The Account Under the Bed
I closed the lid, heard the latch catch, slid the case back into its place against the baseboard, and let the duvet fall over it.
I was on my feet with a bottle of lotion from the nightstand in my hand, unscrewing the cap, by the time Julian walked into the bedroom.
He had taken off his sunglasses.
His dark hair was damp at the edges from the sea breeze, and he looked, as he always looked, entirely at ease — a man who believed, with total sincerity, that he controlled every variable in his world.
Six years ago that certainty had looked like strength to me.
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