back. It was the best response Veronica could hope for these days. Not those big belly laughs from when Maggie was a toddler that she missed so much.
She parallel-parked the Tahoe on Main Street and entered Flavia’s Art Gallery, not sure what to expect. Maggie and Jamie trailed her, carrying the Raphael, one on each end like it was a couch. A clerk pointed them to Flavia.
When Veronica saw her, she almost fell over.
Chapter 18
Veronica had never felt such rage pulsing through her veins. And she wasn’t sure why. At the end she made up any excuse not to be with him. Their love had long fizzled and they’d entered that zone they never thought they would enter—staying together for the kids—even if they never had an official conversation about it.
Flavia appeared older than Veronica, probably in her mid-forties, but it was only a small victory. She was a striking beauty.
“Can I help you?” she asked, and flashed the most perfect smile that Veronica had ever seen. Although, it probably wouldn’t look so good with a few missing teeth, she thought.
“I’m Veronica Peterson … Carsten’s wife.”
Flavia took a step back and froze. They stared at each other, remaining as still as the many sculptures that filled the gallery.
“Do you two know each other?” Zach asked the obvious.
“Yeah,” Veronica began, “Flavia was the one who …”
She caught a glimpse of Maggie and Jamie, still holding on tightly to the priceless painting, and looking intently at their lunatic mother. They worshiped their father, and she wanted them to hang onto that myth for the rest of their lives—no different than Santa Claus, even if Santa ran around behind Mrs. Claus back and once socked her in her rosy cheek.
“Why don’t we talk in my office?” Flavia read the situation perfectly. There would be no winner in a public display.
Veronica followed her into a cramped office and closed the door behind them. Flavia offered Veronica a seat, but she chose to stand. If she asked her to stand, she would have sat. The return of her old stubbornness made her feel nostalgic.
Even the name Flavia sounded exotic—just the opposite of Carsten’s simple family life with the cookie-cutter wife and two kids. At least she didn’t have to wonder what he saw in her.
When Veronica hired that investigator to follow Carsten—she still couldn’t believe she did that—the PI asked her if she wanted him to dig further, such as name, address, and whether or not she had a spouse. But Veronica declined. The pictures of the two of them sneaking into motels was enough. Veronica didn’t want revenge—just a boring divorce. But before she could summon the strength to address him, their split became permanent.
“Did Carsten tell you about us?” Flavia got right to the point.
Veronica was thrown off by the honesty. “No.”
“We decided it was best not to tell anyone. It was too dangerous to involve others. So if Carsten held his end of the bargain, how did you find out?”
The part he failed to live up to was their wedding vows. “I had you followed,” Veronica said and felt guilty about it. She didn’t know why—she was the victim here.
Flavia took a seat behind her cluttered desk. “Wow, he really had you pegged.”
“Excuse me?”
“Carsten and I spent a lot of time together. He opened up to me about a lot of things, including you. Said you changed over the years. That you weren’t the same girl he’d married.”
“I’m surprised you had time to talk.”
Flavia’s face turned quizzical. “What exactly do you think went on between me and your husband?”
“Don’t try to play innocent—I saw the photos.”
“I don’t know what photos you’re talking about, but I doubt they show me and Carsten engaging in inappropriate behavior … at least not the kind you’re thinking of.”
Maybe not, but you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what went on once they entered those motel rooms together. Besides,
She parallel-parked the Tahoe on Main Street and entered Flavia’s Art Gallery, not sure what to expect. Maggie and Jamie trailed her, carrying the Raphael, one on each end like it was a couch. A clerk pointed them to Flavia.
When Veronica saw her, she almost fell over.
Chapter 18
Veronica had never felt such rage pulsing through her veins. And she wasn’t sure why. At the end she made up any excuse not to be with him. Their love had long fizzled and they’d entered that zone they never thought they would enter—staying together for the kids—even if they never had an official conversation about it.
Flavia appeared older than Veronica, probably in her mid-forties, but it was only a small victory. She was a striking beauty.
“Can I help you?” she asked, and flashed the most perfect smile that Veronica had ever seen. Although, it probably wouldn’t look so good with a few missing teeth, she thought.
“I’m Veronica Peterson … Carsten’s wife.”
Flavia took a step back and froze. They stared at each other, remaining as still as the many sculptures that filled the gallery.
“Do you two know each other?” Zach asked the obvious.
“Yeah,” Veronica began, “Flavia was the one who …”
She caught a glimpse of Maggie and Jamie, still holding on tightly to the priceless painting, and looking intently at their lunatic mother. They worshiped their father, and she wanted them to hang onto that myth for the rest of their lives—no different than Santa Claus, even if Santa ran around behind Mrs. Claus back and once socked her in her rosy cheek.
“Why don’t we talk in my office?” Flavia read the situation perfectly. There would be no winner in a public display.
Veronica followed her into a cramped office and closed the door behind them. Flavia offered Veronica a seat, but she chose to stand. If she asked her to stand, she would have sat. The return of her old stubbornness made her feel nostalgic.
Even the name Flavia sounded exotic—just the opposite of Carsten’s simple family life with the cookie-cutter wife and two kids. At least she didn’t have to wonder what he saw in her.
When Veronica hired that investigator to follow Carsten—she still couldn’t believe she did that—the PI asked her if she wanted him to dig further, such as name, address, and whether or not she had a spouse. But Veronica declined. The pictures of the two of them sneaking into motels was enough. Veronica didn’t want revenge—just a boring divorce. But before she could summon the strength to address him, their split became permanent.
“Did Carsten tell you about us?” Flavia got right to the point.
Veronica was thrown off by the honesty. “No.”
“We decided it was best not to tell anyone. It was too dangerous to involve others. So if Carsten held his end of the bargain, how did you find out?”
The part he failed to live up to was their wedding vows. “I had you followed,” Veronica said and felt guilty about it. She didn’t know why—she was the victim here.
Flavia took a seat behind her cluttered desk. “Wow, he really had you pegged.”
“Excuse me?”
“Carsten and I spent a lot of time together. He opened up to me about a lot of things, including you. Said you changed over the years. That you weren’t the same girl he’d married.”
“I’m surprised you had time to talk.”
Flavia’s face turned quizzical. “What exactly do you think went on between me and your husband?”
“Don’t try to play innocent—I saw the photos.”
“I don’t know what photos you’re talking about, but I doubt they show me and Carsten engaging in inappropriate behavior … at least not the kind you’re thinking of.”
Maybe not, but you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what went on once they entered those motel rooms together. Besides,
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