Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
But here, during winter in the middle of what feels like nowhere, he wears his heart on his sleeve in a fervent tribute to me.
“You go first,” I say, unable to walk away from this amazing man.
He still has his hands tucked in his pockets when he rocks on his heels. “You sure?”
“I’ll be okay. I promise to call if I need you.”
“Need me, huh? Baby, I hope you find that need because I’ll always need you.”
My heart leaps to my throat, and I struggle to stand on my own. I swallow it down, and reply, “Always.”
He nods as if the one word was all he needed and then gets in the SUV. Rolling down his window, he says, “Come back to me. Do you understand?”
The right side of my mouth slides up my cheek despite the cold trying to freeze me. “Yes, sir.”
He winks. “Good girl.”
I grin like the woman in love that I am.
Sitting back, he rolls up the window as the vehicle pulls away. It’s a long drive through the property to return to the entrance, but they soon disappear over the hill in the distance.
Since I had no number to call ahead and warn anyone of my arrival, showing up will either be my best idea ever or the worst plan ever devised. I knock. And then again. Eventually, I look around, wondering if I’m the only one who lives . . . lived here. Maybe no one is here to answer.
It’s too big of a place to live alone. I ring the doorbell twice in a last effort before calling Loch to come back to pick me up. Or help me break in . . .
The door swings open. “Do I have to do everything around here?” a man yells from inside the house. When he turns around, his ice-blue eyes pin me to the spot as the color drains from his face. “Céline?”
31
Tuesday
“Hello.”
As I stare at him, I stand here stupidly, any scrap of a plan I had already out the window. Did I really think I could show up and everything I wanted to know would be answered the moment the door opened? What do I do? I don’t even know who he is, much less how he’ll react.
Is this safe?
Am I?
Is he?
Blond hair. Light eyes. Around my age. I have no clue who he is—brother, cousin, someone who works here, boyfriend, or . . . I don’t give voice to the last guess. I can’t imagine he’d be my husband since I wasn’t wearing a ring when I was found, and I don’t want to put that out into the universe anyway.
I glance back over my shoulder as if I’ll be able to silently plead for Loch to come back. As if the thread that harnessed our love can stretch the miles between us, and he’ll return to get me. Secretly, I’d hoped to be home with Loch before tomorrow with my memories intact. I realize now that I was foolish.
“You’re back.” The man glances at the suitcase and then at me again, but something is missing that I thought would come naturally—a smile that he’s happy to see me and that I was missed. “Back for good?” He looks behind me, but then asks, “Where’s the rest of your luggage?”
Despite using the strength Loch gave me to dive into the unknown and reclaim my life, this man feels more like a speed bump than an ally. Shouldn’t something, even just a feeling in my gut, be revived by him? Not one memory is triggered, though. He’s no different than a stranger on the streets of New York. “This is all I have. Did I leave with more?”
I hadn’t spent energy on my time in Manhattan prior to the attack, but now I can’t stop from wondering where I was living and where’s my stuff if I took it with me?
Ignoring my questions, he contorts his face, furrowing his brow. “Why did you knock?”
“I . . . I made a mistake.” I grip the handles of my handbag, so tempted to run away from my past—literally and figuratively. It would only take a week or so on foot if I start now. I know I can’t, but the thought makes me grin just a little.
I need to know who I am . . . was.
Brave face, Tuesday.
He’s handsome in a way that speaks of old money—polo player, life of privilege from a day’s labor. It’s easy to imagine him smoking cigars at a men’s-only club and patting servers on the ass as they deliver his next drink.
I don’t like him. But more so, I don’t trust him because his eyes fail to meet the half-hearted smile sitting awkwardly on his mouth.
* * *
He takes a step as if he’s going to embrace me but stops just shy of doing it. I’m cold from standing outside for so long, but mostly from this stranger who must be familiar enough to think he could touch me. He steps back. “Thank God you’re home in time for the holidays. Now I don’t have to spend it alone.”