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He turned back to his computer and pulled up some kind of graph-thing. She rose to leave, but on her way out, she spotted his big ugly briefcase lying open on the floor with a bag of chips inside. She went over and pulled it out.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“You don’t need these. I’ll bring you some fruit later.”
He pushed himself up from his chair. “Give those back. I don’t want your fruit.”
“You want this junk instead?”
“Yeah, I want it.”
“Too bad.” She dropped the chips to the floor and brought her foot down hard on the bag. It split open with a loud pop. “There you are.”
He stared at her. “What’s your problem, anyway?”
“I’m a bitch.” As she left the office and went back downstairs, she could almost see him reaching for those smashed chips.
Bram kept disappearing into his office, as if he had a real job, leaving Georgie no way to work off her frustration. She eventually wandered up to his exercise room and began going through the ballet warm-up routine she used to do every day. Her muscles were stiff and uncooperative, but she kept at it. Maybe she’d have a barre installed. She’d always loved to dance, and she knew she shouldn’t have let herself set it aside. The same with singing. She wasn’t a great singer. The big, belting Broadway voice that had made her so winning as a kid hadn’t matured with age, but she could carry a tune, and her energy made up for what she lacked in vocal nuance.
After her workout, she talked to Sasha and April on the phone and did some online shopping. Her daily routine had been whittled down to bothering her busy friends and making sure she looked good enough to be photographed. She cheered herself up by following Chaz around with the video camera and asking intrusive questions.
Chaz complained bitterly, but that didn’t stop her from talking, and Georgie learned a little more. Her growing fascination with Bram’s housekeeper was all that kept her from bringing in her own cook.
On Friday morning, day seven of her marriage, she and Bram met wi
th a party planner, the stridently officious, very expensive, and highly recommended Poppy Patterson. Everything about the woman grated, but she loved the idea of a Skip and Scooter theme, so they hired her and told her to work out the details with Aaron.
That afternoon, her father decided he’d punished her long enough and finally took her phone call. “Georgie, I understand you want me to put my stamp of approval on your marriage, but I can’t do it when I know how wrong it is.”
She wouldn’t tell him the truth, but she also wouldn’t lie more than she already had. “I just thought we could have a nice conversation. Is that too much to ask?”
“Right now? Yes. I don’t like Shepard, I don’t trust him, and I’m worried about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Bram isn’t…He isn’t exactly like you remember.” She struggled to conjure up a convincing example of Bram’s greater maturity, at the same time trying not to think about his drinking. “He’s…older now.”
Her father wasn’t impressed. “Remember this, Georgie. If he ever tries to hurt you in any way, promise you’ll come to me for help.”
“You make it sound like he’s going to beat me.”
“There are different kinds of hurt. You’ve never been rational about him.”
“That was a long time ago. We’re not the same people.”
“I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Just like that, he hung up.
She bit her lip, and her eyes stung. Her father loved her—surely he did—but it wasn’t the cozy kind of dad love she wanted. A love that didn’t have any strings attached to it. A love she didn’t have to work so hard to deserve.
Chapter 10
Georgie awakened around three on Saturday morning and couldn’t fall back to sleep. One week ago just about now, she’d been standing next to Bram saying her wedding vows. She wondered exactly what she’d vowed.
The bedroom was stuffy. She kicked off the sheet, slipped into an old pair of yellow Crocs, and padded across the rug to step out onto the balcony. Palm fronds clicked in the breeze, and the gentle splash of the waterfall drifted up from the pool. Lance had left another phone message this afternoon. He was worried about her. She wished he’d leave her alone or that she could hate him. Except frequently she did, and it didn’t make her feel any better.
The clink of ice cubes interrupted her thoughts, and a voice drifted through the dark. “If you’re going to jump, wait until morning. I’m too drunk to deal with a dead body tonight.”
Bram sat by his open bedroom doors, just off to her left. He’d stuffed his feet into an ancient pair of sneakers and propped them on the railing. With a drink in his hand and a sickle-shaped shadow slicing across his profile, he looked exactly like a man contemplating which of the seven deadly sins to take on next.
She knew all the back bedrooms opened onto this same second-floor balcony, but until now she hadn’t seen Bram out there. “No jumping necessary,” she said. “I’m on top of the world.” She curled her hand over the railing. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
