Page 75 of The Devil's Pawn

“I’m calling the police!” Emma yells as Steven tows her toward the plane. “This is kidnapping. You can’t keep her locked up as if she’s a prisoner.”

“She’s my wife. I can do anything I like.”

“I’ll have you arrested!” She’s halfway up the steps now. “Babe, it’s okay. I’llfix this. I will.”

“Emma!”

Imogen’s pitiful wail slices through my heart like a cold, unforgiving blade. I hate this, but I made my decision, and now I have to follow through. It’s too late to change my mind, even if Lilian’s passive-aggressive commentary at today’s session is playing on a loop inside my mind.

As the plane door closes, and Steven jogs back to the car, all fight leaves Imogen. She sags in my arms, much the same as she did after the panic room incident, allowing me to easily lead her back to the car.

She sits like a stone, arms loose in her lap, her eyes glassy and staring straight ahead. When she makes no move to clip herself in, I reach across her and fasten her seat belt, then my own. The weight of guilt presses down on me, which is why I reach for her limp hand. I fully expect her to tug out of my grasp, but she doesn’t. I run my thumb over her knuckles, an unexpected urge to comfort her coming over me.

We ride back to Oakleigh in silence. She gets herself out of the car and trudges into the house, aiming straight for the stairs. I make a move to follow her when my phone rings. I shake my head at the caller. It’s the superintendent of the local police force. Emma went through with her threat to call the police, unaware the outcome she sought would never happen.

I answer the call, speaking before he does. “She’s fine.”

Imogen pauses on the stairs, twisting to look over her shoulder.

“I appreciate that, Superintendent, but she’s perfectly well.”

Imogen’s resigned sigh reaches me, and she continues walking upstairs. I speak with the super for a few secondsmore, then cut the call and follow Imogen upstairs. I don’t bother knocking before entering her room and crossing the living space to her bedroom.

She’s lying in the middle of the bed, legs curled into her chest, hands fisted underneath her chin. Her misery should make me happy, but it’s had the opposite effect—one I hadn’t anticipated when I cooked up this plan earlier today.

NowI’mthe one who’s miserable.

Earlier today, Lilian suggested I take another look at my motivation and my reasons for wanting Imogen to end the marriage. My desire not to have children is non-negotiable, but if that issue were off the table, would I want to remain married to Imogen?

Yes, I think I would.

Perching on the edge of the bed, I brush a strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“No, you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t have.”

Her voice lacks all the spirit I’ve come to expect from her. That I’ve come to adore. She's a beacon of light in a harsh world, and somehow, over the past few weeks, she's found her way into the darkest corners of my heart and ignited a spark. I’ve gone from apathetic to intrigued to finding myself fond of my wife. Infatuated, even. Every quarrel, however tense or combative, is one I’ve relished. Except for the lost eyebrow. I did not enjoy ripping off that wax strip.

“Look at me.”

I touch her chin, gently easing her head around. She does as I say, rolling onto her back, her sorrowful eyes locked onto mine.

“I had my reasons for sending Emma away. I said I’ll take you to see her in a few months once you’re settled, and Imean it.” I do, too. If she stays, I’ll keep that promise. But if my latest ploy forces her hand and she asks me for a divorce, I won’t stand in her way, no matter how unsettled that thought suddenly leaves me feeling.

“And what do I do in the meantime? How do you expect me to settle in here when I’m so dreadfully lonely. You’re hardly ever here, and when you are, it’s not like we do anything together. I ride alone, I walk alone, I eat alone, Iamalone. I’d hoped to make friends with your sister, but she’s always away on business. Vicky lives miles away. You fired Will. There’s no one here for me.”

I lock my jaw at her mention of Edgerton. I may be regretting some of my more recent decisions, but that’s one I’ll never regret. I’m still pissed that he managed to cheat our processes and land a job here in the first place. So far, he’s stayed away from Oakleigh, and if he values his life, he’ll continue to do so.

“We play chess.” It’s meant as a joke. I even say it with a smile, but she responds with a glower.

“We’ve played chess twice. Once on our so-called honeymoon.” She scoffs a laugh. “And once the day of the ball. You might like solitude, but I hate it.”

Which is the reason I based my entire strategy around isolating her, but that strategy no longer brings me any satisfaction. In fact, I hate it, but at the same time, I’m not sorry I sent Emma away. If I am remotely thinking about giving this marriage a try—not forgetting the thorny issue of children—thenIwill be the person Imogen spends her time with.

“What if Saskia is around more often? And what if I make more of an effort to spend time with you, too?” I chuckle, and it must be a rarity, because her eyes widen. “Although you might not want that, of course.”

Her gaze shifts from wide to narrow. “Why are you being nice to me now? What’s changed?”

I graze her soft cheek with the back of my hand. “I have.”

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