Chương 5
Natalie read the final line again.
Peter set down the screwdriver.
“What is it?”
She turned the laptop toward him.
Maya came around the table and read over his shoulder.
For once, she said nothing.
The betrayal did not arrive as heat. It arrived as organization.
Six weeks earlier, Julian had sat across from Natalie at their kitchen island while they argued about table linens. He had ordered Thai food, taken her hand, and told her she was worrying too much about his mother.
Around the same time, he had agreed to send her away for water.
Natalie remembered entering the courtyard. Julian had been the person who noticed her empty glass.
“You haven’t had anything to drink,” he had said, touching her elbow.
He had pointed toward the fountain.
“Maya’s over there. Go take a breath with her before the next round.”
She had believed he was caring for her.
The glass had been part of the plan.
Natalie closed the laptop.
Maya spoke first.
“I’m going to kill him in a legally unprovable way.”
“No.”
“That was not a serious threat.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m currently a bridesmaid.”
Peter sat across from Natalie.
“You should talk to him before you decide anything permanent.”
Maya looked at him.
“He lied to her face.”
“I can read.”
“He planned it.”
“I can also read dates.”
Natalie pressed her palms against the edge of the table.
“Dad.”
Peter’s expression changed.
“What?”
“I need you not to be reasonable for one minute.”
He took off his glasses.
The lines around his eyes deepened.
“Your husband arranged to remove you from a picture at your own wedding,” he said. “Then he stood in your face and pretended it surprised him. I am so angry I don’t trust myself to speak to him.”
Natalie’s throat tightened.
Peter continued.
“But the anger belongs to me. The decision belongs to you.”
She reached for the mug, though the tea had gone cold.
“I need to go home.”
Maya shook her head. “Not alone.”
“I’m not going to confront him. I need clothes. My work laptop. The medication in the bathroom.”
“I’ll come.”
“No. Go to your deposition.”
“Natalie.”
“I need one normal thing to happen today. You going to work is the closest option.”
Maya stared at her, then nodded reluctantly.
Peter drove Natalie to the apartment she shared with Julian.
They lived on the eighth floor of an Ashford-owned building overlooking the river. The apartment had been Julian’s before they met. He had invited her to move in after two years, and she had replaced almost nothing except the dining chairs and the bright steel lamp in the living room.
The doorman looked at Natalie with startled sympathy. He had probably seen photographs from the wedding already. Wealth traveled quickly through service corridors.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Ashford,” he said, then winced.
“Thank you, Luis.”
In the elevator, Peter watched the numbers rise.
“You don’t have to keep that name.”
“I haven’t even changed anything legally.”
“Good.”
The apartment was silent.
Julian’s tuxedo jacket hung over a chair. One cuff link rested on the floor. The sight of it made Natalie angrier than the email. He had left the room in a hurry and trusted that someone would eventually pick up after him.
She stepped over it.
In the bedroom, she opened the closet and began placing clothes into a suitcase. Work dresses. Jeans. Underwear. A sweater that belonged to Julian ended up in her hands. She threw it onto the bed and hated the satisfaction of the gesture.
Peter stood in the doorway.
“How long are you packing for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then pack for weather.”
She looked at him.
“It’s what your mother used to say.”
“She also packed six pairs of shoes for a weekend.”
“She believed weather affected feet.”
Natalie folded another sweater.
Her phone buzzed.
Julian: Daniel copied me. I’m coming over.
She typed: Don’t.
He called.
She declined.
A second message appeared.
I need to explain.
Natalie put the phone in her pocket.
“He’s coming,” she told Peter.
“Do you want me here?”
“Yes.”
Peter moved to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, stared inside, and closed it. Then he took the cuff link from the floor and placed it on the entry table.
Julian arrived twelve minutes later.
He entered with his own key and stopped when he saw Peter.
“Mr. Rowan.”
“Julian.”
The old formality returned between them. Before the wedding, Peter had spent months insisting Julian call him Peter. Julian had resisted because he said respect mattered. Now respect stood in the apartment like an unused piece of furniture.
Natalie zipped the suitcase.
Julian walked into the bedroom.
“I should have told you about the email.”
“Yes.”
“I should never have agreed.”
“Yes.”
“I convinced myself it was easier.”
“For whom?”
He looked at the clothes on the bed.
“For me.”
The answer was honest enough to hurt.
Peter remained in the kitchen, visible through the open doorway.
Julian lowered his voice.
“My mother brought it up during the seating argument. She said every family has private pictures. I said no. She kept asking. Then she said my grandmother had always wanted one of the four of us together, and after my sister’s divorce—”
“Celia isn’t divorced.”
“Not Celia. My mother’s sister.”
“I know who divorced.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I stopped hearing the actual request. I heard another fight. Another week of calls. My father asking me to humor her. My sisters saying it was nothing. I thought I could give her thirty seconds and spare everyone months of conflict.”
“You spared everyone except me.”
“I know.”
“You did more than agree. You created a reason to send me away.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I’m ashamed of that.”
“You told the photographer not to make a thing of it.”
“I was trying to keep it private.”
“You were trying to keep me ignorant.”
“Yes.”
May you like
Peter shifted in the kitchen.
Julian looked toward him, then back at Natalie.
