Arranged Marriage

Chapter 37

I thought Patrick would be a mess after the funeral. He was worse. He took to his work instead. I had barely seen him all week. He came home after I had gone to sleep and left before I woke. The only evidence that he had been home at all was the new pile of washing left in the basket in the morning. Other than that, he had been a ghost.

I didn't know how to help him. 

"He'll be fine," Mrs Philips told me, as she cleaned the dishes.

It must have been written all over my face.

"How do you know? I haven't seen him in a week. I don't know if he's eating, I don't think he's sleeping, I don't know what to do," I ranted, waving my arms about.

"Be his wife," she told me, with a little amused chuckle.

"How can I when he won't let me?" I asked, "I never realized how important the girlfriend part is to a relationship till now. I thought I had mastered the whole wife thing when I started sleeping with him."

She snorted, both from shock of my bluntness and my naivety to what it means to be a wife.

"That's because this is your first crisis as a couple," she explained.

I frowned, "first crisis? This feels like our tenth crisis."

"No, no, no. Your father's death was before you were serious about each other and the casino, well, that's a different crisis all together. So, this is your first emotional crisis," she explained better.

I scoffed, stamping my foot, "well, how do I fix it? Patrick's been so distant. We haven't spoken since the funeral and even that, it wasn't much. I thought he would be a mess like I was."

"Patrick Maestri, a mess?" She scoffed in disbelief, "Patrick was never going to be one to crumble over his father's death."

"No, just throw himself into his work," I spat.

"He's busy," she said giving me a look before turning on the tap, "he's trying to keep you safe from Sebastian Drago."

"I know that but can't he talk to me about it?" I asked her.

She shrugged, wanting to say what I wanted to hear, but just couldn't, "maybe he just, can't."

Definitely not what I wanted to hear.

My heart leaped into my throat when the French doors to the dining room opened. Please be Patrick, please be - it was Garrick.
I had barely seen him in a week either. He looked tried with small creases at the corner of his eyes and he was out of breath by the time he got to the bench.

"Mrs Philips, can I get five sandwiches please?" He panted, looking on the verge of collapsing.

"Just for you?" She teased, moving over to the bread cupboard.

"No," he huffed, "but we've got three hours before Patrick wants to go again. I've sent the others to shower and get some sleep while I get the food. So..."

Patrick was all I took from his answer and it made my eyes wide with hope.

"Patrick's home?" I asked, feeling my heart pound with nerves.

Finally I was going to see him. But which Patrick, I didn't know.

Garrick shook his head, giving me that look that I've seen so many times.

"No way, Lizzy. Don't you go anywhere near him," he ordered.

I couldn't believe his request. He was talking as if Patrick was some rabid animal that would kill on sight.