Read The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction) for Free Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wingate
between Tiger Woods and her. Euly heard Geoff giggle under the drone of a gallery clapping softly and commentators as they gave a blow-by-blow in their typical mundane hushed voice. Euly wasn’t amused and headed past him to the laundry room where they kept a first-aid kit.
“Again, get it?” Euly walked by ignoring Geoff. “Are you okay?”
Euly refused to answer him and thrashed about through the room slamming cupboard doors and setting the kit noisily onto the counter.
“I asked… are… you… okay?”
Euly came out with a bandage on her finger and bruised feelings.
“Why do you want to know? All you do is sit there on your butt, watch TV, and eat.”
“Here we go.”
“Here we go?” Euly nearly gagged trying to keep from saying what she wanted to say. “Forget it. Your dinner will be ready soon.” She stomped back into the kitchen. She wondered if Geoff felt her anger scudding through the airwaves.
“You know, honey, that’s not all I care about. I love,” he paused and then continued to tease her, “I love Jonathan.” His tricks wouldn’t work on her tonight, even when it involved the dog. His voice was happy but Euly wasn’t in the mood for happy.
“You know what Geoff?” She stalled before saying what she wanted, to insult him, to hurt him, instead she said what was really on her mind, “I’m leaving.”
“Geez, Euly. I’m only kidding.” He turned around and stared limp-faced.
“Well, I’m not.” Geoff rose from the couch. “I need to get away. I’m leaving for Phoenix this Friday.”
“What? Good God, Euly. Where did this come from?”
She turned back to her cooking and scraped the onion into the sauté mixture with her knife. As she wiped her hands on her apron, Geoff came over and sat at the bar.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, and that’s exactly why I have to leave.”
“What are you talking about? How much is this going to cost us?”
“Christ, Geoff. I’m making money too, remember?” She shook her head and turned away from him, pulled the stems off of three tomatoes and rinsed them trying to avoid water hitting her bandage. “Anyway, your stores make great money. God, Geoff! We have a retirement fund that’s ready to split at the seams and I can’t take a little time to myself? Why do I always have to justify leaving and you just do whatever the hell you want. Go on golf trips, ski trips, all that shit’s okay, but me I have to leave and you give me the third-degree. Why the double-standard?”
“Why do you have to go?” His attention was diverted away from golf and entirely on his wife. “What?”
“You said you have to go, why?”
“I just do. I have to get away.”
“From me?”
“Why does everything have to be about you?” She jutted out her chin daring him to answer.
“Well is it about me? Do I have something to worry about?”
“It’s not about you. It’s about me.”
“Okay, so what about you is this about?”
“Good grief. That is the worst sentence.”
“Come on. You know what I mean.” She refused to engage him further. Euly paused and looked down at the tomatoes she’d been slicing. The sloppy juice ran everywhere and was spilling into the ruts of the cutting board. They were too ripe to put into a salad so she slipped them into the sauté along with the garlic and onions. Within seconds she decided they’d have a red sauce over some pasta, angel hair. The garlic and onion weakened under the heat with an added transparent quality letting her know it was time to season, add the tomatoes and red wine. After sprinkling coarse salt she ground in fresh pepper then stirred. She worked with her injured finger up and unavailable as she cubed more tomatoes for the sauce. Their perfume mesmerized her and she stole one cube and ate it. Its familiar sappy acid slid down her throat and nearly choked her. Grabbing the bottle of cabernet, she pulled the cork out by her teeth. The popping made her worry if she’d
“Again, get it?” Euly walked by ignoring Geoff. “Are you okay?”
Euly refused to answer him and thrashed about through the room slamming cupboard doors and setting the kit noisily onto the counter.
“I asked… are… you… okay?”
Euly came out with a bandage on her finger and bruised feelings.
“Why do you want to know? All you do is sit there on your butt, watch TV, and eat.”
“Here we go.”
“Here we go?” Euly nearly gagged trying to keep from saying what she wanted to say. “Forget it. Your dinner will be ready soon.” She stomped back into the kitchen. She wondered if Geoff felt her anger scudding through the airwaves.
“You know, honey, that’s not all I care about. I love,” he paused and then continued to tease her, “I love Jonathan.” His tricks wouldn’t work on her tonight, even when it involved the dog. His voice was happy but Euly wasn’t in the mood for happy.
“You know what Geoff?” She stalled before saying what she wanted, to insult him, to hurt him, instead she said what was really on her mind, “I’m leaving.”
“Geez, Euly. I’m only kidding.” He turned around and stared limp-faced.
“Well, I’m not.” Geoff rose from the couch. “I need to get away. I’m leaving for Phoenix this Friday.”
“What? Good God, Euly. Where did this come from?”
She turned back to her cooking and scraped the onion into the sauté mixture with her knife. As she wiped her hands on her apron, Geoff came over and sat at the bar.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, and that’s exactly why I have to leave.”
“What are you talking about? How much is this going to cost us?”
“Christ, Geoff. I’m making money too, remember?” She shook her head and turned away from him, pulled the stems off of three tomatoes and rinsed them trying to avoid water hitting her bandage. “Anyway, your stores make great money. God, Geoff! We have a retirement fund that’s ready to split at the seams and I can’t take a little time to myself? Why do I always have to justify leaving and you just do whatever the hell you want. Go on golf trips, ski trips, all that shit’s okay, but me I have to leave and you give me the third-degree. Why the double-standard?”
“Why do you have to go?” His attention was diverted away from golf and entirely on his wife. “What?”
“You said you have to go, why?”
“I just do. I have to get away.”
“From me?”
“Why does everything have to be about you?” She jutted out her chin daring him to answer.
“Well is it about me? Do I have something to worry about?”
“It’s not about you. It’s about me.”
“Okay, so what about you is this about?”
“Good grief. That is the worst sentence.”
“Come on. You know what I mean.” She refused to engage him further. Euly paused and looked down at the tomatoes she’d been slicing. The sloppy juice ran everywhere and was spilling into the ruts of the cutting board. They were too ripe to put into a salad so she slipped them into the sauté along with the garlic and onions. Within seconds she decided they’d have a red sauce over some pasta, angel hair. The garlic and onion weakened under the heat with an added transparent quality letting her know it was time to season, add the tomatoes and red wine. After sprinkling coarse salt she ground in fresh pepper then stirred. She worked with her injured finger up and unavailable as she cubed more tomatoes for the sauce. Their perfume mesmerized her and she stole one cube and ate it. Its familiar sappy acid slid down her throat and nearly choked her. Grabbing the bottle of cabernet, she pulled the cork out by her teeth. The popping made her worry if she’d