“Of course,” I said. It was outrageous to be jealous of my housekeeper.
But I was.
Outside of our driver, Theo, Ronan was literally the last man I was ever alone with. All of my doctors’ appointments, Jim was right there at my side. The doting husband, making sure our stories matched up.
The senator had been having meetings in his office at home more and more lately. Guests usually came in through the side entrance. His secretary signing people in and out.
It was nice that Caroline came through the front door to say hello.
“Follow me,” Anna said to Ronan, having arrived as if summoned. Anna spent a lot of time waiting just around corners, always within earshot. Jim had said it was the sign of an excellent servant. I thought perhaps it was the sign of an excellent spy.
Of course, I did not say that out loud.
Ronan walked past us in the hallway, and I did not imagine the smell of smoke that wafted off him, and without thinking about it, I practically pasted myself to the wainscoting so there was no chance that his body might touch mine. Things were very precarious in my life, and I had the stupid sense that if he touched me, accidentally brushed his hand across mine, parts of my life would just crumble.
At the doorway, he turned and looked at us over his shoulder. I expected a smile. That man I met at my engagement party, he’d been the type to look over his shoulder and smile at a girl.
But there was no smile, and beside me Caroline gave him a sharp nod and he left.
Maybe he didn’t remember me. That was possible. I was forgettable. My husband had forgotten me plenty over the last two years. I’d forgotten myself.
There was no reason that it should hurt that the stranger had forgotten me.
Ronan.
“Come, darling,” Caroline said, putting her arm through mine. “Show me this big kitchen reno you’ve been working on.”
I led my old friend through the hallway to the back of the house where the kitchen looked out over the pool and the pool house that I’d converted to a gym and yoga studio that I didn’t use. But wanted to. The kitchen was filled with bright light and trying to look at it critically through Caroline’s eyes, it was still a beautiful room. Marble countertops and gold fixtures. Built in dishwashers and two ovens. Beautiful old chandeliers over the long island with the gold stools. It was pretty. It felt like a room a person would want to spend time in. A room that could make a home. So, why didn’t it? I wondered. Why didn’t it feel like my home?
That thought crept into my head far too often. Filled me with a kind of panic that didn’t do me any good. Feeling nothing was the only thing that made my life bearable.
I put the kettle on and pulled out the tea service Caroline had given me as a wedding gift.
“The house looks amazing, darling,” she said, taking off her wrap and putting it over the edge of the island and pulling up a stool. She was a beautiful woman. Ageless and elegant. Inspiring really. The head of the Constantine family and the Chairwoman of the Board.
An absolute queen.
“Thank you. It’s been a labor of love.”
“How is Jim?” she asked.
Different, I wanted to say. He doesn’t sleep. Rarely eats with me anymore. His temper—always mercurial—was completely unpredictable. The other night after waking up alone just after midnight, I actually went looking for him. Not something I ever did before. Only to find him talking to himself in the kitchen. Muttering and swearing. I left without saying a word, but lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a sick dread in my stomach.
“Fine,” I said, because I didn’t know how to talk about Jim. Not with Caroline, not with anyone.
“How are things at the foundation?”
I took a deep breath. “On hold for the moment.” My job at the foundation had been a sham, though it took me a while to realize it. I’d thought, stupidly, Jim was giving me a chance to actually do some good. But he’d taken it away as quickly as he’d given it to me.
Embarrassed, I hadn’t told Caroline that. I’d lied, pretending I still worked there.
Pride and all.
“Really?” she asked. “You had such plans.”
“After the miscarriage, we thought it best if I did less.”
“Of course,” Caroline said quickly. She didn’t like talking about my miscarriages. And she had made it clear that she was not a shoulder for me to lean on when it came to my marriage. The first time I’d gone to her house, crying and bloody, in shock from Jim’s violence, Caroline cleaned me up and told me it was my job to make it work. That I needed to make it work. For my own sake. For Zilla’s sake.