Pris
Pris stared at the perfectly set table spread before her. She’d gone with the fine china, pairing the place settings with Lenox candlesticks and linen napkins. The rib eye was rare and crusted with peppercorns. The earthy smells of rosemary and garlic wafted through the air from the roasted potatoes. Steamed asparagus had reached the perfect shade of green. Her fork bit into a stalk with a firm crispness that should have given her pleasure. She’d spent two hours in the kitchen prepping and hoping to achieve some sense of normalcy between them. Tonight, there was no messy hair or dirty jeans—she’d cleaned herself up, applied makeup, and managed to slip on a skirt. Even her legs were shaved.
The empty chair at the head of the table mocked not only her effort but the denial she’d been trying hard to force down.
She was losing her husband.
Pris forked up a piece of meat, tried to chew, then gave up and reached for her wine. The ruby-red Cabernet was rich and complex on her tongue but had turned more into a goal than a pleasure. Maybe if she got drunk enough, she’d begin to feel something other than the sense her entire life was slipping away.
Even better?
Maybe she’d care.
A humorless laugh spilled out and broke the heavy silence. Even though Thomas had been away at college, knowing he wasn’t coming home for the summer threw her into empty-nest syndrome all over again. The sweeping open spaces of the high ceilings and massive rooms only added to the loneliness. She remembered when he was a toddler and one afternoon she’d locked herself in the pantry to cry, overwhelmed by one little boy’s mischief and the energy he sustained for endless hours on little sleep. He had flung open the door and giggled with delight, thinking they’d been playing hide-and-go-seek. Pris had stared at her precious child, tears running down her cheeks, and laughed so hard she’d almost peed her pants. Even then, Thomas had the ability to drive her nuts and inspire such love, it was as if the cells of her body would split open and break with the power of it.
Once, his father had teased out the same reactions.
What had happened to them?
The sound of the door interrupted her thoughts. She waited for him at the table, sipping her wine, while his footsteps echoed on the shiny mahogany floors and stopped beside her.
“Oh shit.”
The wry admission swung her gaze up, colliding with his. The denim blue of his eyes still pierced right through her, but now there was nothing left to unearth. No surprises left for him to discover and meet with delight. She just had a vast space inside that felt as empty and lonely as her house. “I hope you didn’t use that language in court,” she said.
He rubbed his head, the salt-and-pepper strands lending an air of distinguished authority that was still sexy. How many times had they lain together, naked limbs entangled, while she ran her fingers through the thick, mussed strands. Her fingers clenched in muscle memory, but the impulse to reach out died away. She hadn’t wanted to be touched in a while. Another issue to deal with. Another fault of hers to chalk up to the disintegration of their marriage.
“I’m sorry, Pris. I forgot you were cooking tonight and stopped at the DA’s office. Lost track of time.”
She gave a half shrug. “I understand. You can stick it in the microwave if it’s too cold.”
He shot her a half smile, shed his suit jacket, and slid into the chair. “Nope, I’m starving and that meat looks so good, it’ll be better cooled. How are you doing today?”
Pris watched him pile up his plate, still in his dress clothes. Lines of weariness bracketed his eyes. She was wrong to think he wasn’t affected or was ignorant. As much as she’d like to blame him for all their problems, it wasn’t fair. She’d made her own choices, using him as a guidepost for her happiness instead of herself.
“Okay. Spoke to Thomas today. He loves London a bit too much. I don’t want him to become a transplanted Brit.”
Garrett laughed and cut into his steak. “It’s still new. He’ll get tired of the accents and stiff upper lips soon enough.”
A smile ghosted her lips. Father and son were so alike, in looks and build and humor. “Hopefully. But he’s happy. That should get me through a lonely summer.”
“You have me.”
The words fell between them, along with an awkward silence. Once, it would have been uttered with a wink and a laugh. They would have talked of a few weekend getaways to put on their calendar, excited to spend time traveling together.
She forced herself to nod, but an honest reaction shot out of her mouth. “Not really. You’re never home.”
His deep sigh said they were off and running. “Pris, I told you before, I’m slammed at the office. They doubled my caseload since I made partner.”
“Funny, for the past few years all I heard was you have to work this hard to make partner. Now, it’s the same story, even though we passed that goal months ago. I’m beginning to think it’s you, not the company.”
One silver brow shot up. “What are you trying to say? That I love working all hours on little sleep and dealing with a testy wife twenty-four seven?”
She flinched but held her ground. God knows, some hard things needed to be said. Might as well be over a cold hundred-dollar steak and fine wine. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Because you don’t want to come home. Why don’t you finally admit it?”
For a moment, she thought she’d won. His blue gaze grew flinty, and he opened his mouth, ready to shoot the truth out at her like a missile to blow up her safe, orderly, cold life. Pris poised, ready for it, but then his shoulders slumped and he rubbed his head. His voice grew softer in sheer weariness. “I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry I’m not here more often. It’s just . . . a difficult time.”
“My mother recently died, Garrett. I just found out she has a secret house in Italy and a hidden lover from her past. My sisters are freaking out trying to decide what to do, so I’m having a difficult time myself.”
“I know. I’ll be happy to do some research for you at the firm and see what we can find.”
“No, I’d rather do it myself. Bailey’s talking with Dad, and Devon’s digging into Mom’s financials in case she was sending money somewhere and we didn’t catch it.”
“Do you think she was having an affair?”
An icy chill skated down her spine. He’d said it so . . . casually. Like it didn’t mean anything. “Of course not.” Pris tried not to sound shrill. “It was obviously a relationship she had before Dad. He’s the only cheater in the family—Mom would have never betrayed him.”
Garrett leveled his gaze at her. Once, she’d been able to read all the secrets in his eyes. Now it was like looking into foggy ocean waters, choppy and gray. “How do you know that? People make mistakes all the time. Your mom wasn’t perfect.”