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Even after a month of living here, the beige walls and furniture make me feel homesick. Aside from the mess, it looks the same as the first day I moved in. The door opens into a small living space area. To the right is a small kitchen, and to the left is a decent-sized bedroom.
I toss my bag onto my bed and flop back onto it. I’m exhausted, but Emery texted me to let me know she wants to have dinner together. It wasn’t a request. It was another fucking order. I’m sick and tired of having people tell me what to do. Xavier’s contract, Huxley at work and now Emery. But this is the first time she’s asked for company since the second round. That is why I force myself up and start the long walk to the main house.
Emery is moving around the kitchen as she cooks our dinner. Everything smells delicious, and I tell her that. She thanks me and asks about my day.
Her aura fits the home. Just like her, the decor is simple but beautiful. The white marble floors meet the bright white walls. The small accents of gold elevate how much this house is worth.
I leave her in the kitchen and move to the living room. The white U-shaped couch is in pristine condition and looks barely sat in. The few times I have been here, the coffee table has a different flower and candle arrangement. The stack of fancy books and homely ornaments are all for show. She even put a fully stocked bookshelf in the guesthouse. It sits opposite my bed with a book collection no individual would read.
This house doesn’t look lived in. It looks like something from the cover of a housing magazine. Even the bedrooms have no personality. As pretty as it is, I don’t like it.
A home should reflect you. It shows people your personality. It’s meant to be comfortable. This house is anything but. Everywhere I walk, I’m scared of ruining perfection by just breathing. I avoid the main house as much as I can, not wanting to feel like a burden.
I sit at their sixteen-seater dining table and wait for Emery to join me. The room is dimly lit and feels intimate.
“How are you feeling today?” she asks as she sits opposite me.
“Good. Is it just us for dinner?” I ask.
“He’s headed back to the office. Xavier is barely home, and I felt like some company tonight.” Her smile is sincere, and I feel bad for wanting to avoid her.
“He works a lot,” I add.
“Work is his entire life. It’s all he knows.” The smile on her face can only be described as sad, but she snaps out of it as quick as it comes. “He’s good at what he does.”
“What do you two do on his days off?”
Her soft laugh deepens my sympathy for her. “Xavier doesn’t know what a day off is.”
Being alone in the small guesthouse is terrible enough. I can’t imagine waking up, eating, and sleeping alone in this mansion. It makes the recent losses sadder.
“I’m sorry the first two rounds weren’t successful. I am hopeful for the next,” I try to reassure her.
“Me too. Xavier said we can keep trying.”
“Family means a lot to you,” I say.
She sips on her wine. “I grew up in the foster system,” she begins. “It was a horrible time, but I always dreamed of a family. A husband and three or four children. But finding love is hard in our world, so I looked into doing it on my own. I longed for belonging because I spent my entire life floating alone.” There is a sad and distant look in her eyes.
I can’t look away, no matter how much I should.
She continues. “That got ruled out quickly because the doctors said I had an abnormal womb and could never carry to full term. I knew that before I met Xavier. He was a proper gentleman in the beginning,” she laughs. “So sweet and endearing. He took me on proper dates, and we spoke about the future. He told me he wanted a family one day, and I should have told him I could never give him that. But I didn’t. I hid it until I kept miscarrying. He was so angry when I told him the truth.”
What. The. Fuck.How could she lie to him about something so big? Who does that?
“I can see the way you’re looking at me, Savannah. I admit it was wrong of me. But I didn’t care. He was the first man who saw me. He was kind and proper, and he wanted me. Telling him would mean losing him, and I didn’t want that. I loved him.”
As fucked up as it was, I understand her. Love makes us irrational. Emery lied, and I gave away all my money to a man I knew had a gambling addiction.
“He would have still chosen you because he loves you,” I argue.
Emery stops eating and takes a large gulp of her red wine. In the soft light, her irises resemble a black hole I can’t look away from. “He pulled away from me when I couldn’t fulfil my duties as a woman and wife. He stopped looking at me with love. He didn’t touch me anymore. He didn’t desire me because I failed him.”
I almost reach out to take her hand but stop myself. Her struggle with infertility has damaged how she values herself. “I don’t think he sees it as a failure.” I try to offer a reassuring smile. “Xavier loves you very much. He is doing all this for you.”
Little droplets of wine spill over the edge as her glass comes down with force on the table. She gives me a pointed look. “No man does anything unless it’s for themselves. He is doing this to have the perfect life he sketched for himself. If it wasn’t me, it would be another woman living in his home. I saw an opportunity to have a good life. Does that make me any worse than him?”
While I disagree with her, I understand why she chose this path. Not wanting to get any more involved in their marriage, I offer an evasive answer. “I don’t think of either of you badly.”
