Page 52 of Blue Gold

I tensed on the spot, then averted my gaze to the floor.

“I did.”

“Why?”

In my mind, I could almost hear Elliot asking the same question. And when it was him, the answer was as clear as the blueness of his sapphire eyes.

“Because of the way he was looking at you,” I said, bowing my head with shame. “I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t stomach the fact that another man… no, anyone, was looking at you with such intentions. It’s embarrassing to admit, but it drives me nuts, and I find myself behaving like a child.”

“Oh, Daniel,” Claudia gasped, reminding me she was here and not Elliot, a second before she closed the distance between us and hugged me.

“I never knew you were the type to get so jealous,” she said.

I swallowed hard because I wasn’t. Not until him.

“Apparently, I am.”

And as she hugged me tightly, as if to reassure me she belonged to me, all I wanted was for her to disappear so I could go and see Elliot. What an awful thought. She was my wife. More than that, my best friend of many years, and yet, I’d just wished for such a horrible thing. I truly was a despicable man, just like my father. And if I thought I was better than him earlier, now I realized it wasn’t at all true.

“You should go back to the table,” I said, slowly breaking the hug.

“What about you?”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, I gave her a small smile. “I’ll go wash my face and then join you. You know how it is when my dad’s around… “

Claudia, forever the attentive person with a heart of gold, nodded.

“Okay.” She leaned close and kissed me. “Remember that I’m yours and only yours,” she whispered over my lips before pulling back and leaving me to stand alone.

I knew that if jealousy hadn’t made me this vulnerable, I would have followed her back to the table as a decent husband would do. But I didn’t, and instead, I began moving toward the kitchen, my heart in my throat, until the second I rounded the corner and saw Elliot standing by the stoves.

Per usual, when upset, he pretended I wasn’t there and continued stirring the pot on the stove.

“I know you heard me,” I said in French, not minding that he didn’t look at me.

“I do not know what you mean.” He decided to stick to English.

“Please, you obviously do⁠—”

He turned off the stove to glare at me.

“No,” he snarled in French. “I don’t. So how about you say it?”

Taken aback by his hostility, I frowned at him.

“What do you want me to say?”

Resting one hand on his waist, he held his chin high as if to prove he was superior.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, voice demanding.

“What?”

He took a step toward me, closing the distance I kept between us thus far.

“Tell me, Daniel Williams, what do you want from me?” he hissed, eyes determined as his stare bored into my soul.

Feeling cornered, I looked aside. “I don’t know.”