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Zane shifted toward her. “What the hell are you saying? Emily never left Swanicott, not once. I didn’t want her to. So, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it couldn’t have been Emily’s work. I have her paintings in my attic.”
She put her hand on Zane’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “I’m saying that Emily is alive. These were the memories Regan prevented you from seeing. Emily is alive and has been living in Freeport for the past five years.”
He stared at her for a long, difficult moment, a deep furrow between his brows. He shook his head repeatedly, then shrugged her hand off his shoulder.
He left his stool and began to pace. “This is fucked up. You’re lying, but why would you lie to me about something like this?”
Olivia pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans.” She flipped through her photos and held one up for him, the first of several. “Then who is this?”
~
Zane drew close and stared at a photo of Emily smiling. She had a strong, pointed, very fae chin and he would know her dimples anywhere. “When was this taken?” It had to be some kind of mistake.
“I took several photos at the time, though I never thought I’d use them like this, here with you, tonight.”
He took the phone from Olivia and flipped through several more, all of Emily and the Freeport gallery, as well as a number of her paintings, ones he’d never seen before. If he hadn’t believed the photos of her, he could believe the artwork. She had an unusual and very specific style, one that always showed the wind of Swanicott.
He handed the phone back to Olivia, then turned, crossing to the sliding doors. His meal forgotten, he went out onto the deck.
His wife was alive and living in the U.S., in a small town in Maine where she was clearly making a good livelihood as an artist.
His wife was alive.
Olivia joined him, but gave him a few feet of space, waiting. Smart of her.
He turned to her, hands drawn into fists. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did and if you’re going to say I should have told you from the beginning, you have to remember, I was busy saving your ass. Given the circumstances of the past two nights, I didn’t think it was in any way a priority. But it is now, so you can take your belligerence and shove it.”
Her challenging attitude gave him pause and for some reason calmed him down. He took a deep breath, turning to scowl out at the forest. He couldn’t seem to process what Olivia had just told him. Sweet Goddess, his wife was alive and well in Maine.
Regan’s earlier cryptic words now made sense, which meant if he’d doubted Olivia, Regan had just backed up her story.
He shook his head. “So, given the evidence, she must have faked her death.”
“Looks like it.”
He glared at Olivia. “You’re sure cold about this.”
She shrugged. “Your wife was an unhappy artist and she left you the only way she knew how. I know your temperament, Zane. You wouldn’t have let her go without a fight, a very public, humiliating spectacle.”
“Well, fuck you.”
She didn’t seem to mind. “You can’t offend me with these words.”
“Well, how about with these; get the hell out of my life. You don’t belong here. You never did, you never will.”
He saw the quick hurt in her eyes and regretted what he said immediately. But he was too distressed to take his words back.
“No problem,” she said.
She turned and headed back into the house, leaving by way of the front door. And he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t. He was sliced to the core with this news about Emily. He’d been such a brute to his sensitive wife that apparently the only way she saw out of their marriage was to fake her death. Maybe he hadn’t been happily married either, but he’d never quite seen himself in this light before.
In the distance, he heard the front door shut.
His shoulders sagged.
Olivia.
