The bell rings again and I rush over to the door, wallet in hand. I pay the deliveryman and tip him well, closing the door and placing the white plastic bag on the kitchen counter.
I walk back to Alexander’s briefcase and place his wallet back inside. The shower is still running. Would I be a bad girlfriend if I snooped a little? I would, God, I know I would, but he is so damn secretive. He told me to trust him. I do. But I want to be there for him in every way. If what is in the envelope is important then I want to know.
In the past, I have been known for my willpower. Hell, I went months without using the power of the Internet to look him up and here I am caving at the site of a yellow tab folded over.
I look behind me and see the bathroom door is still closed. Turning back to the bag, I pick up the manila envelope and open the top flap.
Inside is a thick stack of papers. I lift them up slightly. They are legal documents; the heading for a lawyer’s office is at the top. I do a quick skim and see Edward Asher’s name, the name Asher Industries and Alexander Gutierrez. There are a lot of legal writings and I start to feel really uncomfortable going through Alexander’s stuff. If this is about him taking over his grandfather’s business, I don’t want anything to do with it.
I put the papers back in the envelope and then push it back into his bag. Good timing because I hear the shower water turn off. Making sure the envelope was exactly where it’s supposed to be, I notice something else in the bag. It looks like a Christmas card that has been taken out of the envelope and haphazardly thrown inside his briefcase.
We haven’t even put up a tree. I wouldn’t know where we’d put it in this tiny apartment. I lift the card and walk it over to my door where I taped the holiday greetings from my parents and Leah and a few family members who have my New York address. This will be symbolic of Alexander living here. His first Christmas card in our new place.
I notice it’s one of those picture Christmas cards where everyone is dressed up and look perfect in their professional family photo. Perfect isn’t even the right word to describe them. The family of four are sitting on the bow of a boat wearing matching sweaters. It’s pretty cheesy.
The father is a really good-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes. He is holding a little boy who looks just like him. Next to them is an equally gorgeous woman with brown hair and another little boy in her arms. The woman looks so happy and content surrounded by her perfect family.
I step back to take in the family. The Monroes. Even their names are perfect: Gabriel, Kathryn, Jackson, and Grayson.
Kathryn.
Kathryn?
You’ve got to be kidding me!
This is the second woman he ever loved. This is the woman who had an affair on her husband with Alexander.
This is Kathryn!
“What are you doing?”
I turn around to see a very annoyed Alexander standing in nothing but a towel and a scowl. His right hand is holding onto the white fabric, keeping it closed around his hip. His other hand is fiercely grabbing at the back of his neck.
I have so many questions; I don’t know where to start. “Why do you have a picture of your ex and her family in your bag?”
He looks exasperated. “Were you looking through my things?”
My mouth falls open at his . . . absolutely correct assumption. “No,” I lie. “I was getting your wallet like you asked and it was in there. I thought I’d add it to our Christmas cards over here on the door. Why would she send you a card, anyway? Are you two friends or something? Because that’s weird, Alex, and I am not comfortable with that because it means you might be . . . Are you? Are you still in love with her?”