White Lies (A Twisted Fate 1)

The morning light kissed my skin as I stirred. The scent of his outdoorsy cologne brought a smile to my face as the memories of last night flashed through my mind.

Alex showed up after our fight—he came for me.

Me.

Through his kisses, I knew I still mattered. It was as if something awakened his need for me again… something that had been forgotten since we’d married.

I loved him.

He loved me.

We would figure everything out.

Last night was perfect; I treasured each memory. Each touch. Each murmured I love you. Through the night, he’d held me close. It felt like old times when we’d first met. My eyes fluttered open, and I turned over, ready to greet the love of my life.

The bed was empty.

Alex was gone.

Heart racing, I abruptly sat up. Had I imagined everything last night? Maybe he needed the bathroom. Impossible for last night to be a dream. No way. The connection I’d felt was too real, like our bodies connecting on a molecular level. From the moment I saw him, I was consumed. Nothing else mattered except Alex and me. I believed he felt the same way; I knew he came to talk, but our bodies demanded something else. From the instant our hands touched, the moment had enveloped us, all thoughts dissipating except for the need to have each other.

I stood still as I strained to listen for a sign of my husband in the room.

Nothing.

A defeated sigh left my lips. Why had he left? Last night had been incredible… the way it had been between us when we first fell in love, before Alex had been deployed. Alex had been in the military since he was eighteen until he was medically discharged seven months ago at twenty-seven.

I touched my lips, still swollen from our kisses. Last night, right before I touched him, Alex had begun to say something before he smashed his lips to mine. Had he changed his mind from what he was going to say?

I wasn’t sure.

The soreness between my legs confirmed my memories were real and not the dreams I normally had—wishing for what was lost between us. Last night Alex hadn’t been aloof or distant; he’d loved and wanted me. Me. I’d been enough.

The eerie silence served as a reminder that he’d left without a word.

“I’m such a fool.” The words echoed off the walls, mocking me.

This was probably payback for me leaving after our fight yesterday. Alex was cruel at times—playing emotional games, and I was done. Yesterday, I had finally reached that point and left the estate in the Hamptons to check into a hotel room in New York City.

On the way into the city, I’d made plans to meet with my lawyer midmorning to talk about a legal separation.

Our fight was the same it had been since shortly after getting married six months ago—Alex wanted me to talk to Nonno, my grandfather, about giving me control of my trust fund. I refused. Being my dad’s father, Nonno knew what Dad would have wanted. The trust set up by Dad gave Nonno the discretion to manage the funds and not hand over control until I turned thirty. At that time, the money automatically transferred to me.

That was still six years away.

The large inheritance totaled in the millions. Dad had made his money through good investments and his art. His side of the family had always been fairly wealthy, but he had taken it to a whole new level. His paintings were featured all over the world, including the Louvre in Paris. Money would never be an issue for me. I had plenty to live off. More than plenty. Nonno made sure, and I was thankful for the life I was blessed with.

I knew from when the trust was initially established that Dad simply wanted me to be ready to carry the burden of what large sums of money brought. It took a toll on people. I had seen it in high school with some of my friends. Sometimes it changed them… for the worst. The last thing I wanted was to be affected the same way. I never wanted to lose my morals.

Thank goodness Dad and I had discussed doing a prenup. Dad had it drawn up shortly after Alex and I met. We’d talked about it after he left. At first, I was hesitant about the whole prenup thing. When you married someone, it was supposed to be the merging of two lives into one. A prenup seemed to have the possibility to create a gulf between two people. In the end, Dad left the decision to me. I’d gone with my gut and asked Alex to sign it, which he did without any argument.

When he believed I was ready, Nonno would hand over my trust. I trusted him. M

y dad trusted him. I had faith Nonno had my best interests at heart and would know the right time.

My blood boiled remembering my fight with Alex yesterday. I was furious, thinking he only married me for the money. The thought had crossed my mind a couple of months after we married that he’d manipulated me in the beginning of our relationship.

But… something held me back from believing it entirely as I knew deep down our love started out pure before something changed. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to think at times.

None of it made sense.

Last night, I thought we were done for sure until, after crying in my hotel room for half an hour, Alex showed up. Came after me. Apologized for not protecting me. All he wanted was to focus on us at the moment. Nothing else mattered. He told me we would talk through it all today.

Confusion filled me.

Today was here… and he was gone.

Cradling my head in my hands, I moved the gold down blanket, revealing a piece of paper. I heaved a sigh of relief at the familiar script.

Tracing my fingers over his words, I grinned. I felt bad for doubting him. It was easier to believe the bad over the good these days after all the events from the last six months. But maybe… just maybe, this time was different.

Things could have been different if it hadn’t been for his last mission overseas. When he came back, I sensed something was off, but he hid it well. It wasn’t until after we married that I realized how much he’d changed. War had that effect on people, which was understandable. We’d married so fast when he came back.

Too fast.

As I came to find out, Alex blamed himself for the death of someone in his unit. He told me his thoughts had been consumed with returning home… to me, versus keeping his men safe. Essentially, as per him, it was my fault. If only I’d known prior to marrying him. By nature, I refused to quit. That was why I stayed with him longer than any sane person would have.

Though I knew things would be tough, I hoped the love we shared would be enough to get us through. At first it was… then it wasn’t.

I glanced down at the note again. The words were like a beacon. A new hope blossomed in my chest. I chased away the negative thoughts that reared their ugly heads with the memories from our fight. I loved my husband. Finding what we had was worth one more shot. Clutching the note to my chest, I giggled. There was no stopping the sound as I thought about our whispered words when he made love to me.

I love you, Willow. I never stopped.

I love you, too. I never stopped. I never lost hope. I knew we would find our way back to each other.

As I thought back to last night, I held onto the belief we had broken through.

A hand trailed up my back as Alex held me. Goose bumps formed in the wake of his touch as I lay on his chest in the darkened hotel room. My fingers traced the military tattoo on his chest I couldn’t see but knew was there. The two knives intercepting each other with the inscription I will not accept defeat were over his heart.

“I miss this. Being together tonight feels like when we first started dating. I’m sorry I called you Gabe earlier. I know how you hate that. Old habits.”

My husband’s full name was Gabriel Alexander Thompson. All of his friends called him Gabriel when we first met while I was in college. He was on leave from the military. It had been a chance meeting in a random town as I crossed a street. Fate happened, bringing two people who were meant for each other together. Though I’d tried to take things slow, something between us clicked, and I fell madly in love with him before I realized it. Honestly, it was insane how fast we fell in love. Maybe too fast. But I don’t believe I could have stopped it if I tried.

On our first date, I called him Gabe, and it stuck. At least until he asked me to call him Alex shortly after returning from his last military mission. All of his friends who died overseas called him Gabriel, and it was hard for him to hear a shortened version. I got needing to distance yourself completely from painful reminders. I hadn’t been to Italy since Dad died for that very reason.

The muscles in Alex’s body tightened and then released while he dragged his right hand through his dark hair. Even in the dark, I felt his emerald eyes watching me. His voice was strained when he finally spoke. “Sweetheart, we’re going to find our way back to each other. We’ll get back to the place when we were Gabe and Willow, not Alex and Willow. I’m working through it. I promise you, I’ll never upset you again like I did this afternoon when I found you.”

I kissed his chest and then sighed. “I’m not going to Nonno to try and get him to release my trust. It’s not what Dad would have wanted. We have plenty to live on. I don’t want to fight, but that point I’m not budging on.”

Fingers paused on my back before continuing. I braced myself for the anger to return. “It’s your decision. I’ll respect that.” A small victory—a step in the right direction.

After kissing him again, I laid my ear against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “We might want to think about couple’s therapy. When you came back after leaving the military, something has been missing. It might help us get a new start. I want to make this work.”

“That’s what I want too—a fresh start. For us.”

I smiled at his words. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I promised I always would.”

The memory was beautiful. Magical. Through the night, Alex woke me up twice to make love to me. Love. It was the key to everything. For now, I would focus on the memories of last night in order to hold on to hope to save my marriage until I saw him again. I read his words again. I love you, Willow. I never stopped.

Inspiration struck.

I needed to get home.

Quickly, I grabbed my bags and checked out of the five-star hotel in New York City. I’d barely given notice to my plush surroundings in my suite last night with all the tears… then bliss.

The valet brought my Land Rover to me. The city felt alive. Dad and I used to come to the city all the time to people watch as we sipped hot tea in the park. It was amazing what you could learn about human interaction, which he believed helped translate emotions onto the canvas. I agreed.

On autopilot, I tipped the man with the tall black hat. I was in a fog as images of what I wanted to paint invaded my brain. The strokes of deep blues and greens would form the sky. Trees intertwined themselves like lovers. A light shone in the distance. The picture was crystal clear.

My fingers itched for my paintbrush to let the feelings and images within escape onto the canvas. It had been forever since the urge to paint struck me. I’d followed my father’s, Alfonso Lorenzo Russo, footsteps and become an artist myself.

Since the Russo name was “famous” in the art realm, I painted under the name Willow Loren, my first and middle names. In the last year, the name Willow Loren had gained traction. It would have been easier—career wise—to paint under the Russo name, but I wanted to earn my way and not ride on the strokes of my father’s paintbrush.

More pieces of the scene flowed through my mind as I catalogued the image mentally unfolding and where it would fit on the canvas.

After driving for almost two hours, the large estate my father left, which was also my childhood home in the Hamptons, came into view. The gates opened with a push of the button on my SUV sun visor.

Home.

Warmth settled over my body.

This place always brought me peace and perspective. It came to be the only home I knew except for the apartment I had through college up until Dad died.

The Tuscan-style house came into view with the expansive lawn, and I pictured my dad on the front porch waiting for me to come home like he always did. It was bittersweet thinking about it. Waves from the ocean crashed in the background.

This was paradise.

The gardener trimmed the bushes around the statues in the middle of the circular drive. Dad insisted we have as much Italian culture here to commemorate our artist roots.

I waved t

o Chris as he wiped his graying brow from the early heat of the sun. Years of physical labor kept him fit. He’d been in charge of our lawns since before I was born twenty-four years ago. His granddaughter came here often to swim in the ocean with her mother. Though not related, we were family.

I continued around the back of the house to the garages. Anxious to paint, I parked outside, not taking the time to raise the garage doors. The waves calmed as I jogged to the studio that stood off to the left behind the house. The stones crunched beneath my feet along the path that led to the studio door. It had been my father’s studio before he passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurism a month after I married Alex.

That was only five months ago. His death still felt raw. Too raw. I would have given anything to have him here to guide me.

My world fell apart when Dad died. Though things were rough between Alex and me since he left the military, I was more determined than ever to make our marriage work.

One of the last conversations Dad and I had was about Alex. His guiding words were to see it through the storm. Through the trials we then saw our triumphs. Over the last five months, those words were what kept me on course. When I drove into the city yesterday, ready to file for separation, the sting of failure was deep.

Through it all, I felt like a ship lost at sea, tossing and turning without a compass. Dad had always been my true north, providing guidance. Had our storm passed?

Last night had been my only reprieve since Alex had come back. I needed the connection more than I had imagined. There was no going back to the abyss I had let myself wander into.

What had clicked to make things better?

Was it another trick?

Would the same Alex I had last night be the one to come home today?

It was terrible to doubt your husband, but the scars were still fresh.

I was thankful I still had Nonno through all of this. Nonno was the only family I had left besides my best friend, Carson, and his parents, Bennett and Marie. Even though not related by blood to Carson’s family, they took me in as if I were one of their own.