AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He sat in the living room in the clothes he’d worn when he left, one arm over the back of the couch, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. His gaze was turned toward the TV, a black screen that showed his dark reflection. After a moment of staring, he turned his attention on me, like he’d heard me the moment I’d come up the stairs.
His gaze was paralyzing, so I stood there and absorbed his poisonous stare. My heart raced as quickly as it did in the heat of our fight. I was normally calm and self-assured, but he turned me into someone who suffered silent panic attacks.
He gave a subtle gesture toward the other couch, a simple movement of his head.
I did as he asked and took a seat. The strap of my purse slipped off my shoulder. Uneasy, I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling it away from my face, fidgeting because his silent stare was like a thorn in my side.
After a long moment, he spoke. “We don’t need to have that conversation to know we want different things in life. You want to marry Mr. Nice Guy and pop out a couple of kids, and I want to run the greatest drug empire Europe has ever seen. I’ll never tell you I love you. I’ll never ask you to marry me. I’ll never give up what I’ve built for any woman—not even you.” He stared at me with that hard face, looking as heartless as his words sounded. “But I think we’re more than just two people fucking. I think I’m a deeper part of your life than you give me credit for. Do you agree?”
There was no future for us. I already knew this, but hearing him say it so bluntly stung like salt in an old wound. Bartholomew wasn’t marriage material, and once I found a man who was, I would walk away. I would marry him and ignore thoughts of Bartholomew when they popped up at the most random times…when I was making dinner in the kitchen…when I dropped off the kids at school… And Bartholomew would be doing the same thing he’d always done—assuming he was still alive at that point. “Yes.”
He stared at me hard, like he knew a tide of thoughts had just swept over me. “Then I’m your man. You’re my woman. Until we part ways.”
I gave a slight nod.
“Then this conversation is over.” He leaned forward and grabbed the glass of scotch sitting there. He tilted his head back and downed the rest before he licked his lips. “Let’s go out to dinner.” He left the couch and entered his walk-in closet. A moment later, he returned, dressed in his signature black clothes, his short sleeves showing his nice arms.
It was a little harder for me to snap out of the moment. He’d said nothing I didn’t already know, but it hit a little different this time. Now I couldn’t stop admiring the sharpness of his jawline, couldn’t stop thinking about the lips I kissed every day. I used to not care when this relationship ended. It was just sex, nothing more. But I suddenly cherished those moments more, the way he moved across the room, the way he looked at me like I was all he ever wanted. I cherished them because I knew they wouldn’t last forever.
They would end—and it would hurt.
16
BARTHOLOMEW
It took some time to shake off the conversation. Lots of awkward silences. Uncomfortable stares. We both thought of the same thing at the same time, but neither one of us would draw attention to it.
After a couple glasses of wine and once our entrees arrived, the tension started to fade.
“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” she said, cutting into her chicken.
“Mine too.”
“My family came here to celebrate my eighth birthday.”
It was hard to picture that, not when her father was such a prick.
“My sister was just a baby at the time. I remember she cried the entire time…” She gave a chuckle then took a bite of her food.
I took a few sips of my wine and ate my food sparingly, not having much of an appetite after I’d drunk so much throughout the day. I’d spent my time at my other property, the maids still working to get all the blood out of the hardwood floor.
Laura stared at me across the table, her plump lips painted a deep red like the color of her wine. Her eyelashes were naturally thick, and I loved the color of her hair, the color of midnight. “How did you kill them?” She kept her voice down so the other tables wouldn’t hear, not that I had anything to hide.
“It was quick.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she wanted more. “You didn’t have to do that—”
“Yes, I did.” I wanted to kill their wives too, break open their skulls while their husbands watched. But that was too barbaric—even for me. And that wasn’t justice either. That was just psychotic revenge.
“It doesn’t change what happened—”
“They deserved what they got. All I should be hearing from you is thank you.”
“I am grateful, but…did they have families?” She searched my gaze for the answer.
I never lied, but I knew the truth would do more harm than good. “I didn’t ask. Even if they did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.” And it didn’t change anything.
Her eyes dropped down to her wineglass, but she didn’t take a drink.
