In response, she glides a few steps towards him, then changes tack, angling nearer to me. I try not to flinch as she reaches out a finger to pinch at my dress fabric, rubbing it for a second before releasing it with a smile.
Her eyes move to rest on Baxter’s. “I remember when you bought this for me. Nice to see someone getting use out of it.”
He shakes his head, but Alice moves, tilting her chin as she deliberately impedes my view of him. She purses her lips as her gaze moves higher to my collarbone. “And you’re wearing my necklace.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Did you know he gave it to me as an engagement present because the ring took a few days to size, and he couldn’t stand to wait?”
I stare back at her, watching as her right eyebrow raises, unsure how or if I should respond.
“It’s not your necklace,” Baxter says with a tone so sharp the words should slice marks across his ex-wife’s cheeks. “Or your dress. The clothing label wasn’t even in existence when you left. If you want to play your mind games with me, go ahead, but leave everyone else out of it.”
His words register but I’m not really paying attention. I’m still getting accustomed to her long black hair with barely any curl, just like mine. We’d be level if I weren’t dressed in flats. I’d say her dress sense was also similar, but this isn’t my choice of clothing. It’s Baxter’s.
Except from what Alice is saying, maybe even that isn’t true. The dress I’m wearing might be new but looking at her outfit I can plainly see the style is hers.
He’s dressing me as a clone of his ex-wife.
My cheeks fill with so much colour they’re ten degrees warmer than the rest of my face. I try to stop it, my expressions are too easy to read at the best of times, but there’s no way to hold it back.
Baxter said I was special but if I believe the woman standing in front of me, then that’s a lie. Humiliation creeps a stealthy path from the soles of my feet upwards.
If what she says is true, I’m not his partner. I’m a fetish.
Ifwhat she says is true.
I shift to the side, my eyes seeking his in desperation. His face is calm. He shakes his head again and even as he speaks to Alice, his gaze keeps returning to me. Checking in.
“What do you want?” he asks, and it’s not his usual sexy growl or the low rumble that can send an avalanche of tingles running through me. It’s a harsh, angry sound. Like his patience is already over its limit and damned if he’ll be serving it any more today.
“A little birdie told me that my daughter was kidnapped.” For the first time, Alice glances at her daughter, then her eyes just as quickly cut away. “I had to come to see for myself. I swore to our mutual acquaintance that even if we’ve had our differences in the past, you wouldn’t withhold such pertinent information from me.”
She steps closer to him, tapping his chest with the knuckle of her forefinger and his eyes finally break their hold with mine.
“You would tell me if Sophia had been taken, wouldn’t you, darling? You wouldn’t leave me to find that out from a friend?”
“I’m dealing with it.”
“Ah.” Her mouth opens, and she slowly licks her lips, those red-red lips. “So, you have been—”
“You left, Alice. You told me you didn’t want to know.”
“Mum?” Sophia hesitates, then reaches for her mother’s hand. “D’you want to see my room?”
“Maybe later.” Alice spins on her heel and paces towards the window while Sophia’s face crumples.
Baxter glares at her back as though he’d like to stab it. But he lays a gentle hand on his daughter’s head, choosing to reassure her rather than engage with his ex-wife.
“Would you like some tea?” I ask, helpless to think of anything else. I want to get out of this room, get Sophia out, but I also don’t want this woman—this over-confident, over-polished woman—to think that I’m running away.
“Coffee, please,” Alice replies. “Tell Nora it’s for me so she can make it the way I like.”
“Sure,” I say with a relieved sigh, stepping forward to take Sophia’s hand. “You want to help me and Nora make coffee?”
I tug her towards the door so firmly that it wouldn’t matter if the girl said no. A tiny break comes in Alice’s composure when Sophia lifts her arms up, a silent demand to be carried. There’s a frown and a wounded look in her eye that quickly gets plastered over with a smirk.
Finding my way to the kitchen isn’t enough of a distraction to wipe the worry from my mind. The moment I walk through the door, Nora frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Mummy’s visiting,” Sophia blurts, then ducks her head to hide her face in my chest.
The alarm on Nora’s face is immediate.
