Chapter 23: The Morning After

I woke up with the taste of bile in my throat and a pounding headache that felt like a hangover, though I hadn't touched a drop of champagne. The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains was blinding, mocking the dark reality that had taken root in my life overnight.

Richard wasn't in bed.

I sat up, the room spinning slightly. The memory of the garden—the kiss, Eleanor’s cold face, Richard’s panic—rushed back, a tidal wave of nausea.

I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection looked haunted. Hollow. I looked like Catherine.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

I turned. Richard was leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in casual clothes—jeans, a soft cashmere sweater. He held a tray with coffee and toast.

He looked... normal.

"I made breakfast," he said, walking into the room and setting the tray on the vanity. "You slept late. The party really took it out of you."

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking at our reflection in the mirror.

I went rigid. His touch, once comforting, now felt like a violation.

"Richard," I whispered. "Last night. In the garden."

"Shh," he soothed, kissing my neck. "You were tired, El. You were seeing things. Mother said you were hysterical."

"I wasn't hysterical. I saw you kiss her."

He sighed, pulling away. He walked back to the tray and picked up the coffee mug, blowing on the steam.

"It's been a hard week," he said, his back to me. "For all of us. Catherine's episode... it shook me up. I was comforting her. That's all."

"Comforting her?" I laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "You looked like you were worshipping her."

He turned slowly, his eyes dark. "Be careful, Elena. Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"And bigamy doesn't suit you, Richard."

The mug hit the counter with a crack. Coffee sloshed over the rim.

"Stop it," he said, his voice low. "Just stop. You're ruining everything."

He walked over to me, grabbing my arms. His grip was tight, bordering on painful.

"We need to get away," he said urgently. "Just you and me. A vacation. We'll go to the cabin. Today."

"The cabin?"

"Yes. It's quiet there. We can talk. We can fix this." His eyes were pleading, desperate. "Please, Elena. I love you. Let me fix this."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. The man I had married. The father of my children. He looked terrified.

Was it possible? Was there an explanation I wasn't seeing? Was I really cracking under the pressure, like Eleanor said?

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."

He sagged with relief. He pulled me into a hug, burying his face in my hair.

"Good," he murmured. "Go pack a bag. Just the essentials."

He pulled away, smiling that boyish smile again.

"Somewhere with no cell service," he said. "Just us."