I fold the binoculars and put them away, but her bitter anguish won’t leave me. It burrows beneath my flesh and eats its way into my gut. Until a few days ago, she was humming and happy, her movements graceful and lithe. Now her actions are staccato, and she’s crying. There’s only one thing that happened between then and now, only one thing that could’ve upset her this much.
Me.
Her loathing hardens my heart. She can hate me all she wants. Her tears won’t sway me. If anything, I’m only more determined to make her mine. Because she’s meant to be mine. She’s perfect for me, and if she calms enough to see through the haze of her tears, she’ll see that I’m perfect for her too.
I’ve seen male animals chase after females in the wild, driven crazy by their scent during mating season. I suppose I’m not that different where Violet is concerned. She turns me into an animal.
CHAPTER 12
Violet
The minute Gus and Elliot leave for work on Monday morning, I find my mom in the dining room where she’s having breakfast. Flora shoots me a look as she clears the empty plates.
“You’re up early,” my mom says with a strained smile. “You should’ve stayed in bed. With your working hours, you don’t get enough sleep.”
“I’ll be home after midnight.” I pour a glass of juice, watching Flora through my lashes. “I’ll be in bed before one.”
My mom tilts her head, studying my face. “You look pale. Have some breakfast. Eating and sleeping enough are important for your health.”
Flora stacks the cutlery on the empty plates and loads everything on a tray.
“In a minute,” I say. “I think there are termites in the oak tree.” I move toward the veranda doors. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
“Termites,” my mom exclaims, getting to her feet. “That’s not good. If they get into the woodwork of the house, they’ll destroy everything.”
I exit onto the veranda. “The gardener will know what to do.”
“Cut down the tree,” Flora mumbles on her way out.
“No one is cutting down the tree,” my mom says. “That tree must be five hundred years old. There are treatments that won’t harm the health of the trunk.”
Flora scoffs as she carries the dirty crockery away.
Linking my arm through my mom’s, I lead her over the lawn to the big tree.
“Where did you spot them?” she asks, squinting to examine the bark.
“There are no termites.”
She looks at me quickly. “What?”
“It was just an excuse to speak to you in private.”
She tenses. “The photos?”
I nod. “It was Elliot.”
The color drains from her face. “Elliot hired that man?”
“Yes,” I say, gritting my teeth just thinking about it again.
She drags a hand over her brow and says more to herself than to me, “This is bad. This is so bad.” Her blue eyes are wary when she looks at me again. “Elliot told you this himself?”
I take her hand. “Yes. Last night.”
“Why?” she cries out. “What does he want?”
I’ve been lying awake all night, contemplating what to tell my mom. In the end, I decided it’s best if she’s not implicated in my crime. What good will it do if she knows? She has enough on her shoulders.
“He wants you to never cheat on Gus again.”
Pulling her hand from mine, she stares at me with disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all he wants?”
I cross my fingers behind my back. “Yes.”
If I’m going to lie to my mother, I may as well do it for a good cause. At least this way, she won’t risk her life again by sleeping with another man.
Biting her lip, she hugs herself.
“You have to be careful, Mom. Elliot is having you followed.”
“That useless little wimp.” Anger glimmers in her eyes. “He should’ve moved out a long time ago.”
“Elliot isn’t going anywhere. He’s digging his roots in here, staking his claim on this house and his inheritance.”
“He doesn’t have to worry,” she says with a wry smile. “I don’t want anything when Gus dies.”
“Gus is still young. He’s a long way from dying. You’ve got to watch your back.”
“Why didn’t Elliot come straight to me?”
I shrug, trying to keep an innocent face.
She purses her lips. “Where are the photos?”
“I tore up the copies. Elliot won’t give me the originals.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I, but we don’t have a choice.”
She turns to face the tree. For a moment, she’s quiet, her chest expanding with a deep breath. When she looks back at me, her features are schooled. “I’m sorry for putting you through this.”
“We’ll survive. Just keep your nose clean.”
Without replying, she heads toward the house with square shoulders and her head held high. I stare at her back as she crosses the lawn. It’s an act. It’s always been an act. My heart breaks for her. My uneven gait is heavy when I follow in her steps.