“Then what is it about?”
“Revenge.”
7
AURORA
“You’ll have to forgive my wife. This isn’t something she imagined having to do for a long time.”
Right. I’m supposed to participate in this farce. It’s not enough I had to sit by and watch my husband blackmail a lawyer. That was already painfully awkward, even when I told myself not to care or listen too hard. The more detached I am, the easier it is to survive.
But this, I’m expected to care about, even if reality says otherwise. We have to keep up appearances. Blinking quickly, I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult?—”
The prim, pale-faced undertaker shakes his head while his mouth pulls together in what I guess is supposed to be sympathy. If anything, it looks creepy. “It’s a trying time. No need to explain. You have been through a terrible, life-altering upheaval. Here, we aren’t interested only in taking care of a client’s earthly remains. We place a great deal of importance on caring for those left behind. We want to take everything off your hands.”
“Thank you.” I don’t dare tell him the full story. As far as I’m concerned, he can take all of this off my hands, because I don’t care. I don’t feel anything during this so-called trying time. The man in the dark suit sitting on the other side of an enormous desk doesn’t have the first clue how trying it’s been.
The hand on my back only makes it worse. Liam moves it in a small, slow circle. The supportive husband trying to help his wife keep it together. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to hold in the laughter that wants to burst out of me. It’s even better than breaking down crying.
The undertaker cleared his throat before gently moving a large binder closer to where we’re sitting side-by-side. “Please, take your time making your choices. I assume you wish to go with a full-service burial.”
Liam shifts in his chair. “Really, I’m not sure we need to–”
“Absolutely.” I pull my gaze from the photos and descriptions spread out in front of me, looking at my husband. “I think that’s what he would want. Something big. He was a larger-than-life person.”
Something flickers across his handsome face, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “You would know better than I would, dear.”
I’m pretty sure dollar signs are dancing in the undertaker’s eyes by the time I start flipping through the pages, choosing the most expensive casket available. I barely notice what it looks like. The price alone is all that matters.
“We work with the cemetery’s stone masons to arrange for an appropriate monument as well.” A second binder magically appears, filled with increasingly ornate headstones, all the way up to a full-on mausoleum.
He doesn’t deserve any of this. If it were really up to me, they could cremate him and spread his ashes someplace far, far away from me without giving me a location. I would be fine with that. The idea of never seeing him again doesn’t fill me with sadnessor a sense of loss. I’m not flooded with happiness, either. I feel… Nothing. This isn’t shock. It’s total detachment.
But my husband wants me to pretend, so I’ll pretend. “He would like this,” I decide, tapping a finger on a photo of a large marble bench flanked by a pair of weeping angels. “That way, I can sit and visit with him.” It’s tens of thousands of dollars and probably a drop in the bucket compared to what Liam can afford, but it’s something. The only thing that I can do to get back at him, even in a tiny way.
The corners of his mouth pull downward, and there is no light behind his eyes, but he nods slowly. “Sure. That’s a nice idea.”
By the time we leave the office, with the funeral set for Friday, the undertaker looks like he could use an oxygen mask. “You made him very happy today.” Liam makes a big show of helping me into the car as if he’s the caring husband, and I’m the grieving daughter. Before closing the door, he leans down, and to my surprise, he’s grinning. “If you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, princess, you’re going to have to try a lot harder.”
So much for that. I don’t have the energy to roll my eyes, much less to argue. Let him think he won. He already does, anyway. God, if there’s anyone or anything that could wipe this smirk off his face.
I’m burying my father on Friday. It’s like the thought involves someone else. A different family, a different life. Some fictional character who has nothing to do with me or the man who raised me.
“We’ll go home and freshen up now.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, thumbs flying as he types a message.
Freshen up. His choice of words jars me out of the fog wrapped around my aching head. “Freshen up for what?” There I was, hoping I could get a little time to unwind on my own.
“We have a dinner reservation, wifey.” His grin reminds me of a shark when he turns it on me. “I want you to look your best.” His gaze crawls over me and makes me shiver in a way I don’t feel comfortable with. I don’t want this man’s approval, and I definitely don’t want him to touch me.
Even if the memory of his hand on my skin makes me shiver in a way that’s new to me. Maybe if Dad had let me gain a little experience with men instead of keeping me locked up like a prisoner my whole life, it would take more than the touch of a man’s hand to undo me deep inside.
We’re back at the penthouse, with me moving in a daze, when he looks me up and down on his way to the bedroom. “I have work to do before dinner.” I wonder what his work is, but doubt he would tell me if I asked. “You look like hell. Take a nap or something—I don’t want you looking tired tonight.”
He’s right. I am tired. Tired of the entire farce my life has always been. I’m locked away again, just under a different roof.
And my current jailer cares about me just as much as Dad ever did.
Right away,it’s obvious there’s something strange going on here.
