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“Move back there?” The very idea of it makes me nauseous. “I’m not moving back there, and after last weekend, I don’t even want to visit the place again, let alone move back. That isn’t an option.” I wrap the towel around my wet body and leave the bathroom.
I reach for my phone and panic when I see five missed calls and two text messages. All from Christian. Both text messages are pleas to have Hardin call him right away.
“Hardin,” I call to him.
“What?” he snaps. I roll my eyes and swallow my annoyance. “Christian has called, a lot.”
He emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “And?”
“What if something happened to your mother? Don’t you want to call and be sure she’s okay?” I ask him. “Or I—”
“No, fuck both of them. Don’t call them.”
“Hardin, I really think—”
“No,” he says, interrupting me.
“I already sent him a text, just to be sure your mother is okay,” I admit.
He grimaces. “Of course you did.”
“I know you’re upset, but please stop taking it out on me. I’m really trying to be here for you, but you have to stop snapping at me. This isn’t my fault.”
“I’m sorry.” His hands run over his wet hair. “Let’s both just turn our cell phones off and get some sleep.” His voice has calmed, and his eyes have softened tremendously. “My shirt is stained,” he says, dragging the bloodied garment across the floor, “and I don’t know where the other one is.”
“I’ll get it from the suitcase.”
“Thank you.” He sighs. The fact that he finds so much comfort in me wearing his clothing makes me happy, even in the middle of this disastrous night. I retrieve the shirt he wore earlier today and hand him clean boxers to sleep in before refolding the articles in the suitcase.
“I’m going to change our flight when I wake up. I can’t concentrate right now.” He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before lying down.
“I can do it,” I offer, pulling his laptop from the suitcase.
“Thanks,” he grumbles, half asleep already.
Seconds later he mutters, “I wish I could take you away, far away.” My hands are still on the keyboard and I wait for him to say something else, but he breaks into soft snores.
As I pull up the airline’s website, my phone vibrates on the table. Christian’s name comes up on the screen. I ignore the call, but when a second comes in, I grab the room key and quietly retreat to the hallway to answer.
I try to whisper. “Hello.”
“Tessa? How is he?” he asks, panicked.
“He’s . . . he’s okay. His nose is bruised and swollen, his lip is busted, and he has a few bruises and cuts.” I don’t hide the hostility in my tone.
“Dammit,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry that it came to this.”
“Me, too,” I snap at my boss and try to ignore the hideous painting in front of my eyes.
“I need to talk to him. I know he’s confused and angry, but I need to explain some things to him.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you, and honestly, why should he? He trusted you, and you know that his trust is not something he gives lightly.” I lower my voice. “You’re engaged to a lovely woman and Trish was supposed to be getting married tomorrow.”
“She’s still getting married,” he says through the line.
“What?” I walk farther down the hall. I stop in front of the peaceful painting of the kneeling angel, but the more I look at it, the darker it becomes. Behind the angel is another; this second one’s body almost translucent, and he’s holding a double-edged dagger in his hand. The brown-haired maiden is watching him, a sinister smile on her face as she seems to wait for the assault on the kneeling angel. The second angel’s expression is contorted, his naked body all planes and angles as he prepares to stab the first angel. I look away and focus on the voice on the other end of the line.
“The wedding has not been canceled. Mike loves Trish, and she loves him; they will still be married tomorrow despite my mistake.” The words sound as if he’s struggling to get them out.
I have so many questions to ask him, but I can’t. He’s my boss and his affair is with Hardin’s mother; this is none of my business.
“I know what you must think of me, Tessa, but if I’m able to explain myself, maybe you both will understand.”
“Hardin wants me to change our flight and leave in the morning,” I inform him.
“He can’t leave without saying goodbye to his mother. It will kill her.”
“I don’t think it’s in the best interest of anyone to allow him to be in the same room as her,” I warn and walk back to the room, stopping just outside the door.
“I understand your need to protect him, and it pleases me greatly to see how fiercely loyal you are to him. But Trish has had a hard enough life as it is, and it’s time for her to have some happiness. I don’t expect him to show for the wedding, but please do what you can to have him at least say goodbye to her. God knows how long it will be before he comes back to England.” Christian sighs.
“I don’t know.” I run my fingers along the bronze frame of the Lucifer painting. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. I won’t push him.”
“I understand. Thank you.” The relief in his voice is clear.
