Satin Princess(33)
“He wanted to divorce her,” I say, as if that could possibly matter anymore. “That’s why she decided to—"
“Fake her own death?” Chris asks. “Gee, she sounds like a gem.”
“Which is why he wanted to divorce her."
“Is he with you now?”
“Not right at this moment,” I say. “But he’s… around.”
“Okay.”
I sigh. “What, Chris? Whatever you want to say, just say it?”
“What’s the point?” he asks bitterly. “It’s not like you listen to me, anyway.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? Every time I warn you off someone, it feels like you double down and dig your heels into the relationship.”
“When you warned me about Freya, I tried to listen. I tried to leave.”
“It was just too little, too late, wasn’t it?”
I bite back the retort on my tongue and try not to be goaded into a fight I don’t have the energy for. “You’re right. It was too late. I’m sorry.”
He’s clearly surprised by the acknowledgement because he shuts up right after.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Anton showing up at your house when you called me at the manor?” I ask. “Anton already had your phone by then, which is why you called on an unknown number.”
“I was just too focused on Freya,” he explains. “The way your landlord spoke, it gave me the creeps. I knew that was the most important information to relay to you. And honestly, Anton just came, he spoke to me, and when I didn’t give him the information he wanted, he left. I didn’t realize until later that he’d swiped my phone. And I wasn’t going to complain about my phone being taken while you could be in imminent danger.”
I feel my annoyance fade away. Chris always has my back. Of everyone on this planet, he’s the one I know I can trust.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m so, so sorry, Chris.”
“What are you apologizing for, exactly?”
“Not listening to you when I should have," I say.
He sighs, long and weary. “I appreciate that,” he says. “Does that mean you’ll try to listen to me now?”
I hesitate for barely a fraction of a second. “I’ll do my best.”
I can almost hear him suppressing another sigh. “He’s not going to be able to give you the life you want, Jessa.”
My heart falls instantly, but I bite back the tears and the sadness. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
“Think about your life in the last few months,” he continues. “That’s what you’re looking at for the rest of your life if you choose to stay with him.”
“I’m having his baby, Chris,” I say softly.
“So?” he asks. “People have babies all the time. That doesn’t mean they stay together.”
“Chris—"
“I love you, Jessa,” he says. “I only want what’s best for you. And for your child, too. You don’t need him.”
“I can’t raise this baby alone.”
“You won’t have to,” he says. “You and that kid will always have me.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I know if this conversation continues I’m going to end up a blubbering mess.
“I love you, too, Chris,” I say, choking out the words before I completely lose it. “I have to go now.”
“Jessa—"
I hang up, hating myself for not seeing things Chris’s way. It’s so black-and-white to him. But to me, the world is more inscrutable than it’s ever been. I’m lost at sea, and there’s one scarred, tattooed hand reaching out to save me from the waves.
Anton’s.
Can I take it?
12
ANTON
I walk in to find Jessa with her face buried in her hands.
She’s sobbing, tears spilling between her fingers, her body shaking. I move towards her, but she’s so lost in her own grief she doesn’t even notice me. When I reach out and touch her shoulder, she jerks away from me violently, her face twisting with dread.
When she sees that it’s me, though, something comes across her eyes. A look I can’t quite name, but it makes my chest throb with a not-quite-pain that feels strangely right, somehow. Her shoulders relax and she exhales with relief. No one has ever looked at me that way before her.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Who did you think it was?”
She averts her eyes. “No one.”
“Marina,” I infer in a snarl that surprises even me with its venom.
“I’m fine,” Jessa says, swallowing her sobs. “Really.”
“Yeah, you look completely fine.”
She throws me a glare, but the effect is lost because I can still see the tears shining on her cheeks. I put my fingers under her chin and force her gaze to mine. She trembles nervously at first, her body wired with tension.
Tenderly, I wipe away the remaining tears on her face. She shivers every time my hand brushes against her skin.
“Thank you,” she whispers.