She actually made my brother sound like a savior rather than a cheater. I was suddenly ravenous for more information on his life, like it would close the chasm of resentment between us. I had so many questions I didn’t even know where to start, and I didn’t know how much I could push without sounding suspicious.
“So what you’re saying”—I rubbed the loofah over her smooth skin—“is that I wasn’t always a jackass?”
“You’ve always been a jackass, just a manageable one, and then—” She stopped talking, her body stiffened.
“And then?” I stopped washing and waited.
“We grew up.” She sounded devastated. “We left childish ways behind, when cheap Chinese takeout and passing finals were the only things we worried about. But the world doesn’t care about that, not the Tennyson world. This world demands perfection. Sometimes I think you regret bringing me into it. Other times I think you’d rather kill me than let me leave it.”
She moved away then shut off her showerhead and grabbed one of the towels.
I saw a flash of skin through the steam billowing around her body.
And I realized I’d pushed too hard too fast.
What the hell sort of man was my brother? Was he the monster? Or was he just as trapped as she was?
Was he the controller or was he just as controlled?
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
It wasn’t as if I could ask him. I wracked my brain, slammed my hand against the wall, then shut off the water on my side.
By the time I toweled off and got back to the kitchen, she was gone, leaving a note saying she left to grab coffee.
I was alone in the apartment for the first time since stealing my brother’s life.
I eyed the office I hadn’t set foot in. It was technically mine. She wouldn’t be thrown off if she saw me in there. But something about being in here felt wrong. Just as wrong as kissing her.
I thought of her flinching when she saw me, of the anger rolling off her body, of the way she looked bloody and beaten even though she had no physical wounds or scars. And my justification was easy.
I was the good guy.
I was the knight.
I walked into the office and shut the door behind me. Everything looked as if it had just been cleaned. A large dark-wood desk sat in the middle, bookshelves lined both walls, picture-perfect windows overlooked the city, and there was a wet bar and cigars next to a wide leather chair and ottoman.
Clearly, my brother liked the finer things if those crystal decanters were anything to go by.
I rounded the desk and sat back in his leather office chair, then tried opening the right drawer.
It didn’t budge.
I tried the middle. It at least moved, but all I saw were pens, pads of paper.
I had all his passwords on my keychain. I sat at the ominous desk and woke up the laptop, then gently started typing in the login, the password popped up and autofilled. His screen came alive, and what faith I had in him being what he said he was went completely out the window.
On the main screen, I saw an account with a fifty-thousand-dollar initial deposit.
The same amount as the check I’d ripped up last year.
He’d created a fund for me and our mother, with deposits made every fucking month of enough money to . . .
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Guilt descended like a choking fog.
Years ago I’d promised my brother I’d protect him.
And I had failed.
Only to find out that during the last year, he’d been trying to protect me.
Chapter Eighteen
ISOBEL
I needed air. I thought walking in the rain would make me feel better, more like myself. Instead, I still felt the awareness of Julian’s gaze and the way he didn’t stop watching me that morning when we worked out together, when we showered together.
I’d seen the man naked more times than I could count, and for some eerie reason it felt like the first time when we were in the shower. I’d probably acted like a lunatic when I jerked my gaze away from his six-pack.
He’d always had a fit body, and I’d always been attracted to him. It seemed like every woman was attracted to him, but this . . . the butterflies in my stomach were threatening to explode out of my body when he watched me, when he teased me.
I smiled to myself as I rounded the corner and made my way toward the apartment. From my pocket came the ring of my cell phone just as the doorman opened the door.
I waved him off with a smile and answered. It was the hospital.
“Isobel!” Annie always sounded so excited to talk with me. She was in her late twenties, loved her nursing job, and always had a ready smile for everyone she saw. She’d been my first friend when I started volunteering and we’d just clicked, maybe because with Annie what you see is what you get. There was no manipulation, no rules, just friendship. “When are you coming back? The nurses miss you, the kids keep complaining that the other volunteers don’t read the stories right, and about half the nursing staff won’t stop asking about that sexy fiancé of yours.”