Page 7 of Embracing the Change

She wasn’t so far gone she missed her husband’s expression.

“You know my stomach isn’t good with shellfish,” she said defensively.

“We’ll talk when we get home,” he said resolutely.

Her gaze, still vague, drifted from him.

I knew by the way it did, they’d talk.

She just wasn’t going to listen…or make an effort to change.

The sadness nearly overwhelmed me, making my legs weak.

It was definitely time to leave.

“If you need anything further, just ask the staff to find us,” Mother ordered.

“We’ll be fine,” Jamie told her.

“Of course,” she murmured, wrapped her fingers around my forearm and guided me to the door.

I couldn’t control the urge to look over my shoulder at him as we made our way to the door.

Thank you, he mouthed when I caught his gaze.

I’m so sorry, I mouthed in return.

He shook his head in a defeated manner that made rage—actual rage—boil inside of me.

I feared I didn’t hide it, and this fear came from the fact Jamie’s eyes widened in surprise as I experienced it.

Thus, it was fortunate, with Mother’s hand on my arm inexorably guiding my way out of the loo, the door closed between us.

Several days later…

I arrived home with my Bergdorf shopping bags, Nanny with me, pushing Allegra in her stroller, only to be confronted by my husband in the foyer.

I stopped dead at witnessing the murderous look on his face.

I felt my cheeks flush with ire when he commanded Nanny, “Take our daughter to the nursery.”

Nanny, not having missed his mood, quickly moved to heed his command.

But I said, “Allegra and I?—”

“You are coming with me,” Roland decreed.

He then turned on his Italian loafer and stormed out of the foyer.

I glared after him.

My husband and I had a…shall we say, unusual relationship.

However, I’d sought that purposefully.

Make no mistake, the quiet, genteel manner in which my mother and father regarded each other with respect, graciousness and only minor and rare gestures of affection was lovely, in its way.

But witnessing that until adulthood, then witnessing my mother losing it upon my father’s passing and going on with her life as if my father had never been in it, hiding her grief, even from her children, I didn’t want that.

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