But I’d put the matching ring on Celia’s finger, and that had changed everything.
That was a lie. She’d changed everything. It was why I’d put the ring there, not the other way around.
I reached out and slid the journal toward me. Using the tiny key attached, I unlocked the fasten and opened it to the first lined page in the book. I grabbed a pen and wrote the short note.
Little Bird,
I told you privacy is a privilege. This is yours to keep to yourself. Fill the pages or don’t, the words belong only to you. You’ve earned it.
Edward
I read the words again, disgusted with myself. Disgusted by the flood of warmth that filled my body just from writing my pet name for her. Disgusted that I even purchased the gift and more so that I would still send it anyway.
The plan had always been to ruin Celia Werner.
But she was well on her way to ruining me.
Twelve
Celia
The first time Edward had left me on the island, I’d been angry. I’d spent the days with him gone trying to smother the fire of rage inside me, or at least trying to tame it down to a manageable simmer. Weeks passed, and by the time he’d returned, the fury had subsided. Still there, but not quite as much of a focal point as it had once been. Still the thing that motivated me, but the flames calm enough that I could concentrate on how to get what I wanted—away from the island—instead of dwelling on the person who had put me there.
It was still what I wanted most. Even as the winter turned to spring and the weather on Amelie blossomed to perfection, even as I felt myself blossoming along with the new season, even as the place felt more like home and less like a vacation spot, I still wanted to leave.
But it wasn’t what occupied my thoughts anymore, and the anger had become so distant that I forgot it for days at a stretch.
This time in his absence, my emotions changed. I wondered about him more—what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he was reading before bed or finishing last minute details for work. They were day-dreamy kinds of thoughts for the most part, wistful and curious. Had he gotten a good night’s sleep? Was he driving himself to the office or using his driver?
When they threatened to take over, I pushed the thoughts aside by throwing myself into the project he’d left for me—redesigning my bedroom. It had been an unexpected gift, one I should have been allowed to pursue without his permission, but nevertheless I was grateful. It had been a long time since I’d really gotten into my work. It had been an even longer stretch since I’d done something for myself, and it was fun to discover what I liked again and how my tastes had changed. Most importantly, it helped the days pass while also making them remarkable. I began to look forward to what the sun would bring in the mornings. I no longer lingered in bed bemoaning my existence.
It wasn’t until I moved out of the room that the jealousy began to trickle in.
The work had gotten to such a point that it was impossible to continue to sleep there. The house had several suitable bedrooms upstairs, and I considered taking one of those for all the obvious reasons, but, in the end, it was more practical to stay on the main floor, near the living areas and the pool, and, frankly, I liked the idea of invading Edward’s bedroom, even if he wasn’t there. I’d been surprised when, after I told Lou and Joette that was where I wanted to move, they’d actually complied. I’d expected a bunch of hemming and hawing and stalling until the idea was proposed to their boss, but there had been none of it at all. They’d simply nodded and began the task of packing up my belongings and shuffling them to the opposite side of the house.
Of course the lack of argument insinuated that Edward was already fully aware of what I was doing, that he’d possibly suggested it himself, but I tried not to think about that too much. I was successful too, until I was lying in his bed that first night, smelling the decorative pillows for any trace of his scent, and the wondering about him became much more personal. Was he thinking about me? Did he know where I was sleeping? Did he like thinking about me in his bed?
I liked the way these new thoughts made my heart trip and my stomach flutter. I closed my eyes, letting them take me where they would, expecting them to morph into something sexual in nature, and they did, just not the way I’d hoped. Because, a dose of reality seeped in, and all of a sudden it occurred to me to not just wonder what Edward was doing but who he was with.
Who was he with?
Was he sleeping alone like I was?
Was he fucking around?
The idea made me sit up with a start and clutch my stomach while wave after wave of nausea rolled through me.
It wasn’t just possible he was with someone else—it was likely. In our negotiations before marriage, he’d assured me he’d be discreet, but that he’d have whatever side action he wanted to and that it was none of my business if he did. I’d been bothered by the arrangement, but I’d been more bothered that it bothered me so I hadn’t fought it more. Besides, fighting him at all had proved futile. He’d gotten everything he’d asked for in that discussion.
At the time, I’d been determined to make sure he never had need of a side piece. My game had required his sexual attention, but, also, I’d wanted him. More than I had wanted to admit.
I still wanted him. More than I wanted to admit.
And now my game was long over, and I wasn’t with him, and he could be fucking anyone and everyone, and I’d never be the wiser.
I tried not to throw up.
After that, a constant ache lived in the pit of my stomach. My mouth tasted permanently bitter, and jealousy shadowed every other emotion that passed through me. I was even more grateful for the design project then, a distraction that I’d come to depend on, but it wasn’t enough. So I doubled my time doing yoga. I played more chess. When Eliana wasn’t available, I taught Mateo’s oldest daughter, Tanya. When Tanya had schoolwork to do, I moved the pieces along the board myself.
Reading was hard. Even when the story engrossed me, there was always something that brought my thoughts back to him, back to who he might be with. Any book with any sort of romantic storyline was impossible to get through, but even the others would catch me off guard—an orphaned character, a misunderstood hero, an asshole of a villian. Soon, I was as scared to pick up a book as I was to be alone with my own thoughts.
Then, the diary came.
It was the last thing I needed, and I definitely didn’t trust it, even with the two keys and the lock and his promise inside not to read it. The lock could be easily picked or busted, and Edward’s word felt as unreliable as the wind. Though, he hadn’t really lied about anything so far. Tricked me, deceived me, but hadn’t quite lied.
But I’d always had a thing for blank lined paper, an itching desire to fill the pages with whatever words came to mind. I’d kept a diary all through my youth for that very reason, and then later, when Hudson had invited me into his experiments, I’d taken over recording the observations. He’d been quite scientific with his journaling before I’d come along, referring to people as subjects and proposing an expected outcome from the beginning. Mine were more story form. While I’d kept Hudson’s name out of them, referring to him only as A—because it was the first letter of the alphabet, and he was definitely the alpha of the games—I’d mentioned our victims by name and noted and evaluated their emotions in prose.