I slunk back in the shadows as she removed her sunglasses and greeted the women, watching as they embraced and gave cheek kisses before they moved past her to help Mateo with their bags.
Which was when she finally laid eyes on me.
Her brows rose, clearly startled by my presence, and for half a beat I wondered if she hadn’t known I was there. What on earth had Edward told his sister about me? Surely not the truth.
She turned to face her brother as he strode up next to her. “She’s staying in the main house? Are you kidding me?”
Somehow I’d forgotten she disliked me.
“Where else would I stay? I’m his wife.” She’d had plenty of time to get used to the idea. I had zero patience for her ire.
“You’re a Werner,” she said with such disgust I could feel how sour the name felt in her mouth. “Anything else you are bears no meaning next to that.”
So maybe disliked hadn’t been a harsh enough word. She detested me. Because of the rivalry my father had with her brother? It was beyond ridiculous.
I shot a look at my husband who hadn’t spared me more than the first initial sweep of a glance. He didn’t return my look now either, remaining focused on his sister. “She’ll stay out of the way,” he promised, as though he had any power over that.
My lips flattened into a thin line, my hands curling at fists at my side. Every rage he’d inspired in me over the last year was newly ignited. He’d put me on this goddamn island. It was mine now. He’d forced it on me. Like hell was I changing my routines for his sister who had the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Like hell was I going to be swept under the rug.
But I wasn’t going to throw a fit in front of a two-year-old. Three-year-old now, likely, though I hadn’t been aware of his birthdate.
Keeping my teeth gritted, I stalked several feet behind them. I continued to hang back as more greetings were exchanged. The staff was just as warm and casual with Camilla as they had always been with Edward, sharing private jokes and knowing what to inquire about back home. Apparently the “August holiday” was an annual event, which meant everyone had known their arrival was on the schedule for some time. Everyone but me, that was.
I shoved every pang of irritation and jealousy into the pocket of anger I intended for Edward. Not that I needed any more fuel than I already had.
Eventually, Freddie became restless and Camilla announced that she was taking him upstairs so they could both have a “bit of a nap.” With her disappearance, the staff scattered, and Edward headed, as typical, to the library.
I was right on his heels.
“When I said you’d stay out of the way,” he said callously, “I had meant you’d stay out of my way as well.”
They were the first words he’d said to me, the first real acknowledgment he’d given to my presence, and I was fuming. So much so that I was momentarily speechless.
“Go on then. What is it you need? Don’t be all day about it.” He leaned against his desk and gave me a bored stare.
I took a beat to steady myself before responding. “I was going to ask you why your sister hated me so much, but now I think the better question is why do you?”
“I am not in the mood for one of your tantrums, Celia.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I’m throwing a big one. Unless you want to be a decent person and sit down and have a civilized conversation, in which case I am perfectly willing to calm down and do so.”
“Please. As if a civilized conversation would get us anywhere. We both know that nothing that comes out of your mouth is to be trusted.”
There it was. The reason he’d been so angry with me before. I’d wondered many times over the summer what exactly had infuriated him so much about the games I’d played in the past. They hadn’t affected him, and he certainly hadn’t shown himself to be some moral pillar that couldn’t stand unscrupulous behavior, but now, with these words, I understood. Part of it, anyway. All the time he’d spent “breaking me down” had also been about earning his trust, and when he’d realized how easily I lied, he’d doubted his tactics.
Another me, a before-Edward me, would have considered that the very definition of victory.
But I wasn’t that me anymore. Whenever it had changed, I wasn’t sure. Incrementally, most likely, bit by bit as I’d lived on Amelie and formed real relationships. Most of it, though, because Edward had forced me to knock down walls, not only did he see what was behind them, but so had I, and what I’d found had altered me so much that I couldn’t be who I’d been before. I honestly believed that.
Now, the only victory I could imagine would be one where Edward believed that about me too.
There was only one way to fix it. “You know what? You’re stuck on what I didn’t give you last time so let’s just get past that.” I stomped over to his wet bar and poured cognac into a tumbler then brought it back, shoving it into his hand before sitting in the chair facing him.
“What are you doing?” His tone was more annoyed than curious.
“We’re having a session. I meant for this to all be said later, but if this is the only way you’ll hear me, then this is where it will have to be said, so sit your ass down and listen.”
“Sessions aren’t on the agenda for this visit. Go and—”
I popped to my feet with fury, cutting him off before he told me what I could “go and” do. “No, no. You don’t get to say that. You do not get to cut me off from this arrangement.” My anger crescendoed, and I pointed an accusing finger at him. “You said that if I played well you’d come back sooner. I played well, and you stayed away. You say you want honesty? Then be honest with your negotiations. Sit down and give me what I deserve, Edward.”
His expression guarded, he straightened. His eyes were on me, and behind them I could see him considering. Deciding. After several heavy seconds, he crossed around his desk and took the seat I’d demanded he take.
I managed to sit back down too, though I felt a bit like I was floating.
He swirled his drink and threw back a swallow. Then clapped the glass down on the desk. “Whenever you’re ready.” He was taking charge.
Or he wanted me to believe he was in charge. But now I knew one of his secrets—that my confessions made him vulnerable too, and that gave me power. A lot of power.
It wasn’t power I intended to wield lightly.
“I played games,” I began, prepared for this. “I’ve played them for almost fourteen years. I began playing them when I was in a dark place, right after my miscarriage—you know who I was then. I needed an outlet. I needed something else to occupy my mind, something that wasn’t centered on my pain, and someone I knew stepped up and gave me a tool.”
I paused only long enough to be sure I had his attention. The slight tensing of his jaw said I did.
“They were never just games, but I told myself they were. It was easier to justify the entertainment value, I think, when I called them that. And, they were games, in a way. They required strategy and foresight. I don’t need to tell you what kinds of situations we set up—you read the journals. You know they involved manipulating other people’s emotions. That they were centered around guessing how people would behave when they were forced into crisis situations. We got good at predicting. I got very good, and when the other guy decided to abandon the games, I kept at it. Because it was the only thing I had, okay? There wasn’t anything else in my life but this.”