No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 57

Eleanor stood up briskly and locked the door behind her.

Thankfully, Ian didn't come knocking on her door that night, and she finally let out a sigh of relief.

The next morning, the piano was delivered right on schedule. Eleanor had it placed in the conservatory, adjusted the sound, and then sat down to play a piece. When she finished, Joslyn smiled and said, "Ma'am, I may not know much about music, but you play beautifully."

Eleanor smiled back, glancing over her shoulder just as Ian came down the stairs. Joslyn brought breakfast to the table. "Ma'am, sir, breakfast is ready."

Eleanor got up and headed to the dining room. Out of the blue, Ian asked, "Are you free at noon?"

She didn't answer right away, but her eyes met his, quietly questioning.

Ian held her gaze, then picked up his coffee as if dismissing the idea. "Never mind."

Eleanor lowered her eyes and went on eating. She'd long since made up her mind to avoid his social engagements whenever possible—if she could decline, she would; if she couldn't, she'd find a way to slip away. She had no intention of getting involved with his circle of friends.

After Ian left, Eleanor turned her attention back to her dissertation, gathering materials and hammering away at her laptop. Around midday, she received a text from Trent, the private investigator. He'd sent over a few photos.

Ian was dining with a foreign couple, Vanessa by his side, the group looking perfectly at ease and cheerful.

Eleanor set her phone aside and, at last, typed the final sentence of her dissertation. She exhaled deeply in relief.

After a final check, she sent the document to Jude Vaughn, along with a message: "Jude, does my name have to be published with this paper?"

"Ellie, this is going to an international journal. It has to be your real name. Is there a problem?"

She smiled faintly at the screen. "No problem."

She caught the faint scent of whiskey in the air.

"Still awake? Waiting for me?" His low voice carried a teasing edge.

"I was just about to sleep. Go back to your room," Eleanor said, clutching the blanket to her chest. She couldn't help but suspect Joslyn's sudden departure had been orchestrated by him.

"I'm staying in your room tonight." Ian stepped in as if it was the most natural thing in the world, tossing his suit jacket onto the sofa and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Ian, go back to your own room."

He spoke in a deep, measured voice. "It's the twenty-sixth."

Once a month, four nights—nights she had once begged him for, through tears. He hadn't forgotten, and he meant to keep his word.