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* * *
Nathan looks down, his arms crossing over his chest, and I see in the tight press of his lips, the first hint there may be something vulnerable that exists in him. I look back to Drew. “And the second reason?”
* * *
Drew explains. A decade ago, a ten million dollar loan from Nathan’s sister had been the funding that had launched his development business. One of his initial projects had been Casa Mar, a six hundred-room resort in Nassau. When Casa Mar finally sold out, Nathan set up a Bahamian account in his sister’s name, transferring fifty million dollars into it—his repayment for the loan, plus his gratefulness in interest. His plan was to give her the account number on her thirtieth birthday.
* * *
Nathan steps forward, his voice cold, the vowels flat. “She died four days before her birthday.” He spins my stool toward him, and leans in, resting his weight on the arms of it. “In a riding accident. You ask why we picked you?”
* * *
I lift my eyes to meet his.
* * *
“My sister was born on June 6, 1988. Her name was Candace Dumont.” He pauses, letting the information sink in. “You’re here because of the day you were born, and that passport that is coming in the mail. You will be, as far as that bank in the Bahamas is aware, the owner of her account, and I am planning on using you to make one hell of a withdrawal.”
CHAPTER 39
I sit by the pool, dawn stealing over the yard, the lights of Nashville coming to life in the distance. A firefly glows, zipping by, and I follow its path. The understanding of why I am here brings enormous relief. First, in the form of safety, my mind back-flipping happy they are not plotting to kill me. Second, it illuminates my escape. I am here for a reason. If I perform as expected, I should be allowed to leave without penalty. I am in the new position of being able to negotiate my release. At this moment, I have the upper hand.
* * *
The motion sensors come on, and I look over, watching Drew step down the path and stop beside me.
* * *
“What are you going to do, Candace? Leave him?”
* * *
I cross my arms, hugging my chest, the night air suddenly chilly. “I don’t know.”
* * *
Putting his hands in his pockets, he turns and studies me. “He still loves her, Candace.” He shifts, his shoes crackling against the pavers. “Cecile. He is still madly in love with her. It’s why he is so cold with you.” He glances out at the view and I stiffen, the slight hurtful in its truth.
* * *
“He’s not cold,” I say quietly. Not always. There are times, when his hands are in my hair and his tongue is soft against mine, that he is fully and completely engaged. It is a female’s right to be possessive of those things that are hers. And he, as my husband, is mine.
* * *
Drew’s jaw tightens, his green eyes returning to mine. “I just thought you should know. For Nathan, the moment he saw her—he was done for. It’s one of the reasons he’s still looking for her. She still, four years later, has complete control of his heart. He will never stop loving her.”
* * *
I look away, needing the space, my mind trying to decipher what my heart feels for Drew. He’s speaking of Nathan, but I feel this is about us. And I can’t even think about that. I regret ever kissing him. With everything I’ve just learned, my purpose here, his sister … it feels like his seduction of me was a ploy, something to separate me from Nathan, to give his sister better footing, or some sick form of competition. I don’t know what it was, and maybe it was innocent, but I can’t deal with it, with us, right now. There should have never been an “us”, and now that I understand Nathan’s motivations, his behavior over the past two months is shone upon in an entirely different light. I push to my feet, ignoring Drew as I return to my room.
* * *
“Good evening.”
* * *
The sound of Nathan’s voice in my room is so foreign that it takes me a moment to place it. I turn from my place at the dresser, seeing him in the doorway, his tie loosened, shirt untucked. His hair looks like he has been running his hands through it all morning, his face lined, eyes tired. I feel a stab of sympathy and realize I’m already looking at him differently, my glasses rose-tinted with the new information.
* * *
It is the romantic side of me, the side who devours love stories, the side who still believes in soul mates and tragic love. That side is enamored by the fact that this man can still pine for the woman who crushed his heart. The man with the body of sin, who at the moment is scowling at me like I have taken his favorite toy and tossed it off a bridge. “Mark said you needed me?”
