Claire couldn’t process fast enough to respond. There were so many thoughts, yet all she could do was listen.
“You were usually so perfect in public—flawless.”
She remembered what could happen if she wasn’t; nevertheless, she stayed silent; her thoughts monopolized by this conversation’s destination.
“Your expression and then...” Tony’s words trailed away as he privately relived the encounter. “You could hardly speak. Even the introduction was difficult for you.” Tony’s sudden restraint became visible as the muscles in his neck tensed and his tone hardened. “For maybe only a split second, because Mrs. Rawlings, you quickly remembered to play your part, I saw something in your eyes I’d never seen. When you recognized him, before you remembered who you were, who I was, for only a moment, you were that eighteen-year-old girl I’d seen in pictures.”
She tried to speak, although she didn’t know what to say. The Claire from 2011 would have known the exact appropriate response—she wasn’t that Claire anymore. “Tony,” she steadied her voice. “If you saw that—I’m not denying it was there. Honestly, I don’t remember feeling anything except panic. I guarantee, I was more afraid of you being upset than I was happy to see Simon.” The warmth from his body covered hers. She continued, “If you expect me to apologize for that split second, then I’m sorry—not for that split second—but that you’re not getting that apology.”
Tony shook his head. “No, I wasn’t expecting an apology. I’m trying to give one.”
Claire lifted a brow.
“Don’t you see? Instead of having confidence in our marriage, I was jealous. You were the woman I manipulated into marrying me, and Simon was the man you loved”—he paused—“To say I behaved badly would be a gross understatement”—Tony inhaled and exhaled, and continued—“to Simon and to you.”
“I do love you.”
“Now”—he kissed her—“it’s all right. Remember, we promised honesty?” His rage, which moments earlier filled their bedroom, faded into the stormy skies. “That look, the one I saw for only a short time, I see it now—every day—every time your beautiful, green eyes look my way. I think perhaps it’s a look that one must earn. When we saw Simon in Chicago, I hadn’t earned it—I’d demanded it.” He closed his eyes. “It isn’t the same thing.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. Her touch opened his eyes, revealing the storm of brown behind his lids.
“Claire, I don’t want to lose that look. I promise, I’ll never demand it again...I don’t want that. I want what I have today. I’m concerned that, when all my confessions are out—it’ll be gone. ”
“I’ve told you, my love won’t change, but you started this story, so are you going to finish it?” Her stomach twisted with each word. Her accelerated heartbeat throbbed behind her temples.
“I apologize for how I reacted in Chicago.”
“Tony, you opened this door; I need the rest of the story. Do you know how Simon died?”
She felt his body tense as he said, “I do.” His words came quickly as if speed could take away their sting. “His plane was tampered with, but I don’t know who did it or how they did it. It’s a very complicated network of connections to allow the person paying the fee to stay anonymous.”
The air left her lungs. “Oh, God...” She pushed against his shoulders. “Please get up, I can’t breathe.”
“Open your eyes.”
Claire shook her head.
“Claire”—his tone now softer—“Please open your eyes.” Slowly, emerald green met sad brown, as Tony offered, “I can call Roach. I can be gone before noon.”
She shook her head against the pillow. “Stop that! Stop threatening to leave every time I’m upset. I deserve to be upset!”
Tony lay back onto his pillow. “I’m not threatening—I’m offering.”
For a while, they lay in silence, both staring up at the ceiling. Only the sound of their breathing and the rumble of thunder getting louder and louder filled her ears. Finally, Claire said, “I wanted so badly for that not to be true. I wanted you to be totally innocent. I tried to blame Catherine for everything, but”—Claire reached for his hand, their fingers intertwined—“I think I’ve known it for a long time.”
“When the FBI questioned me, they insinuated other crimes. I believe they know about this. I’m not sure if they can truly trace it back to me, but I think they at least suspect. Claire, I’m going to confess.”
“You were usually so perfect in public—flawless.”
She remembered what could happen if she wasn’t; nevertheless, she stayed silent; her thoughts monopolized by this conversation’s destination.
“Your expression and then...” Tony’s words trailed away as he privately relived the encounter. “You could hardly speak. Even the introduction was difficult for you.” Tony’s sudden restraint became visible as the muscles in his neck tensed and his tone hardened. “For maybe only a split second, because Mrs. Rawlings, you quickly remembered to play your part, I saw something in your eyes I’d never seen. When you recognized him, before you remembered who you were, who I was, for only a moment, you were that eighteen-year-old girl I’d seen in pictures.”
She tried to speak, although she didn’t know what to say. The Claire from 2011 would have known the exact appropriate response—she wasn’t that Claire anymore. “Tony,” she steadied her voice. “If you saw that—I’m not denying it was there. Honestly, I don’t remember feeling anything except panic. I guarantee, I was more afraid of you being upset than I was happy to see Simon.” The warmth from his body covered hers. She continued, “If you expect me to apologize for that split second, then I’m sorry—not for that split second—but that you’re not getting that apology.”
Tony shook his head. “No, I wasn’t expecting an apology. I’m trying to give one.”
Claire lifted a brow.
“Don’t you see? Instead of having confidence in our marriage, I was jealous. You were the woman I manipulated into marrying me, and Simon was the man you loved”—he paused—“To say I behaved badly would be a gross understatement”—Tony inhaled and exhaled, and continued—“to Simon and to you.”
“I do love you.”
“Now”—he kissed her—“it’s all right. Remember, we promised honesty?” His rage, which moments earlier filled their bedroom, faded into the stormy skies. “That look, the one I saw for only a short time, I see it now—every day—every time your beautiful, green eyes look my way. I think perhaps it’s a look that one must earn. When we saw Simon in Chicago, I hadn’t earned it—I’d demanded it.” He closed his eyes. “It isn’t the same thing.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. Her touch opened his eyes, revealing the storm of brown behind his lids.
“Claire, I don’t want to lose that look. I promise, I’ll never demand it again...I don’t want that. I want what I have today. I’m concerned that, when all my confessions are out—it’ll be gone. ”
“I’ve told you, my love won’t change, but you started this story, so are you going to finish it?” Her stomach twisted with each word. Her accelerated heartbeat throbbed behind her temples.
“I apologize for how I reacted in Chicago.”
“Tony, you opened this door; I need the rest of the story. Do you know how Simon died?”
She felt his body tense as he said, “I do.” His words came quickly as if speed could take away their sting. “His plane was tampered with, but I don’t know who did it or how they did it. It’s a very complicated network of connections to allow the person paying the fee to stay anonymous.”
The air left her lungs. “Oh, God...” She pushed against his shoulders. “Please get up, I can’t breathe.”
“Open your eyes.”
Claire shook her head.
“Claire”—his tone now softer—“Please open your eyes.” Slowly, emerald green met sad brown, as Tony offered, “I can call Roach. I can be gone before noon.”
She shook her head against the pillow. “Stop that! Stop threatening to leave every time I’m upset. I deserve to be upset!”
Tony lay back onto his pillow. “I’m not threatening—I’m offering.”
For a while, they lay in silence, both staring up at the ceiling. Only the sound of their breathing and the rumble of thunder getting louder and louder filled her ears. Finally, Claire said, “I wanted so badly for that not to be true. I wanted you to be totally innocent. I tried to blame Catherine for everything, but”—Claire reached for his hand, their fingers intertwined—“I think I’ve known it for a long time.”
“When the FBI questioned me, they insinuated other crimes. I believe they know about this. I’m not sure if they can truly trace it back to me, but I think they at least suspect. Claire, I’m going to confess.”
