*
*Anna*
Something is wrong with my husband.
Even though Grant rarely talks to me, and we hardly ever spend more than a few moments awake alone in a room together, as he goes about getting ready for bed tonight, I can tell he’s troubled.
I did not go to family dinner tonight. After what happened last night, I may never show my face there again. It’s been difficult for me to put a single bite of food in my mouth since the family humiliated me about that cake–even though both my eyes and the scale tell me I’m not overweight. Nevertheless, it’s easier to believe a lie told by others than it is the truth we find in our own heart.
I lie on my little bed, listening, as my husband goes about getting ready for bed. This is the same routine as most nights. I’m already tucked in when he finally escapes the rest of the family. But tonight, he’s acting marginally different. Grant sighs for maybe the third time since he walked in five minutes ago and sets his cufflinks in a box on his dresser. He’s left the light on in the bathroom with the door cracked a bit so he can see and not wake me up–if he thinks I’m actually asleep. I see him shake his head slightly, and fear coils deep inside me.
What if he’s upset because he knows he has to tell me that he wants a divorce?
Despite him not loving me, Grant is a kind person, like his mother, and it’s difficult for him to be mean to anyone–even his despised wife. Though it would likely make his life easier and bring him great joy in the long run, he would struggle to tell me such a thing.
I would struggle to hear it.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I sit up, biting my bottom lip as I see him begin to unbutton his shirt. My hesitancy has less to do with the fact that I’m watching my handsome husband undress, unbeknownst to him, and more to do with my fear of finding out the truth. If I never ask, it may be harder for him to bring it up–but if I give him the opportunity, I might be slitting my own throat.
His eyes catch me in the mirror, and it doesn’t matter now. He pauses, three buttons down, and turns to look at me. “Did I wake you?” I hear the apology in his tone.
Shaking my head, I say, “No,” not bothering to tell him I’ve been awake nearly every time he’s come in to get ready for bed for the last year. “Something is troubling you, husband.”
He raises an eyebrow and takes a deep breath. For a moment, his eyes flicker back and forth, like the cat clock my mother used to have hanging in her kitchen. Then, he says, “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Anna.”
He’s dismissing me. I know that. I press on anyway. “You are my husband,” I remind him. “Whether everyone likes it or not.” His face turns down, and I imagine that’s because he’s a member of the “everyone” I just spoke of. “If you need to talk to someone who will understand you, I can listen.”
Grant’s mouth opens, like maybe he will tell me the problem, but then it closes. “It’s really nothing.”
Sensing he’s on the cusp of having a conversation with me for the first time in… years… I forget my own concerns about my predicament and nudge him again. “Do you remember that time when you were ten, and that mean boy stole your favorite trading card?
His eyebrows furrow, and he takes a step closer to me. “Vaguely. Why do you ask?”
It’s my turn to sigh as I adjust on the bed, careful to keep my blankets over my pajamas. “Well, you came home and told me all about it. You told me nearly everything then, if you will recall. Back before….” I stop. There’s no sense in finishing that sense. Back before everyone in his family began to judge me so harshly. “I told you how to get it back, remember? That I was friends with his sister, and she could find out where he was keeping it? She told me he always kept it in his locker so he could laugh at you every day at school. You were able to sneak into his locker and get it back.”
Without speaking, Grant walks across the room and sits on the edge of his bed, so he is about five feet from me.
“Grant, I may not be as smart as other members of our family, but I am sometimes good at finding solutions to problems. If something is troubling you, perhaps I can help.” I manage a weak smile, but if he tells me that the problem is he must divorce me to marry Barbara, I may climb to the top of the house and throw myself off.
He drags a hand down his face before he says, “Anna, you are smart. Think of the grades you made in school.”
I shake my head. “That was a long time ago.” I don’t know why he’s bringing that up now. “Anyway, this is about you. What’s wrong?”
His dark eyes watch me for a moment before he says. “It’s nothing, really. Just a problem at work.”
“Is something the matter with Young Corporation?” I let myself imagine for a second what would happen if the company went under. We’d be ruined. I wouldn’t mind so much, but Grant and his family would be devastated.
“Not exactly.” He fidgets with his cuffs, even though the links are gone. “We’re trying to get Savage Enterprises to give us a piece of land for a new development, and Grandmother Trudy wants all of us to come up with an idea to get it. I don’t have any ideas,” he admits with a shrug. “I know it will be difficult. Sam Savage is, well, a savage. I have no shot at getting a meeting with him.”
Nodding, I consider his predicament. I know very little about Sam Savage and his company, only that it is our biggest rival, and the man is quite shrewd. “Is there anything that he may want that Young Corporation has? Or something you could acquire that you could trade?”
Grant’s forehead puckers. “Not that I know of.”
“Maybe there is a way you could find out,” I say with a shrug. “You wouldn’t have to talk to Mr. Savage to figure out what properties he’s looking to acquire–not necessarily, anyway. If you had something that meant something to him, perhaps he would be willing to make a deal.”
My husband’s eyes bore holes through me into the wall behind me for so long, I realize everything I’ve suggested is idiotic. Of course, that would never work. I start to shake my head when Grant stands. “Maybe,” he says, his hand poised on his jaw in a thoughtful expression. “Maybe.”
He’s just being nice, trying not to make me feel stupid. As he murmurs a quick thank you and disappears into the bathroom, I drop backward onto my pillow. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Well, at least he didn’t tell me he wants a divorce–that’s something.
Not yet, anyway.
*Anna*“Name, please,” the girl behind the lectern says as I approach the entrance to Grandmother Trudy’s retirement party. I don’t even want to be here in the first place, but this woman is staring at me like I’m an insect, and she’s ready to pull out her magnifying glass.“A. Savage.” I force a smile. That’s what this entire evening is going to be about, after all—making myself smile when I really want to rip everyone’s hair out of their heads and strangle them with it.She looks down her list, her expression flat, like she’s bored to tears. When she reaches the bottom of page four, she says, “No, sorry. You’re not on the list. Please take this woman, who’s clearly wearing a dress off the rack from a department store, to the exit.” She looks at the security guard standing next to her, and he starts over.“What? What do you mean I’m not on the list? And how dare you insult my dress! Check again.” I’m not budging. After all the trouble I went to to get here, the last thing I’m doing i
*Grant*It’s odd, riding to my grandmother’s retirement party without my wife. As of late, I’ve gotten used to going everywhere with Anna. But I can’t take her to this party because she wasn’t invited.I did contact my grandmother about it because I felt it would sound strange if I didn’t, and until Anna is ready to tell everyone the truth, I don’t want to give anyone any clues as to what’s really going on. I just told her I was disappointed in her choices, and she said it’s her party, and she’ll do what she wants.So here I am, in the back of a black luxury car, being driven to the party on my own. Another driver will arrive with my wife–wearing her A. Savage costume–a bit after I get there. She likes to be fashionably late, and she’s not planning on staying very long.The car pulls up to the event center, one of the many we have built over the years, and there are a lot of photographers outside snapping photos. I hate this. Why must the paparazzi hound us when it’s just a retirement
*Anna* “Oh, dear God!” I exclaim, staring at two older women getting it on in a storage closet in one of the many department stores I own. “What the hell is going on?”“Close the door!” one of the women screeches. She’s attempting to pull her shirt over her exposed breasts, but it’s a button-down, and her boobs are still showing between the gaps.“I’ll close it long enough for the two of you to make yourselves presentable, but then, well, you’re in big trouble!” I tell them, closing the door.“Who the hell was that?” I hear one of them ask the other.“Just a random customer,” the other says. “She can’t threaten us. It’s not like Alec saw anything. It’ll be our word against hers, and there are two of us.”“I can hear you,” I say, not even bothering to raise my voice. My yelling has already drawn quite a crowd. Customers have come over, as well as Alec, who is standing a few feet behind me, his eyes wide. “And you’ll find out who I am as soon as you get your clothes on.”“Wh-what’s hap
*Anna*Poppy and I get out of the car and head into yet another department store I own. This is the third one I’ve visited since I became CEO of Savage Enterprises, and I’m hoping there aren’t any rude people in this one. So far, we are zero for two.“I’m so glad we don’t have to worry about you being two people at once this time,” my friend says as we head over to the evening gown section.“Me, too,” I agree. “Since you won’t be there this time, it would be nearly impossible to pull that off.”“Grant could help you, I suppose. But he’ll probably be busy with other members of the Young family. Now that he’s CEO, I should hope they are all showing him more respect,” she says.I almost roll my eyes. “That family wouldn’t know how to show someone respect if their lives depended on it. Well, except for Grandmother Trudy. It doesn’t matter anyway. Thanks to my fast thinking husband, Anna’s not invited, so it’s just one version of me.”We arrive in the area of the store where a large array
*Anna*I don’t mind one bit that I’m not invited to Grandmother Trudy’s retirement party. It makes it a lot easier not to have to switch costumes seven thousand times between Anna and A. Savage. Grant is more offended than he’s letting on. He told his mother it was fine, and it really is, but I understand that he’s upset that his grandmother doesn’t want his wife at her party. I would be offended, too, if it weren’t doing me a favor.“How did your mom take the news of my true identity?” I ask him that evening over dinner. We’re eating the best pasta primavera I’ve ever had in my life. We were both so busy today, we haven’t had a chance to get into the details yet.My husband sighs and shrugs, finishing what he’s chewing before he says, “She was shocked at first. She didn’t understand, and then I think she didn’t believe me. Mom wanted to know how long I’ve known and why you didn’t tell me sooner. But by the time I finished explaining everything, I think she understood. She said she ca
*Grant*Aunt Hattie sits across from me in my office, a huge binder splayed between us on my desk. It’s difficult for me to even look at the woman, considering everything she’s done to my wife. But she’s here to discuss Grandmother Trudy’s retirement party, so I have no choice but to listen and pretend like I give a damn what she thinks.Thankfully, my mother is also here. That softens the blow a bit. “We could do an ice sculpture,” Aunt Hattie suggests. “We could have the artist sculpt it in the shape of Trudy. She’d like that.”I arch an eyebrow. “You think Grandmother would like to see herself melting all over the banquet room floor?”She scowls at me. “It won’t melt! Not before the party is over, anyway. Haven’t you ever seen an ice sculpture before, Grant?”“I have, but they’re usually outside and at Christmastime, not in the middle of an office building for a retirement celebration. Should we release a few dozen doves, too, and have them flying around, crapping on everybody and