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After a while, he glances over at me and says, “You okay?”
I’m still breathing hard, but I glance over at him, give a short nod, then brush my hand over my face. “Do you think I went too far?”
“I thought you were incredibly restrained. I’d have taken a flamethrower to the place. It wouldn’t shock me if the police find bodies under the floorboards. That woman had dead eyes. She frightened me, and I’m not easily scared.”
I blow out a breath, relieved and humbled by his supportive words. “Yeah. It just made me realize how bad it must have been for Catie. All those years. Fucking hell.”
“I know. Jesus, I’m so sorry. The girl has some spirit for surviving that. Thank God you’ve got her. You have to look forward and try not to focus on what she went through.”
“Yeah.”
It’s impossible not to think about it, though. To imagine her having to go home to that house, and to be spoken to by those three women in that disparaging way every single day. The place deserves to be bulldozed, and they should be banged up for all eternity.
We don’t say much more on the way back. Titus drops me off outside The Queen’s Hotel, and he gets out for a bearhug, as this is the last time I’ll see him before he returns to the UK. I promise to call him on Zoom when I’m back from our vacation, and then go up to our room and let myself in.
Catie is still in bed, and she’s asleep.
She looks so beautiful, her hair spread out on the pillow, the duvet draped over her bump. I stand in front of her, my throat tightening, and feel such a swell of love that it makes me clench my fists as I think of how she’s been treated.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I touch her arm, and she opens her eyes. She blinks a few times, then smiles, although it vanishes as she looks up at me. “What’s up?”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, and I pull her into my arms as tears well in my eyes.
Chapter Thirty
Catie
With astonishment, I listen to Saxon as he tells me where he’s been this morning.
He’s white-faced, sitting a little apart from me, serious and worried, as if he’s confessing a murder. He relates the whole event to me, telling me exactly what he said, although I have a feeling he’s toning down Greta and the girls’ comments.
As he describes how he told them he’d make sure they go to prison, he flops onto his back and covers his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
I stare at him for a moment. Then I lift one of his hands to look at his face and say, “Why?”
He lowers them both. I can see I’ve shocked him. “It wasn’t very gentlemanly,” he says after a while.
“It wasn’t,” I agree. “It was positively Neanderthal.”
He blinks.
“Saxon,” I say, “are you under the impression I’m mad at you?”
“I just thought…”
I smile then and reach out to touch his face. “You are the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, sexiest man in the whole world.”
He blinks again. “You’re not upset?”
“I can’t believe you’d do that for me. I’ve never had anybody in my corner, who’s prepared to fight for me. I’m so touched that I…” My eyes fill with tears.
He sits up. “Just give me the nod, and I’ll hire the most expensive lawyers in the country. They’ll take every penny she owns. I want her to do time so she discovers what it’s like to feel totally alone.” His voice is suddenly fierce, determined. The money is only one reason he’s angry. He’s furious at how she made me feel so lonely and isolated.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
And then I understand. “You didn’t believe me,” I say softly. “You thought I’d cast myself in the role of Cinderella, dressing in rags and being forced to clean the kitchen. You assumed that my portrayal of Greta and the girls was exaggerated.”
I can see from his eyes that I’ve guessed right. “I feel so ashamed,” he says in a low voice. “It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you. I just had no comprehension of how bad it could have been. I don’t think I’ve ever truly understood the real definition of being privileged. It’s not just about having money. It’s about having family, and being surrounded by love and support. About not having to worry about your basic needs—clothing, shelter, food, and health. And it makes you so out of touch. Like Marie Antoinette—let them eat cake, you know? I’ve never understood that before.”
