finger to trace her face.
“Is this okay? We can go slower.”
Belle arched up and kissed me again, but there was nothing passionate about it. It was mechanical and forced and I found myself slowing down as I tried to understand. Maybe gently wasn’t the way to bring us back together. I increased my pace, hammering against her and calling her to me.
“Come for me,” I urged. “Show me.”
Her eyes opened and the flash of blue released me, but as I emptied inside her, it wasn’t Belle staring back at me. But where she should be, there was nothing but a hollow void.
I rolled off her, reaching to hold her but she turned away and made herself small, tugging her knees to her chest. I felt sick. My fingers brushed her shoulder.
“I love you.”
There was no response.
I stayed like that until I was certain she was asleep. It was all I could. I wasn’t even sure she wanted me there, at all.
I went back to my office, defeated, knowing exactly what I had to do. I dialed Edward’s number, uncertain he would answer. He’d gone to even greater lengths than me to separate himself from the Royals. He answered on the third ring.
“She needs you,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s lost, and I can’t find her.” I sank into the chair, burying my face in my hand. “I’m scared there won’t be anything left of her to find soon.”
There was a pause. He had a decision to make. But we both knew there was no real choice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a flight.”
I hung up with him, hoping that whenever that was, it wouldn’t be too late.
21
Smith
We had barely spoken over the past three days. At night, Belle turned away from me in bed. Thornham also had a fatal flaw that I hadn’t foreseen until then. It was easy to hide on the estate’s sprawling grounds. It seemed I was constantly just missing Belle. I’d grown tired of Nora’s sympathetic smiles when she told me that Belle had gone out for a walk or Mrs. Winters pursed lips as she shook her head every time I asked if she’d seen my wife.
“Lost her again?” she said with disapproval, shaking her head and turning back to the shepherd’s pie she was making for dinner.
My frustration had shifted into uneasy guilt. For the first time, I found myself questioning my intimate relationship with my wife. When I looked back on the other night, I no longer saw it as me trying to reach her, but as a man being too arrogant to realize he wasn’t wanted. Was that why she had been so distant? Was that why looking into her eyes had felt like staring into the bottomless depths of the ocean?
I missed my wife. I loved my wife. I just didn’t know how to find her.
“We’re going to have a guest at dinner,” I told Mrs. Winters. She huffed, beginning to complain under her breath about not getting any warning as she continued preparing the evening meal. I left her there, still muttering. I felt somehow that without complaining, she wouldn’t know what to do with her time. Every night she made enough food for an army. Belle hardly ate anything these days, picking at her plate like a bird. We always had leftovers. The most trouble she would have to go to was to add a seat at the newly arrived dining table.
I gave up trying to find Belle. My wife could hide from me. I would let her if that’s what she needed to do to process this. Something told me that she’d be coming to me sooner rather than later, though.
That afternoon after consulting with Rowan about the project in the back, I decided to grab a quick shower before driving into town to pick up Penny’s Christmas present. I stepped into the shower, turning on the water to rinse off the dirt from outdoors. One thing I hadn’t counted on when we moved to the country was how much goddamn labor it would take to get the place up to scratch. I leaned forward planting my palms against the tiled wall and let the hot water run down my sore neck and shoulders. I’d kept in shape in London, lifting weights and running, but exercise meant to offset the city lifestyle hadn’t prepared me for the rigors of manual labor. Honestly, it felt good. Building something with my hands, making this home for my family?