Page 41

Before

Will and I barely ate together most days, but after another long week of work for him, I thought changing the scenery and setting the table for a nice meal would finally give us the dinner I had wanted to have the night that we went out with Gianna and Fritz.

As I walked along the aisles of Whole Foods, I couldn’t help but think that when I was Nora Davies, grocery shopping had been a fight for survival.

I made so little money between the museum and the swimming lessons that I was relegated to palm-sweating fear of whether my card would be declined every time I swiped it at checkout.

But now, as Nora Somerset, I could lazily walk up and down each aisle—each aisle!—and read labels, and place however many nine-dollar bricks of cheese I wanted to put in the cart. I didn’t. I usually tried to find the cheapest one in the bin—old habits die hard.

Somehow hours of shopping had passed before I came home with the ingredients to make Will’s favorite slow-cooked short ribs over polenta.

I had gotten a little more confident in the kitchen thanks to cooking with Marcus.

And I was extra grateful that Will’s favorite food mostly involved throwing a bunch of ingredients into a Dutch oven and walking away to watch someone else going through a painstaking two-hour prep of a meal on Iron Chef.

Things were starting to come together by late afternoon. But I felt like a little girl playing house as I pulled out Will’s bone china and silver flatware and started to set the table.

When everything was perfectly placed, I checked my phone.

I had added location sharing for Will and me after one too many nights when I thought he was on his way home, only to find out he was pulling another all-nighter somewhere.

The Find My app booted up and showed him at the address of his office.

I sent a quick text.

7:21 p.m.

Still on for dinner?

I ran upstairs to put on the dress. The dress.

I had returned Este’s after borrowing it for dinner with Fritz and Gianna, but after seeing how much Will loved it, I spent days scouring consignment shops online for the same vintage Dolce & Gabbana dress in my size.

I was busy stuffing myself into the bodycon silhouette when my phone pinged with an incoming text.

7:46 p.m.

Leaving in 10. I have to make one more call.

I spoke fluent Will. Ten minutes was more like thirty. I took a breath.

That’s fine. It gives me more time to primp.

But when thirty minutes turned into an hour, my composure started to fray a little. I had moved the short ribs to the warming drawer, but the polenta was beginning to rubberize into a sad, sticky little Frisbee. I should have known better than to cook it so soon.

I was searching the pantry to see if I had the ingredients to start over when I heard the garage door opening. I planted my feet where I was standing, determined not to run to the door to greet him.

I won’t look desperate. And I’m not going to pick a fight.

He came in through the mudroom and let out a sigh as he put down his briefcase and shrugged off his sports coat.

“Will,” I called from the pantry, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear the stress of his day in his voice.

I stepped out of the pantry to find him leaning in the doorframe connecting the mudroom to the kitchen.

“Hey.” I smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m late.” He rubbed at his face with an open palm.

“It’s fine. I made dinner?”

He dropped his hand and took in my dress. “Damn. Now I’m really sorry I’m late.”

The first traces of a smile started to curl his lips.

“You like the dress?” I did a playful little shimmy.

“I love the dress.” He stepped toward me, kissing my collarbone. “I love you,” he said into my neck.

“Not so fast.” I laughed. This was classic Will Somerset foreplay. If he got his way, we’d be upstairs in a matter of minutes. “I made dinner.”

He looked up, a little confused. “You actually cooked?”

I walked over to the warming drawer and pulled out the blue Dutch oven. “Short ribs,” I said, a little embarrassed of how proud I felt.

“Shit.” He slapped a hand to his forehead.

The smile on my face quickly fell. “What?”

“I had a late lunch,” he said with a wince. “I’m not really that hungry.”

I will not lose my shit. I will not lose my shit.

“I thought we said we would have dinner together.” I tried to sound calm.

“I didn’t know you were cooking.” His voice was tight with something that sounded like either guilt or frustration. He crossed the room, heading for the bar in the butler’s pantry.

“But I told you I was cooking.” I sounded like a whiny child. I could hear it. I took a deep breath and considered ways that I might be able to salvage the night.

“I must have forgotten.” He made a gesture as if waving the misunderstanding away, but it felt like he was waving me off.

I followed him into the pantry, which was lined with cabinets on one side.

Along with the bar setup, there was another dishwasher, a sink, and a coffeemaker built into the wall.

The auxiliary prep and serving space was bigger than the kitchen in my mom’s condo.

He poured himself a bourbon into one of the lead crystal rocks glasses that stayed lined up neatly next to the bar.

I remember thinking he seemed like such a sophisticated adult when I first saw the crystal decanters arranged in this part of the house. Now, I just glared at him.

He could fix this so fast.

Say you fucked up. Just lie to me and say you’re hungry. Say that you can see I went to a lot of trouble. Say something.

“I can’t take it when you look at me like that.” He was clearly annoyed by my disappointment.

“How am I looking at you?” I asked, but there were so many other questions filling up my head.

When did I become an inconvenience? Just another needy little thing to manage? Where’s the man who swept me off my feet? We’ve been married less than a year and I’m already an afterthought? How did we get here so fast?

“We’ll go out when all of this blows over,” he offered, but he was still staring at the ice in his drink.

“When what blows over?”

“Nothing. Just work stuff. We’ll go out. Wherever you want.”

“When?”

“Soon.” He shook his head.

“Soon is not a time, Will.” I couldn’t hold my impatience back, and I was sure he heard it. “We used to spend every weekend together. Now I’m begging for just a few hours.”

He breathed out a rough sigh. “You don’t understand, Nora. I’m fighting for my life.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand because you don’t tell me anything.

You won’t tell me what you and Fritz are fighting about.

You won’t tell me about this big case. You just expect me to be here waiting for you when you want to go to dinner or to go to bed.

But you don’t talk to me. You’re ‘fighting for your life’?

” I threw up air quotes, which earned me a death stare. “Seems like I should know why!”

He drained the glass and slammed it on the counter. “You enjoy the house, right? And hanging out with Este and Beau all day and shopping whenever you want? Don’t you have everything you want? Do you understand that it all takes hard work?”

The words stung, but the tone of his voice hurt more.

He was right. He had lifted me up and out of all the complications and bad days of my old life.

Every money problem had been erased. Maybe feeling lonely was better than being alone.

It was possible, I guess, but not probable.

When I had been alone, I was fine with it.

I didn’t know otherwise. Now, I knew what I was missing out on.

I resented the way he spoke to me like I was stupid.

He looked at me like I was too na?ve to understand the real world.

Your friends think I’m a joke…Do you?

Tears welled in my eyes. “I’m not an idiot,” I shouted back. “I know you have to work. But it’s never been like this. And if it wasn’t for Este and Beau, I’d be completely alone.”

He poured another drink, shaking his head.

I lowered my voice, trying to pull us off the rails. “Maybe we should see a counselor.”

He shot me an incredulous look. “Marriage counseling? Don’t be dramatic, Nora. I’m not some shitty husband. I’m just busy.”

“And I’m not some gold-digging moron. I didn’t marry your house or your money. I married you, Will.”

When he didn’t respond, I attempted to smooth my tone over a little. “Maybe we could get a dog then. Someone to keep me company when you work late.” I was begging for scraps. It was humiliating. And then I said the worst thing I could have said, “Maybe we could try for a baby.”

He glared at me like I was a stranger. Like I had broken into his house and asked him to father a child with me. My heart sank. Something about that look made me question if a child was ever going to be a thing we did.

“I can’t talk about this with you right now.” He moved to leave, but I caught his arm.

“Wait,” I pleaded.

He turned around on me, eyes blazing. “My career. The firm. Everything I’ve worked hard for disappears if I don’t do this work. Do you understand?”

“Stop asking me if I understand.” I straightened up and glared right back at him. “And I’m not asking for anything unreasonable. I just want to spend time with you.”

“Fritz is going to bury me if I don’t clean up the mess he’s made.”

“What does that mean? Is he threatening you?”

“Nora. I can’t! For fuck’s sake!” he erupted, throwing the glass of bourbon against the wall.

It breezed past my ear and shattered on the wall behind me with a startling crash.

He charged toward me like he might push me up against the wall.

Suddenly aware of how small the room could feel, I stepped back and he kept walking out, turning right before he got to me—leaving me in his wake.

He went into his office and slammed the door.

When I got lightheaded and almost passed out, I realized I was holding my breath. All I could do was stare at the broken glass swimming in a pool of dark amber liquor at my feet.