I’m frozen. Frozen in the horror of the memory. I can still feel her soft fur under my fingers, the lifeless cloud of her gaze that still haunts me sometimes. My throat feels thick, choked by guilt and grief and the metallic tang of her blood. I’d had to find the gardener—I’d had to leave her there and it just felt like another moment of my treachery.
Bad things happen when you’re not a good.
Is this the mantra I’d lived my life by? I hadn’t watched Bess and she’d been torn from me in the cruelest way. Then Niko. He wasn’t supposed to be mine, perhaps that’s why things ended as painfully as they did.
And this time? Did I have a choice? Would it have made a difference?
Poor Bess. I would hope she’s getting her own back by biting the bastard’s backside daily in heaven, but I imagine doggy heaven is on a much higher plain than the human one. If my father is hanging out with the angels at all.
“…childhood trauma.” Tamsin’s voice pierces my memories as the sound of my childish sobs seems to echo her voice.
“I hate him.”
And I did. But as far as my new husband is concerned, I fear my feelings are the opposite.
Can you love without trust?
Perhaps you can when the person you don’t trust is yourself.
40
Van
“Isla.” Curling my fingers around the duvet, I pull it from under her nose. “Why is this house so fucking cold?”
“The boiler,” she mutters. Pulling on the duvet, my darling wife mutters something about the hell of jet lag. Despite how cold the house is, under the covers, Isla is as naked as the day she was born, despite having gone to bed with a fluffy pajama and socks ensemble. “Like its owner, it’s temperamental in the morning.”
“So I see.”
None of us were ready to leave our bubble of St. Lucian sunshine bliss, but the longer we stayed, the harder our transition into reality. We’d flown back yesterday, straight into a local private airfield and arrived at a cold, damp house where I’d had no doubt which room I’d be sleeping in. Hers. Now and forever. Something else I’m quite sure of is a new heating system will be installed within days. While it’s always delightful to peel Isla out of her clothing, I’d prefer not to climb into bed with her dressed for the arctic.
“Time to get up,” I announce, whipping the bedding from her body. Time to face the music. Time to make the monkeys dance.
“Hey!” She growls, swinging her legs out of bed, but then she spots the cup on the nightstand, and her face brightens. “You brought me coffee?”
“I’m not sure you deserve it.”
“I’m not sure I want it if you’re going to be like that.”
“I think you always want it.” My eyes slide hungrily over her nakedness. “You just don’t like to admit it to yourself.”
She scowls and, spotting her robe at the foot of her bed, lunges for it. But my reflexes are quicker.
“Ah-ah!” I swing it away as she makes a grab for it a second time and, with a flourish, hold it out for her like a diligent lady’s maid.
“Thank you,” she mutters haughtily, stabbing her right arm into the sleeve.
“You can thank me when your new robe arrives.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” Her head swings around, and she glares at me over her shoulder.
“What’s right with it?” I imagine it was once fluffy, but now it’s threadbare and shabby. But that’s besides the point. “As your husband,” I add as she slides in her other arm, “I want you to have the best of everything.”
She begins to laugh. Unhappily. “For me or for you? Marriage isn’t all silks and satins and sex on tap.”
“Are you suggesting the honeymoon is over? I’m disappointed—”
“You’d better get used to it,” she snipes. “Or else, file for a divorce.”
As I slide the robe up her arms, she jerks as though to pull away from me. Until I curl my fingers over her shoulder. Her skin is so silky, the bone almost delicate. “Try again, darling,” I whisper, bringing my lips to her ear. “I know this was a rude awakening, but till death do us part. Remember that?”
She reaches for the belt, her breath hitching as I pull her hands to her sides. I’d only meant for her to take a pause, to get her to understand that this morning’s reality hadn’t only been a shock to her. When I woke in her bed, knowing he’d slept in it and they’d fucked in it did not make for a good start to the morning. Then I’d noticed the mug Archie had been drinking from.
World’s Okay-ist Dad.
The echo of that fucker is everywhere.
Isla is mine. Now, always, and forever. And while nothing will ever change that, I still feel like a dog with the urge to piss and leave my mark everywhere.