My Darling Husband(78)
He grins. “Maybe that’s where Cam got his information, then. What do you think, Beatrix? Does your dad have a hotline to Santa?”
Beatrix doesn’t respond.
The second he turns back to the shelves, I decide, is the best time to strike, and with the marble bust. The gun is too far but the bust is right there, on the table between us, and it’s plenty heavy, the base square and sharp enough to crack a skull. A good whack would take any man down, but there’s ten feet, maybe less, between us. I’d have to be fast, my attack stealthy and silent. I don’t know if I can clear the space fast enough.
“You know, if I were going to hide a nanny cam in this room, I’d put it in something nobody ever really notices. One of the ceiling speakers, for example.” He tips his head and studies them, his gaze bouncing between the four mesh circles flush to the plaster. “Those look legit. If there’s a camera in there, all I gotta say is bravo. That fire alarm, however...”
He comes closer, climbing up on the coffee table to get a better look.
My blood runs cold, an icy chill that starts at the back of my neck and creeps down my back like an invisible finger.
Sebastian reaches up, knocks the alarm with a gloved knuckle. “There are better models on the market, you know. This one looks cheap, and you know what’s weird? It doesn’t match any of the others you’ve got in the house. The one out in the hallway, for example, is a whole different brand. How do you explain that?”
He knows.
The words boom in my head like from a megaphone, loud and terrifying. This little tour around the room, the battle between the chairs...it’s all part of his evil game. I was delusional to think he wouldn’t know about the cameras. Maybe he’s known about them all along.
How many more minutes until Cam gets here—Ten? Eight? An eternity, when every second feels volatile.
“And why ten past five?” he says, gesturing to the dummy clock. He hops off the table and crosses the room to the shelves, comparing the time to a cheap watch underneath a sleeve. The time is off by almost two hours. “Why not ten past three, or four, or six? Why five?”
Because it’s the no-snack zone. It’s what I told the installer when he asked the same thing. A time of day the kids know not to bother me for a rumbling belly. The answer will always be no.
I say nothing.
“Hey, you know what else is weird? When the kids and I were watching cartoons earlier, I noticed one of the wall speakers wasn’t working.” He points with a long arm. “Must have a short or something.”
My whole body is shaking now, and I am thinking through my next move. Sebastian is far enough away, his back half turned. I could probably make it to the hall, but not without Beatrix, and I would never leave her here. My only move, the only thing I can come up with, is one of defense—to drape my body over hers, sacrifice myself by covering her body with mine, taking her bullet.
Sebastian’s grin is slow and sinister, like he read my mind. “Such a shame. I thought you were smarter than this.”
Are we still talking about the cameras? The kids? Cam? I have no idea, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to. This whole conversation feels staged, another one of his sneaky attempts to control and manipulate. These threats he’s lobbing, they’re vague on purpose. Meant to throw me off.
And it’s working.
My cheeks are hot, burning like smoldering coals.
“We’ve met, you know. More than once.”
This surprises me, and it doesn’t. He was in business with Cam, which means at some point our paths would have crossed. Cam parades me by all his staff, especially management and investors, but the problem is there are so many. I’m not like Tanya. It’s impossible for me to remember them all.
“Sorry, but I—”
“And you know what you said, every single time?”
I shake my head.
“You stuck out a hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m Jade Lasky. So nice to meet you.’ Don’t you just hate that? When people you’ve met and talked to multiple times treat you like a total stranger? When they think so little of another human being that they can’t be bothered to remember your face or name?”
Prosopagnosia. It’s a neurological disorder that makes people unable to distinguish between faces. I know because Cam is always teasing me that I have it.
In my defense, I meet a lot of people. People who see me at the restaurants or with Cam at parties, who buddy up to us and act like we’re old friends, but none of it is real. They don’t know me, not really, and I sure as hell don’t know them. It’s part of being a celebrity chef’s wife; I’m lit up with the glow of his stardom.
“I can’t see your face,” I point out instead.
He comes closer, marching across the carpet and around the table until he’s close, standing right in front of me. I try to move back, but there’s nowhere for me to go. My calves are already pressed against the soft leather of the couch. I stare into his eyes and search for something I recognize, something unique in the shape or size or color, but there’s nothing. Hazel and almond-shaped, like half the people on the planet.
“You really don’t know?” He licks his lips. Smiles. “Are you sure about that, Jade? Like, really, really sure?”
The room falls silent, everyone waiting for my answer. Pain shoots through my cheek and I wince, blinking against it. I look him in his unremarkable eyes and force myself to steady my breathing.