“She didn’t give me a reason.”
“And you complied?”
“It’s not my place to tell her no. You said she was to stay in the house. She’s in the house.”
Fuck. I had said that.
“There’s one more thing, boss. You won’t be happy.”
I already wasn’t happy. “What?”
“Miss Emma insisted that the lock to the hallway be changed.”
“What the fuck do you mean, changed?”
“The key is now on the inside.”
My free hand went to the bridge of my nose as I squinted my eyes. “Fuck.”
I’d break down the damn door if I wanted in. This house was over two hundred years old. I had no intention of letting a door or a lock keep me away from my wife.
Before I could voice that, another call buzzed. A quick look at the screen told me it was Boyd Clark. I spoke to Ian. “I have another call. Tell Mrs. Ramses” —fuck the Miss Emma shit— “to be ready. We may have papers to sign today.”
I didn’t wait for Ian’s response as I clicked to the second call. “Boyd, what’s happening?”
Emma
Before gathering a few things from the suite attached to Rett’s, I did as I should have done downstairs and entered the bathroom. My reflection reminded me that Rett had simply zipped his pants and buckled his belt to return himself to a less haggard state. I would need more work to accomplish such a goal.
I ran my hand over my mussed hair, no longer all contained in my braid.
Running a washcloth under warm water and applying bodywash, I found my thoughts somewhere between self-loathing and imagining possible forms of mariticide. That was if we were married. If not, it was simple homicide. As I washed away the remnants of our gratuitous afternoon dealings, my thoughts vied from one end of the spectrum to the other regarding our marital status.
Choosing to save the hot shower, possible bath, and changing clothes for once I was settled on the third floor, I began gathering cosmetics, clothes, and other items. There was the book I was still reading as well as the laptop. One of the few luxuries I lacked was luggage. That meant items were shoved in purses and piled in heaps. As the pile grew, Ian enlisted the help of others.
I recognized a few of the women as those who entered the suite to clean. While in the past they’d stayed silent, it was obvious by their shared expressions that this particular task had their curiosity aroused. Unsure of what to say, I left it to Ian to explain. I heard him say that my suite was about to have a transforming redecoration, and in the meantime, I’d reside upstairs.
“Thank you,” I said when we had a moment alone.
Ian nodded.
I reached for his hand. “I mean it, Ian. I’m sorry if this puts you in Mr. Ramses’s crosshairs. This is all my doing.”
“I’ve been there before, Mrs. Ramses.”
“Emma.”
“I hope this can be resolved.”
Without replying, I turned to gather more items, unsure if I shared his desire or his optimism. I wasn’t certain how things had gone so wrong in such a short period of time, but with each passing second, I felt the weight of my decisions and promises fall heavier and heavier upon my shoulders.
Entering the upstairs suite, I stilled for a moment in the threshold.
I’d forgotten how heavy the draperies were and how dark the rooms were without windows that opened.
Ian stood behind me. “You can change your mind. Your suite doesn’t really need redecoration.”
“It needs something. Just in case you think this is an emotional reaction, you’re right. It is. I also have good reason to be upset, and I am. As you know, Mr. Ramses is a bit...” There were so many words that would fit. “...overwhelming. Right now, I need some time to think, uninterrupted.” Dropping my armful of items onto the bed, I went directly to the library and opened the ceiling.