Page 55 of Lair

I swallow a lump in my throat, place a hand on his arm. “Adrian, it’s only—”

But Adrian lifts a hand, eyes never leaving Mrs. Colding. “You know this upsets me. Why would you deliberately upset me?” His teeth are clenched. He flings the roses to the deck and Mrs. Colding flinches, but stands her ground.

“Adrian!” I snap.

“This is most disappointing, Mrs. Colding.” Adrian shakes his head, disgusted.

That’s quite enough of that, thank you.

The words are out before I can stop myself. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

The slow, astonished turn of the head from Adrian is all the signal Mrs. Colding needs. She purses her lips and bows, already half-turning away. “I’ll take my leave—”

“No.” Before I know it my chair has shrilled back and I’m on my feet, the blood surging in my temples. “I want you to hear this.”

Mrs. Colding freezes, face tight, and side-eyes Adrian. His eyes have never left me. What is that expression? Does he know what’s coming next?

Too bad. He’s going to get it anyway.

“You don’t know what you’ve got, do you?” I launch in. “Mrs. Colding lives to serve you and your little world with all its rules. Would anyone else do that? Would anyone else be so loyal to you, knowing what you are? She’s been too professional to tell me, but my guess is that she lost a partner of her own, and so she is uniquely suited to understand your pain. And this is how you repay her?”

Adrian rolls his eyes and huffs, “Don’t presume to understand—”

“Oh, but I will,” I cut him off, and he blinks in surprise. “There’s not much to understand, really. Mrs. Colding is impeccable. She can be cold-blooded, and half the time I live in terror of her, but she runs this ship tighter than a facelift. All to your specifications. And despite all that, guess what? You still don’t appreciate her. You don’t appreciate anyone. You are so trapped in this little world you’ve constructed for yourself that you have forgotten what it’s like to be alive. To treat others with respect.”

I am vaguely aware that Mrs. Colding’s jaw is hanging. I am, unequivocally and gloriously, making a scene.

I don’t care. All I care about is the put-upon breath that Adrian draws in, trying to reassert his authority. “Look—”

Nope.

“So don’t you dare rag on her for a few fucking flowers being wilted,” I push on. “Are you kidding me?” I’m trembling and giddy with terror, but I won’t be stopped now. Something that’s been building up inside me my whole life is being purged.

I am a madwoman, eyes blazing, out for retribution.

“I am done with your abuse. I am done with your need to control everything. What happened to your wife was terrible”—Adrian looks away, jaw clenching—“but you need to move on. You want to be human again? This is what it means to be human. Changing.” And, at last, I soften my voice. “You have to let her go, Adrian. Because there’s no room for anyone else in your life until you do.”

I stand there panting like a run dog in the following silence. Apparently, my tirade is over. I pick up my peach Bellini and drain it in one go, clop it back on the table. Mrs. Colding shares a look with the other stews, who are watching with mouths ajar. Adrian’s throat works, eyes averted. He looks like he’s been gutted with a fishing knife.

I suddenly have to get away.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I blurt and turn, but there’s a hand on my arm. Mrs. Colding, eyes glistening with something I’ve never seen before.

Gratitude.

She gives the slightest of nods, and I nod back. I got you, girl.

When I leave, hair whipping behind me like some television attorney out for justice, Adrian is staring at the roses on the deck as if he didn’t know what they were.

And yet, damn if it isn’t hard to not let a smile splash across my face as I march away. The thrill of it, to be alive. To know you’ve stuck up for yourself, and now that you have, there’s no going back.

Welcome to the new me.

Adrian is quiet for the rest of the day. He does not avoid me, though he does not engage much, either. He strolls about the boat with hands in pockets, his handsome face contorted in thought, and it takes all my willpower to not go up to him and try to smooth things over with small talk.

Did I make a mistake, blowing up on him? Did I ruin things?

No. It had to be done.

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