CHAPTER 8
My body loses its momentum at Patrick's minacious words. "Wh—what do you mean?" I ask nervously, my heart beating out of rhyme.
"You slept in some cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere! Seriously, why do I feel like you're doing everything possible to annoy me lately? Shit! You should've stayed at home, Mia. I've told you over a million times but no! You always find a way to defy me!" Patrick barks nonstop.
As for me, a big sigh of relief escapes my lungs. It's just Patrick being Patrick; his unduly vanity is always unchecked. He simply hates anything cheap.
"I think you're exaggerating," I retort while squeezing the duvet tight to my chest so it doesn't fall. I take a seat on the couch. "My car broke down and I needed a place to stay overnight while I wait for the mechanic to fix it."
Patrick huffs and I can perfectly imagine his baleful look. "You mean the piece of shit that belongs to the third grade junkyard? What the fuck, Mia! I bought you two decent cars! Fuck, why are you so obsessed with that trash?" he bellows with pure, undiluted contempt.
Well, that piece of shit is the car I bought with my own money! I don't care about his fucking Audi R8 or the BMW X7 . . . I'm so much in love with my baby that I feel hurt by his words.
"If you have called me all the way from Switzerland just to bad-mouth my car then I'll just hang up right this second and pretend I didn't hear your voice at all," I reply coolly, annoyed, my voice warning.
Patrick backs off. He knows I never bluff as far as our arguments are concerned. I hear him sighing out his frustration, heavily, and perhaps he's running a hand through his copper hair with faint grey strands.
"Fine," he says, and then sighs again. "Mia, let's sort this out, baby," he suddenly tells me, sounding desperate and lovelorn.
What the heck! A frown flits across my face.
"Sort what?" My voice is sharp.
"This situation we're in, Mia. I feel like I'm losing you and it's driving nuts! Fuck, I can't lose you, baby. I'd rather burn the whole world and disappear within than losing you!" Patrick snaps, panting.
Oh no. I feel the shrill in my heart at this proclaim of his; it’s somewhat eerie. I hold my tongue tight, unsure on how to respond.
"Look. When I come back home we can go on a vacation; just you and me, Mia. To the Bahamas, to Hawaii, or on a cruise to the Caribbean— just anywhere you want to be, sweetheart," he adds, and I swallow hard.
Maybe four months ago I'd be jumping with joy at the mention of any trip with him. I loved him that much, but now I feel nothing ensnaring about it. I can't even stand being in the same room with him, alone.
Is it because I now desire another? I can't help but ponder, my mind blazed. But no. It all began when I realized I'm not the only one he touches, he kisses, and even fucks. The day I learned of his infidelity.
Evidently I had my suspicion as any woman in marriage. But imagining and actually seeing with your naked eyes are unfortunately poles different. I stopped feeling needy of him, and even more when Red appeared.
Red filled the gap I didn’t know existed. His constant attention over my health, my security, my sleazy needs like a glass of water from the kitchen even when I choke with laughter while watching my favorite comedy movies.
Perhaps he’s just doing his job, as he usually quips. But still I can’t help feeling the sense of tenderness and sincerity in everything he does. He simply makes me feel like one in a million. Cheesy, I know.
"Mia, baby, talk to me!" Patrick demands quietly.
I snap out of my reverie. "I don't think we should talk this over the phone. Our issues are deeper than you let on, Patrick. And I think I—"
I think I want a divorce.
God, I'm so scared to even mention. What will he say? How will this man react to this? I once tried to bring the subject and he turned into a crazy bull. He smashed everything in the house just so he wouldn't break my face.
"What? Talk to me, baby," Patrick urges gently. "I know I've been horrible but I swear I'm not fooling around with anyone, Mia. I miss you like crazy. You've punished me enough, sweetheart, let's start over."
Yeah, it's sex that he misses. I curtain my eyes for a moment. He hasn't touched me for almost a month now. He's been in and out of Portland, constantly, and when he's back we'd do nothing but fight.
I rise up from the couch; mentally beat at this whole charade. I amble back toward the window, where I can see my bodyguard once again. He's right there, with the mechanic, working.
"It's pretty late here I need to sleep," Patrick says, yawning soundly. Thank God! "I'll call you in the morning. Please get out of that place immediately!" he snaps.
"I'll leave once my car is fixed," I say feebly, my energy suddenly drained. I'm sure he's rolling his eyes at the mention of my car.
"I'll buy you another one, Mia. The same model as that. Will you stop using that junk then?" he asks, his tone hopeful.
He'll never understand me.
"Go to sleep, Patrick," I utter with an exhausted sigh, my eyes on the serious-looking man outside, his sight taking my breath away. He’s now standing up, holding his waist while watching the old man inspecting the car engine. "Wait! And . . . How did you know I was in the hotel?" It suddenly crosses my mind.
"Red told me," Patrick answers curtly. "I love you, Mia. I fucking love you and don't you dare forget that. Be good." He doesn't last two seconds until he hangs up.
He knows I wouldn't reply.
"Red told him?" I feel perturbed, my gaze onto him fixedly. "Why did he tell him?" I think out loud, and suddenly he looks back at me from where he's standing.
Oh boy! Can he see me?
I mean, the window is glassed but still . . . can he? His gaze is strong and intense, and I feel hypnotized. However it doesn't last long until he's back talking to the old man, and I take a deep breath.
A good shower restores my energy to at least half of its usual glory. I take the stairs down to the tavern and Marlow streams into my first view. The place is already packed and he's busy giving orders.
"Lady!" he greets me cheerily as I near him. I smile indulgently. "Did you sleep well?" He grins down at me.
I flush. I slept like a baby.
"Hmm." I nod my affirmation while glancing around. Some noises fill the air, and so does the smell of breakfast. “Are you good?” I ask him.
"As you can see." Marlow bows respectfully. "Your husband instructed that we should treat you with best breakfast we could possibly make. Will you have it now?"
"Um, he said that?" I blurt out, a pang of disappointment hitting me as I desire having my breakfast with him instead. Marlow creases a single eyebrow, amused. "I mean, sure. I'll have everything good you make here." I force my enthusiasm.
"As you wish, Lady!" he replies and off he goes.
I take my seat on the empty table and try calling Red on the phone. But I suddenly decide against it. What if he doesn't want to have breakfast together? What if he regrets everything? My heart tightens at the thought.
I don't know what to make out of this but the tray of warm breakfast draws my sullen smile into fireworks. Slices of fresh fruits, tuna sandwich, pancakes and maple syrup, and a cup of espresso. Wow!
All my favorites? Red! I blush.
I'm lost into thoughts, scrolling on my social media that's filled with all sickly feeds about my downfall. Is it the end of MK? One of the annoying headings shatters my food-enthused soul. Maybe it is, I sigh heavily.
"Good morning," Red utters out of nowhere, interrupting my grief.
I gaze up sharply at him, and he's right beside me. "Morning," I return while shoving my phone aside.
Red takes a seat; looking . . . I don't know how he looks. He's probably distant? I can't even tell which Red is in front of me. It can't be my fake husband, and I don't think it's my bodyguard either. What's going on?
"I called your husband," he says gently. The stolidity in his eyes doesn’t leave me indifferent. "I have the obligation to inform him of your whereabouts; especially if it involves your safety."
Yeah, right. I press my lips together before sipping my coffee. Ugh, it's already cool. I place the cup back on the table, feeling indisposed.
"He's talked to me already," I reply bluntly, and the tension between us is now perceptible.
Red's mouth twists into a hard line, a small furrow between his eyebrows. But he doesn't respond.
"Is the car ready?" I ask, finding no other topic to discuss.
I can't speak about last night, can I? It's like I imagined everything. Red is acting as though nothing happened, and I guess it's comfortable this way.
"Just a few minutes more and it'll be ready," he answers, his eyes on his long fingers entwined on the table.
"Have you had breakfast?" I ask him, for I'm already full and it'll be selfish of me if he's hungry.
"Not yet." He gazes up at me, his face deadpan.
"Well, I think you should. I'll be in the room waiting for the car to be done." I get up as I say this. "Let me know when it's time to go." My voice is gruff.
Red looks a bit startled by my cold reaction. What was he expecting? If he wants us to pretend nothing happened last night then so be it.
"Okay," he says quietly.
No Madam? No Mia? What am I to him this morning? I'm seriously beginning to feel garbled from this nameless demeanor of his.