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The next morning over breakfast, Harper seems to enjoy a friendly conversation with me. But I don’t feel comfortable to repeat the question that she can’t, or won’t, answer. Despite how much it burns me up to not know the answer. I set the tone, keeping the conversation light and centered on neutral topics.
As we near the end of the meal, my phone rings for the fourth time. I start to silence it like I did before, but Harper shakes her head. “You don’t have to avoid answering for my sake. Whoever it is obviously needs to talk to you.”
I nod and click the button. After a few minutes on the phone, I’m growing progressively more annoyed. When I hang up, I curse. “I have to go to London. My assistant is incapable of the simplest tasks, it seems.”
She clunks down her coffee cup, but otherwise shows no negative reaction to the news. “How long will you be?”
I shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea.” I eye her, thinking. “Come with me,” I venture.
She frowns. “What would I do in London?”
“London’s a fantastic city. You’ll have no shortage of things to do. I can’t be with you during the day, but I should be at your disposal most evenings.” I lift her hand, bringing it to my mouth to kiss her fingertips. “I could use a companion for the business dinners I’ll have to endure.”
Harper shakes her head. “You won’t need me for that.”
“Perhaps not, but I do need you, and I want you to come with me.” I lean closer. “Have you been to Kew Gardens?”
With a shake of her head, she says, “I’ve never been to London.”
“Now is the perfect time.”
She hesitates, clearly torn between the desire to go and the more prudent course of staying behind. As each moment passes I worry she’s going to say no. Then, with a sigh, she opens her mouth and I fully expect her to refuse, but says, “When do we leave?”
Harper
Five days in London with Jayson have been wonderful, just what I needed to shake off most of my lingering grief. I’ll always think of our child with sadness and longing, but it now seems possible to move forward and be happy again. While wandering the sites of London, including Kew Gardens, I come to the tentative decision that I want to move forward with Jayson.
We celebrate our homecoming with glasses of wine by the fireplace, though it’s too warm for a fire, followed by a night in bed. When I wake the next morning, Jayson’s already left, but he did warn me the night before that he had an early meeting.
I stretch, working out all the kinks from the previous night. A hot shower leaves me refreshed, and I pad downstairs in my bare feet after dressing casually in a dress of soft material. The maid brings breakfast in the dining room, and I finish every bite. My appetite has returned in London, burning through curries during the day and finer restaurant fare at night. I could go for another round of greasy fish and chips, wrapped in the stereotypical newspaper, after having it several times at the stand just blocks from the hotel.
I go to the study, turning on the computer to check my email, which I’ve been neglecting. Most is spam, but happily there’s a long email from Sophie. She seems to be settling in happily and is about to pledge to a sorority.
With a smile, I prop my feet on the desk and continue sorting through the correspondence. I respond to an email from the advisor at City College, inviting me to register online. I’ve already decided to enroll there, due to the proximity to our apartment. It’s silly to go halfway across the city for another college, with an equally good program, when I can walk to City College. I know registering there is another little step to committing myself to remaining with Jayson, but I’ve been feeling fewer doubts than ever.
Afterward, I turn my attention to the pile of mail stacked in the basket on the desk. Most of the envelopes are addressed to Jayson, or Satyros Corporation. There are a few invitations from people in our social circle, and I set those aside to discuss attending with Jayson. A few letters from various charities thank me for my “dedicated service.” I’m even gladder that someone else is doing that work for me.
The last envelope is thickly padded, with my name printed in neat block letters. I use the letter opener to slice open the flap and extract a stack of papers. In shock, I read through them, finding several emails addressed to my husband from Maia. All are extremely intimate, if not pornographic, and all of them speak of when they would be together again. Soon, apparently.
Searching for a hint of who sent the envelope, there’s nothing besides a postmark from New York. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s Maia. My stomach clenches with the realization that she has to be in New York.
For a moment, I sit in the chair, paralyzed with anger. How dare Maia come here? Jayson and I are on the cusp of a real marriage. That bitch will only be trouble.
My anger grows with the realization Jayson hasn’t bothered to inform me of the emails. If they’re unwanted, why hasn’t he told me? It’s just next to lying, and I refuse to put up with more lies.
Spurred into action, I stuff the pages back into the envelope and carry it upstairs with me. I put on a skirt and a nice blouse, not wanting to look out of place at the Satyros Corporation’s headquarters. The sensible approach would be to wait until Jayson comes home this evening to have a discussion, but frankly I can’t wait that long.
I take the limousine, deciding I’m too angry to focus on driving myself, and the last thing I want to do is wait for a taxi. The driver negotiates through the heavy traffic, finally reaching the building shortly before lunchtime.
He parks in the parking garage, and I tell him no when he wants to accompany me. I’ve got no need for his protection in the safety of the Satyros Corporation.
A fuchsia Lamborghini, with a plate from a national car rental agency, catches my attention as I near the elevator. It bothers me, though I can’t pinpoint why until I step into the elevator and press the button to the top floor. It’s such a flashy, sexy car and seems like the kind Maia would rent. Is she already here? Has she been in New York for a while? Is Jayson keeping her a secret until he knows if I’m staying? It’s not just the sudden stop of the elevator that makes my stomach turn when I reach the top floor.
Trying to look confident, I stride to the reception desk. I haven’t needed to deal with security before now, because the driver has the code to the employee parking garage. What if the receptionist refuses to let me see Jayson? What can I do, besides cause a scene and hope he hears?
The blonde has silvery hair, high cheekbones, and bright green eyes. She’s svelte and makes the perfect ornament for Jayson’s inner sanctum. Has he slept with this woman, too?
The friendly smile she gives me changes her demeanor from one of an ice princess to a normal person. “Hello, Mrs. Satyros.”
