“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shot back, her voice laced with accusation. “I just slapped you to wake you up. You’ve been standing here acting like her husband since you got the call!”
Nathaniel’s chest tightened. “Well… I am her husband.”
Delilah’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Oh, so now you admit it? Now that she’s dead, you’re ready to drop the ‘Harold’ act and go back to being Nathaniel? What’s the plan—suddenly announce she was your wife all along? Don’t tell me you’re having some moral crisis now.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that we planned this. You wanted her gone, remember? You said you couldn’t stand living this lie anymore, that you were done with her. And now you’re here—fuming, hysterical, acting like you’ve lost the love of your life.” Delilah’s voice dripped with contempt. “Didn’t we want this? So why are you looking at me like I’m the villain?”
For a moment, Nathaniel couldn’t answer. Her words dug into his mind, pulling at memories he’d buried deep.
He remembered the first time he noticed Eleanor. She had been standing alone on the pier that evening, the sun sinking low, spilling gold over the water.
The wind caught her hair, tossing it across her face, but she didn’t mind. She was smiling at something on her phone, laughing quietly to herself.
Curiosity had pulled him closer. “What’s so funny?” he’d asked, half-expecting her to flinch at the intrusion.
Instead, she’d glanced up at him with those steady, dark eyes. “A joke my brother sent me,” she said simply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you want to hear it, or are you just nosy by nature?”
The corner of his mouth had curved. “Maybe both.”
She’d tilted her head, pretending to study him. “You’re Nathaniel, right? The pilot?”
“Guilty.”
“I heard you have a habit of disappearing for days,” she said. “I thought that was just a rumor. But here you are, magically appearing on my pier.”
“Your pier?” he teased.
“Yes,” she replied, with that smile—quiet but certain. “I come here when I need peace. The world’s noisy enough as it is.”
Something about her tone had disarmed him. That night, they’d ended up walking the length of the pier together, trading stories—his about turbulent flights and foreign cities, hers about sketching by the water and the strange comfort of seagulls.