Part 220 (1/2)

mounted the stage and accepted the award, his award, by hurling a

Waterford cracker barrel. The exquisite gla.s.s shattered, raining down

like ice.

”Have you done one thing, one b.l.o.o.d.y thing to help me? Everything I've

done for you, making you feel important, making you believe that I

wanted you. Putting romance into your dull, prim little life.”

Tired of breaking gla.s.s, he swooped down to pull her up by what was left

of her dress. ”Did you really believe that I didn't know who you were

that first day?” He shook her, but she remained limp, hardly focusing on

his face. She was beyond fear now. Beyond hope. She watched his eyes,

tawny and dark, narrow into slits. And there was hate in them.

”You were such a fool, Emma, stuttering and blus.h.i.+ng. I nearly laughed

out loud. Then I married you, for Christ's sake. And all I expected

was that you'd help me move up. But have you once asked your father to

push a few b.u.t.tons for me? No.”

She didn't answer. Silence was the only weapon she had left.

Disgusted, he dropped her to the floor again. Though her vision was

blurred, she watched him pace through the chaos of the room she'd tried

to make a home.

”You'd better start thinking. You'd better start to figure out a way to

make all this time I've spent on you pay off.”

Emma let her eyes close again. She didn't weep. It was too late for

weeping. But she did begin to plan.

Her first real hope of escape came when she heard that Luke had died.

”He was my friend, Drew.”

”He was a tucking queer.” He was trying out chords on the grand piano he