The Lone Wolf (Wolf 3)

But it turned out my father had threatened her.

She still needed me.

Instead of being annoyed, I seized it as an opportunity. She needed something from me, and I wanted something from her. It wasn’t right that my father threatened her, but it did play into my hand well.

Now she was back.

The servants returned her things to her bedroom. Everything was back to the way it’d been originally, with her nice dresses hanging in the closets, her jewelry on the nightstand. Her makeup and hair supplies sat on the counter in her private bathroom. She’s been gone for almost a month, but she somehow made the room smell like her the second she walked inside.

I lingered in the doorway and watched her sit on the couch, her eyes distant as her mind lived in some other space. Her fingertips rested against her lips, painted black like her mood. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, a few strands coming loose. Now that she was surrounded by my fortress, she was safe once again, but she looked as lost as before.

Even though I was staring at her for minutes, she never noticed I was there. With her legs crossed and her body tense, she wasn’t at ease in her old home just yet. I watched her for a few more minutes before I cleared my throat.

Her head snapped in my direction. After a quick dilation, her eyes relaxed as she took in my appearance. Embarrassed that she had been oblivious to my stare, she turned away, and I noticed her cheeks redden slightly.

“Doesn’t feel the same?”

“No, it does…” Her arms stretched across the fabric of the armchairs, and her fingers tapped against the edges. “Feels exactly the same.”

“You don’t have to stay in here.” It was presumptuous to invite her into my bedroom, but I wanted to make the offer anyway. We’d never actually lived in the same quarters before, but I knew I wouldn’t mind sharing my space with her. My closet was big enough, and it wasn’t like I needed the privacy anymore. Once that ring was on my left hand, I became a married man…a real married man.

“I need my own space.” She still wouldn’t look at me. Her feelings toward me hadn’t changed. Every conversation we had ended the same way, and it seemed like her mind-set wouldn’t budge. She told me she would try, but she obviously wasn’t ready to put much effort into it just yet.

“You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She still didn’t turn around to look at me. As if she was picturing my infidelity that very moment, the thought was scarring enough to make her cringe.

Now that she was under my roof, there wouldn’t be another man in her bed. When she returned to Florence for work, she wouldn’t be sleeping elsewhere. She’d already had her lover, so we were even. “I expect your fidelity, Arwen. You better have broken things off with Brandon.”

She slowly turned her head toward me but didn’t meet my gaze head on. “That’s ironic…”

“I had my slipup, and you had yours. We’re even now.”

“Even?” she asked incredulously. “Me telling you I loved you then you sleeping with someone else isn’t the same at all. No, we aren’t even.”

“But if we’re trying, then we’re wiping the slate clean.”

“Whoa.” She rose to her feet and finally looked at me head on. “I said I would try, but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass. I’m still hurt by what you did. It still keeps me up late at night. I appreciate your taking me in, but that doesn’t earn your vindication. It doesn’t right the wrong you made.”

“You’re going to need to forgive me, or this is never going to work.”

“Well, you can’t force me to forgive you. You can’t expect me to forget about it overnight.”

“But I want this just to be the two of us. That’s all I’m asking.” It was wrong for me to expect her to let it go so easily. She hadn’t taken me back in the first place because it still bothered her. If we were living under the same roof and being monogamous, then she was bound to forgive me in time. I just had to be patient…even though it’d already been the longest year of my life.

Her eyes became less hostile, and she turned away. “Alright…”

The men didn’t shoot me on sight, so they obviously expected me to show up at some point.

I entered the grounds then stepped through the main door. My childhood home was exactly the same, distinctly nostalgic. Dark hardwood was under my feet, and there was charcoal trimming along the floors and ceiling. It hadn’t changed since my mother had spruced up the place. My father would never make a single change for the rest of his life.