Fresh tears burned her eyes. “Yes,” she responded in a thick voice.
Whether he heard her or not, she couldn’t tell. One second he was behind her, the next he rose from the bed and walked out. She remained in the same position, her wrists crossed and locked together, as if he still held her captive.
The tears came down like a torrential rain. They flowed from her eyes, soaking her cheeks, soaking the pillow. She cried until her eyes were swollen almost shut, and even then she didn’t stop.
Chapter Nineteen
Daniella slept badly. In fact, she didn’t sleep much at all. Difficult to do, despite the long day and the exhaustive tears she’d cried. She woke up constantly, reliving the nightmare of her night with Cyrus.
Not normally a light sleeper, every sound jerked her awake. One time she thought she heard his footsteps as he entered the bedroom. Then she thought she heard the door open and close. She thought the mattress depressed with the weight of his body as he joined her in bed. Over and over again she would startle awake and then drift into a troubled sleep, only to be awakened again minutes later by more wishful thinking.
The rays of the sun finally forced her from the confines of the bed. She’d much rather stay there, but she had to be up and alert for when he returned. In the bathroom, she stared at her image, appalled at her appearance. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyes were red and swollen from her constant crying. She fixed her hair but only time could make her face more presentable. She did what she could with makeup.
She didn’t leave the house, worried he would come while she was out, so her breakfast was half of a banana because in all honesty she couldn’t eat anything more. The minutes dragged by as she waited for him to return or call.
By mid-afternoon she began to worry and called his phone, but there was no answer. They had to talk. She needed to explain. She called five times but he never once picked up. The pain in her chest swelled to an even greater size and she broke down into tears again. Where could he be?
That question was answered when his assistant, Shaun, arrived. It was then she had to accept the gravity of the situation. Cyrus wasn’t coming back.
Shaun looked rumpled but alert and ready to work. Cyrus must have called him overnight and told him to come. Downstairs in the entryway, with the sun streaming through the windows, it seemed unbelievable that her marriage had collapsed the night before. The day was bright and pretty—just another day in paradise.
Shaun shoved his glasses up on his nose. Slender but muscular, he had the body of a long distance runner. “I’m here to help you get organized, packed, and back to the States when you’re ready,” he said. In the past, he’d been pleasant enough, and Daniella didn’t know if it was her guilty conscience, but now he seemed standoffish and his blue eyes filled with accusation.
“Where is he?” she asked, uncaring about how Shaun felt about her, uncaring that having to ask such a question should have been embarrassing. She was past embarrassment.
“I’m not sure.” His eyes lowered to the ever-present smartphone in his hand. “He told me—”
“Where is he, Shaun?” She wasn’t in the mood for avoidance tactics. His allegiance may be to Cyrus, but she needed answers. Cyrus hadn’t answered his private phone, the one he always answered, and she knew he had it with him because she’d searched for it and found it missing among the possessions left at the house. “You know his schedule better than anyone else. He tells you everything.” There was a slight catch to her voice, and she could tell he heard it.
“He’s in London,” he finally replied quietly. The look he sent her was a mixture of pity and contrition, as if having to deliver the bad news made him guilty in some way.
Her heart sank. “What’s he doing in London?”