. He didn’t hit with me a slew of questions. He just let me be. Absorbed the misery with me.
“Is that your second lunch or your first?” I asked, wanting to break the last ten minutes of silence.
“First.” He took another bite and chewed with that big mouth, looking sexy as he worked his jaw and tightened the cords in his neck.
“Where were you going when you saw me?”
“A meeting.”
“If you’re here, then what happened to the meeting?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure they’re still waiting for me.”
Guilt filled my lungs like smoke. “Theo, I don’t want to keep you?—”
“I’d rather be here with you.” He sat there, a man too big for the little chair, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose because of how bright it was. One ankle rested on the opposite knee, and he carried himself with a relaxed posture. “I’m not asking you to talk about it. Sometimes the peaceful silence of a friend is more comforting than a heavy conversation. Whichever you prefer is fine with me.”
I looked at the beautiful man across from me—and didn’t see a friend.
When I came home, Bolton was on the phone. “Yes, I’ll bring her along. I’m sure she and Abigail will hit it off.” He finished the call and hung up.
I set my purse on the counter and slipped off my heels so the arches in my feet would have a break.
Bolton exited his study and walked up to me, his eyes turning guarded once he drew near. “How was work?”
Theo appeared in my mind, across from me at the café, a silent comfort like the paintings in the gallery. “It was fine. What was that about?”
“I’m having dinner with a client. I’d like you to come with me.”
“It sounds like your client wants me to come with you.”
His eyes flashed with a quick look of irritation, but he pushed it away. “He’s bringing one of his women, and she’d like company over dinner.”
“Then why don’t you two just go alone?” I didn’t want to make small talk with a woman who would just be replaced by someone new in two weeks.
“Because he likes to show off his woman, and I like to show off my wife.”
I felt the daggers sharpen in my eyes, felt the strain of my fury. “Do you?” I tried to keep the rage out of my tone, but it was so fucking hard.
Bolton stared at me, trying to dissolve my anger with just his stare. “I love you.” His words broke through his frustration and anger, coming out like the music of a songbird, loud with truth and beautiful with sincerity. “So fucking much.”
For just a flicker, my reality changed and the past was rewritten. Nothing had transpired. There were no other women. It was just us, back to our lives, back to our happiness.
“And I want you there. I don’t want this distance between us when I’m home. I don’t want us sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. I fucking hate this. But I’ve given you space because I know you well enough to know what will happen if I try to force it. But my patience has waned.”
How could this man ask to sleep with other women? How could he say these beautiful things to me then stick his dick in someone else? It felt like there were two versions of him, and I didn’t know which one I would get.
“Come with me,” he said gently. “Please.”
We left the villa and drove to the restaurant.
He moved his hand to my thigh.
Guilt shot up my spine because all I could think about was Theo. When he grabbed me like that when he took me to dinner. When his fingers gently moved up my dress but never ventured past an invisible line I didn’t have to draw. For the last six weeks, I’d felt like I was betraying Bolton, but now, I felt like I was betraying Theo.
I crossed my legs in the opposite direction, and that was enough to get his hand to move.
He didn’t seem to think anything of it because he needed both hands when he entered the roundabout crowded with buses and motorbikes as he navigated out of the congestion and headed onto a different road.
We arrived at the restaurant moments later, and after Bolton got me out of the car, he grabbed my hand.
I didn’t fight his touch, but it didn’t feel the same.
Nothing felt the same.
We entered the restaurant and were taken to an empty table because Bolton’s client hadn’t arrived yet. He pulled out the chair for me and immediately ordered a bottle of wine for the two of us.
His arm moved over the back of my chair, his fingers gently grazing my hair. After he surveyed his surroundings, he looked at me, his blue eyes taking in my appearance the way he used to. “You look beautiful.”
I wanted to flick my eyes away, but I couldn’t. They were stuck in place, remembering our wedding day, the moment he dropped to one knee and asked me to be his wife, all the good memories that looked different in hindsight…that had been irrevocably changed.