I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop the voice in my head from screaming anymore, and I bring up the cameras in Isabella’s room. It’s dark save for the light from the bathroom door half open. I scan the room, looking at her bed, and she’s not in it. I sit up quickly, turning the camera to focus on her studio door; it’s open. But as I look, I can see a lump on the couch.
I zoom in; she is curled on her side, her hair still in that crazy bun on top of her head, sleeping. Her hand tucked under her chin, her legs up close to her belly. Just like last night when I found her asleep in the hotel sitting room. I lay back down andput the phone beside me on the pillow.
I’d like to go back to last night and start all over again after we fucked. I would stop myself from talking about Sebastian. He’s my brother, and I know he won’t overstep any lines with her, and I don’t think she would either. It just feels like a kick in the balls that he can get her to talk and open up with him, whereas all I get is a wall.
I click my phone off, plug it in, and toss it on the nightstand. I am so done with today.
~ ~ ~
The week follows the same pattern; I wake up, check on Isabella, work, and sleep. I want to go home, see her, breathe that lily scent, and run my fingers through her black silk hair again.
I thought the time away would be better, making things go back to some sense of normalcy. All it did was turn me into a man obsessed with his phone, stalking his wife via a security camera.
The worst part is, she seems happy I’m not there. She wakes up, eats, and spends most of her day in that fucken studio. Sasha said she’d been out to the garden a few times, reading by the pool. At night, she sits in that window seat staring out until she’s ready for bed.
She still won’t sleep in her bed. Every night I watch her as she comes out of the bathroom, picks up that stupid pink fuzzy blanket and curls up, hugging a pillow to snuggle down on the couch. I don’t know why she hates that bed, but I’m getting sick of watching her refuse everything I give her.
I watched her day after day, picking up the dead flowers off the coffee table. I sent a new bouquet, but she put it on the floor by the door. She’s constantly picking up dead leaves and putting them in a bowl. Like those dead flowers mean something. Shetouches the dead stems and her face hardens, and she goes back to her studio for hours, only coming out to eat or do her nightly window seat stare.
Plus, I’m pretty sure she broke my dick. I went a few times this week with Carlos to Silk, checking up on things, rubbing elbows, and approving new members. We took in a few shows and had a few drinks to discuss business while we watched the performances. And not once did I get hard unless I pictured her jade green eyes, long black hair wrapped around my fist, and the sounds of her passionate moans in place of theirs.
I can’t even spank one off unless it’s her image I picture in the throes of passion. God, she was magnificent. She was quiet, but her body spoke volumes. Her body was tight, arched up underneath me, her mouth open wide in a silent scream before she came apart around me.
Fuck!
I adjust my hard-on and bring up my phone to check on Isabella. Her dress should arrive today. The charity event is tomorrow night, and I wanted to surprise her with something special for the event.
I chose a full-length jade green silk gown and matching shoes to compliment her eyes. I bought diamond teardrop earrings and a simple teardrop pendant to hang around her neck. The earrings will be delivered along with the dress, but the necklace I kept with me. I’m putting it on her just to be near her, to smell her lily perfume and to touch the delicate flesh of her throat.
I pan the camera around her room; she must be in her studio again; she’s not anywhere in the room unless she’s left it for once. I scroll through the feeds, finally finding her out on the back patio, reading in one of the lounge chairs by the pool. It’s a cool evening. She has her cream sweater on with her feet tucked up on the seat, her knees bent with the book open onher lap.
The wind is whipping wisps of her hair into her face that fell out of her long braid. She licks her finger and turns another page, holding her hair away from her face with one hand. I zoom in closer on her, and she looks up at the camera and my gut drops. She must have heard the telltale buzz of the camera lens zeroing in on her.
She is so goddamn pretty.
How could I ever, for a second, think she was plain? She tilts her head to the side and her eyes narrow at the lens. I can feel the heat in my cheeks like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I feel like she can see me. That she finally caught me spying on her.
She watches the camera for a few minutes and then goes back to reading. I click off the app and put my phone in my pocket.
Putting Isabella out of my mind, I return to work, finish the liquor board reports, and try to get ahead of next week’s schedule. I rub the back of my neck. My shoulders are tense from hunching over the computer for hours.
I check my watch: 11:45 p.m. Is it really this late? It’s Friday night, and I should really stay here tonight, but Chris did an excellent job, and Marcus hired a new bartender, so he now has the help he requires. The bar is gathering momentum, and if we keep it up, it will virtually run itself. I’ll hire a couple more people, get additional help for Marcus when he needs it, and then all I have to do is pop in every now and again to keep it all running.
If I plan on making this thing work between us, I have to be home to do it. I get up out of my chair, turn off the laptop as I stand, stretch out my shoulders and text Carlos.
Alex:I’m ready to get the fuck out of here and go home. Where are you?
Carlos:Finally.
Alex:What’s that supposed to mean? Finally?
Carlos:What it means, finally. You’ve hidden out long enough. You can’t avoid her forever.
Alex:Fuck you. Meet me downstairs in 10.
Carlos:Already here. Move your ass. I’m tired and I want my bed.
Alex:Coming.
