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That's weird. I hadn't heard anything about him needing to hear from me. "Oh, were you needing something from me?"
"Well, there's a time limit when we can resubmit your application for a business visa."
"I don't understand..."
There's a pause before he explains. "Oh, Mr. Baxter didn't tell you? It was found that someone had tampered with the agent who processed your application. He has been fired and all of his cases are now in review. Mr. Baxter is actually the one who told me about it. So, I asked him which application you wanted to go ahead with and he said he'd ask you and get back to me. But we only have another month to submit the paperwork for your original application."
What I am hearing? Is this what he came here to tell me? Why hadn't he just said so? "Um. I... I'm going to have to get back to you, John."
"Of course, sometime this week would be best."
"I will. John? When did you talk to Matthias about this?"
He thinks about it for a bit, flipping some pages. "Oh, it was almost a month ago now. I'm sorry to nag you, I just wanted to make sure you didn't miss the deadline.
A month.
When we came back from Milan.
A whole month.
And he never brought it up once?
Why?
Had he been so desperate to make sure I went through with this stupid fake marriage that he's kept this from me?
My body stings with betrayal.
Who's the liar now, Matthias? Who's the fucking liar now?
Chapter 50
Matthias
Overthenextweek,I make more enemies than I ever had friends.
Everyone and everything annoys me and I get increasingly more irate. By Friday afternoon, I'm downright tyrannical.
"Hannah! Where the fuck is the Henderson report? I said I wanted it on my desk at two p.m. It's three now. God! Can't anyone do the simplest tasks around here? "
I storm back into my office, ignoring the looks of everyone on the floor. When they're the ones with my responsibility, then they can comment on my behavior.
"Hannah!" I yell again. The papers on my desk are a fucking mess. I can't find anything. "Where is my iPad?"
She comes in, slams it on the table and slaps the back of my head. On her way out of my office, she pulls the double doors of my office shut, but not before saying, "Maybe when you stop throwing tantrums, you can keep your door open."
Except for that morning outside of the club, I haven't seen or heard from Clarissa.
And I thought it would start to get easier, but with each ticking second, the missing of Clarissa buries deeper inside me, an ever-present ache in my chest that sometimes overwhelms every other sensation.
I miss every fucking thing about her.
I've only been able to go back to my apartment once, her scent drowning me when I walked into our...mybedroom. Her toiletries in the bathroom, her clothes still hanging in the walk-in wardrobe, a lip-stained glass on the kitchen counter that I couldn't bring myself to ask Marika to wash. They all haunt me.
I don't want the traces of her gone.
Saying goodbye is hard when you know it's going to be the last time.
