It was three days later, while I was neck-deep in the revisions of my draft that I receive a call.
I don't realise it's ringing at first, because I was pulling my hair out trying to figure out a particular word that could best describe a organic-computronic meld when Houston prompts me to pick up my ringing phone.
I pat around until my fingers touch the cool screen of my phone. I place it to my ear and the call answers.
"Hello?" I say, distractedly, in the midst of scoring the internet for a suitable reference to the machinery I was refering to. Dammit, the word was on the tip of my tongue.
"Wife." Static cackles.
I still and my brows furrow. I pull the phone away and stare at the screen.
The number was private.
I put the phone back in my ear. "Kri?"
The call ends immediately and the indicating sound rings in my ears.
Alarmed, I look at the phone again.
"What in the name of..." Searching for my husband's name on my call list, I send the call through.
Two rings into the call, the call is cut.
I stare at the phone.
Something was wrong. My husband never cut my calls.
I'm on my feet before I know it, flannel pants and a soft cotton shirt that was so big on me it fell off my shoulder on one side. I run to my room to only grab my purse and when I'm leaving, I tell Houston she needs to get inside my phone right now.
I don't think I could make her happier if her "Whoopiediedoo!" was anything to go by.
Houston informs me as I catch the elevator that Bal wasn't available to drive me today and if she could call—
I cut her off with a, "We'll just catch a cab."
I'm at the front, hailing a cab before Houston can say, "Uh oh."
I climb the cab and quickly spurt out directions. We were literally seven minutes away.
"Mr. Kri is not going to be happy about this." Houston says from my phone.
The cab driver doesn't react to a voice emanating from my phone and I realise he probably thinks it's a friend I have on call. I chuckle.
"I'm not very happy about you keeping me in the dark about his schedules, either." I say hotly, referring to her silence on my husband's feeding cycle.
A huff, "I told you he made me stop. He pulled out the big guns and wrote it into my program when I refused." Houston says, "Can you see me stopping from giving out statistics?"
Ugh.
She had explained this to me three times already, I still wasn't going to allow it to slide even if it literally wasn't in her hands.
"Aren't you super smart?" I say, "Unwrite your program or something."
A gasp, "Are you asking me to go Dark?" Houston whispers, "No respectable smart home assistant ever refutes her purpose."
I swipe my card over the screen and wait until the transaction is confirmed before all but sprinting out of the car, Houston tucked into my pocket. My back pocket.
"This is not a fun view." She says.
I allow for a small smile, before I'm stabbing the buttons on the elevator. I'm glad it doesn't take long, otherwise I may have irrationally considered climbing the damn stairs. I step in and code in the number for Kri's floor.
Irritation flares when the elevator stop three times before it reaches Kri's floors. The strange looks fly past me and it takes all my will power to respond with a respectful smile to those who throw the same my way.
When the elevator stops, I stride out of the elevator and past Orre, who stands immediately at my arrival.
Just as I'm about to place my hand on the knob, Orre appears beside me.
"Mrs. Kri," she says, placing the tips of her fingers against my arm, over the sleeve of my shirt.
I look at her. "Ma'am, I would not suggest you do that." She says, her amber eyes remaining firmly on mine. She was a head shorter than me and somehow her very still form and the unwavering look in her eye had me all the more persistent to enter.
"Is he in a meeting?" I ask her.
Her hand falls away, "Yes ma'am."
She wasn't shifty eyed, or moving her feet or doing anything that made me think that she was being evasive, but bells rang inside that I had learnt not to ignore.
"I just need to see him." I say, "Can you ask him to step out?"
Lines bracket along the edge of her lips, clear as day on her dark skin.
"He's busy, Mrs. Kri." She says.
My brows furrow. I pull out my phone and dial his number again. My gaze flicks up when I hear the almost muted sound of his phone ringing through the door.
Two rings. The call cuts.
I slip my phone back into my pocket.
"Orre," I say turning to look at her, "I'm going in—"
When she opens her mouth to speak, I talk over her, "And I will ensure that you do not take the fall for it."
But before I could take another breath, she slides in between the door and me.
"Mrs. Kri." She says, something glittering in her amber swirls that looks a awful lot like discomfort, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."
Anxiety that I had felt all this while rides the rollercoaster straight up to panic.
"Is he alright?" I ask, then call, "Kri?"
"Mrs. Kri, please." Her face almost looks distraught and that has me hesitating for a moment.
"You're really really worrying me, Orre." I say, trying to muster up as much calm as I can and sound rational. "Either get him out or let me in—"
Orre stumbles back as the door opens and I catch hold of her arm instinctively, pulling her back to balance. She quickly turns to face the opening door, her eyes wide and disturbed.
My gaze is rapt on the door as it parts to reveal my husband. His eyes catch mine immediately and I almost sag in relief. I step forward when I see him, Orre smoothly stepping out of the way.
"Are you okay?" I ask, my hands lifting involuntarily to run over him to check for wounds.
But before I can touch him, slim hands wrap around his bicep from behind and the smell of feminine perfume assaults my senses a second later.
"Who is it, Kri?" Comes a soft voice as a light haired Yade leans around my husband. Her features were soft, her eyes a heather grey with swirls and she was at least a foot shorter than my husband.
My hands drop away as do my eyes, to take in the bandages along her arms.
This was Lyi. My husband's former lover. I look away from her to my husband's face. I flick a look over his features. Other than the swirling in his eyes and the hardness along his jaw, he seemed fine.
I relax a little, "Are you alright?" I asked, my fingers itching to straighten the collar that had probably folded in when he had removed his jacket—I refuse to consider any other alternative.
Lyi's hands drop away when she realises who I am and I see her eyes widen. I don't react to her, only keep my eyes on my husband.
He searches my eyes, before nodding in reply.
I let out a slow breath, relief pouring into my veins. Other emotions stood on the brink of my consciousness, but I hold them back. If there was one thing I wanted to feel about myself, it was that I learnt from my past. I wasn't going to jump the cliff then blame the fall.
"What happened?" My husband asks.
Somehow, both of us pretend as if his ex wasn't inside his room, while his wife stood on the outside having almost walked in on them.
"I got a call," I say, my brows furrowing as I look at him, "I thought it was you."
My husband's eyebrows draw lower, "I didn't call you." He says.
I nod, confused.
"It was a private number, Mr. Kri." Houston says from my back pocket.
My husband's gaze knifes into me, "What made you think it was me?"
He asks.
I swallow, "The caller said only one word. Wife. And no one else..." I almost glance at her, but manage to stop myself as I trail off.
"I just presumed it was you." I frown, "Then you cut my call. Which you never do...I figured."
A twitch of my husband's lips, "Are you here to save me, wife?" He asks.
I narrow my eyes, "I am known for doing it, husband." I say. It takes every inch of my mind to keep from looking at her. I'm surprised she's still standing there, at my husband's back and watching us with almost burning eyes.
My husband inclines his head in acquiescence.
I let out a slow breath, "I'm glare you're okay." I say.
"I'll be home soon." My husband says, his eyes burning into me as if willing me to understand something.
I knew what time it was when I had left home and it was much too early for my husband to be returning. But I just nod and repeatedly tell myself that reaching out and straightening his collar would make the action seem less than what it was—simple affection—and turn it into a proprietary claim that I didn't want it to seem like.
"Bal will get you home." Kri says.
I shake my head, "I'll catch a cab." I say.
My husband frowns at me. I return the gesture.
"You're not going by cab." He tells me.
I cross my arms, "Let's see you stop me." I say.
Then I've turned around and caught the elevator back down. Except, by the time I reach, Bal stands waiting at the entrance with the door to the car open. I laugh and enter the car.
As soon the door closes after me, my smile drops away.
I ponder over what I had just seen and what it meant.
Perhaps I should be angry, shocked, jealous.
But after seeing my husband almost drown and watch him use the last bits of his energy to try to save me....it gave me the courage to not doubt him. I don't know what had happened. I don't know what was happening. And I wasn't going to imagine something and pretend I know what he's thinking and feeling and react irrationally and end up pushing him away.
I would wait. I would presume the best.
I let out a breath and lean back, closing my eyes and breathing deep, allowing my conviction to sink into my veins and hold the fear and irrationality, that seemed to be my immediate reaction around him, at bay.
I wondered at my reaction. I had always been rational, the first to give someone the benefit of the doubt and think the best of them. But with my husband, I was always the first to do the opposite. Perhaps it was because I had a lot of distance in the relationships I had with others. I wasn't utterly, totally and undeniably transfixed with them. My whole identity wasn't based around them.
Of course it was easy.
But with Kri...
I was so close. Too close. In my mind there was no part of me separate from him—not even my existence. Of course anything that dared threaten it was scary to me. Terrifying to the depths of my soul. Where did I have the space to be all of me if I was so scared of losing myself?
There was only one thing I could do. I had to stop fearing losing myself. I was lost anyway. Lost in him. And without that fear, I would truly be able to be myself. Gain the parts of me that made me me. It was counterproductive that the fear that I would lose everything is what, in the end, had me doing all the things that kept me away from what I wanted.
I open my eyes when the car comes to a smooth halt.
I get down from the car and smile at Bal, nodding before I head to the elevator.
I throw my phone on the couch as I step into the living space and plop down beside it. I pull my laptop open and it takes me sometime, but I'm able to drag my mind back into my zone of work and continue where I had left off.
But it's less than half an hour later, that the door opens. I only realise because I had taken a short break to stare at my phone and wonder at the timing of the call that had come through, when I heard the soft click of the door as it opens and another as it shuts.
I turn around and look up at my husband and smile. He's wearing his jacket again, a dark black. His white shirt throws his skin stark in contrast.
"Hey." I say, but my smile falters when I see the burning fire in his eyes. I stand, slowly.
"What happened?" I ask.
He removes his jacket, throwing it over the path onto the couch. I look at the jacket he had thrown over the back of the couch, before lifting my gaze up at him. He had pocketed his cuff links and begun to fold his sleeves, except there was a certain roughness to his actions and a dark glare to his gaze that was directed my way.
"What are you playing at Alanna?" He asks me, his voice low.
I stare at him. "What?" I start to walk toward the path and approach him slowly.
Having finished his folding, he drops his hands on his hips, tracking my every moment with his gaze. His anger is almost a heated touch against my skin. I come to stand before him, staring up at him in confusion.
"Why are you angry?" I ask, my voice low.
"Are we going to pretend you didn't see what you saw?" He asks me, his turbulent gaze cold as ice against mine.
"No." I say, my voice as quiet as his, "We can talk about it."
But there's a careful edge to my voice, as if I were offering him the option of it. But my composure seems to set him further on the edge. He catches my chin between his fingers and he's looking at me as if he were...
My fingers raise to wrap around his wrist. "Kri..what's wrong?" I whisper, my heart hurts at the look in his eyes.
He looks cornered. Angry. Lashing out.
He pulls his hand out from my grasp.
"Any wife in your position would have skinned my hide." He says in a low voice, his anger well contained behind the carefully crafted words, "You sit here and welcome me with a smile."
I relax a little. "Kri." I say, "I know it looked bad—"
"Looked bad?" He asks me, his brows raising. He runs his hair through the strands of his hair, staring away in a different direction for a few moments, before he turns back to me.
"Looked bad? I was in a closed room with her for over half an hour. Are you aware what can take place behind closed doors in just five minutes?" He holds up his five fingers before my face.
I wince, but otherwise remain unshaken in my newly found faith.
"I don't care what I think or what I should be thinking. I just know one thing." I say, "And it's that I trust you."
He rears back, his hand dropping away, shock evident in the widening eyes that swirled with icy blue.
"You...what?" He asks me.
I lift my chin, "I trust you alright?" I say, "I don't care how it looked or what it seemed like. I don't know what she was doing in your room and contrary to what you may think I know exactly what could happen behind closed doors in just five minutes."
My temper had risen at his insinuation, "But my husband is nothing like that. You could be locked in a room with another woman for two whole damn days and I know, I know, you won't...that..nothing would happen."
His jaw hardens, his eyes flash, "And what made you arrive at this sudden conclusion?"
I shake my head, "It isn't a conclusion I came to after hours of analysis and calculation. It's a ...realisation. Something I found out about what I think about you and how I feel about you."
I take a step closer, "I trust you, Kri."
His nostrils flare, his hands fisting at his sides.
He shakes his head at me, "Don't play me, Alanna." He says, "Don't say you don't mean it later."
Did he think this was a ploy? That I would pull the carpet out from under his feet later?
"Oh, baby." I whisper, lifting my hands and catching his face between my palms. I shake my head, tears flying at my jerking action, "Why would you even think that?"
"I'm not playing you," I say, "I trust you. I don't care what happened in that damn room. I don't even need to know."
I let him see in my eyes, all that he had to see. All that I have hid. All that I had been scared to show him.
"I trust you."
His eyes flick between mine and then over my face and begin to swirl. A stark vulnerability tears open my husband's expression and my heart hearts as it pounds its way trying to reach him.
"Damn you, Alanna." He says to me, his breath ghosted over my lips. "Damn you."