Chapter 4 - The Wife Who Waited Up
Two minutes later, Adrian walked into the library and froze when he saw the lamp on.
"Addie?"
I'd changed into pajamas and poured myself a glass of wine. The patient wife, waiting up for her traveling husband.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"In my own house?"
"I mean — your flight."
"Cancelled. I came home hours ago."
Something moved in his jaw. "You should've called me."
"From Munich?"
The silence stretched half a beat too long. Then he smiled — that gorgeous, rehearsed smile that had charmed investors and reporters and me.
"Okay. That's embarrassing." He came and sat across from me. "I'm not in Munich."
I gave him a small, startled laugh. "Clearly."
"There was a problem with an acquisition. A little parts supplier we're looking at. I had to meet their people quietly. If the board heard before the terms were locked, they'd blow it up." He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. "I lied because you worry."
"And telling me you're on another continent — that helps?"
"You know how I am."
I did. Finally. Better than I ever had.
He kissed my knuckles. "I'm sorry."
I looked into his eyes and wondered, just for a second, whether he could see what was in mine. Whether he understood that the woman across from him had stopped being his wife somewhere around three o'clock that afternoon, and was now something else entirely.
Evidence collection. Probable cause. The witness who no longer loved the defendant.
"Come upstairs," he said.
"I want to finish my wine."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Don't stay up too late." He kissed my forehead and left.
May you like
I sat perfectly still until his footsteps faded. Only then did I notice my hand was shaking.
Not from grief. From fury.
