"Wait," he said, reaching out. "I'll get it."
"Already did," I muttered, slamming the trunk shut. He guided Lindsey towards the passenger seat without saying a word, and I folded myself into the backseat and kept quiet for the ride home.
"I can't believe it," Lindsey kept saying, over and over again. "Those bastards." She asked the same questions over and over, the questions to which there were no answers, but Daniel answered them patiently, which so much as a "like I just told you…" I told myself it was completely normal, completely understandable, for him to feel more comfortable around his sister than he did around me. They'd grown up together, and we…
We were still basically strangers.
No, that was ridiculous. We'd been living together for more than two years, and even if he hadn't truly been in a relationship for all that time, we'd gotten to know each other. Hadn't we?
I stared at the ceiling, wondering if he thought the same thing. Did he look at me sometimes and wonder who I really was?
No, he must have better things to do.
When we got home, Lindsey installed herself in the kitchen and immediately began cooking spaghetti and meatballs. I understood the impulse, and after a while, I went into the kitchen to help her. It was warm and permeated with the smell of garlic, and for a moment I almost forgot that everything was falling apart around us.
"He's not going to eat, you know," I said, finally, as I finished chopping an onion.
Lindsey twisted a handful of leaves off one of the basil plants in the window planter. "I bet you he will," she said.
I should have known she'd take it as a challenge.
And she was right, after all. By the time the smell had permeated the whole apartment, Daniel came wandering down the stairs, looking like death warmed over. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he had the darkest circles under his eyes I'd ever seen. He hovered behind us for a while, like a ghost, until he finally spoke up.
"When will dinner be ready?"
"Anytime, kiddo," said Lindsey, pulling a bowl out of the cabinet. She started dishing out a generous helping, and I almost told her to stop - Daniel always measured his pasta before he ate it - but then I realized this was hardly a day to be sticking to a diet. He sat down and devoured the whole thing, so quickly that I almost didn't believe what I was seeing. Daniel Thorne, eating pasta and meatballs made with eighty percent ground beef? And not a food scale in sight?
I had a much smaller serving, which I poked at tentatively. My stomach felt like a clenched fist. Daniel wasn't speaking to me, still - barely looking at me, and I felt guilty that I was even noticing at a time like this. He had enough to worry about without constantly stroking my ego, didn't he? But all I wanted was some tiny acknowledgement. I just wanted him to act like he remembered I was there.
CHAPTER FIVE
After dinner, I ended up in my studio. I just wanted to be alone for a while, and my absence didn’t seem to bother Daniel.
I picked up a pencil and studied it. I'd never had much luck drawing while I was stressed, but I had to do something to occupy my time. I stared at the paper on the easel for a while, finally lifting the pencil and making two long, sweeping, slightly curved lines across it. This was exactly how I always started every drawing when I was a kid. Two hills, and off to one side - a tree.
I had to smile, in spite of myself.
I started drawing a weeping willow, its trunk gnarled and twisted with knots. There was one down by the creek where I grew up, and if I concentrated hard enough I could remember the exact feeling of the leaves brushing against my skin when I sat underneath it.
There was a light tap at the door.
My heart actually leapt into my throat, which was, quite frankly, embarrassing.
"Yeah?" I called out, my hand frozen in midair.
"Maddy, can I come in?"
It was Lindsey.
I let out a long breath. "Yeah, of course."
She came in and shut the door quietly behind her, walking in and sitting gingerly in the armchair by the window.
"So," she said. "How you holding up?"
I shrugged, staring at my drawing. It was actually pretty good. The landscape needed a lot more detail, but…
"It's good that you're drawing," she said, making a vague gesture towards the easel. I nodded, still only looking at her from the corner of my eye.
"I know it seems bad now," she continued, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "But everything will get straightened out. The trick is to not let yourself get overwhelmed. Take it one day at a time. Don't think too far into the future - let someone else handle that for you. Danny's been talking to his attorney."
I made a face.
"Don't worry," Lindsey said. "I've met this one - I recommended her, actually. The thing about Daniel is that he…" she considered her words for a moment. "…he doesn't exactly have, uh, the gift of discernment. Especially when it comes to people's characters. I know it probably doesn't seem like it, most of the time, but he trusts too easily."
"I guess I could see that," I replied, adding a few more branches to my tree. He had, after all, trusted me with a marriage of convenience when he hardly knew me at all.
For a while, Lindsey was quiet. When I finally met her eyes, I could tell she wanted very badly to say something, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. It wasn't like her to hold back. Whatever it was, she must have an awfully good reason for not wanting to say it.
And for once in my life, I was content to let sleeping dogs lie.
***
Daniel's lawyer was a brusque middle-aged woman with short brown hair and - I imagined - an equally short temper. Her mouth was set in a permanent frown. I didn't think I could stand to work with someone like that, but Daniel seemed to appreciate her businesslike attitude.
I'd met her briefly a handful of times, but this was the first time she'd been to the apartment. Daniel had consulted with her already, a few days after the phone call, but it was going on a week now and brokerage had made next to no progress on their "forensics." They’d apparently decided to proceed with the case as if that evidence might never surface. On the plus side, several of Daniel’s original key investors agreed to pour some more money into the company, enough to keep manufacturing going and prevent it from going into the red while this whole mess got sorted out.
The lawyer, Ms. Greenlee, stayed for quite a while, going over paperwork with Daniel and reviewing his options for going forward. She was recommending that he petition the judge to have his assets un-frozen, as a first order of business. Despite the fact that it had been enacted very swiftly, she informed us that it might take several weeks for a reversal to process, so it was best to start it sooner rather than later.
"We need to establish that you're not a flight risk," she said, sipping at a glass of water, eyeing Daniel from over her half-moon reading glasses. "That means you need to look calm at the hearing. You need to be assured of your own innocence and you need to meet his eyes and answer all his questions honestly. Are you prepared to do that?"
"Yes," he said, actually looking slightly cowed. Come to think of it, I could actually appreciate this lawyer quite a bit.
"It's very, very important that you keep your story straight," she said. "I know - you didn't do it - but that doesn't mean the facts won't change in your memory from time to time, and that will look like dishonesty to him. Establish the facts and stick to them, don't let yourself waver."
Daniel was nodding, scribbling in his little notepad.
The lawyer shuffled her papers a bit. "With someone of your means, there's always that concern. That you'll just head off somewhere and disappear. Now, luckily, you've got one thing going for you - despite your dual citizenship, Canada would still extradite you at the drop of a hat, so you've got no shelter there, and they know that."
Daniel nodded again. "Is there anything else I can do to make myself seem more stable?"
"Well, the rest is pretty common sense - don't boo
k any plane tickets or boat charters or anything like that."
"That might be difficult anyway, without any credit cards."
She didn't miss a beat. "Remember that you're in the public eye now. Even if you go to a store and pay cash, you might be spotted. Don't buy any luggage, don't apply to renew your passport - nothing."
"Would I use my own passport if I were trying to flee the country?" he looked up at her, still scribbling in his notepad.
"I wouldn't know," she said, dryly.
She left him with mounds of paperwork, and he sequestered himself in the bedroom again, making phone call after phone call. I could hear him talking - dimly, through the door - but I couldn't distinguish any words. Lindsey had to teleconference into a meeting for most of the day, so I found myself alone for the better part of it. I spent a while in my studio, staring at my new sketch, and trying to figure out how to make something of it. It was a nice enough landscape, but it was missing something.
After fiddling with it for a while and remaining unsatisfied, I finally wandered out to the kitchen, yawning. When I saw the clock on the microwave, I had to look twice. Was it really past midnight already? No wonder I was tired.
Daniel had to be off the phone by now. I trudged up the stairs, ready to collapse into bed and forget about everything for a few hours, but as I drew near the still-closed door, I heard his voice.
Who on earth could he be talking to at this hour? I frowned, pressing my ear against the door, but it was still too fuzzy to understand. Sighing, I wandered back down the stairs and considered my options. I could go back and knock, but I decided to wait it out a little longer, flopping down on the sofa and staring at the ceiling.
***
I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck and the smell of coffee permeating the apartment. I sat up, rubbing my head, and saw Daniel sitting at the kitchen island over a steaming mug and Lindsey washing dishes in the sink.
I got up and shuffled towards the bathroom, overcome with the grimy feeling of having slept in my clothes. Daniel looked at me with dull eyes.
"You didn't come to bed last night," he said.
"You were on the phone," I replied, a little louder than I needed to.
I felt slightly more human after a shower, and when I returned to the kitchen, only Lindsey was still there.
"Did you want me to make you some breakfast?" she asked, gently.
I shrugged, which she evidently took as a yes. She reached into the fridge for a carton of eggs.
"Why didn't someone wake me up?" I asked, pulling out a chair.
"You looked so peaceful," Lindsey said. "Nobody's been sleeping well lately, so I figured I'd better let you get your rest while you could." She brought over a mug of coffee and set it down. "Daniel's meeting with his broker to get the latest from the security team. He didn't tell me any details, but so far I guess they're not having much luck piecing it together."
"Well, that's encouraging."
Lindsey was beating some eggs in a bowl. "Well, you know, it could be worse. Right now, I think they suspect an inside job - someone physically using Daniel’s broker’s computer to make the trades, rather than a remote hacking job. The security camera footage was lost, or tampered with, or something. But if it is someone in-house, they shouldn’t be too hard to find."
"I doubt that's going to do much in the way of convincing the judge," I said. "Do you think I'll have to go to the hearing to get his assets back?"
Lindsey shrugged. "It might look good if you're there. Why don't you ask him?"
"Most of the time, I'm not even sure he knows I'm here," I said, staring down into my mug.
Lindsey put a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. "He's tired, honey. He's tired and he's under a lot of stress. I know he's not always the easiest to deal with, but he hasn't forgotten about you. I promise."
"Sure," I said, picking up my fork. "Of course."
Lindsey stood there for a while, quietly, before finally walking away and silently disappearing into her bedroom.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do. After the raw display of panic I'd seen when he first got the call, this detached, zombie-like version of Daniel was, as Lindsey so delicately put it, not the easiest to deal with. I didn't know what the hell was going through his head. And while I understood that he was absorbed with his problems, he seemed to be forgetting that all of this affected me, too. It was our life. My life.
He got home sometime after lunch, dropping his briefcase by the door and slumping down in one of the kitchen chairs. Lindsey turned around from watering the basil and cleared her throat, quietly.
"So," she said. "How did it go?"
Daniel shook his head. "All that, just to say they don't know anything yet. But they're 'making progress.'"
"I don't see why this should be so hard," I muttered, but no one seemed to notice.
"I've just heard back from the judge's office," Daniel went on, staring down at his hands. "I've got a hearing set for next week. He managed to fit me in." He managed a hollow smile. "So, with any luck, I'll have my money back in the next six months."
"Just let me know if there's anything you need," said Lindsey.
"I know. I will." Daniel's phone buzzed, and he picked it up, looking at it bleakly. "Fuck."
"What?" I asked. Lindsey was quietly disappearing in the background, retreating into her room and shutting the door.
"The…journalists, all of them," he muttered. "They won't stop calling."
"You gave them your personal number?" I stared at him.
"I had to!" he said, suddenly very loud, but still not looking at me. "In case they needed to do reschedule last minute, or…"
"Jesus." I turned to the sink, pushing dishes around more loudly than I needed to. "I don’t know what you were thinking."
Daniel stood up. "You know, I really do appreciate your input, but maybe you could consider shutting your fucking mouth every once in a while."
A glass slipped out of my hands and smashed in the bottom of the sink. I whirled on him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, have I been talking too much? I didn't realize anyone else could hear me."
"You don't know what the fuck's going on," he said, dangerously quiet.
"You're right, I don't. It's almost like no one's telling me."
"I can't report back to you every hour, on the hour. I have more important things to do."
"Oh, like fielding phone calls from those sweet little journalists they always send? The ones practically falling over their own delicate feet when they walk in the door? 'Oh, I've never interviewed a billionaire before, Mr. Thorne, please be gentle,'" I breathed, in what I thought was a pretty damn good imitation of at least one of them.
"So that's what this is about," he snapped. "You know, Maddy, you and your petty jealousy are really the least of my concerns right now."
"Well, that's incredibly obvious," I fumed. "Do you think I can spend the night in my bedroom, or will you be having more phone sex with your broker at midnight?"
His mouth twisted. "Don't worry, I won't be staying here tonight."
"Good." I stormed up the staircase, anger and guilt like a pit in my stomach. I was out of line - I knew I was. This was simply no time to bring up my stupid hang-ups over his interviewers, and the last thing he needed right now was to worry about my feelings. But after being ignored for so long, it had all come spilling out of me. I couldn't help it.
I sat on the edge of the bed, tears welling in my eyes. All I'd wanted was for him to look at me, to turn to me for support, to…do anything at all, really. Just to show some sign that he remembered I existed. That he hadn't just grown used to me after all our time pretending - that he really did love me.
I tried to remember the last time I'd heard him say it. It was many months ago, I thought, while we were in bed, basking in the afterglow. When we were just pretending, we were more conscious of appearances, and we used to end every phone conversation with "I love you." But now that we really were together,
we'd fallen into a pattern that seemed to be more natural for both of us. We weren't romantics, certainly. But it would be nice to be reminded every once in a while.
I heard the door creak open. Was he coming to pack? I turned around, looking at him curiously.
His face had a dark shadow over it, but not the one I would have expected. It was one I recognized, and it made goose bumps rise on my skin.
"Turn over," he said, his voice low and quiet.
I blinked the tears away, turning to look at him.
"What?" I asked, my voice still thick from crying.
"You heard me," he said, flatly. He was taking off his belt.
I sat there, frozen, for a moment. I knew what he was intending to do - or thought I knew, at any rate - and I didn't know if I was ready. But what I'd said on the side of the pool in St. Lucia, which now felt like it was a thousand years ago, was still true.
I just couldn't say no to him.
I turned around, slowly lying down on the bed, facedown, the way I knew he wanted me. As strange as it might seem to someone on the outside, doing this sort of thing - letting him take control - was actually incredibly calming, incredibly grounding, for both of us. On the surface it might seem frightening or unbalancing, but whenever he got that look in his eyes, I could actually feel my heartbeat regulate, my breaths coming slower and deeper. It was like a drug. I wouldn't be surprised if my pupils dilated, too.
Well, for more than one reason, admittedly.
I lay there silently, like I was waiting for a massage, except I was very much not. I felt calmer than I had in days, my jangling nerves quieted down to a slight quiver. And not an entirely unpleasant one, at that.
Was I ready for this?
He'd stop, if I told him to stop. If.
I felt something resting on the small of my back, and I knew without looking that it was the belt. I held my breath.
When it lifted and came back down again, slightly lower, I winced more at the sound of it cracking through the air than I did at the sensation. My jeans were thick enough to absorb the brunt of it, and he must have known that.
It had been too long since he'd done anything like this. I'd almost forgotten the intense feeling of well-being, enough to make me lightheaded - more than anything I'd ever experienced at yoga or during my meditation classes, or anything else. I melted into the bed. The sharp thwacks kept on coming, but their intensity no longer felt like pain.
I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance) Page 5