When we enter the I5 highway, Isaac slips his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket, producing a folded-up piece of paper. I eye him inquisitively when he gives the document to me. As I carefully open it, his eyes shift between the road and me.
Air traps in my throat when my eyes lock in on the picture. It’s a photo of Enrique entering a private jet. The date illuminated in orange in the bottom corner of the frame is time-stamped an hour after he was ushered out of his hospital room.
My tear-filling eyes lift to Isaac. I don’t need him to confirm he helped Enrique. The truth is relayed in his beautiful, unique eyes that are watching me cautiously, worried I’ll take the news of his involvement in an illegal activity well.
Although I once declared I'd never get my hands stained, I lied. I’ve learned since that day that when you love someone, you do anything in your power to protect them. I haven’t seen Enrique in twenty years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him. When I looked at him, all I saw was the little boy with big chocolate eyes and a dirty face that stared up at me in awe.
“Where’s he going?”
“I can’t tell you that, Isabelle.” Regret is heard in his tone. “There are still some things I can’t disclose yet, but I guarantee you he's safe, and once I can give you more details, I will.”
I nod before lowering my gaze back down to the photo. Enrique is smiling because not only did Isaac save him from prosecution that might have earned him twenty years in jail, he saved him from the clutches of our father. It might have been twenty years after I was saved, but from the huge grin on Enrique’s face, I don’t think he cares. He looks happy and free.
“Thank you.”
When I lean over to press a peck on his unshaven jaw, Isaac’s cheekbones rise. “You’re welcome.” He nudges his head to the glove compartment. “There's a lighter in there. I need you to wind down the window and burn the photo. We can’t have any proof we know what happened to Enrique.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Who are you,really?”
He doesn’t answer my question, but the most delicious smirk carves on his mouth. I open the glove compartment to remove the lighter and destroy the evidence as requested. Burning papers float through the air like a scattering of fireflies in the fading night sky. It’s a surreal experience, like all the negative energy is floating away in tiny sparkles of orange, red, and yellow embers.
The remainder of the trip home is made in silence, but I’m feeling more alive than I have the past month. The fact Isaac is inviting me back into his personal space has my heart swelling. Him bringing me back here means he’s rebuilt his trust in me.
I love Isaac, he owns every piece of my soul, so I believe my intuition when it says I can trust him too. Our relationship was built on a rocky surface of lies and deception, so it never had the chance to be strong, but if we wipe the slate clean and start again without the secrets, I truly believe we will build a relationship that will weather any storm.
I turn my gaze to Isaac, who is inputting a security code in a box on the wrought iron gate that surrounds his property. “Do you want to play a game?”
He flashes me a flirty wink.
“Not that type of game.” I roll my eyes. “Sex fiend.”
He chuckles a hearty laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to,” I retort, elbowing him in the ribs.
The blood surging through my heart spills over when he grabs my wrist so that he can kiss my palm. He then rests it on his thigh before guiding his car up the long driveway of his home. “What game do you want to play?”
“Hugo said the best way to get to know someone is by playing twenty questions.”
“That sounds like something Hugo would say. Did you two play?”
“Yes, but we only made it through three questions. I thought hisbabywas a safe question. It wasn’t.” His thigh muscles bunch when I slide my hand up his trouser-covered leg. “That was really sweet of you to do.”
Remaining quiet, he parks his car in the multi-car garage, then assists me out of the vehicle. Accepting praise isn’t a strong point of his.My heart whacks my ribs when he opens the carved French doors of his home, then gestures for me to enter before him. My eyes eagerly absorb the foyer and hall as I step inside. If I hadn’t witnessed the damage with my own eyes, I would have never known the FBI had destroyed his property during their horrific search.
“Do you want to go first or shall I?” Isaac assists me out of my trench coat before storing our jackets into the coatroom. “Is it twenty questions each or in total?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just keep asking questions until we have nothing left to answer?”
He stops undoing his cufflinks. “All right, but you have to understand some things I can’t answer yet.”
His body language reveals he isn’t happy about needing to be evasive, but I trust that he will be honest when he can.
I smile while nodding. “That’s fine, but that means I get to ask the first question.”
His strengthened posture relaxes. “Deal.” He grins before grasping my hand in his. “But first, we need food and an expensive bottle of wine.”
The first handful of questions are the standard generic ones most people generally ask. What was your favorite subject in school? What pet did you have growing up? How many siblings do you have? What music do you like? Etc. etc. But as the night moves on, and the wine bottle is emptied, our questions get a little more daring.
