Chapter 5

Anna POV

I was in my room, trying to focus on my latest graphic novel draft when I heard the front door open downstairs. The sound of Vera's excited voice echoed through the hallway. I set my pencil down with a sigh and headed downstairs.

By the time I reached the foyer, Vera was already there, her face lit up with that perfect smile she reserved for Edward.

"Edward! You're back!" Her voice carried a warmth that made my stomach tighten. She stood a little too close to him, her posture tilted toward his tall frame like a flower seeking sunlight.

I approached them calmly, noticing Edward's slightly loosened tie and the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes. Without a word, I reached for his suit jacket, which he shrugged off and handed to me.

"Dinner's ready," I said simply, hanging his jacket in the closet.

Edward nodded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before turning back to Vera, who was already launching into some story about her day. I watched them walk toward the dining room, the distance between them measured but comfortable – the ease of two people who had known each other their entire lives.

A history I could never be part of, no matter how many legal documents said I was his wife.

The dining room glowed with the soft light from the crystal chandelier overhead. Mrs. Thompson had set the table with the formal china – something she only did when we had guests. As if Vera was a guest and not someone planning to stay indefinitely in our home.

We settled into our seats, Edward at the head of the table, me to his right, and Vera to his left – a perfect triangle of tension disguised as family dinner.

"The salmon looks wonderful," Vera commented as Maria, one of our maids, served our plates. "You always know exactly what Edward likes, don't you, Maria?"

"Mr. Frost has always been partial to grilled salmon," Maria replied with a smile. "Even as a boy."

I took a sip of my wine, watching the exchange over the rim of my glass. Another reminder of their shared history, another little needle under my skin.

Vera turned to Edward, her expression shifting to one of subtle vulnerability. "I've been meaning to tell you... I spoke with Mom about possibly staying at the family house, but she was worried about me being there alone..."

The Parker mansion has six bedrooms, a full staff, and solid security systems. What exactly would she need to be worried about?

"It's absolutely fine for you to stay here," Edward replied smoothly. "You're always welcome, Vera. If you need anything at all, just let us know."

Mrs. Thompson, who had returned to check on the meal, nodded enthusiastically. "It's so nice having Miss Vera here! This house hasn't felt this lively in ages."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth, the tines clinking softly against my plate as I set it down. Her words shouldn't have stung, but they did. Had I been such poor company all these months? So cold and lifeless that Vera's presence was like a breath of fresh air?

Or maybe I'm just not the kind of woman who fills a room with laughter and light conversation. Not everyone can be Vera Parker with her perfect smile and practiced charm.

Vera looked at Edward with those wide green eyes. "Edward, you haven't asked me about Paris yet. Don't you want to know what I did there?"

Edward's lips curved into a slight smile. "Then what did you do in Paris, Vera?"

She leaned forward, animated now. "Oh, it was amazing! The spring collections were breathtaking this year. I met Jean-Paul Gaultier at a private showing – he's retiring, you know. And I visited that little café near the Sacré-Cœur that we found that summer..."

Her eyes never left Edward's face as she spoke, watching for his reactions, seeking his approval with every word. I focused on cutting my salmon into perfectly even pieces, pretending not to notice how she kept referencing their shared memories – places they'd visited together, inside jokes I wasn't part of.

"Oh!" Vera suddenly exclaimed, setting down her fork. "I almost forgot! I brought you both gifts. Wait here."

She hurried out of the dining room, returning moments later with two elegantly wrapped packages. She handed the smaller one to me first.

"For you, Anna. I remembered how much you love to draw."

I unwrapped it to find an expensive set of professional drawing pencils.

"Thank you," I said, wondering if she'd chosen them to be thoughtful or to remind me of my place – the artist wife, the creative one, but not the one who belonged in Edward's world.

She turned to Edward next, handing him a box wrapped in silver paper. "And for you."

Edward opened it to reveal a pale blue silk tie. Vera's fingers brushed against his as she helped lift it from the box.

"I saw it and immediately thought of your eyes," she said softly.

I watched Edward's face, searching for any sign of discomfort at her obvious attention, but his expression remained pleasantly neutral.

"Thank you, Vera. It's very nice." His tone was polite but detached – the same tone he used when thanking business associates for holiday gifts.

I stood up, suddenly unable to sit through another minute of this performance. "If you'll excuse me, I'm finished. I'll head upstairs."

Vera looked up, all innocence. "I can come with you if you'd like some company?"

"No need," I said, already moving toward the door. "I have work to finish."

As I walked away, I heard Vera's voice drop to a softer register. "Edward, does Anna have something against me? I... I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't have come to stay. I don't want to cause problems between you two."

The slight catch in her voice, the perfectly timed hesitation – it was masterful, really. I kept walking, not waiting to hear Edward's response.

Back in my room, I tried to lose myself in my work. The graphic novel I was creating featured a female protagonist who discovered she could step between parallel worlds – finding versions of her life where she'd made different choices. Sometimes I wondered if there was a parallel world where I hadn't married Edward, where I was still just Anna Wilson, living in a modest Brooklyn apartment with Helen, building my career one illustration at a time.

I drew carefully for about an hour and a half when my phone buzzed with a text message, pulling me from my work.

Edward: [I'm in the shower. Forgot to bring a towel. Bring me one.]

I stared at the screen. The master bathroom had a linen closet stocked with fresh towels. Edward knew exactly where they were kept. This wasn't about a towel.

I didn't respond, turning back to my drawing. A minute later, another message arrived.

Edward: [You know I don't like to be kept waiting.]

I set my pencil down with a sigh. This was the dance we'd been doing for months now – him summoning, me responding. Him taking, me giving. The steps were familiar, practiced, and despite everything, I couldn't deny the pull I still felt toward him.

Because no matter how much I tell myself I shouldn't want him, my body betrays me every time.

I walked down the hallway to the master bedroom, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps. Inside, I closed the door behind me and headed to the large walk-in closet where the fine Egyptian cotton towels were stored. I selected one, then approached the bathroom door, knocking lightly.

The door swung open suddenly, and Edward's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me inside the steam-filled bathroom.