揂ll right, all right, I抣l get going. Just梙e抯 your chance, Scarlett.?
I tell myself not to answer. For the third time, my brain doesn抰 listen. 揗y chance for what? I already have everything I need.?
揧our chance for happiness, sweetheart.?
I scoff at that, then glance at Leah抯 desk. She抯 trying very hard to act like she抯 not listening to this conversation. 揅rew Kensington? He抯卙e抯 a means to an end. Nothing more. Treating this like the business relationship it is will make me happy.?
My mother purses her lips, but she doesn抰 argue. I抦 used to her small bursts of maternal concern buried between critiques and strict instructions. 揧ou抣l be in the Hamptons for the Fourth next weekend, right??
Shit. How is that already next weekend? My parents throw a massive party at their house in the Hamptons for the Fourth of July every year. I抳e been dreading it more than usual ever since I learned I would already be married to Crew by the beginning of July. We抣l be expected to act like the united, loving couple we aren抰 for a couple of days.
揧eah. I抣l be there.?
揂nd Crew??
I look away. 揑 assume so.?That sounds better than I抣l have my secretary ask his secretary.
The small shake of her head makes it clear that抯 not the answer my mother was looking for, but she doesn抰 comment further before she turns and leaves.
Rather than head into my office once she disappears, I walk toward the kitchenette around the corner. I pull a sparkling water out of the fridge and carry it into my office, pressing the cold glass bottle against my forehead as soon as I抦 out of sight from the rest of the floor. I take a seat at my desk and spin around so I抦 staring out at the skyline. My vision blurs as my focus disappears, turning the sharp angles into a jumble.
Home feels different now.
Three hours later, I leave my office. Leah looks up as soon as the door opens, ready for a request or a question. Instead, I tell her, 揑抦 headed out for the day.?
If she抯 trying to mask her shock, she抯 doing a poor job of it. Her coffee almost gets upended and sticky notes go flying as she struggles to comprehend my statement. 揧ou抮e桰 mean, you抮e梚t抯棓 Leah glances at the clock on her computer, as if I抦 unaware it抯 not even five p.m. yet.
揑 have some personal business to take care of. I抳e been gone for a while.?
揑梥ure, of course.?
Despite the fact I抦 feeling worse instead of better, I manage a smile. 揑 have a life outside this office, Leah.?
That makes her panic more. 揙f course you do. I didn抰 mean桰？Please don抰 fire me.?
I laugh, then wince as my head gives a particularly painful throb. 揑抣l be back in first thing tomorrow.?
Leah nods. 揃efore you go厰
I pause. 揧es??
揧our, uh, your husband抯 secretary called earlier. While you were in the meeting with Lilyanne Morris.?
揂nd??
揝he called about the Rutherford gala for the children抯 hospital on Friday. Mr. Kensington is requesting you attend with him.?
揊ine.?
Leah looks relieved by my answer. 揙kay. I抣l let Celeste know.?
揘o need. I抣l handle it.?I抣l have to talk to Crew eventually. It might as well include a conversation about how we抣l handle our joint social calendar.
Leah very obviously wants to ask me what I mean by that, but doesn抰。 I want my employees to feel comfortable approaching me, but I don抰 invite or indulge speculation about my personal life. That policy has been more difficult to enforce as of late, for obvious reasons. I let the news coverage inform my employees of my hasty engagement and marriage.
Telling someone something invites an opinion on it.
I say goodbye to Leah and head for the elevators, texting my driver to let him know I抦 leaving. Twenty minutes later, I climb out of the car and walk into my building to take another elevator up to the top floor.
When the doors open, exhaustion hits me so fast I feel dizzy. This penthouse has always been a safe space for me梥omewhere I can be Scarlett. Not poised or prepared or professional or anything anyone expects from me. I resent Crew for taking that sanctuary away from me.
Around him, I feel the compulsion to be perfect, more so than I抳e ever felt with anyone else. I care what he thinks of me. I can抰 genuinely say that about anyone else, even my parents. It抯 a problem梠ne I don抰 have the energy to think about right now. Especially since he doesn抰 appear to be here. There抯 nothing indicating he ever has been.
I抦 not sure why I expected my home to look different梑ut I did. I thought there would be some obvious evidence a man lives here now. Maybe boxers on the floor or a tie draped on the couch or a strip of condoms on the coffee table. There抯 nothing. Not even a water stain on the teak coffee table I picked out. The tidiness is really all I absorb before I flop face-first onto the white couch. It抯 uncomfortable, having my face smushed against the cushions. The construction crew hammering away at my skull isn抰 all that relaxing either. I抦 too uncomfortable to fall asleep and too comfortable to move upstairs.