I sighed. "I don't know. It's hard to say with her. I barely know what she's going to do from moment to moment, much less what she's thinking." Except that she's resisting me, which is most likely why I want her so badly.
"Hmm," she hummed, looking thoughtful. "Yes, not many match that one for spirit, I'll say that. Except maybe you." She winked at me. "I'm glad you two went to dinner last night. It's a good start." She smiled, and before I could address that comment or tell her not to get any grand ideas, she continued, "Tell her to have a nice weekend. Oh! And tell her I got her list about the party. What a splendid idea! I'm not sure what the big rush is, or why she was emailing me at two in the morning, but Walter and I will stop in town this morning and order the invitations—I know a place that will print them right away. I still have Jessica's address label list of who's who in Napa and can email that to the printer once I've had a few minutes to go through it." Kira had been up in the middle of the night? Why? Had she, too, been unable to sleep after what we'd done on the patio? Had she been tossing and turning, remembering the feel of—
"Tell Kira they'll go out in the mail Monday," Charlotte continued, interrupting my thoughts.
"And here, drink your orange juice," she said, handing me my half-full glass. "There's a terrible flu going around." I did as she said, draining the glass just to stop her party-talk and incessant nagging. She watched me carefully as I drank it, something almost nervous in her expression. Was she that worried about a flu? When I was done, she took my glass and rinsed it in the sink before I shooed her out of the kitchen, calling goodbye to Walter who was waiting in the foyer with their small suitcase sitting on the floor at his feet.
"Goodbye, sir," he said, giving his wife a small, affectionate smile as she came toward him, fussing about all the things that were left undone, as if we might perish without her caretaking for the weekend.
I worked until late afternoon that day, and then made a trip into town for supplies, returning about five. After a quick shower, I went down to the kitchen to put one of the casseroles in the oven for dinner. I texted Kira to let her know dinner would be ready at six, but an hour later, when she still hadn't texted me back, I started to get restless. Was she ignoring me? I hadn't seen her once all day. Was she holed up in that little hovel of hers, avoiding me? Come to think of it, wasn't she planning on getting started in my office? I went to see if there was any sign she'd been there, but there wasn't. I puttered around in my office for a little while, but when my frustration levels had risen too much for me to focus on any one thing, I pushed away from my desk and went to grab my phone. I texted Kira again and then waited five minutes, drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter. Nothing.
I was striding past the fountain before I even realized I'd left the house. What if she'd taken off for Brazil like I'd mentioned that day in the hotel room where she'd been staying? The little witch! Had she left me? Had what we'd done last night spooked her that much? Or had her supposed thoughtfulness and compassion been a well-performed act? My blood was pulsing through my veins with something I couldn't identify as either panic or anger—perhaps a mixture of both.
Would her suitcase be gone? Had she made a complete fool of me? Leaving me with nothing but shattered pride and a very real leg shackle, even if no true evidence of a bride? I didn't even bother knocking, striding through the cluttered front room and bursting into her bedroom, my heartbeat pounding in my chest at what I'd find.