She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 80

(Chase)

Sonia asked about Lily's potassium levels this morning.

Not in the vague, performance-art way she used to ask about the baby. The kind of question asked to be seen, not answered.

She had the actual results sheet in her hand, the one from yesterday's bloods, and she wanted to know what the number meant and whether it was better than last week.

I told her.

She listened, asked a follow-up question, and then relayed the information accurately to my mother twenty minutes later when she asked.

It was somewhat disconcerting.

I’ve been trying to work out what to do with this for three days.

The old Sonia, the one I had to consciously remind myself to include in conversations about my daughter, would not have known there were potassium levels to ask about.

She would have found a reason to be elsewhere during the medical conversations and reappeared afterwards in something expensive, smelling wonderful, asking how I was holding up.

She still smells wonderful. She hasn’t stopped doing that.

But something has shifted and I can't decide if it's genuine or the most sophisticated con she's attempted yet.

Because yes, deep in my heart I know she’s a con artist in some way. Showing me what I most want to see.

I also know that despite appearances, she does that because she’s deeply insecure.

Natasha would probably scoff if I told her that, but it’s true.

Sonia pretends to be very sure of herself and comfortable in her own skin, but she’s terrified of being rejected.

I sit in my study with the door closed and try to think clearly.

The problem is that clarity has become complicated.

I remember seeing her that day on the beach.

I remember it the way you remember anything that happens fast and changes everything.

In images, in feeling, in the certainty that something significant has just occurred.

She was standing at the water's edge in a white dress with the sun behind her, and I walked across the sand because I couldn't think of a single reason not to.

She looked up at me and smiled and I thought, absurdly, that I recognized her.

That I'd been waiting to meet her without knowing it.

I've never been a man who believed in fate.

I don't buy into the idea of the universe arranging things.

Love at first sight is a ridiculous notion.

I trust data, patterns, results.

But that afternoon on the beach felt like déjà vu. Like fate somehow.

So I pursued her. I made time for her. I let her become part of my life in a way I hadn't allowed since Natasha became my wife.

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