“Don’t think you’re getting off this easily,” Rainbow warned even as I closed the door in their faces. “You’ve got until lunch, sister.”
They both stared at me through the window in the door but I turned my back on them before they could see the depth of my flush.
I collapsed in my desk with my head in my hands and asked myself when my life had gotten so complicated.
The answer came to me easily; the day I’d seen King’s gosh darn beautiful face across the parking lot of Mac’s Grocer.
I should have known it was coming. Mum had practically announced his arrival in her phone call that morning. Still, I wasn’t prepared for the announcement that came over the PA system at the end of my fourth period history class.
“Mrs. Irons, please report to the front office, your husband is here.”
Immediately, my students shifted in their seats. I was close to my students so they knew that, in my mind, I didn’t have a husband anymore. My hand remained poised over the white board mid-way through writing out the conditions of the Paris 1918 Peace Treaty. I could not believe that William was at EBA.
“Miss Irons?” Benny called tentatively. “You want me to go with you to the office?”
Immediately, my chest tightened with love and dread.
Benny; my sweet, sweet boy.
“Or I could go for you and tell him to fuck off?” Carson suggested as I turned around, catching sight of his massive football player arms flexing in teenage bravado.
Every since I’d turned him into the Headmaster, Carson had been surprisingly active in my classes. He’d always been a fairly bright student but I got the sense he was ashamed of his behavior with King that day and wanted to prove to me that he was a good kid.
No one laughed at his suggestion, but a few other students nodded their heads as if that was an acceptable option.
I wrangled up a smile and affixed it awkwardly between my cheeks. “Don’t be silly, guys. He may not be my husband anymore but he isn’t a monster. Remember, there are two sides to every story.”
“Every time you talked about him, your face went blank,” Ally Vandercamp told me with a wise nod. “We never liked him. You’re way too pretty to settle for some old, boring banker guy.”
“Lawyer,” I automatically corrected. “And Ally, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.”
She was right, William was old and boring, but that didn’t mean she should think that.
“I heard Mr. Warren thinks you’re hot,” Ally continued, unperturbed. “You guys would make a super cute couple.”
“Totally,” Aimee chirped.
I was beyond grateful that King was not in this class.
“Okay, enough about my personal life,” I told them sternly. “I’m going to the office to deal with this and you all are going to open your textbooks to page 318 and read more about the Paris Peace Conference.”
“Yes, Miss Irons,” they all parroted back at me.
I shot them a droll look that had some of them laughing as I collected my purse and headed to the front office.
My steps were slow and heavy taking me there but still, I arrived before I was fully ready.
William stood before the reception desk with his hands in the pockets of his neatly pressed flannel trousers, his thick salt and pepper hair brushed back beautifully from his high forehead. His elegant, masculine beauty was impossible to deny even though I was no longer drawn to it. He presented himself impeccably from the Phillip Patek watch at his wrist to the glossy sheen of his expensive Italian loafers. His suit was custom-made, one I’d ordered for him last Christmas from Ermenegildo Zenga Bespoke for $25 000, and I knew that if I drew closer to him, he would be wearing the cologne I’d first begun to buy him when I was a fifteen-year-old girl with a crush. I’d saved up my allowance for six months to afford the Clive Christian C cologne but the expression on his face when I’d given it to him in the back hall that Christmas had made it totally worth it.
My estranged husband stopped talking with Georgie the moment I stepped through the doors but he took a moment to collect himself before he turned to face me. When he did, his face was a handsome mask. I knew the sight of me had to have affected him but there were no tells, no tick in the jaw or flexing of the hands. Just nothingness.
“Cressida,” he said in his smooth, dulcet tones.
A friend of his had once told me that William was like a Canadian James Bond without the smarm. I hated that I agreed with him though it was for different reasons. Like the fictitious spy, my husband was incredibly two-dimensional.
“William,” I returned. “What are you doing here?”