I’m fucking exhausted. I should be sleeping. I must be back at the office in three hours. Instead, I’m wandering through the house. In the few weeks Afton’s been here, she’s made small changes, some pillows, a blue vase she keeps on the windowsill in the kitchen.
The plants. I didn’t mind them when they were contained in the greenhouse. Now there’s a stealthy spread of them through the house, with the accompanying water stains and fallen leaves. The petals of the two geraniums in the bedroom are drooping, Davina must not be watering them.
I should throw them out. They’re messy.
I fill up a glass from the master bathroom sink and water them. Just so they don’t start dropping dead flower petals everywhere.
***
“How is she today?”
I’m driving to work, back in my suit and tie, feeling like myself again.
“She’s not eating very much, Boss.” Talon knows better than to argue with me about my decision, but he takes the underhandedroute of injecting a bit of disapproval in his tone, just enough that calling him out on it would prove it annoys me.
The thought of my wife losing those luscious curves of hers is- I shut it down. “Well, try some different foods. Pick up some American style meals. Any security concerns? Has she made any effort to leave?”
“No. She just sits on the beach and watches the waves. Sometimes, she works out, punches and kicks. She dinnae talk much.”
“Your job is to keep her healthy and the house secure.” My tone is sharper than I intend. “I’ll check in with you later.”
“Aye, Sir,” he says gloomily.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
It was her choice to betray me.
***
Because it seems that no one wants me to get a single goddamned thing done, my father is waiting for me in my office.
“Son! I haven’t seen ye in a while. You’re looking a bit peaked, aye?”
That’s rich, this coming from the loose cannon of our family whose hair looks like it’s been burned off on one side.
“Hello, Dad. New barber? You might consider firing them.” I drop my suitcase on my desk, sitting down and knowing that this conversation will go on as long as my father decides it needs to.
“Eh, a bit of a mess,” he agrees, running his fingers through the undamaged side. “I might have gotten a wee bit too close to some C4 we set off at one of the Moreau sex clubs. Those French fucks have been buying girls from the Red Trade again.”
“I see.” The hair is singed down to his scalp and his cheek on that side looks like a slab of raw beef. “I’m assuming you got the girls out in time, even though you cut it a bit close?”
“Aye, of course.” Dad looks offended that I would think otherwise.
“Has Mom seen you yet?”
He smiles pleasantly, rising to help himself to my bar cart, even though it’s 8am. “She’s in Halifax right now. Plenty of time to get my face sorted before I see her again.”
“What can I do for you, Dad?” I rub my eyes, wishing this conversation was over.
“I haven’t seen your lovely bride around.” He pours himself a glass of my Teeling 38 Year single malt, a ten-thousand-pound bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion. “How are ye two doing, then?”
Staring at him, sitting in my favorite chair, drinking my whisky, I give up. He’s not going anywhere. “She’s the one responsible for the stolen drones.”
“Is she now?” Dad’s eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to see into my soul.
“She told Cavendish, the sleazy fuck. He was threatening to arrange a marriage for her sixteen-year-old sister if she didn’t spy for him.” Just thinking about it - his greed, my wife’s desperation, her betrayal - it’s an uncomfortable and infuriating cocktail of emotion.
“Have ye told Cormac?”
