Page 53 of Her Irish Treasures
I sat down in the avocado-green chair. Keane, bless him, moved away closer to the front door, giving me a little privacy while still remaining close enough to protect me if needed. “Nothing’s wrong exactly. Just… I’m trying to remember. About Jonathan.”
“Oh,” she said softly.
“Before I tell you what the guys suspect, was there ever a point where you thought he was an okay guy? And then he changed to be the asshole that we both hated?”
Silence weighed heavily between us while my heart thudded heavily.
Finally, she said, “I didn’t understand what you saw in him, but I thought I was being too harsh. No man would ever be good enough for my best friend.”
I slumped in the chair, my heart sore and bruised in my chest. “See, that’s just it. I don’t know what I saw either. The guys asked me about him, and I couldn’t answer. Why did I marry him? Why did I think I loved him? Did I ever really love him at all? I don’t even remember how we met.”
“You had this whole story about how you went to get sneakers and the salesman was teasing you about having paint on your hands. You mentioned you were a student at the Kansas City Art Institute, and then later that day you ran into him on campus. He was dying to see some of your work. Seemed sketchy to me but you were charmed. You honestly don’t remember?”
“I don’t remember anything,” I whispered, blinking back tears. “The guys think… that… well… Do you know what a changeling is?”
“No.” She drew the word out. “Something involving Faerie?”
“Yeah. Like he was human and then something fae took his place.”
“He seemed human to me, but I guess Warwick looks human enough too.”
“Exactly. They think Jonathan the human was swapped out at some point for a creature of Faerie. But if you never noticed a difference, maybe he wasn’t ever human.”
“Surely you would have suspected something right away, then.”
I blew out a shaky sigh. “Would I, though? I didn’t have any experience dealing with men. I never had a boyfriend. I’d resigned myself to always being your kooky friend with too many cats. Some creepy fae in a human suit shows a little interest in me, and I’m in over my head.”
“You’ll always be my kooky friend, though I don’t think one can ever have too many cats.”
I laughed a little. It was better than crying. “When did you have concerns?”
“Uh….” She hesitated before admitting, “When you introduced him to me. There was just something about him that set my teeth on edge. I told myself that I was being too overprotective, but there were a lot of red flags right away.”
“Like what?”
“The way he talked to you versus everyone else. He oozed snake-oil charm when talking to me, but then casually told you to go make him a sandwich. Or to get him a drink. Or to stop talking. The first time you did what he said, I could only stare, my mouth hanging open in shock.”
I grimaced, my stomach churning. “Really? Ugh.”
“Again, I tried to rationalize it. Maybe you were into being told what to do. Not my kink, you know? But you didn’t enjoy it. You weren’t smiling. You weren’t laughing. The light in your eyes started to die and it was horrible to see.” Her voice thickened as if she was in tears. Which made my lips wobble too. “I tried to get you alone to see if you were okay, but he was always there at the house. He never let you go anywhere alone. School was crazy and then I started working for Boss Man. You know how demanding he is. Time slipped away despite my best intentions. I even stopped by your job a few times, but the energy there was even worse. I hated that place. It sucked the air out of me every time I went inside. I hated the thought of you working there every single day.”
My eyes widened. “I worked there too. Solobrex, I mean. Jonathan insisted that I needed a regular full-time job rather than indulging in my little hobby. I’d forgotten how awful that place was.”
“You didn’t remember that you worked there until just now? How is that possible?”
I whispered the ugly truth. “The changeling was feeding on my memories.”
“Oh, honey.”
I swiped my tears away. “That’s why I can’t remember dating him, how I fell in love with him, or our wedding. I don’t remember anything specific. Only generalizations for the most part.”
“For the most part?” She repeated softly.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to say the words out loud. “I think he may have hurt me sometimes. On purpose. So he could feed on my pain, and then later feed on my memory of it too. A kind of perfect crime, I guess. Hurt me, cause damage, and then destroy my memory of that damage. Where’s the proof?”
“Your body remembers.”
I shivered, my eyes closing. “Yeah. Sometimes. Like an invisible fog that I don’t realize is there until I’m in it and feel how cold and nasty it is. It sneaks up on me.”
