Chapter Fifteen

Annabelle

Elliot and I do not discuss our argument anymore. I try not to let his reaction bother me. He’s been slightly aloof, but there’s nothing to fault in his manners or the way he treats me. It’s maddening, but I suspect it’s just the way he’s bred. Even if he claims he didn’t come from an old money, blue-blooded clan like the Pryces, growing up with half-siblings from that family must’ve rubbed off on him.

He’s so smooth that Nonny doesn’t notice at all. Over our dinner of Thai takeout, she talks about her band practice and the trip they’re going to take to Vancouver. Apparently her new school isn’t going to Vegas. Elliot talks about it enthusiastically over mangosteen flavored ice-cream, and tells her to have fun and take lots of photos.

After dinner, he and Nonny watch some made-for-TV movie. I go to the master suite to pack. I dump everything I think I’m going to need in St. Cecilia into my suitcase and zip it up. Tension pulls at me until I’m strung tighter than Queen Victoria’s corset. I dial the phone by the bed to get the concierge.

“Is there a gym nearby?” I ask.

“We have a gym that’s open twenty-four seven for residents on the second floor.”

“Great. How do I access it?”

“Your penthouse key will be sufficient. Somebody should be at the front desk to sign you in.”

“Thanks.” I hang up.

I can’t stay in the penthouse anymore without feeling like I’m going to explode. I change into a plain white t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. The shorts aren’t something Josephine bought. She hasn’t bought me anything except skirts and dresses since that’s what’s in the contract between me and Elliot, but I’m not going to the gym in a skirt.

Very quietly, I walk out without disturbing the duo watching TV. They’re too absorbed in the climactic scene to notice me leaving.

Don’t be upset with Elliot, I tell myself. Some men can be peculiar about their women earning their own money, and I suspect Elliot may be one of those men who wants to provide for his wife one hundred percent. My dad was like that, too. Mom had a degree in law and did well in her legal career, but he didn’t want her working, especially after I was born. He thought Mom should stay home and raise me, and whatever he made should be enough to provide for the family, save for retirement and college and everything else.

I learned all that from my grandmother when I was old enough. She disapproved of the way Mom gave up her own ambitions.

“A man whose self-esteem is tied to his salary does not deserve you.” She would harrumph and shake her head. “Your mother could’ve done something amazing with herself. What a waste of education. I didn’t fight for equal rights so she could be a housewife.”

I thought it was unfair to claim that Mom made the wrong choice to be a stay-at-home mom if that’s what she wanted. Equal rights doesn’t mean all women have to work.

On the other hand, it does mean that if I want to work, I should be able to without getting into an argument with my husband.

The gym on the second level is impossible to miss. It takes up half the floor. A bright golden FITNESS CENTER in all caps is emblazoned across frosted double-doors in one straight line.

A dark-haired guy in his early twenties is at the front desk. A white Nike shirt strains against the thickly muscled torso, and black workout shorts reveal a pair of well-developed legs. The name-tag on his chest reads JAIME. He pushes away from the desk and smiles. A cute dimple pops on his suntanned face. “Evening! Can I have your name?”

“Annabelle Reed.”

He types my name into the computer. “Excellent, Mrs. Reed. I see that you’re in the system.”

“Call me Annabelle.”

He nods. “Is this your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need an orientation?”

“No. Just point me to a treadmill.”

“Sure.” He hands me a fluffy dark gray and purple towel and a bottle of water from the fridge behind him, then takes me to a row of gleaming treadmills, each with a TV screen mounted in front of it. “You can use this remote for the TV. And the controls for the machine are pretty self-explanatory.”

“Great.” I smile. “Thanks.”

I hop on the wide belt and start with a brisk walk, then increase the speed until I’m running at a comfortable pace. My eyes settle on a spot beyond the blank TV screen.

As my muscles heat and sweat beads on my forehead, a part of me wonders if I’m being ridiculous. Elliot is eminently correct about my employability. So let’s say I get a job waitressing at a diner. It would be embarrassing for him to have his wife work in such a profession. His friends, family and peers are going to wonder why I’m bothering with such a low wage job when I could be finishing up my education or doing something else that society finds more valuable.

The sweat starts to drip down my face and neck. If money is the problem… Maybe I could just borrow the money from Elliot. Surely he isn’t going to insist on charging me twenty-five percent compounded daily. That’s crazy accounting…although given what credit card companies do, probably legal. I don’t even want to think about how much the money Mr. Grayson gave me is going to balloon up to. The idea makes my chest tight with panic.

Stay calm. Think. Do the math.

There’s no way that money is going to be anywhere close to eating up the million Elliot promised me. I don’t have to pull out a calculator to figure that out.

Elliot and I have one year. Not even that long now. I don’t want to spend most of it fighting with him because of money, and especially not about money I owe Mr. Grayson because of sheer stupidity and desperation on my part. I know we can have a good time together if I give in a little bit. Surely that’s better than a year of conflict.

Besides, so long as I live under his roof, under the contract we signed, I do not fully have the control over my own destiny. The million dollars isn’t mine yet.

Keep your eye on the prize. Don’t screw up. This is my chance to finally have the means to take charge of my life and provide for Nonny.

I don’t know how long I run. But my legs become rubbery, and my lungs are heaving. Sweat dampens my shirt, and my hair sticks to my flushed skin. I suck water from the bottle as I do a little walking for a warm-down.

A gentle hand takes the bottle from me. “What are you doing?”

I almost falter at Elliot’s quiet voice. My right leg hits the belt with more force and a shorter stride than ideal, and I reach forward to grab the bar in front of me. “What are you doing here?” I ask, hitting the red stop button on the treadmill.

“I got done with TV and waited for over half an hour but you never came home. So I decided to come down here and check up on you.”

“How did you know I came to the gym?”

“I knew when you left.”

I stare at him. He was watching TV with Nonny when I slipped out.

“I’ll always know, Belle,” he says as though he’s read my thoughts. “I can feel it when you leave.”

My mouth dry, I look away. “I needed to run. That’s all.” I breathe heavily, wiping the sweat from my face. My lungs still burn from the exertion. The display says I’ve been running for seventy-two minutes. No wonder my legs feel so shaky now.

I hop off the treadmill and almost lose my balance. Elliot catches me, his strong arm encircling my waist protectively.

“I’m sweaty and gross.” I start to pull away even though being this close to him makes my heart hammer for reasons that have nothing to do with my recent run.

A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “Sweaty, yes. Gross? No.” He links his right hand with mine and doesn’t let go. He tosses the empty water bottle into a trash bin, and I drop my limp and sodden towel in a laundry net next to it.

We go to the penthouse, then to our bedroom. He runs a bath with Epsom salts in that huge tub. I strip and sink into the water, sighing as the heat loosens my muscles. Elliot grabs a couple of bottles of water, places them by the tub and strips down to join me.

He slides in behind me, his big, powerfully muscled body cradling mine, and I let my head fall back and rest on his chest. I can feel his heart beat against my flushed cheek as he pours water over me with gentle hands. His mouth brushes a kiss over my shoulder.

Inexplicable tears prickle my eyes. Moments like this, I feel like what we have is real, not some make-believe with a one-year deadline.

And I know with sudden clarity why I can’t tell him all my screw-ups and messiness. If he knew everything he’d turn away from me, disgust and contempt in his gaze. It wouldn’t take much to tip the scale from understanding to I don’t ever want to see you again. It won’t matter that I was foolish and desperate back then. It didn’t matter to the people in Lincoln City that I wasn’t the one who screwed them over. The crime of being my father’s daughter was enough.

I’ve survived a lot, but I’m not certain I could survive Elliot pulling away from me. I clutch his hand tightly and bring it to my mouth for a kiss. I can deal with my own messes. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Elliot won’t find out.