Here it is. Proof that Dominic was two streets away from home that evening, at a time that proves his alibi. This is what I’ve been looking for.
My fingers are trembling so much, that I suddenly drop all the other papers and they go down flying about. I chuckle at the sight, not caring anymore whether I’ll put them all back in the right order.
All I have to do now is call the detectives and tell them that I have proof that Dominic couldn’t have done it, and they can finally focus on finding the real culprit. Emotions flood me. It’s sheer joy, there is no other way to describe it.
I put the ticket on the desk, while bending down to pick up the rest of the papers. I still can’t believe that Dominic forgot about this. But I suppose it’s understandable. He gets tickets often. He probably just forgot that he got one that night. Maybe he thought it happened the day after or the day before. Taking into account everything that’s happened, the mind tends to blur out all the stuff apart from the most important ones, which in this case, has been his unofficial accusation.
While I’m still on the floor, gathering all the documents, suddenly I hear footsteps. I stop what I’m doing, glancing at the door. It’s still closed.
My mind races. Is that Dominic? Why would he be home at this time of day?
I swallow heavily, listening to the sound, then finally, the door opens, and I see him. The look of shock in his eyes is indescribable.
“Lilly?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know that’s my name.
His eyes go over me, my entire body, as I’m still leaning, with a few leftover papers still scattered about. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
I jump up to my feet, placing what I have in my hands onto the desk.
“Dominic… I can explain,” I tell him, knowing how bad this must look but he has to let me explain. Everything depends on it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dominic
This is the last thing I expect to see.
I wasn’t planning on returning home, but my meeting got cancelled, the one just before lunchtime. I knew that Lilly was free, meaning that she was back home, as Marley was in school. The thought of having lunch with her came so spontaneously, so naturally that I simply grabbed my cell and car keys and headed back home, not expecting that I would see her snooping through my study.
All sorts of suspicious thoughts go through my mind at that moment. I try to stop them instantly. They don’t belong there but, then again, neither does she. Not when I told her that I didn’t want her in here.
“There is something I need to tell you,” she says, sounding hesitant and apologetic, keeping her distance as she is leaning against the desk.
Under usual circumstances, the sight would turn me on. I would slide all the papers off the desk and take her right here, but right now, sex is the last thing on my mind. Once again, I wonder why she would be here, why she would be going through my papers.
“I particularly told you that my study was off limits,” I remind her, trying to sound calm, but the irritation inside of me is slowly turning to anger.
I’m referring to the fact that I keep sensitive documents here, a safe, even a gun. Of course, I only told her about the documents, and that was when she started. Many things have changed since then, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind her coming in here, but catching her like this, it makes me think that she’s doing something behind my back. She is the last person I would expect to do something like that to me.
Life has taught me to be mistrustful. That is how I’ve lived most of my life, relying only on myself, and a handful of those close to me. Of them, maybe half were truly worth my trust. The others have proven themselves to be backstabbers. I never expected such a thing to happen when I finally opened myself up again, allowing myself to feel.
I don’t know if all of that was a mistake. A part of me doesn’t even want to hear any explanations. I just want to tell her to pack her stuff and go but I can’t. Something is not letting me. Something is keeping me here, like some invisible force, keeping me tied to her.
“I know,” she nods apologetically. Her voice is trembling. I know she can see how upset I am. She has gotten to know me well enough to recognize the cues. “And trust me, I wasn’t snooping.” Then, she adds, as her brows knit with concern. “Well, actually, I was… just please, hear me out.”
I frown at her words. “OK,” I tell her briefly. “Explain.”
It’s difficult to be angry with someone you care about, someone you love. But it’s obvious that something is going on here, something I know nothing about. I can’t allow that, especially not in my own home.
If this truly was a mistake, then I want to hear her say it. I want her to tell me the truth. Then, I will know not to trust anyone ever again, and I will close myself off completely from the world, focusing just on Marley, like I’ve been doing so far.
“I know you’ll probably be upset when I tell you this, and you have every right to do so,” she continues, talking so quickly that I can barely understand her. “Just please, let me tell you everything, and then, if you’re still angry with me, I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again.”
Her last statement fills me with dread. I don’t want her to go. I don’t want that under any circumstances. It would break not only Marley, but me as well. We’ve both gotten used to her presence in our lives, and only now am I completely ready to tell her how I feel about her.
Now, there is a frightful realization that she might not be trustworthy, that I misjudged her horribly but… that can’t be true… can it?