Page 94 of Cruel Dreams

It’s difficult to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly thinking I’ve lost Stella to her parents and sister.

I clear my throat enough to answer and ask, “What is it, Peggy?”

“A Mrs. Monica Christianson is on line one, sir.”

“Put her through.”

My body goes from hot to cold and back to hot in a second. It took less time to connect the name with the face. A face that is a lovely example of what Stella will look like in about twenty years. I close my eyes and lean against the back of my chair needing the support.

“Maddox,” I answer.

“Mr. Maddox, this is Monica Christianson.”

She sounds exactly like Stella on the phone.

“Mrs. Christianson, what can I do for you? Is Stella okay?”

“Monica, please,” she says, then pauses. “Stella’s fine.”

“Then how can I help you?”

There’s silence as she gathers her thoughts, and several possible scenarios run through my mind, none of them pleasant. They want money before letting her come back to Minnesota. They want a monthly allowance so they can live a richer lifestyle. She’s calling to tell me Stella doesn’t want to come home and that we’re done.

My heart hurts more for Zarah, if that’s the case. Since we’ve been looking at country houses—ah, mansions—she’s more impatient than I’ve ever heard her to have Stella back.

“I don’t know how to put this,” she says.

I’m not reassured. “Just say it, Mrs.—Monica.”

She blows out a breath. “Stella didn’t tell me she was engaged until the other day. I’ve seen her ring, of course, but we didn’t talk about it until a few days ago.”

That hurts. She’s been gone for months, and she didn’t want to share me with her family.

“We’re not engaged, exactly,” I say truthfully. “The ring is a promise. She knows I want to marry her, but we haven’t set a date. I’m sure you can understand why.” I can’t quite hide the pain in my voice.

“Yes. I’ve, we . . . we’ve kept her for a long time.”

I know how long it’s been. I feel every second like they’re each a hundred years. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart is her happiness. She’s happy with her family.

Never mind I want to be her family, too.

“What does this have to do with me?” I don’t mean to sound clipped, but seriously. I don’t need the reminder Stella’s in Florida and not here.

“She doesn’t know I’m calling. She spends a lot of time on the beach, and if I wake up in the middle of the night, I hear her crying. She sees a therapist, but I’m not sure it’s doing any good.”

“Look, Monica, I’m sorry she’s having trouble adjusting—”

“She’s having trouble because she doesn’t want to be here. She’s torn between staying for us and going home to you.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “What do you want me to do?”

“Press the issue. Tell her you want her to come home. Set a date for your wedding.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? You wouldn’t need to persuade her. She’s waiting for you to tell her that you still want her and still love her.”

“I do. She doesn’t need me to tell her that. But I’m not ordering her back here, and I’m not setting a date—we’ll do that together.”

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