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“That’s why you married me, right? Because of my thoughtfulness.”
I cast her a wicked look. “Amongst other things.”
Taking her hand, I lace my fingers through hers, not totally hating the feeling.
“Come on,” I instruct. “My girls await.”
Reese
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about where my husband was taking us.
By the country roads leading away from the city of Atlanta, I know we’re not headed to a McDonald’s. Like most car rides I’ve taken with my husband, he stays quiet, seeming to enjoy the midnight drive under the stars and the bright moon. In this light, he doesn’t look like an assistant district attorney. He’s not wearing a suit; instead, he’s wearing casual clothes made up of athletic joggers and a black T-shirt that hugs his muscular torso. He’s always favored black attire. I used to think it helped him stay hidden in the shadows, where he could stalk his prey. But now, seeing him in the all-black ensemble only makes him stand out under the moonlight.
“Just so you know,” Van says dryly, “there’s nothing in this car that you could use to slit my throat.” I can feel my brows rising as he continues staring at me.
“That will only get you face down and ass up in my back seat.” I don’t know if he means anything sexually by that. I don’t have time to ask as he turns on his blinker, pulling into an almost hidden driveway. Like Eden, it winds through the orchard trees. Peaches, I think.
“What is this place?” I ask, noting the beautiful grounds under the glistening moonlight, complete with a tennis court, playground, and swimming pool.
“Freedom,” he says, offering no further explanation as he parks out in front.
A woman appears at the door with a smile brighter than the overhead lamp as we exit the car.
“Alistair!” she exclaims, opening her arms wide like she expects my husband to run into them like a five-year-old.
Which, he doesn’t.
Instead, he leaves me in shock as he strolls up the entry stairs, takes the woman’s face in his hands, and kisses her on the forehead. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever seen him do with a stranger.
“We’ve missed you, my love.” She wraps her arms around him, not giving a damn that he didn’t return her embrace the appropriate way.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been a little busy. I wanted to get out here sooner.”
The woman, who seems to have captivated my husband’s heart, pats him on the shoulder. “Oh, honey, we know you’re a busy man. We don’t expect you to come visit us as much as you do.” It’s almost like he’s embarrassed by her praise. But that can’t be right because Van Gogh hates people.
Granted, I’ve never seen him truly hate a woman, but this seems out of character for him.
“Would you like to introduce us to your guest?” the woman prompts when Van just stands there. His body goes rigid as he stills, and then he stands up straight, gathering himself before he turns, allowing me to see the woman’s face as she steps into the light.
The woman looks familiar. Her eyes are a little wider, her cheeks fuller, and her hair’s the color of wheat in the fall. She’s stunning. She takes Van’s hand as he leads her down the staircase towards me.
“Miss Wynn,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Reese Cain.”
Miss Wynn smiles at me, extending her hand as she says my name like it means more to her than a typical stranger. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Finally? Does that mean she’s been anticipating my arrival before I knew where I was going?
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Her hand is warm and comforting as I take it, allowing her to pull me into a hug. This is when I realize Miss Wynn is no ordinary woman. She’s extraordinary, and it’s evident as she leads Van and me through the doors of the grand castle.
I look at Van as she opens the door to the brightly lit dining room, but he won’t meet my eyes.
“This is one of the many common areas,” Miss Wynn explains. “Every Sunday, we have dinner here, but each apartment has its own kitchen and dining area.” She looks back at me when she says, “Mr. Cain insists that each family have dinner together.” I nod and offer her a smile. She continues and points to the big TV in the corner of the room.
“When Mr. Cain can’t join us physically on Sundays, he makes it a point to be here virtually, no matter the time of day. Mr. Cain always makes sure he’s available for us, along with the staff he’s hired.”
It was then that I noticed all the cameras throughout the common areas. Alistair wasn’t being a peeping Tom. He was being a family.
Mrs. Wynn insisted I call her Carol before offering to give me a tour of the grounds, including her own apartment, which consists of two bedrooms, one for her and one for her teenage son, who was too busy gaming to offer more than a hello.
We didn’t end up eating in the community dining room, opting for a quick sandwich instead, though Carol assured us that it was no problem to fire up the industrial stove this late at night. Van claimed he wasn’t hungry, and seeing how this wasn’t a restaurant, I didn’t want to put Carol out.
