A BRIDE IN BETWEEN

Chapter4

Closure

The clock had long since struck midnight on Tuesday when Mathew casually strolled into Allison's room, his demeanor suggesting nothing amiss. Had he completely erased the memory of their previous, aggressive confrontation, the incident that had left her reeling? It seemed so, as he offered no explanation, and Allison, unwilling to reignite the conflict, simply ignored him.

Allison's world had shrunk to the confines of the house, and the constant isolation was blurring her thoughts. Everything felt murky and foggy, and she began to question her own mental stability. Her parents remained absent, their silence deafening, and she doubted their imminent return. Their shame was a palpable thing, a weight she felt as keenly as they did. In truth, she had no desire to see them again. Any memory of her former life was a sharp, piercing pain, one she preferred to avoid.

A stark white envelope landed with a thud on her bed, where she sat huddled. She glanced at Mathew, his movements unsteady, his breath reeking of liquor. She wrinkled her nose, then focused on the envelope. Inside, an airplane ticket to Florida, departing the following day, lay nestled. She looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion; she had received no prior warning of this trip.

"Why are we going?" she asked, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears, unused as it was.

"We need a change of scenery. Dad thinks a visit to the family's isolated holiday home would be wise, since it's off the beaten path," he responded, his tone clipped. Allison nodded.

It was clear their families wanted them to disappear for a while, to let the gossip die down. They’d already concocted enough stories to explain their absence from social gatherings and their own wedding festivities. Florida offered a chance for the whirlwind of attention surrounding their marriage to subside, allowing them to return later, perhaps.

Mathew was nearly out the door when he paused, condescending to retrieve something. Allison leaned forward, curious. He held up the shattered remnants of her phone. The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, the casing deeply dented. She’d deliberately destroyed it, to repel the urge to contact him or answer his calls. Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, she had no phone numbers memorized, and without her device, reaching Parker was impossible. It was for the best.

He scanned the wreckage, then looked at her, demanding an explanation. She offered a casual shrug. "It dropped," she said.

He pressed his lips together, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed on the verge of questioning her further, to show some concern, but then something shifted within him. He pocketed the phone, nodding. "I'll replace it. I'll get the SIM card removed." She nearly protested, but sense prevailed. No need to give him any reason to pry, not that he ever would. He left, leaving her once more in the quiet.

She switched on the TV, tuning to the news. She nestled her head into the pillow, letting the journalists’ voices wash over her, a soothing background. It was a coping mechanism; she’d construct mental images from their words, keeping other, unwanted memories at bay until sleep claimed her.

The next morning, the household staff buzzed around her, assisting with her packing. She was lost, her mother always having handled such tasks. She allowed Mrs. Hotch to sort through her things, deciding what was necessary.

Mathew had already packed and was eating breakfast in the dining room. She generally avoided his company at meals, preferring to eat alone in her room. However, this morning, she felt a strange pull to join him. She held onto a faint hope that leaving the city might bring about some change between them. She wasn’t expecting love, but perhaps they could learn to coexist, until they figured out their complicated situation.

"Ma’am, Mr. Jacob is waiting downstairs," a skittish voice spoke, and she saw a young girl, slightly out of her teens, looking at her with alarmed eyes. Allison offered a warm smile and nodded.

It was time to go, and she was eager to leave the house. Descending the stairs, she saw their luggage already loaded into the car, and Mathew leaning impatiently against the doorframe. She hurried down, the click of her heels drawing his attention. With a disinterested expression, he signaled for the driver to bring the car around and left without a word. She glared at his retreating figure, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. Who did he think he was? Could he not even manage a simple greeting?

"Did you pack everything you need?" he asked once they were in the car, headed for the airport. She nodded, turning away from him.

"Are you certain?" he pressed. "I’d rather not return for a forgotten item."

She rolled her eyes, and before she could stop herself, blurted, "I am not Hayley."

She bit her lip, watching him recoil and clench his fists. She wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t feel she owed him anything, not even an explanation.

The rest of the trip was silent, and soon they were at the airport. Mathew handled everything, treating her like a child incapable of managing simple tasks. She wanted to protest, to tell him she’d traveled alone many times, but after her earlier outburst, she held her tongue.

After checking in, they proceeded to the waiting area, Mathew marching ahead, leaving a considerable distance between them. She rolled her eyes and followed, focusing her gaze on the back of his head. She was so fixated on him that she failed to notice the person walking towards her. She only realized it when she collided with her, sending her belongings scattering. Mathew turned, groaning at the sight of her involvement. She bent down, helping to gather the woman’s things, offering apologies.

As she handed her some papers, she finally saw her face. She froze, her heart pounding. The woman, slightly out of her teens, stared at her, her mouth agape. Before either of them could speak, Mathew stood beside her, his tone polite.

"I apologize for my wife's clumsiness; I hope nothing is damaged," he said, indicating the laptop she held.

Allison had given it to her for her birthday, in her favorite rose-gold shade. The red of the laptop now matched the flush of her face as she glared at Allison. He'd said "wife," she must have heard.

Allison needed to explain before she became enraged and told him. She opened her mouth, her eyes welling up, but the woman struck first. Her hand connected with Allison's cheek, stinging.

The pain brought tears to her eyes, and she said in a shaky voice, "Lexie, please, it's not what it seems."

"You snake!" she hissed, raising her hand to strike again.

Allison closed her eyes, bracing for the impact, but Mathew interposed, stepping in front of her, catching Lexie's wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I’m giving this treacherous woman what she deserves," Lexie retorted, her tone venomous.

Mathew looked from Allison to Lexie and back. He crossed his arms, shielding Lexie behind him.

"Allison, what's happening?" he asked, his tone laced with anger and embarrassment. Everyone in the vicinity was staring, and Mathew’s face was flushed.

Allison swallowed, looking at her feet, debating whether to lie. She decided honesty was best, given Lexie’s presence.

"I used to be involved with her family," she confessed, the words echoing in her ears.