Page 37 of Silent Ties

Max is robotic in his routine. He shouldn’t be back yet, and I don’t hear the usual movement of a jacket being hung up or his shoes removed.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Zimin?”

I set down the piping bag and scurry to the foyer.

Elijah smiles over the top of a giant pizza box.

“Uh, Maxim isn’t here,” I tell him. He’s already out of the elevator, looking around as if remembering the floor plan.

“Really?” He swings around, the pizza box sliding from his hands.

I step forward, my arms out, but he manages to catch it.

“Well then—”he points to the box—“guess it’s up to us to finish this off.”

Or not. “It’s probably best if you leave.”

“Why? Is something wrong? Oh, I hope I don’t make you nervous. Are you frightened of men?”

It’s got to get on Elijah’s nerves, this play-acting thing he does. It’s a 24/7 performance from the overly awed expressionon his face that dips from bored to mischievous. Maxim is formal in his trousers and button-down, but Elijah goes for three-piece suits. I’m surprised he wears a watch around his wrist instead of keeping a pocket watch.

A caricature. That’s what he is, but I don’t know who or why.

“I don’t know what this is, but no,” I tell him frankly.

More astonished disbelief. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I bet you ten bucks, you knew Max wasn’t going to be here, and that’s why you came.”

“Will you hold this?” He hands me the pizza box and digs into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. A second later a crisp ten-dollar bill is produced. “Here.”

He’s so annoyingly stupid I can’t fight the grin on my face.

“Now come on.” He grabs the pizza again and walks into the living room. It’s the center of the penthouse, Maxim and I pass through it every day but never use it.

Elijah plops onto the couch, sighing in comfort, and opens the box. “I should get napkins. Do you want anything to drink?” he asks on his way to the kitchen.

My sleeves are balled up in my fists as I perch on the edge of the couch. Damn him cause the pizza smells great. “Maxim will be upset that you’re wearing your shoes in the house.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who goes around barefoot?”

No. His loafers go perfectly with the dark tweed of his suit. “I can get you a pair of slippers.”

He comes back out with two glasses of wine. “You’re very accommodating toward my brother’s whims.”

The city is gross and I’d appreciate it if he took his shoes off too. But that’s not what he’s getting at. “It’s always better to pick yourbattles.”

Elijah cocks his head to one side. “What battles do you pick?”

I pick up my wine glass. “The ones that leave me alive at the end of the day.”

So none currently. Call me naïve, but I don’t think Maxim wants me dead. I think he wants a wife. A home and a marriage. A picture-perfect photo for the yearly Christmas card. Fake and meaningless.

But at least his punishments, which admittedly make me rub my thighs together, only happen in the bedroom. The pain ends in pleasure. He doesn’t hit or yell like some of the other men I know.

I walk on eggshells because this pristine house is more of a museum than a cozy living space.

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