For some reason, I was expecting that one. “I did.”
“And?”
Since I’m not interested in giving him the gritty details of my marriage, I simply play along. “And what?”
“Are you still mad at her?”
“I’m not mad,” I say as I search for a better set of words. “I’m just keeping my distance.”
Roy, on the other hand, can’t keep his astonishment out of his face and I knew I should’ve closed this subject as soon he got started with it. After all, my relationship with his daughter is a private matter and it should be kept that way. “But why? I don’t get it.”
I heave a long sigh, annoyed at his persistence. But for better or worse, I tell him the truth. “Because she’s not only taping our conversations, but she’s also gonna testify against me in court.” His jaw drops slightly, but he closes it just as fast, and not wanting me to see the shock in his eyes, he looks down at his lap for a moment. “So as you may understand, she’s the last person I want to be around.”
After a while, his attention goes back to me. “But why is she doing that?” he asks, looking visibly confused.
“For immunity,” I answer. “Otherwise she would’ve been arrested just like me.”
“What?” Roy breathes out, now totally perplexed. “You mean, what you are going through could have happened to her too?”
“Yep,” I say, reveling at his realization of how twisted Eric can be. “By what she told me, it was either being with them or against them.”
Roy starts shaking his head. “I can’t believe it…”
“She made a pledge in front of a camera so believe me—it’s true.”
“Jeez,” he fesses out. “Eric is just doing it to destroy your marriage. You can’t let him win.”
“I know, yet Petra made her choice, and she chose betrayal instead of loyalty.”
“You think being coerced is having a choice?” he asks straight away, annoyance thick in his tone.
I knew Roy would side with her, he just can’t help himself. I mean, as I think of it, I’d probably do the same if I was talking to the husband of my own daughter. So after measuring carefully my next set of words, I say, “Roy, I love her and you know that, but I have to safeguard myself—I don’t know how dirty she’s gonna play against me.” And I hope we can close this subject once and for all and move on.
“When is your trial?” he asks, most likely thinking something through.
“The first session in court is March sixteenth.” I look at him as he considers me, and then adds, “Eric is gonna do everything he can to push her to portray me as a monster to the jury and media.” I cut eye contact, my mind already picturing that dreadful moment. “At the end of the day, it’s up to her to go ahead with his plan or not.”
Roy doesn’t say anything more; after all, I think I made myself quite clear. He heaves a long sigh, understanding better my situation—of course I love my wife, but right now she has decided to be a prawn in Eric’s game to save herself, and only after her testimony I can fully assess how willing she is in putting me behind bars. “Do you know who did it?”
“I don’t,” I say instantly. “And I’m not interested in finding out. All I know is that I have nothing to do with the death of her mother.”
Roy nods as he processes my answers while I stand up, thinking the meeting is about to end. He does the same, yet he seems to be ruminating about something else. “Are you gonna keep living in that private residence?”
My lips twitch into a smile at his curiosity. Why on earth is he so concerned about that? “I will.”
He shakes his head in disapproval. “You can live under the same roof and simply not talk about your trial and her mom’s death you know.”
“Roy,” my tone is now more assertive. I put a hand on his shoulder and say, “I appreciate your concern over my marriage, but I know what’s best for me.”
“That's not how marriage works.”
Oh, the divorced man thinks he is an expert on the subject now? The irony…
“It’s not about what is best for you, it’s what is best for you both.” His words sink into me in a way I wasn’t expecting. “Is it the best for you both, or just for you?”
I take a deep breath in and out, thinking about an answer to his question. Truthfully though, that’s a question for which I don’t find an answer.
Despite knowing perfectly well that Petra betrayed my trust and stated out loud that she is siding with the Bradfords, my stomach still manages to flip in thrill as I see her emerging onto the terrace for our dinner. Jeez, she is so mesmerizing with her dark-red dress; it reminds me of the one she wore in Rome for our first date, even though technically it wasn’t one. My eyes slowly linger from her chest down to her waist and then her legs and a smile settles on my lips at how it molds her body so perfectly.
“Wow!” she utters as she takes in her surroundings. Her eyes share the same glitter as the garland of string-lights hanging from one side of the ceiling to the other, and like an idiot I can’t stop staring at her glowing face, then at the natural swing in her hips as she walks closer to the table to observe the romantic dining set. She turns around, her gaze finally landing on me and she asks, “Where’s everybody else?”
“I kicked them out,” I answer without an ounce of guilt. As I start slowly pacing in her direction, my eyes fall at her lips and I realize I haven’t kissed them since the arrest. But I blink, my eyes returning up to meet hers.
“But I thought your family would be having dinner with us?”
Given the fact I had told her we’d be having dinner with my family after the meeting with her dad, I understand her astonishment. “I changed my mind,” I lie. I never intended to have them over for dinner; I just wanted to surprise her. “Are you that disappointed to have dinner only with me?”
Her lips twist into a smile I haven’t seen in a long time. “No, on the contrary,” and her smile keeps growing beautifully across her face. “I just didn’t expect you’d be okay with having a private dinner with me.”
Not wanting to show her how excited I am to have her here alone, I go and take the bottle from the ice bucket and start opening it. “I wanted us to celebrate your pregnancy,” I tell her for the sake of having a reason to accept her invitation. As I start filling our flutes, I notice she narrows her eyes on the bottle, so I add, “Don’t worry it’s Champomy.”
“Oh, that’s what I used to drink when I was a kid.”
“Well, that’s also the ideal fizzy beverage to keep myself sober.” And to make sure I won’t start flirting with her because to me this is a civil and cordial celebration, that’s it. I give her a glass, yet her expression is filled with concern.
“We still have so many months ahead though,” she tells me, sounding worried. “I’m scared to be happy and then…”
“Hey,” I cup her face with my right hand, softly stroking my thumb on her cheek. “The two are alive now, no?”