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“You can,” she says, watching me. “But I’ll still be worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I live in a house with a fish in the floor, remember? Who wouldn’t be fine?”
I give her my best smile and walk off with a wave, heading back to Alonzo, to the car, and back to the beautiful mansion.
Chapter47
Camille
Istand in front of the big mirror at the vanity in my bathroom.
Beautiful granite countertops. Gold framing around everything. Luxurious towels, fresh flowers, oil scent infusers. Everything gleaming, everything clean.
Everything impersonal, distant, too perfect.
I touch my face, drag a finger down my cheek. How did I end up here, in this place?
My life was a nightmare with Christopher. This is infinitely better. I don’t go to sleep wondering if my husband is going to hurt me each night. I still take birth control, but mostly because I’m afraid that if I stop, I’ll get trapped.
I don’t want to feel like I’m in a cage.
Not ever again.
But this feels wrong too. I should want this place, want the comfort, the ease. I should be happy that I get to lie around the pool all day drinking champagne, chatting with Helen, walking along the lake, watching the sun rise and the sun set.
I can go to work if I want to, but I don’t have to.
But I want more than to exist. I want tobesomething.
That’s why the diner was so important to me. I was my own person there, even if I was just another anonymous waitress in a big city filled with waitresses.
At least I had a purpose.
Here, in this house, my only purpose is to survive. To keep on breathing. To be Evander’s wife.
For a while anyway.
The door to the room opens and closes. I pull my silk robe tight around my body before drifting out, only to find Evander sitting at the end of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. I stare at him for a moment, at the tension in his shoulders, at the exhaustion knitting every inch of him into a tight ball.
He glances back at me and nods.
“Bet you’re surprised I’m here,” he says, tossing the shirt aside. He cracks his neck with a grunt.
I stand in awe of his body. I’m always amazed at his muscular shoulders, his massive forearms roped with veins, the tattoos inked into his skin. The scars crisscrossing his chest and biceps.
He should look more vulnerable without his clothes.
Instead, it only makes him look that much more dangerous.
Otherworldly and beautiful, but still deadly.
“I am,” I admit. “You haven’t been coming home much.”
“Been ugly out there.” He stands, rubbing his neck. “But I needed a night off.”
“Even crime lords take breaks.”
He smiles tightly before unbuckling his belt. I feel myself blushing and hurry into bed before he undresses completely. I slip out of my robe, let it drop to the floor, and crawl under the covers.
