AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We’re at Lou’s, our old favorite. We try to do this once a month. It’s a date night of sorts, though we call it that only because that’s what husbands and wives do. It’s a nice shorthand; when I drop into conversation with colleagues or friends that Patrick and I have a date night coming up, they look at me appreciatively, acknowledging that I have an ideal marriage, something to aspire to.
It feels good to be out and about. I recognize a few people, like Dahlia Root, from the Duquesne Club, which I’ve pushed Patrick to join. She sits at the bar across the room, and I give her a finger trill, mouthing that I’ll come talk to her in a bit. And there’s Frannie Waites, who’s on the board at Aldrich University—since my promotion after Kit left, I’ve been much more involved in such meetings. She’s sitting with a girl who looks like her daughter, by the window—I make a mental note that Amelia’s probably old enough to dine here now; perhaps we’ll do a mother-daughter date soon. And there’s Annette Darling, who lives down the street from us and has a girl in my daughter’s grade—not long ago, Annette drove past Patrick and me just as we were having a small argument on the street. Did she draw conclusions?
I shift closer to Patrick and try to look loving and content. When I notice Annette turn my way and watch us for a beat, I fake a laugh at an imaginary thing Patrick has said.See? We’re all good.
Patrick places his oyster shell on the plate and folds his hands in his lap. “Was it tasty?” I prod, my smile effervescent.
“Excellent.”
He doesn’t quite look me in the eye, and his smile is a touch soulless, but I don’t think anyone notices. As long as he’s sitting here with me, looking fantastic, as long as we give this public performance, I don’t care what sort of emotional maelstrom is happening inside his head. It’s just like old times, actually: I’m back to controlling his every move, making him do exactly what I want. And he’s keeping his life. We’re both getting what we need.
What I have on Patrick is ruinous, after all. It’s one thing if I leaked his disgusting habits online, like I did with Greg Strasser’s affair. That would lose Patrick most of his clients. His respect. His life. But Patrick is far more indebted to me than that.
The night I caught Patrick in that house with those girls, I’d made him tell me exactly what he was up to—every last disgusting detail, including the other times he’d done such things, which,unfortunately, horrifyingly, were numerous. Hearing that he wanted to playact a robbery, I was sure he was the murderer, but Patrick revealed his hideous alibi, saying he had many ways to corroborate it.
“You have an illness,” I told him. “You need to see a doctor.”
“I’ve tried therapists,” Patrick said miserably. “They’ve explained to me, again and again, that I just like the fantasy of becoming someone else. Even if that person is a bad person—like a burglar—I can’t get enough of playing a role.” He lowered his eyes. “It’s why I moved us to Pittsburgh last year. Not just the business opportunities—I thought that if I started over somewhere else, maybe I’d change.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, even with Kit Manning—that wasn’t real. We had fake identities. And I got off on it. I didn’t think of her as a real person. A wife, a mother. That stuff’s boring to me.”
I stared at him, arms crossed. Was he seriously trying to rationalize Kit Manning? I wonder whatshewould think if she heard this theory.
“And look—with those girls, in that house... I just need to control something, Lynn. Todominate. To feel like a man.”
I’d laughed out loud. His words combined with his hangdog, pitiful expression—he really expected me to feel bad for him!
I could have kicked him out that night. I could have deposited Patrick in some shitty motel where he would muddle through the rest of his days, sans wife, sans girlfriend, sans ever being able to see his children. But instead, I responded with kindness. “Look, I can’t let you ruin your life,” I said. “I’ve invested in you. I have a responsibility to get you back on track.”
He’d looked at me confusedly. His eyes were bloodshot. His jowls hung down like a hound dog’s. “Okay,” he blurted, sounding suspicious. “But what if I don’twantto get back on track? What if I want something different?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Like you’d ever leave your children.”
A pained look flashes over his face, and I know in an instant I’m right. “There are... ways,” he said quietly. “I have rights.”
“Well, for your information, I’m not talking about our marriage, Patrick—though I have no intention of granting you a divorce. No children of mine are splitting their time between two homes. I’m talking about your career. Or are you okay with walking away from that, too?”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
At this point, I was enjoying myself. “You know, Patrick, it strikes me as funny that you’ve never wondered who your angel investor was, all those years ago.”
Patrick blinked. “Angel investor?” he parroted.
“You know. The anonymous person who invested millions in your company before we married. It’s so interesting you never cared about the person’s identity.”
Patrick’s face was clouded in confusion, but all of a sudden—maybe because of my smug smile, maybe because I was literally vibrating with glee—the clouds began to lift. The blood drained from his cheeks.
“Youknow?” he said slowly, trembling a little.
“I do know.” My smile was catlike, satisfied. “Because it was me. That little marketing management business I ran? My friend who got famous gotreallyfamous? A big talent agency bought out my client list back in the day. I made quite a killing.”
Patrick let out an incredulous laugh. “And you never thought to tell me?”
I shrugged. “It was money I earned before the marriage. My lawyers insisted I get a prenup, but I didn’t want to emasculate you. And anyway, I poured quite a bit of that money into your company. Though I made sure to own a fifty-one percent stake in your business. Which means, actually, I alreadycontrolyour business. I can do with it whatever I want. Meaning I could fire you. But I’d rather keep you around.”
Patrick’s mouth hung open. It wasn’t a very attractive look for him.
“I’d rather give you another chance, allow you to shape up a little,” I went on. “I really think that if you listen to me, you’ll make all kinds of improvements.”
Patrick fell heavily into a chair and stared blankly at the opposite wall. I’m not surprised he felt so blindsided—he doesn’t take the time to really look at people, really figure out what they’re hiding. I watched him look around our big, beautiful house, understanding that everything he thought he’d built was all actually mine. He was nothing without me. I could make him nothing again. Easy as that.
