Again, he has acted without my permission.
Everything is spinning out of control.
I move my finger around the edge of the glass, but even that does not center me. I feel adrift.
“It seems it is done, then,” I bark. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” he replies.
I hang up and toss back another glass of vodka.
18
Camille
I sit in the study Erik built for me, trying to focus on my nursing textbook. But the words keep morphing.
‘Bacteroid’ becomes ‘betrayal.’
‘Hapten’ shifts into ‘hate.’
‘Ectomy’ morphs into ‘escape.’
I pace around the room for a long time, hands worrying at each other. The tears have dried now and the constant drum-beating of my heart has stopped. I find myself thinking of explanations for Erik. More like fucking excuses. But still, they surface despite the anger.
I wander over to the anatomy model and prod at the heart.
Maybe Erik hired Bethany before we got to know each other. Maybe Bethany really does see me as a friend. Maybe, maybe … there are too many maybes and not enough answers.
I replay the scene in the bedroom, thinking that I could’ve acted a bit more grown-up. I went a little high-school drama on him there, but I couldn’t help it.
I should leave Erik, I reflect—so many women in my position would—but something stops me.
Every other time in my life when I’ve thought about running, preferably to somewhere hot and sunny with a never-ending supply of cocktails, I’ve always thought about my family first. How would Mom feel if I abandoned her? How would Rob deal with his constant fuck-ups? Even at Dr. Delson’s office, I used to worry about how he would find a replacement.
But now it’s my own feelings that give me pause.
These past few days with Erik have been special. I can’t believe I just imagined that. We need to talk, air this out. Even if it does come to flipping him the bird and riding off into the sunset, surely we should have a civil conversation?
Not that I know what he can say to make this right.
But it’s a first step, I suppose.
I leave the study and head out into the hallway to look for him, telling myself to be calm, rehearsing what I’ll say in my head so that I don’t freak out again.
He’s nowhere to be found upstairs. When I head downstairs, I hear some noise coming from the kitchen: clattering followed by a short sigh.
Ashley is standing over the food recycling bin, pushing a steak from a silver plate. She looks up when I enter, smiling, but I sense there’s something else going on behind her eyes. She looks all shifty.
“Sorry you went to all that trouble,” I say.
“Oh, it is not a bother,” she replies. “I’m paid regardless, so no harm done. But are you hungry? I could reheat those two.” She nods at plates sitting on the counter, covered with dishes. “It would be a shame if we wasted them. I got them fresh from the butcher’s today.”
“Sure,” I tell her, though I’m not hungry. It’s the hope in her voice that convinces me. “Just a small one for me, thanks.”
We sit at our usual table, Ashley cutting her steak into efficient chunks and then popping one into her mouth. She looks at me as she chews, as though considering, as though she can read the frantic thoughts rushing through my head.
“It sounds like you had quite the night,” she says. “I heard pieces of it already, but we can talk about it more, if you want.”
I hesitate for a moment, but once I start, I find I can’t stop. It’s too much to keep it all bottled up.
I end up telling her everything, from Bethany’s betrayal all the way through to the argument in the bedroom. Ashley listens without the tiniest sign of surprise, which seems pretty damn strange for a chef. She nods as though that’s just typical Erik.
“Hmm,” she murmurs.
“What?”
“I am just thinking, you know, maybe it is not as simple as you’re making it seem.”
I laugh, taken aback.
“It’s anything but simple, believe me.”
“But you are painting Erik as the villain. You clearly judge him for buying a virgin, but have you ever considered what he thinks about you for selling your virginity?”
Now this is really getting weird. Since when does Ashley know about the virginity auction, and why would she? The last time I checked, virgins, as a rule, don’t have special dietary requirements that would out me.
“I was desperate,” I snap. “What else was I supposed to do? My mom could be dead right now if I hadn’t acted. I don’t see how you can compare them.”
“And he was not desperate?” she says, not unkindly. “Erik was attacked by a man he trusted. He has been under a lot of stress trying to keep his business from collapsing around him. His uncle, the man who raised him, advised him to seek an heir to secure his position. Even now, he is constantly under threat.”
She speaks with too much confidence, like she’s Erik’s fucking confidant.
“Well, it seems like you know him way better than me. You’re pretty damn good at making excuses for him.”
“He deserves excuses as much as you do,” she says. “Life is not easy for a man in his position.”
“And what? It is for me?” I lean forward. “You know what, Ashley, you two seem too fucking cozy for my liking. Is he banging you on the side, is that it? Did he buy you at an auction? Jesus, you’re institutionalized!”
She grips her belly and laughs loudly, throwing her head back.
“Me and Erik?” She shakes her head. “Oh, Camille … that really is too much!”
I jump to my feet, my cutlery clattering on the plate.
“Oh, please don’t get upset!” Ashley cries.
“I’m not upset,” I lie, striding for the door.
I pace around the study, my self-imposed prison.
But I have plenty to keep me busy: twisting my hands together, obsessing about what I’ll say
