One Less Problem Without You (26 page)

He was. Being with him was killing me. Being his wife was killing me. Killing. Me.

His expression softened fractionally, while my resolve strengthened. I
would
rather die than go through this anymore, if those were my only two options left.

Somewhere inside, he must have sensed the shift in my energy, because his tactic changed. Predictably. “Baby, I told you there's no one else for me.”

“Yes, you said that.”

“I meant it.”

“Tell Eastern Shore Plumbing, or whatever it was you had her listed as in your phone.”

“What are you talking about?” He was so good at this, so good at sounding convincing, genuinely baffled.

But I knew. I
knew
. I'd read it all myself. Saw the call logs. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt.

And he knew I knew. But only he could make me wonder if I really did.

I shook my head. “How many have there been, Leif? Can you even count them?”

“One.” He reached for my hand, which I knew was as cold as a corpse. His was hot. Comforting. Of course. “I married only one woman. And it's not just because you ticked all the boxes that looked good for me in business.”

“It's not?” That hadn't occurred to me, actually. But it answered some questions my ego hadn't wanted to ask.

“No.”

I pulled my hand back. “I want some tea.” I went to the back counter and turned on the electric kettle.

“Of course you do.”

I busied my hands, taking out a strainer and moving to the glass pots of herbs. “You used to like my teas,” I commented with a tiny smile as I moved along from container to container, taking out what I wanted. “Or you
said
you did. I realize you have some trouble with the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're ace at tea making. I just prefer something stronger.”

A little chamomile, a smidge of lavender, a bit of foxglove, and a pinch of kava, then a fruity hibiscus base. The kettle was close to a boil, and I poured the water into the strainer and let the mixture steep.

“My teas are pretty strong.”

“They are when you put vodka in them.”

I looked at him, shocked.

“Did you think I didn't know?”

“Yes,” I said honestly. “I did think you didn't know.”

“Baby, I don't trust anyone in this world. Our security cameras showed everything.”

Everything? I wondered if there was an infrared one with the embarrassing image of me pressing his finger to his phone and sneaking into the bathroom to read all of his private messages. Was there a camera in the bathroom, too, disguised, perhaps, as one of the shower spouts? Had he watched me sitting on the floor, flipping through everything, crying like a fool?

What about him bending me over the counter and taking me as he had after I'd accused him of infidelity? Was that captured on tape somewhere? Would that be a recording he'd keep to
use
later on, or one he'd ditch in favor of something hotter with someone younger and more interesting?

Why did he even
want
me? Was it only to win?

I looked in his eyes and saw my answer. Yes. All he wanted me for now was to win.

And, equally important, to not let
me
win.

I poured the tea into a cup, then paused. “Do you want some?”

“What are you going to do, poison me?”

I continued pouring my own. “Scared of
me,
are you?”

“Pour me some,” he said, and I did.

Ha! The playground taunt had worked. The “scared of a
girl
” line had
worked
on this overgrown child.

“Maybe this will calm you down. I'm sure you've got some Scotch in your left breast pocket as usual,” I said, handing him the cup. “Slip some in this; maybe it'll make you see things a little clearer.”

“Oh, I see things plenty clear.”

“And what is it you see?”

“That we need to figure out the terms of your return. And you need to obey them.”

Obey. Nice.

“Who says I'm returning?”

He laughed heartily and took a flask out of his inside pocket, right where I knew him well enough to predict. Probably single malt Scotch. He was a Scotch snob, so if there was one thing he would have on him, that'd be it.

He never offered to share. Tonight was no exception. He poured some into his own cup and put the flask back in his pocket.

It was just as well. I would hate to waste a good Scotch.

“We're going to tell people you went to a spa,” he said, drinking, then making a distasteful face. “Bitter,” he said.

“It steeped too long,” I said. It had. That made almost anything bitter.

Nice of him to point that out, though, wasn't it? Even in the middle of his dictator act, he had to interrupt himself to point out where I had failed.

“Anyway,” he went on. “We're going to tell everyone you went to a spa. So you're going to have to get some Botox, maybe a little filler here and there so you look refreshed.” He appraised my face with a sneer—his, not mine—and added, “You can use it.”

“Thanks so much.”

He drank more tea. “Then you're going to be under house arrest.”

The words were horrible. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean, you're not leaving again. I'll hire a housekeeper to accompany you if you go shopping or something. Otherwise, you stay in unless you and I have an engagement.”

“You've got to be joking.”

“Do I look like I'm joking?” He slammed his cup down. What was left of the tea splattered in a constellation across the floor.

Shit!

God, he'd made a complete mess of the place. How was I ever going to explain this?

I grabbed a paper towel, doused it with hot water, and ran around the counter to clean up the spilled tea, but the moment I put the towel to the spill, he grabbed me by the hips and threw me several feet away, into a spinning wire display rack. “What are you
doing
?” I cried.

“A lot less than you deserve.”

I ran to the door and fumbled with the lock. Normally it was so easy, but it felt like my hands were made out of Play-Doh. I had just managed to grab the deadbolt and started to turn it when he grabbed me again, this time throwing me against the bookcase, knocking a large amethyst geode off. It struck the top of my head and crashed to the ground, breaking in half and scattering smaller bits around it. I bent to pick up the large pieces, thinking one of them would make a decent weapon if I needed it, but then I felt a warm tickle on the crown of my head. It quickly grew, and the next thing I knew, warm blood was pouring down over my forehead and spilling onto the floor.

“What the fuck!” Leif yelled. “I didn't do that!”

“Who the fuck
did,
then?” I screamed back. At this point, I didn't even care what he'd do to me. He was going to kill me or I was going to kill him; there was no in between.

He backed off, looking at me in horror.

I have to admit, it was almost funny. I knew he had a blood phobia, but I didn't know it was this powerful. He was making his way slowly to the door as if I were holding a gun on him.

“Proud of yourself?” I demanded, and pushed my hair back, knowing it was smearing the blood across my forehead.

“Clean that up,” he said, and gingerly reached for the paper towel I'd started to clean the tea with. He picked it up and came at me with it. “You've got to stop bleeding.”

“No!” I knocked his arm away, sending the paper towel flying. “Don't touch me with that.” I'd as soon have let him stab me as swab up my wound.

Which, from the looks of it, had to be a terrible gash.

I reached for the phone on the wall and dialed 911 before he could stop me.

He made a noise of anger and lunged toward me, but I held the receiver up. “It's too late. I already dialed. Even if you manage to hang up this call, the police will be here any second. You'd better get out of here, Leif. You'd better get far, far away from here and hope I don't decide to press charges.”

“You can't charge me, I'm your husband!”

One of the stupidest statements he had ever made.

“Let's see what kind of settlement you come up with, huh?” I was getting woozy.

He glanced at the phone, then at me. “This isn't over.” But he didn't wait for a response; he turned and left the store, a lot more frantically than he'd entered it.

“Yes, it is,” I said, watching him go. Then I put the phone to my ear, steadying my voice. “Yes, hello, this is Diana over at Cosmos in Georgetown? I've been hearing a lot of loud voices in the alleyway behind the shop and my apartment here. I wonder if you'd mind sending an extra patrol our way now and then tonight?”

*   *   *

THE PLACE AND
I were nearly entirely cleaned up when Prinny walked in. The bleeding had stopped—revealing a shallow cut less than a centimeter long—and I'd rinsed the blood out of my hair. I was just picking up the quartz pieces from the floor when the bells rang.

I jumped.

She looked at me, alarmed.

We were both the deer in the headlights and the person looking at the deer in the headlights.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked.

“Leif,” I said.

“He did this?” She looked around, but the worst of the evidence had been cleaned up already.

“We had a little visit,” I said. “Yes. He did this.”

“That is so weird. I just saw him at my place and had a bad feeling he'd come by and set the place on fire. That's why I'm here.”

“No fire,” I said, then thought about it. “Can't say that's out of his wheelhouse, though.”

She came over and helped me pick up the little stones. We dropped them back into the basket one by one. There must have been a hundred of them.

Then it registered what she'd said. “He went to your house?”

She nodded. “He said he knew you were here.” She gave a dry laugh. “He knew you were here, and he was going to take me down for betraying him that way. He said he'd be back. He loves to do that, to hang punishment over my head. To ratchet up my fear that he will ruin me or what I love.”

“Like he hasn't been trying to take you down already.”

“Yes, well.” She shrugged. “I didn't know if he'd somehow gotten to you and…”

“Sweet-talked me into somehow testifying against you, literally or figuratively?”

Her face went pink. That meant yes.

“It's all right,” I said. “I understand why you'd worry about that. When you see someone betray themselves as many times as I have, it's hard to imagine they're going to have any loyalty to anyone else. At least anyone who isn't swinging an ax over their head.”

“That's kind of how it seems.

“Well,” she said, resolve set in her jaw. “He definitely didn't get me this time.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Seven Years Earlier

Prinny had a sip of Chardonnay. Leif had announced to the table at large that it was something extremely expensive. He never could let an opportunity like that pass. Chateau Montelena, whatever. He seemed to be the only one who really cared about the
prestige
of it.

He was red in the face at the head of the table, being loud, commanding the room, and telling raunchy jokes.

Two men are out fishing when one decides to have a smoke. He asks the other guy if he has a lighter. Other guy says, “Yes I do!” and hands his buddy a very long Bic lighter. Surprised, the first guy asks, “Where did you get this?” The second guy says, “Well, I have a personal genie.” The first man asks, “Can I make a wish?” “Sure,” his friend tells him, “but make damn sure you speak clearly, because he is a little hard of hearing.” “Okay, I will,” says the other as he rubs the lamp and a genie appears. “What is your wish?” the genie asks. The guy says, “I want a million bucks.” The genie waves his hand, and immediately a million ducks fly overhead. So the other guy says to his pal, “Your genie really sucks at hearing, doesn't he?” His friend says, “I know. Do you really think I asked for a ten-inch
Bic
?”

How was that poor woman going to marry him?

Prinny didn't know Diana. She was pretty and seemed nice, but all she could imagine was that she must be stupid. How could any smart woman marry him?

Maybe it was unfair of her to ask that question, since she'd spent her entire life hoping that just
once
he would act like a brother to her. When she was little and she'd asked him time and time again to play, he would respond either by destroying one of her toys or by pushing her to the ground. How long had it taken her to learn that his version of playing had a lot more to do with destruction and a lot less to do with sitting calmly and pretending there was real tea in the teacups?

He wouldn't even play tag with her when she was that age. Well, he would, but when he caught her he would push her to the ground. Tag stopped being a chasing game and turned into the reality it mimicked: running from the enemy.

How about when she was older, and he couldn't do what she needed from him then? She asked for help with homework, and he refused. Except for the one time she'd frantically asked him for help with a take-home test at the end of a semester, and he'd reluctantly done the work for her. He'd done it all wrong. On purpose. And she'd had to repeat the class in summer school.

And what about when she went out on her first date and had called him desperately from the pizza place asking for a ride? She'd snuck out for the date and didn't want to call home because she might get in trouble. The guy she was on the date with had started to give her the creeps (and made her pay, because she was “rich as hell anyway”), and Leif was in town, not near enough to walk, but close enough to not be a huge inconvenience.