Walking into the living room, Riley sat in his chair and reached for the evening paper. He scanned the headlines three times without comprehending a word of what he was reading.
Ten minutes, he decided. He'd give her ten minutes to come to her senses, and if she didn't, then he was going in after her. He'd demand to know what the hell he'd done that was so terrible, if it came to that.
The frustration ate at him like acid. Usually, when he arrived home from any length of time at sea, he stopped in at the apartment just long enough to drop off his duffel bag and change clothes. Then he'd meet up with his friends and they'd hit the streets and celebrate. This time, not once, from the moment he'd stepped off the Atlantis, had he considered leaving Hannah.
His own ten-minute deadline passed. Tossing aside the evening paper, Riley braced his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. So this was what it meant to be married, Riley mused, sighing heavily. To hand a woman his heart and his soul and then have her trample upon it for some imagined wrong.
He knew what she wanted. He hadn't been fooled by her sweet, docile ways. Everything she'd said and done had been computed to convince him of his wrongs. Now she was looking for him to meekly follow her into the bedroom and beg her forgiveness.
Like hell. If he'd committed some terrible crime, then she'd have to tell him face-to-face instead of hiding herself away in her bedroom, waiting for him to come and grovel at her feet. He'd gladly suffer her indignation before he'd lower himself to that.
Riley's heart beat high in his throat as he soared to his feet. It would serve her right if he were to disappear, leave her to wonder and fret while he stayed out half the night, carousing with his friends.
He toyed with the idea, fueling it with angry frustration, when his gaze happened upon the oil painting above the fireplace. His breath came in jagged bursts as he recalled the pride and eagerness that had flashed from her eyes as she'd studied his reaction, so eager for his approval.
Had everything she'd said and done been calculated to bring him to his knees? Riley found it hard to believe. Difficult to fathom. Hannah knew little of subterfuge.
He stepped over to the sofa, his steps slow and measured. Picking up the crocheted pillow, he ran his hands over the surface, admiring Hannah's work. His thoughts were in turmoil, torn between what his heart was saying and what his head was shouting.