Page 17 of Xander

Henry laughed, loud and ugly. It was how he laughed with his friends, smoking Cuban cigars in a noxious storm as they played poker with stakes high enough to make or topple dreams.

“I’ll have my assistant draw up a contract. Just make sure he isn’t mooching off me in his old age,” he said, just callously enough that I cringed. “God fucking knows I’ve heard you coddling countless other fools through their mistakes and straightening them out.”

My clients aren’t fools. I bit back the words, forced another smile, and said to Xander, “I’d be happy to help. Let me go see where we are on dessert.” I straightened the rumpled hem of my Monique Lhuillier dress as I stood.

The kitchen was empty, Jenna’s cup and puzzle book neatly cleared away as if they’d never existed. I didn’t want to look for her, and if I called her name, that would only attract Henry’s wrath to a different corner of the house, so I opened the fridge and got the peach cobbler myself, plating the slices with scoops of Tahitian vanilla ice cream and a tiny sprig of mint for garnish.

As I brought out the tray, heavy with the little china dessert plates and crystal snifters of the ice wine, I no longer felt any particular joy about tasting it.

Henry was speaking when I returned to the table. “I’ve been thinking about turning the room next to our bedroom into a home office.”

The meaning of his words slammed into me like a freight train. “The room next to the bedroom?” I repeated. “But that’s—” going to be a nursery. Just in time, I remembered Xander, who was watching us both with a studiousness that unnerved me. “I thought we were going to use that for… something else.”

Henry shrugged as he scooped up a piece of cobbler. “We aren’t using it right now. I fail to see the problem.”

I swallowed. Hard.

“Is there a problem?” Henry looked right at me, a challenge in his eyes.

“No.” The word pushed out of me with a harsh breath. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Very well. I might go back to the office,” Henry said. “I have a meeting at four a.m. tomorrow for some kind of audit in Sweden. I thought about turning in early, but I’d rather stay up, burning the midnight oil.”

That made no sense, but I knew better than to argue. If Henry wanted to sleep in his office, he’d sleep there. If Henry wanted to turn the spare room into an office, he’d do that, too.

It shouldn’t have hurt. I knew he was heavy-handed when I married him, but he had become an entirely different person since then.

“I’ll have someone draw up the contract and email it to you.” Henry turned to Xander, who was gazing sullenly at his father. “He could use the help.”

Xander ignored the jab, though a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Jordan, send me some of those interior decorating contacts you use for staging. I’d like to look at swatches for wallpaper and carpets.”

Without halting, I said, “Whatever you want, Henry. Good night, Xander.” I only just remembered to add, “Welcome home.”

It was the furthest thing I could imagine from a welcome celebration, and rather than sounding conciliatory, my words only seemed to add to the sting.

Welcome home, yes. Welcome to your father criticizing you and me sitting here, letting him do it. Welcome to an empty room and disappointment.

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

I kept it together until I got to the master bedroom, carefully took off my expensive dress, and hung it on its designated hanger. I loved the floral skirt. When I bought it, I had envisioned wearing it in a garden in the middle of summer, holding the hand of a small young girl in a matching dress.

I looked down at my empty hand and slowly turned my palm over. No wrinkles, not yet. But I was fighting the race against time. No amount of rejuvenating serums and placental sheet masks could fight that fight. I’d thought Henry was running with me—but now, it looked like he was just running me out of time. At best, I had a few good years left to have children.

An office, for God’s sake.

It made me want to laugh, but the sound that left my lips sounded like anything but.

It was dark in the room. Light from the moon glinted silver off the crystal chandelier that hung over the sitting area in our bedroom. It flashed off the mirror of my vanity like sparks shooting off ice, but when the light blurred, I realized there were tears in my eyes.

And it was there, in the room that I shared with the husband who preferred his office to me, that I cried myself to sleep.

Chapter

Six

XANDER