Chapter 7

I returned home late that night, soaked from a sudden downpour. The house was dark, but I knew he was there.

Drake was sitting in the living room, waiting.

I ignored him, walking past him and heading for the stairs.

He shot up from his chair and wrapped a towel around me from behind. "You're soaked. Why didn't you call me to pick you up?"

His concern was a mockery. I brushed his hands away, my skin crawling at his touch.

After a hot shower, I found him waiting in my room with a mug of hot ginger tea.

"Drink this," he said. "You'll catch a cold."

He was such a responsible man. He always did the right thing, fulfilled his duties. I had once mistaken that for love. What a fool I' d been.

He spoon-fed me the tea as if I were a child. "The wedding is in two weeks," he said, his voice light. "This time, no more accidents."

I drank the tea in silence, my heart a dead, cold thing in my chest.

There would be no wedding. I would make sure of it.

The next day, I went to the embassy and applied for a visa. As I was leaving, I ran into Drake and Kalea.

"Elyse? What are you doing here?" he asked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I'm helping a bandmate with his paperwork," I lied smoothly. "He's going on a European tour."

He accepted the lie without question. The thought that I might leave him, that I might have a life of my own, had never even crossed his mind.

Kalea' s friends, who were with them, insisted I join them for lunch. Drake seconded the invitation. I was trapped.

They chose a hot pot restaurant.

Another wave of bitter irony washed over me. I had begged Drake to take me to a hot pot place for years, but he always said the smell was too strong and greasy.

"Dr. Miles only comes here because Kalea loves it," one of the residents chirped, shooting me a smug look.

I said nothing, staring down at my bowl.

They deliberately arranged the seating so that Kalea sat next to Drake, leaving me to sit opposite them. I had a front-row seat to his devotion. I watched him tie an apron for her, watched him carefully select the best pieces of meat and vegetables and place them in her bowl.

I gripped my chopsticks so tightly my knuckles turned white.

He finally seemed to remember I was there. He casually picked a piece of food from the pot and dropped it into my bowl. "Eat," he said, his attention already back on Kalea.

It was konjac. A food I was severely allergic to. He had forgotten.

I quietly pushed the food aside.

I spent the rest ofthe meal with my head down, trying to become invisible.

"What a beautiful necklace, Ms. Maynard," Kalea said suddenly, her eyes fixed on the locket around my neck. "Can I see it?"

I clutched the locket protectively. "No."

Before I could react, the resident next to me reached over and snatched the necklace from my neck. The chain snapped.

"Give it back!" I yelled, lunging for it.

"Elyse, calm down," Drake said sharply, his brow furrowed in annoyance at my outburst. "It's just a necklace."

I tried to grab it from the resident's hand, but Kalea "accidentally" bumped her arm as she pretended to help.

The locket flew through the air and landed with a sizzle in the boiling hot pot.

"No!" I screamed, plunging my hand into the scalding broth without a thought.

Pain, immediate and searing, shot up my arm. I cried out, pulling my hand back. It was red and blistering.

My first instinct, a habit born of years of dependence, was to look to Drake for help.

But he wasn't looking at me. He was fussing over Kalea, who was crying that a drop of hot soup had splashed on her hand.

"Does it hurt?" he asked her, his voice full of panic. He gently took her hand and blew on the tiny red spot, ignoring my much more serious injury. "Let's get you to the hospital."

He led her away, leaving me there, my hand throbbing, my heart completely and utterly shattered.

I don't know how long I sat there. When I finally came to my senses, the restaurant was empty, the staff cleaning up around me.

I asked the waiter to retrieve my locket from the pot. It was warped from the heat. I opened it with trembling fingers.

The ashes were gone. Dissolved into nothing.

My mother. He had taken my mother from me, again.

A gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat. I slid to the floor, the pain in my hand forgotten, and wept until I had no tears left.

In the cold, empty restaurant, I made a vow.

I would never, ever forgive him.