Chapter 3 Loving Him in Secret

Claire, let’s go home,” Dad said softly.

I shook my head. “I won’t go. It’s Bonnie’s funeral. How could I just leave?”

The rain soaked my black dress and ran down my face. Dad looked tired and sick, but he stayed right next to me.

“Even if it’s outside in the rain, I’ll wait. I have to be here for her.”

Dad didn’t argue. He just put his arm around me. “If you’re staying, then I’m staying.”

I smiled a little through the tears. He was always like that. We stood there shivering together.

When it was over, people started coming out. I saw Victor first. He looked broken in his black suit. Tyler walked next to him, holding an umbrella over his head. Victor took off his dark shades, and his eyes met mine. They were so cold it felt like they could shoot right through me. I stepped back.

Victor stopped. “What are you still doing here?”

Tyler put a hand on his arm. “Victor, calm down. Claire is grieving too. She lost her best friend.”

Victor’s voice was hard. “More like she killed her best friend.”

I felt the ground opening up and dragging me under.

Tyler sighed. “Let’s go.”

They got into the car and drove off toward the cemetery. Dad looked at me. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m going to see my best friend go in the ground.”

Dad nodded. We got into our old car and followed behind. We stood in a corner and watched as they lowered Bonnie into the earth. I cried when I watched them cover her with dirt. Victor stood there. He didn’t move or cry. He just stood like he was numb. I watched until it was over.

…

Three months passed.

I still went to put flowers on Bonnie’s grave every week. I would sit there for a while and talk to her. Tell her how much I missed her.

I couldn’t stay away from Victor either. I knew the code to the front door because Bonnie had given it to me years ago. I had been sneaking in to check on him. I just couldn’t stop. Because of my love and the guilt. I wondered why he never changed the code. He knew I had it.

I wanted to care for him, even if it was in secret. He had a housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, but I always did most of the things around the house and let her take credit for it.

One day I was in his bedroom, organizing his drawer. The room smelled like him. Clean and strong. I found a hospital report from Doctor Richard. I read it.

My hands started shaking.

Post-traumatic headaches. Severe anxiety. Insomnia. Stress-related hypertension. He was on medication for all of them.

When I looked in the drawer, there were pill bottles. Lots of them. Anxiety relief. Sleep aids. Painkillers.

I stared at them, and it dawned on me that Victor was suffering. He was suffering so much.

Tears fell down my face. "Victor will be okay," I whispered to myself. "He'll get through this."

I closed the drawer and went downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Smith was already there. She smiled when she saw me.

“Every evening,” she said. “You come here and cook his dinner, and you don’t even let him know.”

I smiled. “It’s the least I can do for him.”

She shook her head. “If only Mr. Cavendish could see past his grief. He would see what a sweetheart you are. A woman who just wants to take care of him.”

I looked down. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just lost. Grief can make people blind.”

I didn’t say more. I started making his favorite meal for dinner. I learned it from Bonnie. She told me all about his favorite foods. What he liked and what he didn’t.

Mrs. Smith watched me. “He’s noticed a difference, you know.”

I stopped stirring. “What?”

“He’s suspected that something is different with his dinner because it tastes better than his breakfast and lunch. He asked me about it.”

“He said that?”

Mrs. Smith nodded. “He increased my salary and he compliments the meals a lot. He hardly compliments anything.”

I felt something flutter in my chest. He liked my cooking. He doesn’t know I made his dinner, but he actually liked it.

“That’s why we need to be careful,” Mrs. Smith said. “He’s suspicious. If he catches you—”

“He won’t catch me. I know his schedule. He comes home every evening at six. I’ll be gone before then.”

I finished the meal quickly and set the table. “I have to hurry. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

I grabbed my bag. I was almost at the door. “I hope the food stays hot,” I said. “I want him to—”

Mrs. Smith’s face went pale. She was looking behind me.

I turned.

Victor stood there. His face was so mean.

“So it’s been you,” he said.

He turned to Mrs. Smith. “How could you let her in my house? Cook my food? Touch my things? After everything I pay you?”

Mrs. Smith started apologizing. “Mr. Cavendish, I’m so sorry. She just wanted to help—”

Victor said, “You’re fired. Get your things and leave.”

“Please don’t fire her. It was my idea. She didn’t want to—”

Victor ignored me. He picked up the dishes on the table and dumped them in the bin. One by one. The food I had made with so much love and care. He threw it all away.

My heart broke into a million pieces.

He walked closer to me, and I could see the anger in his eyes. “I don’t want to see you in my house again, do you understand?”

“I was just trying to make sure you were okay,” I said.

“As what?” he asked. “My wife? My mother? If you need a man to latch on to so desperately, go marry one of your numerous boyfriends. I bet none of those men you flirt around with wants a trash like you.”

The words stabbed my heart. I had no boyfriend. I never did. I only ever wanted him.

“I feel pity for the unlucky man that will eventually marry you. Your father did a terrible job raising you.”

I slapped him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. He had mentioned my father.

Victor’s head turned. He touched his cheek, surprised. His hand clenched. He held himself back.

“You crossed a line,” I said.

His face hardened. “Never do that again. Or else.”

“Or else what will happen?” I was scared. But I was angry too. So angry. For the first time, I talked back at him. It took all the courage in the world. “You arrogant, pompous, and ungrateful jerk.”