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“What do you mean,if?”
Romero looks up from his tablet, blinking fast like he's surprised. “If we divide up the businesses. What's wrong with my choice of words?”
“It's the uncertainty you're expressing.”
His jaw ticks before he murmurs, “When. When we do it.”
“We'll work it out.” Checking the time leads me to shrug into my jacket. “Right now, I have an appointment with the doctor for Bianca.”
I can't help gritting my teeth when he follows me out of the office, pecking at me like a fucking hen. “Costello will want an answer before he moves forward with tracking Moroni down. How much can we expect him to do without any idea of what he's getting out of this?”
My irritation only grows with every word that comes out of his mouth. This is supposed to be a good day. A chance to be happy for a few minutes, to look into the future and see every possibility, yet all I can think about is Jack Moroni.
Stopping, I turn to him. He falls back half a step like there's something in my expression that's startled him. “Work out the bottom third of his money makers. That's what goes to Costello.”
“If he wants more?”
“That's why we're starting with a third. I'm willing to go up to a half, although that's my final offer.” With that, I continue to the stairs and call up., “Bianca! We're going to be late.”
“I'm right here.” She's shaking her head and rolling her eyes on her way out of the kitchen. “Honestly, you act like I'm a lazy kid, sleeping in on a school day.”
“You're certainly a smartass.” I extend a hand which she quickly takes in hers, but it's Romero she glances toward. A look his way offers no answers. His expression is unreadable. “What am I missing?”
“Hmm?” Bianca's gaze snaps my way, her eyes wide. “Oh. Nothing. Everything's fine.” It doesn't seem that way. It seems a hell of a lot like I'm the only one not in on a joke—though nobody's smiling, so it can't be good.
“It doesn't look that way from where I'm standing.”
“We're going to be late, like you said.” She tugs on my arm and I follow, shooting another look at Romero. I don't appreciate the sense that secrets are being kept from me. Romero wouldn't… no. He wouldn't dare. Anybody but him.
“What am I missing with the two of you?” I ask as we walk to the waiting car.
“It's nothing.” She won't look up from the flats she's wearing, avoiding my gaze as she slides into the back seat.
It's nothing.
She couldn't have chosen a worse response if she had tried.It's nothingis the first step down a dark, twisted path. By the time I slide in beside her, I'm seething, prepared to grill her for answers. To hell with growth and trying to be a better man for her sake. This is what trying to be a better man gets you. You end up watching the person you love pull away from you, your love dying a slow and painful death.
Once I sit, though, I notice how she keeps her face turned away from me, she sniffles, and that sound alone makes the heat in my chest cool a few degrees. “What's really happening? What's with the secrecy? I thought we were past that point.”
“I'm sorry.” She wipes under her eyes, sighing before turning my way. “I'm not trying to be secretive, I'm not. It's just I don't know what to do.”
“About what? Don't you know by now you don't need to go through things by yourself? That's why I'm here. Whatever it is, we'll find a way through it.”
She blows out a long breath, puffing her cheeks. “Last night. You were wondering why I felt sort of bad after I came upstairs.”
She's putting it mildly. She came upstairs a different person from the one I had dinner with. The girl whose hand I held as we walked into the house sparkled with optimism and dreams for the future. By the time she stepped into the bathroom, where I'd run a bubble bath for the two of us, the light was gone. The sparkle. It was apparent she fought to hide what she was feeling, but the damage had already been done. No amount of questioning—gentle, always—got me anywhere.
“You're ready to tell me about it?”
“Don't get on my case, please. I feel bad enough as it is.” With another sigh, she looks me in the eye. “I think Tatum's upset about the baby, and she's pushing me away. Also, it's really creepy the way she spends all day sitting next to that urn. I'm sorry, but it's how I feel. And I'm worried about her.”
She folds her arms, staring at her lap. “And then I told her we could spend time together today, but instead, we're taking this last-minute trip to the doctor. Yet another reason for her to resent me.”
“I doubt she resents you. That's not how she operates.”
“It's not how sheusedto operate. Nothing about her is the same as it used to be, except for how stubborn and pigheaded she is. I went in to see her, and she was distant and sort of cold. Here we are, happy and hopeful, and she's…”
She is unwilling to get help. That's the problem. “I'll talk to her.”
