Page 60 of Reckless Love
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No. Never. He’s never. He wouldn’t.”
“He just did.”
“It’s the stress of the strike and everything happening with The Nile. He just… He drank too much. This isn’t… This isn’t normal.”
“He’s never laid a hand on you in anger before?”
“He’s never had a reason to.”
“There’s never a reason.”
“What he said, he didn’t mean it.” I shake my head.
“I don’t care if he meant it,” Stephen says. “He can come after me all he wants as long as he doesn’t lay one fucking hand on you.”
“I can fix this,” I say, running my hands along the sides of my dress.
Stephen’s forehead pinches, and he opens his mouth to say more just as his phone buzzes audibly. His frown deepens, and when he takes it out of his pocket, he grimaces.
“Sorry. I have to take this.” He steps away and puts his back toward me before answering.
I run my fingers underneath my eyes, drawing them back to check for makeup before doing it again. If I’m going into the ballroom to pretend everything is fine, then I need to look the part. Scanning the bank of windows, I try to remember the door that’s closest to the bathroom, that gives me the least chance of running into anyone else, having questions asked.
“I have to go,” Stephen says, returning to my side. “Are you actually okay?” He scans me from head to toe, but it’s clear he’s preoccupied now, that something else has the bulk of his attention.
“He was really drunk,” I say. “He probably won’t even remember the fight in the morning.” The breeze off the ocean catches my hair, tossing it across my cheek.
Stephen’s hand lifts as though to brush it back, and then we both seem to realize at the same time that he can’t, and we rock back from each other.
His phone buzzes in the hand that’s still at his side, and he checks the display. With a deep sigh, he turns on his heel and heads toward the parking lot, where his car must be.
“You know,” my mother’s voice drifts toward me as she steps into the light on the patio, “I’m grateful I raised girls with some common sense. Girls who married men who improved their station in life or at least matched it. Not sure I’d call a hockey player an improvement, but at least he isn’t still poor.”
“Mom,” I say with a sigh, turning to face her.
“Raul was quite wound up when he came back into the ballroom. He’s very drunk, so at least there’s that.”
“He misunderstood,” I say.
“Did he? I had Datu check the security footage, and I’m not sure Raul is the one who misunderstood.”
“Stephen thought he was protecting me,” I say. “You can just erase that, right? Say the protesters messed with the cameras. I don’t want Stephen getting into trouble because Raul was too rough with me.”
“Ava, we don’t need another scandal in this family. I don’t want you dragging the Tucker name through the mud over an old teenage crush.”
“Then erase the footage,” I say, tipping my chin up. “It’ll be Raul’s drunk word against my sober recollections if he tries to go after Stephen.”
“I can trust that you know how to satisfy your husband so it doesn’t come to that, I hope. Renew his faith in his place as the man of the household? Make him believe that you’d never do what he’s starting to suspect you’ll do?”
Revulsion climbs up my throat, but I know the game I’m expected to play, the role I have to fulfill. “I would never risk the life I have with Raul for a meaningless affair.” The words come out without hesitation because they’re true. I have never and I would never risk my company and my child for something or someone inconsequential.
It’s just that despite what I used to tell myself, Stephen’s never been either of those things.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ava
Despite what I tell my mother, I steer clear of my husband for the rest of the night. I sip water, and I pretend to anyone who’ll listen that I’m appalled by the behavior of his workers showing up at this charity event for children, making threats. Who do they think they are? It’s like slipping back into an old skin that no longer fits, but the sizing is close enough that people think I still wear it.
