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It’s over. Us, life—I can sense the finality, the futility, as I prepare to meet you. The wind outside is wild and relentless, but it pales beside the storm that rages within you, a storm that cannot be silenced. Within me lies only emptiness. There’s nothing left, Trenton, not even pain. You’ve killed it all, and now only a shell remains. Do with me what you will. It no longer matters. Nothing matters. I’ll join you where you await me. And at the water’s edge, we’ll say our good-byes.
With a strangled cry, Ariana slammed the journal shut, the words she’d just read forever engraved in her mind. She jammed her fist into her mouth, trying desperately to suppress the choked sobs that refused to be silenced. At the same time, the conversation she’d had with Trenton yesterday—in this very spot—replayed itself in her mind.
“Let’s say I have no affinity for this room. I associate it with pain and loss.”
“I understand.”
“I wonder if you do.”
At the time, Ariana had assumed Trenton referred to the painful loss of his father. Dear God, had he meant Vanessa? Was it her loss he’d alluded to?
Tears streamed down Ariana’s face, unchecked and unnoticed. Was this the sanctuary Trenton sought to think about Vanessa, to write to her, to plot how to keep her?
Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, unable to suppress the ugly speculations besieging her.
Had Trenton forced Vanessa to make love to him in this very sitting room? Was that why he loathed spending time within these walls? Had he buried Vanessa’s memory here alongside her journal? And was it her loss or the part he’d played in inciting it that tormented him?
“So … have you found what you were looking for?”
The journal hit the floor with a thud and Ariana leapt to her feet, terror knotting her stomach at the sight of Trenton looming in the open doorway.
“From the horrified look on your face, I’ll assume the answer to my question is yes.” Trenton closed the door, leaning back against it. “How much did you read?”
She could scarcely get out the words. “All of it,” she whispered.
Menacing shadows descended on Trenton’s face, and condemnation blazed in his eyes. “I hope to God you know what you’ve done.”
Ariana had a sudden, overwhelming urge to flee: from her husband, from Broddington, and from the hideous past that continued to unravel before her like some horrid, inescapable nightmare.
“Don’t even consider it.”
“Consider… what?” Ariana fought the dizziness that threatened to envelop her.
“Bolting. You won’t get far. And even if you do, I’ll find you.”
Ariana blinked, staring at Trenton as if he were a stranger; and indeed, at that moment, he was. “And what would you do then? Drag me back to Broddington? Beat me? Terrorize me?”
“Murder you?” Trenton suggested, his tone low, ominous.
All the color drained from Ariana’s face. “What kind of a man are you?” she asked in aching disbelief.
“A vengeful, heartless one.” Without warning, Trenton moved toward her, his stride swift, purposeful. His arm swung outward, and, Ariana flinched reflexively, awaiting the oncoming assault.
It never came.
With a mocking simile, Trenton leaned past her and scooped up the journal, snapping it shut with a violent flourish. “You should have heeded my advice. I did warn you not to dredge up the past.”
“What are you going to do with me?” she forced herself to ask.
“Do?” Trenton slid the journal back into the desk drawer. “For the time being, I’m taking you to Spraystone.”
“Spraystone?” Ariana started. “Why?”
“Because I’ll be staying there and, as my wife, so will you.”
“No.” The word was out before she could recall it.
“No?” Trenton repeated, as if the sound were foreign to him.
