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Laughing lightly, he brushes a few strands of hair from my face and presses a soft kiss to my nose, swimming backward and putting space between us. As soon as he hauls himself from the pool, I let out a long breath of relief.
“Would you do something with me tonight?”
I blink, swirling my hand around in the water beside my float. “Like what?”
“I thought I could cook you dinner. Show you my mom’s favorite recipe.”
A heavy weight lands on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs, at his hopeful tone. Standing there dripping wet, a boyish grin on his face, he looks vulnerable again. It’s so startling and sudden, I have a hard time catching up with the emotion, allowing too much time to pass before answering.
His face falls, and he mashes his lips together, looking uncertain. “I can just bring it to you in bed, too, if that’s something you’d prefer.”
Something shifts between us, the chasm from before shrinking exponentially, and even though I know I should run and hide, shelter myself from the disaster I’m welcoming, I find that I don’t want to.
Revenge be damned, I want to welcome the hurricane that is my husband. In this moment, if never again and never before, nothing else matters.
“No.” Paddling with my hands to the underwater steps, I slide from the float and climb out of the pool, offering him a small smile. “Dinner sounds great.”
Elia
I don’t have a clue what the fuck is going on; Caroline sashays into the house in that small-as-shit red bikini, suddenly agreeable and shocking the hell out of me.
My heart beats against my ribs, on the precipice of losing total control.
Strolling in after her, I race upstairs and change into a pair of jeans and a light t-shirt. My palms are clammy as I pad back down, seeing she’s yet to return, feeling like a teenage boy going on his first date.
Heading to the kitchen, I dig in the junk drawer, where I’ve buried the memories of my mother. I find the little index card with her chicken scratch stamped on it and stare at it for a few beats, before slapping it down on the counter and retiring to the living room to wait.
Nerves course through me, jitters rattling me to my core, at the prospect of finally getting to wine and dine my wife. To explore our connection, see how she feels beyond the obvious sexual compatibility.
And to relieve myself of the guilt I feel from murdering yet another man in her honor.
Not that I feel bad about Sheldon being dead, but every second I spend in Caroline’s presence reminds me that all of this is worth it—that defying my mother’s last wishes might not have been in total vain.
I switch on the television, flipping through the local news channels until landing on one theGazetteruns. The headline stops me dead, nerves turning to ice and stalling my heart in my chest.
‘Local Congressman and lawyer found dead at vacation home in Stonemore; foul play expected. Suspects at large.’
What the fuck?
Just as I begin pulling my phone from my pocket, I feel someone standing behind me. Turning my head, I expect to see Leo. I don’t expect to be staring down the barrel of a gun.
“What did youdo?”
THE LOOK ON Elia’s face presses at the cracks inside my chest, searching for a way inside. For a way to rip open the sutures barely holding me together and replace them with the venom in his eyes.
I swallow as my thumb brushes against the safety of my dad’s gun, the weight heavy against my palms. I’ve got both hands wrapped around it, keeping the weapon steady despite the tremors wracking my soul.
Todd and Sheldon’s names flash across the television screen in bold, unmistakable print, but they flashed on my phone first while I was still upstairs, alerting me. Despair simmers in my gut, reinforcing my stance, wrath cycling within me, propelling me into motion. Taking a step forward, I jut my chin toward the screen, cocking an eyebrow.
“Answer me, Elia.”
His eyes darken, the clear gray morphing into a charcoal I’ve never seen before, and his hand grips the back of the sofa, fingers leaving welts on the fabric. “I don’t answer to you,sweetheart. I don’t fucking answer to anyone.”
My thumb slides back, pulling the lock with it. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
“What am I supposed to call you, Caroline?”
“Nothing. Stop referring to me as anything. Stop acting like this is a real marriage, and like you want more from me. Just stop everything.Please. It makes me—” My voice breaks on the last syllable, and I clear my throat, trying to force some of the hoarseness from it. Pressing my lips together, I inhale a deep breath, refocusing on the problem at hand.
