She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 204

(Nathanial)

Tuesday morning.

I’m on the couch with a lukewarm coffee, holding my thumb over the camera app icon until the screen shivers and the menu pops.

I hit the X.

The phone asks if I’m sure.

I stare at the prompt, ignoring the little voice telling me I need to make sure she’s safe.

I promised Natasha, so I hit delete.

The icon vanishes. The other apps slide left to swallow the empty space as if it was never there at all.

I sit there for five more minutes drinking terrible coffee and telling myself I did the right thing.

Tuesday afternoon means Thai at Natasha’s townhouse.

Two orders of pad see ew. Extra basil for me, zero for her. Six weeks running.

We’re making our own new traditions.

Occasionally Chase joins us, but I think he knows how important this is to me and he’s kept himself scarce on Tuesdays since the kidnapping.

I walk in and Lily is wedged between two couch cushions on the rug, dual-wielding a plastic yellow ring and chewing on it like it owes her money and refuses to pay up.

Natasha sits next to her, glaring daggers at a stack of windowed envelopes.

"Hi."

She looks up. "Yay! Thai! That beats paying bills every day of the week."

She makes a grabby motion for the grease-stained paper bag.

We eat on the floor.

Lily glares at her plastic ring.

Natasha pays bills one-handed, keeping up a conversation while shoving noodles into her mouth.

It’s kind of nice that she feels so comfortable with me.

"That one’s wrong," I say, pointing with my chopsticks.

"What?"

"The utility bill. They double-charged you. There’s no way you and Lily used that much."

Even with Chase here almost every day it’s too much, but I’ve learned not to bring that up without prompting.

"How can you tell from over there?"

"It's printed at the top in bold."

"Hmph." She drags the paper closer. Squints. "It is wrong. I hate them. Now I’m going to have to call them, because they never respond to emails."

I’m pretty sure she’s just going to pay it and hope they credit her next month.

She shoves the bill away and goes back to her noodles.

I chew a piece of broccoli I don't want.

"I deleted the camera app."

She stops chewing.

"This morning."

"Okay."

"That's it," I say. "End of sentence."

She puts her chopsticks down on the plastic lid. I keep my eyes on my carton.

She pushes up off the floor, steps over the baby, and drops onto the rug next to me.

She leans in. Her lips press against my temple in a quick, fond kiss.

“I know it’s hard, but I appreciate it. I know I said I won’t bring it up again, but you could probably benefit from therapy as well.”

“You understand that’s the literal opposite of not bringing it up?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just saying. We had an unconventional childhood to say the least.”

Unconventional is one way of putting it.

She scoots back to her bills, letting it go.

A minute passes before she asks, "How's Gloria?"

"Quiet."

"Quiet how?"

"Quiet like she's deciding."

"So you’ve talked to her?"

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