Anyone looking at us would think we’re two of the luckiest women in the world.
5
CORA
Adrian is waitingfor me when we get home. He’s actually pacing the foyer when we come through the door.
He tells me to take the children to the nursery, that Vera will watch them, and to meet him immediately in the library. His voice is controlled, but he’s obviously pissed. He was at work when I left the house. Pence must have ratted me out as soon as I arrived at Drake Chambers’s office for him to have made it back to Connecticut by now.
Adrian is still wearing his work clothes minus the jacket. His shirt is stark white, his pressed wool slacks are dark gray, and his burgundy tie is understated. Except for the five o’clock shadow, which he usually deals with in the shower when he gets home, he looks completely put together.
I’m musky from the anxiety sweats, rumpled from the long car ride, and exhausted. I consider ignoring him and crashing, but I don’t dare. He owns me. He has all along, and I had no idea. No wonder he wasn’t ashamed to be caught with another woman.
I take my time settling Pearl in with her TV show and nursing Winnie before I throw some water on my face andhead downstairs. My frayed nerves hum just below the surface.
When I enter the library, he’s standing by the fireplace, staring into the flames with his hand braced on the mantel. The whole room looks like it should be in one of those historical homes that let you pay money to poke your nose around. The impressive desk is oak. The books on the shelves are leather bound, and the ladder is on a brass rail.
The art hanging from the walls is signed by names even I recognize, and everything else is made by names I’ve learned since I’ve been with Adrian—the rug is Jamshidi, the chandelier is Baccarat, the marble mantel is Marmoso.
When I asked Adrian to tell me about everything, I thought I was learning about his world, being a good wife. He must’ve thought I was appraising the furnishings.
He straightens and turns to me, his jaw tightening. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the overstuffed leather sofa. I guess I’m getting talked to again.
This must be what being called to the principal’s office feels like. I never got in trouble in school; I got in trouble for not going.
I sit. He remains standing and looms over me, his hands on his hips.
“Do you want to tell me what you thought you were doing at Drake Chambers’s office?” His dark eyes flash. Oh, he’smadmad.
I’m surprised. He’s the ruthless business guy. Isn’t he always three steps ahead of everybody else? And lawyering up is a predictable move, isn’t it? Maybe he’s just annoyed that I had the audacity to test the bars of my cage.
“Want to tell me what your director of finance’s pussy feels like?” I snap back.
His eyebrows fly up in genuine surprise. I don’t cussaround him, and I’m never vulgar, but that’s a choice I made, not my nature. He knows nothing about who I really am.
There were times that I was tempted to let him in—a few times in bed late at night, or when we tossed a coin in the Trevi fountain on our honeymoon, or walked on that deserted beach in Crete—but I didn’t know how. Maybe I wasn’t emotionally stunted after all. Maybe I just still have a working sense of self-preservation.
His face hardens. “Our agreement is airtight. You’re wasting your time.”
“Does your director of finance like to go airtight?”
His nostrils flare. He really didn’t like that one. “Do you think we can have a civil conversation?”
“No. I think you’re going to tell me how things are, and I’m going to eat shit.” I draw my heels up, propping them on the edge of the sofa, and wrap my arms around my knees. “Well, go ahead, boss man. Tell me how things are going to be.”
He glares at me, exhaling slowly. “You’re making this needlessly difficult.”
“I’m sitting here like you said. I’m listening. Go on.”
He pauses for a moment, the cords in his neck straining, his hands flexing, and then he says, “To be clear, I am not now, nor will I ever be, open to renegotiating our agreement. Chambers is wasting his time and my money. But in the interest of moving forward, I’m willing to entertain a one-time settlement. To put this thing to bed.”
I’m about to make another smart remark about putting things to bed, but I stop myself. I want to know what he thinks would smooth this over. I’m not really sure why he’s bothering. He knows that he has me over a barrel. I’d never walk away from my own children. Nothing in the world could make me.
I raise an eyebrow.
He swallows. “I’m prepared to deposit ten million in your account now and another ten million when—” He pauses to cough. “When normal marital relations resume.”
“You mean when I let you fuck me again?” Never happening. Not in this lifetime.
