“He sounds like a heartless bastard.Whatkind of man won’t even let his wife cry?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know.Hewas…that was just the way he was.”Ilifted my chin.“Idon’t miss him, you know—not a bit.Iknow that might sound shocking?—”
“Of course it’s not shocking,”Korprotested.“Afterthe way he treated you?Afterheboughtyou and you’ve been living in bondage for the past twenty years?Fuck,Vivienne—you ought to be throwing a goddamned party to celebrate that he’s gone.”
His words surprised me into laughter asIpictured the looks on thePack’sfaces whenIannounced a party to celebrate my late husband’s death.
“An ‘I’mso glad he’s gone’ party,”Isaid, giggling.
“A ‘fuck the old bastard’ party,”Koradded, laughing along.
I felt a kind of bubbly joy overtake me and for a moment, allIwanted was to just keep feeling it.Itoccurred to me thatIhad experienced more genuine emotion in the last twenty minutes thanI’dallowed myself to feel for the past twenty years.Andall of it was because ofKor.
“Oh, my…”Isighed at last, blotting my eyes with the paper towelIwas still holding.“Well,IguessI’dbetter get ready to go to town.Wouldyou mind driving again?”
“Sure—anything you need.”Henodded easily.“I’mall ready, so whenever you are too, just let me know.I’llclear up in here,” he added, nodding to the coffee mugs and saucers.
I thought about protesting thatIcould take care of that later, butKorgenuinely didn’t seem to mind helping with chores—a factIgreatly appreciated.
“All right,”Isaid, nodding.“Justgive me a few minutes—Iwon’t be long.”
“Take your time,” he told me, already clearing our mugs.“Noneed to rush—we have all the time in the world.”
If only that was true.
TWELVE
VIVIENNE
I hurried to my room and put on a black, long-sleeved dress that would have been better forAutumnthan the middle ofSummer.ButIdidn’t own that many black clothes—the color depressed me—andIcouldn’t be seen in town looking likeIwasn’t still grieving.Imight secretly be glad thatCarterwas dead, butIcouldn’t let anyone in thePackknow that—it would be scandalous.
I did my makeup quickly—Inever wear very much—and looked for the hatI’dworn to the funeral last night.Ithad dried out fairly well and the veil was still attached soIperched it on my head and smoothed out the lace as bestIcould.
A glance in the free-standing, oval mirror in my bedroom let me knowIwas decent enough to go out in society.SoIwalked back to the kitchen, my heels clacking on the hardwood floor of the hall.
Kor had finished the dishes and was sitting at the kitchen island, reading the paper.Ithappened to containCarter’sobituary—something one of theCouncilofEldershad written—and it was full of platitudes about what a wonderfulPackLeaderand husband he had been.“Heis survived by his grieving widow, but no children,”the obit ended.AsthoughCarterhad to take a dig at me for my barrenness one last time from beyond the grave.
“I’m ready,”Isaid, andKorlooked up, a smile already on his face.Butwhen he saw me, it turned to a frown.
“Hey, why are you wearing that get-up?”he asked, gesturing at me.
My heart dropped in that familiar way it always had whenCarterhad called out my poor fashion choices.
“Why?DoIlook wrong?”Iasked uncertainly.
“No, you look beautiful, but nobody can tell it if you wear that veil,” he pointed out.
“Oh, um…”Ireached up to touch the lace veil.“ButIhave to at leastlooklikeI’mmourningCarter’sdeath.”
“And wearing all black isn’t enough?”Heraised his eyebrows.“You’regoing to roast in that dress, by the way—it’s hot outside and it’s only going to get hotter.”
“I…IsupposeIcould take the hat and veil off,”Isaid at last.
“Only if you want to,”Korsaid.“Butyou have such a beautiful face—it’s a shame to cover it up.”
His words made me blush with pleasure—Iwasn’t used to getting compliments.Abruptly,Idecided he was right.