The Wife Upstairs(60)

“Have you thought more about leaving?” I ask, and then turn to look over my shoulder at him. “I mean, I know what you said about Bea wanting to keep Southern Manors an Alabama company. But you could sell it, couldn’t you?” I pause, worrying for a moment that I’ve gone too far. “I just mean that neither of us are from here. We could start over somewhere new.”

He stops then. “Would you want to?”

A few weeks ago, I would’ve said no, that Thornfield Estates was the dream. But now that I’ve seen some of the underbelly of what I thought was a perfect place, I’m not so sure.

“I could,” I finally say. “If you wanted to.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking at the sky. “It would be nice,” he replies, but that’s not really an answer.

Then he starts walking toward the car, only to pull up short again.

“You dropped something,” he says, leaning down to pluck a gold bangle bracelet off the ground.

I take Landry’s bracelet and slide it back into my handbag. “Oh that. Thanks.”





28





“Are you worried?” I ask as the car winds down the steep hill from the country club. The three glasses of sauvignon blanc I drank on an empty stomach have loosened my tongue. The purr of the motor is quiet, and there’s no traffic up here, no sound, really, except for the soft sigh Eddie gives as he places a hand on my knee.

“About Tripp? I mean, I’m not not worried, that’s for damn sure.”

He reaches up and unbuttons the top button of his shirt, and when I glance over, in the dim light from the dashboard, I can see the shadows underneath his eyes, the hollow of his cheekbones.

I reach over and place a hand on his leg. “It’s going to be alright,” I assure him. “Now that Tripp has been arrested—”

Scoffing, Eddie draws his own hand back, placing it on the wheel as he negotiates another turn. “That’s not exactly an end to it,” he says. “There’s going to be a trial, there will be reporters, there will be more questions…”

Trailing off, he shakes his head. “It’s a fucking mess.”

I think about what Campbell had started to say the other day at coffee, about Eddie’s temper. The caterer who screwed up, Bea laughing it off, but Eddie …

No.

No, I told myself I wasn’t going to allow those kinds of thoughts anymore. He asked me to trust him, and I will.

“We’ve got each other,” I remind him.

Eddie’s expression softens slightly as he looks over at me. “Yeah, there is that, isn’t there?”

He smiles, leaning over to lightly brush his lips over my cheek. He smells good, like he always does, but underneath the spicy, expensive scent of cologne is the smokier smell of bourbon, and for a minute, I’m reminded so viscerally of Tripp that I nearly jerk my head back.

But Eddie is nothing like Tripp, and we’ve just been at a party, for fuck’s sake. Of course he smells a little like nice booze. I probably still smell like those glasses of sauvignon blanc Emily pushed on me.

The house is lit up as we pull into the driveway, and I wonder if there will ever be a time when I get used to the idea that I live here. That this gorgeous house is all mine.

Well, mine and Eddie’s.

I have another glass of wine when we get in while Eddie answers some late-night emails, and then I decide I’m going to take a bath. I can’t get enough of that giant tub, of being able to use it whenever I want.

Walking into the bathroom, I’m already shucking off my dress, letting it hit the marble floor without a care in the world even though it costs more than my rent at John’s place did.

I’d brought a smaller clutch with me tonight, holding just my phone, lipstick, and some mints—and now, Landry’s bracelet—and as I toss it to the counter, I hear my phone chirp.

Frowning, I pull it out of the bag, some little part of my mind wondering if someone noticed the bracelet, but when I see who the message is from, my stomach lurches.

We need to talk.

It’s Tripp.

I sag back against the sink, staring at the screen as another text comes in.

I understand if you want to tell me to fuck off, but I didn’t do this.

And for some reason, I feel like you might believe me.

I wait the space of three breaths, then four, and the last text comes in.

Which means you’re in danger.

“Janie?”

I startle as Eddie appears in the doorway, his tie undone around his neck. “What’s wrong?” he asks, then frowns. “You’re pale.”

Tell him, I think. You lied to him about John and look how upset he got, don’t lie about this.

“Too much wine,” I say, sheepish. “And Emily just texted me about some stuff for the NBC,” I add, waggling my phone at him.

Eddie shakes his head. “‘The NBC.’ For all that talk about moving, you’re sounding like one of them.”

His smile is fond, and I give him by best flirty one in response. “You know you love it.”

“I love you,” he counters, and my smile falters just a little, but thankfully, he’s already turning away.

“Love you, too,” I say.

And then I text Tripp.