The heavy door of the black Maybach closed, sealing us inside. The plush leather seats offered no comfort.
"Explain the elevator, Julian," I demanded. I gripped the edge of my seatbelt.
He started the engine. The dashboard illuminated his sharp profile. "Explain what?"
"You said my sister was asking for my medical records. You know I am an only child."
Julian merged the car into the exit lane of the hospital parking garage. "It was a strange interaction. A woman at the nurses' station claimed she was family."
"And you just let her?"
"I told her she was mistaken. She walked away."
"What did she look like?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Because someone is impersonating my family at my doctor's office. What did she look like?"
"Blonde. Average height. I didn't get a good look."
"Did she have a name?"
"I didn't ask."
"You didn't ask the name of the woman trying to steal my medical information?"
"Clara, stop interrogating me. I handled it." He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. "I protect what's mine. You know that."
"Right. You protect me."
"I told security to keep an eye out for her. It's handled. Don't stress yourself out."
"I'm not stressed. I'm confused."
"There's nothing to be confused about. It was a misunderstanding."
I looked out the window. The gray concrete walls of the garage blurred past.
The heater kicked on, blowing warm air through the vents. A sharp, sweet scent filled the confined space. Citrus. Grapefruit and mandarin.
Julian wore sandalwood. Always.
I turned my face toward the window so he wouldn’t see my expression. Her perfume was soaked into his clothes, into the seats, into the recycled air I was breathing. He had driven her somewhere in this car. Recently.
"You’re very quiet," Julian said.
"I’m tired," I answered. "Growing two people is exhausting."
He reached over and squeezed my knee. His hand was warm and steady, the hand of a man who slept perfectly at night.
I smiled at him in the dark.
And I started counting the days until I took everything he owned.
