Page 70 of Cross Me

“Clara, he would want to know.”

“Really? Maybe he should get a taste of what it feels like to be kept in the dark.” I left before Norris could try to reason further with me. I wanted my husband there, but he needed a less-than-subtle reminder that he’d screwed up.

“Punishing him it is,” Georgia muttered as she followed me to the garage.

I ignored her.

The perk of letting Smith drive was that no one bothered to follow us when we exited Buckingham, which meant, for once, there wouldn’t be a write-up of my day posted on every tabloid site in the world. We passed a bunch of bored-looking photographers lingering outside the gates, and I shrank into the seat.

“Don’t worry,” Belle said, pointing to the heavily tinted windows. “They can’t see you.”

“Not that they’d miss this car,” Georgia said dryly from her passenger seat.

“What’s wrong with my car?” Smith demanded.

“It’s not exactly subtle.”

It wasn’t. Belle had warned me that Smith had finally won out and gotten a family car. I’d expected a classic Range Rover or a terrible estate car, but I’d been surprised to find a shiny Mercedes monster waiting for me on the grounds.

“I told him: only dictators and pop stars drove G-wagons,” Belle whispered, “but he insisted.”

It was nice, if a little glossy for my taste. She continued to tell me about its safety features and various amenities, but my mind was elsewhere. In particular, it was on the phone that kept buzzing in my purse. The third time it rang, Belle groaned.

“I better get that before he calls in SIS,” I said flatly, annoyed that Norris hadn’t kept his mouth shut. But when I pulled my phone from my bag, it wasn’t Alexander. I flashed the screen at Belle.

“Brace yourself,” she warned me as I answered.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

“I have been calling you all morning.” My mother’s voice was so shrill I held the phone away from my ear, and Georgia twisted in the front street, startled by the noise.

“I’ve been busy.”

“What if there had been an emergency? I could have been dying.” Somewhere in the last few years, my mother had shifted from pressuring me about my future to obsessively reminding me how little time she had left on the planet. I suspected this was said to encourage me to answer the next time she called. The guilt trip continually backfired, though, since I tended to ignore her calls as long as possible.

“I’m sorry,” I said dutifully.

“I called to ask about your appointment. You haven’t been keeping me up-to-date.”

“I’ve been preoccupied with the Games.” Among other things she didn’t need to know about. “And I’m on my way to the doctor now, so nothing to report.”

“Is Alexander with you? Maybe he’ll remember to give me an update.” My mother had taken to fawning over my husband and appealing to his sympathy whenever possible. Christmas had been full of special moments like this.

“He had a meeting,” I lied. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“You’re halfway through. They must be doing a scan.”

“Not this time.” Talking with my mother always reminded me how easy it was to lie to someone you loved. “I will let you know how it goes.”

“Yes and we need to do dinner soon. We missed celebrating Alexander’s birthday—”

“I’ll ask him about it. I have to go. I’m there.” I hung up the phone after five more promises to make concrete plans soon.

We had missed Alexander’s birthday. I’d opened the games as a ceremonial gesture, but I hadn’t even gotten him a cake. It hadn’t occurred to me to plan a party or host a dinner. I’d been focused on the games while I ignored my real life. Was that where everything had gone wrong?

“Does your mother know where your doctor’s office is?” Georgia asked, calling my attention away from my self-flagellation. I shook my head. “Thank God, or she probably would have shown up.”

“Let’s get this over with, just to be sure,” Belle teased as Smith pulled into a carpark.