Page 32 of One Week
Oops.
He glares at me over his paper. “Istill ama New York Times Bestseller.”
“You know what I mean,” I try to backtrack, “when your books were selling… better.” What I don’t understand is how he’s attending all these conferences and signings, and yet he’s selling less books. He tells me that’s exactly the reason he’s increased his promotional efforts, to get back in the game. I feel bad for him, I really do. Maybe that’s the reason he’s been so distant. Perhaps he’s depressed because he’s not as successful as he used to be.
His gaze returns to his paper and he ignores me. He’s peeved. John is the silent-treatment type.
“I’m sorry,” I try to apologize. “I know things have been tough lately. Nobody is reading books anymore, they’re all watching Netflix. I just… I just miss you. The kids miss you,” I struggle to explain. “And it’s tough for me. I do everything. I look after the kids, cook the meals, I clean the house, I run the errands and buy the groceries, and it’s all so…”boring, joyless, what-is-the-point-of-my-life?… not fair.
“God, Gabriella,” he snaps. “What I wouldn’t give to be you, I don’t know. You have no worries, no stress. You live in your perfect little cocoon every day, completely oblivious. Do you know how much all this costs?” he barks, waving his arm around. “This giant house, the kids’ private school, the luxury cars, and your designer clothes.”
What the fuck?!
He’s the one who wanted all those things. He’s the one who insisted we purchase the multi-million dollar home — I wanted something a little bit more cozy and modest. He’s the one who insisted on a private education for the kids, and he’s the one who is car crazy. How dare he put this on me.
I’m boiling inside. I’m so mad, I don’t even know how to respond. I storm off into the en-suite. I brush my teeth. I’ve already brushed them tonight, but I need to put something in my mouth or I might say something I’ll probably regret in the morning.
When I come out, John has gathered his things. “I’m going to my den,” he deadpans. “Goodnight.”
I cross my arms. “Goodnight.”
I amsomad, I can’t even…
I check my clock. It’s nine o’clock — three in the morning in Copenhagen. I know he’s sleeping, but I need him. I’ve never contacted him this late before. I usually try not to message him after eleven — the time change is actually kind of a pain in the rear.
Hi Eli. I know you’re probably sleeping, but if for some reason, you’re not, I’d love to talk.
I feel nauseous when I throw my phone back on the bed. What the hell am I doing? I’m acting insane. The poor man is trying to sleep for god’s sake.
My phone pings. My heart leaps as I reach for it.
It’s him.
Chapter Thirteen
I was sleeping, but I’m a light sleeper. What’s up?
—
I’m so sorry to wake you up… I just needed someone to talk to.
—
No worries, Gabriella. What’s up?
—
Ugh. Life… marriage. Can we video chat?
I’m feeling bold. I’ve never video chatted with him with John in the house before. My husband could walk into our bedroom any minute, and catch me in the act. But I just don’t care.
Sure,he replies quickly.
A few seconds later, his sweet face pops up on my phone. A look of concern washes over his features. “What’s going on?!”
His hair is all mussed up and he looks sleepy, and he’s shirtless. There’s a huge tattoo on his right pec, and it flows onto his shoulder. I can’t quite make it out, but hot damn, I’ve never seen anything so hot.
I’m completely speechless for a second. My mouth is hanging open. I close it immediately and swallow hard. He studies me curiously, awaiting my response.
