Dead to Her(44)

“It’s so lovely.” She hiccuped a laugh. “No one’s ever called me their princess before. I’m so sorry I disappoint you.”

“No, no you don’t.” He heaved himself out of his chair and came around to her side of the table, sitting down and taking her hand in his. “And I’ve got some good news myself.”

What now?

“I’m definitely retiring. I discussed it with Jason this weekend and he’s right. Life is too short. I mean, look what happened to Eleanor. I want to spend my time with you.”

She threw her arms around his neck so he couldn’t see her disappointment. “When?” Not now, not yet, she thought. How would she cope with him breathing down her neck and on her neck all the time?

“Jason’s going to buy me out. I need to speak to some people, put some actions in place, but I’m pretty much all yours from now on. If I want to work, I can always consult or do after-dinner speaking.” He pulled back to look at her. “We can travel—I can show you some of the States. Host some charity events. Relax at the club.”

Every word was like a pillow pressed against her face, but he didn’t notice. He grinned, his teeth yellow against his purple lips. Each day that passed she found him harder to like. Especially after last night. After everything. “That’s great,” she managed. Too bright? Not bright enough?

“It’s made me feel younger already.” His eyes glittered as they dipped to her cleavage. She smiled even as her skin crawled. There wasn’t even time to take a Valium.





29.

He’d fucked her over the dining table, huffing and puffing at her back, and even bracing herself, her hips had bruised against the edge. With each thrust she’d dutifully moaned as he grunted, her eyes stinging as she focused on the pushed-aside congealed leftovers on their dinner plates. It wasn’t painful and he wasn’t mean, but even as he strained to fill her up, she felt empty. Once he was finished, they’d gone to bed, and before long he wanted to do it again, but this time she got away with a blow job. Revolting as she found it, she couldn’t bear to have the weight of him on her again. She didn’t ask and he didn’t say, but she knew he’d taken a Viagra. Maybe even before he’d gotten home—snuck it in on the way from the airport, eager to impress her with his manliness. He’d fallen asleep fast after that, and, as full as her mind was, her exhaustion took over, and she’d sunk into the sleep of the dead.

She woke abruptly, her survival instinct tearing her from dreams of black icy water filling her lungs, driving her to the surface. Her eyes opened, but any relief was lost as weight crushed her chest. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t . . .

Billy. He must have rolled half onto her in his sleep, maybe the dregs of the pill working even as he snored, and now he was slumped, a beached whale, one leg and arm over her, his heavy head pressing on her breasts. His skin was corpse-pale in the gloom and she carefully rolled him away. He shuffled back to his side of the bed without even waking, no doubt a whole first marriage of practice, and his breathing fell silent again.

She was still tired and could have fallen straight back to sleep, but despite the fear of ghosts huddled in the shadows watching her, she relished the peace of the night. For a little while the world was hers alone, and once she was awake enough to realize she was both thirsty and needed the bathroom, she got up, grabbed her phone, and went downstairs for orange juice.

She ached in her bones. Was she getting too old for partying like that? The weekend felt like a dream now; the dancing, the sex, her mouth between Marcie’s legs, the ease with which they’d given themselves up to each other, both of them rebelling against their constraints. What would Jason make of it? she wondered. Would he smell Keisha in their bed? On his wife?

She stared out the window to the shadows beyond. It was a tangled web she was weaving and she had to be careful. Keep it together. Be tougher. There was no room for her doubts and darkness and worries. Everything she wanted was in her grasp. Money, freedom, love—she just had to be patient. Patience. It had never been her thing. She wasn’t calculated like the rest of her family, but then she did wish Billy dead daily, so maybe it was in her blood after all.

Across the ocean of lawn, Zelda’s apartment was invisible, drowned, no lights on tonight. It wasn’t that late, just coming up on one, maybe. Had her family gone? Keisha hadn’t heard anything, but then the house was so big she never knew when cars were coming or going outside.

The lack of light was unsettling her as much as if Zelda had been standing in the window again. Zelda unsettled her. Always watching. Maybe watching now in the dark, for all Keisha knew. A snake of concern rattled its tail in her belly. Could it have been Zelda she’d seen in the crowd the previous night? No, not her, but the posture of the woman’s back . . . it had been someone familiar, she was sure of it. But what if it had been Zelda? What would she want for her silence?

Keisha turned away from the window. There was no point in what ifs. There was nothing she could do about it, except wait and see. Be tougher, she reminded herself as she crept back up the stairs, Billy’s snoring getting louder as she grew closer, as if the house itself were rumbling in the night. She paused, not wanting to slide back into that bed just yet. Ahead, the door to Eleanor’s rooms—her mausoleum—was open a crack, tempting Keisha to go and snoop around some more, and she couldn’t resist. She slid inside.