The Last Mrs. Parrish(103)

His face had turned red, and he stood looking at her like he wanted to kill her. “Pick it up,” he’d said through clenched teeth.

“I will not.”

“I’m warning you, Amber.”

“Or what? You already said you weren’t going to turn me in. Stop threatening me. I’m not weak and malleable, like your first wife.”

At this he’d exploded. “You can’t hold a candle to Daphne, you low-class whore. You can read all you want, study all you want, and you’ll never be anything but poor white trash.”

Before she had time to think, her hand was around the crystal clock on the table next to her, and she’d thrown it at him. It crashed to the floor, missing him completely. She watched as he advanced toward her, a murderous look in his eyes.

“You crazy bitch. Don’t you ever try and hurt me.” He’d grabbed her wrists and squeezed until she yelled out in pain.

“Don’t threaten me, Jackson. I’ll take you down.” Inside she was trembling, but she knew she had to put on a brave face if she had any hope of keeping the upper hand.

He’d abruptly let go, turned, and left, and she thought she’d won.

*

When he came home that night, neither of them said a word about the fight. Amber had asked Margarita to prepare something French for dinner—coq au vin. She’d googled it, along with the right wine and dessert to serve. She’d show him who had class. He arrived home at seven and went straight to his study, where he stayed until she called him for dinner at eight.

“How do you like it?” she asked after he took a bite.

He gave her a droll look. “Why do you ask? It’s not as though you made it.”

She threw her napkin on the table. “I chose it. Look, Jackson, I’m trying to make peace here. I don’t want to fight. Don’t you want things to go back to the way they were between us?”

He took a sip of his wine and looked at her. “You tricked me into leaving Daphne. You made me think you were something you’re not. So, no, Amber. I don’t think things can go back to the way they were before. If it weren’t for our son, you’d be in prison.”

She was sick of hearing about the sainted Daphne. “Daphne couldn’t stand you. She used to complain all the time that you made her skin crawl.” Daphne had never said any such thing to Amber, but it shut him up.

“What makes you think I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

She was making things worse. “It’s true. But I love you. I will win your trust back.”

They finished their dinner in silence. Afterward, Jackson went to his office, and Amber stopped by the nursery to look in on Jackson Junior. Mrs. Wright, the nanny, was sitting in the rocking chair, reading a book. Amber had talked Jackson into hiring a live-in nanny to help with the baby. Sabine was gone. Amber didn’t need that stuck-up French slut around. Surrey still helped out on the weekends. Bunny had referred Mrs. Wright, and she’d come with excellent credentials. She was also a respectable age, and no one that Jackson would ever look at twice.

“Any problem putting him down?” Amber asked.

“No, ma’am. Drank his bottle and went right to sleep. He’s a sweet one, that one.”

Amber leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his head. He was a beautiful child, and she looked forward to the day when he’d become interesting. When he could carry on a conversation and play games instead of just lying around like a lump.

Amber got in bed and pulled out the detective novel she’d hidden in her nightstand. Close to an hour later, Jackson finally came up, and she put it away before he could see it. It had been two weeks since they’d had sex, and she was getting worried. When he slipped under the covers, she reached over and began to stroke him. He pushed her hand away.

“Not in the mood.”

She tossed and turned and finally fell asleep, still wondering how she was going to restore harmony between them.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She woke up in a panic and realized he was straddling her, his hand over her nose. She pried his fingers from her face, and gasping, cried out.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, good. You’re awake.”

He flipped the lamp on. Her eyes flew open when she saw that he was holding a gun; the same gun she’d found in Daphne’s closet all those months ago.

“Jackson! What are you doing?”

He pointed the gun at her head. “If you ever throw anything at me again, you won’t wake up the next time.”

She went to push his hand away, certain he was just playing around. “Ha, ha.”

He grabbed her wrist with his other hand. “I’m serious.”

Her mouth fell open. “What do you want?”

“Bye, Amber.”

She screamed as his finger depressed the trigger. Click. Nothing happened.

She felt something wet and realized her bladder had emptied. A look of disgust filled his face.

“You’re weak. Pissing the bed like a child.”

He jumped off, still pointing the gun at her.

“This time you get a pass. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“I’ll call the cops.”

He laughed. “No, you won’t. They’d end up arresting you. You’re a fugitive, remember?” He pointed to the bed. “Get up and change the sheets.”