“Not anymore. Mr. Callahan’s orders.”
I call Mom, furious. She answers on the third ring, her voice distracted.
“Simone, sweetie, I’m in the middle of?—”
“They won’t let me go to work,” I interrupt. “His security team is holding me hostage in this house.”
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. You just got married a few days ago. You’re not needed at the company. Enjoy the break!”
“We’re coming off the Roberts embezzlement scandal. I’m needed to make sure we recover in the public eye. I’ve got to run interference with the press?—”
“Your father has already handled it, Simone,” she answers. “He’s put you on an indefinite leave of absence. Your assistant director will be stepping into your role for the time being. You need time to settle into being Ronan’s wife.”
“I don’t want to settle in! I want my life back!”
“This is your life now. Give it time, Simone. You’ll adjust.”
She hangs up before I can argue further.
I try Dad next. He’s even less sympathetic.
“You’re a Callahan now, Simone,” he says simply. “You can’t call us every time you have a complaint.”
And that’s that.
But Ronan’s never around.
He’s always busy, staying gone most of every day and returning only late in the evening. Sometimes after I’ve already gone to bed.
The same can be said about his father, Seamus, who I’ve only seen once since moving in, passing through the foyer in a dark suit with a cigar clenched between his teeth.
His mother, Shaylee, is gone too, though Oona mentioned she’s on one of her spa retreats.
I’m alone in this massive house with nothing but staff and security.
I feel like I’m going crazy.
On the eighth day, I call Chantal.
She answers immediately. “Oh my God, Sim! I’ve been dying to hear from you! How’s married life? Are you miserable? Please say no so I don’t feel bad about having fun without you.”
I collapse onto the sofa in the study, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I’m losing my mind, Chani. They have me on a schedule like I’m a child. Hair appointments, trainer sessions, supervised shopping trips. I’m being monitored constantly. I can’t even leave the house without permission.”
“Permission? Girl, you’re not in prison!”
“It damn sure feels like it. Ronan’s never here. He’s out doing God knows what, coming home at midnight every night like he doesn’t have a wife waiting.”
“Waiting? Babe, you hate him.”
I exhale the breath I’ve held in. “I know! But it’s the principle. He gets to do whatever he wants, and I’m stuck here like some... some...”
“Trophy wife?”
“Yes! That!”
“I figured when you missed the mixer at the gallery.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “Chani, I’m so sorry?—”