#Chapter 65 – Close call

“Sure, I have a moment,” I say, tucking my feet sideways beneath me.

In honesty, though, I don’t have too long. The boys are downstairs waiting for their dinner and I have absolutely nothing thawed or prepped. Still, I can tell by the tension in Victor’s voice that something’s up.

He sighs, a big one. “I’m…I’m really struggling.”

“Please,” I say, my heart truly going out to him. “Tell me about it.”

“My fiancé moved our wedding up to this month. It’s been…kind of a whirlwind, getting everything together in time.”

“Is that what’s stressing you out? The shortened schedule and all that that entails?”

“No, honestly, I don’t care about that. We have enough staff that really not much of it is falling on my plate. It’s just that…I am struggling to care about it at all. My fiancé just reminded me that over the summer I was so excited about the wedding. I wanted to be involved – wanted to pick the flowers, to have a say in ridiculous things like the color scheme. Now I just…I just want it to be over.”

I frown, disturbed and intrigued by this. “This kind of disinterest is usually pretty telling,” I say. “It doesn’t come from nowhere. Please, can you tell me why you decided to move the wedding up in the first place? That’s a pretty big decision.”

“Yes, it was,” he says, sighing again, and I imagine him sitting at his desk with his forehead resting in one hand. “It was kind of an ultimatum. I recently…publicly claimed my sons as my own.” I can hear him grimace here. He probably realizes that his therapist can guess who he is with this information, as long as I’m not some kind of mole person living in a sewer with no wifi.

“My fiancé,” he continues, “she told me that she feels like she’s the one person in this family who has no official ties to it. That she wanted to make it official as soon as possible.”

I snort in derision and then slap my hand over my mouth and nose, shocked by my lack of discretion. I hear Victor go silent on the other line, but, frustrated, I move beyond it. “She’s your Luna, though, yes? You’re a mated pair? Isn’t that bond enough for her?”

“Apparently not,” he says, his own voice sarcastic. I sense that we’re on the same page about this.

“It sounds to me,” I say, leaning back against my closet wall, “that she’s being a little manipulative.”

He is silent for a moment, and then says, “Really. I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’re usually much more…balanced, in your advice. You tell me to take time to consider her side, to think about what she’s feeling. What’s different now?”

“What’s different,” I say, unable to help a little of my anger from showing in my voice, “is that from what you’ve told me, it doesn’t seem like she’s being very fair. I’m not going to continue to tell you to consider her side if she refuses to consider yours, and that of your children.”

“Interesting,” he says, waiting for me to continue.

“Look, it sounds to me like this is jealousy, pure and simple. That she doesn’t like the fact that she’s no longer the most important person in your life and so she is taking steps to regain that position. Do you honestly think it’s okay that she’s upset that your boys have ‘official’ ties to you now?”

I’m a little heated now, continuing, “That she’s jealous that they have claims on you that supersede hers? That doesn’t sound like a mother to me, one appropriate for your sons or your future children. That sounds like a jealous little girl.”

“This is…an interesting perspective,” Victor says, contemplative. “I admit, I hadn’t thought of it that way. But it’s true – she was in no rush to be officially tied to me until the boys were, as well as their mother.”

I sit up straight here. He hadn’t mentioned that part before. Did Amelia bring me up in the conversation? I’m dying to know, but grit my teeth to avoid pushing him on it. I can’t show my cards like that.

“So, what do you think my next steps should be?” he asks, and I can hear a pen tapping on his desk, the metronome to his fast-paced thoughts.

“Honestly? I think you need to get a little space from her.” I’m surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth. I’m not sure I knew that that’s what I was thinking until I said it. But now that I have – yes, I think that’s exactly what’s best for Victor in this moment.

“I think your fiancé is very good at getting what she wants from you,” I say, my voice low and thoughtful. “I think she’s got it down to an art. She wouldn’t be your mate if she wasn’t your match – wasn’t as clever, willful, and powerful as you, in her own way. I think that until you decide precisely what it is that you want, then you should do your best to build some space between you.”

He hums, listening.

“If you don’t, I worry that she’ll close the space between you and find ways to convince you to agree to the things that she wants, even if they’re in her best interest, not both of yours.”

“Thank you,” Victor says, decisive. I jump a little at the closure and authority in his voice. I had been monologuing a bit, speaking my own thoughts as my brain developed them and – I admit – I forgot a bit about my therapist ruse.

“This is, I think, what I wanted to hear,” Victor says, and I’m glad to hear him sound happy and encouraged. “I think it’s what I needed. Thank you.”

He hands up the phone and I’m left with the receiver in my hand, the dial tone beeping quietly. I hang it up and groan, putting my head in my hands. Have I done the right thing here?

I stretch out my body on the floor of my closet, draping my arm across my eyes, trying to limit my distractions so that I can think. Ultimately, I decide that I stand by my advice. Every day I’m further convinced that Amelia is a snake, a danger to my boys, to me, and – indeed – to Victor himself. She’s selfish and has proven herself to be cruel.

I never should have trusted her, I think. How did I let everyone talk me out of my original suspicions that she tried to have my boys kidnapped at that parade? But she charmed me too, pretending to be my friend when we were camping.

All along, I worried about Victor as the greatest challenge to my freedom and my sons’ happiness but now, laying in the dark of my closet, I wonder…is Amelia the true foe?

“She’s in here!” I hear suddenly. I sit up stark straight in my closet. That was Alvin’s voice, ringing out in the hallway.

“She’s probably in her closet,” I hear Ian say and I hurl myself at the closet door, reaching up to grab the handle in a panic – who the hell are they talking to?

The closet door pushes open and I fall into the room, just in time to land at Victor’s feet as he strides into my room. Slowly, I raise my head from my view of his shiny black shoes, pushing back my hair to stare up at his confused face. Ian is standing next to him, holding his hand, and he’s carrying Alvin on his left hip, his arm wrapped around Alvin’s back for support.

“What are you doing, Evelyn?” Victor asks, his brows drawn in confusion.

“Um…I was in the closet looking…for my rain boots…”

Victor looks pointedly at my mucky boots, which are sitting uncleaned by the bedroom door. Then quirks his head to the side.

“Were you…” He peers into the closet, “were you sitting in your closet with the door closed?”

I slowly rise to my feet, my mind whirling, trying to come up with an excuse. “I don’t…have to explain my methods of self-care to you,” I say, straightening my shoulders and raising my chin, putting on a mantle of pride to hide my panic. “If it pleases me to sit in my closet…then so be it.”

God, why am I talking like I’m in a Shakespearean play?

“Okay,” he says, shrugging and give me a weird look, putting his hands in his pockets. “Whatever works.”

Ian tugs on his dad’s hand, smiling up at him like a conspirator. “She’s probably talking on her secr-“

I snap my head and glare at him, willing him into silence. He catches my look and his mouth forms into a silent little “o.”

“Her what?” Victor says, frowning, looking down at Ian.

Ian says nothing, just looks between us with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here, Victor,” I say, brushing some closet dust off my clothes and hoping the change of subject is enough of a distraction.

“Oh!” He says, a wide smile breaking out on his face. “I came to take you all to dinner!”

“Yayyy!” The boys yell, throwing their hands in the air and cheering. I laugh, knowing that if Victor said he was taking them to watch paint dry on the wall and they’d be equally thrilled. Anything their dad wants to do, they’re on board.

“Okay,” I say, shrugging. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not interrupting your dinner plans already? You don’t have something cooking?” he inquires. I laugh, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him towards my bedroom door.

“You overestimate my motherly skills today, Victor. Actually, you’re kind of saving us. If you hadn’t come, it was going to be cereal city for two little boys.”

“I love cereal!” Ian says, running out the door.

“What are we having?” Alvin asks, smiling at his dad.

“Who’s up for hamburgers and milkshakes!?”

“Me!” both boys cry as they head down the stairs.

I pull my bedroom door closed behind me, breathing out my relief as I take one last glance at my closet. That was close. Way, way too close.

I’ve got to find a way to end this charade.