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48. She Kept Her Appointment

She Kept Her Appointment

Gwen

A man followed me.

Pitt Street was chaotic in the morning rush. When the train stopped, I spilled out the doors, tumbling onto the street with the horde…

And there he was.

Sunglasses, a charcoal suit, and slicked-back curls usually would’ve blended in with the sea of commuters, but the man stood out. Tattoos etched every inch of visible skin on his hands and neck, and he lounged against the station wall, pretending to read a magazine.

About quilting .

I tried to lose my crafting companion in the crowd, but he was never far away, constantly on my heels as I hurried through the city. He was behind me when I stopped to grab a coffee. He was still there when I paused at the traffic lights, scanning left and right before dashing across the road.

I was breathless from dodging through the city in three-inch heels, but I was calm.

Being followed wasn’t exactly a new thing.

The Morelli family had pulled the same kind of crap when I’d been preparing the case for the Bankstown raids.

Intimidation—never worked. Bribery—they shouldn’t have bothered.

And they hadn’t for long. They’d quickly realized their promises of dirty money were wasted on me and found people more receptive to their offers.

The click of my heels slowed as I approached the weathered bricks of the building on Barrack Street. I didn’t want an audience for where I headed next.

Scowling, I glanced over my shoulder. The man was still there. He paused, looked to the side, up, and then…he started whistling.

Whistling .

I stopped on the sidewalk, spun around, and faced him head-on. I didn’t have time for this crap.

“Well,” I barked at him. “What do you want?”

Dark eyebrows popped over his sunglasses, and his tattooed finger raised, pointing to his chest as if to say, “Who, me?”

“Yes.” I put my hand on my hip. “You.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Hello.” He looked around the street, thinking. “It is a…nice morning…for a walk.” He had a heavy accent—strong, sharp, Italian, maybe?

“Is it?” I arched my eyebrow. “I’m not sure I agree.” When his head tilted, confused, I spelled it out for him, “A strange man’s following me.”

My crafty friend launched into action, stepping closer to me, his arm shooting out like a bodyguard, and his head whipping around to check everyone passing us on the street.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re the strange man.

” Not the sharpest enforcer dragged out of the goon squad tool shed, was he?

“You see this?” I lifted my foot and wiggled the pointed toe of my patent black stilettos.

“One kick in the right place, and you’ll never father enough children to make any of those quilts. Who are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m Romeo.”

“Romeo?” I snorted. Yeah, right. “I bet you are.”

“Sì.” His smile grew wider.

Italian. For sure. I could be in deep shit. My skin prickled with apprehension, but I took a deep breath, scanning the busy street, the sun of broad daylight warm on my skin. I was safe here… for now.

“And why are you following me, Romeo?”

“I was told to.”

“By…?”

“My employer, Signora Sullivan.” He bowed his head.

“And who is your employer ?”

“No names. I prefer to keep my employer happy.” Another slow smile spread across his face. “I was warned you’d try to get up here.” He tapped the magazine against his temple. “But I prefer to stay alive, sì?”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve got much of an employer if you have to worry about a nap in the dirt,” I retorted. “I hope they pay good overtime.”

Romeo snorted a laugh. “My employer is very generous, Signora.”

I cocked my head and looked him up and down—an action that seemed to please him based on his sly grin.

“You look familiar.” My eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a whiff of the Morelli family about you.

” He was far too tall and too broad, but the dark curls and strong jaw reminded me of the eldest son—and who knew how many more of that motley crew there were in the city?

That accusation received a swift reaction. Romeo stepped forward, his lip curled. “I don’t lie with dogs.” The chilled edge to his voice was enough to shuffle me back a step.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a Morelli.

I forced a tight smile and played it cool. He’d rattled me, but I wouldn’t slip up again. Maybe this was all some bullcrap intimidation tactic of Kayleigh’s legal team—get some over-muscled goon in a suit to follow me around to convince Toby to drop the charges coming.

Why, though?

It seemed like too much effort. Something wasn’t adding up—like Ian blocking security footage and the dodgy clinic books. I shoved down my uncertainty, took a deep breath, and turned a stony expression back to my crafty friend.

“Are you going to follow me around for the rest of the day?” I asked.

“Sì.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Every day. Until I’m told not to.”

“Sounds boring as shit.”

And just like the good ol’ days…

I sighed, my gaze lifting to the shadows of buildings looming above me, wishing I was anywhere else.

How had I found myself back here but without any of the perks of being a prosecutor?

All the same weight to carry on my shoulders to keep Toby from worrying, and now Noah was in the mix, too.

But for what? Zero fighting for justice.

No accolades. The only work to look forward to was more of Liam’s boring contracts and corporate nonsense.

Fan- freaking -tastic.

“It’s not such a bad job,” Romeo said. “The view is quite…” He lowered his sunglasses. “Pleasant.”

Did women fall for his crap? “Keep your eyes off my ass, Romeo.” The smug bastard only smiled.

“Amuse yourself following me around if you must. I’m stopping here for an hour or two.

” I jerked my head at the glass doors of the office building in front of us.

“I’d prefer your employer doesn’t know what errands I’m running.

So, you can make us both happy and stay outside…

Or… I’m going to start screaming blue murder so those cops”—I tipped my coffee in the direction of the police patrolling across the street—“come over here and arrest you. Understand?”

“Sì.” Romeo chuckled. My threat hadn’t scared him in the slightest. “I’ll be waiting here for you while you finish your… errands .”

I stormed inside the building, keeping an eye on Romeo as I headed to the elevator. I punched the button for level eleven. I glanced over my shoulder. He lowered his sunglasses, flashing me what I’m sure he thought was a panty-dropping smile through the window, but he stayed outside.

I rode the elevator to level eleven, got out, smiled awkwardly at the lady sitting at the reception of the Injex Laser Clinic , and hit the button for level six—where I was actually going.

Paula Beckman, Psychologist.

When I arrived, I hovered by the glass door.

Nerves sprung out of me like a broken clock dropped out a window.

I smoothed my hair, tugged down my skirt, and gulped too many sips of my coffee.

How could I be so nervous? I’d been brave as shit downstairs.

I’d threatened a mafioso—twice—and not even blinked.

But stick me outside a psychologist’s office with a fancy pink rug and green velvet, and suddenly, I was a basket case.

My hand trembled on the door handle, but somehow, I managed to turn it and stumble inside.

A woman with brown curls wearing a dress resembling a sack of confetti sifted through files on the reception desk. She looked up with a warm smile, but my insides chilled.

This is happening.

“Gwen?” she asked.

Frozen, terror icing my veins, I stood like a statue.

“Sorry, my secretary starts late on Tuesdays. I’m Paula. Come on through.” She gestured across the room to a door. “Thanks for coming at short notice. You’ve canceled a few appointments, so I wanted to be available if you found some time.”

Silently, I shuffled over, all my confidence flittering away, wobbling in my heels. “Uh, thanks…”

I followed Paula inside, and my gaze crept around the room—lots of wood, an oversized Persian rug, and different chairs and a couch on the back wall.

Is this some kind of test?

Was Paula going to figure out something about me based on where I sat? Pull a power move?

“Where do I…?” I pointed at the chairs.

She smiled. “Take a seat anywhere you want.” She poured two glasses of water. “A lot of people like the couch. The view’s nice. All the way to the bridge.”

Sure. Like anyone cared about seeing an iconic landmark when they were being grilled about their faults.

I slunk across the room and perched on the very edge of the couch, heels together, hands folded primly in my lap.

I’d take Paula’s word about the view. I didn’t look out the window. I kept my eye on the door.

“You don’t look comfy.” Paula smiled down at me as she leaned over to place a glass of water on the table. “How do you feel about being here today?”

“Not comfy,” I replied absently.

“First time talking to a psychologist?”

First… and last. “Yeah.”

“You have some reservations?”

Some? Try loads. “Yeah.”

“Can you share why you decided to make an appointment?”

I shrugged. “Things have changed a lot over the last year.”

Paula sat down in the chair opposite me. “How about we start with one thing that’s changed?” She rested a notepad in her lap, but she wasn’t writing anything.

I bit my lip and chose a safe place to start. “I had a baby.”

“That’s a big change. Your first?” When I nodded, Paula asked, “How do you feel about becoming a mum?”

“Great. My son—Noah—he’s the best. Always happy. An easy baby. My husband loves kids, and he’s always wanted a family. We both did, I guess.” I shrugged.

Paula’s head tilted. She still wasn’t writing anything in her notebook. “That sounds like a positive change.”

“It…was…”

“But something’s happened?” Paula asked. “More recently?”

“My husband… Toby.” I squirmed on the seat. “He…” I blew out a slow breath. “He had an affair.”

“Gwen, that must have been a very tough truth for you to find out.” Paula wrote that in her notebook. “I’m sorry to hear you had to go through that. How did you feel?”

“Humiliated. Completely betrayed. Like he threw me on the ground, kicked me in the guts, and abandoned me to die alone in the gutter.”

Paula’s eyebrow rose just a tiny bit.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Was that too much?”

“No, not at all,” she said quickly. “You just surprised me. I hadn’t expected you to be so honest. And before you worry”—she smiled—“honesty’s important in this room.”

I nodded and sipped my coffee. I bet. That’d give her plenty to write in her notebook.

“And your husband…” Paula continued. “Toby. You’re still together?”

“Yeah. We’re trying to give it another go.” I paused. I hadn’t realized my hand was tugging at the hem of my skirt.

Paula smiled softly but didn’t prompt me to say anything else. The silence made me itchy.

I filled the void all by myself. “ But how do I do that? I want to do that… Give him another chance, you know? I love that man like no one else ever could. He’s an incredible person.

He’s sweet. A big ol’ boy scout. He’s never gone out of his way to be mean or hurt anyone his whole life.

And yet, with me… I’m the person he’s supposed to care about the most, but he just… ”

Gave up.

Forgot about me.

Cheated.

Hurt me.

“Gwen, it sounds like you care about your husband.”

“I do. That’s why this hurts so fucking much.

Part of me still wants to hate him. I tried to.

I chucked all his shit out. I got rid of him.

And yet, whenever I look at him, I want to crumble in a heap and ask him why I wasn’t good enough anymore.

He says I wasn’t the reason, but then he says he was lonely…

Because of me … The way I acted. So, I was at least part of why he cheated. ”

“Maybe some things in your relationship needed extra attention, but you weren’t the reason your husband cheated. Toby was the owner of that decision. Not you.”

“Because I wasn’t enough . And I hate that. I hate it!”

“Do you worry about that a lot? Being… enough?”

Did I worry? My chest tightened. Yes. Every day. Because I wasn’t enough. Failure and self-loathing washed over me, the feeling settling in my stomach, torpedoing my breakfast back up my throat. I hated that feeling even more. Weakness.

I swiped my eyes with the sleeve of my blouse.

Shit.

A streak of black was left behind. Waterproof mascara was another big fat lie.

A box of tissues slid across the coffee table. “Gwen, it’s okay to let yourself feel—”

“No, it’s not!” I snapped. “Every time I cry, I let his little witch have power over me. She stole nearly a year of my life with Toby. She got to be with him when I wasn’t.

He was mine, but he chose her. He kissed her.

And he liked it. And why wouldn’t he? She’s rich.

She’s fun and still has perky tits and a perfect ass, and she’s not wallowing in self-pity because she’s not a fucking failure .

” I ripped a bunch of tissues from the box and dabbed them at my stinging eyes.

“I never had anyone. My brother is so fucked up, and loving him was never enough to help him. I was never enough for him to stay. I wasn’t enough for Toby, either. ”

I covered my eyes with my hand and forced down a deep breath. I needed to calm myself.

“You’re doing great, Gwen. Keep going.”

“I want to believe Toby loves me the way he used to when we first met,” I said. “But it’s hard to believe that.” I huffed out a breath. “Some days, it feels impossible.”

“Because of Toby’s infidelity?”

“Because I’m not the same person anymore.

” I laughed, but it was brittle and bitter and ached in my soul.

“And it’s funny, you know? I thought I lost myself about a year ago when I was fired from my job.

But now, I don’t know if I ever truly knew myself.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the person who looks like she’s got her shit together, but I never really have.

My best friend looks up to me like I’m a grown-up.

I’m confident on the outside. I know I’m great at my job.

Sometimes, I even kid myself into thinking I’m a good mum.

But at night, when it’s just me… My head’s a mess. ”

“Do you want to understand the reasons?” Paula asked. “To tidy up the mess and make sense of what you’re thinking?”

I nodded cautiously.

“What about taking some of your power back and finding answers to who you are and what you want for your life?”

I sat up straighter and eyed Paula warily. Was this another of her tests? “Is that even possible?”

“With time.” She smiled. “With hard work. And I don’t get the feeling you’re scared of a bit of hard work. So, if that’s what you want, I can help.”

I didn’t even think about it. “That’s what I want.”

Because under everything— despite everything—I wanted to be the best version of me.