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I give her the best smile I can muster, because until all this is over…there is no future. I’m no fool either—I’m well aware that in the end, Christopher and I might not survive this. But then the blame will be on me, and he can carry on.
“He still loves you, Arabella. He wouldn’t have his stupid lackies on patrol if he didn’t.”
“Freddie’s not Christopher’s lackey. None of them are…we have our roles, and we stick to them.”
Her sigh is matched with a roll of her eyes. I know she believes female empowerment is all about being an individual and standing on your own two feet. Not depending on anyone but yourself. But I feel empowered by being me. Or at least I used to. Being a wife and a mother…that empowered me. And I’m sure that Christopher thinks otherwise, but doing the right thing empowers me, even if it breaks my heart.
If I can sacrifice what’s left of that part of me for him, I’ll live knowing that I did something great.
“Why do you do it? Why do you let them decide your life?” She sits on the edge of the bed with her eyes wide on me, expecting an answer. Something that will make her understand the life I’ve chosen.
“Just because you follow the path others pave for you, it doesn’t mean you’re letting them decide your life. I chose to marry Christopher, to support him in any way that’s needed.”
“You’re so smart, Bella, and you’re one of the savviest people I know. You have so much charm and gumption. People naturally love you. Just think what you could do with all that! Don’t you have your own dream?”
“Yes.” I don’t understand why she’s picked this moment to discuss this. My emotions are a frayed mess already; I don’t need to add to that. “I do.”
“Then why are you following the crazy train?”
“Because that crazy train is my dream, Georgie. I know you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to. But Christopher is my dream. He’s been my dream from the moment I set eyes on him. I’m not like you or mum. I don’t need to be in the spotlight to be great. My greatness is standing beside Christopher and helping him be the man he was born to be. My greatness is being a mother to his children.”
Eyes misting over, she looks down at the ground. Maybe now she’ll understand.
“The baby was my dream.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them. The tears in my eyes threatening to do the same as I walk to the vanity and find something to blot them with before they fall. “That little girl was our dream. Mine and Christopher’s.” And I failed to protect her.
“You can have another baby. It won’t replace the one you lost, but…”
“I don’t know if I can, or if I want to, Georgie. The thought of going through this all over again scares me. The thought that I might not be able to…”
“Do you remember when I used to come home crying because they always picked someone else over me for the prima ballerina?” Standing up she looks at me, red-eyed and stoic. “You always told me to keep going. ‘You never give up on your dreams, Georgina. You just have to try harder and keep being you.’”
I remember sitting with her in a cold bath because her feet were blistered and bleeding. I remember straightening her hair because her curls were too unruly to stay in the neat, uniform bun that all the other girls had.
“Don’t give up. Keep going. Try. If it means so much to you…try.”
I don’t bother explaining to her why this is nothing like her dancing career. Instead, I dab the red lipstick on and try and see the woman I pictured when I told the hairdresser to cut my hair off. If I could just see someone other than me, maybe then everything would be easier.
Standing awkwardly by the bed, she rolls onto her toes in a tall stretch. “Anyway, this just came for you. It’s kind of heavy. I gave it the shake test, but whatever is in there didn’t make a peep.”
The box isn’t anything special. Big, glossy white with my name scrawled across one of the corners. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. The courier wasn’t very vocal. He threw the box at me and left, didn’t even ask me to sign. Had a nice car though.”
My chest squeezes so tight that my heart gets lodged in my throat and my stomach falls to my feet.
“What car was it?”
“One of those all-black chauffeur mobiles. Probably one of your husband’s not lackies.” She shrugs, her brow quirking with a snarky smile.
“Probably.” I force a chuckle.
“Could be from your secret lover…” Giving me the eye, she stands in the doorway with a stupid grin on her face. Fucking clueless. “No? Must be from Christopher, then.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I give her a stiff smile. “Who else?”
Chapter 13
Arabella
