I fumbled for my keys beneath the outside wall lamp and then stifled a scream as a low voice said, “Sylvie.”
A bulky form emerged from the shadows, then a light mop of hair and I realized it was Jim. It took me a moment to switch into English. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He reached out and trailed his hand along my cheekbone. He looked tired and disheveled, but his touch was familiar, dear to me. For a moment I leaned into his warm fingertips, until I remembered to draw back.
I still loved him and gods, it still hurt. “Why didn’t you wait until I came back to New York?”
“I wasn’t sure you would be coming back. A part of you always wanted to return here, didn’t it?”
Despite everything, Jim did know me. What could I do with him now? I could not just send him away. I might wake up Helena and Willem if I brought him inside. Then all sorts of awkward questions would follow. Lukas was not home yet and who knew? Maybe he would not come home at all tonight. I pressed my lips together. “Come this way. My cousin lives here and we won’t be disturbed.”
I led him to Lukas’s place, opened the door, and took him upstairs to the small living room and kitchenette.
“I like it,” Jim said. “Efficiency infused with a careless insouciance.”
As he wanted me to, I laughed. He seemed to me two different people: the man who had cheated on me, and my Jim, whom I still loved. Despite everything, it was good to see him again. If only we could erase the past year. I leaned back against the kitchen counter, weary all of a sudden. He took a seat on the sofa. “Where are you staying?”
“With family in the Hague.”
Oh, right. Jim had an uncle who worked for the International Court of Justice there. “You shouldn’t have come. I’m not ready to talk to you yet.”
He looked up at me, his face filled with regret. He stood slowly, as if afraid to spook me, and came closer. Reaching out, he touched me on the elbow. Although my mind revolted, my body remembered only that this was my husband. I closed my eyes and took his hand in mine. He threaded our fingers together, as he always did. “You’ve been avoiding me for months. I am so sorry, Sylvie. Please give me another chance.”
“It’s not that simple.” I stared at the tiled floor. “I wish none of it had happened.”
He bent his head until we stood forehead to forehead. “I would give anything to undo what I did. I love you.” He lifted my chin to kiss me.
His lips were soft and firm. I tasted salt and realized I was crying. As we drew apart, he wiped my tears with his thumbs. A wet shimmer clouded his eyes as well. “Sylvie. I was so, so wrong. It’s your birthday this weekend. Let me take you away. Let’s start afresh and we can have our lives back, both of us.” His voice was so earnest, convincing.
Why not? To undo everything that had happened these past few months, like reverse animation in a movie. I saw all the pieces of my life fly backward and fit together to form the perfect picture it had seemed before. Back to the way it had been before I returned to the Netherlands—before Grandma, Lukas, Filip, and Estelle. I drew a shaky breath and pulled away. “I can’t. I’ve changed. It’s like there’s been a shell around me and it’s finally starting to crack.”
He clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve met someone.”
I clutched the counter behind me, still silent.
He stepped closer, looming over me, feet planted wide. He stuck his face in front of mine. “I’m too late, aren’t I? Who the hell is he?”
I lifted my chin, though my stomach clenched. “I’m going to Venice for my birthday. But not with you.”
“With whom? Alone?” His voice grew deceptively soft. His eyes blazed with hurt and anger. “Tell me his name.” He had looked this way that night at Princeton, when he had thought I was flirting with that guy at the party. The same animal fury, the dizzying flash of white behind my eyelids when he hit me, the reddened face and curled lip as he pushed the other guy through a window. We broke up for a few months after that, but he was so sorry, repentant, swearing over and over he would never do it again. He even went to therapy. Afterward he decided to study psychology.
Beads of sweat formed on my lip. My knees were locked and my hands trembling so hard I could barely grip the counter. This. This was why I was separated from this man. My fear washed over the tenderness he had rekindled, leaving only cold ashes behind. I set my palms on his shoulders and shoved him hard; he stumbled backward a step. “Fuck you, Jim. You have no rights to me anymore.”
Half-crouched, he looked like a predator ready to pounce. His voice was hoarse with fury. “You’re still my wife. If that bastard touches you, I’ll—”
“What?” I said coldly. “Hit him the way you did me?” I had been stunned when he struck me the second time, during our initial screaming match about his affair, worrying about the neighbors hearing, not smart enough to be afraid of him, on the floor, sobbing, as he stormed out. By the time he returned, I had already changed the locks and thrown all his stuff out on the curb. That was the last time we had spoken to each other, though he had sent a steady stream of apologetic emails and flowers.
As if in slow motion, Jim’s face crumpled. He straightened and reached his arms out to me, imploring. “I’m so sorry, Sylvie. I was afraid and I lost my temper. I don’t deserve you. I’ve done everything wrong.” He tore at his hair with his hands, his voice frantic. “I’m always pretending to be a nice guy, but in the end, I’m a selfish asshole. You’re the best thing that’s ever come into my life. Please don’t throw it away.”
“Like you did when you had an affair with a sixteen-year-old student?” I had been trying to forget, but there, I had said it. It was true. There were not two Jims. How I wished there were. My voice was crisp, crackling with unshed tears. “I wonder if you truly regret the things you did, or if you’re sorry our marriage is over, or if you’re just scared shitless about what will happen if this gets out and the holy Bates name is tainted.”
His arms dropped to his sides. His voice was a whisper. “Sylvie, don’t do this. My mom and dad . . . it would ruin our reputation.”
Still only thinking about himself. What a selfish bastard I had married. “And what about that poor girl?”
He snorted. “She wanted it. She’s been after me all year, wearing low-cut shirts and miniskirts and hanging around my office. It was completely consensual. If you could see her, she looks like a full-grown woman.”
The blood pounded in my ears. “You disgust me.” My vision blurred. I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste the blood. This man could see a splinter in someone else’s eye but missed the wooden beam in his own. “You were the adult in this situation. She trusted you and you abused her trust.”
He laughed, bitter. “She’s a slut.”
I slapped him in the face, hard. His head snapped around, blind fury in his eyes, and he grabbed me by the shoulders so hard I knew I would bruise.
I almost cried out from the pain and my toes were nearly lifted off the floor. I hissed, low and fierce, “We’re never going to agree about this, so let’s talk legal terms. Under the age of seventeen in the state of New York, a minor cannot give sexual consent in the eyes of the law. Whether or not she consented is completely irrelevant. You are guilty of statutory rape, a Class E felony which is punishable by up to four years in prison and a five-thousand-dollar fine. Yes, I looked this up. You have a hell of a lot more to worry about than your precious Bates name. Now hit me again if you dare.”