Control. Kayla Perrin
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ridiculous conversation, and I could no longer stay here.
“Sir, I apologize if I somehow—”
“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” I said, cutting Alexander off. I gave Robert a pointed look, barely keeping my fury contained. And to think I’d been concerned about keeping him happy. I picked up my clutch and my shawl. “We’re leaving.”
“Good idea,” Robert said.
Worry creased the waiter’s brow, almost as if he suspected Robert was the type to lodge a complaint with the manager. If that was his assumption, then he’d read my husband correctly.
Alexander held up both hands, a sign of submission. “If I was disrespectful in any way, I apologize.”
“Next time, look at a woman’s face—not her tits—when you’re speaking to her.”
I heard the words and cringed. For the first time in our marriage, I wanted to slap Robert.
I didn’t dare look around for fear everyone within earshot had heard his crude words. I wanted to meet the waiter’s dejected eyes and tell him that my husband’s high blood pressure medication was making him act like an asshole. But all I could do was head for the door before the embarrassment killed me.
I didn’t stop until the cool evening breeze hit my face. With Robert moving more slowly these days because of his knee, I made it outside before he did. And once there, I wanted to scream.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not with the valet attendants and other patrons nearby.
Robert had been rude on other occasions, more often than I liked these days, but his behavior tonight was completely uncalled for.
Was it his age, his medication, or his growing insecurity? Or was this the real Robert? Had I overlooked his true nature all of these years?
Yes.
The answer sounded in my mind—and it scared me.
Chapter Three
I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders as I stood outside waiting for Robert. I didn’t turn back to see how close he was, or if he’d stopped to complain to the manager. It was just the kind of thing he would do.
Several agonizing seconds passed and no Robert. My curiosity getting the better of me, I turned. He was a couple steps from the entryway.
People were staring in his direction with the kind of interest reserved for tabloids and reality shows.
Despite my anger, I reached for the door and opened it for him. It was something I did all the time, the kind of thing a younger wife did to take care of her elderly husband.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Robert said casually, as though he hadn’t created a public spectacle inside.
I didn’t respond. Just watched as he approached the valet stand and handed in our ticket.
A few minutes later, our yellow Porsche 911 Carrera pulled up to the curb. The young valet who’d brought it held the driver’s door open for Robert, then made his way around the car and opened the passenger door for me.
Not going to accuse him of staring at my tits? I thought sourly.
No, Robert just handed the young man a ten. Then he revved the engine and began to drive.
Angry, I stared ahead blankly. I was going to give Robert the silent treatment if he spoke to me, but he didn’t say a word, either. After a couple of minutes, I glanced his way to gauge his mood. On his face, I saw a contented expression—and if I wasn’t mistaken, a hint of smugness. Not at all the look of a man who’d acted so outraged that a waiter had been inappropriately ogling his wife.
If he truly believed that ridiculous claim.
Robert hit a button to turn on the stereo, and classical music filled the car. He thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel like a man who didn’t have a care in the world.
“I say we head to the country club. You can count on professionalism there.”
I turned my gaze from his face to my window. To the country club…gee, what a surprise. Suddenly, I couldn’t help thinking that Robert had orchestrated the whole ugly incident just so we would leave The Melting Pot. He hadn’t wanted to go there in the first place, and what a perfect plan, to make the experience so uncomfortable there was no way we could have stayed.
Did you do it on purpose? I wanted to ask him. Did you humiliate our waiter just so you could get your way?
Yes. You know he did, Elsie.
And I did. That was exactly his style. Passive-aggressive bullshit so that he could always get his way.
After a few minutes, Robert asked, “Are you not going to speak to me again?” He sounded almost cheery.
I said nothing.
“Elsie…”
“You embarrassed me,” I said. “Not to mention that poor waiter.”
“That poor waiter needs to learn some respect.”
Now I faced Robert. “What are you talking about? He wasn’t looking at my tits, as you so crudely put it.”
“He was.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“You never see it, do you?”
Knowing what Robert was referring to, I once again turned to look out the window.
“I don’t want a repeat of Hawaii,” he said.
“Hawaii?”
“Yes, Hawaii,” Robert stated curtly. “Don’t play dumb when you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Nothing had happened in Hawaii—though Robert wouldn’t believe it. During our last vacation there, over Christmas, he had been convinced that one of the pool attendants was hitting on me. The man had made pleasant conversation, brought me extra towels, reserved our lounge chairs every day. Robert had point-blank asked the man if he’d been trying to get me into bed.
He hadn’t been, of course—even if I can admit he was flirting. Robert and I weren’t the only May-December couple who went to the spectacular St. Regis Resort in Kauai over Christmas, year after year. Hollywood producers and their young wives also packed the place over the holidays. Men with power and money and trophy wives. The hotel staff knew how to cater to just that kind of clientele. How to pander to them and even kiss their asses when necessary. But this attendant, Richard, was new, and didn’t keep the same kind of “professional” distance that men like Robert expected. He’d talk to you about the weather, your interests, where you were from—that sort of thing. And sure, he probably stole a few excited glances of me in my two-piece.
That was to be expected. Guys the world over checked women out, not caring if they were married or not. And wasn’t that supposed to be the perk of having a beautiful woman on your arm—that other men were openly envious of your catch?
Unfortunately for Richard, Robert had been so offended by his “lack of professionalism” that he’d complained to the hotel. There was no way that management wanted to risk losing any of their high-end customers, especially not Robert Kolstad, so Richard had been made to apologize to me and Robert—and then he’d been fired.
“Our waiter was nothing but courteous and professional,” I said.
“He’s lucky I didn’t speak to the manager.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I’m sure you are.”
I sighed. “Robert, can you just let it go? Please, you’re making an issue where there is none.”
He had never been jealous. Not early in our relationship,