Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I don’t know what to think, and I don’t know how to react or which emotion is coming through the strongest. It makes me feel crazy. It’s like the sway of the ocean. As soon as one wave comes and crashes over me, another is already waiting to drown me. It’s making me weak.
It’s late, but I don’t want to sleep.
I move to my dresser and sift through the nightgowns mindlessly, remembering how even last night, I questioned if I should refuse him. When Mason laid his arm across my belly, turning on his side to be closer to me, I hesitated before asking him to move and let me be like I have been. It comes down to one truth: I wanted him to take the pain away. The pain he caused. Only him. He’s responsible for it all. Just the same, only he could take it away.
Glancing down in the drawer I trail my fingers across a nightgown; it’s all silk and fine lace. Tempting, luxurious and expensive. I bought new lingerie a few weeks back, for Mason of course. The shine of the navy blue silk catches my eye, but I can’t bring myself to pick it up.
I don’t want to tempt him anymore. I don’t want to try to look beautiful for him. My heart aches with a pain that feels as if it will strangle the life from me. I wish Mason were done with me, because I already feel myself needing his touch again.
It makes me feel pathetic, but what choice do I have? I have no one and nothing, and I’ve been forced into a corner I can’t escape.
I shut my mouth tightly, gritting my teeth as I ball up the silk gown’s matching thong in my hand and slam the drawer closed.
He’s not a good man. He planned my husband’s murder in cold blood.
But he’s damn good to me in ways my husband wasn’t. If what he said was true... I take in a ragged breath before sitting on the edge of the bed, still only covered by the towel from my shower. The mattress groans as my eyes close and I lean back, collapsing on the bed.
A thought has taken over, one I least expected. I’m still angry with Jace and the more I want to believe Mason, the more I think Jace really did it. He had a woman killed.
How could I not have known what kind of man Jace was? I already know he lied to me, that he stole from me. I have evidence of that from bank account statements and the deed to the apartment he took his mistress to. Or mistresses. I’ll never know.
If you’ll lie, you’ll cheat. If you’ll cheat, you’ll steal. If you’ll steal, you’ll kill.
I know for a fact Jace did two of those things. Three, technically, since he used my money and not his to buy that property.
I’m disgusted in every way possible. What’s worse is that if Jace hadn’t passed, maybe I never would have known. We’d still be together and I’d still be living a lie, completely blind to it all. Utterly naïve.
The reality is sickening. I do believe Mason. I believe my husband had a woman killed. But that doesn’t mean moving forward I choose to be with a murderer. How could I ever trust Mason again? How could I ever look at him the same?
If only the shower could rinse it all away. Or a pill could erase my memory.
But then I’d be back to the life I once had, not knowing a thing about the lies and corruption, all the sins I’ve been blind to.
Defeated but still moving forward, I mumble, “To hell with going back to that.” I stretch my back as I stand up, knowing I need to get dressed for bed before Mason barges in here. I don’t have the luxury of being lost in my thoughts.
One month, and then what? It’s pointless to truly consider the question because I don’t believe Mason will let me go. Besides, what would I do if in one month he lets me walk out the door?
I pretend that I don’t know how that scenario plays out. I go back to being alone, but never trust anyone again? That’s really what hurts the most, the lies and secrets make me feel as though no one is truthful. The two men I gave everything I ever had to turned out to be liars and murderers. I huff a pathetic and humorless laugh.
My girlfriends were right, I really do pick winners.
I’m only able to take two steps to the bathroom door before hearing the door at the end of the hall open. I stare at my closed door, waiting for Mason to enter, but then I hear another door open and shut only a moment later with a click that echoes down the hall.