Oh, wow. So much quicker than I expected. Okay, no problem. Who am I interviewing with?
Jana Thompson. Super nice. Don’t be nervous. You’ll kill it.
I smile and put away my phone.
“What’s that about?” Elliot asks.
“It’s that job I mentioned. Apparently it’s opening up earlier than expected. So I have an interview tomorrow at ten.” I steal a quick glance his way to gauge how he feels. But his face stays impassive. Is he still unsure about it because he feels like he should provide for me so long as we’re married?
“Good luck,” he says. “I think it’ll be good for you. Give you something to do.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
A knot in my gut loosens. I realize I’d been girding my loins for another argument.
As I sag, my hip against the edge of the table, Elliot squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be awesome tomorrow.”
Somehow it seems like his voice lacks enthusiasm. Then I shake my head. I have to be projecting my worst-case scenario reaction onto him. He has the upper hand in everything. He doesn’t have to fake anything with me.
Chapter Fourteen
Elliot
I’m not thrilled that Belle won’t let me run interference for her with Nonny. Although the kid’s not my sister, at the moment I’m equally responsible for her.
Still, I back off and resign myself to watching the tense byplay between the two of them the next morning over the rim of my coffee mug.
“You have a couple of stains on your shirt,” Belle points out to Nonny, her voice kind.
Nonny looks down and makes a face, then spins on her heel and goes inside her room without a word to her sister, not even a thank you.
My eyebrows rise when the door shuts behind her. This behavior is a bit of a shock. My siblings and I may have fucked-up parents, but we’ve always gotten along among ourselves. No one ever stayed pissed off for long.
At least Belle is recovering from the fall. The bruises are still there, but they aren’t livid anymore. I’m grateful.
Belle is in a chic green dress with a V-neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. The skirt is conservatively cut, ending at mid-shin, and the nude pumps she’s wearing add to the glamour and confidence of her general appearance. A string of white pearls circles her delicate throat—which I spent a good part of last night nibbling on—and matching pearl studs adorn her ears. She looks classy without appearing ostentatiously expensive, and something about the oh-so-proper office attire fires me up, makes me want to go muss it up and reveal the primal, responsive woman who was writhing underneath me just hours ago.
I sigh inwardly. Looking good for the interview is important to her, and there isn’t much time if she doesn’t want to be late. I resign myself to waiting and hand her a steaming cup of coffee. The mug reads YOU CAN DO IT! in gold caps.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and takes a sip.
Just then Nonny comes back out, changed into a new outfit. Her fitted sleeveless top is long, black and shows off her slim arms, while her jeans have ripped-up thighs in front and are so tight that I don’t know how she can move. I squint. I don’t remember telling Josephine to buy something so…formfitting. Nonny’s just a kid.
“See ya,” she says, throwing the words in my general direction and completely ignoring Belle. I grind my teeth. Just how much time does a teenage girl need to get over something?
In the grand scheme of things, Belle’s stripper job wasn’t even that scandalous. Despite spending her formative years in a small—and apparently uptight—town like Lincoln City, Nonny should’ve gotten over her prudish attitude after having lived in cities like Vegas and now L.A.
Nonny grabs a granola bar and leaves, mumbling something about being late. Now her manners have gone to hell. Before she used to say a cheery goodbye to us.
Belle finishes her coffee and sighs. “I gotta run, too.”
I take her hand, still warm from the mug, and kiss her on the mouth. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She flashes a strained smile and leaves.
The door shuts, and I cross my arms. If the situation doesn’t improve soon, I’m going to do something drastic to fix it. My wife won’t approve, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t like this tension, especially not in my home.
And I most certainly don’t like to see Belle unhappy every time she faces her sister.