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Ihuddled on my side of the bed all night, incensed by the past that I once shared with Victor. A past where he expanded my horizons. Why couldn’t I get the man outta my friggen dreams!
I let out a hard exhale, groaning at my antics.What am I doing?Is it just the pain of losing the baby?Am I paying him back for when my love was unrequited? His engagement to Madeline while I was a prisoner?
Although the notion of holding my affections hostage doesn’t sit right with me, there’s a part of me that can’t help it. It’s the same dirty little part of me that went home—well, to my old home—to argue with Jonah. Apparently, it’s possessed my body. But it has to stop.
I determine that I won’t go an entire year with life passing me by as I unfold myself from the tangled sheets. I slide around to look toward Victor’s side of the bed. The covers are untouched.Had he come to bed after me? Had I pushed too far?
There’s no doubt that I was a bitch to him yesterday.
“I’m so done being stuck in my feelings.”
I’ll do therapy. I’ll walk into a friggen baby store and have a good sob while holding a curly-haired teddy bear. I’ll apologize.
I’ll . . . try.
I climb out of bed and am gliding into a robe as I descend the stairs. All my movements are hurried—even the thudding in my heart.
“Vic . . .” I stop just inside the luxurious kitchen. As usual, Victor’s father figure is at the breakfast nook, and while Burt hasn’t played the role of butler in ages, he’s still dressed in a friggen suit. Black tie and all. But he’s alone this time. “Oh, Burt, good morning. Where’s Vic? I—”
Something akin to mild irritation laces Burt’s tone as he replies, “Gone.”
“Did he have a meeting or . . .”Where could he be?
“No. I dare say he’ll either be gone a fortnight or . . .” He wipes a hand over his face. “Luxury. He may very well never return. There. The truth. As you’ve always seemed to value the truth.”
19
Luxury
Burt might as well have said that Victor will be gone forever. Now, my momma always told me thatlyingwas a cussword. To even mutter that word to your elders could condemn you to hell.
But this has to be a friggen lie!
The butler’s words ring in my ears as my knees go weak. I brace myself, planting my palm on the marble waterfall countertop. Mouth in an agonized line, I snap, “You’re lying.”
The older man lets out a contrite sigh. “Victor is like a son to me, and while I have the confidence—”
I gulp the boulder stuck down deep in my throat, cutting in. “I know the two of you care so much for each other. That you’d do anything for him like a father would, but. . . you just said...you said he might not come back. Oh God.” I pause, heart flopping around in my chest.
“While I have all the confidence in the world he intends to, neither of us can predict the future,” Burt proceeds angrily.
“Bur—”
“And as I’ve just said, you implored him to be absolutely honest after the entire Dr. Finch debacle. Therefore, I’ve decided to be fully honest with you. Where Victor went, he maynotsurvive. Now, I’d rather not discuss the matter any further because I have very little family as it is.” His stiff fingers plant on top of a stack of envelopes. “He did, of course, leave you letters.”
As if I’m stuck in a dream, I end up before Burt, settling at the table next to him. I don’t know how I walked the span of the kitchen with its two islands and two free-standing ranges. I touch one of the many envelopes. “He wrote all of these?”
“Yes.” Burt pulls the letters away, then flicks through them, holding out a single one. “Ahh, here’s today’s correspondence. I’m under strict orders not to provide the letters to you too soon.”
Overwhelmed by the sight of the stack, I gasp, “But when did he have the time to write these?”
“Yesterday, after you ventured into the garden. Victor wrote for most of the night.”
“No . . . no . . . no. Why would he write me letters? He could call me.” I take a mental trek through the fog of my psyche and stop at yesterday in the garden. I’d told him to leave. In the funk of my depression, I can’t recall all the vile words that oozed from my lips. “Burt, I, um, didn’t say that he couldn’t call me from his duchy.”
“You are quite mistaken, Luxury. He has no duchy. And he is not in England.”
I recall Victor’s response in the garden. He was his usual self.
