OUR BROKEN BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next week went by in a flash. Emerson and I had gotten into a blissful routine. Each morning, Emerson took the white BMW to his office, which was twenty-five minutes away from the house, and I went to mine with the slim red Mercedes. We both worked until five, although we sometimes went over—very rarely under. Emerson programmed new phones under a shared line and transferred all our old data. The only new thing being that Emerson was on my favorites list.

After each work day, Emerson texted me one word with a question mark: Takeout? To which I replied with either a 'yes' or 'homemade' or 'you decide'. He always let me choose, even if my choice was that I wanted him to decide. Each night looked essentially the same. I usually got home before him, checked the mail, and got whatever we were going to eat or cook prepared.

At a certain point, he would stroll in through the family room wearing one of his impeccable suits; the first few buttons always undone and the tie gone. There was a sweet smile and "hello" before he thanked me for the setup, and we both went into our bathrooms to shower. More often than not, I released some of my tension through self-pleasure while the hot water ran down my body, though I was always left wanting more, wanting him.

Our routine had become something I looked forward to. Something consistent and soothing. I was getting used to it and wasn't sure whether to be terrified or to let myself relish it. Emerson enjoyed doing the cooking, and unless he needed my help, I enjoyed sitting in my usual stool at the island watching him. Music usually played in the background on the surround sound system, and tonight was no different.

'I Can't Help Myself' by Four Tops played around us as I washed the green beans, and Emerson seasoned the chicken. We both sang along, laughing when one of us messed up.

So easy. It had become so easy to be with him. I should truly be terrified because something was bound to happen—to go wrong. I could feel my lies trying to catch up to me, but I ignored them. Let myself live in bliss for as long as possible.

Once he finished seasoning the chicken, he placed the cut-up pieces into a bowl and covered the top with plastic wrap. After washing his hands, he started on the honey teriyaki sauce. I found the recipe in one of my online cooking books and sent it to him. He had become inspired.

I was about to begin mixing some butter and spices with the green beans when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," I told Emerson before he could stop what he was doing. I rubbed my hands on a brown towel on the counter and started walking behind Emerson. He grabbed my hand and spun me around in a circle as I propelled forward. I laughed freely and swatted him away. I was still laughing as I made my way to the front door. The person that was standing on the threshold when I opened the door made my breathing stop. My feet planted in place. They wouldn't move. I couldn't move.

"Mother." The word was like poison on my tongue. She was here. Why was she here? How did she find us?

She smiled, though I could see right through the fake pleasantry. Everything was always fake with her. Everything was always for show.

I hadn't seen her since the wedding and was happy about it. I never wanted to see her again. Good riddance.

"Cassandra. What a beautiful home you have here. May I come in?" Her voice came out with a sweetness that most would expect from their mother, but I knew better.

I blocked the doorway slightly and made sure there was no kindness in my voice as I demanded, "What are you doing here."

That smile on her face broadened. I fought against the memories of that smile. "Now, is that any way to speak to your mom?"

I scoffed and said wryly, "It is when it's you I'm speaking to. I want to know what you're doing here. How did you get this address?"

Her eyes seemed to lose some of their humor at my tone, but I didn't care. She shouldn't be here.