Page 36 of Hush Money

“You know what? I’m just going to, ah, take a walk.” Tamsyn gestures vaguely toward the door as she takes a step or two in that direction. Her cheeks are in flames, looking the way mine feel. “You two obviously need to talk. So I’ll just?—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” I tell her. “This is your cottage. Ravenna and I will go up to the house and leave you in peace. Let’s go, Ravenna.”

Tamsyn nods, her gaze not coming within a mile of mine. “Okay.”

“I’m glad we had the chance to talk, Tamsyn,” Ravenna says.

To my surprise, Tamsyn’s head snaps up at this. She gives Ravenna a long and speculative stare. “I’m sure you are.”

“Think about what I said,” Ravenna says, touching Tamsyn on the arm as she exits. Any bystander would think that the two women were neighbors who just had a friendly tea and muffin while their kids were at school.

But I know better. “What did she say to you?” I ask Tamsyn, dropping my voice as the screen door swings shut behind Ravenna.

She shakes her head, her eyes finally connecting with mine just long enough for me to register her wounded confusion. “Not now, Lucien.”

Fuck. “Tamsyn…”

She turns away, presenting me with a back that’s straight and rigid as she folds her arms. “It’s fine. Go.”

I hesitate, but she doesn’t budge. Yet she talks about my brick walls. “I’ll go as long as you remember what we talked about earlier.”

A disbelieving laugh from Tamsyn. “The mind-fuckery here at Ackerley is epic.”

I want to argue, but what can I say? She’s not wrong. I stifle a curse, bang through the door and meet Ravenna outside. She quickly falls into step beside me.

“Lucien—”

“Save it, Ravenna. The study. Now.”

We head for the study, where I shut the door behind her and go straight to my desk. I run through a few quick strategies as I sit, finally deciding to play it her way. Just for kicks and giggles, I’ll pretend I believe she really did just show up again. Anything to get rid of her. It’s worth any price.

She pauses, glancing at the sofa before reluctantly taking one of the chairs opposite my desk. “Why do I feel like you’re taking a business meeting with me?”

“We got some things to discuss. I’d like to do it calmly and efficiently. Let’s start with your medical care. Why did you tell your doctors to stop discussing your condition with me?”

There’s a quiet gleam of something in her eyes, one of her fleeting little gotchas. “I’m entitled to medical privacy.”

“I’m your husband, as you keep reminding me. I need to know what your psychiatrist’s conclusions are.”

She shrugs, the picture of polite puzzlement. “I’m telling you what they are. I’m doing well. All the doctors hope I’ll get my memory back soon. The concussion is healing. What more do you need to know?”

I need to know whether I’m dealing with a sociopath if not a psychopath, but I don’t plan to inflame the situation by using those words with her. “As your husband?—”

“Which is it, Lucien? I thought you wanted a divorce? If you’re telling me there’s hope for this marriage, then that’s a whole different conversation.”

“There’s no hope for this marriage.” My words come out slow and heavy, probably because I’m putting so much effort into controlling my frustration and my temper. “I’ve already put in a call to my lawyers. They’re drawing up the paperwork. I’m willing to make you a very generous settlement of fifty million.”

She says nothing, but I hear the subtle hitch of her breath. When I told her I wanted a divorce before her disappearance, I offered thirty million. She laughed in my face. Maybe I’m getting somewhere this time.

“Additionally, I’ll buy you a house anywhere you want. This is all exceptionally fair based on our prenup and the length of our marriage. You and I both know it’s far more than a judge would ever award you in a contested divorce. You’ll be set for life. You can go back to work as a decorator or lie on the beach every day for the next fifty years. It’s up to you.” I remember one more thing and reach into the desk drawer to withdraw a set of keys, which I lean across the desk to offer her. “For your Jaguar. It’s still in the garage.”

She looks at me as though I’ve offered her a hot turd on a marble cheese plate, so I drop the keys on the desk. “Why don’t you understand, Lucien? It’s not about your money.”

That gets a laugh out of me. “No. It’s about control. It’s about you having the last word.”

“No. It’s about love.”

Another laugh from me. “Bullshit. Control is the only thing that’s ever mattered to you. You’re like a puppet master’s puppet master.”

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