Page 33 of Wanted

Chapter Eleven

I’m a coward—a big fat chicken.

I’m like an ostrich with my head buried in the sand. Here I am in the kitchen pretending to study when in reality, I’m hiding so I don’t have to face him in his bedroom. I know, we’re alone at his house, but somehow it would feel more intimate if I was in there with him.

One of the practice books rests on the counter, a legal pad, and a pencil moving between my thumb and index finger, but I haven’t written down a single word. I’ve read the same paragraph at least twelve times and I still don’t understand a single syllable.

The letters are blurry and are starting to dance with each other. I might as well get myself some good glasses or better yet, a crystal ball because what I need to sort through goes far beyond this test.

I read the same page again, but without being able to avoid it, my mind wanders off to the man in the room upstairs. If I continue like this, I’m never going to score four hundred points, and that will make it impossible for me to be admitted into any college.

It’s already past ten, how much longer can I stay down here before he comes looking for me? And there isn’t much to do either. Lionel doesn’t have anything here to keep me busy. I mean, the only television I saw is the one upstairs in front of the old couch. I can’t even make an excuse to clean the kitchen because before I got the chance—using only one hand—he helped me to do it.

Yet another change. Before, my husband always waited for his food while sitting on the loveseat with his feet raised on the coffee table, watching one of those reality shows that he loved so much. Telling me how he wants to enjoy the weekend with his wife after a long week at work. Sure, after I had taken care of the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Being his wife was like a job, but unlike a nine-to-five schedule, mine was twenty-four-seven when he honored me with his presence.

Even if I decide to sleep on the sofa, my suitcase is still in his walk-in closet. So unless I want to sleep in the clothes I’ve been wearing all day, I have no other choice but to face him.

I get my shit together, organizing the books on a small desk next to the kitchen, I suppose dedicated to home management. Either way, it works for me. Once everything is in order, I walk up the stairs slowly and quietly, calling on my inner ninja. Maybe I’ll be lucky and he’ll already be asleep. The last thing I want to do is wake him.

When I get to the hall, I realize the doors are ajar and the light is on. It seems the odds may not be in my favor. Unless he took the painkillers and they knocked his ass out.

“I was about to send a search and rescue party.” Dammit, no luck.

Lionel is cool as a cucumber, sitting on the bed with his back resting on the upholstered headboard. Shamelessly shirtless, he’s doing the exercises with that little gel beanbag the doctor had recommended.

“Your house is big,” I reply with an attitude, walking toward the dressing room. Well, my feet go straight, my eyes not so much. The traitors stop to take note of every muscle in his sculpted chest. “Next time I’m going to have to use GPS to get to the room.”

He’s getting better, but those pink lines are a reminder of the incident.

“I’m going to put a chip in you like one of those ‘where’s my phone’ apps,” he adds.

“The next million-dollar idea, ‘where’s my wife’ app.”

“First thing tomorrow, I’ll call my attorney to file the patent,” he continues sarcastically. “With this, we can ensure that our grandchildren will live like royalty without moving a single finger a day in their lives.”

I’m about to enter the dressing room, but I stop to look at him. He’s doing the same, looking at me with a mischievous smile painted on his lips.

“Ahhh, your fabulous idea would have worked wonderfully for me.” There it is. If he was looking for a fight, he just found one. “You always took me for granted, keeping me as the adoring wife you wanted. Always ready to serve, always attentive. At every moment you knew where you could find me, at any time. What about me, Lionel? I didn’t even know your real family situation. Where’s my wife? Why should you be worried? Who’s my husband? It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Fuming after my speech, I can hear my pulse in my ears, beating like a drum.

I think Lionel getting out of bed carefully is more for me than himself. I’m now an animal, ready to attack.

“Stay and find out, Stella,” he says quietly as he walks to where I’m standing. “Stay with me.”

I must have run a marathon, my chest heaves up and down like I just did. “For what, Lionel? So you can feed me more lies?”

“I’ll earn your trust,” he says, raising his hands, putting them in front of his chest.

“Lionel, I loved you.” More than that, I gave him everything without taking anything in return because I felt free to do it, just to find out it was never reciprocated. I was only a fool who walked straight into a mirage.

Looking back, I don’t even know why I did it. Well, they say love is blind.

“If that’s true, then I think you should go back to Kentucky.” Those words are like a dagger that reopens the wound in my chest. “Unless you think I could win you back.”

He touches my face while considering the consequences of what he just said.

“I’m not a prize, so calm down your competitive instincts. I’m more than that.”

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