“Mr. Prime Minister?” someone calls.
He replies, and I can hear his voice is getting closer. Shit. He must be coming back upstairs to our apartment. Damn this Prime Minister residence. I just want some privacy.
I quietly close the door and run up the hall to get into the shower and make it look like I wasn’t listening.
I wash myself as my mind spins at a million miles per minute. Good, I’m glad he’s angry. I want charges laid against the bitch today, too.
I shower and dress into my work clothes, a black pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse. I apply my makeup. I may as well look decent seeing as though the eyes of the entire United Kingdom are on me.
Ugh, I’m seriously over this. If only they knew what was going on behind closed doors.
I can hear the coffee machine running in the kitchen. Hmm, so he came back into the apartment and didn’t come looking for me.
Typical.
I pull the top drawer out to put my watch on, and I stare down at the organized drawer compartments. One of the boxes has an empty space. Why does that space look weird?
Hmm. I put on my watch and go into the bathroom to straighten my hair.
I’m meeting Jeremy for breakfast. I need to vent.
Damn Sebastian has gotten me furious, and if there is anyone who I know won't judge, it’s Jeremy.
I slip on my stilettos and open the top drawer again. What is missing from that drawer?
I try to remember how it normally looks, and then the penny drops. My passport.
He wouldn’t dare.
Adrenaline begins to pump through my system and, like a mad woman, I march down the hall. I find him in the kitchen, drinking coffee.
I put my hands on my hips. “Where’s my passport, Sebastian?”
His eyes meet mine as he sips his coffee. He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.
No longer scared, this man is angry.
Bring it on because I’m ready to fucking rumble.
“I asked you a question. Where is my passport?”
“With mine.”
“And where would that be?”
“In a safe place.”
The last of my temper together snaps in spectacular fashion, and I explode. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“What I heard is that you’re a controlling asshole.”
He puts his coffee cup down and it clangs on the counter. “Do not push me today, April. I am not in the mood for your dramatic fucking bullshit.” He bellows.
My eyes bulge. “You are not in the mood for my bullshit?” I point to my chest.
“That’s what I said. Use your ears and listen.”
Oh my God. I see red.
“Listen here, you condescending prick. You don’t get to take my passport. If I want to go anywhere, I will be going, with or without your permission.”
He glares at me.
“Don’t give me that look, Sebastian. I won’t have it.”
“And don’t you lock me out of my own fucking bedroom.” He slams his hand on the kitchen counter. “Do you fucking understand me?”
That’s it.
I turn and storm to the bedroom to get my handbag.
That's it.
He remains in the kitchen drinking his coffee and, damn it, I have to have one last say.
I march back to him. “Don’t you dare get angry at me for being upset that my new husband is a liar,” I cry. “Do you have any idea how disappointing that is?”
“There’s only one liar in this room, and we both know who that is.” he growls.
I screw up my face. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“I believe the words were for better or worse.” He sneers sarcastically.
Our wedding vowels. My heart drops.
He jumps from his chair, unable to hold his raging bull temper. “If this isn’t the worst, April, I don’t fucking know what is." He yells. “The very first hurdle we face, you make me do it alone.” He throws his hands up in defeat and then walks out the door, slamming it hard.
My eyes well with tears.
Fuck.
I sit in the café waiting for Jeremy. I keep going over what Sebastian said to me before he left. You make me do it alone.
I hate that he sees it like that, and I wonder if this is what happened with him and Helena. He had an issue and she locked him out and made him face the problem alone. Their sex life was both of their problem. But did she make him feel like it was only his? Then, being the stubborn bastard that he is, did he get so resentful that he locked her out in return?
Both of them not speaking, in separate beds. I wonder how long they lived like that.
Days, weeks, months?
I exhale heavily. Well, I’m too angry at his stage to even think about it anymore. I’m not letting him turn this around on me.
I haven’t done anything wrong.
I never once said that I was blaming him for this, only that he should have told me the facts at the time in which they happened. And how dare he say that I’m making him face this alone when it was his choice not to tell me about it in the first place? He chose to do this alone, not the other way around.