Page 49 of Reclaiming Izabel

“They shot him with a tranquilizer and kept him locked in a room for days,” the shrink stated baldly.

“What?” Outrage fired through every fiber of my being; it was the feeling of outrage of a wife for her husband. “How could they? After all that he had been through?”

Gina sighed. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell him I told you that. The last thing Drake wants from you is pity. But I felt you should know, when it came down to it, Drake chose you.”

“But…” Still reeling from this bit of information, I looked everywhere until I forced myself to focus on the teapot in front of me. Drake was a proud man. He wouldn’t use pity to get me back. But Gina’s revelation chipped away at my fear and awakened an ache…a fire to fight for our marriage.

“Tell me honestly. Do you think there’s hope for Drake and me?”

“Yes,” Gina answered without hesitation. “I have no doubt about Drake’s determination to win you back. That man isn’t a quitter and you need to experience his devotion on your own. I can’t tell you that. I’ve seen his strength and now I’m beginning to understand yours. I’m optimistic.”

“So, as our therapist, what do you suggest should be our next steps?”

chapter

thirteen

Izabel

For two daysafter my first meeting with Doc G, Drake gave me lots of space during the day. I wasn’t naïve to think I was truly alone. The entire property was probably wired, and either Hank or the Guardians were keeping an eye on me. Drake came home in the afternoon, always with a paper bag of my favorite food and an orchid.

I smiled, staring at the two new orchids below the picture window.

The first night it was Indian food—butter chicken—and a Cattleya orchid. The second evening, Drake picked up shrimp lo-mein. Surprisingly, the orchid that day was a Cymbidium. It wasn’t a common orchid, even in typical greenhouses, so my husband must have contacted an orchid enthusiast.

Drake’s attempts at good old-fashioned courtship pleased me. Somehow, it was a way for us to reconnect, to ease me back into the romantic part of our marriage. Still, this isolation bothered me. I shared with Drake how worried I was about the repercussions of my disappearance. Drake assured me itwouldn’t be long now, and that Marcus and I would soon return to the public eye.

The conversation between us began to lose its awkwardness. He was feeling less like a stranger and more like the man I used to know. My husband. It was time to reveal that one piece of information I’d kept close to my heart. I talked to Hank on the phone I could use and discovered that Drake never knew about my secret. It was mine to share, Hank said, when the right time came.

“Iza?”

Drake’s voice followed the closing of the front door. I hurried down the stairs, dressed in jeans, a sweater, and sneakers.

“Going somewhere?” His brows furrowed.

“Yes.”

“Iza, we can’t be seen in public.”

“I know.” My smile was small and tentative. “But trust me?” I held out my hand.

His frown cleared, replaced by a look of hope. As for me, my heart expanded with what felt like the love I’d always had for him.

It was time for healing.

Wrought-iron gatesand moss-covered columns loomed before us. My heart contracted with that familiar ache whenever I visited this somber place. It was a cloudy day. Fall had painted the trees in gold, rust, and orange, giving color to a land dotted with tombstones. Drake stiffened beside me and I heard his sharp inhale, but not the release of his breath.

“Why are we here, Iza?” His voice was rough as he guided the Escalade through the cemetery gates.

“It’s time for you to meet her,” I said softly. Tears scalded my eyes, but I kept them at bay because, once the floodgates opened,there was no stopping its torrent and there was so much to say. My words were garbled as I added, “Over there.” I pointed up the road to a small hill that held the plots of the children’s cemetery.

A shudder and a ragged exhale shook the man beside me, but I kept my gaze forward. I needn’t look at Drake to see the devastation on his face, because that was the same expression I’d seen reflected in the mirror for countless days in the past three years.

“Stop here.”

The SUV rolled to a halt. I pushed the door open and hopped out. Drake’s own door opened and closed, but I didn’t hear any footsteps. I angled to him, and a sob hitched in my throat.

Drake’s face was mottled with a ruddy color, as if all the blood had gone to his head. Tears streamed down his face, and his mouth was slightly parted, trembling, as he’d been trying to hold back his own tears.

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