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She’d backed to the doorway leading into their bedroom. The room that had been hers alone for the past eight or nine years.
“Of course you aren’t bothering me,” he said. “I thought I was in your way. You’ve had this room to yourself for so long and...” He pointed to all his stuff on the counter. She’d said she was going to move some of the things that she didn’t use every day into the cupboard in the spare bathroom to make room for him and hadn’t done so yet. But stuff on the counter wasn’t the problem.
The man in the mirror was.
The hurt he’d seen flash in her eyes quickly dissipated and Elliott breathed a sigh of relief.
“Whose fault is it that I haven’t had time to move?” she asked him, grinning.
“Yours.” He smiled at her. Might have tried to kiss her, uncaring of the shaving cream on his face, if she hadn’t suddenly seen the clock on the counter.
“Oh, my gosh. The shop’s going to open in fifteen minutes and I’m not down there.” She was in their bedroom, throwing on clothes, leaving him to concentrate on shaving.
He’d visited his apartment on Monday, long enough to grab everything he could fit into his two biggest suitcases, had emptied his bathroom drawers and vanity into a duffel. They were planning to spend Sunday over there together, going through the rest of his things. Deciding what to keep. What to donate or sell.
She’d be in his place. Going through his things. He’d show her the pictures of his mother. At some point he was going to have to call his aunt. Tell her he was married. Take Marie to meet her...
“I’m heading down.” She was back. Fully dressed. Putting her hair in the ponytail he’d learned he loved to take out. He wiped the rest of the cream off his face and met her lips in a kiss that reminded him they were joined.
One.
Never to be separated.
“I’ll be in as soon as I get Liam and Gabrielle to work.”
“You can start calling her Gabi anytime,” she said. “She’s your sister-in-law now. Or as close to one as you’re going to get. She’s family.”
He nodded. If it made Marie happy, he’d call her friend Queen Elizabeth.
“I love you,” she called as she raced for the door.
“I love you, too.”
The words came so naturally. And the stab that followed was just as potent. Marie was going to be in his place on Sunday. Going through his things.
He had records of deposits from Barbara Bustamante’s checks there. Paperwork that she’d signed. She was in his list of business contacts...
If he hadn’t remembered, didn’t get over there to hide everything, Marie could have walked right in on the file folder on his desk.
And what if she ever did find evidence that he’d worked for her mother?
What about his computer? Barbara had emailed. The paperwork he generated for every client was there...
He added cleaning out his computer files to his list of to-dos.
Slid into black pants, a black button-up shirt and black shoes. Black. Fitting for a man who suddenly had a dark cloud of guilt, of fear, hanging over him. One he couldn’t seem to shake.
And it wasn’t just fear, he had to acknowledge to himself. It was shame. He was a man of integrity who wasn’t being honest with his own wife.
He should have told Marie the truth. Being sued be damned. He’d had no idea loving Marie, holding her at night, needing to protect her from hurt, would instill into him such a sense of responsibility to be the best man he could be because everything he did reflected on her, as well.
He’d promised Barbara, outside a chapel, that he wouldn’t betray her to her daughter. The woman, who was still on her cruise for another week or more, wasn’t even around to defend or explain herself. But he’d also promised Marie’s mother that he wouldn’t pursue a personal relationship with her daughter.
Truth was, he’d acted selfishly. He’d married Marie because he loved her too much to let her go, knowing that she loved him, too. He couldn’t walk away from her when he knew she didn’t want him to do so.
But she wouldn’t ever have wanted to be lied to...
He couldn’t expect her to love him when he was beginning to not even like himself.
