She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 140

(Clarice)

I’ve been telling myself that I’m only following her because I want to make sure she’s alright.

This is a lie.

I’m following her because I can’t make myself stop.

I haven’t seen her in over twenty years and now I’m addicted. Obsessed.

Hendrik is back in New York for the week.

Sonia is in Paris and not speaking to me.

And there is, every morning when I wake up, a low hum in my chest that doesn’t subside until I’m physically in the same square mile of city as Natasha.

I’ve driven past her office.

I’ve driven past her townhouse.

Twice I’ve sat in the car park of St. Jude's and watched her walk Lily in for an appointment and out again.

I haven’t dared to approach her.

I tell myself the hat and the sunglasses are because I don’t want to alarm her.

This is also a lie.

I don’t want her to see me, full stop.

That’s a confrontation I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for.

Today I’ve followed her to the courthouse.

I’m at the back of the press cluster on the steps, in a wide-brimmed hat and the kind of dark glasses that suggest one is recovering from minor cosmetic work.

I’m pretending to be someone's assistant.

I have a folder in my hand that I picked up at a stationery shop on the corner.

I look like I belong here.

I’ve watched Natasha walk in with her daughter on her hip, looking exhausted.

I’ve watched the doors close behind her, and I’ve stood in the cold and waited.

Just to know she got out, I tell myself.

That’s all.

She finally comes out again more than an hour later, with Lily on her shoulder and a folder in her hand.

Her color is wrong. I can see it from here.

I see the careful way she’s walking. The crease of determination between her brows.

I know what’s about to happen before she does.

I don’t consciously decide to move.

One moment I’m at the foot of the steps, and then I’m ten feet away from her, and then six, and then I have my hand on her elbow.

She’s looking at me without seeing me, and there’s no time for any of this to be about me.

"I have her. Give her to me. I have her."

My voice is the voice I used on her when she was small and needed comfort.

Lily makes a small uncertain sound when I lift her, because I’m not somebody she knows.

Then she settles.

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