Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Shit. I push a hand into my hair again. What a mess this is. What a fucking disaster. “She’ll have to get over it.”
“She loves her, you know. Angelique loves Isabelle. She’s the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”
I close my eyes. The thought hurts because some part of me thought Isabelle would be something like that to her. I never wanted her to replace Kimberly, but she was fast becoming someone I could trust with Angelique. Someone who loved her as much as I do. As much as Kimberly would have. Was that a lie too? Was she acting then too?
Zeke finishes his drink and gets to his feet. “Go downstairs. Talk to her. Get her out of the cellar, brother. I’m telling you, you’re wrong about her. And you don’t want to find that out too late.”
I nod, set an elbow on the desk and put my forehead in my hand. What a shit show.
A few minutes after he’s gone, someone knocks on my door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Catherine sir,” Catherine says and opens the door a crack. “The room’s ready.”
I get to my feet.
She hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Are you sure you want things this way? She’s your wife. She’s going to be the mother of your child.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir. Just… Wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t speak out on this. I hate to see something terrible happen. Isabelle’s a good girl.”
“I don’t pay you to speak out, do I?”
“No, sir.” Her cheeks flush red and she hangs her head, walks out of the office.
Fuck.
I get up, go to the door. “Catherine. Wait.”
She wipes her face with her apron before turning but I see how red her eyes are. God. I’m an asshole.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She nods. Tries to smile. What must my own staff think I am? I know the answer to that. Isabelle has said it often enough. I’m a devil. Satan incarnate.
“Can you bring up some food for her please.”
“Of course. I’ll warm up some soup for her. She likes those dumplings. Keeps asking for them.”
Why didn’t I know this? “Thank you.”
Catherine disappears toward the kitchen, and I walk down the corridor toward the cellar. I push the key into the lock, open the heavy door and begin my descent, unsure what I’m going to do just yet.
38
Jericho
She’s been down here for the whole of the afternoon. I unlock the bedroom door and open it to find her lying on the bed, asleep. I take a moment to watch her. She’s small, curled into herself under the oversized sweater she had on. Her hair is matted to her face. She must have cried herself to sleep.
It takes all I have to steel myself against her. She looks so innocent. So incapable of doing what she’s done.
She makes a sound as I watch. Her forehead wrinkles. I push the hair that’s sticking to her face away. She’s sweating.
I say her name quietly, but she doesn’t wake up. She just makes that sound again. Like she’s fighting something. Someone.
Danny Gibson comes to mind. Danny Gibson on top of her. And I remember what she told me. How her nightmare isn’t Christian being murdered but Gibson’s near rape of her. Remember how she described what she felt in her nightmare years later.
“Isabelle,” I say louder, and she rolls onto her back. She’s moaning now, it’s like an unbroken wailing sound.
“Wake up Isabelle.” I put my hands on her shoulders, squeeze. “Wake up.”
She blinks rapidly but then her hands come to my arms and she’s trying to push me away. Does she think I’m him? Is she seeing his face?
“Isabelle, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Isabelle!” I give her one hard shake and release her when she bolts upright, sucking in a gasping breath, hands out in front of her as if to ward something or someone off.
I catch her arms, stop the momentum. It takes her a long minute to process where she is. To remember what happened. When she looks at me that same expression from earlier darkens her features. I remember her face when I had my hands around her neck. When I was choking her. But I shove the guilt away. She had those pills. She may have taken some of them. As far as I know, she has already miscarried.
But then her face softens, her forehead furrows and she hugs me.
And it takes me out of the moment completely. Out of my head.
“You came back for me,” she says against my neck, fresh tears wet on my skin.
I don’t know what to do as I feel her body surrender against mine, molding to mine. She hugs me tighter, pulling herself closer, repeating those same words. My arms move of their own accord and wrap around her. Instinct? No. More than that.