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Rendered speechless by my surroundings, I turn about the room, taking in every painting and photo.
“You have all of us, and we have you.” Stopping beside me, his hand flattens to the middle of my back, urging me forward towards the console littered with so many pictures that they’re practically on top of each other. “But you have all of them too.”
He picks up the photo from Arabella’s and Christopher’s wedding and hands it to me. My eyes go straight to her belly and Christopher’s hand holding it.
Filipe’s hand trails up to my shoulder. He pulls me into his side, and when I look up at him, he says, “No one touches my family and lives. You touch one, and you touch us all.”
I nod my understanding, and he nods his promise. “A wound for a wound. A life for a life. It’s what we do to honour our love.”
Closing the sketchbook, I haul it to my chest, hugging it tightly as I squeeze the pillow between my thighs tighter. It’s too soft, nothing like Casper’s body, but I close my eyes and imagine it’s him anyway. That I’m holding on to Casper as my slumber pulls me under.
I dream of nothing but darkness. I’m not scared by it; I relish the coolness and the peace of the quiet and nothingness. And just as I’m beginning to miss warmth, the sun decides to bathe me in its heat. Its rays flicker behind my eyelids like a flame before it goes out.
My eyes blink open and then closed. My heart begins to race before I open them again. Wide so I know I’m not imagining things or dreaming still.
“Hey, Trouble.”
Chapter 23
FLEUR
I keep blinking and rubbing my eyes, and he doesn’t disappear. My body is hot and at the same time clammy. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the liquor after all.
“Am I dead?” I ask myself out loud.
Casper’s face draws with a glare. “What kind of fucking question is that?”
“You’re dead and I drank that thing…and…and…”
“You’re not dead,” he whispers.
His hand reaches across the gap between us, only to drop to the bed when I shy away.
“You’re not dead,” he repeats.
“But you are. Am I going crazy?”
“Fleur…”
“I’m losing my fucking mind. This happens to some women when they have babies, you know?”
Fuck, I didn’t want to be like my mother. I don’t want my daughter to have to look after me.
“I shouldn’t have drunk that stuff. It’s messing with me. It’s what they did to Rosemary.”
“Who the fuck is Rosemary?”
Screwing my eyes shut, I roll onto my back before I sit up, on the edge of the bed, facing away from him as I put the sidelight on. I go to the bathroom. The door is next to the bedside table, so it’s not a long stretch.
I don’t bother closing the door while I relieve my waking bladder. The cool air in the bathroom sobers me up from my sleep-soaked fuzziness. Washing my hands with cold water, I then splash my face just to be certain that I really am awake.
Although, this could be a dream. Different from the ones I normally have. I’ve never dreamt about this place before, but there’s always a first. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m feeling more at home…settled?
I look in the mirror and realise I look paler than usual, so maybe this really is a dream. My subconscious acting out my wishes of having Casper come back to me.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real because he’s gone.
I pull on the cotton nightdress. It’s one that the maid left. A bit dowdy with its wide straps and high neck. The ankle length together with abundance of material are probably meant to make it comfortable, but I miss his T-shirts and boxer shorts that I used to wear. Probably because they were his, and even after I washed them, they had traces of his scent—like it was some expensive perfume that permeated the fabric.
