Page 81 of Point of No Return

Shaking my head, I don’t bother looking back over my shoulder as I head for the stairs. “Better start practicing your apology. Woman will make you work for it.”

I hear his laugh still as I take the hall toward my room. Maybe it’s because there’s not been a single moment that she hasn’t been far from my mind, but I find myself easing the door to her room open. It’s dark inside, and I pause in the doorway for a moment to see if she might still be awake. I hear her quiet exhales, soft sighs in the dark.

I let myself walk to her, gently tugging the covers up over her shoulders as she sleeps. Her brows are pinched together, even in sleep, and the sheets are everywhere as if she’s tossed and turned all night.

And goddammit, there’s not a thing in the world more beautiful than her.

She stirs, just slightly, hands bunching the sheets. My fingers trail over her cheek, brushing down her jaw, her ear, her neck. She’s so soft, so fucking sweet when she’s like this. And it’s all I allow myself.

This touch, this moment, seeing her.

But in the light from the door, I nearly freeze when I see a flash of silver from beneath her pillow.

A blade.

A fierce sense of protectiveness sweeps over me, and I wonder exactly how many nights she’s slept with it beneath her pillow. Whether or not she’s ever felt the need to use it. For once, my first reaction isn’t to shut the thought down. But I let my hand drop, and I force myself to leave.

I plop down into one of the leather singles in the corner of my own room, knowing better than to try and sleep right now. I kick my legs out, relaxing back into the cushion and resting the beer against my thigh. The forest outside is restless like it has been all day. The wind rattles against the trees, and the moon is covered by fast-passing clouds. I pace myself slowly, taking long pulls of beer as my thoughts wander.

My brother is the first thing that comes to mind. Today didn’t fix things. Not even close. But he laughed for the first time in over a month, and that’s something.

Thoughts of Charlotte follow soon after. She’s so hard to read, to predict. Every moment is a battle: I never know if we’re seconds away from fighting again or if my restraint is going to snap like a fraying rope.

God,if it didn’t complicate things, I would do it easily. I would cross that line between us and not look back. I fuckingwantto.

But inevitably, reason always comes running back. There are a thousand reasons we shouldn’t cross the line. My mother’s murder being only one of them.

Charlotte may not have been the one to make the kill, but her family serves as a reminder of the pain my mother suffered. Fear. Loneliness. Hopelessness. Things most people nevertrulyexperience. No one deserves to die like that… but when you marry a man like Tyson Benenati, those are things you know all too well.

“She will never be safe.”

The more I think about the words, the more I consider whether there might be any truth to them.

My wife sleeps with a blade beneath her pillow.

I’ve never considered that Charlotte might be the one to suffer the same fate my mother had, but something in me shudders at the thought. Marrying into a family out of convenience only to be buried for the same reasons.

It’s the same thing that happened to my mother… and if I let it, it’s the same thing that will happen to Charlotte.

But only one thing is clear to me now: I refuse to let it happen again.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Charlotte

The boys leave most mornings around ten and don’t get back until around seven, smelling heavily of sweat and body funk. Aleks usually gives me a tense smile and dismisses himself for the night as soon as he’s back. Skar usually showers, but we’ll at least sit for dinner before I wordlessly find reasons to escape upstairs for the night.

It’s the routine for at least five days, only broken by the fact that I request to have an early dinner on the dock one night.

The servants prepare plates for the boys for later, and I’m content to drink an entire bottle of moscato while watching the sunset. Pink and orange mix together and paint the clouds a gorgeous scene of sorbet. The wind is calmer tonight and crickets chirp a quiet staccato beat from the forest. And then my phone rings, interrupting everything.

Eva Orlova’s name appears on the screen, and my mood for the evening instantly falls.

I answer despite it. “Hello?”

“Lottie.” I can hear the saccharin smile in her voice. “Haven’t heard from you in awhile. I wanted to check in. See how married life’s been treating you.”

She and I both know better than to give things away on a phone that’s probably monitored. “We’re at the villa. Just taking a break from all the chaos since the funeral,” I say.

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