“Elena—”
“You told me you went to the gym.”
“I know.”
“You told me you lost it somewhere between work and the gym.”
“I know.”
“So explain.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, his eyes moved toward the front window.
“Did the man say where exactly he found it?”
“Behind the hotel.”
Julian swallowed.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He said he saw you.”
Julian went still.
“With a woman.”
His eyes shut briefly.
There it was.
The confirmation.
My chest tightened.
“Who is she?”
“Elena.”
“Who is she?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Do not say that.”
“I’m serious.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been going to that hotel for months.”
He stared at me.
The silence told me everything.
“I found the receipts.”
His face changed again.
“You unlocked my phone?”
“You used my name.”
He set his briefcase down slowly.
“You shouldn’t have gone through it.”
The sentence struck me like a slap.
“I shouldn’t have?”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“You used my name to book hotel rooms, Julian.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been lying to me for months.”
“I know.”
“There’s a woman.”
“Yes.”
Something tore inside me.
I turned away.
The kitchen seemed too bright.
The windows too exposed.
I pressed both hands against the counter.
“How long?”
“It isn’t an affair.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
No answer.
I spun around.
“What is it?”
Julian looked past me again, toward the hallway.
Then toward the window.
His behavior was wrong.
All wrong.
He wasn’t behaving like a husband caught cheating.
He looked like a man listening for footsteps.
“Who brought you the phone?” he asked.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The man.”
“What about him?”
“Describe him.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Are you serious?”
“Please.”
“Mid-forties, maybe. Brown hair. Gray jacket. Why?”
“Tall?”
“Average.”
“Beard?”
“No.”
“Car?”
“I don’t know. Blue maybe.”
“What did he say his name was?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Julian swore under his breath.
“Julian.”
He walked quickly to the front window and pulled the curtain aside two inches.
“What are you doing?”
“Did he ask questions?”
“No.”
“Did he come inside?”
“No.”
“Did he touch anything?”
“He gave me your phone.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I watched him.
A new feeling began creeping through the anger.
Unease.
“What is happening?”
Julian let the curtain fall.
“We need to leave.”
I almost smiled because the statement was so absurd.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“We need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“Not here.”
“This is our house.”
“That’s the problem.”
The room went silent.
My mouth dried.
“What does that mean?”
Julian stepped toward me.
His voice dropped.
“Did you give the man our address?”
The question landed slowly.
“Yes.”
Julian stared.
“You gave him the address?”
“He had your phone.”
“Elena.”
“How else was he supposed to return it?”
Julian pressed both hands against his head.
“Oh God.”
A pulse of fear moved through me.
“What?”
He grabbed his briefcase.
“Get your shoes.”
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“We don’t have time.”
“You don’t get to say that.”
“I know how this looks.”
“You have no idea how this looks.”
“I know exactly how it looks.”
“Then explain the hotel.”
“I can’t explain everything in thirty seconds.”
“Try.”
He hesitated.
Then he looked me directly in the eye.
“The woman at the hotel is named Mara.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is Mara?”
“She used to work with my father.”
I frowned.
Julian’s father had died eight years earlier.
Cancer.
Or at least that was what I had always been told.
“What does your father have to do with this?”
“More than I knew.”
“Julian.”
“Mara contacted me four months ago.”
“Why?”
“She asked about you.”
The air left my lungs.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What about me?”
“She wanted to know whether you had ever talked about the summer before we met.”
I stared.
“What summer?”
“The year you were twenty.”
My heartbeat slowed strangely.
“What are you talking about?”
“Think.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“June through August.”
“I was home.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“With your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Working at the bookstore?”
“Yes.”
Julian’s expression tightened.
“Elena, that bookstore closed in May that year.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
“No.”
“It did.”
“No, I worked there all summer.”
“You told me that too.”
“Because I did.”
“I looked it up.”
“Then you looked up the wrong place.”
“There’s only one Bellweather Books.”
I laughed sharply.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I called the former owner.”
My stomach twisted.
“You called someone to investigate me?”
“I needed to understand what Mara was talking about.”
“Why would some woman your father knew care where I worked before I met you?”
Julian said nothing.
Then I remembered the message.
Are you sure Elena doesn’t remember?
A cold sensation spread along my arms.
“I found the text.”
His face hardened.
“What text?”
“Someone asked if I remembered.”
Julian went pale again.
“You saw that?”
“What am I supposed to remember?”
Before he could answer, three knocks sounded at the front door.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Three calm knocks.
Julian’s head snapped toward the hallway.
My heartbeat stopped.
He grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t move.”
“Is that him?”
Julian pulled me away from the front windows.
“Elena, listen to me.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Three more knocks.
Exactly the same rhythm.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Julian reached inside his briefcase and pulled out something I had never seen before.
A small black handgun.
I stared at it.
For a moment, nothing in my mind made sense.
My husband didn’t own a gun.
He hated guns.
He once walked out of a sporting goods store because a man at the counter was discussing ammunition too loudly.
“Where did you get that?”
“Stay behind me.”
“Julian.”
“Please.”
The doorknob moved.
Once.
Gently.
Then stopped.
Julian raised the weapon.
I backed toward the kitchen.
There was no sound from outside.
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