I look at the dress, my eyebrows high. I don’t know this woman, but she clearly has good taste. I lay it on the bed and go to the dresser to dry my hair, but I divert when my cell starts ringing. Part of me hopes it’s Uncle Lawrence, but I honestly have no idea what to say to him. The man is ruined. Distraught. Riddled with guilt. He’s also grieving for his husband, a man who had us all fooled for so many years. Whether Dexter’s dealings with the criminal world was an accident or not shouldn’t matter. He’s the reason Mom’s dead.
I reach for my phone and quickly retract when I see the screen. “Oh fuck,” I whisper, looking over my shoulder. James is in the doorway, a toothbrush unmoving in his mouth.
I quickly look away, avoiding the bullets of fury being fired across the room, and reject the call. I have no idea what my ex-fiancé wants. Maybe to ask if I’m going insane. Whatever, talking to him when James is within a two-hundred-mile radius would be stupid.
I turn and face him. His toothbrush is still static in his mouth. “I need to dry my hair,” I declare, going to the dresser, claiming the hairdryer. I focus on myself in the mirror, ignoring James’s looming frame in the doorway, and start blow-drying my hair. When he eventually finds it in himself to back up into the bathroom, I breathe out, relieved. I’ve seen the killer in him only a few times. It’s frightening. Ugly. I need to warn Ollie to stay away, or he might end up on James’s shit list.
If he isn’t there already.
He’s totally there already.
* * *
I walk into the open living space, my clutch tucked between my cast and my body, and find it empty. No James. He left me in the bedroom applying makeup. I watched in the mirror, a mascara wand hovering in front of my eye, as he unhooked his trousers and shirt from the wardrobe and walked out without a word, still quietly raging. I’m not looking forward to this dinner. His mood isn’t helping, but a drink might, so I go to the well-appointed fridge and pour myself a white wine, sipping it as I wander out onto the terrace to wait for him. The evening sun is still blistering hot, but the breeze, thankfully, is picking up, offering a breather from the constant heat.
I drop my purse on the table and lower to a chair, taking in the majestic sight of the sun setting, slowly falling into the ocean. I’d smile if I had it in me. James has got to learn to control his temper when it comes to my ex, because I can’t change my past. I wish I could. So badly, I wish I could. But my ex is only a small reason why.
I sip, casting my eyes across the shore, wondering where the hell he’s gone. My question is answered when I see him on the beach.
Standing on his head.
I lower the glass from my lips. He’s balancing, trying to steady his mood. In his gray trousers and crisp white dress shirt. I sigh as I reach down to remove the gold heels before standing, wine in hand, and walking down to him. I approach quietly, taking him in from top to bottom. From his toes to his head. When I’m before him, I crouch, wedging my wine glass into the sand, and gently lower myself to my stomach, resting my chin on my cast, my face level with his. He knows I’m here, but his eyes remain closed. Focused. Dampening down the monster inside.
A few long minutes pass of watching him, until he eventually opens one eye, peeking at me. “I don’t want to argue,” I say, reaching forward and brushing a wave of his hair aside.
“Me neither.” Slowly and with precision and control, he lowers to the sand before turning over to his stomach so he’s nose to nose with me. His lip quirks, and mine quirks with it. “What did he want?” he asks.
“I didn’t call him back.” Why would I? I’m not stupid. Besides, we both know what Ollie wants. I have no idea why; I’m far from the woman he met, but for some unbeknown reason, he wants me back. And when he found out about James, even before he was aware that he’s not your average man, he worked hard to turn me against him, along with Dexter. Their motives were different, but they wanted the same thing. James out of my life.
“I will kill him, Beau,” he says calmly, with no menace or threat in his tone. It’s just pure fact.
I exhale, reaching for his cheek and stroking it softly, the scratch of his stubble soothing. “I know you will.” I find his eyes. The endless pits of darkness. “I love you,” I whisper, and he nods, swallowing, inching forward and kissing me tenderly.