Page 2 of Lover
The binding of the green journal I held creaked, alerting me to my tightening grip. I relaxed my hand and unclenched my jaw. I’d discovered the notebook in a stack of papers a year after the tragedy when I’d come into the library with the full intent of burning it all, sending the whole damnable house up in smoke with myself in the center, a proper funeral pyre.
As though reacting to my thoughts, a log gave way in the fire and the shadows shifted like dancers moving into their next turn. I looked up toward the shadowy vault of the ceiling high above, where the crystal chandelier hung overhead, unlit and untouched by fire glow. The baubles were dull, the bulbs unused. Millicent had hated it. A “monstrosity,” she’d often commented. It made the room unnaturally bright, diminishing the dark embrace of the library’s deep woods and heavy brocades that she found comfort in.
Millie.
My heart picked up an unsteady rhythm. I put the diary down and leaned against the desk, fighting both the familiar pain her name inspired and the new, almost intolerable sensation that trembled behind it—hope.
I heard the car, its engine roaring as it pulled itself up the long, steep drive to the house. With a patient step that belied my nerves, I walked to the window and drew the curtain open onlyenough to peer out and watch as the blue sedan pulled around the fountain of Clíodhna. My pulse continued its feral cadence, and I braced myself against the window frame, ill prepared to see the woman it had borne back to this place.
She rose from the back seat, eyes cast up in leery admiration. Careful to keep myself hidden from view in case her attention moved in my direction, I drank in the sight of her—clothes out of fashion, a ridiculous coat so threadbare it couldn’t have offered much protection from the blistering wind. She raised a hand to her hat as a gust swept through the hills. Her silhouette, once wan and slight from illness, had regained a healthy shape, relieving some of my worries. A bottomless pit of longing opened in me. How could I do what was required when she was right here in flesh and blood, not a figment of my imagination or a haunting fever dream?
The doctor had only just left, visiting one last time to make the rules clear, to warn me against the dangers of being too familiar. I moved a pace away from the window, suddenly at risk of collapsing to my knees. I needed to compose myself. It would unnerve Millie to encounter a man she didn’t know weeping over her arrival.
From the moment Hannigan had stumbled upon her and we’d formulated our plans to bring her home, I’d prayed a fervent prayer to whatever gods or devils cared to listen.
Let her remember.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks, cleared my throat, and steeled my resolve, preparing myself for the most challenging thing I would ever do.
Be a stranger to my wife, returning to Willowfield for the first time since her death.
CHAPTER 2
THE MOMENTS STRETCHED on painfully as I waited for a sound that would alert me to their approach. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I kept straightening my damn vest, running my fingers through my hair, a habit that had driven my usually patient father into fits of snappishness but one Millie had found endearing. My heart warmed, and a smile pulled at the corners of my lips.
Would she remember so often reaching out to take my hand in hers, pushing the strands I’d disturbed back into place with her soft touch, bringing me out of whatever tumble of thoughts had been distressing me?
If you muss it that way, people will think we’ve been up to something.
Then perhaps we should be up to something, just to give them the thrill of being right.
The ghost of her laughter filled my head, and the very idea of having a chance to hear it again unmoored me, making the floor beneath my feet feel insubstantial.
Finally, footsteps, faster than I would expect, and my heart leaped. But there, the damn journal. I’d left it out on the desk like an idiot. Taking it up, I leaned down to one of the paper stacks and shoved it between the piles of notes and out of view. I’d have to retrieve it later, though with any luck at all, we’d never get to those notes.
The door opened with hardly time for me to right myself before they stepped inside—but it was only Dr. Hannigan,entering alone. His excited expression faltered slightly at the sight of me. I must have looked gruesome.
“What in the world are you doing?”
I released an anxious breath, cagey and restless.
“I’m having myself a jamboree,” I cracked, somewhat unfairly. “What the devil does it look like I’m doing?”
“Indulging in a nervous breakdown,” he said with a slight raise of his brows.
“Please don’t kid with me right now, Hannigan.”
“Who’s kidding? You’re white as a sheet and your hair is singing a damn hallelujah to the Good Lord above. Have you been drinking?”
“Not a drop.” I tried not to take offense. It was true I’d let myself lean too heavily of late into the numbing embrace of alcohol, but since discovering the news, I hadn’t had a taste. “I’m about to see my dead wife. I believe I’m allowed a little discomposure.”
“I concede this is bizarre…”
“Bizarreis a very tame word for this situation.”
“…but my professional recommendations are the same. Don’t tell her. Introduce everything to her as though it were for the first time. Let her come into her memories organically. Treat her as you treated her when you first met.”
I offered him a meaningful look. Millicent and I had been in bed together within weeks of our introduction.
