Page 154 of Seizing Control: Part One

“Truly?”

He inclines his head once. “Yes.”

Then he spins on his heel and follows my mum out of my bedroom.

I jerk like I’m being shot at after he slams the door shut behind him.

Alone, I am left to flail.

My duchess is out of hiding.

I don’t know what it means.

The one thing I am cognisant of is the pain her disappearance has caused.

She broke my heart.

I’m not sure if I want to give her a second shot at destroying me...

30

LILY

“Heya, Miss Maple,” I greet the elegant feline as she jumps onto my bed.

After scratching behind her ears, I flop onto my back so she can lay across my belly like she’s taken to doing most mornings while I scroll my phone. Despite my less than pleasant experience last time, I’m not battling nausea or dizziness from sunrise to sundown, so I’m able to take my time embracing the day without tea or coffee to fuel me. It’s likely a counterproductive habit, since I’m avoiding everyone like they’re the plague, but my daily doom scroll through the public feeds of my family and friends is a comfort and a good reminder of the purpose behind my self-imposed exile.

I left to protect them from my worst.

I stay gone, with the time limit decreed by Angelis, so I can get my head back together.

My fingers seek out the soft fur under Miss Maple’s chin, and I croon, “Yeah, you like that, don’t you” when she starts to purr. The cat takes exception me to pointing out her enjoyment of my affection. She stalks off like a displeased queen with her tail in the air and a haughty tilt to her head.

Laughing at the sight of her dignified exit, I remark, “Okey-dokey, then.”

I roll onto my side in Zeke’s old bed and pull the covers that I spray every night with the bottle of Tom Ford cologne over my head. The normal spicy amber that I love so much is mixed with the other scent I also spritz on the fabric. Acqua Di Giò. The cardamom and labdanum remind me of my husband.

Past and future combined.

It’s been almost three months since Zeke died, yet I still can’t reconcile my head with the loss. Conversely, in the eight weeks since I left Slash, my stupid heart hasn’t healed.

I’m not sure if it ever will.

Every night, I dream of the three of us together.

Every morning, I wake up and pretend that I’m not drowning in regret.

The truth is an obstinate arsehole this morning.

It refuses to leave me to my delusions.

I miss Slash more than I should.

I miss Zeke just as much.

But the happy years we spent together can never be replicated.

When bile surges into my mouth at the memory of the reason why we can never be together again, I scramble from the bed and dash down the hallway of the old farmhouse to the main bathroom. I manage to lift the toilet lid a second before I vomit. Over and over, I retch, emptying my stomach into the blue water as the vision of Zeke’s leg in the coffin flashes in my mind’s eye.

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