Page 55 of Cross Me

“You have no idea,” I said with a sigh.

“What happened?”

I filled her in on the little details I knew. By the end, she was even more angry.

“Maybe you should go to London, grab him by the bollocks, and explain that if he ever does anything that stupid, he’s never shagging you again.”

“I don’t think that’s the answer,” I said dryly.

“Powerful men only respond to threats,” she advised me.

“You think I haven’t threatened him?” I whispered, afraid my voice would break.

“Oh, Clara. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come out there? Smith won’t mind.”

Belle knew what these games meant to me. But I couldn’t stand the pitying tone of her voice. I didn’t need one more person in my life to coddle me. I also wasn’t certain I could face her.

“No, I can handle it,” I told her. “But I should go. I need to call Edward.”

“Okay, but call me back. And let me know if you need backup.”

I knew that offer always stood. Belle would be there without question the moment I asked her. But she had her own responsibilities now. I had to sort this mess out on my own.

Before I could call him, Edward called me. He was the person I most needed to talk to because he knew Alexander in a way that even I didn’t. They were brothers. They had shared the same past and the same tragedies. He was my last hope of getting answers if Alexander wouldn’t give them to me himself.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Terribly.” I didn’t feel the need to lie to him. There was no point in hiding from everyone. Someone had to be on my side. Someone who could still be sympathetic to Alexander and mad at him at the same time. Belle didn’t have that capacity. She was clearly Team Clara. Lola didn’t know him. Edward was all I had. “What’s going on with him, Edward?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Do you know? He’s keeping something from me,” I pressed him. If Edward knew, he had to tell me. I wanted to believe he would. Maybe it was asking too much of him to confide in me if he did.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, dashing my last hope. “But I’ve been looking into it.”

It was relief to hear that I wasn’t the only one who thought something was wrong. I wished it was more. “He’s been acting oddly for weeks. I don’t think it’s just the attack. There’s more to it.”

“I think so, too. But I promise you, Clara, he hasn’t told me anything.”

“I figured,” I said, slumping against the desk.

“What are you going to do?” he asked me after a few seconds of silence.

“You know what they say,” I said through gritted teeth, “the games must go on.”

The Games were going on, as it turned out. Despite my husband’s faux pas, nearly everyone at Silverstone acted like nothing had happened. I suspected they had been briefed on how to approach me. But I knew that outside the security perimeter, the press would hold no such reservations. They owed nothing to me or my family as far as I could tell. They’d certainly never showed me a shred of decency when it came to my personal life. I managed to steer clear of Anders for the day. I could only imagine what he thought about Alexander’s behavior. There was no way he hadn’t heard about it. It was plastered over every news source in the world. Even with tonight’s upcoming race, he would know. He hadn’t hidden his concerns about my marriage. What must he think now?

And that was the problem. What must they all think? Somehow, it seemed less important than what I thought. Or what I felt. I’d kicked him out. I’d turned my back on him—something I had promised never to do. But Alexander had promised me no more secrets. We were supposed to be in this together and he had breached that contract. I was his wife—his partner—but I was not his welcome mat. He couldn’t walk all over me and expect me not to fight back.

“Do we have a problem?” Henry asked in a low voice when he found me mid-afternoon.

“Do we?” I asked in a weary voice. I couldn’t be entirely certain if we had the same problem, but I didn’t want to call attention to my problems with Alexander.

“Anders has a black eye and my nephew is all over the news.”

Alexander hadn’t mentioned Anders last night. My anger, which had been simmering since he came home, boiled into a seething rage. That’s what this was about? His stupid, unwarranted jealousy? Even if Anders had a thing for me, which I seriously doubted, why would it matter? I loved Alexander. He knew that. Or I thought he did. Nothing seemed clear anymore.

“I don’t think they were fighting.” Not physically, at least. Unless Alexander had simply left that part of the story out.