The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction) by Susan Wingate Read Free Book Online

bruised the juice. She poured a glass for herself first then Geoff and then added some into the sauté pan. She stirred and watched the mixture bubble. As she worked, she seemed to go inside herself as she stirred. She acted as though she’d forgotten Geoff was even there.
    “Euly? What’s going on?” The softness in his voice made her take in a deep breath. She wondered if she’d been breathing at all. “Euly. You have to talk to me.” He’d gone one fraction too far with the demand.
    “I don’t have to do anything of the sort. I’m leaving for a few days, maybe a week. You can go to see your family when you want to and I can see mine.”
    “You’re leaving your mother?”
    Euly turned to Geoff. She still held the knife and used it to emphasize her point. Geoff watched it as she conducted a silent symphony about her mother.
    “My mother will be fine alone. She likes it that way. Anyway, don’t try to make me feel guilty. I’m not guilty about her or leaving here or anything, okay? I have to go and I will. The end.” She swung the knife back. She set it down with a thud against the counter and began tearing up thick leaves of romaine and dropped each bunch elegantly into the deep cherry colored salad bowl. Geoff watched silently. Peripherally, she could see he was still staring at her. Then, she slammed both hands onto the counter. “Dammit. I don’t have to give you a reason.”
    “So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re leaving because you have to in this fit of anger. Is that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “You can’t hear the selfishness in that?” Euly faced him and walked directly to the opposite side of the bar across from him.
    “Look, Geoff. You never seem to give me the opportunity to object to you running off and being with the guys whenever you feel like it. I’d appreciate the same treatment. If you don’t mind.”
    “Well, I do mind, Euly. Are you seeing your ex?”
    The thought nearly knocked her down. She hadn’t thought of her ex-husband in years nor did she have any feelings for him. Then, the insult of the comment set in.
    “Oh. Good grief. Of course, this must be about your manhood, right? Why else would I leave? No. I’m not going off to see the man whom I divorced nor am I having some illicit affair with anyone else. I’m going. I can’t tell you why all I know is that I have to go. When I find what I’m looking for, you’ll be the first to know. How’s that?”
    Their fight was escalating. She could feel it spinning out of control. She wanted a drink – a good stiff shot of scotch. She stood there leaning into the counter at her husband and stopped for fear the fight would wrangle them into something irreparable.
    “I’m getting a drink. You want one?”
    “Boy, do I.” He breathed out heavily and she walked out of the kitchen through the closed set of French doors and into the dining room. The air felt crisp on her hot face. They closed off that room once the weather turned bad but all she wanted to do right now was to walk outside in the dark and cold of the frosty night. Alone.
    She opened the liquor cabinet and felt a pang of guilt knife at her gut. She was resorting to an alcoholic beverage to calm her nerves, to make her feel better. She wondered about the old stigma of writers and drinking. While she poured two shots into the crystal glasses, she thought about the stereotypical alcoholic writers of the past, Hemingway, Poe – her heroes. She slammed her drink in a quick flip of the head backward then refilled her glass. Hemingway would be proud. She felt her mood lighten almost immediately.
    When she returned with two glasses full, Geoff had turned his attention to golf again but remained on the stool where she’d left him.
    “Here.” She set his drink in front of him. “Want ice.”
    “Sure. Look, Euly, whatever it is you feel you need to do, do it. I won’t ask any more questions. I love you. Do you understand me?”
    Euly nodded that she did and