PART 4
I was beginning to understand that Roman’s most meaningful change was not becoming nicer.
It was becoming easier to hear the truth from.
“Did you know she sent that message?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did she?”
“I asked her yesterday.”
“And?”
“She swears she didn’t.”
“You believe her?”
“I believe she sounded shocked.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“Did you speak to Adrian?”
Roman’s eyes changed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Phone.”
“Only phone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten him?”
Roman almost looked offended.
Then saw my expression.
“No.”
“Did you imply anything?”
“No.”
“Roman.”
“I asked whether he sent you the photograph.”
“And?”
“He denied it.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked what photograph before I told him there was one.”
I stared at him.
“That is not proof.”
“No.”
“But it’s interesting.”
“Yes.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then Roman said:
“There is something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Adrian knew you left the house before I did.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“He called me at seven Christmas morning.”
“Why?”
“To ask whether I was alone.”
My skin prickled.
“What did you say?”
“I asked why.”
“And?”
“He said he wanted to discuss Fulton.”
“So he knew I was gone.”
“Probably.”
“From the cameras?”
Roman’s face hardened.
“I don’t know.”
The estate security was private.
Controlled through one of the Carter family companies.
For the first time, another piece clicked into place.
“Your security system.”
Roman understood.
“Yes.”
I sat back.
“This is exactly why I hated that house.”
His eyes moved to mine.
“You never said that.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you loved it.”
Roman looked stricken.
“I thought you did too.”
“I tried.”
“When did you stop?”
I laughed softly.
“I don’t know if I ever started.”
That hurt him.
I could see it.
But he didn’t defend the house.
He simply listened.
“I liked our bedroom,” I said. “And the library.”
“You hated the dining room.”
“Everyone hated the dining room.”
“My mother chose it.”
“Exactly.”
Roman almost smiled.
Then I became serious again.
“The cameras made me feel watched.”
“I thought they made you feel safe.”
“They made you feel useful.”
His eyes lowered.
That was answer enough.
We spent the next week untangling facts.
Legally.
Quietly.
No confrontations.
No threats.
No men showing up at doors.
Eleanor worked with Roman’s corporate attorney.
Claire provided copies of her father’s records.
For the first time, she and I communicated directly.
Only by email.
Her messages were brief.
Professional.
Almost painfully so.
On January second, she wrote:
I want to make one thing clear. The photograph was not romantic from my perspective. But I understand why seeing it would have hurt you. I also understand that my relationship with Roman crossed boundaries before that moment. I am sorry for my part in that.
I read it twice.
Then replied:
Thank you for saying that.
Nothing more.
I did not need Claire to become my enemy.
I did not need her to become my friend either.
The real truth surfaced through Margaret.
Of all people.
She called me one afternoon.
“Mrs. Carter.”
“Margaret.”
“I have been thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It often is.”
I smiled.
“What about?”
“Christmas Eve.”
My hand went still.
“What about it?”
“Mr. Adrian was at the house.”
I stood.
“When?”
“Afternoon.”
“Roman’s brother came to our house?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t.”
“He came through the side entrance around two.”
“Did Roman see him?”
“No. Mr. Carter was out.”
“What did Adrian do?”
“He went to the study.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Was anyone with him?”
Margaret paused.
“Daniel.”
The security chief.
My stomach tightened.
“Daniel let him in?”
“Yes.”
“Did Daniel know Roman wasn’t home?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
May you like
“Margaret, why does this matter now?”
“Because after Mr. Adrian left, Daniel asked whether you were still planning to spend Christmas at home.”
