Page 121 of The Devil's Deceit
Him breaking into my hotel room.
The long flight home.
Jet lag. So, that’s why I feel lethargic and dopey.
My ears pick up on the steady breaths of someone lying beside me. I risk turning my head in that direction. Christian’s fast asleep, white sheets draped over his naked chest. My heart skips a few beats before settling back into a normal rhythm. I have no recollections of him coming to bed lastnight. Granted, I faceplanted on the bed and was asleep almost instantaneously.
I lift the sheet to see I’m still wearing the same clothes I traveled back in. I’m not sure whether to be grateful Christian didn’t try to undress me, or offended. There’s so much to discuss, and until we do, things will feel uncomfortable. Clearing the air is the only way to move forward. Whether that’s staying together or separating is anyone’s guess.
I know what I want, but I’m not in control of the outcome.
After climbing out of bed as quietly as I can to avoid waking him, I pad across the thickly-carpeted bedroom and slip inside the adjoining bathroom. Later on, I’ll let Arron know I’m back, but first, I owe Christian a full and frank confession, and he owes me the same.
I keep thinking about what he said to me on the phone before Daniel kidnapped him.
I hated the idea that those kids would think differently of their parents if they knew what really happened.
Today’s the day the year of hell comes to an end. Today’s the day I’ll find out the truth, and get to tell mine to the man I married under false pretenses, yet fell in love with anyway.
I use the toilet and wash my face, but it’s when I see my toothbrush right next to Christian’s that the tears rise. Despite how exhausted he must’ve been, and God only knows what time he got to bed, he bothered to unpack my toiletries before collapsing beside me.
Sometimes our beliefs steer us right, or at the very least, make us question and dig a little deeper. My beliefs, fueled by Daniel’s venom, blinded me to the truth of what Christian and this family are about.
Do they have a dark side? Yes, they do, but it comes froma place of love, of protection, of guarding fiercely what they care about, and refusing to engage in mindless tittle-tattle.
I went into this convinced that when they discovered my deception, I could very well end up dead. Yet I didn’t hear a single word of recrimination from Charles or Alexander on the flight home. Granted, I thought Alexander’s menacing scowl was aimed at me, but according to Christian, I was wrong. And from the little he shared in the car on the way home, both Imogen and Vicky are supportive of me in spite of everything.
It’s more than I deserve, but I’ll take it.
Brushing my teeth is heavenly, as is standing under the powerful spray of piping hot water as I wash away the travel grime I was too tired to deal with last night. When I emerge from the bathroom, with a fluffy towel wrapped around my body and another one on my head, I fully expect to find Christian awake.
Oh, he’s awake, except the bed is empty.
Frowning, I cross the bedroom and enter the living room. That, too, is empty. An uncomfortable feeling blooms in my chest. Last night, he sounded as though he was open to giving our marriage a chance once everything is out in the open. Perhaps whatever happened with his family last night has changed his mind. Or maybe he slept on it, and when he woke, he thought better of it.
If that’s the case, why are the clothes Christian packed for me back on Isla Oscura neatly folded and put away in the giant walk-in wardrobe? Too many questions and not enough answers. Nothing can be done until Christian returns from wherever he is, so I swiftly dress in jeans and a jumper and, tipping my head upside down, blast my hair with the hairdryer.
Someone pinches my side.
Screaming, I drop the hairdryer on my foot.
“Ow.”
“Shit, sorry.” Christian picks up the dryer and switches it off. “Are you hurt?”
“You’re here.”
He puts the hairdryer on the dressing table and pats himself down. “Yep. Definitely me.”
“I mean… I came out of the bathroom, and you were gone.”
“I went to the kitchen to get breakfast for us. You must be starving. I know I am.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl. “I could eat.”
“Good.” He slides his fingers through mine and saunters over to the dining table at the other end of the vast living room. The smell of bacon, eggs, sausages, and toast make my stomach emit another embarrassing grumble. He pulls out a chair for me. “Sit.”
“We should talk.” I slide onto the seat and shuffle it forward.
