Page 45 of Reclaiming Izabel

When I stepped out of the bedroom, I absorbed the familiar layout of the second floor. A sweeping staircase separated the two wings of the house. There was a room next to mine and one at the far end of the hallway. The opposite wing had an upstairs parlor and two more rooms. This was similar to our dream house, except I made better use of the center stairway, which would open to the family room.

“Ugh,”I berated myself for reminiscing about a time that would only bring me heartache. I could not, should not, relapse into the shell of the woman I’d been. My anticipation of seeing a bare-chested Drake was not helping either. But when I cleared the last step and turned into the kitchen, there was no sign of him.

Instead, a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties sat at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee as she casually swiped across her tablet.

“Uhm…good morning?” I couldn’t help the questioning tone that crept into my voice.

The woman glanced up and smiled serenely. “Morning, Izabel.”

Cautiously stepping into the breakfast nook, I swiped my hands at my sides before shoving them into my back pockets as I waited for the woman to say something.

“I’m Gina Carter,” the woman said as she rose and held out her hand.

Despite my reservation, I returned the courtesy. “Where’s Drake?”

“He’ll join us later.”

“Us?” This time I eyed the older woman suspiciously. “Who exactly are you?”

“A friend.”

Eyes further narrowing, I crossed my arms. “Try again.”

Gina noted my defensive movement with a faint smile. “I’m Drake’s therapist.”

A psychiatrist. I lowered my arms and spun away slightly, shaking my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

When Gina didn’t respond, I faced her again. “How can Drake…how can you expect me to talk to you”—I snapped my fingers—“just like that.”

The older woman’s eyes reflected compassion and I bristled in consternation.

“We weren’t expecting you to agree?—”

“Do I look like I need an intervention?” I challenged. “It’s only been a few days.”

Gina sat back in her chair. “It’s more like Drake needs me to intervene. Apparently he’s doing a poor job at this reconciliation.”

“Understatement,” I mumbled under my breath. “And his answer is to have me open up to a complete stranger?”

“Sometimes a stranger is better to be a sounding board.”

I laughed derisively. “Except that’s not true for you, is it? You probably have preconceived notions of me already.”

“I understand your outrage.” The other woman nodded. “Do you trust Drake?”

I didn’t respond.

“I didn’t think so,” Gina said. “What about Hank?”

“What about him?”

“If he vouches for me, would you agree to speak to me?”

I blew out a resigned breath. “I don’t know who to trust anymore, even Hank, because he saw me spiraling, yet knew Drake was alive. No one. No one is really on my side.”

“I’m sorry, Izabel. I really am. But given the special nature of your situation with Drake, we can’t just bring in another mediator.”

“So you work for the CIA.”

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