Camila exits through the front door, and right after she shuts the door behind her, Graham marches over to the door and locks it from the inside with the key in his pocket. I spent another hour searching after I hung up with Lucy and I couldn’t find any extra keys—either for the desk drawer or the front door. If they exist, they’re very well hidden.
In any case, I’m not going anywhere tonight.
“Let’s eat,” Graham says.
Graham disappears back into the kitchen while I walk to the dining table like it’s my last meal—in a sense, it is. The chicken Camila cooked is juicy and glistening, with bits of rosemary sprinkled on top. The rice is yellow with flecks of red. Camila set the table with a napkin for each of us, as well as a fork and a knife. I pick up my knife—it’s a butter knife.
Ziggy joins me at the table and looks up at me hopefully with those irresistible brown eyes. Before Graham returns and can scold me for it, I break off a little chunk of my chicken and let Ziggy gobble it out of my hand.
“Got us drinks!” Graham announces. He’s holding one glass of water, presumably for me, and a bottle of beer, presumably for him. “Now let’s eat!”
I hold up the butter knife. “How am I supposed to cut a piece of meat with this thing?”
Graham nods at his own place setting. “I’ve got the same thing. It works well enough. Do the best you can.”
“You mean you don’t trust me to have a real knife?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”
Ziggy had jerked his head up at the sound of Graham’s voice and turned to look at him. Now he snarls at my husband, who takes a step back and lowers the drinks onto the table.
Graham raises his hands. “Whoa, Ziggy.”
Ziggy barks loud enough to wake up everybody in the neighborhood. He takes another step toward Graham, who takes another step back. I’ve never seen Ziggy like this. Granted, I only met him this morning. But he seems like such a happy, friendly dog. He was even licking Harry’s hand at the dog park, and he must know Graham better than Harry.
“Ziggy.” I pat the leg of my pants. “Leave Graham alone. Come to mama.”
But Ziggy doesn’t hear me. He’s a dog with a mission. He snarls at Graham one more time, and before I can stop him, his sharp teeth have sunk into Graham’s leg.
“Goddamn it!” Graham shouts as I grab Ziggy’s collar to restrain him. The fabric of Graham’s expensive pants is ripped wide open. “He bit me! Your dog bit me!”
“Bad Ziggy!” I snap at him.
I keep my hands on Ziggy’s collar because I’m genuinely afraid he’s going to do it again. I don’t know what the hell got into him. He seemed like the gentlest dog. Why would he bite Graham?
Graham is pulling up the leg of his pants to assess the damage. Thankfully, I don’t see any blood gushing from his leg. The skin doesn’t even seem to be broken.
“He just bit the fabric,” I say. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
He lifts his eyes, which are rimmed with fury. “Get that fucking dog outside, Tess.”
“Graham, I’m sorry. I’m sure he didn’t mean to—”
“He didn’t mean to bite me?” he hisses. “Obviously, he did. Put him outside. From now on, he doesn’t come into the house. I’m so sick of this shit.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I’m desperate for him to forgive Ziggy. After all, he could get rid of Ziggy tonight, and by tomorrow, I wouldn’t even remember he existed. But this dog is the best part of my life right now. I don’t want Graham to take him away from me. Even though I have to admit I couldn’t entirely blame him. “I’ll take him outside now.”
“Good,” Graham snaps. He props his leg up on the chair to examine it further. I’m almost certain the skin isn’t broken. “I’m going to go change. I want him out of the house by the time I’m back. Got it?”
Without waiting for a reply, he storms upstairs.
I don’t have much of a choice—Ziggy is going outside. It’ll be fine now. He’s got a dog house out there. The weather is nice. He might be happier in our backyard than he’d be in the house.
I lead Ziggy to the back door. The lock hasn’t been turned and I’m able to open the door. Earlier this morning, I went out in the backyard and thought I’d be able to just leave, but then I discovered the padlock on the fence around the yard. This place is locked up tighter than Alcatraz.