Loving The Man I Wanted To Hate

Penelope's POV 

"You're blocking the light."Jonathan scorned at me as if I were a little kid who intentionally annoys adults.

I stepped aside without saying anything.

Jonathan didn’t look up, he didn't even bother to know how his words affected me. He kept signing document after document, his pen moving across the paper with his face bent low...his actions speaking volumes about how unimportant I am to him.

I pulled out my chair and sat down.

The breakfast Mrs. Hale, the housekeeper, prepared was still warm...Eggs, toast, and a small pot of tea on my side because she remembered that I didn’t take coffee. At least she acknowledged my feelings. I reached for the cup and wrapped my hands around it, more for something to hold than anything else.

Jonathan turned a page...his fingers brushing the rough texture of the paper. 

"You have a charity lunch today," I said. "Your assistant called yesterday to confirm."

"I know my schedule, Penelope. You don't have to remind me." His voice sounded like he was annoyed. 

I was just reminding you..."

"...I didn’t ask." He cuts sharply, his face etched with fury.

I took a sip of my tea and looked out the window; the city was lively. Cars moved below, and people moved from place to place. 

"The accounts flagged an unusual transfer last week," Jonathan said, still not looking at me. "Did you use the household card for something personal again?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Jonathan. I’m sure."

Finally, he looked at me but not for a good reason. He saw me as a problem he is struggling to solve. His dark brown eyes, moved over me with the same expression he probably used for poorly written contracts.

"The last time you said you were sure, I had to fix it. That was three years ago and yet here we are..."

I set my cup down. My fingers pressed flat against the table for a moment before I pulled them back into my lap.

"I didn’t use the card," I said. "You can check it again."

He looked back down at his papers and nodded without saying a word.

This time around, I wasn't sure if I was to be relieved.

An hour passed like that and he was still signing. Meanwhile, the food was already cold.

I ate two bites of toast and he ate nothing. He never ate at the table. I wasn’t sure why he sat there at all, except maybe to remind us both what this was all about...What we were. Which is...two people sharing a space and nothing else.

"The Mercer gala is next Saturday," I said.

"I know." He responded flatly

"Do you want me to confirm our attendance or..."

"I'll go alone." He muttered 

I looked at him deeply. "Jonathan..."

"It's a business event." He stacked the papers and tapped the edges into a line. "You'll only complicate things."

"But..but I'm your wife."

He stopped tapping the papers. "Yes," he said slowly, as if reminding himself of something unpleasant. "You are."

I could feel my chest tighten, but my face remained calm. I had learned that in this house, you're to keep your face still and voice low in order not to give him anything to use against me.

"I didn’t choose this any more than you did," I said.

"No." He stood, picked up his papers, and buttoned his jacket. "But at least I don’t pretend it’s something it isn’t."

He walked out of the dining room without pushing his chair in. I sat there staring at the cold eggs on my plate.

'At least I don’t pretend...'

I wondered what he thought I was 'pretending?' That I was happy? That I was wanted? I had stopped pretending those things long before he married me. I stopped pretending the day he looked at me on our wedding morning and said, without a hint of warmth, "This is temporary."

Three years later, I was still here.

I didn’t know what that made me.

***

That night, the house was quiet. Jonathan returned late and went straight to his separate room, and closed the door. I heard the lock click from upstairs. I always heard it every night.

I came downstairs past midnight to get water. The kitchen light was off, and I didn’t turn it on. I liked the dark sometimes because it didn’t ask anything of me.

I was passing his room when I heard his voice. His tone was deep and it sounded like he didn't want anyone to hear him. Maybe he knew I was going to eavesdrop because I certainly did.

I stopped walking to listen further. 

"I know it's been a long time...I know." He said.

I pressed my back against the wall. The glass in my hand was cold against my palm.

"Just tell her to be patient." His voice dropped even lower, almost soft, softer than I had ever heard Jonathan speak to anyone. "When she comes back… everything will go back to how it should be."

My breath paused in my throat. 'When she comes back... who is she exactly?' I didn’t move. I couldn’t even if I tried to. 

Because I had already realised, without a single doubt in my body, exactly who he was talking about.

And if I was right...

Everything I had quietly endured for three years was about to mean nothing, and that would determine my fate.