She followed close behind him as he walked to the car. When she saw it was a limited-edition Rolls-Royce Phantom, something flickered in her eyes.
She pulled open the passenger door, and her gaze collided with mine.
She let out a gasp.
"And who might this be?"
I looked past Edith's scrutinizing gaze and locked eyes with Patrick, whose pupils contracted sharply.
I was curious how he'd answer.
He looked like someone who'd been dragged out of a beautiful dream. The smile that had been playing at the corners of his mouth flattened into a hard line, then dissolved into a resigned sigh.
"My wife. Tracey Galloway."
His tone carried a grim satisfaction, the kind that came from a wound you inflicted on yourself just to hurt someone else.
"You know how it is. Nobody waits around for someone for three years without a safety net. I've got the entire Sanchez family behind me. I couldn't afford to gamble."
Edith was clearly unprepared for that answer. Her fingers twisted into the hem of her clothes, and she forced a smile that looked worse than tears.
"Oh! So you're the little wife. I'm Edith Pruitt. I used to be Patrick's neighbor. You can call me Edith, just like he does."