Page 69 of The Art of Scandal

Nathan could barely process what was happening. He sputtered, “No. No, don’t,” and moved toward her, but she stepped back and looked at Joe.

“Can I take your car?”

Joe offered her his keys. Nathan thought of what Beto said, how he didn’t think before he reached for their mother. That’s what had stopped him from losing her. Holding on.

Nathan grabbed Rachel’s hand. “Please don’t do this.” If his brother weren’t there, he might have been on his knees. “Stay. We can figure this out. We’ll go back, together.”

Rachel didn’t look at him. She stared at the floor, rubbing her eyes hard enough to mark her skin. “You have to let me go.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was six in the morning when Rachel finally arrived home. The stillness she encountered when she walked into the foyer made her uneasy. She’d been expecting fireworks. Shouting. Instead, Lenora had quietly taken her bag of dirty clothes and asked if she wanted coffee. Rachel declined because while she was pretty sure Lenora wasn’t trying to poison her, the whole situation was strange enough to make her cautious.

She found Matt in the kitchen, hunched over a cast-iron skillet. He never wanted her to cook for him when they were dating. He’d pour her a glass of wine, tell her to put her feet up, and listen to stories about her café customers while he struggled with a recipe. The food was terrible. But it was a lot easier to choke down underseasoned vegetables when it was someone’s love for you on the plate.

Rachel sat at the kitchen island, unnerved as he served her charred bacon with runny scrambled eggs. She took a bite to be kind, but it turned to ash on her tongue. She decided to abandon kindness and get to the point instead. “Why did you call Mia?”

“I was worried.” Matt poked and glared at the food like it had betrayed him. “The outdoor stops got canceled because of the storm. When I came home, no one knew where you were. I thought something might have happened to you. That you’d been in an accident, or someone had taken you.” He shook his head. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was just frantic about my missing wife.”

He said it smoothly, like the last few months had never happened.

“I’m not your wife.”

Matt poked his eggs again. “We need to talk about that. I want to make a new deal. To save our marriage.”

She thought he’d exhausted ways to hurt her. But now she knew he’d probably always have that power. They made vows to each other, trusted each other enough to build a life. And he’d waited until now, when they could barely make eye contact without wincing, to decide it was something worth saving.

Rachel grabbed the edge of the table so she wouldn’t throw eggs in his face. Matt held up his hands and said, “Hold on,” like she’d already taken aim at his head. “I know you’re angry. And so was I, for a long time. But I think that was the problem. I was angry because I thought you’d abandoned me. You seemed so unhappy, that it was like you’d completely checked out of this marriage. But I think I was the one who abandoned you.”

Matt explained how her disappearance had put things in perspective. “This is our family, Rachel. We owe it to each other, to Faith, to at leasttry.” He started to reach for her, but she flinched, and he splayed his hand against the table instead. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I’d like to work on earning your trust again.”

If he’d said the same thing a few months ago, the night of the birthday party, she might have listened. She might have handed over her heart, again and again, because that’s what “for better, for worse” meant. Matt had always been good with words—pitch perfect and so sincere that you felt them in your stomach. But he wasn’t safe. He was a fairy tale she’d repeated to herself enough times to forget it wasn’t real. She’d never make that mistake again.

Rachel stood, dumped out her food, and walked out of the kitchen. He didn’t follow her. She went upstairs and called Julia, who was equally skeptical about Matt’s sudden change of heart. “Herman Abbott responded to my request for financial records instead of Matt. They’re closing ranks, so watch your back.”

She was right. An hour later, Rachel’s father-in-law was on her doorstep. Herman’s smile faltered when she skipped her usual polite greeting.

“Matt isn’t here.”

“I’m actually here to see you.”

She paused. “I was about to head out.”

His eyes went from her face to her bare feet. The last time he saw her without makeup was probably the family beach trip when she was twenty-five. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I also don’t want to talk to you.”

“That I believe.” He placed a hand against the door. “Please, Rachel. A few minutes of your time.”

His voice was even and polite in a way some people found seductive. Rachel wasn’t fooled. He was pretending to ask permission while his hand blocked the door. She didn’t have the strength to argue.

“Are you going to stand there?” he asked as he sat on the sofa.

“You’re wasting minutes.”

“Okay.” He laced his fingers. “You’re angry. It’s understandable.”

“What are you talking about?”

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