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I focus on a rustling sound, the tree in front of the yard, and I see a shadow.
Holy shit, this is it!
I’m being stalked!
I am about to grab the broom on the porch, ready to defend us when I hear my name being whispered, and the shadow moves away from the tree, walking toward me.
Shocked, second-guessing my imagination, I walk toward the figure.
“Batman?”
His familiar laugh confirms my suspicion, and I immediately run toward him, jumping into his embrace as he squeezes me tighter than he ever has before. I bury my face into his neck, and his scent of aftershave reminds me how much I miss him.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were at a publisher’s party?”
“I was. In LA. You never asked that, smarty pants.”
“You got me there.” I examine his face. Even in his intoxicated state, he is deliciously handsome. I’m unable to hide the smile on my face as he grins in return. Just when I thought all was lost between us, he places his warm lips on mine, and I melt into him.
Finally, he is home.
I creep down the stairway careful not to wake Andy.
As I reach the landing, Julian stands in the living room near the mantel, holding a picture of Elijah and me on our wedding day. I’m not prepared for Julian to be in my home, my conscience is smothered in guilt. It feels disrespectful. I still remember the day Elijah and I moved in. It feels like only yesterday we were making plans, and it all revolved around this house and our family. Now, here stands a different man, one I am romantically linked with standing patiently in this house, and I’m unable to string a sentence together, conflicted with emotions of guilt and the fact that I’ve missed Julian more than I realized.
He hears my footsteps and is quick to turn around, still clutching the frame.
“You looked beautiful on your wedding day, Adriana. Ethereal, in fact. Very happy.” He doesn’t make eye contact, and his smile fades as he places the picture back on the mantel.
“I was.” I fidget with the pocket of my dress, uncomfortable with the conversation. Everything about this house represents my marriage. Every room, every piece of furniture is attached to a memory. They may be buried for now, but occasionally, they resurface and that part of me which tries to move on, takes a step back.
“Does it bother you that I have these photos lying around?”
“Bother me? No, he was your life,” he mumbles.
His eyes move toward the countless frames which sit on top of the mantel. Several are of Elijah, many of Andy, and, of course, a few including Charlie and Lex.
When his eyes stumble upon our family photograph, they quickly divert, piquing my interest. Does it still bother him to see them together? I need to stop asking the question. I know perfectly well if I ask, he will get defensive like every other time I’ve asked, but do I ever listen to my instincts? No. That’s what gets me into trouble all the time, serious foot-in-mouth.
I walk over to stand beside him, careful not to get too close. My self-control is poor, and even though he is within arm’s reach, the guilt is like a big fucking cockblocker if ever I met one.
“I still remember my wedding day as if it was yesterday. I may have gone Bridezilla on everyone’s asses.” I chuckle mildly to li
ghten the mood. “Charlie was different, though. She didn’t care about her wedding at all. It was fun planning that day for her.”
“I can’t imagine Charlie making a fuss. God knows she didn’t with me.” One could misconstrue his tone as bitter. I know he has been drinking, and my resistance isn’t helping to brighten his mood.
I try not to let his comment get to me, but I’m not that strong. Does it mean he wishes that she did care?
He turns to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, a result of the alcohol, but as usual, he looks utterly gorgeous dressed in a white V-neck T-shirt covered with a dark gray blazer. His slim, dark denim jeans accentuate his height and physique. He’s so much taller than me, not that I’m a midget or anything, but I am not exactly Heidi Klum.
He places his hands in his pockets almost like he can read my thoughts by keeping his distance. I can’t help but stare at him. Even in his intoxicated state, my jaw wants to drop to the floor as his beautiful face draws me in. His skin, the way his chiseled jaw shapes his face is disturbingly perfect. How can one man look like a fucking god and want me? I’m nothing special, and I definitely am not Charlie.
“I’ve never seen you as happy as you look in that photo.” It’s a statement, said flatly, as his eyes intimidate me with a deep stare.
I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, resentful for the mixed emotions swirling around in my head. “Well, you lose your husband a week after you give birth, and it’s kinda hard to smile again.”
“Right.”
